by T. H. Moore
“I said I’m fine,” she slurred.
“Do you even remember passing out the second time?” Charles asked.
“What?” she said just before she vomited.
“Exactly,” he said as his eyes filled with worry.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she shouted.
“Like what?” Like I’m worried about you? he said to himself.
“Like … like I’m weak. Let’s go. Let’s just go.”
“Okay by me,” he said with a shrug.
As they trudged onward, he found himself again considering the thought that had flitted through his mind. Was he really worried about her? He couldn’t conjure up an answer, and again he felt the inner shiver that came with the realization that, once more, events in his life were beyond his control. Even his own feelings were betraying him.
He shook his head. He was too hot and tired and thirsty to work out an answer.
Charles had hoped that they could go one more day without water, but Elaina’s transition into delirium meant that they wouldn’t make it. She was shivering, and Charles wouldn’t be able to ignore his own dehydration and exhaustion much longer. His perpetual sensation of lightheadedness made him anxious, because he knew he would soon collapse.
Less than a thousand steps later, he stopped and fell to his hands and knees. As his nose almost touched the ground, he waited for the sick feeling to pass and his vision to clear. Then he noticed something about the sand beneath him.
Elaina must have missed the fact that he had stopped marching, for she fell over him.
“Goddammit, watch your step!” Charles yelled.
“You’re supposed to be walking,” she shot back, “not lying on the ground.”
Charles issued a harsh, scratchy bark of laughter.
“What’s so goddamn funny?” she demanded.
Charles pushed her aside and touched the sand that Elaina hadn’t disturbed in her fall. He crawled forward a few more feet, breathing heavily. His dry tongue felt like cardboard as it grazed his cracked, sunburned lips. He looked off to the left, and disappointment filled his chest. After crawling a few more feet forward, he brightened as he pointed.
“There’s water nearby!” he cried.
“Where!” she demanded. “Where is it?”
“That way,” Charles flailed a hand to the east of the direction they had been traveling.
Elaina forced herself back onto her feet and swerved a crooked path along the course he had indicated.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” he roared.
“No, but we’re not getting there any faster by standing here,” she yelled back as she staggered. Then she corrected herself. “Or lying here.”
Charles scanned the ground for a few more seconds to study the small animal tracks he had discovered. He knew that wherever there were animals, there had to be water. He rose to join Elaina.
“What the hell are you doing?” she shrieked, looking back at him. “Hurry up already!”
“Slow down,” he said, his voice cracking. The dry ache in his throat had become a painful throb that beat in rapid time with his heart.
Charles returned his focus to the tracks in the sand and traced them as they faded and reappeared. Each step he took was heavy, deliberate, and focused. The days of traversing the rough, uneven terrain almost nonstop had caught up with him, and now with each step, he felt as though a spear was coming up through the bottoms of his feet.
Charles looked up at the sun to study its position, but his concentration was broken by Elaina crashing to the ground, followed by her groaning. As he scanned the area in front of him, he saw only open, parched desert.
He abandoned the animal tracks and dragged himself over to where he had last seen her. She had collapsed and slid down a shallow hill. He eased his way down to her, pulled her over onto her back, wiped the sand from her face, and checked her for a pulse. Her heart was racing.
“Don’t die on me now,” Charles demanded.
Somehow, he managed to pull her small frame up and heave her over his shoulder. He staggered toward a collection of brush. When he reached it, he positioned her body under what little shade it provided and checked her pulse again. She was dying.
Caught up in the urgency of Elaina’s condition, Charles had neglected his own wellbeing. Now he realized that his own pulse was racing as his vision faded in and out of focus. He was angry at himself for carrying her, but for some reason he still didn’t feel that he’d had a choice.
Every breath he took seared his lungs. He closed his eyes and felt the world swirling around him, then cracked them open and caught a glimpse of a small brown image darting by. As he turned his throbbing head around, the world moved in slow motion. He squinted but saw nothing. His heart fell. A mirage. He was hallucinating.
He saw no signs of life, just more brush and scattered trees in the distance marred by hot, wavy lines that thickened the air. He released his grip on Elaina and she slumped down, her face now back in the sand. She was suffocating. He scurried over on his hands and knees, pulling her upright and checking her pulse once again. Nothing. He laid his head against her chest, listening for a heartbeat and again hearing nothing.
He tried to scoop the sand from her mouth. He slipped two fingers into her mouth and pressed her dry, swollen tongue to the bottom of her pallet. Its texture was like carpet. He took his other hand and lifted her neck, pinched her nose, and blew air down her throat. Elaina’s chest rose and fell with the air he forced into her lungs until she jerked and coughed. Her eyes watered, and when Charles saw her tears, he couldn’t help himself. He bent over and licked her eye.
“What the hell are you doing?” Elaina demanded. She tried to hit him with a fist, but her arm just fell limp to the ground. She tried to shield her eyes from the sun, then went unconscious again.
Charles looked up just in time to see something move in the distance. He steadied himself, allowing his eyes to lock onto a floppy-eared animal fifty yards away. A dingo, he realized.
Charles pulled Officer Hamilton’s knife out of his pocket. He gripped its handle with his left hand and corralled a length of shackle chain around his right. As he staggered toward the animal, it stood still and watched Charles draw near.
“What are you up to over there?” Charles whispered. “You protecting something?”
Twenty feet separated Charles and the animal when he stumbled over a rock and startled the dingo. It didn’t flee. Instead, it pinned its ears back and bared its teeth at Charles.
Not wanting to give the beast the upper hand, Charles charged. “Rrraaaaaah!” he roared at the dingo, hoping to intimidate it.
But it held its ground, growling in return. Charles roared again, louder than before, and the dingo leapt at him. It was a wiry beast, and strong, and it toppled Charles to the ground. Charles lost his grip on the knife, and all he could do was turn his head and try to hold up his arms to keep the dingo’s sharp teeth away from his throat.
As the snarling dingo tore into him, Charles slither away from the attack. His back stung and burned. The dingo had its jaws around his hand. When it let go to lunge at his throat, Charles threw his forearm up in defense. He screamed as it clenched tighter. He could feel its teeth penetrate the muscle and graze the bone inside. He punched, scratched, and clawed at the animal with his free hand. The beast must have bit into a nerve, because it suddenly felt as though his entire arm had been hit by a sledgehammer.
Bloodied and desperate, Charles thrashed on the ground until he realized he had a weapon. He grabbed a handful of the chain and pounded at the dingo’s skull and neck. Each blow made the animal wince, but this was the animal’s natural habitat which meant it was a seasoned survivor of the desert, and it was relentless. Charles knew if he gave up, he would die.
At last, he managed to smash the full weight of the chain down into t
he animal’s skull. After an awful shriek, it let go and ran away sideways.
Charles watched it run a ways, turn back to look at him, and loop around to come in for another fight. Charles didn’t wait. He stood and swung the chain over his head like a lasso. The chain made a whipping noise as it cut through the air, and Charles’s weakened body swayed with each pass.
The dingo followed the movement of the chain for a moment, then lowered its head and charged at Charles again. Charles threw the chain in the air and slammed it into the dingo’s body so violently that it fell over, whimpering. Charles hit it again, and this time it scrambled to its feet and ran.
Once it was at a safe distance, the dingo paused to look back at Charles. It trotted in two large circles as if it were contemplating another attack, but at last it decided to seek easier prey and trotted away. It looked back at him several times, but kept moving away from him. Soon it was out of sight.
Once he was sure the animal was gone, Charles fell to his knees and cradled his wounded forearm. The flesh was lacerated and punctured—skin, muscle, and blood mixed in with dirt and sand. His head and heart were pounding.
Charles removed the shirt still wrapped around his head, placed one corner of it in his mouth, and grabbed the other corner with his left hand, wrapping the shirt around his bleeding forearm and wrist in an effort to control the loss of blood. He pulled on the ends once more to tighten it, which caused another streak of pain to rise up the full length of his arm and to the back of his head. His pulse raged at the base of his skull.
He pulled himself off the ground and back on to his feet, almost collapsing, but he caught himself and managed to stay upright. Sweating heavily, he staggered over to where he had left Elaina, a constant pain throbbing through his arm with every step.
The sun’s heat was oppressive on his uncovered head. His eyesight was failing him, the sky, ground, and all the shapes and colors around him beginning to blur. He knew that his forearm had saturated its wrap and was dripping onto the ground, leaving a trail that any wily person or animal could track.
Then he felt lightheadedness coupled with a strange tingling sensation that ran through his body and ended on the tip of his tongue. He fell to his knees, then onto his side. His breathing became uneven as he arrived to the edge of blacking out.
He closed his eyes.
So this is what dying feels like, he thought.
Chapter 18
“MANDAWUY, I FOUND HIS WIFE,” Oodgeroo alerted. “She’s as hot as the ground.”
“Bring her here,” Mandawuy replied. “Now, splash water onto her face and then wipe water on her lips. She has to wake before she can drink.”
“Come on, little woman,” she coaxed. “Open your eyes. She’s so hot, Mandawuy. We may have found them too late.”
“No, look at her chest,” he retorted. “Her breathing is shallow, but she’s still taking in air. Rub more water on her. Her thirst will wake her.”
Oodgeroo pursed her brow and picked up the cloth again to moisten Elaina’s head and neck.
“Do it again.” The man nodded encouragement while continuing to cool Charles. “You see? This one is already starting to come back. Had he been a smaller man, the dingo might have killed him.”
“How is his arm?” Oodgeroo asked. “Were you able to stop the bleeding?”
“It has stopped for now, but we won’t be able to give him the care he needs until we get them back to the village. There! You see? Her breathing is getting better. They’re going to be all right”
~~~
Elaina watched as Charles came out of his dream. He called out in a hoarse voice and flailed about on the dirt floor.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a dimly lit, circular room. He scuttled backward when he saw the two dark, slender figures standing over him, also watching. Elaina maneuvered behind him, put her head over his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his chest.
“Charles, it’s okay,” she said in a soothing voice. “We’re safe.” Her cheek grazed his face.
Charles was confused by her touch but welcomed it. The pain in his swollen forearm came to life, a harsh reminder of his scuffle with the dingo.
He looked at the couple. They had retreated a few steps and stood close to each other. The man was tall, slender yet muscular, with wooly black and gray hair, a wide nose, and forceful, keen eyes. She was thin with smooth skin, and she kept her hair tied up in a vibrant cloth. The woman spoke in their native language, stepped just behind her husband, and came back with a wet rag. Her smile was sympathetic as she moved toward Charles and Elaina.
Charles recoiled from her, so the woman paused and held out the compress to Elaina. She took it and dabbed it along Charles’s brow. As he relaxed beneath the cool water, Charles felt a sudden rush of blood in his body. He exhaled and let his head fall back onto Elaina’s chest. The woman tilted her head and smiled at him.
Something about her unnerved Charles. Why was she so big-hearted, given the circumstances? He looked around the modest home. They had put Elaina and him in a darkened corner of the main room. The walls were constructed of smooth clay, with one wall flowing into the next and rising up to form a domed ceiling. Behind the husband and wife stood the cooking table and utensils.
Elaina dabbed at his tight, cracked, blistered lips. His tongue was still swollen and would occasionally stick to the roof of his mouth. When their hostess again tried to approach the pair with a small cup, Charles hesitated once more.
“For Eloah’s sake, just take it, Charles,” Elaina said sharply. “Believe me when I tell you, this one is persistent.”
He looked back over his shoulder at Elaina and surrendered to her being right. She helped to lift his head so his lips could meet the wooden cup. When Charles swallowed the water, it felt like the purest elixir of life. He tried to drink again but coughed as it shocked and revived his system.
“Where are we?” he asked Elaina with a raspy, dry voice.
“I don’t know, but we’re safe,” she assured him. “I awoke just a few hours before you. She’s been very attentive to me and seems kind. Her husband keeps to himself, but he doesn’t seem dangerous, just uncomfortable. I’m guessing they found us and carried us here.”
Standing nearby, their two hosts continued to speak in their own language.
Charles looked at them and then at Elaina. “Have you spoken to them at all?” he asked with a renewed urgency.
“Not really,” Elaina answered. “Mostly with hand signals and broken English that I’m not sure they understood. Why?”
“Because they can understand everything you’re saying,” Charles revealed. “They speak English.” He turned, called over, “Wela’lin,” and smiled.
The wife nodded, put her hand to her chest, and returned the smile. The husband’s eyes grew large as he gripped his wife’s shoulder, but he, too, nodded.
Charles propped himself up on his elbows and then sat upright on the floor. “Não agora29, Elaina,” he said in Portuguese. “Temos coisas mais importantes para descobrir.”30
Elaina’s mouth dropped. “Quantos idiomas você pode falar?”31 she asked. “Or do you just speak all of them?”
“Sete,” he answered, holding up seven fingers. Then he turned his attention back to their host and hostess. “May we speak English to each other?”
“Yes, English is fine,” the man said. “We both speak it very well.”
“My name is Charles, and this is Elaina.” Charles smiled as he spoke. “Thank you for saving our lives. Can you tell us where we are?”
“You are in the village of the Yolngu people of the Northern Territory that your people call Katingal,” he said. “Your eyes have been shut for two days. My name is Mandawuy, and this is my wife, Oodgeroo. Welcome. It is a custom of our people to help those in need and to extend hospitality as if they were our family. Oodgeroo has been caring
for you since we brought you here. If you need anything, she will tend to it for you.”
“Yes, thank you. Wela’lin.” Elaina echoed the same warm tone Charles had used. “We would have surely died, had you not found us.”
“You were lucky we heard your husband’s screams when the dingo attacked him,” Oodgeroo said with a concerned frown. “Otherwise, the two of you would have died.”
Charles and Elaina looked at each other in an awkward manner. Charles touched his ravaged forearm. “I don’t feel lucky just yet.” He coughed out a laugh. “This hurts worse than an arm full of darts.”
“You are lucky,” Oodgeroo said before pausing to contemplate her next sentence. “What were you and your wife doing—?”
“Do you by any chance have any food?” Charles cut in. “We haven’t eaten for days.”
Mandawuy glanced over. “Of course!” She jumped up and went to her cooking area. “I should have offered you food as soon as you both awakened. There will be plenty of time for conversation later. Your child is what’s important, and it needs its nourishment.” Oodgeroo ladled some brown stew from a large metal pot into wooden bowls.
The news sent a sudden jolt through Charles’s stomach. He rolled onto his side to look up at Elaina, but she didn’t see him. She was looking down at her belly. She touched it, but her face was creased in worry.
“Você disse a eles?”32 Charles whispered. He needed to know whether Elaina had any other conversations with their caretakers while he was recovering. He wondered how loose her lips were, and whether she might have also gossiped that they were fugitives.
“Eu não disse nada,”33 Elaina insisted, her eyes still locked on her belly. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything. Besides, it’s not possible. I’m infertile. I’ve tried and failed at having a baby for the past three years.” As she clutched her stomach, tears fell from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.