“Im dere ole Classen and Mitta Hentig bin tol-eh, but-em no say – see em-fla’s want your-big-walk-mob go-start - see boss.” Even now, Jimmy tried to soften the knowledge that could have avoided this catastrophe.
“Me an Billy part blame too boss,” he confessed. A thin bloody smile crept over his wrecked face. “Huh – we bin lay wit some dem fullas’ lubra – give ‘em right proper ole humpin – an make ‘em wild fullas proper bloody mad too boss.” He tried to laugh but coughed blood out instead.
“But gone be okay now boss – dat ole-man, one ole Spirit-fulla, e bin come soon: take you,” Jimmy’s body seemed to deflate into the ground he lay on and Leichardt was sure the poor man had gone.
But he groaned loudly, scaring Leichardt badly as he spoke again. “Orrh!” he exclaimed enviously. “You-fla bin see alla dem tings dat yu-fla bin draw alla-time eh, Mitta Ludwig,” he said, startling his boss who had thought he’d already died. But like Classen, he held on and spoke yet again.
“Yu-fla bin see – orrh – more dan any-bloody-one-mob bin dream bout, eh boss,” His voice floated at Leichardt, as if Jimmy was speaking from another place already. “Yu-fla bin take dat-one-care now boss – my time bin finish one-time,” he whispered.
Finally, in almost an echo of a sigh, he said: “Time ole Jimmy bin go back Dreaming now Bo…” And with those few words, Wommai, also known as Jimmy and Kiuah passed over into the ever rebirthing Dreaming cycle of his ancient people.
Left alive - though feeling anything but - Leichardt sighed in despair at what had suddenly become just another lifeless husk in the small clearing. He now realized that his friends had made a terrible and fatal error in not giving him the chance to check the rumors of the warned gathering. He sat bewildered at the rapid escalation of events that had left no time to act. There was only time to react to each unfolding horror. His head reeled. He understood that he too would die here, irrespective of the earnest wishes of a dying native. He had no idea what Jimmy meant about an old man coming. He simply put it down to the death-fever that sometimes accompanied the passing of humans, which he’d encountered previously when helping the dying pass on…
A long night
He sat quietly exhausted, one knee on the ground and a trembling arm on the damaged wagon holding him upright while his head rested on his other knee. He was still hugging the wagon that had hidden him when Hentig was killed. His body, clothes, beard and hair were caked with dirt from the thick dust and cold sweat that rose on his skin as the energy-giving adrenaline faded, replaced by a deathly silence that was broken only by his own racking sobs. Leichardt shook himself, trying to will himself to move, to survive, but all he could bring himself to do was to listen for their footsteps. He had one rifle with him and he knew that he would not have time to reload when they came for him; moreover, the fight had gone from him with his final companion.
He listened distractedly between shivering bouts of semi-consciousness, occasionally peering out over his protection at the surrounding bush, awaiting his certain and violent death. He sat like this for hours, wallowing in short periods of shocking clarity, where he realized the great expedition was truly over. It was at those lucid moments that he sank ever lower in flesh and spirit, until finally the solemn night fled and the first grey light of the false dawn revealed the kneeling silhouette of a broken shell of a man…
Chapter 10
No waste for Desert dwellers
Then, as the day’s first real light began to play across the land, a rolling echo of sound built up in a crescendo of frenzied passion until it assumed the form of an absurd mocking laughter. Leichardt covered his ears as the series of screaming cries, fluctuating somewhere between madness and insanity, rang out in frantic shrieks of shrill laughter that Leichardt desperately wished to articulate. In his physical and mental exhaustion, it was as if the land itself cried out in dismay with his own soul at the waste of lives, through the hundreds of inexplicably gathered kookaburras that gathered in the surrounding trees and cackled out their mockery of men and their ways.
It was the last straw for the scientist and naturalist. He fell sobbing to the ground, overcome by the horrors of the night and into blessed semi-consciousness as he curled up child-like on the ground. While he lay, past all care and in abject misery, yielding to whatever fate awaited him, some sixth sense broke through his miserable apathy and told him he was being watched. Every hair on his body stood up to tingling attention, reinforcing the feeling as he began to raise himself shakily to a kneeling position.
He raised his tired head and weary eyes, and saw a group of 50 or more native warriors standing in front of him. He had not heard them approach and was utterly dumbfounded at their silent arrival - and casual attitude. There were no threats, nor a weapon raised, although they carried enough weaponry to kill a hundred men. Instead, there were only inquisitive and some very intelligent eyes, set in proud black faces all watching him, and he sensed, waiting on something or someone else.
Leichardt dropped the useless rifle that he’d forgotten he was carrying and loosened his beloved sword from his back where he carried it as a last resort. He laid it on the ground with the rifle. He was outnumbered, outflanked, outgunned and now, mentally and physically exhausted. They were too many to fight and if even one of these warriors could throw their weapons as did the warrior that killed Hentig, he thought, it would be pointless to fight…
3 wise men
The silent group parted and he saw three white-haired, wizened elders step into his small protected area. They squat on their haunches in the manner that kangaroo sat, he noticed, arranging themselves comfortably around where he knelt waiting; resigned to his fate. Then they signed to him with hand and head motions for him to sit with them, smiling largely at him as if they were old friends meeting again. Not a word was spoken and Leichardt began to fear whatever these old curious men had in store for him. Their casualness scared him more than any threat could and he sat with as much dignity as he could muster, while they too just sat and watched him quietly.
He heard a sudden burst of activity from the main group as a small boy – all large curious eyes and ragged reddish-brown hair – stepped into the circle carrying food on a platter of tree bark. Leichardt was astonished as the boy lowered his head, acknowledging his elders, then walked toward him and offered the plate to him, standing with one leg bent and his foot resting on the knee of his other leg. He held the food out in front of him until Leichardt slowly and with trembling hands took it from him, and then the boy bowed with respect and quickly disappeared into the now-dispersing group.
Arranged on the bark were sugar-bag pots of honey from the tiny black native bees, fruits, roasted nuts and several small birds that had been roasted on a fire. He looked in awe at the food and back at the old men sitting with him, but they only made hand to mouth eating gestures and smiled strangely at him with their rheumy old eyes. Leichardt understood that this was behavior generally associated with a guest at a native camp, and although he had no appetite after the trauma he had undergone, he began to calm down and chew some of the food, simply for his sanity and etiquette’s sake. The boy abruptly returned with one of the expedition’s canvas water bottles, and again waited patiently like a stork on one leg until Leichardt accepted it from his outstretched hands…
The expedition disappears
As he gazed around him, he saw that the warriors had stripped the camp bare of every single large item. Strong capable looking women and lean wiry children struggled back to the tree line with anything they’d missed. As he sat, wondering at his fate and looking forlornly over the area, he saw that they had left no trace of his whole expedition. Even the spilled flour and grains had been scraped up – all his work, his crew, the animals and equipment that had taken months, in some cases years of work to gather together – was gone, vanished in one night. He also saw that they had buried his colleagues’ bodies in shallow graves, showing curious respect to the men that had died in battle. He wondered wh
y they had shown such respect and why he had been spared, at least for now.
The three elders stayed with him as the day grew hotter with the sun’s rising, their only actions being to move him with themselves to the shade of a great old gum tree, off to the side of the easy bare flat land in the valley. The rest of the attackers and their families had disappeared into their lands – invisible again except when wanting to be seen when staring curiously at him. Leichardt drank gratefully and offered water to the old men, who smiled at him and declined. He reasoned that it was now about nine o’clock by the sun’s shadows, as his loyal old timepiece had been damaged in the events during the night…
Something’s coming
In the cold light of this new day, as he began to hope in his sad weariness that perhaps the whole thing was a nightmarish dream of some sort, the elders with him began to glance around – almost fearfully it seemed. If something was coming that could frighten these three tough, wizened old warriors, it scared Leichardt all the more, and he too began to peer around, wishing for once that he had better eyesight than his thick-lensed glasses afforded him. Then he heard it: a distant low humming that he recollected from somewhere that slipped his memory just as he thought of it. Soon after he felt a vibration in the ground underneath and at this sign, the elders abruptly rose and left hurriedly with short respectful bows to Leichardt as they went, quickly disappearing into the land around them…
The old stranger
Leichardt heard a faint song and abruptly, he recognized the wonderful voice behind it. Realization dawned at where he’d heard and felt the humming sound before as well. It was that old white-haired man, back when he had tended the three wounded men at what now seemed a lifetime ago, but was only five or six years before. The humming and the vibration had come and gone with that old man then. The old frail-looking elder who’d somehow carried two grown invalid men away with him. Leichardt looked out to where the voice was strongest and watched in growing amazement as trees, bushes, even the air itself seemed to part to allow this serene old man to move through it at his leisure.
As he moved closer, Leichardt saw that although the old man’s skin color was as black as most of his race, he was certain he could see other colors meandering across and through his slender body if that were possible, he thought, putting it down to the stress of the night. The former strange thoughts of that meeting rushed back into his mind. He felt sure that this was no ordinary man. It was as if this old gentleman was the land and the land was an actual part of him, he thought. It was inexplicable to Leichardt’s ordered mind that he was even thinking thoughts such as this, especially after the long terrifying night that had just passed, but the old man brought such gentle strength and peace with him, it seemed almost natural to accept such earthy divinity…
Divinity
That was it! He nodded to himself. Divinity! Leichardt had travelled almost the entire world. He’d seen and met the whole gamut of religious leaders and mystical wannabes in his travels: prophets, Popes, Cardinals, mystics, witch doctors and soothsayers – and, most of the great scientific and philosophical men produced by his own society, but he had never – until this day – thought that he might be in the presence of something or someone who was actually divine.
This experience of such a subtle yet palpable energy, here in the middle of the Australian bush – which Leichardt loved so much and felt so at home in – had made him forget his former angst and instead, made him feel almost ecstatic at another meeting with this man if indeed he was a man, he mused, as the old fellow moved closer to where Leichardt sat leaning his back against the gum tree. Again, the earth seemed to tremble with his presence. Even the huge tree that he leant against seemed to squirm, vibrating against him with the blazing energy of its own majestic long life. He realized then that the old fellow was still singing and his song was about the circle of life: he also suddenly realized that the old man - as before - was even singing in his native tongue!
Leichardt was drained and overjoyed at the same time, and in his mix of overwrought emotions, he placed his hands to the ground to keep his balance and hold himself upright. A strange feeling of acceptance and joy spread across his face as the old man stopped in front of him, still intoning the ancient song. The words he sang became clearer now and gave hope to Leichardt for his fallen comrades, and somehow, for the future of this marvelous raw land and its hardy natives as well. He closed his tired eyes, completely trusting this old black man that he’d met only twice in his life, and listened:
I-yam the symbol of the yawning bridge
connecting heaven earth and man to midge
all parts are connected all parts are real
earth stars sky space not yours to steal
I-yam the living Rainbow twixt high and low
man cannot prosper minus balance just so
thrice bound Earth man and sky be strong
no spirit no future language-creature go wrong
Well do you live and well you will die
for many shall be free only on high
the Rainbow connection turns death around
know this - once lived loved lost shall be found
As he finished his haunting song, the old man moved closer to Leichardt. He squat in the manner of his people and gazed into Leichardt’s eyes for a moment. Then when he seemed satisfied, he sat cross-legged and held out two wrinkled old hands toward him, adding a sincere warm smile.
Still nervous, but totally unafraid now, Leichardt reached out and took both offered hands in his own, and as they touched, he felt a gentle though intense jolt run through his body, instantly quickening a cobwebbed part of his heart and mind. He also felt strangely light, as if he could just rise into the air itself and never stop. However, the old man held him at arms length, his subtle strength helping to keep the dazed explorer steady and focused. Then as Leichardt gazed into sad wise eyes, the wild-looking white bearded elder spoke to him.
“It sits well to see you again, Ludwig Leichardt,” he said. “Rest – take your ease, and I will speak and then answer your questions.” The old man’s deep silky voice seemed to shift the air and land around them and soothe Leichardt.
“I have kept an eye on you since you came to this, my country,” he said, allowing their hands to drop to their laps. “I have watched you go about your curious business, man of dust and, I have come to see that you are not at all alike to the many recent arrivals who come to our country.” The ghost of a smile played on his shiny black face and in his dark glittering eyes. “That is why I asked the meeting of warriors to spare you,” he said, as if controlling a group of enraged warriors was a minor thing to him…
Chapter 11
An offer from the Dreamtime
“I have a different path to offer you, curious man of science.” He reached out a hand and placed it flat on Leichardt’s chest above his fast-beating heart. “As different as you are from other men, so will be your complete knowledge of that which you love so much, Doctor Leichardt,” he said, again surprising Leichardt with his articulate language skills and in-depth knowledge of his life.
The old man’s manner changed as he continued. “I must warn you, man of dust.” He looked solemnly at Leichardt’s astounded wide eyes. “That once taken, you can never go back to your dust-life again,” he said calmly. “The gift I bring and the knowledge that I wish to grant will make it impossible to live in the dust realm ever again,” he enunciated slowly and clearly as the scientist’s curious mind began to awaken from its stunned torpor.
“I will give you a choice, however, Mr Leichardt.” He gathered some leaves and twigs that magically seemed to jump into his hands of their own accord. “You can leave here now and you will get safely home.” He gazed sincerely at Leichardt while continuing to build his small fire. “Or you can come with me now and I’ll show you the secrets that your soul has wished to know for so very long,” he said, leaning back to give space and time to the explorer for a response.
Ludwig�
��s eyes flicked to where the elder sat comfortably cross-legged with his eyes closed. It seemed, if his own eyes didn’t deceive him, that the elder’s feet and buttocks had sunk into the earth and somehow become part of the earth itself. He let his gaze run upward to the elder’s face, but it was closed to him now, reflecting the environment around them, he noticed in surprise. If I needed more proof of the sincerity of this unique wondrous offer, Ludwig thought bravely, I may well call myself the fool perhaps, his slowed grasp on reality allowed.
Leichardt, as at previous times of major decisions in his life, sat back, resting against the soft green moss of the old tree and thought in silence. He pondered his life that comprised his practical endless search for truth and knowledge, among the myriad forms of animate and inanimate life forms that he’d found, examined and investigated thoroughly wherever he found himself.
He gave deep thought to his family and friends. He believed that they would understand completely, knowing that his compulsion for knowledge and truth had driven him around the world and turned the world on its side at times, to see and examine the better. His loved ones would understand, if they knew - he was positive - that he was satisfying his profound curiosity and thus acquiring the slippery answers to his questioning spirit. Nicht! Not an end, but a beginning, he thought excitedly and guiltily in equal parts.
This old man is divine, he decided. Like Jesus and the other true religious leaders, I’d seen or heard of in my travels. He has the divine spark, Ludwig thought. The latent power he could feel radiating out from him was immense – not something finite: to be examined, prodded or scoffed at, he thought decisively. Yes, I must let go of this old world now and move on, he thought, opening his eyes and flinching a little at finding the old man’s wise old eyes wide-open and staring into his own, smiling at him happily, proudly, as if he knew that a brave and true decision had been made.
Showing a proper respect as he sat up to face the enigma in front of him, Ludwig asked slowly and softly: “But who are you? W-what are you called? I mean, uh …” he stammered, frustrated even in his native language. “What I mean is,” he hastened, throwing his arms out, still trying to form his question properly. “Urgh-I-yuhm. How do I address you?” he finalized with evident relief, removing his glasses, folding them and placing them in a pocket, then rubbing viciously at his sore eyes before raising them to the elder’s face…
The Fethafoot Chronicles Page 5
