The Songmaster (25 page)

Esme handed over her glass. ‘A gin and tonic will do nicely thanks, young man.’

The group laughed as the retired judge, now in his seventies, headed obediently to the bar.

‘So what have you been up to, Susan? Scouted out the lay of the land?’ Alistair MacKenzie was dressed in jeans and a designer T-shirt looking like a clean scout on his first day at camp.

‘I’ve had a fascinating time. I met Alan Carmichael, the art man, at the airport and he took me to Bungarra to meet the Barradja artists. It’s an incredible world. I do hope we get to see more of the art, especially the rock art.’ Susan turned to Veronica. ‘You would have loved it.’

As if on cue, Alan appeared. His greying hair, thick and unruly, had been smoothed in place. Freshly showered, he wore a clean white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black jeans with Italian black leather boots. Veronica gave Susan a look across the table. They had some serious catching up to do later.

The QC was impressed Susan had met Lucky Dodds. ‘He’s a national treasure. I have one of his paintings. Bought it years ago, couldn’t afford him now.’

‘You collect a bit of art, do you, Alistair?’ asked the judge.

‘Here and there. What about you?’

‘Nope. I had a collection of barbed wire for a bit. And knots. I’m great at knots.’

‘Barbed wire?’ asked Veronica with raised eyebrows. ‘Knots?’

‘My oath. You’d be amazed at how many types of barbed wire there are. Different styles and patterns. Going back to the old days. My last wife went and chucked it out. So that was the end of that.’

‘I heard you were writing your memoirs, Mick,’ said Alistair. ‘You had a colourful life before coming to the bar.’

‘Yeah. Well we won’t go into that. Gave the memoirs idea away. Too many people could’ve sued. Seemed a bit of an ego trip anyway.’

‘Now, Mick, that’s no excuse. You’ve been part of the legal history of this country, you should tell the behind-the-scenes of some of it. Expose some of those moralising do-gooders for the power-crazed greedy manipulators they really are,’ said Beth.

‘Like I said, defamation suits would’ve rained on me like confetti.’

‘You just need a good lawyer,’ grinned Alistair, who’d won a number of spectacular defamation suits. ‘And think of the publicity for your book.’

Rosalie, the pastoralist’s wife, looked pained. ‘I don’t believe one should wash dirty linen in public. I think you’re quite right to maintain a dignified silence.’

‘I’m not being dignified or silent, I’m just not writing a book,’ said Mick Duffy, downing his beer.

Esme spoke up in a clear, firm voice. ‘If one knows about corruption or misuse of power or any wrongdoing in an area you can expose, I believe one has a moral duty to do so. Staying silent is the cause of the apathy that is ruining this country. I’ve always spoken out.’

‘And always been in strife for it,’ added Beth. ‘Be honest, Esme, would you really put yourself through all of that again, for a principle that cost you at least one career?’

‘I most certainly would. In fact, I’m probably about to dive into another controversy in the coming months. You don’t lose your principles and beliefs along with your eyesight, hearing, hair and teeth, you know.’

‘Bully for you, Esme, you’re my kind of girl,’ exclaimed the judge. ‘Let me buy you another drink.’

‘I’m doing very nicely thank you.’ She took a sip of gin.

Susan added, ‘I hope I’m as strong as you, when I’m your age. I wish you were coming with us, Esme.’

‘I’m too busy,’ said Esme.

‘So, Alan, tell us about the art we might see out . . . where exactly are we going again?’ asked Veronica turning to Beth.

‘The King Edward River. Wandjina country. The country of the Barradja people is a sanctuary protected by the Wandjina spirits.’

‘So what exactly are . . . is . . . a Wandjina?’ asked Veronica.

Beth lit a cigarette and spoke through a plume of smoke, her voice taking on what the group would come to recognise as her interpreter’s tone. ‘They’re the creator spirits . . . but the most powerful. We say “they” but it’s unclear whether it is plural or one all-powerful spirit. The Barradja believe they were once in human form and came from the clouds. They walked the country when it was soft like a jelly, creating the landscape, and then went back into the earth leaving their images on the rocks, in shelters. The halo effect around their heads on the paintings represents the clouds and lightning.’

‘So the Barradja believe that the paintings weren’t done
by
certain people, they just
appeared
there?’ asked the QC, clarifying the point. And as Beth nodded and dragged again on her cigarette, he added, ‘It’s a hard concept to grasp.’

‘It’s at the core of their belief system, their law. The spirits of the Wandjina are immortal; they are the creators of this land, and they’re very powerful and must be honoured and treated with respect. Anger them, and you’ll be punished.’

‘Haven’t there been some wild theories about these paintings over the years?’ asked the judge. ‘I’ve read that they inspired Erich von Daniken’s book,
Chariots of the Gods.’

‘Who found them?’ asked Susan.

‘The custodians and law men have always known about them. It’s part of their law to
observe ceremonies and care for them. But in recent years that’s proved difficult. Ardjani will talk to you about their significance. But, Susan, the Wandjina figure was first recorded by white men when explorer George Grey went looking for an inland sea in 1837. I bet he felt spooked when he found himself being watched by a giant figure on the rock,’ laughed Beth.

‘What did he make of it?’

‘He wrote of it as an ancient figure in clothing wearing a halo with old script on it. He probably saw it as biblical. A hundred years later explorers started photographing and speculating and they came up with everything from aliens to Macassans, Hindus, Asians, all number of cultures they presumed had passed through.’

‘Nobody asked the Aborigines, one assumes?’ commented Judge Duffy.

‘Do modern Barradja Aborigines subscribe to the view of continuity since creation?’ asked Alistair MacKenzie.

‘You’ll find Ardjani interesting on that,’ said Beth. ‘They have never questioned such a theory. Never needed to. It’s their belief in law and culture.’

Susan listened to the two legal men, wondering where their train of questioning was leading. Then Esme jumped in with surprising acerbity. ‘Ivory-tower academics. They go at things from the wrong end of the stick, time and again. It’s the people who get out in the field, the archaeologists, anthropologists, palaeontologists, art
historians, the people who go and look at the things with clear eyes, clear heads, talk to the local people and really listen, and haven’t written their paper before they get there, they’re the ones who start to see the true picture. Politicians, bureaucrats . . .
psshaw
. . . they’re as bad as academics.’

‘I don’t know about you people but I would like to eat,’ announced Rosalie, stopping the conversation dead.

Beth whispered to Veronica beside her. ‘Don’t mind old Esme, she’s somewhat bitter about the tertiary scene. She had a falling out years ago and funds for her research were cut off by the university. Long story. Tell you round the campfire one night.’

‘I’m looking forward to these fireside chats,’ said Veronica as the group began to rise from the table. ‘What are we eating?’

‘Looks like motel Chinese,’ shrugged Alan.

‘Beth, aren’t there any other choices in town?’ asked Mick Duffy.

Beth checked her watch. ‘There are, but by the time we get served and straggle back it will be late and frankly, I don’t think any of the girls should walk without a bloke, it’s a bit dangerous.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Listen to Billy, he’s in charge till we get to Marrenyikka.’

Billy tucked in his shirt and cleared his throat. ‘Reckon we need to get away no later than 5 a.m. Be at the front entrance with your gear between four thirty and quarter to five.’

Veronica, not an early riser, stared at Susan, her jaw dropping. ‘The man is mad.’

‘What are we travelling in? Is it airconditioned?’ asked Susan.

‘You bet. All mod cons. Made in Western Australia. It’s an Oka.’

‘I’m not travelling in an okker,’ hissed Veronica in mock alarm.

‘You’ll be asleep, you won’t notice,’ retorted Susan.

‘No sleeping in the Oka. Too much to see and learn. Best part of the trip,’ declared Beth joining them as they moved towards Digby’s Restaurant. ‘Get some fruit and bread rolls to take with you for an early breakfast, nothing will be open.’

It was still dark as the two legal men stood at the shut and silent entrance to the motel. Mick Duffy sniffed the air. ‘Piccaninny daylight they call it out here. Or at least they used to. You can smell dawn coming. A blind man could tell it’s coming. Feel that breeze? Feels soft, like in some far-off place the sun is starting to warm the sky.’

‘You miss those days in the bush, when you were a youngster, Mick?’

‘Yeah. I also did a stint in a mine at the Isa. Took off to find opals and sapphires. Had a bit of luck, but mostly bad luck. Decided to go back to the city. But some things about the bush never leave you, isn’t that what they say out here?’

‘I don’t know. I never experienced the genuine thing. I’m a city boy from generations of city lawyers. Sleeping on the beach after a surf club party has been about as rugged as I’ve known.’

‘No camping, caravan holidays?’ The judge gave him a pitying look.

‘No. I suppose this will make up for it. I always felt I was deprived of those particular boyhood experiences. We used to spend holidays at our family beach house.’

Beth appeared silently behind them. ‘Morning, gentlemen. You are not the people I had imagined would be ready first.’

‘We can look after ourselves. Those sheilas are the ones that need rounding up,’ grinned Mick.

Alistair glanced at his watch. ‘Ten to five. Deadline approaches.’

The sound of a motor and a set of headlights bore towards them, the brightness bouncing off the glass front doors. It was a rugged-looking vehicle. Capable of seating ten people, it wore a square hat of a railed roof rack and at its tail was a squat van-like trailer.

The Oka stopped and Billy swung down and hurried to Beth, apologetic. ‘Sorry I’m late, had trouble with the trailer. So where’s everybody?’ he mumbled. ‘It’s going to take time loading the gear up top.’

‘Good morning, William,’ said Beth pointedly, but with a smile. ‘Calm down, we’ll get
there. Here’s two blokes, there’s their stuff.’ She pointed at the duffle bag and smart suitcase. ‘You blokes get first pick of the seats. Hop on board.’

Billy looked troubled. ‘Not good to start like this. If they can’t get together on time first morning out, it’ll only get worse. When we break camp we should be up and away, breakfast done in an hour. Be hanging round all morning at this rate,’ he grumbled, as he mounted the small iron ladder attached to the side and flung the judge’s duffle bag on top.

‘You want our stuff?’ Susan and Veronica appeared dragging their gear forward. Both carried plastic bags and large carry-alls to keep with them in the Oka.

‘What’s all that?’ asked Beth.

‘Things to keep us occupied in the bus. Food, magazines, bottled water, you said to bring breakfast, so we grabbed stuff from the restaurant last night.’

‘Cold spring rolls. Ugh.’

‘Carry breakfast and water, that’s all you need.’ Beth watched Billy stow her only luggage, a small sports bag, on the roof. ‘Right. Just Alan to come. He was last to leave the restaurant, said he had a phone call to make. It was late, so I left him.’

‘Maybe someone better get him. I bet he’s still sleeping. You should all have arranged to wake each other, or used an alarm clock,’ said Billy, standing by the door looking worried.

Beth stepped out of the Oka. ‘I’ll get him.’ She strode into the dim gardens.

Inside the van, they left the front seat behind Billy for Beth, and Veronica and Susan took one side. Mick headed straight to the back seat. ‘Always sit in the back seat. Always have.’ Alistair sat opposite him. ‘This is first class back here, eh?’ commented the judge. ‘Nice upholstery, individual aircon units, tinted windows, plenty of room. I can camp in here for a bit, no trouble.’

‘Four-wheel drive, of course,’ said Veronica.

‘You bet, with forward control. She’s the best, this baby.’ Billy saw Beth approach alone, and stepped down to meet her.

‘Billy told me last night he thought this trip would be a feather in his cap and he’d be able to promote his tours a lot better after this,’ said Veronica. ‘I got the impression he might want to run his own trips up here.’

Beth appeared in the doorway and held up her hands in despair. ‘He’s not coming.’

‘What!’ Susan was immediately disappointed. ‘We can wait for him, can’t we?’

‘He’s going to join us later today. He’s going to ask Rosalie for a lift in her plane. We’ll pick him up at The Avenue, the Wards’ place. It’s not out of the way.’

‘Has he overslept? Surely we can wait a bit?’

Beth settled herself in the front seat. ‘Business. Some big deal that has to be fixed now. He’s on the phone with a European dealer
sorting out a problem with an overseas exhibition. We’ll check in with him in a couple of hours to make sure we get him from the Wards’ place.’