But there was a further task before I came to the table. Grandmother and I had to go and bury the contents of the newspaper parcel, which was still sitting there on the hearth. We took it over to the edge of the cemetery where all our placentas are buried. I dug the hole, Grandmother tipped all the mess into it and recited for quite a long time. We went home for a feed.

Though Grandmother milked her own cow, I had a double lot of chooks, pigs and dogs to attend to. There was wood to chop and stack on the hearth, water to carry and milk to deliver. But in the afternoons I would go in and Mum and Grandmother would give me Moonface to hold – upright, he and I with our hearts together – where he would wriggle, burp, and keck on my shoulder. Though the oozing from the first day had now stopped, this baby had all gaps working and one day when I was bending over him, he pissed in my eye. I was told it was good luck.

Right after that he gave me a reverse wink. That is, he opened one eye at me just for a moment. I believe he liked what he saw, both times – first when he rolled his glassies at me on the day he was born, and then when he backwards winked. The reason I believe he liked what he saw is because, right from the beginning, he chose me.

His first smile was for me, and once he learned to slide about on his backside he tried to follow me everywhere, crying when I had to go somewhere without him. Such a wail, like torture.

I had my own dog who went nearly everywhere with me, too, but who I had to leave at the gate on school days. She was a black bitzer with red eyes, bandy in front and knock-kneed behind, who was always smiling. But at least she understood and did what she was told. Moonface? What a performance. What heart-break.

But also what welcomes I received every day when I came home from school. First there was Kata, waiting at the far gate laughing and jumping, then Moonface back at the house or over in the garden or creek with Mum, also laughing, holding out fat arms.

On the third night after the birth of Moonface, Dad came riding home in the dark, stood in the doorway with a side of mutton and a pleased face, put the meat on the table, walked across the kitchen to where the bassinet was and took the sleeping baby from it. He brought Moonface into the lamplight where he observed him closely for some time while Mum looked on as though amused, and Grandmother smiled her gums. I wanted to say something about the eyes of Moonface but I didn’t.

‘What is it?’ my father asked.

‘A boy,’ said Grandmother.