Can't Take My Spirit

• Jessie Baker, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2010

Veins protruded from the familiar, dark arms that pinned Daisy to the fetid mattress. Her screams echoed inside of her head, her vision a blurred distortion of the chipped, plaster ceiling and the stern composure of the men above her. The barbed end of a stray spring dug its way deeper and deeper into the flesh of her lower back, but this seemed a slight discomfort in contrast to the wrenching of her stomach as her legs were forced apart. The invasive odour of metho abruptly filled her lungs, burning her nostrils as the vile liquid seemed to scorch the inside of her thighs. Breeching delirium, Daisy rolled her head from side to side, the noises escaping her raw throat scarcely human as she saw the arched, metal hook descend towards her lower abdomen…

A shiver of trepidation swept through Daisy’s body as she began her ascent up the well-worn, timber staircase; her sweaty palms caressing her bowel region of their own accord. The rank smell of tobacco tainted the heavy air, growing stronger and stronger the higher she climbed. It was the stink of whitefella. The stink that marked their territory like a dog’s urine marks his pole.

Moving one hand to the splintered railing for support, Daisy took a few more tentative steps towards her destination. She couldn’t remember ever being summoned this early before. Them devil-devils liked it better when it was dark, when the night could swallow up the deeds in its big, black belly. Daisy was reckonin’ that belly be a pretty foul place; had to be considerin’ all them children runnin’ ‘round, callin’ a black woman mamma. No one wanted them kids. They jest bring ‘round them nosy coppas, say they gonna get them educated all proper. Nah, no one wanted them kids, no whiteman want a reason for them coppas to come snoopin’ ‘round.

Sucking in a breath of the thick, humid air, Daisy conquered the final step and found herself in the middle of a long, skinny hallway, bordered by whitewashed walls and the immiscible presence of the red dust that covered the surrounding outback. Turning to the right, she brushed some of her pitch frizz of hair away from the oily droplets that beaded her brow and began the journey down the hall.

‘Thump, thump, thump.’ Her small, brown feet padded against the ground, as if muffled by the stifling heat of the day as the worm of unease burrowed deeper and deeper into her conscious mind. She had thought it strange when she was summoned early, but the situation was stranger. No one ever came down this end of the house. It was full of empty rooms and old metal bed frames that only fat, old, lazy huntsmans slept on.

The streaked grain of an old, timber door marked her destination. Muffled voices crept through the crack beneath the door, betraying the room’s occupants and consternation swept through Daisy’s body at the numbers present. Her hand grasped the cool, brass doorknob and the room within fell silent instantly. The door knob turned with an uncanny creak and the door groaned as she pushed it inwards.

Suddenly, the door swung open seemingly of its own accord and a gruff voice grated on her ears, commanding someone as arms grabbed her and pulled her inside. She didn’t remember deciding to scream, but she realised she was, and weeping, and struggling. Cowering from the abuse, a dull thud reverberated through her as she hit a semi-hard surface and was roughly shoved onto her back.

Veins protruded from the familiar, dark arms that pinned Daisy to the fetid mattress. Her screams echoed inside of her head, her vision a blurred distortion of the chipped, plaster ceiling and the stern composure of the men above her. The barbed end of a stray spring dug its way deeper and deeper into the flesh of her lower back but this seemed a slight discomfort in contrast to the wrenching of her stomach as her legs were forced apart. The invasive odour of metho abruptly filled her lungs, burning her nostrils as the vile liquid seemed to burn the inside of her thighs. Breeching delirium, Daisy rolled her head from side to side, the noises escaping her raw throat scarcely human as she saw the arched, metal hook descend towards her lower abdomen. Them whitefellas take everything. They take the corroboree, they take the land. They even take the women, but them whitefellas could never take her spirit…

Not until now.