by Peter Butler
That made good sense, so we all climbed back into the Land Cruiser and continued, slowly, along the main road. Ten minutes later we were back at our original track and began to cautiously make our way forward. It was tough going because the ground gave virtually no indication where previous vehicles had gone, because the grass was as tall as the side of the car. The ground we were crossing was, thankfully, flat with uninspiring bushes and trees scattered sporadically throughout. About a mile ahead of us stood a rocky red ridge that seemed to present us with an impenetrable barrier, but without a proper track to follow we had no option but to keep going straight for the ridge. It was the only landmark of any note. At least we could retrace our own tracks if we needed to get back to the road.
'This is bloody crazy,' Tim said in frustration. 'This grass is so tall we could drive over a ravine and not know it until we were crushed to death at the bottom.'
'Just keep your eyes on the road, driver,' I said, with a nervous laugh. 'From what I gather termite mounds are more likely to bring us undone than ravines. But they are mostly taller than a man, so you'd need to be drunk to hit one of them.'
As I said that, Tim yelled, 'Shit!' as he simultaneously jammed on the brakes. The car was only traveling at walking speed but still skidded to a stop on the loose dirt.
'What did we hit?' I screamed from the rear seat.
'Nothing,' said Truf.
He looked at Tim and continued, 'I saw it, too, Tim. Couldn't believe it.'
I was frantically trying to work out what the hell they were talking about, when I looked over the bonnet and saw it too.
A small black head was poking out above the top of the grass, which in this particular area was level with the Land Cruiser's door handles. The head seemed to be floating on the thick sea of grass, which swayed gently in the slight breeze. It was looking directly at us. The small head had a layer of tight curly black hair on top, jet-black skin and was grinning with a mouth full of huge white teeth that looked more like the shiny white wall tiles in my bathroom, from where I was sitting.
'What the...' I said, as the three of us rushed to get out of the car.
Truf was the first to reach the boy. 'Are you lost, son?' he asked as he knelt in front of the boy, who had a tan colored dog standing by his side.
'No bloody way, mate,' he replied arrogantly, which sounded inappropriate when delivered in a squeaky little voice.
I had joined Truf and was looking at the boy carefully. He must have been about ten years old. He was aboriginal, barefoot, thin, but quite muscular for a kid, and was wearing only a pair of torn red Adidas shorts. In his right hand he held a stick that had been sharpened at one end and blacked with fire to give the pointy tip added strength. A comparatively large bag, made out of woven dried grass, hung over his left shoulder. The small tan-colored dog sat patiently beside him.
'What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?' Tim asked incredulously, joining in our mini-interrogation of the child.
'I'm on my way to McDonald's, for lunch,' he laughed as he said it. He was clearly playing with us. Rather than regarding us as his rescuers, he was actually mocking us. The cheeky little bugger.
'Do your parents know where you are?' I asked.
He looked at me like I was retarded. 'Of course they don't bloody know where I am, mate. How could they? They're not here, are they?'
We were clearly getting nowhere with the subject of him being lost, and given that we were also lost, I changed direction. 'Shouldn't you be at school?'
I got that look again from him. 'School!' He shook his head at me. 'It'd just be a bloody waste of time, mate.' He shook his head at the thought.
'No,' I replied in my most earnest voice. 'Everyone needs to go to school. It's important to get an education so you can get ahead in life.'
'Did you go to school?' He asked with a grin on his face.
'Of course.'
'And you're here in the middle of bloody nowhere, mate... Lost? Was ya school any help?' He actually laughed at me. He stopped laughing but retained the cheeky grin as his eyes locked on mime, then he added, 'Besides, the school is shut, it's bloody school holidays, mate.'
I couldn't help but grin back at the little bugger. My jet-lag and time zone confusion had brought me undone, but he'd played me like a pro. 'My name's Gary,' I said, and offered him my hand. 'What's your name?'
His small, bony hand had a disproportionate fierce grip.
'Joey,' he answered, and then pointed to his dog. 'This is me mate, Nine. He's a dingo' The scrawny dog wagged its tail at the mention of his name. I presumed from my estimate of Joey's age and the dog's name that dogs only lasted about a year, up here. A new dog every year? It was feasible - snakes..? trees? spiders? Or, maybe I was wrong. In the past when I've admitted that I usually add in a smart-ass way... I was once. But since I've been in this country I've been wrong more times than right, so that little joke has been benched until I get back to soggy, cold London.
'Great to meet you, Joey. We're looking for a fella called Warra,' I said, trying to emulate his style of talking. I left out the bloody, it didn't seem appropriate. 'Do you know him?'
'Yep.'
'How can we find him?' Truf interjected, clearly unhappy with the way I was handling things so far.
Joey pulled a face, like he was pondering the question, then said, 'I don't think ya could, mate,' he grinned cheekily at Truf. 'Better if I show ya.'
'Great,' Truf said. 'Climb in.'
He led the way back to car and held the door waiting for Joey to climb in. When he looked around he saw Joey had already climbed up on the hood and was sitting with his legs poking through the bull-bar on the front.
'Okay, Joey. Do it your way,' Truf said, with a laugh. 'But hang on tight,'
In return he was given Joey's "are you retarded?" look.
'Rabbit holes all over the place,' Joey said, shaking his head, as if we should have known that. 'Go where I point.'
The three of us grinned like idiots. It was total role reversal. In this part of the world Joey was the in control adult and we were the ignorant novices.
Tim set off at a very slow pace and Joey turned us in a wide arc to the right. Every so often he would indicate with his arm that we needed to make a sharp turn, I guess we had to avoid a rabbit hole or a rock.
'Judging from all the twists and turns we've needed to make, we must have had blind luck on our side not to end up with a broken suspension before we came across Joey,' Tim said.
'I don't think so, Tim,' I said with a chuckle - I'd had a rethink. 'I'm betting the little bugger is just playing with us.'
Ten minutes later we entered a clearing about 150 feet in diameter and saw aboriginal men and women sitting around in the shade of the few trees. They began to stand as we drove in to their camp and slowly made their way in our direction. About six kids came running towards us and other people emerged from bark huts that we could now make out. I heard a thump at the back of the car and looked around to see a pair of skinny black legs disappear up on to the roof. The Land Cruiser had a solid roof-rack so I relaxed a little knowing our new passenger had plenty of things to hang on to. It was academic, anyway, as Tim pulled to a stop after another ten feet and we all clambered out and stood amongst a group of about twenty people, who were looking at us suspiciously.
'Hello, everyone,' I said, smiling as I waved to them in my friendliest way, not quite sure what to expect. Some of them had spears. Did they even speak English? Of course they did - Joey certainly did.
Tim and Truf smiled and waved a greeting, also.
Joey had already jumped off the hood and was standing with the others, looking back at us. I felt like Captain James Cook must have felt when he first landed on this continent. Unsure, vastly outnumbered, surrounded by flies and sweating profusely, having just left his air conditioned boat. Nine had joined Joey and was sitting proudly at his side with his tail wagging. He may not be in for a long life, but he certainly seemed happy. The people
around him were harder to read.
I cast my eyes around the campsite trying to get a picture of how they lived. It was very basic; a few scattered campfires were spread around the open area. They were not being used at the moment. Maybe they would be soon, now that lunch had arrived. I'm joking - my nerves have kicked in. The huts were mostly made of scrap roofing-iron, supported by spindly tree branches, trimmed of any excess material. A strong gust of wind would most likely be enough to render the occupants homeless. On the far-side of the camp I noticed two dilapidated cars parked under a shade tree. They were both the same color: rust-brown, and I had my doubts that they even ran. Maybe they were used as houses. Numerous dogs played together, watched on by a group of toddlers who had clearly given up trying to keep up with them.
Eventually, an old man moved out of the group that had formed around us and walked over. 'Gidday... I'm Warra Goomagawa,' he said. 'Welcome to our camp, fellas.'
At last a friendly smile appeared. We introduced ourselves and Warra, in turn, introduced a few of his family members who had stayed close by and were regarding us with interest. All the men and the women were bare-chested and one woman was breastfeeding a baby, supported on her ample hip, as she waved hello to us. Some of the very small children were naked. Warra suggested we move to the shade of one of the bigger trees and sit down. A dead tree branch about fifteen feet long lay on its side and we were offered a seat on its most comfortable section, which turned out to be the most shaded - the tree was the same hardness its entire length, I think.
It was quite a culture shock for the three of us to see the way they lived, but everyone seemed happy. Eventually the women drifted off and continued working on some food they seemed to be preparing. Maybe they were making things for the camp members to use, like the bag Joey had over his shoulder. Everyone seemed to have tasks to do. The place clearly worked like a well-oiled... campsite?
Not to be excluded in any way, Joey stood in the middle of our group and thrust his hand into his bag. He pulled out a large dead lizard, about eighteen inches in length. I noticed it had blood oozing from a puncture wound at the base of its head. Joey held it up for all to see and grinned proudly.
'Bloody good, Joey,' Warra said. 'Take it to Mumma.'
As Joey scampered off, Warra asked us, 'What brings you to our camp, fellas?'
I began the lengthy explanation of the purpose of our visit and when I got to the part where I told them it was all at Liz Stratton's instigation Warra's face broke into a big smile and he clapped his hands in approval.
'She a bloody fine lady,' he said, nodding his approval. 'A good friend.'
'And a terrific grandmother,' I added. 'We can't make any promises that we can fix the problem you have with the mining company. We mightn't be able to do anything, but we're sure going to try.'
We continued talking with the men of the tribe while the women prepared hot coals to cook Joey's lizard on. Warra invited us to stay for lunch and we agreed, reluctantly. After all, who in their right mind could turn down freshly charred lizard. It turned out I had underestimated my new friends ability to put on a banquet. Our lizard, which turned out to be a goanna, was accompanied with a nice tasty serving of snake. The look of horror on our collective faces at the news that snake was being served caused the men to laugh at us. One of Warra's sons, aptly named Bully, explained that it was a harmless python we'd be eating and he'd caught it himself this morning. The other item of interest on the menu were some big fat whitish grubs
Given that I'd soon be eating some of the things that I had feared would be eating me I took the opportunity to ask the men about my other great fear. 'Are there any Stinging Trees around here?'
'You mean Gympie-Gympie? No, mate, we don't have him around here,' one of them answered. 'Need to go closer to the coast for him. Nasty bastard, though,' he added, with a respectful nod of his head.
'Well then, what about the snake with the really bad venom?' I cautiously worked my way through my list.
'Oh, we love those snakes,' Bully answered. Then he grinned, 'They're bloody beautiful.' He licked his lips to indicate his particular meaning of beautiful.
I realized I was being sent-up. To the aborigines these dangers were no more threatening than a speeding taxi was to me back in London.
'We don't have too many Fierce Snakes around here, mate,' Bully continued. 'They're big buggers - fifteen to twenty feet long, and as fat as a bloke's arm. Some fellas call 'em Taipans. They're quick like lightening, but the boy, Joey, caught one a couple of weeks back.' He nodded his approval and reiterated his culinary opinion. 'Bloody good tucker, mate.'
I was still reconciling the fact that a boy Joey's age was allowed to wander the countryside alone with just a sharpened stick for protection. Well he did have Nine's help, but he'd not exactly tried to rip out throats out when we had suddenly presented in front of them. I wondered how the two of them would go about killing something as dangerous as a snake. I couldn't imagine Meg letting her girls get anywhere near a harmless spider, let alone any of the animals Joey apparently encountered on a daily basis.
Our meal was served to us by the women and I licked my lips in anticipation. Actually, I mean in fear. I willed my taste-buds to tell my brain it was just chicken - that is what everyone seems to say these exotic animal things actually taste like. My plate was a large leaf on top of a section of tree-bark. A selection of the meats were placed on top of it. The meat had been cooked on the open fire and was charred black, which strangely gave me some comfort. I could try and pretend it wasn't what it really is and in my non-scientific assessment, the intense heat might kill any poison that remained.
I bit into one of the pieces and chewed cautiously. Yum... Chicken...y.
Around me, our hosts were gnawing away at their food as if there was a prize for whoever finished first.
I tried another piece, this one a different shape so I assumed it was a different animal. I chewed again. Chicken.
Tim and Truf were having similar experiences and I grinned at them both as I showed-off and boldly took a large bite of my chicken. Mmm, delicious...
The one item I just couldn't try were the grubs, I muttered, 'No thank you,' and shook my head when one of the women offered it to me. She grinned and popped it into her own mouth before I could change my mind.
After the meal, which we had all managed to keep down, Joey ran off to play with his mates. I took the opportunity to asked Warra if he minded if we gave the kids some presents. I gave him the choice of keeping them himself to give out when he felt it was appropriate, but he said we should do it.
There was pandemonium for quite some time with footballs landing in the middle of camp fires, sending sparks into the air, and basketballs crashing off unsuspecting heads, accompanied with lots of yells and swearing, and corresponding squeals and laughter. One of the balls became lodged in the fork of a tree and the inventive little buggers formed a human totem-pole, with a tiny toddler at the pointy end, who used a stick to dislodge the precious ball.
While the kids worked out what to do with their new stuff Warra showed us some of his art. They were very similar to the big painting in Gran's house, but considerably smaller. The roof and sides of Warra's home were made mostly out of scrap corrugated iron roofing material and some flat pieces of weathered plywood. The roof was supported by straight tree branches, and the various parts of the structure were secured together with strands of the long grass. I doubt it was rain-proof and suspected special precautions were needed to protect his valuable art when the weather turned bad. Maybe he stored them in the cars, but there was no guarantee that they were weather-proof either.
'I'm too bloody old to do the big ones now,' he explained, when I mentioned Gran's pride of joy. 'And the white dealer guy who buys 'em, pays me the same for each one.' He smiled proudly. 'A hundred bucks each.' He raised his eyebrows as he said it, clearly impressed with the remuneration he was receiving.
I wasn't so sure and neither were Truf or Tim. We all e
xchanged frowns of surprise. Warra had about ten finished paintings waiting for his dealer to collect.
'They are really beautiful paintings, Warra,' Truf said as he leafed through the works that were leaning against the main roof supporting tree-trunk inside Warra's lean-to home. 'You might be able to get more for them from a different dealer.'
'No mate,' Warra shot him down. 'My dealer, he a good bloke, a bloody art expert. He say the market is shit at the moment. He doin me a big favor buying them from me.'
'Have you been selling to him for a long time?' Tim asked.
'Yeah mate. Years and years. He's made me a rich man,' Warra said as he led us to a grass bag similar to the one Joey had, only a lot bigger. He held it open to show us inside. It was packed full of hundred dollar bills. Hard to estimate how many but certainly many tens of thousands of dollars. Clearly, Warra had little use for the comforts money can buy.
'Maybe you should put that in a bank, Warra,' I offered as a suggestion, but he shook his head as I was saying it. Obviously I was not the first to suggest such a radical move.
'Safer here, mate. No bugger's gunna pinch it - they'd get a spear up their ass, real quick.' He grinned. 'The only danger is bush fire. But I'd just dig a bloody big hole and bury it until the flames have gone.'
I couldn't find any obvious flaws in his logic, so I just nodded.
'We should get going and have a look at the poisoned billabong and check-in on the miners to see what they're up to,' Truf said.
'I'll send Joey with you boys, I reckon you'd be lost before you reached the edge of the camp.' Warra and Bully both laughed at his joke at the expense of three stupid, hapless white guys.
But he did have a point. Without Joey we'd still be driving aimlessly around the countryside. Three English Alice's looking for a rabbit hole to fall into.
Chapter 7
Joey was stationed in his now familiar place at the front of the Land Cruiser. His bag draped over his shoulder and his spear was wedged near his right hand, he looked like a modern day miniature warrior. As hood ornaments go, he was on the large size, but when you included his radar and GPS capabilities he was a welcome addition to the car. Nine trotted along beside us, clearly capable of maintaining that position all day, if required. Twenty minutes of driving brought us to the billabong. We could actually smell it before we could see it, and that was with the windows closed and the aircon on.