“It can’t be?!” he said horrified.
Elizabeth ripped the poster from the pole and turned to him, all the while burning with rage. “Who did this?!”
Before he could reply, Allister had to brace her by the shoulders to help keep her composure. She was so upset that she was already hyperventilating.
Luckily, they didn’t have to walk very far until they reached the beginnings of a free flowing stream. Donovan helped Neji gather a pile of rocks so that they could form a fire pit. With every instruction, Donovan listened and was eager to participate. Once they had enough rocks stacked around the small circle, Neji took a stick and scraped a rock against it until all of the bark had peeled away. Then he took a string of leather and looped it around the stick so that he would shift it back and forth quickly, into the loose and scrunched up straw. Donovan watched as he continued to quickly friction the stick back and forth until some smoke appeared. Then he leaned in and blew between his cupped hands and took another bunching of straw and ignited it with the flame from the other. They had fire. Donovan cheered at the discovery and Neji laughed.
“Never made a fire before, my friend?” he questioned.
“No,” Donovan shook his head. “I’ve never even cooked anything before,” he laughed to his own amusement. “Tell me what to do,” he suggested.
So Neji tossed the bird by the legs to Donovan and told him to start pulling out the feathers. Donovan sat on the ground and took to it. At first he had removed a feather or two at a time, and then became aggressive over the challenge and started removing them several at a time, while Neji continued to stoke the fire and added sticks of wood. By the time Donovan had finished plucking the bird, Neji had found another portion of a limb that forked into a v-shape and twisted it into the ground next to the fire pit. He took another leather string and wrapped it around the feet of the bird, and then tied it to a stick as well.
“Watch this,” he demonstrated as he took matters into his own hands, as he tied another longer stick to the strap of leather. After wedging the stick into the fork of the other, he sat back and held onto it like a fishing pole, as the bird dangled over the fire. “This ‘ll make a good roast,” he declared.
Donovan was pleased as he sat back and watched as the flames licked the skin and began to sizzle over the heat.
“I’m glad you decided to help me,” he said. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t bothered.”
Neji just motioned a slight wave of his hand. “You don’t have to thank me, mate. This is what we do around these parts, is help each other. Besides, I was getting hungry too,” he laughed.
Donovan laughed too. And within a short time, the meat had blackened and was ready for consumption.
Neji removed it from the flames and removed a knife from the small pouch around his waist. Then he cut off a leg quarter and handed it to Donovan.
Donovan insisted, “You first.”
Neji shrugged and sank his teeth into the steaming fowl. “It’s good,” he gestured.
“Yeah?” Donovan questioned out of curiosity. “What does it taste like?”
Neji took another bite and replied, “hawk.”
Donovan smirked and tried it for himself. The bird had a gamy flavor and was in need of some spice, but he just pretended it was duck, as his brain began to process clearly again.
“So..,” he asked as Neji went for a wing, “Do you go to school?”
“Went to school—up to three months ago,” Neji smacked. “Now I’m learnin’ to live off the land, just like my father and the rest of my clan.”
“You’re kidding,” Donovan’s interest was aroused. “You mean you used to live in the city?”
“Not exactly, but close enough. The bush is better,” he said reflectively.
Donovan didn’t know what to say. He recalled seeing some of the more run down parts of town where people were living in metal buildings and government shanties, and he tried to visualize the comparison in his mind. Looking up he saw the expanse of blue sky, the hedge of lush green behind them, mountains to climb, and freedom to roam and explore. To him it may have been untamed wilderness, but to Neji, an extended backyard.
Finishing off the bone, he sucked it dry and tucked it into his small leather pouch that criss-crossed his shoulder and chest.
“Is that for luck?” asked Donovan.
“No, mate,” he replied. “It’s part of my initiation into manhood. I keep a part of every kill to take back to the elders.”
Donovan had a hard time grasping it all. The fact that Neji hunted as a part of every day life when he was rarely able to walk into the kitchen without Miss Lucia scooting him along, didn’t seem fair. He wouldn’t be considered an adult until he had lived twice that long.
“Well.., what else do you have to do?” he asked, even more curious than before.
Neji studied Donovan for a moment and wondered if he should be revealing such secretive information, before deciding that it was probably common knowledge by now. After all, his ancestors had been doing similar rituals for thousands of years.
“Well, it’s like this,” he added. “I go to different sacred sites and take back things that are hidden for the corroboree.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like this spear..,” he proudly rubbed the tip with his fingers, deciding that he would keep the rest to himself for now.
Donovan was interested, but puzzled. “How long does it take to find all of things that you have to take back?”
“’Bout three days. I’m on a walkabout, discovering the meaning of the Dreamtime for myself,” never really offering more than was asked for. Then his eyes narrowed in on the white boy, “Why did you follow me?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I guess it seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
“Where’s your family?” remarked Neji.
“It doesn’t matter. They won’t be back until the end of the week anyway,” Donovan shrugged.
“Why didn’t they take you with them?” Neji asked, and thought they must have left him at the park.
“Because they didn’t want me to go with them. That’s why,” his expression grew hard as he thought about his parents being on the other side of the continent. Then there was Preston and Viola. He thought about how he shouldn’t have left them behind like that and he felt guilty over it. He was also worried about what they must be thinking happened to him. Then he admitted, “Truth is.., I got here by accident and I don’t even know how go get back.”
Neji took a stick and slapped at the simmering blaze, before kicking it out with sand. He couldn’t imagine his own family leaving him anywhere. They were very close and always looked out for each other.
“Sure you want to go back?” he asked.
Donovan raised an eyebrow. It had simply been a question of finding the path back to civilization, but now that he had a taste of what independence was really about he wanted to think about it.
He wasn’t too sure about the answer, but he said it anyway, “I don’t know.., maybe it’s time that I discovered the meaning of life for myself.”
Neji agreed with a nod and a smile. “Alright then, but I think we better come up with a new name for you. If you want to become part of a clan, then you need a new name.”
Donovan nodded in agreement. “I just don’t want any name though. It’s got to be a cool one” he interjected.
Neji looked around and then back at Donovan. “I should call you Tarka.”
“Why, Tarka?” questioned Donovan. “What does it mean?”
“Well,” thought Neji. “You’re skin is white like egg shells and even though egg shells are very fragile, like the limp you are walkin’ on, they seem to hold up pretty well under pressure. So it’s not an insult, but more of an expression about your outer shell.”
Donovan thought about it and shook his head. “If I’m going to be a man now, I want a real name
that isn’t about who I am now, but what I’m in the process of becoming. I want a warrior’s name.”
Neji thought about it some more. “Then what is it that you want to do? What do you want to be your greatest strength?”
Donovan looked around at the land, the mountains and the sky. Then he focused in on Neji’s spear. “I want to be a great spear thrower,” he replied.
Neji grinned with a greater inclination of his new mate’s spirit. “Okay then. You will be Miro, the great spear thrower, but you will have to earn it.”
This gave Donovan a sense of encouragement. “Miro, hmmm. I will be called Miro, from here on out.”
Both were pleased with the new name and with the prospect of the challenges to come. Donovan thought about his new dark skinned companion and asked, “Then what does Neji mean?”
“It is simple,” he replied. “Elder brother.” “It is also my father’s name,” he laughed.
“I have always wanted an older brother,” added Donovan. “That is what I will think of when I say your name.”
“All right then,” Neji answered. “Now that we have it all settled we should continue on, since there is a lot for you to learn. It will be getting dark before we reach the caves.”
Donovan looked at the thorny devil and before he could say anything, Neji tied more leather string around its hind legs so that he could carry it with ease. Then he tossed it over his shoulder and they continued on an unmarked path of sandstone and red clay dirt. Getting to the caves before dark would be important. It would provide safe cover from all that prowled under the night sky.
Chapter Twelve
The dim fluorescent panels flickered overhead as disparaging wails swam at Preston from beyond the steel gates. Though it was only a moat of barbed wire that surrounded the modern facility, haunting thoughts of being thrown into a dungeon where a hunched ax-man awaited, succumbed him. It was just the county jail.
Nor was it a medieval barbarian thrusting him forward by the hair of his head, but a thin balding man in uniform with thick glasses that kept him moving forward by the butt of a billy-stick, which was rammed into the core of his spine.
Ever since he had been taken into custody, the patrolman had been biting bits of sarcasm with a sardonic grin. Aussie slang was as foreign to Preston as the dictate that held him there, but he knew that this one was out to make an example of him. And if it wasn’t for the bottom about to drop from his gut, he would have tried to run for it. It was all he could do to make the six remaining steps as he struggled to stay on his feet.
The sudden bout of nausea was sweeping over him in waves, which wasn’t so much due to the night before, or even the morning after, but the overwhelming stench of body odor and urine that clung to every plastered wall of the compound he was entering.
“Temporary insanity!” he pleaded as the skinny man dug the end of the billy a little deeper into his back, sending him to the floor of the holding cell as the cage door slammed shut. As soon as he hit bottom, his hands landed in a warm puddle, and when he turned to the row of bars, the guard laughed while looping the keys around his belt.
“Should’ve kept your sticky-beak in the Kingdom. That’ll teach ya,” he mocked.
“Easy on ‘em blokes. This one’s dinki-di,” as the shiny brown boots faded from view.
“Wait!... You can’t leave me here!” Preston sobbed ridiculously. “No.., it can’t be..,” he added to the moans next door as he tried envisioning a sane return to his homeland.
Instantly, he was brought back to the present by a deep guttural grunt coming from behind. Inching backwards, his feet met the wall. He had no intention of turning around, but his only remaining choice was to look at the two cell-mates he would be spending the rest of his life with.
He vomited. Either the demons of his past had hideously transformed themselves into human form, or he was in hell.
The two hundred and ninety pound Irishman pumped the flabs of thick skin, which used to be biceps, sending the belly of the hula girl into a impregnated dance. The assortment of tattoos lined both arms, but the black figure carved on his forehead was vexing.
Preston’s curiosity met the Irishmans gaze as he tried to make out the image, but the folds of loose skin creased out the clarity when he grinned.
A yelp came from the gray haired Aborigine, who had a beard that puffed straight out. At the hem of his checkered pants leaked the trail of yellow that was now foaming at the base of the clogged metal drain.
He vomited again.
Even though the sun stopped shining for brief interludes, the blaze from Neji’s head was always there, glistening almost as bright as his bare behind that lead the way. The thought of exposing his own backside to the elements had crossed Donovan’s mind a time or two. The sopping wet khakis were rubbing his skin raw, and if it hadn’t been for the minion of ants that were cutting paths up his ankles, he would have forfeited the clinging pants long ago.
Neji was a serious woodsman. The way he moved and breathed through the bush was as though he was a part of the natural surroundings. His mannerisms demanded quiet concentration while he scanned each new opening, sighting bark for claw marks, sniffing the air for scents, and eyeing the scenery for shifts in pattern. He seemed to read the forest like a book, mapping his way to each destination.
After an hour or more of hushed silence, he finally broke into song in his native Gagadjuan tongue, as the narrow stream they had been following opened into the mouth of a river fork.
Donovan’s tired pace quickened as he heard the water rushing over the rocks beneath Neji’s somber tone. It was the best thing he had seen all day, and while kicking off his shoes, he limped over to the rivers edge, kneeling down to lap up some water.
“Wouldn’t do that, mate,” warned Neji. “Least not without checking it first.”
“Why not?” Donovan turned around, sensing danger.
“And I wouldn’t turn my back to those waters, either,” he added. ‘They don’t call it the Alligator River just ‘cause it sounds pretty.”
“I don’t see anything,” Donovan’s voice raised an octave as he scooted away from the bank.
“Over there,” pointed Neji. “Looks like a stump.., but see it go under.., and there, too,” he pointed again in another direction. “Watch it go under You just have to be on the lookout, that’s all.”
Suddenly, Donovan flashed back to the reptiles he had seen at the Crocodile Farm and the swagman holding his hand over the wall. He remembered the rangers warning about them sunning on the banks this time of year.
Looking down at his arms, he saw how the dirt had formed dark ringlets around the soft blonde hairs of his baked skin. “How does a person get cooled off around here?”
Neji went to a sandy spot of soil and sank his spear into it, tossed the prickly lizard into the shade and laid down on his back. Then he began rolling around. “Like this,” he demonstrated.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Donovan dropped onto the sand and waved his arms in the compacted granules. “Just like making angels in the snow,” he laughed.
“Is there a lot of snow where you’re from?” Neji asked as he stood back up, refreshed from drying up the beads of perspiration.
“Oh yes, up until a month before we left,” Donovan replied.
Covered from head to toe in dirty brown sand, he rustled his hair around with his hands and it soon took the same reddish mat as Neji’s. “How do I look?” he chuckled.
“Like you should’ve stayed with your family,” Neji laughed in response.
Donovan’s expression changed and Neji could tell what he was thinking.
“It’s a full days hike if you head back south. Just follow the sun,” he suggested.
“And what about your village?” asked Donovan.
Neji looked around. “About two more days.., but I have to go east first, to another sacred site. A place where the Balanda seldom go.”
“What wi
ll you find there?” Donovan asked.
“Another piece of my past.., and a good place to camp for the night. Which way will you go? I must continue the journey.”
Donovan looked to the south and without turning back to Neji he asked, “How long do you plan to carry that prickly lizard around?”
“Till supper time,” he smiled, “less somethin’ better comes along before then.”
“I’ll take it off your hands for a while,” Donovan offered. “If something better comes along, can I take a stab at getting it with your spear?”
“Sure you can, Miro. If I’m gonna teach you how to shine in these parts as an outdoor adventure man, you’ve got to start somewhere,” he said.
Donovan agreed with a nod and said, “I’ve never eaten Thorny Devil before”
And he silently hoped that he wouldn’t have to.
Chapter Thirteen
The foliage filled sunroom would have been a good place to relax on the most carefree of days, but even the activity and day songs of parakeets wasn’t enough to calm Allisters nerves. Nothing would until his son was found.
The Great Empty Page 8