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Chapters (68)
  1. Dedication
  2. Clancy of The Overflow
  3. Chapter 1
  4. Chapter 2
  5. Chapter 3
  6. Chapter 4
  7. Chapter 5
  8. Chapter 6
  9. Chapter 7
  10. Chapter 8
  11. Chapter 9
  12. Chapter 10
  13. Chapter 11
  14. Chapter 12
  15. Chapter 13
  16. Chapter 14
  17. Chapter 15
  18. Chapter 16
  19. Chapter 17
  20. Chapter 18
  21. Chapter 19
  22. Chapter 20
  23. Chapter 21
  24. Chapter 22
  25. Chapter 23
  26. Chapter 24
  27. Chapter 25
  28. Chapter 26
  29. Chapter 27
  30. Chapter 28
  31. Chapter 29
  32. Chapter 30
  33. Chapter 31
  34. Chapter 32
  35. Chapter 33
  36. Chapter 34
  37. Chapter 35
  38. Chapter 36
  39. Chapter 37
  40. Chapter 38
  41. Chapter 39
  42. Chapter 40
  43. Chapter 41
  44. Chapter 42
  45. Chapter 43
  46. Chapter 44
  47. Chapter 45
  48. Chapter 46
  49. Chapter 47
  50. Chapter 48
  51. Chapter 49
  52. Chapter 50
  53. Chapter 51
  54. Chapter 52
  55. Chapter 53
  56. Chapter 54
  57. Chapter 55
  58. Chapter 56
  59. Chapter 57
  60. Chapter 58
  61. Chapter 59
  62. Chapter 60
  63. Chapter 61
  64. Chapter 62
  65. Chapter 63
  66. Chapter 64
  67. Author’s Note
  68. About the Author

And she had the gully too. The Overflow men did not come there, did not even know of it, seeing only a crevice between the rocks, the thorn bushes, the trickle of water that wandered to what was left of the river in its sand. But once through that narrow gap the gorge opened up, steep and rock strewn, the water trickling over the rock ledges, even now, for it was the sand that swallowed most of it, had swallowed it, the aunties said, since white men dug the river and the land upstream, as well as downstream, hunting for that useless sparkle called gold.

There was a pool. She did not know the pool’s significance — she had been stolen too young for that — but she knew it mattered. She also knew that it was strong, that every time she sat here, on the smooth warm rock around it, the pool gave her the strength to keep on going so that, somehow, she might be free, once her people returned from Reservation.

The sky had slipped in its vast circle. The owl flapped once, twice, then rose, its talons out. It grabbed the possum that lived in the tree called ‘apple’ behind the house.

The possum screamed. She heard its scream echo up the gully. She smiled. The owl’s young would eat well tonight.

And now she must go back in, to the small hot space shut off from the sweet clear complexity of the night air, for she must be up with the grey dawn to light the kitchen fire when the house’s inhabitants woke, instead of sleeping till her body’s need was done.

Why?

Because they had guns, she told herself. And because, just now, she had nowhere else to go, except to whatever Sydney turned out to be.

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Piperade

There are many versions of this dish, which is a sort of Basque omelette or scrambled eggs. Don’t bother to make this dish unless you have really good, rich squishy tomatoes.

Olive oil, 3 large onions, 4 red capsicum (can use grilled capsicum from deli), 6 cloves garlic, 10 large, very red, ripe tomatoes, 6 eggs, 1 bunch basil (leaves only), black pepper

Add olive oil to pan. Sauté chopped onion until transparent. Add sliced capsicum, cook for another 2 minutes, then add crushed garlic for 10 seconds, then skinned tomatoes (remove skin by dipping tomatoes in boiling water, then quartering them — skin will peel off easily). Cook for 10 minutes, stirring so the mixture doesn’t stick. Pour in beaten eggs and basil leaves. Don’t stir once the eggs are mixed with the vegetable purée; just shake the pan as vigorously as you can. Take it off the heat when the eggs are nearly set; don’t overcook.

Eat hot, with the pepper freshly ground over it.

GIBBER’S CREEK, MAY 1980

JED