by Di Morrissey
‘Of course. Keep your eyes peeled. They just mosey up the river looking for something edible.’
‘Like you,’ called Andrew.
‘Ha, ha,’ said Susan, taking a couple of steps further up the bank.
It was Julian whose reel suddenly whizzed and the rod bent as he began to play the strike. ‘It will be a long fight. This one’s a beauty,’ he shouted.
Susan and Andrew wound in their lines and Andrew pushed the boat out to the rock, clear of the battle Julian was having with the game fish.
‘It’s a bloody big one!’ shouted Julian again as the fish leapt from the water, trying to throw the lure. Andrew got the landing net and clambered onto the rock beside Julian. But it was several minutes and two more leaps before the barramundi was in control and could be guided into the big-mouthed net and dumped, flapping and tossing, on the floor of the boat.
There were no more strikes, even though they moved upriver and tried trawling their lines. Susan wondered what might happen should one of them hook a large fish with the three of them in the little tinnie. She was just getting the hang of managing her rod and line when Andrew announced they should head back.
They tied the boat to the tree, shared some cans of beer and a packet of biscuits, and climbed back into the helicopter.
‘Take her on the five-minute scenic tour up the river,’ called Andrew to Julian, who nodded, readjusting his headset.
The helicopter skimmed above the river, its shadow a plump dragonfly on the surface of the thick brown water. ‘What’s that up ahead?’ shouted Julian to Andrew. ‘Christ, look – a croc fight!’
Below, churning the shallow water on a sandbar, were the rolling bodies of two massive crocodiles. Susan gasped, stunned at the enormity of the two crashing beasts. Even from this height she quickly judged their size in comparison to the trees along the bank.
‘Six metres, at least!’ called Andrew. ‘Go down so Susan can take a photo.’
Julian banked, and circled, and came in low above the surface of the water. ‘What if they’d come along when we were in that little boat?’ she gasped.
‘They don’t eat tinnies,’ said Julian with a laconic grin.
‘Yeah, but a flip of their tails would’ve tipped us out. They’re almost three times the size of the boat.’ Susan watched in horrified fascination at the sight of the yellow-tinged belly of one of the crocodiles as it rolled over.
She got herself together enough to quickly take a couple of pictures. ‘A few handbags and boots in one of those,’ Andrew shouted in her ear.
Keeping the chopper hovering, Julian dropped towards the surface. ‘Not too low, Julian!’ cried Susan in alarm.
‘Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing.’ Andrew’s attention was glued to the fighting crocs.
‘Yeehaaa! Bloody fantastic. This is a to-the-death fight, this one.’
‘Julian, please go up, we’re going to hit them!’ Susan could see the snapping jaws with their incredible rows of teeth.
The crocodiles had been oblivious to the large gnat above them. But now, as one of them sensed victory, it became aware of another hovering beast diving on its prey. So fast that none of them saw it coming, the massive croc leapt upwards and attacked the chopper. The thrust of the animal’s powerful tail had propelled it upwards out of the water and its long jaws had snapped and fastened onto one of the metal landing skids. The chopper lurched at the pull of weight to one side, then steadied, as Julian struggled to lift it higher into the air. Susan bit her lip.
‘Try shaking him off,’ shouted Andrew. ‘Why don’t you just go up, he’ll let go.’
‘Haven’t got enough power.’
Susan hunkered down in her seat seeing only the closeness of the river and knowing what was waiting in that water.
‘The fish, the damned fish, give him the barra!’ shouted Julian as the chopper motor strained and whined.
Susan swung around as Andrew grabbed the giant fish lying on the floor and dangled it out the door hole towards the jaws of the croc grimly embedded around the skid. In a flash it released its hold and the fish and croc slid together through space, both landing in the river within seconds of each other. The chopper jerked upwards at the sudden release of weight and Julian settled it to its normal speed and height, circling one last time above the river. The three of them looked down. All was still. But beneath the surface they knew there’d be nothing of the barra left. ‘Well, there goes dinner,’ said Julian.
‘We were nearly dinner, you mean,’ grinned Andrew. ‘I hope your shots come out. Fantastic, eh?’
Susan didn’t answer. Andrew looked into her pale face. ‘Don’t worry, luv. A cold beer will fix you up.’
On her last morning Susan and Andrew let Julian carry the breakfast conversation with his mother. As soon as they could, they excused themselves.
‘Susan and I want to have another look at the garden before she goes,’ said Andrew, and Ellen smiled with polite understanding.
Julian flashed a wink to his brother. ‘The tulips are looking magnificent,’ he quipped. ‘Don’t miss them.’
‘I didn’t see any tulips,’ said Susan.
‘Hope your love life carks it, Julian,’ retaliated Andrew and everyone laughed.
‘I’m leaving in fifteen,’ said Julian.
‘Okay. We’ll be there. Susan’s bags are already in the chopper. Charley took them out before breakfast.’
They walked hand in hand around the garden, neither wanting to start the inevitable final conversation.
‘I’m going to miss you, Susan. It’s been a great few days.’
‘I’ll miss you too, Andrew.’
‘You mightn’t have time to think of me much once you get out bush with that mob.’
‘Promise I’ll think of you at least once a day.’
‘I guess I should be grateful for that, but it doesn’t make me feel that I’ve made a big impression.’
She turned to him and kissed him firmly on the lips. ‘Oh, you have. You have.’ Then she gave him a dig in the ribs. ‘It’s just that I don’t want it to go to your head.’
She turned to continue the walk but he held her to him. ‘I might get over your way. Drop in on the camp and see if you want to be rescued. Would you like that?’
‘Be lovely to see you again, but you’d need to get in touch with Beth, somehow.’
‘Well, we’ll see what happens. Will you try to get in touch with me?’
‘Sure, couldn’t resist. If I can find a telephone box.’
‘Oh, they’re out there, under every second gum tree.’
He hugged her tightly and they kissed passionately, but then they could hear the first hum of the chopper’s starter motor as Julian began his pre-flight checks and warmed up the engine.
There was a hurried farewell with Ian and Ellen. ‘Thank you both so much for having me. It has been the most wonderful experience.’ Ian beamed at this and Susan gave Ellen a hug that seemed to surprise the older woman.
‘Thank you, Susan. It has been nice to have you here. I do hope the rest of your journey is pleasant.’
It was a remark that Susan thought meant more than its words.
‘Make sure you find your way back to the city after your tribal experience,’ grinned Ian Frazer.
‘I’ll let you know how I fare,’ she said brightly. Then with Andrew holding her elbow, they made a dash for the helicopter. She gave him a quick kiss and climbed on board before he ran to the front and gave his brother the thumbs-up.
Julian checked she was buckled in. ‘Worked out well. I was going into Kununurra. It’ll be a smooth flight. Give you another chance to look at the country.’
Andrew and his parents began to shrink as the helicopter rose above the homestead and turned to the west over red soil and sparse trees, the occasional brown shapes of cattle standing in shade. The water of the dam glittered in the sunlight and then they were above the scattered colours of the Yandoo blacks’ camp.
They didn�
�t speak any more as Susan watched the unfolding landscape with its spectacular gorges, sprawling bushland and hardening shadows as the sun rose in a sky so clear and blue that it dazzled the mind as well as the eyes.
She wondered what the next stage of her journey would be like.
Alan Carmichael lay in the snug cave of his doona while rain dribbled on louvres. A Melbourne morning: wet swaying shrubbery, grey light, faintly moaning wind.
He had even less inclination to get out of bed as he cradled his four-month-old son. He dozed as the gurgling baby pushed a small hand into any orifice he could explore. Fingers poked up his father’s nose, in the corners of his squeezed-shut eyes, inside ears, pulled at eyebrows and forced their way between smiling lips.
His wife Annie appeared in the doorway. ‘So how long are you going for this trip?’
‘Longer. I’m going to Bungarra then back to Kununurra to meet Beth Van Horton. She wants me to go on to Marrenyikka with a group of people she’s gathered. Daniel Ardjani has apparently agreed to take us to see the Wandjina cave art and sacred sites – if we can get in. It’s been years since any of the custodians of the Barradja art have been there.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘They’re on leasehold properties. The pastoralists don’t like the Aborigines going onto their land.’
Annie nodded understandingly. There always seemed to be a drama associated with her husband’s remote art trips. She wished she had the time to go with him but she was kept busy with the boutique she ran in Collins Street. She glanced at her husband snuggling back down under the doona and making faces at their son. Already the child was a miniature of his father. But Annie knew that similarity would soon be hidden when Alan returned from his expedition, sunburned, bearded and dishevelled. She was always secretly glad when, after a few days, he’d appear looking as he normally did in the gallery.
It was torpid late morning at Kununurra Airport. Passengers off the Ansett flight chatted amiably to each other and with friends meeting them. Susan sat in the relief of the cool lounge. She’d had to fill in the past twenty minutes after farewelling Julian, waiting for the taxis that were now starting to arrive to meet the Melbourne via Broome flight. As she queued with the passengers, she looked over her shoulder to find a man smiling at her. He pointed to the book she’d just closed, Images of Power, Aboriginal Art of the Kimberley, produced by the National Gallery of Victoria.
‘You’re interested in rock art?’ he asked.
‘I am, but I know nothing, so I thought I’d do a little homework before seeing some. Well, I hope I’ll see some. And you?’
He gave a modest shrug. ‘It’s my business. I’m an art dealer. Alan Carmichael.’
‘Susan Massey. So you buy from the artists up here?’
‘It’s a delicate and unpredictable routine. But essentially I have a group whose work I represent exclusively, plus I nurture new talent and pick up paintings which I think worthwhile. I only deal in quality works,’ he grinned. ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘I’m joining a group to go to an Aboriginal reserve.’
‘Are you with Beth Van Horton?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’ asked Susan.
‘It’s not so easy to get permission to stay at a place as remote as Marrenyikka. But Beth works with the Barradja. I’ve only been to the local town, Marrenjowen. Marrenyikka is the Barradja community’s winter dry season camp.’
‘So you know Beth? Are you going out there too?’
‘I am. I came in early to go to Bungarra to see some of my artists first. I don’t think the rest of Beth’s group is coming until tomorrow.’
‘That’s right. I took a detour and I’ve been visiting a friend’s property. And anyway, I thought I’d come early to get a few camping supplies. My local shops in Balmain didn’t have much in the way of outback survival gear. This is my first time out here.’ Susan couldn’t suppress the excitement in her voice.
‘An urban cowgirl, eh?’
‘Urban lawyer. Taking time out. I met Beth when I represented a friend of hers in court recently, and here I am. Do you know her well?’
‘Reasonably. We have a lot of contact because many of the artists I work with are Barradja. She’s come to Melbourne for a few of their exhibitions. Very interesting woman.’
‘She calls herself a cultural interpreter.’
‘I suppose there aren’t too many job descriptions for trying to translate one culture to another. The Barradja trust Beth. They let her speak for them. She says Ardjani has a plan that could help the future of this country and she sees her role as helping him build at least one bridge towards reconciliation.’
‘I’m fascinated to meet this Ardjani.’
‘Is that why you’ve come on this jaunt?’ asked Alan, opening the door to Susan’s cab. ‘Mind if I ride into town since I’m going to be travelling with you?’ Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted around the car and climbed in the other side, giving the driver instructions to her motel. He grinned at her surprise. ‘Beth’s booked the group in there. So, do you know who else is coming?’
‘It’s an interesting collection – a retired judge, a Queen’s Counsel, a girlfriend of mine who’s a radio journalist, and an Aboriginal actor and TV star.’
‘Be sure your friend speaks to Beth about what she can record and what she can’t. The Barradja are very sensitive. They have a formal protocol system, as I’m sure you know.’
‘No, I don’t know. I’m a bit sketchy on the pros and cons of Aboriginal protocol. I thought they were a pretty laid-back bunch of people.’
Alan grinned. ‘There’s a right way to do almost everything, from where you sit, what direction you face, who takes precedence over whom, when to speak, when to listen – it’s a very complex society. I’ve had to learn a lot in order to gain their trust and I’ve had to learn to appreciate their art for its meanings of law and kinship and not just its aesthetic value. It pays to have a patient nature.’
Susan found the quietly spoken art dealer an informed and articulate companion. As they were driven through the town, she asked Alan what his plans were for the rest of the day.
‘I’m going to hire a car to go to Bungarra.’ He paused and added, ‘Would you like to come? You might find it interesting. Different anyway,’ he laughed. ‘There’s a couple who have a big old house where the artists work each day. They’re the art coordinators, Judy and Max Osborne, and they’ll put us up. The place is full of paintings. Judy cooks, mixes paints, helps with any exhibition problems and records the curating details of each work.’
‘Sounds a busy place.’
‘It’s a bit like that.’
‘I’d love to go with you if I won’t be in the way. When did you plan to drive down?’
‘In an hour or so. I’ll check into the motel, get the car and set off. It’s about a six-hour drive, so we can be there before dark, spend tomorrow morning with them and be back at the motel after lunch.’
‘We’re all supposed to meet for dinner tomorrow night.’
‘The big gathering, eh?’ Alan gave a wry grin. ‘Do you suppose we’ll have annual get-togethers, like class reunions?’
‘Who knows, we could end up never wanting to speak to each other again,’ laughed Susan.
‘It won’t be a picnic, comfort-wise. But hopefully the cultural experience will make up for the aching backs.’
‘Will the mosquitoes be bad? What about snakes and spiders?’
‘Now you can’t worry about those kinds of things. You’re here, the decision’s been made, go for it – this is a big adventure, a unique experience. Not many Australians get this opportunity. And anyway, it gets cold at night, you can slap on some repellent and zip up your tent.’
‘Right,’ said Susan, not sounding convinced. ‘I hope we have tents, I’m not sure what the arrangements are. Beth said there was a bloke taking care of things. Do you know anything about our camping conditions?’
Alan shook his head as he went t
o retrieve his bag. ‘I’m used to a swag on the ground. It’s all experience, right?’
The experience began when they picked up an Aboriginal hitchhiker an hour out of Bungarra. The man threw a sports bag onto the back seat and heaved his youthful bulk into the car, his face glistening with sweat. ‘Man, it’s hot out there, no one’s come past for a couple of hours. AC, man, great.’ He leaned back savouring the gust of airconditioning, while his odour of stale beer and sweat recirculated through the rental car. Susan tried not to wrinkle her nose. She turned in her seat and asked him where he’d come from.
‘Just finished working on a mine site. I drive a cat. Going back in a couple of weeks, if the job’s still on.’
‘What sort of mine?’
‘Diamonds. It’s been a big one. Owned by some overseas mob. Always foreign blokes nosing around.’
Alan glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘What makes you say if the job’s still on?’
‘Nothing to do with me, mate. But I hear there mightn’t be as much work about. More rocks than stones,’ he grinned.
‘You mean the diamonds are running out?’ asked Susan straight out.
‘They say it’s got ten years’ worth of diamonds still on the lease but don’t you believe ’em. I got mates in crushing and sorting. They told me it’s more like two years. Same with lots of places.’
‘That could just be a rumour put out. They’ve made a lot of money out of Jimburra,’ remarked Alan.
‘I didn’t say I worked for Jimburra,’ said the man.
‘Aren’t too many significant mines around,’ winked Alan. ‘I won’t say anything. Not my field of interest.’
‘We’re not supposed to talk about the mine at all,’ said the still-sweating hitchhiker.
‘So who do you know in Bungarra?’ asked Susan to help him change the subject. He seemed nervous at what he’d already divulged.
‘My mum, uncle and aunties. They’ve been there a few years. Rest of my mob are back in Derby.’