Loreless: A Novel

by P J Whittlesea

  Billy was surprised by his sudden irritation. He hadn't intended to insult the man and wasn't quite sure what he had done to warrant his reaction. 'I think you got me wrong. I don't want anything from you. Was just trying to have a chat.'

  The man seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts and ignored Billy's response. 'As far as I'm concerned you can all go to hell. We just wanna be left alone.'

  Billy was slightly taken aback but could see that he had touched a nerve. He let the man be and turned to Mabel. Abruptly, the man pushed himself away from the bar and stood up. He walked behind Billy, who assumed he was on his way to the toilet. Suddenly the man grabbed Billy by the hair and drove his head violently down onto the leading edge of the bar, splitting his forehead open in the process. Billy reacted quickly, bringing his hands up onto the bar, locking his elbows and bracing himself as the man attempted to repeat the manoeuvre. The big barman flew into action with surprising agility. He lunged over the bar and seized the man's hand. A long struggle ensued, the two men fighting over possession of Billy's head. His neck was wrenched about. He felt like a rag doll, at the mercy of the two men. His mind swam, and blood seeped from his open forehead and ran down his face. It felt as if his hair was being ripped from his skull. In the middle of all this a curious thought crossed his mind: he made a mental note to get his hair cut short at the next opportunity.

  His eyes wandered over the wall behind the barman and settled on a dusty placard. It was nicotine stained and had turned a deep yellow from the cigarette smoke. It read: 'You're never more alive than when you think you're going to die.' Thanks for the poignant observation, he thought to himself.

  He turned his attention to the mirror, stretching along the wall. In its reflection he thought he could see the man's aggression beginning to subside. He could hear the barman talking softly to him and encouraging him to relax. In the shadows behind his assailant he could just make out a figure standing against the far wall. The disco lights flickered over him, creating strange shadows on his face and glinting off his cloak. A cloak made entirely of feathers. Billy felt drawn into the mirror and his eyes locked with those of Pidgin. His piercing, blue-green eyes dominated everything, and the rest of the room went out of focus. There was only Pidgin. A calm come over Billy and he relaxed his grip on the bar. His attacker and the barman followed suit. They cautiously release his head. The barman walked quickly around the bar and guided the man to a stool further down. Billy felt a hand on his shoulder and realised it was Mabel. He was dazed and had completely forgotten that she was also there. She grabbed a towel which was lying on the bar and pressed it to his forehead.

  'C'mon, let's get you cleaned up.'

  She helped him to his feet and led him away by the hand. He looked at her hand in his. She had very well manicured nails. He felt faint and followed her lead like a dutiful child. She took him into the ladies' toilet and sat him down in one of the cubicles. She then proceeded to wet the towel and clean his face. She gently daubed the wound and inspected the damage. There was a lot of blood but the cut was fairly superficial.

  'Looks like you'll live,' she said jokingly, 'but y'r gonna have one hell of a headache tomorrow.'

  Billy could already feel the bump on his forehead swelling up. He didn't feel well at all and fought to prevent himself from throwing up the meagre contents of his stomach. The same woman he'd seen earlier in the line dancing group walked into the toilet and surveyed the situation. She first looked down at Billy and then turned her attention to Mabel. 'I think you'd better leave.'

  Mabel nodded tentatively in agreement. Content that her directions would be followed, the woman left the room. Billy was confused. Why should they leave? He hadn't been the aggressor. He hadn't provoked a fight. It then dawned on him that he was the outsider and as such probably had fewer rights than his attacker. Still, it didn't seem right. Mabel carefully scrutinised his head again. She folded the towel and pressed it to his forehead, telling him to hold it in place. She seemed satisfied that they could move and helped him to his feet.

  'Let's get out o' here.'

  He nodded meekly, and together they walked out of the toilet. They crossed the room, skirting the dance floor. Billy peered out from under his makeshift bandage. The man was sitting quietly at the bar, staring once again into his beer glass. The barman was leaning against the freezers, keeping a watchful eye on him. No one seemed to be paying any attention at all to them. The dancers were in full stride, energetically stomping out a pattern in unison. The disco lighting flashed and panned over the whole bar. The music was unrelenting.

  They slipped out of the front door and found themselves standing in torrential rain. They were instantly saturated. Billy let the rain pour over him. It was so intense that it immediately started to seep into his shoes. He removed the bandage from his injury and turned his head skywards. The rain played on his face. Great, heavy drops stung him as they hit his skin. He breathed deeply and took a moment to compose himself. He could taste salty, watered-down blood in mouth. He wiped his face with the towel before pressing it once again to his throbbing forehead.

  Mabel laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Let's get out o' this.'

  'Ok.'

  More than anything in the world, that was exactly what he wanted: not to be where he was right now. She suggested he should stay at Doug's house for the night. It was only a short walk from there. He was feeling miserable, soaked to the skin and willing to comply with anything. Together they walked down the street without saying another word. The rain pounded down even harder. It enveloped them in a cacophony of white noise. Not unlike the sound of static on an empty television channel.

  Doug and Pidgin

  Billy sat bolt upright in bed. A strange bed. Accustomed as he now was to waking up in unusual surroundings, this time it was different. He was in mortal fear for his life. The room was unfamiliar. It was dark and he could barely see anything. The only light came from a crack under a door at the foot of his bed. He thought he heard loud noises outside. He was sure someone was banging at a window to his right and trying to get in. He felt as if he was under attack. Yet the room itself was empty. Or was it? His eyes began to adjust to the meagre light. Slowly he made out forms in the room. He saw shadows everywhere and one in particular caught his attention. There was a giant bird perched on a dresser against the wall and next to the door. He screamed. The bird raised its head from within its plumage. It was the head of a man, an old man, with eyes that cut through him. Billy struggled to breathe. With considerable effort he filled his lungs and let out another piercing scream. There was the sound of heavy footsteps outside the bedroom door before it swung open and bright light streamed in. Another shadow entered. This one was, indeed, in the shape of a man. A large man. He stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  'Billy, it's ok mate. It's Doug.'

  Billy's mind raced.

  Doug?

  Doug who?

  Was he someone he could trust?

  He knew a Doug.

  Doug was the old guy on the steps in front of the store talking to the kids.

  Doug was ok.

  Doug was indeed someone he could trust.

  Billy managed to calm himself somewhat. He raised one arm feebly and pointed towards the figure on the dresser. Doug wheeled around. He stood only about a metre from the cupboard. Doug took half a step backwards before letting his shoulders slump. He seemed to relax, and the atmosphere in the whole room seemed to do the same.

  Doug began speaking to the figure on the dresser in soft but forceful tones. The bird man cocked his head to one side and listened intently to Doug. He trained his ears on the conversation, trying desperately to hear what was being said. It was impossible. Doug spoke slowly and in a low voice, almost a murmur. The conversation was entirely one way. Pidgin occasionally responded with a barely perceptible nod. Then his head cocked this way and that with very sharp, birdlike movements.

  Billy tentatively reached up to his pounding forehead. It was very swollen. H
e could feel textile covering his skin and the pull of a wide plaster, stuck above his eyebrow. The events of the evening came flooding back and he realised he must be suffering from some form of shock. After all, he had received a pretty decent bump to his head. It became clear to him that he wasn't under attack, although the unsettling feeling continued to bubble in his subconscious.

  Doug continued talking to Pidgin for some time and when he was finished he turned to face Billy.

  'This is your guardian, Billy. He's here to protect you. You musn't be afraid of him. He was very concerned about you. He's here to watch over you. He'll appear in times of trouble or when he senses that trouble will arise. You must trust him. He looked over your father and your grandfather and all those who have gone before. He knows more than you or I will ever know.'

  Doug turned to Pidgin and reassured him that everything was in order. Pidgin seemed to accept this and settled. He lifted his shoulders and his coat of feathers half engulfed his head. Doug stepped in front of Pidgin and into Billy's line of sight.

  'Now it’s time you rested. You've had quite a night. Probably gonna wake up later with a bit of a headache. You’re safe here; no one's gonna hurt you. Tomorrow we'll talk some more. For now it's better if you get a decent sleep. I'll see you in the morning.'

  Billy nodded silently, turned slowly onto his side and pulled the sheets up to his earlobes. He could sense the two figures staring at him and felt their concern. It had been a lot to take in, but he was no longer racked by fear. He felt safe and secure. He let himself slip away into what would become a dreamless slumber. He barely heard the click of the bedroom door shutting as Doug walked past the empty dresser and left the room.

  Outside, the heavens had truly opened and the storm raged on. The iron roof of Doug's house roared in protest. The sound was deafening, such was the deluge. Dry riverbeds flowed again and swelled up, breaking their banks. Dirt roads became impassable and were washed away. The hard-baked floor of the desert refused to let the water seep through. It was like concrete. The water sat on top of it and spread out in all directions, turning once parched plateaus into enormous lakes. Up in the hills, rocky outcrops were washed clean and torrents of water flowed hastily into waterholes. It filled them to the brim. By morning the rain subsided and stopped. The landscape had been transformed. As dawn broke, birds of all descriptions came to life. They sang and chirped and played happily in their new surroundings.

  6

  Ooldea Railway Siding, 1932

  I spotted her in the crowd and immediately felt sick to the pit of my stomach. In retrospect I guess it was love at first sight. My first wife had never made me feel this way. I had recently lost her to a new and strange disease which was yet another by-product of the invaders. Before they came such things did not exist. She hadn't been the only one to suffer. A great many had succumbed to this illness. This came about with the arrival of their spirit men. They didn't respect our stories. They tried to teach us new ones. Their stories were from another land. They didn't have relevance here. They spoke of one, all-seeing spirit. For us there are many. Everything we see—every rock and tree and animal—they all have names and they all have stories. The invaders should understand this. We do not force our knowledge upon them, yet they do this to us. We can see our spirits by the traces they have left. I cannot see their spirit.

  For a while we accepted their stories and what we thought was their assistance. Because of this my wife is no longer here. I have had to wipe her name from my memory. She became ill from their food and the hidden things they brought with them. Many of our tribe passed into the spirit world because of this. I can still see their bodies laid out in rows upon the ground and covered in some kind of white material. At the time I fled in fear, as did many of my tribesmen. The fear saved us, though, and because of it we are still walking in this world.

  In any case, upon meeting this girl I felt driven to find out more about her. I took this feeling as a sign that my time of mourning was over and that I could stop wearing the white ochre.

  I didn't know which skin she was but I felt relatively safe to pursue and court her as she wasn't from my immediate family. My greatest fear was that she was from a hostile tribe and they wouldn't be willing to trade her. I didn't have much of value to trade and was apprehensive that I would have an uphill battle trying to persuade her people to let her go with me. I could have asked my own relatives to help out but I didn't want to impose on them. Things were hard enough as they were. It had become more and more difficult to find things of quality to trade. The invaders had expanded their stranglehold on our land and we could no longer go to many of our traditional sources. The most prized ochre was to be found in the mine at Bookatoo. But the area had been taken over by the invaders and it had become too dangerous to go there. The Dieri had also been driven from their lands and could no longer grow and harvest pituri. Of course, there were other sources for these things but they were substandard. Unfortunately, now we were faced with no other alternative and reduced to making do with what we still had. It was a sorry situation.

  Having nothing else of value to trade, I would have to rely on my spear-making abilities. My father had taught me well and I had unlocked the secret to getting the weight and balance right. I was confident that my handiwork was worth something. Not everyone could make weapons of such quality. They were so sleek and incredibly accurate. I was proud of my skills. I had speared many a kangaroo from a great distance and had excellent success with smaller animals. I could only hope they would be of sufficient quality and prized enough to trade for a wife.

  We had been travelling our usual route along the water lines towards the great salt lake when I had encountered her. On our journey we were shocked to see how much had changed. What had happened at the place where I found her was even more disturbing. My forefathers had always gathered at one particular waterhole. I had never travelled so far but had been taught how to find it and had its position engraved on my woomera. It was a soak of immense purity and went down into the deepest recesses of the earth. The elders believed it would never run dry, not even in the driest of seasons. In the end they were wrong. Even they could not predict the changes that were happening to our land. When we reached this place—Yooldil Gabbi it is called—there was much activity. The invaders were there and had a built a new kind of pathway. It carved its way through the desert, cutting across our usual route. It was so long that there was no way to walk around it. It was constructed of felled trees laid across a high mound of stones piled upon the ground. On the trees lay two thin lines made of some kind of shiny rock. I knew how to carve and shape wood so that it was long, thin and perfectly straight. How they had managed to do this with rock defied my knowledge. On this pathway there travelled an enormous beast, a devil serpent. It was huge and the colour of charcoal. A haze of ash rained down around it, covering everything in its wake. Its insides appeared to be on fire. It spewed black smoke and hissed white clouds of water. It was intolerably loud, deafening even. When I first laid eyes on it I was very much afraid. My brothers assured me that it was bound to the pathway and would not deviate. As long as we kept our distance it would not harm us. Not only was this beast a horror to behold, it also required sustenance, and lots of it. It fed on water. Its appetite was so great that it was draining the sacred soak. It did not happen immediately, but the day was fast approaching when it would quench its thirst for the last time. Then the soak would be empty. It would have sucked the bowels of the earth dry. My ancestors would not have believed this was possible. This beast would do it though. And once the water was completely sapped it could never again be replenished. Of course, it would take many seasons before this happened and we continued to pass through this area as it was an important route. As with so many other things we had no choice, and when the soak was gone we were forced to find other means to sustain ourselves. By this time so much had changed that it was of little consequence.

  At this place there lived a woman. She was pale li
ke the other invaders but she was different. She had contact with the spirit world. Even though she appeared physically as a woman it was unclear if she was entirely from this world. The elders respected her and she protected us to some degree. She had the same weapons the invaders had, two small fire sticks. She kept the other invaders away with them, particularly their lawmen. I was wary of her, though. Not all spirits are to be trusted. Although she was kind to us and did her best to shelter us from the other invaders, far too many people became dependent on her. I thought this was a bad thing. They came to her for food and water and even entrusted some secrets to her. They called her Kabbarli, which means grandmother. The invaders called her Mrs. Bates.

  She was against us mixing with children resulting from a relationship with an invader. She believed that our people would not survive, and those of us tainted with the seed of the invader were not the same. My father and grandfather had spoken to me about the invaders' attitude before. That they were against children that carried their own blood. I asked myself why. Was it not to their benefit that we learn to live together? These children were a bridge between our worlds. They were the future. My father had told me how things were when the invaders first arrived. At that time they came with their own animals but still shared the land and respected our sacred grounds. There were many good men among them who believed that we could live in harmony. It is not that way anymore. Now they want it all for themselves. The land is not any single person’s property. Why is this so difficult to understand? The land is for all of us. We must respect it. It provides for us. It owns us, we don't own it. If we care for it, it cares for us.