by Steve Hawke
Turning a corner, all she can see is numbered guest rooms on either side of the corridor, and a brick wall at the end. She tries one door, and a second. Both are locked. The third one gives. Without knocking, she barges in.
A startled Japanese couple look up from unpacking their suitcases. ‘Sorry, excuse me, sorry,’ she apologises as she edges past them and out onto their balcony. She swings out from the railing, grabs hold of a drainpipe, and shins down to ground level, jumping the last few feet. With the briefest of glances over her shoulder she sees the astonished couple staring down. Then she is off and running. She realizes she has left her sandals behind, but it is too late to worry about that.
When she is nearly home, Janey stops to catch her breath and think. Or try to think. She can’t. All she can do is grin as she pulls the envelope out of her pocket. She takes out the pendant and feels its familiar shape and smooth surface. She kisses it, then clutches it tight as she walks the last hundred metres.
She pauses in the driveway and listens. All is silent. Jimmy can’t have made it back yet or there would be noise and action aplenty. She makes her way across the backyard and sees Bella asleep in her rocking chair, with no sign of Nyami Micky anywhere. She creeps up onto the verandah, and ever so carefully eases the chain over Bella’s head, and arranges the pendant on her breast.
She sits down to wait.
18
THE DREAMERS’ TOUR had gone even better than they had hoped. The only drama had been the phone calls from Janey about Big Al and the launch of his plan. Fifty kilometres out of Wyndham, with the day’s heat just starting to kick in, Andy gives a blast on the air horn as he turns onto the Gibb River Road. Dancer and Buddy lean out the window to wave at the Landcruiser as it keeps on rolling down the Great Northern Highway taking the rest of the Dreamers home to Broome. They lean back and grin at their dad as the three of them head off on their adventure.
Andy has told them their destination, but little else. They are heading for Bullfrog Hole on the Richenda River, and it will take the best part of the day to get there. The kilometres roll easily by, with a huge cloud of dust roiling behind them. The boys can sense that Andy is feeling pleased with himself, and full of anticipation.
When they pull up for a lunch of crackers and cheese and billy tea, Dancer wonders aloud what is happening down in Broome. It will be Big Al’s launch in only an hour or two. Andy puts down his pannikin. ‘Boys, I’ve got a request. Don’t take this the wrong way, but whatever that bastard is up to, there’s nothing we can do about it right now. While we’re on the road what I’d like to do is just forget about Broome, forget about Big Al, and forget about all the humbug. Just for a day or two … fair enough?’
‘Fair enough,’ Buddy and Dancer answer simultaneously.
The sun is getting low when they finally turn off the Gibb River Road. The track hugs the contours of the land, two sandy strips with a low ridge of dusty, beaten grass between. It seems made for smaller vehicles, with tree branches crowding in, but Andy manoeuvres the truck easily and expertly.
The light is almost gone when a small mob of wild donkeys trots off with ears pricked and nervous backward glances. Andy turns onto an even fainter track and eases to a halt in a clearing.
Dancer and Buddy leap down from the cab, looking around curiously. Andy is sniffing the air and smiling broadly like a man who has arrived home.
‘Is this it?’ Buddy can’t keep the note of disappointment out of his voice.
Andy laughs as he tousles his son’s hair. ‘Just you wait Buddy boy.’ He points in the direction of a belt of taller trees the boys can just make out in the dim light. ‘The hole’s down that way. The morning light’s the best way to see it. I reckon we’ll make camp up here, and save it till then.’
The boys follow him round to the back of the truck. Andy springs up and throws three swags down, then passes the big battered old esky to Dancer. He turns on the headlights and sends them off to get firewood. By the time they return with armfuls of wood, he has the swags laid out, a few stones arranged for a fireplace, and is organising the cooking gear.
‘Stock camp style tonight boys,’ he grins, ‘but you just wait for tomorrow night’s feed.’
He starts cooking as soon as the fire is going. Sausages and tomato and unbuttered bread, and plenty of it. ‘Early to bed and early to rise out here,’ Andy tells the boys as he scrapes the leftovers into the fire. Soon he is stretched out on his swag, staring at the flickering flames with a dreamy smile.
He speaks quietly. ‘I love the nights here. It’s best in winter, middle of the dry. It gets bloody cold then you know. Three blanket job sometimes. But we’d snuggle down under them and just listen. The sounds carry for miles in the cold air. I reckon there’s even more stars that time of year.’
The chirring of crickets is almost constant. It is all around them, but it comes and goes, following some rhythm all of its own.
From time to time a mopoke calls, and from somewhere close comes a donkey’s braying sounds.
Dancer points out the winking red light of a jet, too high in the sky to be heard, as it inches its way through the myriad of stars. ‘Sydney to Singapore,’ Andy murmurs. ‘The route goes straight over here. I looked up the timetable once, and we used to be able to pick when they’d be coming.’
From far away the howl of a dingo just carries to them. And then from a different direction, slightly closer, the assertive bellow of a bull.
Andy chuckles. ‘I wonder if that could be old Harry. He was a big scrub bull we used to see all the time. Cranky bugger he was. You’d come round a bend and see him standing on the track. He’d snort and toss his head at you, letting you know who was boss.’
The boys steal a glance at each other. Andy is lying back now, staring up at the sky. ‘Nah, he must be finished now. Hope he died in his sleep, the old rogue. There’s not many of those old scrub bulls left these days boys. Between the bull catchers and the Ag Department’s chopper boys, blowing them all away. Them and the donkeys. You’ve got to come out to this sort of place to find ’em still.’
Andy sighs, and settles down into his swag. Soon his breathing slows, and the boys just hear his murmured good night, followed by a gentle snore.
Dancer sighs too. Buddy speaks quietly. ‘Did you hear how he kept saying we.’
‘Yeah.’
‘D’you want to go down and look at the hole? There’s enough starlight to find our way.’
‘Nah. Let’s do it Dad’s way Buddy.’
When Dancer wakes the next morning it is barely light. He lifts his head and sees that Andy’s swag is empty. He shakes Buddy awake.
The two of them follow the faint track down to the waterhole. Dancer spots him first and holds up a hand to make Buddy stop. He puts a finger to his lips, then points. Andy is sitting with his back to them, cross-legged on the sand by the edge of the water, still as a statue. There is not a sound as the light grows stronger.
A rainbow bee-eater, its vivid colours flashing, flits out of an overhanging branch and skims low over the water, only a metre or two from Andy. He picks up a stone as he gets to his feet. Murmuring something too low for the boys to hear, he tosses the pebble into the water. He is smiling when he turns around, even before he spots the boys.
They pick their way down the bank and join him on the sand. He stands between them, a hand on the shoulder of each of them as they look out over the waterhole. ‘This is it boys. Bullfrog Hole … My special place.’
They are at one end of a billabong that stretches out before them. The perfectly still water reflects the pale blue morning sky and the overhanging river gums and fig trees on either bank more clearly than a mirror.
After a quick breakfast they head back down to Bullfrog Hole. Following Andy’s instructions, Buddy scatters handfuls of chook pellets into the water. Andy then drapes the weighted edge of the throw net over his left shoulder, carefully picks up a handful of net, spreads his legs for balance, and with a graceful whirl, releases
it. The lead weights of the skirt spread, and the net hits the water in a perfect circle. Andy lets it settle to the bottom, then slowly draws it in, up onto the sand.
The sodden net is jumping and clicking with cherrabun, the big freshwater prawn of the northern rivers. The three of them pick through the net, careful to avoid the claws as they pluck the cherrabun out and toss them into the bucket. Buddy does a quick count. ‘Fourteen Dad! From one cast!’ The boys take turns after that, and soon the bucket is three-quarters full.
Where the sand shelves down into deep water they spread out with a handline each, and soon have a handful of bream. Andy calls Buddy over and points downstream to where the broad limb of a fig tree grows horizontally out over the water. ‘It’s nice and deep there Buddy. That’s where I used to catch the big ones. Just drop the line straight down, and you won’t have to wait long.’
Andy and Dancer watch him move up and along the bank, and then slither down to the branch Andy had pointed out.
Dancer is happy fishing, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere.
‘I’ve been waiting a long time to bring you here Dancer.’ Andy’s words are spoken so softly Dancer almost doesn’t catch them. He looks up. Andy is looking out over the water, not at him.
‘I’m a saltwater cowboy, like all the Jirroos. Your mum though …’
He pauses, and Dancer holds his breath.
‘… she was a freshwater lady. A Bunuba woman, from the river country. I showed you Imintji yesterday, hey, back down the road a bit.’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s where she was living when we met. Bunuba country runs all the way back down to Fitzroy Crossing. But she came from this top end, where they meet up with the Ngarinyin mob.
‘This was our special place, where we used to come. But it’s your special place too Dancer, in another way — an important way. This is your Unggurr.’
‘My what?’
‘Your Unggurr. It’s a Bunuba word. Your mother dreamed you here, before you were born. Bunuba way, that means you were running round this place when you were a spirit child. This is your spirit country.’
Dancer has dropped his fishing line and is staring at his father. He doesn’t know what to feel. This is so unexpected. At last, Andy turns to face him.
‘Before long you’re going to get the law for Jiir and Manburr, from your Nyami Buster. That’s your Jirroo side. But this place is part of your dreaming too.
‘One day you’ll get to know the people for this country — your mother’s people. I thought about calling into Imintji yesterday, but I wanted to bring you here first.’
Andy falls silent. He watches Dancer. Dancer shakes his head. This is hard to absorb. ‘Why haven’t you told me about this before?’
Now Andy looks away, back out over the water. ‘It’s hard for me to talk about son. For a long time all I wanted to do was forget.’ He wipes an eye. ‘Besides, you had to be ready. I’ve been talking to Buster, and watching you through all this humbug with Big Al. And I’ve been thinking a lot these last few weeks. I just figured it was time.’
Andy gets to his feet, brushing off sand. He looks at Dancer with a silly, awkward grin, blinking back tears. Dancer gets up too. He hugs Andy, awkwardly at first, and then fiercely.
There is a scraping sound, and then a splash. Dancer looks around and sees the plastic reel of his handline taking off across the waterhole, towed by an unseen fish.
‘Shit!’
He dives in and swims after the reel as Andy guffaws.
That night they lug the swags down and camp on the sand by the waterhole. They feast on fish and cherrabun until they can eat no more.
Andy tells the boys he’s been talking to Col and Eddie. They haven’t worked out all the details yet, but they’ve been thinking that perhaps they could put an extension onto the old house. ‘Maybe a couple of bedrooms and a kitchen. It wouldn’t be our own place exactly, not like on the block. But it wouldn’t be too bad would it?’
‘That’d be unreal Dad,’ Buddy exclaims.
Andy quickly starts to qualify things, not wanting to build hopes up too much. He hasn’t got anywhere like enough saved yet. It’ll take another year or two at least. They’ll have to get planning approval. But this washes over the boys, who can’t stop grinning at each other.
Andy fishes the last cherrabun out of the billy, shells it, and dangles it in front of Buddy, who shakes his head. Andy pops it into his own mouth and leans back. Buddy leans back too, propping himself on his elbows, and speaks dreamily. ‘If we found those diamonds Dad, you wouldn’t have to worry about money. We could build whatever we want.’
Andy laughs, and puts an arm around Buddy, pulling him in close. ‘Don’t worry about the diamonds Buddy boy. Your old man’s not beaten yet.’
Dancer has picked up his guitar and is quietly strumming while they talk. He had left Andy and Buddy to fish, and spent most of the afternoon wandering the banks of the waterhole in a happy daze, letting this new knowledge seep into him. Letting himself feel this place; his Unggurr. Thinking about his father, and his mother.
Now he picks out a phrase. And again. The phrases string together, hesitantly at first, then more smoothly, becoming a melody.
Andy and Buddy are watching him now.
He starts humming softly. He plays through the melody once more, then starts it again, this time singing in a voice they have to strain to catch.
Down the dusty track
Lies home sweet home
Out along the range
Where the wildflowers grow
Just up from Bullfrog Hole
Long tall grass
Is turning brown
Raging river
Slowed right down
Just a trickle in the sand
Take me back
To the Richenda country
Where the nights are so cold
And the wild dingoes call
Not a care in the world
Andy has caught the rhythm, and begins to tap it out as Dancer sings.
Long neck turtle
In the cool gilgai
Fish crocodile
See those eyes
Crickets in the night
Wedgetail eagle
Flies on high
White cockatoo
Hear those cries
Willy wagtail skites around
What a beautiful sound
Take me back
To the Richenda country
Where the nights are so cold
And the wild dingoes call
Not a care in the world
Harry the bull
He roams alone
His donkey mates
They all got blown
Choppers in the air
Bullets everywhere
Just up from Bullfrog Hole
Just a trickle in the sand
Crickets in the night
Not a care in the world
Not a care in the world
Andy, and then Buddy too, join in for the final chorus, singing just as softly.
19
SITTING ON BELLA’s steps, Janey tries to gather her thoughts. But it’s no easy matter. What will Bella say? What will Mum and Dad say? Why isn’t Jimmy back yet? And stronger than any of the questions, any of the fears, is a surging sense of pride at reclaiming Bella’s pendant.
When she sees Buster strolling down the driveway with Micky she feels a gush of relief. It is right that he should be the one to get the news and, hopefully, tell her what to do. Suddenly, with no warning, she finds herself bawling.
The nyamis rush to her, asking what is wrong, but she cannot stop. It is not until Buster hugs her tightly for a long minute, whispering soothingly, that the sobbing subsides enough for her to talk. All thoughts of putting any sort of gloss on the story vanish. She just tells it like it happened, describing the flash of intuition that hit her, and all that followed.
The two old men are gobsmacked. Too shocked to ask questions, they liste
n in silence until eventually she says with a sob, ‘But I don’t know if Jimmy’s okay.’ Buster draws her onto his lap and hugs her again.
Jimmy had run until he was absolutely sure he had left Michael far behind. Then he had doubled back by a different route and found himself a hiding spot where he could watch the entrance of the Bay View.
He could only assume that Mack had caught Janey up there, but he had no way of knowing. All he knew was that he had to keep watch. He was half expecting a police car to pull up at any moment.
He watched Big Al come to the entrance to see off all the dignitaries. The moment they left he saw Mack whispering urgently in Big Al’s ear, then the two of them headed back inside. He saw Kim ride off on her bike looking angry and tearful. He saw Georgie and Michael and Horse and Pony emerge, talking earnestly until they got into their cars and left. And he waited some more, until eventually he gave up and turned for home, sticking to the side streets, wondering what on earth he was going to say.
Turning into the driveway with a feeling of absolute dread, he hears Janey’s voice, and arrives just in time to hear her sob, ‘But I don’t know if Jimmy’s okay.’
He steps into the yard. ‘I’m okay cuz, what about you?’
Janey leaps off Buster’s lap, eyes shining.
But before she can say anything, a scream rings out from Bella.
Janey has to go through the story all over again for Bella and Jimmy. Bella cannot stop herself from leaning over every couple of minutes to hug Janey, each time squeezing out a few more happy tears.
By the time Janey has finished, evening is drawing in. Buster turns the pendant round and round in his hands, tracing the pattern engraved on it with a long finger. He is deep in thought as the others talk of what might happen next.
Except for Andy and his boys, the others are due back that night. Janey knows her parents will be thrilled by the recovery of the pendant, but she is terrified about how they might react to the way she got it. Bella promises she will stick up for her, but Janey can tell that she is wondering too. ‘It could be a long night, Janey. Let’s get some tucker into you two. Come and give me a hand.’