The Songmaster (51 page)

Jennifer pointed. Out of nowhere there appeared a tall column of red dust. ‘Willy-willy.’ It was behind Rowena and moving towards her with increasing speed.

‘Rowena! Run!’ shouted Jennifer. Susan stood transfixed by the mini tornado of spinning red dirt.

Rowena seemed confused, weaving, dropping her face in her hands and rushing with no apparent sense of direction.

Helplessly they watched as the swirling column, reaching twenty metres into the sky, hurtled into Rowena, spinning its gritty web around her. For a few seconds she was lost in the dust cloud that screamed through her hair and clothes. Then, just as swiftly as it had come, it spun away.

‘What the hell . . . what’s going on?’

‘It’s a warning . . . she’s being warned,’ gasped Jennifer.

As the willy-willy twirled into the distance, Jennifer and Susan rushed to Rowena.

She was on her hands and knees, sobbing, her fingers clawing the dirt. Jennifer knelt beside her. ‘It’s all right, Rowena, it’s gone.’ Jennifer murmured more soothing words, as she helped Rowena sit up. The American was gulping at air, trying to regain her composure.

Susan was shocked at her wild-eyed expression. ‘That was quite something . . . I’ve heard of willy-willies . . .’ her voice trailed off as Rowena clutched at Jennifer.

‘I’m being punished, aren’t I? It’s all my fault. What’s going to happen to me?’

‘Rowena, here, drink this.’ Jennifer handed her a small bottle filled with water. ‘Come on, we’ll take you back. Ardjani is waiting to talk to you.’

Rowena spluttered, choking on the water. ‘No, no. He mustn’t know . . . then I will be in trouble.’

‘Rowena, what are you talking about?’ asked Susan. ‘You’ve already told him, last night, about the people you think stole the rock. Is there something else bothering you?’

The American glowered at Susan, fear, anger and distrust in her eyes.

Jennifer helped Rowena to her feet. ‘Come back. It’s best. Maybe it’s all over now. The spirits have gone.’

This seemed to calm her and Susan kept silent as Jennifer continued to speak gently to Rowena as they slowly made their way back to the camp.

Two hours had passed and Susan guessed it must have been close to 4 p.m.

Ardjani sat in his favourite chair by his campfire, his chin on his chest, his legs stretched out,
deep in thought. He looked up as Rowena approached.

The American woman was in a bad way, he thought. She looked like a stick insect, all sharp angles, thin arms and legs, and bulging eyes.

She sat down in the chair beside the old man and stared into the crackling fire as he threw a small branch with pungent leaves onto the flames.

Rowena looked at the ground, the words of her preamble tripping over each other. ‘I have bad dreams and I know you are the only one who can fix me.’ She waited then turned to him. ‘Ardjani, I’ve done terrible things. I know I’m being punished for these things . . . and I need you to help me.’ She reached out a hand to touch his arm but he stood, imperious, arms folded over his bare chest, ribbed with the thick scars of his initiation rites. ‘Be still.’ He waited several beats, staring down at her. ‘Tell me your story.’

She started speaking, her voice high and strained. ‘The German man I told you about last night . . . I met him at my father’s house, he wanted to collect art and he asked me to arrange a trip out here to see the rock art, to buy paintings, but I swear . . . I promise you, Ardjani, that I didn’t know they’d steal the rock. I thought he was sending one of his people to buy paintings from Bungarra. I don’t know how . . .’

‘You know this man? You know for sure he
be the one?’ Ardjani’s eyes were hard and bright, like glass. ‘Maybe we get the rock back . . . when the police come, you tell them his name, and where he lives.’

‘Ardjani, this man lives in a fortress, he hides the things he gets. He is clever. The police . . . no one will get to the guyon guyon. No one can get into this place. Like you said, not even Wandjina spirits.’

Ardjani’s expression didn’t change.

‘What can I do, Ardjani? I’m being punished and I didn’t know what they were going to do. I know I’m responsible for bringing them here but . . .’

‘That man, who have the guyon guyon, he will die for this. The spirits will find him. But the spirits cannot bring back our guyon guyon rock. The hole you saw in that rock, that is like the hole in our hearts.’ He folded his arms and studied her. ‘What else?’

She hesitated. Ardjani continued staring at her, his eyes boring into her. ‘There is something else in your eyes. You tell me.’

She took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes for a moment and talked in a rapid low voice. ‘When I came here to see you the first time, I went driving and walking one day. And I found the Wandjina spirits on the rock. I saw the paintings that looked like space aliens. And then I saw a skull. It was very old. I thought it wouldn’t matter to anyone, so I took it. After all, nobody ever went there any more. It wasn’t
used as a sacred site because your people weren’t allowed to go there.’ Rowena stared into the fire, unable to look at Ardjani’s face.

The old man caught his breath and imperceptibly shook his head as if too quick a movement would cause him intense physical pain. ‘Rowena, where is this skull now?’

‘In my father’s house. In Los Angeles. I can send it back to you, Ardjani. I will ring today and get it sent back here straight away, by air courier.’

‘Yes. You must do that. Now! He must come back to be with his bones. You are in trouble, Rowena. Ancestor spirits are very angry with you, that is why you are so sick.’

Tears spilled from Rowena’s eyes and she began to shake. ‘What can I do? Please help me, Ardjani.’

‘I’ll try. You must be open in your heart. Tomorrow, I will take you to the Wandjina paintings where the rest of the bones are. We make ceremony to the spirits and I will smoke you, we tell the spirits you didn’t mean to hurt them.’ And as Rowena clutched his hand gratefully, he added pointedly, ‘You hurt Barradja people, very bad, and you hurt yourself. You understand this?’

‘Yes, yes. Please, don’t say anything, Ardjani. We go alone, just us. Please, Ardjani. We’ll fix things. Just you and me.’

Ardjani slowly withdrew his hand from the shaking, weeping woman. ‘Piccanniny light
tomorrow. We go.’ He turned and left her, walking slowly, his shoulders slumped.

Susan decided this was her favourite time of day. Streaky sunset reds and golds, the precursor to delicate gala light that warmed the surface of the river. It was the hour when they bathed and then, refreshed, put on camp-fire night clothes and gathered for talk and predinner preparations.

Andrew and Susan glided through the water, close together, touching, teasing and laughing. They were joined by Mick and Alan, who climbed the old tree branch hanging over the river and jumped in. Mick ploughed through the waterlily pads, defying leeches, and swam strongly across the river, doing a U turn to lap his way into the setting sun.

Susan bobbed along as Alan and Andrew headed for the bank. ‘What’s for dinner, apart from Mick’s magnificent damper?’ asked Andrew.

‘I believe it’s pasta. We’re onto dry stores. You coming, Susan?’

She floated dreamily on her back. ‘I’ll catch you up in a minute.’

She climbed out and towelled her body in the cool air, watching Andrew walk slowly back through the grassy track that led to the tents, past the tin shed where the generator suddenly clicked and began chugging away.

Mick clambered up the bank, his barrel chest matted with grey hair heaving with exertion. Susan threw him a towel. ‘You’ve earned some jam on your damper tonight.’

‘Jeez, I’d better check that. Didn’t think we’d be hanging about in the water so long. Where’s that young man of yours, eh? Giving you a chance to think about your future with him? You could do worse, you know.’ They started walking back and Mick suddenly realised why she was still there.

‘Did you wait for me?’ He sounded quite shocked.

‘Well, kind of. Just taking in the sunset. Didn’t want to see a croc get you.’

‘You worried I was going to have a heart attack or something. The crocs are harmless, but I bet you wouldn’t have jumped in and rescued an old bloke.’

‘No. But I could have thrown a shoe at his snout or something.’

‘Listen, if anything happens to me out here, just leave me. Can’t think of a better place to cark it.’

‘Mick! You’re not serious.’

‘Why not? I’ll be dead, what do I care where I am. I’d be just as happy to have my head painted red and people come and visit me every hundred years or so. I might ask Ardjani if they’d bury my old bones around here. He’ll probably think I’m mad.’

They laughed, then the judge awkwardly
touched her arm, his face serious. ‘Thanks for staying anyway. No one’s done that for me before.’

The remark puzzled Susan. Then she turned her head slowly and glanced at Mick Duffy walking beside her. And, for just a fleeting second, she saw the wild red larrikin of the quick quip and irreverent humour, looking like a lonely old man.

Moving at a distance from the campfire, the night air nipped at exposed skin with chilled fingers. And so the campers huddled near the warmth as they discussed ideas for the security of the archaeological site, in view of the theft of the guyon guyon rock paintings.

Alistair summed up, deferring to the elders. ‘It would appear the most pressing matter is to meet with Giles Jackson and his wife and begin negotiations for permanent access and protection of the area on Boulder Downs where Esme and Professor de Witt’s team is working.’

‘Do we play down the importance of the archaeological find?’ Mick turned to Esme.

The straight-backed lady in her man’s shirt and long skirt was for once without her straw hat. Her wispy grey hair was knotted firmly on top of her head, seeming to pull the papery skin of her face up at the temples. Her blue eyes looked as bright as a noon-day sky.

‘No. The scientific world needs to know
about this. Everybody should know. Ardjani tells us the rock is part of the time before the flood when everything was destroyed and the creation was begun again.’

She looked at Ardjani as he elaborated, ‘Those pictures and scratching were done way before ice age mob, very ancient people did them. So we call that place Birrimitji, after the people from In the Beginning.’

Esme continued, ‘The initial findings are so significant that scholars from anthropologists to theologians are going to want to do research here. After all, as we said, this could rewrite the history of man.’

‘All the more reason some guidelines need to be established,’ said Alistair.

‘The police and the Land Council should be informed as well,’ said Beth.

‘The important thing is that all the people that come here, they must know the proper story, the Barradja story of this place,’ insisted Ardjani.

Michael de Witt agreed. ‘When we first contacted the Jacksons about working on their lease, they said they were more interested in the mining venture that’s nearby.’

‘Now, wait, this raises a delicate and dangerous point,’ said Alistair suddenly. ‘How close is this Birrimitji site to the mining exploration? There could be a conflict there if the mining probe turns up a vein that runs close to the archaeological site.’

The elders exchanged worried looks. Ardjani repeated the Barradja’s attitude to mining. ‘See, that is the reason we don’t like digging into the earth. It is like digging into our body and makin’ a wound that will never heal up.’

‘Looking at it from the gadia point of view, it seems to me the value of this land is in the heritage and culture, not the diamonds or minerals in the soil,’ said Alan.

‘Either way, Giles Jackson will try to exploit it. He’s in pretty desperate financial straits,’ said Beth.

The old judge suddenly spread his arms. ‘Hell then, if he’s that badly off, why don’t the Barradja buy Boulder Downs?’ He grinned. There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at him.

‘It’s a great solution,’ said Beth. ‘Except for a small detail or two.’

Ardjani rubbed his fingers together in front of Mick. ‘Money.’

‘Dat be a lot of paintings,’ grinned Digger.

Alistair looked thoughtful. ‘Ardjani, what would you do with Boulder Downs if you owned it?’ he asked.

Ardjani gazed into the distance then spoke firmly and clearly. ‘Our people would live there and teach our children, and we could invite people who want to come and share our gift with us. So we can learn each other’s ways. White people, foreign people, they all can come and learn about our culture, our laws, our beliefs to
help themselves.’ He spoke as if he’d known this for a long time. ‘This we would call our Bush University. This is the other plan I wanted to speak to you about.’ He looked around the group. ‘If we old people die and there is no way for our culture to live, then for our children it will be the end of our story.’

‘Bush University! What a fabulous idea,’ said Susan. ‘And not impossible. Isn’t there some way we could get some sort of private funding to buy the land?’

Beth looked at Alistair. ‘A foundation of some sort. Is it possible?’

‘Hell, it is,’ said Mick. ‘Find a big mob to throw in five grand each and we can buy it. If Jackson is desperate, how much would he accept? Maybe the churches could come to the party. And an art institution, and corporations who are prepared to do their bit for reconciliation.’