by Di Morrissey
‘We do seem to be literally in the middle of nowhere,’ said Sheila. ‘Are we going to walk over to that range of hills? It looks miles away.’
‘No, Chester will drive us in his old bus. It’s a four-wheel drive, tough as old boots. It was used to take tourists around this area when Bush University was up and running,’ said Phillip. ‘Such a shame that project folded.’
‘What was the Bush University?’ asked Jacqui.
‘A lost opportunity,’ sighed Phillip. ‘A very wise Ngarinyin elder, Adjani, started it back in the 1990s and I was lucky enough to come out on one of his trips. Adjani saw the need for black and white Australia to sit down together on his country, around the campfire, and figure out a way to go forward, to understand each other’s culture and find a way to work together. He’d arranged for a group of what he called “significant whitefellas” to come and share views on things that Adjani considered important – raising children, women’s roles and other cultural observances – and see how they could be meshed with white society’s ambitions and laws.’
‘Sounds like a man ahead of his time,’ said Sheila. ‘We’re still struggling with those issues, aren’t we? There’s as much division between black and white Australians as there ever was. Culturally, economically, in health, education, you name it.’
‘You’re right,’ Phillip agreed. ‘Many Aboriginal people speak three or four languages but still get stereotyped as no-hopers. There’s hardly any support or encouragement to help them straddle two different cultures.’
‘Why didn’t the Bush University idea work out?’ asked Richie.
‘Oh, but it did, for a while. A few influential white executives came along, expecting to be the leaders of the group, but once they’d met the elders and talked with Adjani while their wives went off to do women’s business, the tables were rather turned.’
‘Don’t tell me the men discovered they didn’t have all the answers,’ said Sheila with a chuckle.
‘That’s right,’ replied Phillip. ‘Everyone came away quite humbled, although motivated. There was an exchange program established between the kids from up here and a school in Perth full of white students. Changed a few attitudes, I can tell you.’
‘If it was so successful, why did it stop?’ asked Richie.
Phillip shrugged. ‘Adjani was the man with the vision. He wanted people to be in nature, to learn the stories, feel the spirits around them, absorb the knowledge without trappings and walls, that was his idea. When he died, it was a struggle to keep it going, though good people tried. Money was flung at the project, a building and permanent camp was built, but that was a white society solution.’ Phillip shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, there was no consultation, or collaboration. No one really understood Adjani’s dream and eventually his wonderful idea just faded away.’
‘That’s really sad,’ said Sheila. ‘But at least we are learning out here in this amazing space. No walls here.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jacqui, looking around the simple bush camp. There were scattered tents and swags, a couple of fold-up tables and a small fire heating an iron camp oven pot, as well as the larger fire, ringed by chairs. A bucket of water sat beside a little spade and a torch to guide them to some simple privacy in the scrub. Together with the stars above, all this was sufficient, with need for little else.
‘In one way, I feel the most relaxed I’ve been in months,’ sighed Jacqui. ‘The writers’ festival was an awful lot of work, far more than I thought it would be, and I’m glad that it’s over. But I so wish Jean-Luc was here to enjoy this with me. I know he’s having a wonderful time in Sydney, but I really miss him. I’ll send him lots of photos, but it’s not the same as his being here.’
‘It must be sad for you to be separated from your son for such long periods,’ said Sheila sympathetically. ‘It’s a shame he can’t be with you all the time. Would he like to live in Australia?’
‘I think he would, but his father would never allow that,’ said Jacqui with such bitterness in her voice that everyone was quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say.
‘I’m ready for that stew,’ said Damien, getting to his feet. ‘Shall we rescue it and dish it up?’
They helped themselves to the simmering stew from the camp oven once Damien had lifted it onto the ground away from the fire. Some damper, baked in the ashes with a few potatoes, was put on a platter on the table next to the enamel plates.
‘I’m starving after the drive,’ said Jacqui, who’d arrived a couple of hours ago. It had been hard to steal even a day or two away from the shop, but she’d been so miserable about Jean-Luc going, and Damien had been so excited and persuasive, that she’d arranged for Sylvia to manage things for the short time she’d be away. ‘You’ve set up a great camp,’ she commented to Sheila, who sat down next to her.
‘It wasn’t all that difficult and I’ve loved being here, enjoying these surroundings. Phillip has already shown me a lot of the local wildlife and plants. I’m going to sleep like a log, just like I have the last two nights,’ said Sheila.
‘Are you still all right sleeping in the swag on the ground?’ Phillip asked Sheila.
‘Of course. I’m in a cosy tent. I might start sleeping on the ground when I go home,’ she retorted, and Jacqui laughed.
‘Hey, I can hear a vehicle,’ said Richie.
They fell silent and heard the low rumble of an engine, then saw the flickering pale yellow lights bobbing through the grass, cross country.
‘Uncanny timing,’ said Damien. ‘Chester’s just in time for some tucker.’
After dinner, Damien reached over and took Jacqui’s hand. ‘Temperature is dropping. It’ll be cold tonight. Are you warm enough?’
‘A hot tea and my jacket are fine, but thanks,’ she said with a smile.
‘I’ll keep you warm, too,’ he said, squeezing her hand. Then he turned to Chester. ‘So where are you from, Chester?’
Chester waved an arm. ‘Towards that coast, Goolarabooloo country. You know The Point?’
‘I do!’ said Jacqui. ‘I camped there with my son, not long ago. It’s beautiful. A very special place.’
‘All this country is special. It’s home, school, supermarket. Our job here is to look after our history, our stories.’
‘So, tell us about the new cave we’ll see tomorrow. How was it discovered?’ Phillip asked.
Chester rubbed his chin. ‘Got a whole lot of painting in it. Special one. Mebbe the old men knew about it long time ago, but for many years we couldn’t come onto this land to do ceremonies. The pastoralists and landowners say no to us . . .’ He shrugged. ‘But now we find it again.’
‘Seems extraordinary that such places are still being found in this area,’ said Phillip. ‘Forgotten treasures. All over the Kimberley and throughout the Northern Territory, there’s a range of art, a repertoire that illustrates the movement of the original people across this country. And it’s a living culture still being cared for by its exponents, which is all the more reason to protect this unique environment.’
‘You’re right about that, Phillip,’ said Sheila. ‘The Aboriginal legacy needs to be valued and protected.’
‘Can I get permission to film this new rock art find?’ asked Damien.
Chester nodded. ‘I’m a custodian of this country. We traditional owners can say what goes on here, no one else. Not even the government. This blackfella business. It’s not that we wanna stop all development, but the way I see it is that we’ve got to protect the special places,’ added Chester. ‘It’s this country’s heritage.’
‘I agree, but it’s difficult when sometimes millions of dollars of minerals compete with the significance of ochre daubed on rock walls representing one of the clues to early human development,’ said Phillip darkly. ‘I’ve seen some terrible damage done by the mining industry, sometimes wilfully, sometimes just caused by ignorance. Ancient art
has been destroyed, as well as important and even sacred Aboriginal sites.’
‘I can’t wait to see what you have to show us tomorrow, Chester,’ said Jacqui. ‘But it’s been a big day. I’m heading to bed.’
‘You took the words out of my mouth, Jacqui. Good night everyone,’ said Sheila.
‘I’m ready, too,’ said Damien, as he picked up his torch.
The tents were scattered between the trees. Holding hands, Damien and Jacqui made their way to their tent, which was discreetly tucked behind a youthful eucalypt. Through the scrub Jacqui could see the glow of a heavy-duty battery lamp inside Sheila’s tent.
‘Doubt there’ll be any wind tonight, but it’s going to be cold,’ Damien said as he went to pull aside the tent flap.
‘Look at that sky.’ Jacqui tilted her head back to study the brilliance of the stars and the clear swathe of the Milky Way. ‘It’s worth coming out here just to see this.’
She laid her head on his shoulder as they gazed at the night sky.
Damien put his arm around her and drew her close. ‘Phillip told us the legend of the Milky Way last night. He said that the spirits live there, and that sometimes it’s called the Sea of Souls.’
They stood in silence a few moments, looking upwards. Then he turned her around and kissed her deeply, till he felt Jacqui shiver.
‘Is that passion or the cold?’
‘I’m freezing,’ she laughed. ‘Straight into that swag for me!’
They crawled into the tent, quickly changed into tracksuits, and settled into their swags, side by side. Damien reached over and gave her another long, deep kiss before turning off his torch.
‘Sweet dreams, sugarpuss.’
*
Stirring later in the night, Jacqui realised something had woken her. She lifted her head and heard it again. A distant low moan. A howling.
Damien reached out an arm. ‘Dingoes. Long way off.’
‘Ah, okay. Did I wake you?’
‘Nope. Come on over here.’
‘Okay.’ Jacqui wriggled from her snug swag and squeezed in beside Damien, who turned on his side and hugged her to him, nuzzling her ear.
‘This is more like it,’ he whispered.
*
It was mid-morning when Chester stopped their rugged little troop carrier at the foot of the small range and they all piled out.
As Damien and Richie got their camera gear, Chester selected a large clump of grasses and lit it with his cigarette lighter, then blew on it until it began to smoke.
‘I’m telling the ancestor spirits we’re coming. Get permission.’
He walked ahead of them, striding through the waist-high grasses, waving the smouldering bundle. As the thin trail of white smoke wreathed into the blue sky, Chester intoned a guttural chant. After a few moments, head cocked, listening, he signalled that they should form a single line. They walked towards a rocky outcrop.
The shelter was a deceptively simple place that one could easily miss. A boulder and small cluster of shrubs and tree roots screened the shadowy curve of the overhang. The little party crouched behind the boulder and followed Chester through a narrow space. Suddenly they were in a partial cave where they could all stand upright.
Everyone breathed in sharply as they stared at the low roof and interior of the cave, partly illuminated by the sun shining onto a section of the rock shelter.
Dozens of snakes, in varying sizes and patterns, writhed over the hard, white, sandstone surface of the cave. Painted in soft, glowing reds, browns and white ochre, the snakes exactly fitted into the contours of the roof, filling up all the spaces in a squirming mass.
‘It’s stunning,’ murmured Sheila. ‘But no wonder this place has been hidden for so long. You could walk right past it and you’d never know all this was in here.’
Damien gave a low whistle. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Hope no one’s afraid of snakes,’ he added.
‘Well, I can’t say that they are my favourite creatures,’ Jacqui admitted. ‘But I feel really privileged to be able to see these.’
As Damien filmed the images, the setting of the site, and the view from under the overhang across the Kimberley landscape, the others sat or squatted on their heels, studying the amazing serpents’ cave.
‘Do you know what the story of this site is?’ asked Sheila.
‘The Rainbow Serpent is our protector of the land, and our people, and the source of all life. But he can get angry if we don’t respect the land, and can make floods and bring storms,’ Chester explained. ‘He’s the one who puts spirit children in special waterholes, so women do women’s business there to get the babies.’
‘So, it’s best not to upset the Rainbow Serpent,’ said Phillip emphatically.
As Damien and Richie lingered to get final vision of the cave, the rest of the group followed Chester out, wending their way through the long grass back to the vehicle. They stood in the shade of some small trees, drinking from their water bottles until the film crew caught up with them, all still exclaiming over what they had seen in the small cave.
They climbed back into the four-wheel drive and Chester drove them cross country to the next site. While the journey looked random to the passengers and was unmarked, to Chester it seemed as familiar as a suburban street. He obviously knew where every boulder was, even those masked by the grass. He swung around trees as though they were street signs guiding the way until he arrived at the entrance to a gorge, where a glittering waterfall tumbled into a crystal pool, fringed by white sand and luxurious plants.
‘Wow, this looks like a movie set!’ said Richie appreciatively.
‘Chester, now I see why you told us to wear our swimsuits!’ said Jacqui, and she pulled off her shirt and shorts and hurried to the water’s edge. Then she hesitated at the fringes of the pool. ‘You sure there’s nothing in there I should know about?’ she asked.
Chester smiled and gave her a thumbs up, and sat by a tree to smoke a cigarette.
Damien picked up the camera to pan from the top of the falls down to Jacqui as she slid into the pool, breaking its calm surface. Phillip and Sheila joined her, and when they’d finished filming, so did Damien and Richie.
As Phillip hauled himself from the water onto a boulder to dry off, Sheila sat on a rock ledge and started to write in a small notebook.
‘Man, this is unreal,’ sighed Richie as he floated idly by. ‘I’m going to sit on those rocks, on the spot where the waterfall hits the pool.’
As they trod water in the middle of the crisp, clear pool, Jacqui clung to Damien.
‘Be careful, there might be babies in here,’ he whispered. ‘C’mon, let’s do a circuit of this wonderful place.’
She linked her arms around his neck and floated on his back as he swam gently round the perimeter of the pool.
Jacqui tried to appreciate the idyllic surroundings and the flattering interest that Damien was showing her, but she was still troubled. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jean-Luc. She loved her son and saw him as the centre of her life, and yet, she always had to send him back to his father, a man who no longer loved her, and in whom she had little interest other than their shared son. But he was a man who still affected her life. It had been her decision to leave and she lived with the consequences every day. One day, she thought, when Jean-Luc is more independent, he’ll decide where he really wants to be. But till then, would she ever be truly happy? Life, she thought, doesn’t always give you what you want.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ said Damien curiously.
‘They’re not worth that much,’ Jacqui replied with some effort, although she tried to sound light-hearted.
Refreshed, if damp, they all settled back into the four-wheel drive and Chester announced that they were going into an outlying community so he could drop off some parcels.
‘We can grab a h
amburger from the store there, is that okay?’
‘Do they do coffee?’ asked Sheila.
‘Mebbe instant stuff,’ said Chester doubtfully.
An hour later, Chester turned onto a dirt track which became a poorly made road.
A dusty ute coming in the opposite direction passed them, and a large family group in the back cheerfully waved and shouted.
They drove on further until a faded and graffiti-covered sign welcomed them to a small Aboriginal community. The battered sign said that alcohol was banned and gave a list of contact numbers to call in any emergency.
Children and dogs wandered beside the dirt road, staring at the visitors as the four-wheel drive drove slowly past them.
Jacqui was shocked by what she could see. Broken and damaged vehicles stood abandoned in the open landscape. An ancient sofa and several old chairs lay beside the road. The chairs had been claimed by some children, while an old man dozed in the sun on the sofa. The houses looked either half completed or vandalised, and yet families obviously lived in the unkempt residences for Jacqui could hear music and loud voices coming from inside them. In the yards, scrawny dogs sniffed at the fly-blown rubbish strewn everywhere.
Chester pulled up outside a small store, wire mesh covering its dusty windows. Next to the store was a petrol pump and a small locked-up tin shed.
As they got out of the four-wheel drive, small children, each holding a can of soft drink, silently watched them.
Chester took some packages from the rear of the vehicle and carried them into the store.
‘They got takeaway and drinks, if youse want something,’ he said.
‘I’ll get my camera,’ Damien said to Richie.
‘This is third world stuff. I can’t believe that Australians still live like this,’ said Sheila angrily. ‘This is disgraceful.’
‘It’s just awful,’ agreed Jacqui. ‘Isn’t there a school for these kids, Chester?’ she asked, following him inside the little shop.
‘Used to be. Teacher quit. Always trouble in this place. Friend of mine used to drive the kids to the art mob more than two hours away. They got a school there, but these kids ran away all the time.’