Skins by Sarah Hay Page B

others had marks drawn indiscriminately on their backs and arms as well as on their chests. She never took much notice of the natives at the Sound. And it had never occurred to her to think about the women on the island. Tonight, though, she wondered where they had come from. Where were their families: their mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers and, perhaps, their children?
    She looked around for her sister and straightened her legs for they had gone to sleep. Mary no longer bothered to tie her hair back and a streak of dirt smudged her cheek. Her eyes were shadowed. Matthew moved from his wife’s side to Jansen’s. Dorothea hadn’t told Mary of Jansen’s plans. There was no point. Mary noticed her and moved closer.
    â€˜Those buggers are up to something,’ she said, nodding towards her husband and Jansen.
    Dorothea frowned. After a while Matthew stood up and brushed the dirt from his trousers. He walked around the ring of the fire, behind the backs of the others, until he met Anderson at the doorway to the hut. When Anderson spoke his teeth flashed white but the rest of his body merged with the darkness. She sensed he was looking in their direction. She adjusted the skin that lay around her shoulders over her thin shawl. Her hands were sticky with grease and sand stuck to them. She tried to wipe it off on her gown but they just collected more dirt. She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder, and then looked up.
    â€˜What do you want?’
    She hadn’t seen Jansen get up and come around the other side of the fire. He coughed and leant down towards her.
    â€˜Get up,’ he said.
    â€˜No.’
    His hand was on her shoulder and he pinched her bone between his thumb and forefinger. She realised that it was useless to fight. And she didn’t know what would happen if she drew attention to herself. Maybe someone would stop him but then they all might decide to take a turn. She pushed herself up off the ground. She felt sick and saliva flooded her mouth as though she was going to throw up. But she didn’t.
    He placed a heavy hand on her arm and led her away. As she walked beside him she thought at least if he reached the Sound he might send someone for them. She smelt the tart tang of the bush and felt the crunching beneath her feet of its dried and twisted twigs. He took her down to the beach where a sharp splinter of a moon hung before them. It was too hard to see where the sky met the sea and if she stared long enough she started to doubt that she could see anything at all. She stumbled in the sand and they moved awkwardly together. He pushed her down and it was cold on her back. The sound of the sea swamped the noise of his breathing. He lifted her skirts. She pulled them further up over her face, feeling the heat on her cheeks as she breathed against the stiff fabric. Cocooned beneath her skirts, she was reminded of her brother William who would cover his eyes and think that because he couldn’t see her she was no longer there.

    The canvas slapping in the wind woke her. She sat up and realised that she and Mary were alone. Mary was already awake. She didn’t seem to notice Dorothea.
    â€˜Are you alright?’
    She didn’t answer.
    Dorothea pulled herself up. Through the gap, silver light glittered on the water as it caught the wind ripples, and the sound of the waves slapping the sand suggested that the swell had risen overnight. Mary looked sideways at her.
    â€˜Matthew’s gone.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    She hitched up her skirts and crawled across to the entrance to look out, squinting at the brightness of the white sand beach. The whaleboat was gone. Despite Mary’s distress she was relieved.
    â€˜That’s good, ain’t it? He can send someone for us.’
    Mary’s eyes were dark. She turned her head towards the dirty canvas wall.
    â€˜Anderson gave him three quid.’ She paused for a moment and then continued. ‘For a gown, he