by Cara Shaw
Weena put down her work.
“Balin, what’s wrong? Why are you angry with me?”
“Why do you spend so much time with Narramaroo? You are my wife. I want you here with me, in my gunyah!” burst out Balin.
Weena hid a smile.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I’m lonely Weena!” he shouted.
The other tribe members were beginning to stare at them and whisper about their squabble.
“You belong here in our gunyah, not over at Narramaroo’s camp,” he kicked at the ground gloomily.
“I see. It’s just that I feel responsible for her Balin, Narramaroo is my relation,” said Weena.
“How?” he said shocked.
“We’ve discovered that she is my cousin’s daughter,” she gave him a cheeky grin. “Spirit at work, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t care Weena. I don’t like this new set up. If you and Narramaroo have to be together all the time – and I don’t see why,” he said meanly, “she and the girls can move into this camp. I’m sick of being alone all the time!” and he jumped up and stalked away, his big head of knotty hair bouncing on his shoulders.
Weena went back to work on her needles and giggled, how easy men are she thought; she would go and tell Narramaroo to bring her things over and she smiled with satisfaction. By the time Balin returned very late that afternoon, Narramaroo’s gunyah was set up and the girls were running around the campfire playing. Balin’s heart swelled a little; now his camp was looking more like a family. He sat down on the ground regally and crossed his arms, proudly lifting his chin. Narramaroo glanced at him from her spot next to Weena.
“Hello Balin,” she said in greeting.
“Hello Narramaroo. Welcome to our camp.”
He felt gratified, he was head of his own camp now and he was enveloped with a sense of importance.
“What did you bring us?” asked Narramaroo, barely containing her mirth.
“What?” he looked at her in alarm.
“What did you bring us? Where have you been? We thought you were out hunting for our dinner,” she said.
All four of them, Weena, Narramaroo, Kooloona and Wyomee gazed at him with big round eyes.
“Oh,” said Balin, stumped. “Wait a moment. I’ll be right back,” and he sidled off.
Weena and Narramaroo laughed gleefully. They had been planning this move between them for days. It would have been inappropriate for either Weena or Narramoo to ask Balin outright if she could move in, so they had hatched a plan to make Balin think it was his idea. Balin had been so cranky that afternoon that he had forgotten all about hunting and had spent his time on target practice instead. He thought quickly and then headed over to the men’s camp. He saw Burrandoo crouching down next to a large grey kangaroo and an emu, his bounty from earlier that day.
“Hello cousin,” said Balin cheerfully. “I see you made a good hunt today!’’
Burrandoo eyed him suspiciously and carried on cutting up and dividing the meat.
“Very fine.” said Balin. “You have plenty of good food. You are fortunate.” Balin sat back on his heels and waited.
“Did you not hunt today Balin?” grumbled Burrandoo.
“Today? No. I have had women problems my friend,” and he sighed dramatically.
“So I’ve heard,” muttered Burrandoo, and after first securing Balin’s promise to hunt the next day and repay the favour, he handed him the kangaroo’s tail and an emu leg.
Balin returned to his camp with the game in a good mood, humming and feeling lighter in himself. As he approached, Weena and Narramaroo smiled widely in greeting and the little girls jumped around him hoping to be picked up and cuddled. He laid the food next to the women and lifted the girls into his arms, and he felt good. Very good indeed.
All went well at Balin’s camp for some time. He and Weena moved back into their gunyah and retired together there every night. Narramaroo and her children slept in their gunyah a little further away and they all sat at the same campfire. Balin and Narramaroo shared the hunting duties, which ensured they were all well provided for and functioned as a strong family unit. One afternoon when Balin was returning from the creek, he noticed that Wowhely and Weena were engaged in an intense discussion. When he walked by they ceased speaking until he was out of earshot, and then they began again. Weena returned to camp disgruntled and quiet, and when he asked her if anything was wrong she glared at him. That night after dinner she slept with Narramaroo in her gunyah, and did not come back for a few nights.
When she did finally return, just as out of sorts as when she had left, Balin asked, “What on earth is wrong with you Weena? Why are you behaving so coldly?”
Weena gave him an angry look.
“Why are you so stupid Balin?” and went to bed in a huff.
Balin shook his head, completely confused. Then Narramaroo began behaving in a stand-offish way. Whenever he came near her, she walked away. If he attempted to speak with her, she answered in monosyllables, Balin felt as if he were going mad. He could not for the life of him work out what was wrong with the women in his camp, and totally fed up, went to find Wowhely.
Wowhely lived in the men’s camp. His wife had died a long time ago, and even his daughter was now an elder. He sat mostly with the other men practising songs, telling stories and teaching the younger tribe members Duradjuri law. Balin went to sit with him at his campfire, and felt the tension that had surrounded him over the past two weeks ease away. Wowhely was singing and drawing in the dirt, locking together the physical and the supernatural with simple movements.
“Welcome Balin,” said Wowhely peacefully.
Balin handed him the small coolamon of honey he had collected especially for him as a treat. The old man beamed at him, “Thank you!” he exclaimed, and he dug his fingers into the sweet stuff eagerly.
“Wowhely,” Balin said. “There’s discord at my camp, and I don’t know what to do.”
Wowhely was licking his fingers with relish.
“What is it?” he said.
Balin sighed. “The women hate me. They won’t speak to me and they will have nothing to do with me. Although,” he said disagreeably, “I notice they don’t mind eating all the food I bring home.”
“Mmnn,” said Wowhely. “Do you know of any reason they might be unhappy?”
Balin thought hard, and came up with nothing.
“No. My conscience is clear. I think they have cooked up some kind of resentment towards me. Why? I am good to them. I don’t beat them and they’re well provided for.” Balin was puzzled, “I’ve seen you talking to Weena recently, what has she been saying?”
Wowhely was quiet for a moment and then said, “All I know Balin, is that Narramaroo is Kumaroi and once Weena was too – until she married and became Duradjuri,” and he went on eating his honey.
“What on earth has that got to do with it?” Balin said, and thinking that the old man had finally gone senile, got up and strode back to camp.
When he got there both Weena and Narramaroo greeted him with large smiles. At last he thought, the women have returned to normal, and he sighed with relief.
Narramaroo got up and ran towards him.
“Did you speak with Wowhely?” she asked excitedly.
“Er… yes,” he replied cautiously.
“What did he say?” said Weena, just as pleased.
“He said that Narramaroo is Kumaroi, and that once you were as well, that is until you married and became Duradjuri,” repeated Balin dutifully.
“Well,” said Weena with a broad smile. “That is very good news.”
“Ah yes. Yes it is,” said Balin, “I think I’ll go hunting then…”
“Of course, of course,” said both the women bustling around the camp. “You must go hunting, we’ll see you later.”
; And Balin wandered off into the bush, utterly confounded. He put the whole incident out of his mind and when he returned with a snake and a couple of possum, Weena took it and proceeded to cut it up and place it in various coolamons.
“What are you doing?” said Balin surprised. Usually the food was just left until they were ready to cook it.
“Oh” she said helpfully. “This is for you to take down to the billabong. Narramaroo is waiting there for you.”
“Um,” said Balin, “I see.”
Weena handed him a large coolamon and ushered him off. Balin, tired of trying to understand what the women were doing, just did as he was told and took the coolamon to the billabong. When he came into the sheltered area he saw that a little camp had been set up, and Narramaroo was sitting patiently next to the fire. When she heard the crunch of leaves and sticks, she looked up at him with such a look of desire that a bolt of sexual want hit him like a shooting star.
“I have been waiting for you,” she said softly and she stood. Balin put down the food, suddenly clear about all the strange events happening in his camp over the past few weeks. He gathered her in his arms and caressed her breasts and she sighed longingly.
“I’m so sorry Narramaroo. I believed all this time that you were still in love with Munderah. I never thought that you might want me.”
“No Balin,” she said, “I’m sorry too. It’s taken me a long time to heal, and you’ve been very patient. I am ready now, and…” she dropped her head shyly.
“And what?” he said in a teasing voice.
“And I would like it very much if you would consent to being my husband.”
Balin ran his big rough hands over her delightful body and whispered, “The answer is yes Narramaroo. I would be honoured to be your husband,” and they hugged each other very tightly as if finally, they had come home and knew that they would never be apart again.
They spent the night laughing and making love, and when they awoke in the morning, they were surrounded by dozens of blue butterflies, perching on branches and leaves and rocks, opening and closing their wings to warm them in the early morning light.
Narramaroo looked at them in amazement. ”You know what that means!” she said to Balin, and he nodded, knowing that they would be blessed with another child very soon.
The pair returned to the camp holding hands, their faces wreathed in smiles. Weena was waiting joyfully there for them, carrying Wyomee in one arm and holding hands with Kooloona with the other.
“I see things went well?” she said cheekily.
Balin hugged her, “Yes Weena, all is well. Narramaroo is a proper Duradjuri woman now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” said Weena, “You only have one problem left.’’
“Oh no,” cried Balin “What’s that?” he said.
“Now you have two wives instead of one!” and they all laughed.
Balin, Weena and Narramaroo went to the communal campfire that night to tell everyone their news and there was much slapping on the back and joking around.
“Took you long enough,” said Wowhely.
“Is that what all the arguing between you and Weena was about?” asked Balin.
“Yes.” said Wowhely. “Usually the situation you all found yourselves in requires Narramaroo to be your wife, not simply Weena’s relation. That’s the law. When I informed her of this she became very upset. She loves Narramaroo like a daughter and was afraid of losing her. The fact is Narramaroo needed to marry into this tribe in order to stay. Weena told her this and said she had to look for a husband.”
Balin was intrigued. ‘’What happened?’’
“Narramaroo told Weena she was in love with you and would be more than happy to marry you. Weena agreed, but you were oblivious and carried on as if everything was ordinary. Poor Narramaroo and Weena, you were driving them mad with your blindness!”
Balin smiled, “I thought they had gone mad!” and he looked over at Narramaroo who was chatting with some of the others. “I feel very fortunate.”
Wowhely followed his gaze. “You are lucky Balin. Narramaroo is a beautiful woman – many of the men here were willing to marry her. You are the strongest warrior in this tribe and they didn’t approach her as they were afraid of upsetting you. She would have nothing to do with them, her behaviour has been exemplary.”
Balin felt incredibly proud and also grateful to his new wife for proposing to him. He slapped Wowhely on the back. “All is well,” he said.
That night the tribe stayed up very late to sing and dance; to tell stories and share food; gathered together as one to celebrate the couple’s love and the new child, who would only strengthen the bonds they had with each other and serve to improve all their lives.
The next day Balin emerged from their gunyah after another long night of lovemaking and talking to find Wyomee standing in front of him with her arms crossed defiantly.
“What is it?” he said in alarm.
“Are you sleeping in the same gunyah as Mummy?”
“Yes,” he replied warily.
“Are you my Daddy now?”
Balin swallowed, he had no idea why he felt so anxious.
“Yes. Yes I am.”
Then Wyomee did something very babyish. She lifted her arms in the air – her usual signal for him to pick her up, which he did. She curled her little legs up on to his chest, popped her thumb in her mouth and rested her head against him.
“Daddy,” she said contentedly.
Balin nuzzled the curly ringlets on top of head and inhaled her childish scent, and felt his heart constrict with love.
Chapter Eight
The Duradjuri were moving camp. Although they lived in one of the most beautiful areas west of the mountains, the cool months could be harsh and each year the tribe migrated to a regular camp further north. They would stay there for the next three months in gunyahs that were heavily built up and set very close together for warmth and protection from the cold. This seasonal migration was an integral part of the tribe’s annual cycle and they made preparations to make their current camp sustainable upon their return. The men hunted daily for possum, and everyone took part in scraping back and stretching out the hides to dry. The younger women cooked up the meat and the older ones sewed the hides together to make warm cloaks. Later these would be worn slung over their shoulders, sometimes belted with more hide or with plaited sinew that was wound around the waist. The hide also provided bedding and covers when the mornings were bitterly cold, and people snuggled under them while they waited for the temperature to rise a little before starting the daily campfire. Everyone including the children wove very large dilly-bags from a special grass that when dried was fibrous and flexible. These were used to carry yams to the next camp, and were kept inside the gunyahs until they were ready to cook. They also wove panniers from the same fibre which were thick and hardy. These large shallow trays were used to collect an abundance of foods as the tribe walked. Their winter camp would also be ready with yams and reeds and certain bush foods that had been sown the previous winter, and in this way the Duradjuri would harvest food as they needed it during the cool weather.
Everyone was busy packing up and preparing for the walk, including Balin, Weena, Narramaroo and the girls. The children were very excited and jumped around helping with their own little tasks, and for some reason kept seeking out Balin to offer him tiny gifts. These he earnestly attached to his belt or wound into his hair, and each time they ran away proud that they had given him something of importance. Narramaroo glanced at him and smiled every time they did this, and placed her hand on her belly that was now rounding out nicely. Balin was proud; Wyomee and Kooloona were his daughters now, and he was still touched when they called him daddy. Another addition to his family would bond them even more closely, and he suspected that the coming child was another girl. Who would have thought that this was to be his desti
ny; surrounded by women – all of them soft and pretty, strong and capable and who made his life complete. At this moment in time the Duradjuri tribe was strong. There was a good balance of men and women, there was little fighting and the younger men either found wives within the group, or went for a long walk to fetch a wife back to the camp as he had done. Wowhely had advised him that diversity within a tribe kept it strong and healthy, and some tribes ended up with many problems by not following the marriage law, resulting in children who were born with strange oddities or deformities. Balin had never seen this himself, although he trusted Wowhely and the other older men to conduct law that would prevent unfortunate incidents like these.
After a week or so the whole tribe was ready. Weena had been leading the women’s camp in sowing the area with fruits and seeds taken from surrounding foliage, and dismantling the gunyahs and placing the remains around the site so that eventually the materials would be absorbed back into the bush. She and some of the others collected general camp equipment, cutting tools, stone axes, and coolamons that were too cumbersome to carry. They stacked these along with their grinding stones and flints, in a safe place and built a small cairn over them as a marker. Wowhely and another elder cleansed the site, sweeping it with branches and singing the leaving song. Then the female karandajina did the same, appeasing the female spirits who had resided in the women’s camp during the summer. When they had finished they walked around setting fire to everything and then left while the smoke and flames arced into the sky. They had been careful to wait until the conditions were right before commencing the burn, to allow the fire to spread too far and out of control would have caused damage instead of assisting the land to repair itself.
The burn was contained in the one area where they had lived for the past few months, so that everything would be completely revitalised and regenerated on their return. The tribe left and walked together casually as one large group. The younger warriors hung together, clowning around and making smutty jokes, careful to stay out of earshot of the older women who gave them withering looks and rolled their eyes. The younger, uninitiated women giggled helplessly when they were around and were coquettish and playful. The senior women shook their heads, remembering the days when they were just the same, constantly trying to catch the eye of a dashing male only to find that after marriage, they were just as clingy and demanding as any of their children. The walk was to take two days and two nights, and the tribe settled into their first camp late in the afternoon. The warriors went out to hunt and returned at dusk with three large wambuwanay, which were cooked up and consumed quickly by the hungry travellers.