‘I just want to say that I think you’re incredible. The way you came through . . . that.’ I tentatively pointed to the missing limb.
‘I just never wanted it to define me, y’know? Didn’t want the missing bit to be who I was. Mind you, it did have some benefits.’ She laughed as she climbed into bed.
‘Like what?’
‘When I applied for uni, I got a full house of offers.’
‘You probably deserved them.’
‘Whether I did or didn’t, I could take my pick. A disabled Aboriginal person manages to tick two boxes on the government quota forms. The unis were fighting over me.’
‘That sounds seriously cynical,’ I responded as I too got into bed.
‘Maybe, but it was me who got the chance of a great education, and I made the most of it. So who’s the winner here?’ she asked, as she reached to switch off the bedside light.
‘You,’ I replied.
You . . . with all your positivity and strength and zest for life.
I lay there in the darkness, feeling her alien but familiar energy only a few feet away.
‘Night, Cee,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I’m here.’
I smiled. ‘So am I.’
20
‘You gonna wake up or what?’
I felt someone’s breath on my face and struggled to rise to consciousness through the deep fug of my usual late morning sleep.
‘Christ, Cee, we’ve wasted half the morning already!’
‘Sorry.’ I opened my eyes and saw Chrissie sitting on the bed opposite me, a hint of irritation on her face. ‘I’m a late sleeper by nature.’
‘Well, in the past three hours, I’ve eaten brekky, taken a wander round the town and hired us a car that you need to pay for at reception. We need to leave for Hermannsburg, like, pronto.’
‘Okay, sorry again.’ I threw back the sheet and staggered upright. Chrissie watched me quizzically as I pulled on my shorts and rooted in my rucksack for a clean T-shirt.
‘What’s up?’ I asked her as her eyes followed me to the mirror where I ran a hand through my hair.
‘Do you often have nightmares?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, sometimes. My sister told me I did anyway,’ I said casually. ‘Sorry if I disturbed you.’
‘You don’t remember them?’
‘Some of them, yes. Right,’ I said, shoving my wallet into my shorts pocket, ‘let’s go to Hermannsburg.’
As we drove out of town onto a wide, straight road surrounded by red earth on either side, the sun beat down on our tiny tin-can car. I was amazed it didn’t explode from the heat it was enduring.
‘What are they called?’ I asked, pointing to the jagged mountains in the distance.
‘The MacDonnell Ranges,’ said Chrissie without missing a beat. ‘Namatjira did lotsa paintings of them.’
‘They look purple.’
‘That’s the colour he painted them.’
‘Oh, right.’ Then I wondered if I could ever paint a realistic representation of what I saw in the world. ‘How does anyone ever survive out here?’ I mused, looking out of the window at the vast open landscape. ‘Like, there’s nothing for miles and miles.’
‘They adapt, simple as that. Did you ever read Darwin?’
‘Read it? I thought Darwin was a city.’
‘It is, idiot, but a bloke called Darwin also wrote books – the most famous was called On the Origin of Species. He talks about how all the plants and flowers and animals and humans have adapted to their surroundings over millennia.’
I turned to look at Chrissie. ‘You’re a secret boff, aren’t you?’
‘Nope.’ Chrissie shook her head firmly. ‘I’m just interested in what made us, that’s all. Aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, that’s why I’m here in Australia.’
‘I’m not talking about our families. I mean, what really made us. And why.’
‘You’re sounding like my sister, Tiggy. She goes on about a higher power.’
‘I’d like to meet your sister. She sounds cool. What does she do?’
‘She works up in Scotland at a deer sanctuary.’
‘That sounds worthwhile.’
‘She thinks so.’
‘It’s good for the soul to be responsible for something or someone. Like, when our Aboriginal boys have their initiation, they’re circumcised and then given a stone – it’s called a tjurunga – and on it is a special marking showing them what they need to look after in the Bush. Could be a waterhole or a sacred cave, or maybe a plant or an animal. Whatever it is, it’s their responsibility to protect and care for it. There used to be a human chain all the way across the Outback that had a responsibility to look after the necessities. The system kept our tribes alive as they crossed the desert.’
‘That sounds incredible,’ I breathed. ‘Like the traditions actually have a point. So, do only boys get one of those tju—’
‘Tjurunga stones. Yeah, only men get one – women and children aren’t allowed to touch them.’
‘That’s a bit unfair.’
‘It is,’ she said with a shrug, ‘but we women have our own sacred traditions too, that we keep separate from the men. My grandma took me out Bush when I was thirteen, and I’m not joking, I was scared shitless, but actually, it was really cool. I learnt some useful stuff, like how to use my digging stick to find water or insects, which plants are edible and how to use them. And’ – Chrissie tugged at her ears – ‘by the time I came back, I could hear someone sneeze from halfway down the street and tell ya exactly who it was. Out there, we were listening for danger, or the trickle of water nearby, or voices in the distance that would guide us back to our family.’
‘It sounds amazing. I’ve always loved that sort of stuff.’
‘Look!’ Chrissie shouted suddenly. ‘There’s a buncha ’roos!’
Chrissie steered the car onto the dusty verge of the road and slammed on the brakes, flinging our heads backwards into their rests.
‘Sorry, but I didn’t want ya to miss them. Gotta camera?’
‘Yup.’
The kangaroos were much larger than I’d been expecting and Chrissie encouraged me into silly poses in front of them. As we walked back to the car, swatting away the interminable flies that investigated our skin, I couldn’t help remembering the last time I’d used my camera and what had happened to the roll of film inside it. Standing in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of kangaroos and Chrissie, Thailand seemed a world away.
‘How far now?’ I asked as we set off again.
‘Forty minutes, tops, I reckon.’
And it was at least that before we finally turned off a dirt track and saw a cluster of whitewashed buildings. There was a hand-painted wooden sign telling us we’d arrived at Hermannsburg mission.
As we climbed out, I saw that we – and the occupants of a pickup truck parked close to the entrance – were the only humans that had arrived by car. I wasn’t surprised. The small cluster of huts was surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness, like the surface of Mars. I noticed it was almost completely silent, not a whisper of a breeze, just the occasional buzzing of insects. Even I, who liked peace and wide open spaces, felt isolated here.
We walked towards the entrance and ducked inside the tin-roofed bungalow, our eyes slowly adjusting after the blinding sunshine.
‘G’day,’ said Chrissie to the man standing behind the counter.
‘G’day. Just the two of youse?’
‘Yeah.’