Cane Music Read online

  “A humble cutter or one cutting twice the quota of everyone else?” flashed Roslyn. “Come along, Belinda.”

  “Frog,” declined Belinda, hanging back.

  “Tomorrow,” M. Moreno promised, “much bigger and greener.” He led the way up the stairs.

  The two adjoining rooms were large, had bare floors with coconut matting and fans set in the ceiling.

  “The old fellow took ill the night of the news item,” the man informed Roslyn, “nothing much at first from what I can gather in this short time, hence only a pro from the hospital to watch over him.”

  “He should have been in the hospital.”

  “With Belinda on the way? You tell that to that stubborn Garibaldi.”

  “Garibaldi?” she queried.

  “His national hero. Also his second name.”

  “And his first name?”

  “Marco, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’?”

  “We’re all either Marco, Marcus, Mark, after the initial patriarch.”

  “Why have you referred to him all along as Mr. Moreno?”—Never Father, she thought, or whatever the relationship was.

  “It goes back to the first Moreno and to this house. You’ve seen the house.”

  “Castle.”

  “Precisely. So how could any of the hands call him Tom, Dick or Harry?”

  “They couldn’t when he was Marco.”

  “You know what I mean” ... impatiently ... “if he had been English he would have been Sir, or Squire, if Aussie, Boss, but he was Italian, and he had a fine house, so he was Mr. Moreno. It persisted down the generations.”

  “I see. But what will Belinda call him?” She watched him closely, but gained nothing.

  “Children seem to arrive at their own names,” he said. “Take you yourself, for instance. You are—Ness.”

  “Belinda’s version of Nurse.”

  “Of course.” The tone was bland, too bland. Disconcerted, Roslyn diverted: “Why didn’t the doctor call back after the first attack?”

  “At his initial call, Carlton put the condition down mainly to excitement, the anticipation of the child, so he left the appropriate drugs and said he would return later.”

  “How long later?” Marcus Moreno might be satisfied, but Roslyn was not.

  “Frankly, later will be today. Look, Sister Young” ... at a disapproving look from Roslyn ... “we are not a close community by any means, Clementine itself covers more miles than your entire Murray River town. Seeing the old man wouldn’t go to hospital, Connie was sent out by our nearest clinic, which is on the coast. But why a pro, you ask? Because, my good woman, in an accident place like North Queensland we haven’t nurses to fritter around like some I know.”

  “I’m sure any frittering didn’t come amiss today.”

  “No, it didn’t.” He said it sincerely. He seemed about to add more on the subject, only at that minute there was the sound of a light aircraft landing.

  “That will be Carlton,” he said instead.

  “Flying in?”

  “He wants to get here today, not next week.”

  “Of course,” she nodded, “the size of the place.”

  “Also, during the season, the number of patients. When you suffer bad weather and have to resort to manual cutting, the practice is trebled. A cane-knife is not exactly a blunt instrument, and every year there are new, very green hands. I’ll go down now and bring the doctor in. You’ll be here?”

  “Where else for the four weeks?” Roslyn asked. She put Belinda’s bag on the bed and began furiously to unpack.

  A doctor who had to call by flying in! A sugaropolis so big it could have been an entire town!—The biggest frogs in the world!

  How could she ... how could she leave her baby in a barbarian place like this?

  Belinda of her own accord had climbed on to the bed and fallen asleep. Poor mite, it had been a long day. Roslyn, seeing the little girl seemingly had settled herself in this room, decided to let it remain that way, and accordingly unpacked and hung the small clothes in the adjoining closet. After that, Belinda still dead to the world, she went to the next room and unpacked for herself.

  She heard a car draw up, and crossed to the window to look out. She was just in time to see two men entering the house, Marcus Moreno and a man who must be the doctor. She withdrew again at the beginning of a shout that was cut short as the shouter must have recalled Roslyn’s disapproval of his proposed method of summoning her. Instead she heard steps and knew that M. Moreno, was delivering his message to her personally.

  He was first to the room whence he had taken her, then seeing only Belinda there, he came to the adjoining room.

  “I put you in there.” He nodded back to Belinda’s room.

  “Well, I’m in this one.”

  “Apparently. Why do you always have to do everything you’re supposed not to?”

  “Like?”

  “I could name a lot of things, some of which you mightn’t like to hear.” His eyes narrowed devilishly and she guessed what he was thinking. So he had not been asleep that morning when she had tiptoed out from the wrong side of the bed. She wished she could control the heat in her cheeks.

  “That is the room to which I brought you.” He flicked a thumb. “It’s bigger, better, more suitable for a guest.”

  “I’m not a guest, I’m an employee.”

  “Well, it’s far too large for a kid.”

  “Presumably she’ll grow,” snapped Roslyn.

  “And weed onions, which we don’t raise here. Look Sister Young, I haven’t time to argue with you. Just try not to be so cussed, won’t you? I’ve enough on my plate without that as well. Now come and meet Carlton ”

  “Why?” she said stubbornly.

  “You’ve seen the condition of old Marco, haven’t you?”

  “I’m here only because of Belinda,” she refused.

  “Not any longer,” he advised her coolly. “I could appeal to your humanitarian side, I suppose, if you have one, even reason with you, plead, explain, but as I said, I haven’t time to argue, so just come, Miss Young, or by heaven—”

  “You’ll sharpen your cane-knife,” she taunted bitterly.

  “I have no wish to do time over you, you’re not worth it, but I don’t think I’d get time over the same treatment as I gave the baby.”

  “You’re impossible! This is an impossible and quite barbarian situation in an impossible and quite barbarian state!”

  “Yes, and you’ll know that for certain in one moment,” he promised, and stepping forward he put his fingers under her arm and propelled her towards the door.

  Ordinarily Roslyn would have complied, even while she seethed; her discipline as a nurse would have held her temper in check, but something about this impossible man made compliance unthinkable, and turning sharply round she faced him in utter loathing to tell him so.

  But she never said it. And he in his turn released her. For there were steps along the upper hall and a voice called: “Where are you, Marcus? Where are you, Sister Young?”

  The next moment Doctor Carlton, for it would be Doctor Carlton, stood at the door.

  Roslyn’s first impression was Chris, Chris suddenly transferred from Border Hospital and walking towards her with his hand outstretched. The man beside her must have sensed the likeness that she found in him, for he said in a soft voice: “The bedside manner clings, doesn’t it, just like chalk to a pedagogue.”

  “A cane beetle to a cane man,” she said equally softly, and advancing she put her hand in the extended one.

  “I can’t say how good it is to have you here,” the doctor was greeting. “The crush is at its peak and there’s quite a few accidents occurring. Now I can leave old Marco with a calm mind. If I’d realized he was going to worsen so quickly, I would have had him in hospital however hard he objected. As it was, the initial attack was minor, hence only young Connie was in attendance. But everything’s different now, of course.” His voice had
changed from greeting to gravity, and he looked with a certain unmistakable communication at Roslyn.

  “You mean prognosis?” Roslyn asked quietly, and the doctor agreed as quietly.

  “Marco is a good age,” he said, “and this is it, I’m afraid. Seeing he won’t go to the clinic, it will have to be Clementine right to the end.”

  “How long?” she asked quietly next.

  “Not long. But I think you will know that yourself.”

  “Yes,” said Roslyn, “I know.” She hesitated. “But—”

  “Yes, Sister?”

  “I can’t nurse Mr. Moreno, Doctor Carlton, I was not brought here to nurse him.”

  “Well, Connie certainly can’t, as you’ve already seen for yourself.”

  “Then Mr. Marcus Moreno,” said Roslyn with a glance at the man still standing near her, “will have to arrange for someone else who can. I’m here expressly to settle the child.”

  “Ah, yes, the child,” Carlton smiled. “I’m quite anxious to see how the Moreno tree blossomed.”

  Roslyn stiffened.

  “But why must you concentrate on her? There’s nothing wrong with her, is there?”

  “Certainly there’s nothing, she’s a perfect specimen.”

  “Then, Sister, it’s all settled. Instead of returning Connie to the hospital, where she wouldn’t be desperately needed, anyway, at her inexperienced stage, we’ll leave her here to watch over the infant, something even a green pro should be able to do.”

  Everything was going the wrong way, and going much too quickly for Roslyn’s liking. She moistened her lips, then said clearly:

  “I didn’t come all these miles to tend an old man.”

  “A nurse tends where she finds herself needed,” the doctor said in gentle reproof, the same quiet admonishment that Chris might have given. Tears sprang to Roslyn’s eyes. She must sound a callous creature, but it was Belinda she had come for, and she must make herself understood. “I’m mainly a children’s nurse,” she endeavoured.

  “But still a nurse. I’ll be frank with you, Sister, just at present all we could rustle up for old Marco Moreno is someone only several months senior to our little less than a help downstairs. The crush is on. Because of recent bad weather that left the cane in an unsuitable condition for mechanical harvesting, the cut now is mostly manual. When there’s a manual cut, there’s always a busy hospital, a busier doctor. We simply can’t afford one qualified nurse for Marco.”

  “Then insist that he goes into hospital.”

  There was a pause. “He has perhaps less than two months left,” the doctor said in a low voice. He looked at Roslyn. “Could you insist that?”

  “When I consider Belinda, yes. You see, Belinda might not take to Connie. Belinda is an unusual little girl.”

  “Getting scared of losing what you hold,” came in Marcus Moreno in a barely discernible voice. “Smothering her in love whether she wants it or not.”

  Aloud he said: “While you brief Sister Young, Carlton, I’ll go below. It’s been one heck of a homecoming. Everything’s happened at once.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about that, and may I offer applause to you, Sister, for your prompt action all round. You certainly put your finger on the right spot with that lad.” Before Roslyn could start refusing again, he began talking medically, and she knew wretchedly that she could not, must not, break in. A nurse must never do that.

  Then she heard him leave the medical side, and she realized guiltily that for all her ethics, for all her apparent attention, she had not heard one word of his directions. It didn’t matter, she knew already, but she hoped he had not noticed.

  He was saying persuasively now: “It won’t be all that bad, you know. It’s really something of a place up here—perfect climate, glorious sun, friendly people, the right values. And” ... a significant pause ... “cane music. Marcus’s cane music.”

  “Marcus’s?”

  “Moreno always calls it that. Ever heard it? Once you do, all other songs won’t be quite the same again.” He went to the window, smiled back at her, then nodded her over to his side. She crossed to him, then listened. Once more she heard the singing sound of wind and plumes, millions of cane grass plumes.

  “Stay, Sister,” the doctor said ... and he looked more like Chris than ever.

  She did not answer, but he must have known, anyway, for he began writing down his instructions. Roslyn watched him. At least, she thought, it should give me a little longer with my baby; also it should provide me a more positive situation here at Clementine; staying on just to settle a little girl was never a very convincing stand, but stopping on to see an old man through is different.

  “Stay,” Doctor Carlton appealed again, and it came rather pleasantly to Roslyn that an appeal from the doctor was almost reason enough to agree, even without Belinda.

  “Yes,” she said a little breathlessly, and she found herself smiling back at him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Together the doctor and Roslyn visited both patients. Old Marco had been given a sedative, and he looked drowsily up at them. The doctor issued strict instructions to Connie to sit beside him, then left him to drift off. They made their way down the long hall and out to the wide back verandah. This time Roslyn found an opportunity to look curiously around her, for she had had no moments to spare before. The verandah was so large it could have housed an entire family in it, she saw. She remarked on this to Doctor Carlton, and he smiled: “This is a large state, remember, Sister, it deals in space.”

  Roslyn noted that unlike the other cane farms she had seen here the tall grasses did not intrude almost up to the house itself, rather were they kept far back behind lawns and shrubberies.

  “No,” said Doctor Carlton humorously, “a place this size can forgo a pound or so of sugar. Can you remember where Nino sleeps?”

  Roslyn had thought that she knew, but when she tried to find the chalet, all the chalets seemed alike.

  “Some are family units,” advised the doctor, “and Nino being young, or so I believe—”

  “Around sixteen.”

  “Presumably would be with his family.”

  “We look then for a larger place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this the general pattern up here?” Roslyn inquired as they walked past a ‘street’ of single rooms towards a cluster of more ample units.

  “Oh, no, Sister, not any more. The cane is mostly, if not all, in smallholdings these days, Clementine would be one of the last big growers.”

  “Are these workers seasonal?”

  “A large proportion of them, but so familiar through years of attendance that it would almost be like coming home to them to come back to Clementine each year.”

  Roslyn nodded. “I think this was the place,” she said presently, and they turned into a small but sufficient villa, clustered beside similar villas in a thicket of traveller’s palm. As though expecting them, a woman appeared at the door. She was not the person Roslyn had set to watch, but she soon explained that. She was Italian, and she smiled a welcome.

  “Come in then, come in,” she greeted. Yes, I am looking after him now, signorina” ... to Roslyn ... “because it is right that I do this since he belongs to us while he is here in Queensland. He is not our boy but my sister’s boy from Melbourne, anxious to earn some money, you understand, and all this has been a great worry to us, his aunt and uncle. But now, Deo gratias, he is all right again.”

  Doctor Carlton had entered, and Roslyn followed him. She saw a pleasant little abode with a small stove, table and chairs and several other pieces of furniture added for personal comfort.

  “We come every year,” the woman said to Roslyn, “and this year we bring Nino with us. But for you” ... she looked gratefully at Roslyn ... “we might not have taken Nino back.”

  “Hardly that,” Roslyn tried to assure her, but the woman still continued to praise her.

  Nino, sitting up in bed, praised her, too.

  “I have don
e what you said, Sister, and stopped here.”

  “Stop there all night as well,” advised Doctor Carlton.

  “But can I work tomorrow?” fretted Nino. “It is written down on my sheet how many hours I work, and I wish to take a big cheque back to my family.”

  “All right then, but no more falling off tractors.”

  “It was not my fault, the ground was very wet after the rains and the wheel would not move.”

  “There will be more rains yet,” warned Doctor Carlton. “Our long range forecast man says it will be one of those wet years. So just be careful, young Nino.”

  “Oh, yes, dottore.”

  “He addresses you in Italian,” Roslyn said as they moved away from the unit again. “Has he only just come from Italy?”

  “Perhaps, but perhaps it’s simply a word here and there that he still adopts—after all, when one lives in a similar community it’s only to be expected that one borrows words that adults use. One thing I do approve is borrowing Italian fare. I love it. You must come down from Clementine one night and beg a dish of ravioli.”

  Roslyn smiled, thinking of Marcus’s Umberto who had left cutting cane in Queensland for serving ravioli in Kings Cross. She told Doctor Carlton about it as they left the stand of units.

  “Would the child Belinda be awake?” the doctor questioned as they walked together. “I would very much like to talk to her.”

  “I would like that, too,” said Roslyn with pride, and she led the way.

  But when they reached the house and went upstairs again, Belinda still slept. However, the doctor went and stood beside her bed. He stood a long time, or so it seemed to Roslyn.

  “Well, she seems a sturdy specimen,” he said at last.

  “Of course she is.” It occurred to Roslyn that it was rather an odd way for him to have put it, and she asked why he had spoken like that.

  “I was simply talking about her health,” he averted, “but if you say she’s fine, then I’m satisfied.”

  “But why—”

  “She’s very Moreno.” The doctor was looking at the dark fan of lashes touching Belinda’s pink cheeks. “Not at all like her mother.”