I Knew You'd Have Brown Eyes by Mary Tennant

then, almost all of Arnhem Land was already in Aboriginal hands.
    The application and interviews took several months. I applied through the Uniting Church because they had a contract to supply nurses to two remote communities in East Arnhem Land. They were looking for someone with general and midwifery certificates, but also someone who they felt would fit in with their religious and moral principles. The panel of people who interviewed me were satisfied with my qualifications and my past Catholic leanings were enough to prove my religious background. They were at pains to point out to me how isolated the community was. I was tough, I told myself, though I really had very little idea of what to expect.
    While I was awaiting news of my application, Mum and I were picking up the pieces of the previous shattering year. I was doing shift work, having found an interim job after finishing midwifery. Mum had completed a Bachelor’s degree in Education and had started her Master’s degree. The deaths of my father and brother took precedence over most of our discussions and I barely mentioned my new venture.
    She had sunk into depression. The dream home she and Dad had built for their family of seven now housed just the two of us. Alexis had moved to Toowoomba to attend university. In the weeks leading up to my acceptance letter, I would find her sitting in the lounge room, whisky in hand, when I came home from work after a late shift.
    ‘Sit with me, Mary,’ she’d say.
    She would launch into a long list of questions. Why had Ken left home at such an early age? How did he get hooked on drugs? He had been such a bright, intelligent and happy child. Why had he ended his life that way? Why had Dad died and left her alone when she was still so young? What was she to do?
    I had no answers, and I needed sleep.
    Initially I did sit with her. I too was grieving. But work was tiring me out and I knew my alarm clock would wake me the next morning at 6 am for the morning shift. I began to excuse myself. It was tragic, but sitting with a whisky asking why was not going to change the situation. Telling her about my imminent move weighed heavily on me. Mum needed company. She didn’t like being alone.
    ‘Mum,’ I said one night over dinner. ‘I’ve been accepted to work in an Aboriginal community in the Northern Territory.’
    She dropped her knife.
    ‘What do you mean? You’re going to leave me here all alone?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How long are you going for?’
    ‘The contract asks for two years.’
    ‘Why are you doing this?’
    ‘I don’t really know the answer to that Mum. Maybe it’s a combination of wanting to help, wanting to learn and wanting to move away from Brisbane.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘You can come and visit me; it’d be an adventure!’
    She took another sip of her whisky.
    To get to Gapuwiyak, I flew from Brisbane to Gove, where I took a light aircraft. The Missionary Aviation Pilots operated these small planes and when I arrived on the Gove tarmac the pilot greeted me.
    ‘You must be the new nurse for Gapuwiyak? Come this way – we need to weigh you, and your luggage.’
    There were a few other people on the plane, mostly Aboriginals. They kept to themselves and looked solemn. The pilot sat me next to him in the front seat and gave me a headset with microphone, enabling us to communicate.
    ‘Clear prop,’ he called to no one in particular, and soon we were taxiing along the Gove airstrip. The plane lifted suddenly. It felt a little unstable in the air. I left my stomach on the tarmac.
    ‘We stop at Galiwinku first.’
    ‘Oh, where’s that?’
    ‘A small island in the Arafura Sea.’ He handed me a map and my stomach settled.
    Along the way he pointed out landmarks. Over the next two years they would become very familiar, but on that first trip it was all new and exciting.
    ‘There’s so much water!’ I said.
    ‘It’s the wet season. In a few months all those waterholes will dry up and the landscape will