The Great Empty

by Anita Melillo

  Though they had been circling within a two mile radius, the caution-orange vest was an easy target. And when the tracker began flagging for them, Yancey brought the helicopter down.

  When he cut the engine and exited the craft to have a look, the tracker raised the head of the dead joey.

  “Enough meat for a whole family. A Bunitji wouldn’t have left it,” he wiped his hands in the grass.

  “And over here,” he walked a little further, “another trail of blood, but not from the first kill. Looks like a bird, probably a hawk or a bustard”

  A streak of static came across the airwaves. Preston took the radio receiver and held it out the door. “Sir,” he yelled. “It’s your brother!”

  “Follow it on through,” he told the tracker, “I’ll let ‘em know where to find us.”

  The evening had soon cast its shadow upon the forest again, and Donovan wanted to get beyond the trees so that he could see where the big red ball in the sky was leading him. Everything seemed ghostly as the outer stratum glowed behind the monoliths, casting them a brilliant orange that left him feeling like the only person on a lost planet. But as soon as the woods were behind him, the sky opened up again, and it was as if a smoke screen had been lifted.

  In front of him was a wide open meadow of green grass and wildflowers. The terrain seemed to follow the same pattern regardless of the direction he took. The air was becoming vibrant again with the echoes of the nocturnal.

  When he searched his pockets he found them to be completely void of food. The last fig had been consumed an hour ago, and his stomach was aching from the overabundance. Something solid was needed to make it through another night.

  The plain was darted with stone giants that limited his view. As far as he could see there was no sign of dinner. Then he rubbed his eyes. They must have been playing tricks on him, because one of the rocks got up and strutted away.

  Donovan crept in closer. It was clearly an emu that had headed for a watering hole, leaving a mound of dirt behind. And upon examining it further, he saw that it wasn’t a dirt mound at all, rather a large speckled egg. Where was Neji when he needed him? And how could he slip in and out before the oversized bird spotted him?

  He decided to go for it, running as fast as he could towards the large oval. However, as he was about to snatch it, the crazed head of feathers extended a sharp beak in his direction and charged.

  Since he had heard about them stomping a person to death, he fled in the opposite direction and up an embankment, screaming as he went. The bird was on his heels. He had to climb a tree to escape its wrath, leaving the egg on the ground.

  “Nice birdie..,” he said as it strutted back and forth below. Half an hour later and it had rolled the unhatched young back to its nest.

  Donovan was relieved and he started to climb down when a serpent headed lizard whipped a blue tongue at him from the side of the trunk. Falling backwards into the hard soil, his head landed against a rock. Sleep wouldn’t wait until nightfall.

  The sinking sun reflecting from the surface of the waters lit a wide path to unknown horizons. The old birch tree, twisted among reeds in one of the murkiest parts of the river, turned a dead limb outward towards the darkening sky. A finger of the branch held suspended the dry brown hat, where the corks dangled lifelessly in the stream of flickering light.

  The tracker stopped waving as the helicopter evenly descended past the mountainous wall. It was a tight landing in a patchy area of tall reeds where jagged rocks abounded, and Yancey steadied the aircraft as the ground shifted beneath them.

  The tracker ran to the door and pointed knowingly at the entrance to the underground cavern.

  As the rotor stopped turning, Yancey removed the mouthpiece he had just spoken into. Preston started to climb down from the cockpit.

  “Sit tight,” Yancey warned. “Whatever’s down there might not be too pretty.”

  As he grabbed his flashlight, he told the tracker, “We could see the jeeps comin’ around the bend, and the Sheriff’s rescue team isn’t far in the rear”

  The tracker nodded and the two of them disappeared into the tunnel.

  It was obviously foul play. Part of the bustard was still on the roast, blackened to a crisp and the round clay room was filled with smoke. The red backpack was lying to the side, along with the broken spear, and the knife was stabbed into the wall.

  “Whatever happened.., they sure got out in a hurry,” remarked Yancey.

  “Think it’d be all right to open it?” the tracker poked at the red canvas with a stick.

  “No. Better leave it for the authorities. Let’s check around some more.”

  As he turned to walk out, there stood Preston.

  “I thought I told you to stay put, “Yancey commanded.

  “I feel so useless out there. Please allow me to tag along, sir.”

  “All right then,” he agreed, “but you have to stick close. There’s crocs along those banks and who knows what else.”

  “Yes. Indeed I will, sir” he replied.

  Just then the other jeeps had arrived and out stepped Allister. He had already seen the hat dangling above the water and he pushed his way past the three of them, as he headed straight down the tunnel.

  The rangers ran in behind him, while the tracker shined the flashlight into the water. The remains of the body were twisted beneath the underlying branches. The clothing had washed down stream.

  Preston felt his way to a rock and sat down. His hands were shaking beyond control.

  Yancey took a bottle from the helicopter and handed it to him, “Drink it all. Looks like it’s gonna be a rough night.”

  Within minutes, the sheriff’s patrol had roped off the area, and the swagman’s body had been fished out of the water, while deputies were on foot with the dogs.

  As Allister came out of the cavern, distraught with grief, the hounds started yelping. Everyone ran to see what had been treed.

  “A pair of loafers,” one of them shouted from deep in the woods. “Must be the kids!” he exclaimed.

  Allister ran through the woods until he reached the ranger and the shoes. He picked them up and clenched them tight to his chest. “Good God, there’s still hope, after all. He escaped the river,” he swallowed deep with humble tears swelling in his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty One

  The chanting rose up and down.., the faint sound of clapping.., and the drums Why did they have to play the drums so loud? His head throbbed against the stone.

  When he opened his eyes everything was black, but the sky was still orange through a patch of trees on the other side of the mountain. From the valley, puffs of smoke lofted towards the full moon.

  Donovan felt the same stickiness on his face that had streamed from his foot three nights before. His forehead was bleeding. But this time he didn’t have anything to wrap it with. So he applied pressure with his palm, without even knowing if it would make a difference.

  He tried to stand up and had to sit back down as he ran his free hand through his hair some more. There was a knot from where his head had met the rock, and he wondered just how long he had been out.

  If only he had known that he was so close to civilization beforehand.., or was he? He had read about the tribes from the Kimberly region on the airplane and how they were into body scarification and dark practices. Which way had he gone? And how could he be sure these people weren’t like them?

  He stood up again and this time his feet remained planted. The sudden rush of blood to his head made him off balance at first. He would have to feel his way down the mountain to get close enough to see just what was going on.

  As the thorny vines and branches cut his feet, he managed to grind his teeth instead of crying out. It was even worse when he clutched the sharp outgrowths with his toes, as he wobbled over the looser stones at the bottom of the hill.

  He hadn’t been as high up as he thought initially, but now that he was at the bot
tom he had to duck and stay quiet, until he felt these people out.

  The dust lifted high above their ankles, as the tribesmen danced around the campfire. Every movement was precise and skillfully portrayed to entice both animals and spirits. When the drumming stopped the men sat down. Then three young boys entered the circle. Their black skin was painted and their heads were adorned with feathers. A low hum escalated into mourning as the boys began to move slowly and rhythmically to the sound of the didjeridoo and the beat of the drums.

  Donovan crouched closer while trying to get a good look at their faces. Perhaps one of them was his friend. But before he got the chance to find out, something began snarling at him from behind. Nervously, he turned to find a dingo ready to take a bite out of him.

  Shoo! Go away..,” he whispered, afraid to move.

  The playing stopped. The sacred ceremony had been disrupted. The dog growled more fiercely with a bark and the tribesmen went for their spears.

  “No.., wait!” Donovan stood to attention. “I meant no harm. I just smelled your campfire!”

  One of the boys ran forward and removed his headdress. “Is it you, mate?”

  “Neji,” sighed Donovan and the dog retreated. “I thought I was a goner.”

  Neji was glad to see his friend and quickly took him by the hand and pulled him into the open. The tribesmen let down their guard.

  “This is the one I told you about,” he introduced him to the others.

  Curiously, Neji’s father walked over and inspected his bleeding head. “Come,” he said, “and let’s take care of that.

  The master of ceremonies turned to the row of elders with his voice heightened. “Begin the corroboree!” he raised his spear skyward.

  As soon as the chanting picked up again, the tribesmen took to the ring and danced, while Neji and his father assisted Donovan.

  “Your father was here today looking for you,” said Neji as he patted the wound with a cloth.

  “You must be kidding. My father is in Melbourne,” he responded.

  “No,” he shook his head. “He was here. He gave me this,” he removed the wad of money from the leather strap that bound his thong.

  Donovan chuckled. “Yep. It was my father all right. Money buys a lot where we’re from.”

  Neji placed it in his hand and closed the fist. “You can have it. I don’t need it.”

  His father cut in, “I’ll take you to the ranger’s station tomorrow. But tonight, you must join our celebration.”

  “Thank you,” Donovan smiled. “I am very grateful,” he added. If his own family disowned him after this, maybe Neji’s would take him in, he thought to himself.

  Suddenly, the motion stopped as a teenage girl surrounded by women emerged from the trailer. Her arms were filled with clothes, cooking utensils and a book. She flung them all into the fire as the others watched and the beating of drums began to sound again as she silhouetted gracefully before the elders.

  “Why did she do that?” Donovan whispered to Neji.

  “It’s very sacred..,” he replied. “She has burned all of her material possessions in honor of the land and our great ancestors who formed it with the spirits.”

  The strong Aborigine placed his arm around his son, proud of the wisdom that had been revealed through such young eyes.

  Donovan walked over to the fire and tossed the wad of money in it. He looked back at the father and son who seemed so close, thinking that he would give it all up too.., just to have that.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The white coals were crackling in the center of the fire stack as the children slept placated on woven reed mats. Morning had yet to shed its warmth upon the damp cover that Donovan twitched his nose beneath, as he slapped at first light. The gnats found another warm body.

  He had gone to sleep before the elders had retired from the evenings ritual. And though the chants of voices had echoed in and out of perception for hours, there was total quiet and stillness in his comatose state. It was only three hours later that the sputtering of an engine penetrated his thoughts Four wheeling did make for a nice dream and in his minds eye, he had driven across continents and to the edge of the world Then a beam of blinding white light startled his eyelids and he rolled over. He imagined that it was the light at the end of the darkness that the Minister had talked about.

  He was finally going home.., to a place in the third heavens

  A loud knock brought him back to earth again.., and then the sound of the trailer door swung open with a creek The muddle of voices only made him dream deeper thoughts.

  “I don’t mean to trouble you so early,” the voice said, “but I’ve got fifty or more men searching your territory this very hour and I want you to know that the ante has been doubled for any of your tribesmen if they find my son.”

  “You owe us nothing,” the burly man said. “If you can make peace with your son. It will have been worth it.”

  “Still.., I’m a man of my word. See here,” he held out the spear in two pieces. “I promised your son that I would return this if I found it. Here it is. I hope he can mend it.”

  “I believe he can” he chuckled, “but you’d better tell him yourself,” he pointed to the group of children sleeping on the ground around the fire stack.

  Allister was perplexed, but he walked over to the woven beds and tried to separate the Aborigines features from the others. All of them were dark impressions spaced haplessly on the ground, but he saw the outline of matted hair. It looked as though it had been blown in as many directions as the changing winds. This had to be the one. He nudged him.

  A familiar voice rang true to the child’s ears. He smacked his lips and changed sides again. “No school today, Father..,” he yawned.

  At once, Allister raised the boy by the shoulders and yelled, “Light! Someone get me a bloody flash light so I can see!”

  The spirited young ranger jumped down from the jeep and rushed over with the flashlight, shining it right into the boys face.

  “Donovan, wake up,” he hastened while wiggling his chin.

  “Today is Sunday,” he smacked again, “there’s no school today”

  “Come on, son. Talk to me,” he tapped his cheeks.

  Donovan opened his eyes and stared into the face of his Father, still mesmerized and yet aware of where he was. He looked down at his hands and feet that were covered with ashes and dirt. His father had always been so strict about appearances.

  “I kind of messed things up..,” he answered and somewhat afraid of the reaction to be had.

  “Don’t worry about it, son,” Allister answered as he pulled his son close to his chest and sobbed tears of joy. “If it’s anyone who’s made a mess of things here lately, it’s me.”

  Neji and the other children were instantly awakened by the disquiet, and the rangers began to dance around on the spot as the big-bellied elder stepped out of the trailer.

  Neji ran to his father in his excitement, but Allister wasn’t about to let go of the life he had found at last.

  The sound of thunder rose from beyond the mountain tops and hovered above them with a loud clap. Allister waved to his brother as he clutched his son. Then the helicopter landed in the clearing.

  Neji’s father said, “Another corroboree is in order!”

  Yancey climbed down from the craft and yelled, “Yeah, but this time it’s at my place!...”

  No one gave an argument.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Before the convoy of trucks filled with tribesmen could turn into the driveway, Elizabeth was running alongside the jeep that held her son. As soon as she was reunited with him, she never stopped kissing his dirty brown cheeks.

  Viola even ran out to greet Donovan while Marcy stood in the doorway with her mother. Once she saw him, she was shocked but put her arms around him anyway and be
gan sobbing loudly.

  Preston looked as disheveled as the rest of them, but there was a steed to his step. The parody of it all was amazing to him. The lad had come back as an Aboriginal warrior.

  An hour later, the plush backyard was lined with two long tables of food and beer, not to mention the festive mood of the party-goers. And for the first time, Neji saw his friend return to the lifestyle that suited him best as Donovan made his grand re-entrance.

  He had showered, been bandaged, and was changed into a pair of white slacks and matching shirt, which were typical for playing cricket. And the day felt as fresh as he looked.

  Walking over to him, Neji handed him the spear. He had mended it back together with some vine on the trip over. “Keep this,” he said. “It was you that carried it into manhood.”