Mr Giles spoke to all of us as I finished hobbling the camels. ‘We need to find more water. I heard in Port Augusta there is a Mr Moseley out to the west of us sinking a well. Alec, take Taj tomorrow and see if you can find him. Saleh, you will work out how to carry these infernal casks better. That one on Rajah is slipping. I don’t want a lame camel. We will camp here for a few days.’
Jess Young shot more ducks. This time he waited with an odd grin fixed on his face until Padar had slit their throats and murmured the prayer. Then Padar took them to Peter to start cooking with Tommy’s help. Again, I helped him pull the feathers out of the last duck.
‘You yadu bundarn, good plucker,’ Tommy said.
I nodded at him, pleased that he’d spoken to me but I didn’t look into his eyes. I wasn’t sure that Tommy would really like me, since he rode so well in those races. And besides, I still thought I should have won the camel race.
That night we slept in the huts; it was a welcome change. But before I unrolled my blanket with Padar, I sat with Alec by the fire and practised my letters. Jess Young was sketching in his book. When I glanced across to his picture of the camels in the spinifex I couldn’t take my gaze away. It was as if I was standing in the desert with them. Khushi even had a half smile and Salmah was looking annoyed. He saw my interest and he cleared his throat. I thought he would say I shouldn’t watch him draw but there was something quite different on his mind. ‘Teaching the natives to read and write mightn’t be a good idea,’ he said above my head to Alec.
Alec straightened his back. ‘Any man may have the right to learn what he will.’
Jess Young had on that same smirk when Padar slit the throats of the ducks. ‘He won’t be able to string the letters together, you’ll see, old chap.’ Then he laughed. ‘It’s only camels he can string together.’
‘We’ll see,’ Alec replied, but he said it so low only I heard.
Mr Giles said Alec could ride Reechy to find Mr Moseley. If I were in a camel race I would ride Reechy: she is the fastest camel I have ever seen, faster than Salmah. Inshallah, God willing, Mustara will be as fast when he is fully grown.
After we had eaten our morning damper, Alec and I mounted and made off in the western direction. ‘It should be twenty-five miles,’ Mr Giles said. It will take us all day, I thought.
‘I’ll race you,’ Alec shouted when we were far enough away from the camp.
Mustara couldn’t outrun Reechy but it would be good to give him a gallop. Reechy and Alec pulled ahead of us immediately but I didn’t mind. I slapped Mustara’s hindquarters and he surged after them. It was much more fun than riding goats. I loved Mustara’s rolling rhythm, the wind shooting past us, the way I sat so high. Emmeline had said it was like touching the sky.
I kept Alec in sight, shimmering in the distant dust, and then after a few miles Alec slowed Reechy to a walk and waited for me.
‘What is it?’ I asked when we caught up.
Alec pointed up the track. I could see dust in the distance. Mustara twisted his head as I pulled gently on his nose rope. He didn’t want to stop.
‘What do you think it is?’
Alec took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his arm. ‘Someone coming.’
The distance between us soon shortened and a man on a horse hailed us. He had smiling eyes and a beard like Mr Giles’ but he had more hair. It was sticking out from under his felt hat. ‘Where are you headed?’ he called.
‘We’re looking for Mr Moseley,’ Alec said.
The man chuckled. ‘You’re in luck. I’m Moseley. I’m on my way to The Elizabeth.’
We rode back together but his horse was so skittish because of the camels that Mr Moseley had to push on ahead. At the camp Mr Giles quickly overcame his surprise to see us all back so soon. ‘Moseley, you must eat with us. Stay the night.’
Mr Moseley was happy with Peter’s duck soup. At the campfire he told us where he found water. ‘My men draw water from clay pans called Coondambo. It’s near the edge of Lake Gairdner. Just follow my horse’s tracks,’ he said, ‘and they’ll lead you to a well. The clay pans are seven miles farther on.’ It was as if he was inviting us to his home for a meal.
‘I’m glad to hear of the well.’ Mr Giles looked relieved. ‘The only water I know of nearby is at Wynbring, one hundred and seventy miles away.’ That seemed odd to me and for the first time I realised the meaning of ‘exploring’. Could it be possible that Mr Giles didn’t know where the water lay in the desert? Surely he wouldn’t have started on a long trek without finding out such an important thing?
Afterwards when we were drinking tea Jess Young took his concertina out. Mr Tietkens sang and the others joined in. They sang a song called ‘Billy Boy’. When Jess Young played, it made me think of Beltana and Emmeline. I fetched my tabla; I hoped no one would mind. When I returned Alec asked for a song from Scotland.
‘So you are a Scottish lad, Alec?’ Jess Young’s eyebrows rose.
‘My father was born there.’
‘The only Scottish one I know is “Loch Lomond”.’ It sounded an odd name for a song but Alec was pleased to hear it. The concertina began playing, and so did I on the tabla. Jess Young was surprised for an instant and then he relaxed when he heard I kept a good rhythm. When I glanced at Alec he was smiling at me as he sang but his eyes were watering. I pretended not to notice.
Alec leaned closer. ‘It’s about a lake.’ Already water was becoming a part of us. It wasn’t long before it consumed our thoughts and became our constant prayer.
When we found the well Mr Moseley had dug, his men were gone. ‘They must be digging elsewhere,’ Mr Giles said. Padar and I dropped a leather bag down to bring up some water. Padar checked it. ‘It is white water, Mr Gile.’
Mr Giles hurried over. ‘White?’ He put his hand in and sloshed some into his mouth. Padar and I watched while he swallowed, then Mr Giles smiled. ‘It’s good enough to drink. Bring more up.’
We drew enough water to pour into the canvas trough for the camels. There were bushes for them to eat and everyone, even Salmah, was in a good mood. I could hear Mr Giles reciting softly to Reechy.
When the work was done I practised writing my letters; Tommy came over. ‘What you doin?’ he asked.
‘Writing.’
‘Guba, white fellas’ words.’ It was an interesting comment. Did he mean I shouldn’t learn to write English? And why not? I had never thought of myself as black or white. But Tommy knew he was black. Mr Giles often called him his black boy.
‘Do you want to try?’ I asked.
Tommy was so horrified he put his hands up as if to push me away, so I kept writing with my pencil.
‘Writing English is good for business,’ I said with my head down. ‘One day I will have a camel string like Dost Razool, except the camels will be mine, not Mr Elder’s. Perhaps I will have a sheep station to keep the camels on.’
When I looked up Tommy had gone. He moved as quietly as a camel.
The next day we followed Mr Moseley’s horse tracks south-west. I was learning about directions. If Padar was in the desert at night he would know how to find home. He knows the moon and the stars and they tell him where to go. Mr Giles used his compass. Alec had one that was smaller than Mr Giles’ and he showed me how to read it. ‘See? You hold it until this needle points north. Then you know where you are.’
Even when the tracks were faint Tommy could tell where Mr Moseley’s horses had been. Whatever my misgivings about Tommy, he could track.
We soon came to the Coondambo clay-pans. The water was yellow and thick, and didn’t taste as good as the white water. ‘Taj,’ Mr Giles called. ‘Ask Peter for a billy and fill the casks.’ I tried giving some to Mustara but none of the camels wanted to drink again so soon. I didn’t like the yellow water. When Peter made the tea with it, it curdled.
‘It would be all right to drink
if you don’t put sugar in. It’s the sugar which causes the problem,’ Mr Giles told us at the campfire.
‘Who can drink tea without sugar?’ Jess Young said. ‘It’s bad enough without milk.’ He actually scowled.
Mr Giles didn’t say any more about tea to Jess Young.
We didn’t stay long at the claypans, and the day afterwards we camped in a scrubby area. There was a rocky hill which was good to climb to see ahead, but it was difficult for the camels. There was a little water on the rocks, maybe a few gallons, but the camels had to climb over the rocks to get it. I was afraid Mustara would break a leg, scrambling for it.
At least we managed to collect some pure water to drink for our tea. Alec and I laughed as we emptied out the dreadful yellow water from the Coondambo clay-pans. ‘At least we won’t have to carry that any more,’ he said.
Then I heard Mr Giles talking to Tommy. ‘This is your country, Tommy. Aren’t you glad?’
Alec heard too. ‘This is the same track that Mr Giles, Peter and Mr Tietkens travelled earlier this year from Wynbring. Tommy was with them.’ Alec called out to Tommy. ‘Will you be going home?’
‘This fella close to home country,’ Tommy said but he didn’t look happy. Would he leave? It was strange because the relief that I thought I’d feel didn’t come.
That night some of the men were thinking about Mr Giles’ last trip in the area. Jess Young asked him about it. ‘Was it difficult to find water?’ It was a subject that weighed heavily on more minds than I realised.
Mr Giles took up the story. ‘I will tell you about William, Peter, Tommy and me. Earlier this year we took three horses and two camels–’
‘T’were difficult having the horses and camels together,’ cut in Peter. ‘The horses were terrified of ’em. And the cow I were riding,’ he shook his head, ‘if I beat her she lay down, bellow, spit and roll over on her saddle. She looked fit to die then and there.’
Jess Young chuckled.
‘Yes, those two camels certainly gave us some trouble,’ Mr Giles said. I glanced at Padar. If Mr Giles had had Padar with him they would have been no trouble at all. ‘But Tommy here, he didn’t give us any trouble.’ Mr Giles laid his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. ‘He found the way to Wynbring. How he did that with no compass or any advantages of science I have no idea, perhaps because his imagination is uncluttered.’
Tommy was smiling at Mr Giles but I wasn’t sure that Mr Giles had said a good thing. Yet there was something between Mr Giles and Tommy which must have come from sharing hardships together: a certain respect that I recognised for it is what Afghan ways are built upon.
Mr Giles’ voice took on a different tone. ‘The last horse, Formby, was so struck by thirst that he put his head into the campfire one night thinking it to be water. This upset me so much I gave him two quarts of water, after which he promptly died. I thought we would all follow in his wake. We only had three pints of water left.’
‘Mr Giles were never gloomy but that time he were close to despairing,’ Peter said quietly.
Mr Giles gave a small smile. ‘And Peter – he was delirious and throwing his hat into the air and shouting “water” where none existed.’
We laughed at that, then stopped as Mr Giles carried on. ‘Even the camels looked to have only a day’s life left in them, their humps had shrunk.’
‘So how did you survive such a damnable situation?’ Jess Young frowned at Mr Giles.
‘I saw a whitish light through the mulga and came upon an enormous clay pan. At the end of the channel was yellow water.’ Mr Giles stared out into the darkness as if he could see that light.
‘And you didn’t know it was there? It wasn’t based on a scientific bearing?’ Jess Young asked.
Mr Giles shook his head.
‘A miracle,’ Alec murmured.
Padar and I glanced at each other. Padar even took his pipe from his mouth. He does that when he thinks carefully. God is merciful and great, but all the same, that story made me nervous.
The sixteenth day of June was a dreadful day. Mr Giles was riding on ahead when Tommy jumped off Salmah and raced after Mr Giles.
‘Maadha! Boss!’ he called. ‘Me find big gabi, makka minya, not little watta.’ Tommy led us all to the spot. There was some rainwater lying in the rocks. Mr Giles frowned when he saw it. It wasn’t ‘big’ water at all, but the camels licked it up, so we camped there.
Mustara was eating a low growing tree with leaves like green fringes. Mr Giles said it had a look of fennel but I had never seen it before nor heard of fennel. By the time we had finished our supper, Mustara began groaning. Not his usual camel talk – this was fearsome.
It reminded me of Sher Khan, a magnificent breeding bull we had at Beltana when I was younger. One night after he had been in the desert he groaned like Mustara. He was my mother’s favourite, and Padar tried to help him, but Sher Khan didn’t survive.
‘Padar, what can we do?’
He stood to go to Mustara but he hesitated and laid his hand on my head. If we couldn’t save Sher Khan at Beltana what hope had we to save Mustara in the desert? My feelings must have shown. ‘Do not fear, beta. We will do all we can. Mustara is in the hands of Allah.’
We went together to comfort Mustara. He couldn’t even stand; he was like a newborn calf, his legs crumbling beneath him. I patted his neck and talked to him while Padar pressed his hand into Mustara’s middle. It made Mustara bellow. ‘Butter,’ Padar muttered. ‘Get butter and mustard.’
When I brought some back from Peter, Padar told me what to do: ‘Heat it and mix it with water.’
I held a billy over the campfire, stirred the mixture and let it cool. It smelt vile but I carried it to Mustara and rolled a piece of leather into a cone. That way I forced the mixture down his throat while Padar held his mouth open. I doubt Padar would have been strong enough if Mustara had been fully grown. I was surprised how much he fought. Most of it poured in until he closed off his throat and blew out the rest.
I waited, praying it would work. Then I heard a gurgle in Mustara’s stomach. ‘Quickly!’ Padar helped me steady Mustara while he vomited up a green mess. Poor Mustara. We waited, listening to his groaning. I didn’t think I could bear it any longer when there came a sound like a flash flood tearing down a dry creek bed. A pile of evil smelling mess oozed out under Mustara’s backside.
Oh, what if he died? Allah, be merciful. But Allah has ideas of his own; he never answered my prayer when my mother went away. I forced those thoughts out of my mind. It was Mustara I had to think of now.
Mustara’s groaning stopped but I couldn’t tell if it was because the pain was less or because he was weaker. His bottom lip hung straight down; I had never seen it do that before. I knelt beside him while Padar checked on the other camels. Mustara laid his neck on the ground and stayed very still.
Later, Alec walked over with his book and a candle. ‘How is he?’ I recognised the concern in his voice and didn’t know how to answer. It was up to God if Mustara lived or died. Talking about it wouldn’t help.
‘Mustara is a clever camel.’ Alec said it so softly and kindly that I buried my face in Mustara’s fur. God was merciful in the dust storm at Beltana, perhaps he would be again. Padar said all the camels were special but even he thought Mustara was more special than most. Mustara was going to be the sire of the herd I would breed later on – a bull like Sher Khan.
Alec put both his arms around me and held me tightly as Afghan men do. It squeezed the tears from me and then he left. I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I lay next to Mustara, in case he needed help in the night.
Mustara didn’t die overnight, Al hum du lillah, Praise be to God, but he wasn’t out of the woods either as Peter put it. Two bulls, Malik and Rajah, were also sick in the morning. Mr Giles called the plant gynostemn. He said a few other words too, words that I’d heard a stockman at Beltana say when a horse
kicked him. Malik and Rajah were not as sick as Mustara. Padar said it was because they were bigger. Mustara’s eyes looked at me as if I wasn’t helping him enough; I could barely stand it.
He had struggled to his feet that morning but what if he couldn’t keep up with the string? Port Augusta was too far away for us to travel back by ourselves. Malik and Rajah were groaning when Mr Giles came to inspect them. He pulled on his moustaches and strode back and forth, watching them. ‘What will happen to us without the camels? Oh, how I longed for camels,’ he said.
‘We must stay another day for the bulls to regain their strength but we cannot risk the others eating that infernal plant.’ Mr Giles fixed his gaze on me and I forced myself not to look away. ‘Taj, you watch the camels. If any of them stray near that outcrop of poisonous plants shoo them off.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Then he did something unexpected. He brought his hand down onto my shoulder. It made me feel that Padar had just laid his hand on my head in blessing. ‘I hope Mustara gets better, Taj. He is a fine camel.’
I could hardly say thank you, I was so astonished he would speak to me like that. All day Mr Giles strode up and down, and continually watched the camels even though he had ordered me to do it.
The next morning I awoke and wondered what I would find. Mustara was my first concern but when I greeted him, he grunted with his usual affection. I couldn’t help laughing. Alec heard me and immediately came over. ‘I’m so glad he’s better, Taj.’
Malik and Rajah growled when I checked on them but they too were mending. There were no fresh cases of poisoning and Mr Giles was so relieved he gave an instant order to leave. It was difficult to concentrate on what I was to do. My brain was like sand trickling through a crack in the ground. Padar had to tell me twice to round up the well camels and help load the bags onto them.
Taj and the Great Camel Trek Page 5