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Our first job each weekday is to pick up commuters from Mulloway Island. Mulloway is a great hump of sandstone sticking up two hundred feet out of the water like a giant turtleback half a mile long. Early explorers coming upstream camped out on it, and caught lots of fish in the river, among them a fish called Mulloway, so they called it Mulloway Island. It's still mostly covered with bush and trees, but a necklace of houses encircles the Island just above river level. Quite a few folk have made permanent homes out there, even though there's no bridge, so they have to come and go by boat. Some of them have jobs in Sydney, so each morning on my first couple of runs I pick them up from the jetty at the Island store and drop them off near the station for a train ride to the office or shop. They all seem to think living on the Island is very romantic, and they love the quiet isolation and the absence of crime. Traffic noise is replaced by the singing of birds. It’s one last corner of Australia where people still don’t bother to lock their doors.
When it was time for our first trip I checked the run of the tide as I have every morning for forty years. I called down the hatch, “Start up, Tim”. The engine sprang to life and a puff of black smoke came out of the exhaust pipe. Jack cast off the mooring lines. I backed Annabelle out from the wharf into the centre of the harbour, then slipped the engine into forward, turned the wheel and headed south past the marina and west out across the river.
The sky was clear blue, with just a couple of wispy white clouds. Some outboard boats were making a racket rushing and thumping across the water. A couple of oyster farmers were chugging out to their oyster leases in their workboats. It was all very familiar, and I felt very relaxed at the wheel. We were nearly half a mile out when I saw a bump in the water that shouldn't have been there. I fished out my binoculars and then cursed under my breath. I knew my perfect morning had just turned sour. Jack and Tim felt Annabelle heal over a little as I changed course to go and have a look. “What's up dad?” “I'm not sure.” They both strained to look ahead.
During my many years on the river I'd seen corpses before, and this was another one, drifting up the river on the incoming tide. I steered Annabelle slowly alongside and eased the engine back to idle. Tim peered down at the body. “It looks like a girl, dad”. I heard a tremor in his voice. I realized he’d never seen a corpse before. “Pull her in to the side, Tim”. “I don't want to touch her”. Jack jeered at him. “What's the matter, d'you think she's going to jump out and grab you?” He fetched the boat hook, deftly hooked it into the collar of her dress, and pulled her in alongside. Tim moved away, looking suddenly pale. I climbed over the rail and put my hand on her throat. The skin was as cold as the water. Whoever it was had been dead for many hours.
I clicked on the CB radio I use to talk to NIcky. “Hey Nicky, you there yet?” Nicky is the part-time girl who runs our office on the wharf, taking bookings, sorting out freight, keeping the ledgers, and all the other odd jobs of a small business. “Yes Ted, what is it?” “We've found a corpse in the river, half way out to the Island, looks like a young girl. Phone the cops and see what they say, would you?” “A corpse? Uh, a girl did you say? Jesus! Hold on a minute”
We drifted alongside the body. Nicky came back on the radio. “Police ask if you've checked for vital life signs, have you tried CPR?” “She's been dead for hours. I know a stone cold corpse when I see one.” We waited again. Tim had moved right over to the other side of Annabelle. I could see he wasn't going to be much help. The radio hissed again. “The police say their launch is being repaired. They ask could you recover the body and bring it in please. They'll meet you here at the wharf.” I felt irritated. “What a damned liberty” I half yelled into the radio, “What do they think I am, an undertaker or something?" "Sorry Ted, I'm just the messenger.” “Yeh, sorry Nicky.”
I clicked off the radio. The cops had a launch in their boatshed near the wharf, but it never seemed to be in working order when it was needed, although it always seemed to be shipshape when some top brass wanted a river cruise. I was on the verge of refusing to have anything to do with the corpse, I didn’t want to get mixed up with doing the police a favour; it was sure to be a big waste of time that I’d get no thanks for. Then, stupidly, I started to think about my civic duty and all that stuff, and I could hardly leave the poor dead girl drifting about in the river, could I? That’s how I came to get mixed up in the whole damned business.
I had an idea what to do. “Get that spare role of canvas out, Jack”. We spread the canvas out on the deck near the boarding gate where the passengers come aboard. “Tim, open the gate, Jack, help me lift her onto the canvas.” Tim opened the gate and turned his face away. “Come on Jack,” I said, “I know it's not a nice job, but it's got to be done, so let's get on with it.” As I glanced at him he grinned. “Do I get paid extra for undertaker’s duties?” I realized the unfeeling bastard was almost enjoying this, like a new and exciting experience. I caught hold of the girl under the arms, and lifted her body, dripping wet, through the gate. Jack leaned over the rail and lifted her legs, and we put her down on the canvas. She didn't seem to weigh much at all. We rolled her over on her back and straightened her out. Tim shut the gate, trying not to look.
She was a slim, middling-tall girl, probably early twenties, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, the sort of look many young Australian girls seem to want. Her lifeless blue eyes seemed to be staring into the distance. She was wearing a cheap muslin dress, badly torn, and obviously not much in the way of underwear. She also had a lot of purple bruises that didn't come from a fall. I wrapped the canvas around her. “Come on Jack, let's put her in the freight locker out of the sun.” We carried the body forward, lowered it into the locker, and closed the lid. Back in the wheelhouse I pulled out the river chart, took bearings off three landmarks on the riverbank, and penciled a cross on the chart. I expected that some time in the future someone would want to know the exact position where we'd picked up the corpse.
I went back into the wheelhouse, opened the throttle and turned the bow towards the Island. “Aren't we going to take her back first?” asked Tim, all concerned. “I've got a living to earn” I said, “and there are people on the Island waiting to go to work! D'you think the cops are going to pay us for doing their dirty work? Anyway she's in no hurry any more. Why don't you sprinkle some water on the canvas to keep everything cool.” Tim silently scooped up some river water in a bucket, opened the locker and tipped it in, keeping his face turned away. The sun was getting up now and it was still a lovely morning, but a lovely morning with a big crack in it.
As we came in to the jetty on Mulloway Island I throttled back the engine, then reversed the propeller. Boats don't have brakes like a car, so you have to put the propeller into reverse to slow up quickly. With a feel for the tides and a few years of practice you can still stop within a few inches of the right spot, although the fast tidal currents past the Island make it tricky at times. As the current bumped us against the jetty Tim jumped ashore with the bow mooring line and looped it over the bollard, while Jack opened the boarding gate and ran out the gangplank. The usual assorted group of regulars were waiting to come aboard, the men mostly wearing business suits with waterproof coats over the top; some carrying brief cases and lunch boxes; two women wearing slack suits, straw hats, and big bags over their shoulders, some school kids in their school uniforms
They’d all obviously been watching us in the distance. “Bit late this morning Ted! What were you doing out in the middle?” I paused trying to think what to say. “We saw a corpse of a girl floating in the river, and the cops asked us to pull it out and take it back to the wharf.” They all smiled knowingly, thinking it was a leg-pull. “Oh, yeh!” “No, we did, really” said Tim from the side. There was a moment of a startled silence, then they started to glance cautiously around. “What corpse?" "We wrapped it in canvas and put it in the locker,” I said, “now if you don't mind we need to get going. Cast off Tim.”
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sp; Walter Trevelyan-Smythe is one of my regular passengers, a tall, polite, imperturbable Englishman, with a carefully trimmed mustache. His trousers have perfect creases, and his brown leather shoes are so well polished you can almost see your face in them. He’s the only man I know who still raises his hat to the ladies. He looked at me reproachfully. “I say, Ted old boy, that's a bit off-colour you know.” “I like it even less than you do Walter, but I‘ve got stuck with it.”
I shifted Annabelle into reverse, backed out from the jetty and turned her bow towards the town. The passengers muttered uneasily among themselves. You might see lots of violence and death on TV and think you’re familiar with it, but when you encounter it in real life it's a different thing all together. Jack went round collecting the fares. As he passed by, one of the passengers murmured to him “It’s a girl then is it?” “Yeh, 'bout twenty. She looked pretty badly beaten up.” I could have strangled Jack right then and there. The lady passengers looked a bit sick. To tell you the truth I wasn't feeling too good myself either.