The Songmaster (28 page)

They made one false turn. And it proved to be a bad one. Twilight had sunk into the soft blanket of early night when Beth thought she recognised
the turn-off – a partially marked track that should take them to the boundary of Marrenyikka. However, the track suddenly petered out in soft boggy marsh. Billy began to turn the Oka but a heavy, low branch blocked their way, he swung around in the other direction, only to find the front wheels sinking into fine wet sand. He hit reverse, but even with its powerful four-wheel drive, the vehicle lodged in the muddy quagmire. They piled out to assess the situation.

‘We have two problems here. It’s impossible to go back and too difficult to go forward.’ Billy waded into the mud at the rear and opened a hatch to pull out equipment.

‘I don’t think I like this,’ said Susan to Veronica.

Alan seemed unperturbed. ‘A little excitement, eh?’

‘I could live without this sort of excitement,’ answered Veronica.

Billy handed the chain to Mick. ‘Put this around that tree. And shine the torch over here,’ shouted Billy.

With wavering beams of light from torches held by Beth and Susan, and the headlights shining across the boggy patch to where Mick had wound the chain twice around a solid tree, Billy started the automatic winch.

‘If that’s going to pull us out, what’s on the other side?’ shouted Mick. ‘Let’s have a look.’ Billy took the torch from
Beth, and Alan took the other from Susan. Swiftly they pulled off their boots and socks. Billy broke two sticks off a branch and they waded through the bog, testing the ground ahead of them until they reached the firmer ground. The beam from the torchlight wavered through the trees.

‘Doesn’t look like we can drive through there,’ said Alistair.

‘Why don’t we go backwards?’ wondered Veronica.

‘The winch is at the front, bright eyes,’ said Mick.

But Billy solved the problem by pulling out a chainsaw, and he cleared a path by felling small trees. The winch slowly hauled them forward onto firmer ground and Billy drove in a wide circle around the bog and back to the main track, with Beth straining to look for her landmarks in the powerful headlights. This time there was no mistake and two hours later, they rolled along flattened grass tracks into the Barradja camp.

There was nothing to mark the boundary of the three square kilometres of Marrenyikka that had been allocated to the Barradja. Suddenly there was the welcoming glow of a large campfire and weak electric lights in low buildings.

‘What I wouldn’t give for a strong mug of tea . . . or stronger,’ sighed Veronica.

Beth looked over her shoulder. ‘This is a dry camp. No booze. If anyone has any . . ?’ No one
spoke up. ‘Then keep it out of sight. Ardjani and the elders are adamant that their people don’t bring the problems that come with grog in here. He says drinking alcohol isn’t right way living.’

‘Where do I go?’ asked Billy driving past a few straggling trees.

‘Head for the fire,’ said Beth.

The commanding figure of Rusty Kinawalli loomed into view in the headlights and he waved them down with his Chicago Bulls baseball cap.

‘G’day, mate. What took you blokes so long?’

‘A few hold-ups along the way. Where do you want me to put this?’

‘Hey, Rusty. Any tucker left?’ called Beth.

‘Nope.’ He gave a broad grin and rubbed his paunch. ‘We ate your dinner. You no here.’ Standing inside the open doorway of the Oka, he guided them to a clearing two hundred metres from the main camp. A ring of paperbark trees and scrubby undergrowth screened the perimeter, making it a perfect campsite. The group straggled out of the vehicle.

Beth did some quick introductions. ‘Everybody, this is Rusty,’ she said loudly. ‘Elder and key player in the local scene.’ As another man appeared, trailing several dogs and children, she added, ‘And here’s Digger Manjarrie. Another of the elders.’

Rusty nodded at them and Digger lifted his hand.

‘Anyone want to go to the toilet. Over there.’

‘Which tree is Digger pointing at?’ whispered Veronica.

‘Not the trees, though you can if you want. Watch out for the rogue bull out there though.’

‘You’re joking! Aren’t you?’

‘Nah, he won’t hurt you. He’s a stray from one of the properties. The kids here ride him. He’s a pussy cat. No, see there to the left, there’s a cement block? That’s the shower block. Two showers, two loos, and tubs if you want to launder stuff. They’ve got the generator going so there’ll be lights over at the showers.’

Billy bustled. Like a fully wound motor toy, he buzzed around the vehicle. The trailer sides were up and propped out like an awning and he lugged a small generator to one side. ‘I’ll bung some lights on and we’ll make camp.’

Alan shook hands with Rusty and Digger who greeted him warmly.

Soon everyone was fumbling with bags, tents and collapsible camp beds. Amid much laughter, the novice campers struggled to emulate the simple demonstration by Billy on how to put up their individual tents. They paired off to help each other. Susan let out a groan as her tent collapsed on top of her. Veronica, holding flaps she assumed were the front doors, sat on the ground helpless with laughter as Susan crawled out.

‘What did you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything, you did it all on your own.’

‘Girls! Can I help?’ Mick was in his macho element.

‘Let the judge do it, Susan.’

As they all struggled with a task that had taken Billy only seven minutes to demonstrate, he got the generator working and lights flared on several poles and over the trailer that was now their kitchen and pantry. He had the portable gas stove going and, with Alan’s help, erected a plastic awning over two trestle tables. Alistair lit the fire – laid out by the Barradja men – and set collapsible chairs around it in a semi circle.

Inside her tent, Susan struggled with the camp bed. She’d been expecting to sleep on the ground in the open bush so a tent, bed, showers and flush toilet were a pleasant surprise. As one side of the bed snapped out of place again, she cursed until Veronica called out from the next tent. ‘Put your foot on the bottom chrome bar, then push!’

Susan stepped triumphantly out of her tent and Veronica joined her, laughing. ‘Crikey, I hadn’t expected to be plunged into girl guide activities the instant we arrived. My tongue’s hanging out for a cup of tea.’

‘There’s hot water on the stove and the billy’s over the fire as an extra,’ said Alistair. ‘It’s all looking quite civilised. Alan has volunteered me to help him prepare dinner.’

‘Hope it’s nothing fancy. It must be close to ten o’clock.’

‘Soup and jaffles.’

Billy had a pot of canned tomato soup on the stove and Alan was showing Alistair how to butter the outside of bread and describing the principle of a jaffle iron, putting the bread in the metal halves. Alistair covered the slices with an assortment of onions, cheese, tomatoes, eggs and baked beans. As they were ready, the irons were handed to Mick who placed them at the edge of the fire.

‘Ingenious invention. One of the post-war gifts to the masses,’ declared Mick, starting to turn them over. ‘Got my first jaffle iron in 1949. Thought it the greatest idea since meat pies.’

Beth disappeared to speak to the Barradja, who had left the group to get settled. Susan and Veronica handed around tomato sauce, paper towels and knives and forks, as they each had a jaffle tipped onto their plate by the triumphant legal team.

When they were all settled back with mugs of tea and sweet biscuits, Beth returned with Rusty, Digger and two women.

Lilian and her daughter, Jennifer, were introduced as custodians of the law. ‘Jennifer is a registered nurse, and now she’s being trained as a Barradja medicine woman,’ Beth explained. Next two boys, smiling shyly, were pushed forward. ‘This is Luke and Joshua.’

The children settled themselves on the
ground while a couple of camp chairs were produced by Billy for the women. Rusty and Digger sat on logs they had dragged from the firewood dumped nearby. Mugs of tea were handed around and Tiny Teddy biscuits, offered to the children, caused a fresh flurry of laughter, pushing and shoving, and a rattle of words that the visitors realised was their first close encounter with a different Australian language.

In the hubbub of the friendly curiosity of the children, and the passing of food and mugs of tea, and conversation with Rusty and Digger, none of the visitors noticed the arrival of a man, who stood in the shadows just beyond the campfire light. He took in the scene, studying each of the visitors as well as the light permitted. Apart from Beth and Alan, they were strangers to him, these three lawyers, Alan, Beth, and the radio woman. For a moment he wondered whether they really amounted to the team he’d envisaged, when this whole scheme had first been put by him to the elders. They would all find out soon enough, he mused, and when the conversation fell away, he stepped into the circle of light.

‘Ardjani!’ exclaimed Beth with delight, and all heads swung to take in the new arrival.

The tall, slim man stood straight, the firelight sculpting his strong face. He swept off his big cowboy hat to reveal hair curling almost to his shoulders. A warm smile spread across his features. Susan looked quickly to Veronica.

The QC and the judge stood to shake hands and the others followed their lead. Beth took Ardjani around the group, introducing them. Another chair was found, and everyone settled down again. The children, whose father he was, had quietly disappeared.

‘Tea?’ asked Beth.

‘You got that condensed milk. That sweet one?’ he asked, his eyes wrinkling in a grin at her, anticipating what her answer would be.

‘No . . . we saved the last of the fresh milk for you, Ardjani,’ said Beth, who knew the old man had diabetes.

Billy handed Ardjani an enamelled mug.

‘That’s a good bus you got there, Billy,’ he said.

‘It’s as faithful as my wife,’ said Billy brightly. ‘Never lets me down.’

Ardjani threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘You lucky fella. Got good wife and good bus. Two-time winner, eh!’

Everyone joined in the laughter and as they settled down again, Ardjani caught Beth’s eye. ‘Well, what do you want to do, Beth?’

‘Why not ask them?’

His eye scanned the group and settled on Alistair MacKenzie, who was acutely aware that the old man was branding him as spokesman.

‘Let me say, and I believe I speak for everyone, how deeply honoured and pleased we are to be here. We have, I think, come here to learn,
to listen to what you and your people have to tell us, to share with us.’ He gave a small smile. ‘We feel a little like children being admitted to a new school.’

Several of the group nodded in agreement, as did Digger and Rusty. This was as it should be. Pleasantries, polite exchanges, the formalities courteously observed.

‘This is good. This makes my heart glad,’ Ardjani said. ‘It is good you gadia – you white people – come with an open heart. We speak with honesty and we hope what we say will go inside you. Inside your heart. That way we can share our gift with you.’ Ardjani pointed to Susan. ‘And you?’

She licked her lips, feeling she should try to articulate the currents of emotion beginning to swirl inside her. But she voiced the pragmatic. ‘I would like to know how Barradja law works.’

‘I go along with that,’ added Mick Duffy.

Ardjani was still studying Susan. ‘You a law woman?’

She nodded.

‘You got children?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘You got husband?’

‘No, no. Not yet.’

‘Ah. So you looking, eh?’ There was a mischievous light in his eyes. ‘Maybe one of these fellas be a good husband for you.’

Susan looked down, wishing she wasn’t the centre of attention, and Beth grinned. ‘Don’t
tease her, Ardjani. She’s got a nice boyfriend. A pastoralist fella. One of Yandoo’s mob.’

‘You know that family? They got two boys, I been there. I see them one time when I go there for muster,’ said Ardjani. ‘They long way from here. They over near the Territory border. Different country to here. Better land for cattle there. They still got good cattle?’

‘I think so. The Frazers seemed pleased with them.’

‘Ardjani, Alan has asked if it will be possible to take us to see some of the rock art in your special places?’ asked Beth, changing the subject.

Ardjani spoke briefly to Rusty and Digger. Both men responded with barely perceptible nods of agreement. He turned to Beth. ‘Your mob wanna start learnin’ t’morra?’

‘If your mob says it’s okay, we would love to see some Dreaming rock art,’ said Alan, taking pains to approach the subject with regard to Aboriginal protocol.

‘Yeah, yeah, we do that.’

‘And the Wandjina paintings. Dhumby the owl, we can see that, too?’

Ardjani rubbed his chin. ‘That’s a hard thing for us to do. We are very sad.’

‘Why is that?’ asked Mick, wondering what strange cultural taboo was responsible.

‘Some pastoralists don’t let us take whitefellas to see our paintings and sacred sites.’ Ardjani was quiet for a moment. ‘This land’ – he drew a large circle with his arm – ‘all round
here, 200,000 square kilometres. Always been Barradja land, since creation time. But whitefellas and the government come and make cattle properties and chase our people away. Then, when we gather our people together and we want to come back to our land, the whitefellas say no, this a pastoral lease now, this cattle country. They say this all Crown land. That means the Queen and the government own our land. But one old pastoralist say, we give you a little bit. This little bit, Marrenyikka, you can stay there. So they give us this three square kilometres like a matchbox, eh. So we stay here for dry season. In the wet we go into town at Marrenjowan. But we want to bring back the rest of our people from the reserves and the towns. We need more of our land. There’s plenty Crown land that’s not pastoral lease. We want to do our sacred business, and hunt, and live on our land, and teach our children the good ways our fathers taught us.’