And the food was all the same: sheep, if a sheep had died, or kangaroo, stewed so it lost any sense of how a kangaroo should taste; potatoes that were good and at least tasted mostly of themselves; limp cabbage that no longer seemed to be a leaf or anything one should eat; and corn that was truly wonderful, and which sometimes she sneaked away to enjoy properly behind the shearing shed, her teeth tearing at cob after cob. And bread, that had been strange at first — too high, too soft, unlike the lily pollen cakes or grass seed breads she and the other girls had made under instructions from the aunties, grinding the seeds then baking them on hot rocks.

She decided she liked the bread, especially with butter and piled with jam. Bread could be eaten sensibly, held in your hand, instead of using metal implements, which helped make bread seem more like real food too.

There were so many other kinds of food around them, good food, delicious, especially now, when the termite nests would be full of young and the bee colonies full of larvae, yet the man called Mr Clancy, Father or Boss complained about how little there was to eat, that the sheep must be kept alive, not eaten, despite their numbers making them an obvious source of fat food that should be culled before they ate the land to barrenness. Instead the men wasted shot and gunpowder on the ducks that flew above the shrinking river and nested at its edges, when she could have caught four of them easily with one dive under water, pulling down their legs.

She was not allowed to swim. She washed only her face and hands each morning in a tin basin, and her body with a wet cloth once a week. She stank. Mistress, ma’am, Mrs Clancy, Mrs Flora and just ‘Flora’ (each name was used for the same woman but by a different person, not strung together as they should be) bathed only in a tiny tub, as did Miss Maria, leaving a pleasant scent of flowers on their skin. The man with kind eyes called Clancy or Boss bathed in the tub too, but did not have the same kind of smell. But the other men . . .

Why did none of them swim in the river? It was there, carrying dirt away. Why wash in a tiny tub with all your sweat and dirt about you? Why live in heat when the river water was so cool?

Why? Why? Why?

She wanted to ask, but did not have the words, and when she did, was told it was not her place to ask. How could a girl learn unless she asked the aunties questions? But there were no aunties here. These people had gun power, but were even more ignorant than her.