Blood Brothers

by Charles Beagley

  Martin left the edge of the hole and followed Willy’s footprints. On the other side of the largest of the rocks, he came across a campsite. Willy had been busy. He had cleared an area up against the rock with the same type of windbreak he’d made the night before, laid a pile of branches ready to light about two metres in front and as he expected there were two hollows for them to lie in.

  Martin, who had already chosen his hollow, took out a painkiller and washed it down with a mouthful of his own bottled water from the first aid bag when Willy returned. He looked as if his rummage in the rocks had not been successful but after stabbing his spear into the ground he dropped two small creatures beside the fire. Martin could not see what they were from where he was, but the idea of small animals being good eating offended him.

  Without a word Willy started the fire, went off a short way for a handful of spinifex and returned to stoke it. They were facing west. The trees were in front of them and the sun was just clipping their spiky tops. He put the first spidery ball in the flames, tamped it down with a branch and waited until the first embers formed. Then he picked up the tiny bodies and tossed them into the flames. Straightaway they began to hiss and crackle and Martin turned his head. During the whole episode Willy did not talk to Martin; he was in his own world.

  Martin had no idea how long they would take to cook or if he would be able to eat them without being sick, but he knew one thing – he was hungry, and at this moment anything would be better than jerky.

  Martin was so tired. He closed his eyes and visualised the last time he and Kate had gone to the restaurant at the end of Cable Beach. It was their wedding anniversary and the sky had been the limit. The seafood platter looked inviting and they agreed on that: a whole lobster cut in half surrounded with scallops, prawns, shrimps and mussels with a side dish of tossed salad in Hollandaise sauce.

  Martin heard a sound close by. He opened his eyes to see Willy standing over him with his spear. He knew he was annoyed with his catch, but he had no idea he would take it out on him. He was motionless. His knees were bent, his spear raised and his attention was focused on something just above Martin’s shoulder.

  As quick as lightning, his spear left his hand, passed Martin’s head too closely to think about and a wriggling mass shot across his shoulder. It was a huge snake, the back end still thrashing across Martin’s chest. It was covered in reddish-brown and cream stripes and was about as thick as his arm at its widest part.

  Willy grabbed his spear with the coiling snake still alive and lifted it over Martin’s head. He placed it on the ground with his foot over the snake’s neck, removed the spear and thrust it once or twice again into its large head. It struggled for a few moments until it went still.

  “No trouble from him no more,” he said, with a broad smile on his face as he tossed it on the fire. “Good tucker tonight. You have fat belly at last.”

  By the time Philip had spoken to the man from CASA and determined they would deal with the formalities regarding Joe’s body, witnessed his remains transferred from the helicopter to the waiting ambulance and sat in on the debriefing of the men who inspected the crash site, it was late afternoon before he left to see Kate.

  After another long day Kate was back in her usual spot on the balcony overlooking Cable Beach waiting for the sunset. As she took another sip of wine her attention was diverted to a strange car slowly pausing for a moment outside each house until it stopped opposite hers.

  She was not familiar with Philip’s car but when the grey-haired man got out and casually looked up at the balcony, she knew it was bad news. She stood up, walked into the bedroom, checked her hair and dried the tears that were beginning to form in the corner of her eyes, and then she walked out onto the landing.

  Jennifer was standing at the bottom of the stairs and just as she spotted her mother she called out, “Oh Mum…it’s Mr Hastings.”

  Kate took in several deep breaths, prepared herself for the possibility of bad news and walked downstairs to the lounge. Philip was standing talking to Adam. He turned to face her as soon as she entered the room and she studied the expression on his face. He too looked as if he was attempting to mask his true feelings. He had a pleasant smile – one that sent out the message that this was just a casual visit. But she could see it in his eyes; they were full of pain.

  “What’s so important a phone call wouldn’t do?” she questioned. “It’s bad news, isn’t it? They’re dead, aren’t they?”

  “No, Kate. As usual that mind of yours is racing ahead. For the past four days you’ve been one step ahead of me all the time and in each case your suspicions have been wrong; like they are now.”

  A glimmer of relief crossed her face. He was right. Already, before he had a chance to tell her why he was here, her thoughts had created another outcome. She braced herself for the true reason a phone call would not have sufficed.

  “I’m sorry, Philip. Why don’t you sit down and tell us why you’re here?”

  He did that and everyone sat down in the small group of easy chairs.

  “After leaving at first light, the helicopter landed at the site around seven and found no activity. Inside the plane they found the dead body of the pilot. Martin was not there and by the condition of the cockpit, he had left some time earlier.”

  While Adam and Jennifer were evidently bursting with questions, they held back. Kate was almost gagging with the shock and took a moment before she replied.

  She cleared her throat and wiped the beginnings of a tear from her eye; then she blurted out her question in a sudden outburst. “What do you mean, Martin was not there? He had to be…where else could he go?”

  “They found a note in Joe’s hand. Apparently an Aborigine found Martin dying of thirst and, as it said on the note, he took him away.”

  Adam could not hold his tongue any longer and while his mother came to terms with her shock he interrupted. “Didn’t they investigate the site for any clues as to where this Aborigine took my father?”

  Philip reached into his inside pocket and removed the notebook he’d brought with him for such questions. He flicked over a few pages and stopped at the page that covered what the pilot had said about the site. “They didn’t say a lot…apparently they were in a hurry. According to the radio message, they did inspect the crash site and found two sets of footprints leading away towards the west.”

  “Why were they in a hurry?” Jennifer asked. “I thought you said it was only seven. They had plenty of time to take off and head in that direction.”

  “Jennifer, don’t you think I asked the very same question? The pilot’s reply was that there was a serious-looking weather pattern closing in on the site and they had to leave before they were caught in it—”

  Kate suddenly jumped into his explanation. “Do you mean to say Martin is out in the desert with this… weather thing, about to hit them?”

  “Kate…I’m only the messenger.”

  Kate stared at Philip for what seemed ages until she finally came to terms with what he’d said. “Oh, sorry, Philip…this is all getting too much.”

  “Look, Kate…as I see it, if the Aborigine hadn’t come along when he did, Martin may well have died of thirst and the helicopter would have been bringing two bodies back. As it stands, he will be safe with the Aborigine. The Sandy Desert is his country and he must be taking him somewhere.”

  “What is CASA doing now?” Adam asked.

  “As soon as the weather clears the helicopter is going back to see if they can pick up their tracks. That’s all I can say at this point.”

  CHAPTER 14

  With the strong, gamey taste of the death adder lingering on Martin’s palate, Willy offered him a mouthful of his bitter water before they set off. Martin noticed, by the position of the rising sun over his left shoulder, that Willy had changed course again; they were now heading south-west.

  He ran his furry tongue over his teeth in an effort to clean them, but the taste still remained, only now it was competin
g with the bitter gourd water. Martin shook his head and wondered why he bothered to react to all this stimuli. The snake had provided a sizeable meal. There was enough left for at least two more meals, so the taste was going to be a recurring dilemma. He supposed that the small chunks of white meat that Willy kept feeding him last night until he was fit to burst were from the two small animals.

  There was something different about Willy’s new direction. Yesterday, before the willy-willies came through, there seemed to be more open sandy territory, but now Martin was constantly stubbing his toes on grey and black rocks that looked distinctly like iron pyrites. This was mining country by the looks of it.

  “Willy,” Martin called after him. He stopped and waited.

  “Do you want to rest?” he asked.

  Martin was panting but thought better of stopping just yet.

  “No… Not yet. I should be able to last out till noon. What I wanted to know was…is there a mine near here?”

  “Not for a long time. All this rubbish they left behind.”

  That settled, Willy continued and Martin trudged on behind.

  With no watch to constantly refer to, Martin became conscious of the position of the sun. When Willy made his first change the sun was low on his left shoulder; now it was beating down on the side of his helmet. Rivulets of sweat were forming on his eyebrows and once they were saturated, droplets poured down his cheeks and he soon discovered the collar of his overalls was soaked and beginning to irritate his neck.

  Despite his indigenous coalescence with the high temperatures in the Sandy Desert, Willy sought refuge in another small copse of acacias nearby. When Martin finally stumbled into the shade and collapsed alongside, Willy had already laid out his bark bundle containing the death adder’s remains.

  Martin retrieved his bottle of water, took a mouthful to ready his mouth for the strong meat Willy was about to serve him, and seeing the bottle was almost empty, he offered it to Willy. He shook his head and poured it into his gourde.

  “I have to look for water soon,” he said, passing Martin the snake.

  “How soon?” Martin cried out. “I thought we would be there by now.”

  “Don’t forget we lost a day in the willy-willies.”

  When they finished their meal Willy agreed to a short rest and Martin leaned back against the trunk of an acacia tree. It was too hot to sleep, so closing his eyes he became one with the desert. He’d had no idea the desert had a smell. It was the smell of nature: the acacia that afforded them shade, the nearby spinifex that pervaded the area with a pungent scent that reminded him of Kate’s aromatic containers of dried flowers. Even the stifling heat had a smell.

  It was like Sunday afternoon in his garden. Lying on his recliner with his straw hat over his face, listening to the bees going about their business, competing with all the other sounds: The after-dinner fly looking for a tasty morsel, the high-pitched whine of the midge, ready to drain the blood from any unprotected skin and the drone of something much bigger. Another sound had entered the chorus.

  Martin had opened his collar to dry it in the sun and, as a consequence, had made his neck an open invitation for the insect making the sound. It was no more than a tickle at first. He couldn’t see what it was, but as soon as he raised his hand to brush it away, he felt an excruciating pain.

  “Bloody hell,” Martin screamed out.

  He was jumping up and down, waving his arm about like a madman. Whatever it was, Willy had no English word for the striped insect attacking Martin’s neck as he instinctively lunged forward, sweeping it away. Willy then placed his hands on Martin’s shoulders and eased him back down onto the ground, opened his collar further and pushed his head to one side.

  Willy could see the swelling forming on Martin’s neck as he took out the knife he’d used to skin the snake and moved closer.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Martin shouted.

  “This only way to get bad stuff out,” Willy replied.

  “Not with that thing, you don’t,” Martin said, reaching over for his first aid kit and placing it on his lap.

  He opened the bag and brought out the plastic case containing the variety of surgical instruments. Willy’s eyes opened wide. Inside was a scalpel and spare blades, a pair of small scissors and a curved needle attached to a small spool of fine thread. Martin took out the scalpel. But first he took out a large plastic bag of folded lint, a sterile pack of gauze, a small bottle of Iodine, a bag of cotton wool balls and a larger bottle of surgical spirits.

  “Now Willy, unscrew the cap off the bottle and put some on one of those cotton wool balls and wash your fingers with it.”

  Willy was not impressed with the smell, and after replacing the cap he started laying out each item on the plastic bag across Martin’s lap.

  “Good,” Martin said, handing him the Iodine. “Now cover another cotton wool ball and rub the Iodine over my neck – gently now.”

  They were words that had no meaning for Willy as Martin gritted his teeth. That done, Martin pulled the lint out, placed it on the plastic and cleaning his own fingers with the surgical spirits, he picked up the scalpel and handed it to him.

  “Here, use this. And make sure it’s only a small nick; I don’t want to bleed to death over a sting,” Martin explained, backing away slightly.

  Without a shake of his hand, Willy started to cut. It took several strokes of the sharp blade and Willy’s probing fingers and it was done as he stood up with a broad smile on his face. Then handing the scalpel back to Martin he took the plug out of his gourd and quenched his thirst with a mouthful of water.

  “That’s good, Willy. Now wipe the wound down with Iodine again.”

  “Not finished yet,” he said.

  Before Martin had a chance to ask why, Willy bent his head over his neck, put his mouth on the wound and as Martin struggled, he started sucking. It was a vicious suck, to the point of hurting and when he’d finished, Willy stood up and spat the contents of his mouth on the desert floor. It was bright red. He had drawn blood and Martin could see his blood on Willy’s lips.

  “All done,” he said. “No more bad stuff.”

  “You’ve got my blood on your lips,” Martin pointed out.

  Willy laughed, and wiping it away, he said: “You and me blood brothers now.”

  After Martin’s ordeal he signalled to Willy that he was ready to continue their journey. Although the sun was directly above by now, Martin got the impression Willy had changed course again. Instead of walking away from the copse in the direction they’d arrived, he followed the scattered acacia trees’ path.

  It was yet another surprising sight in this ever-changing desert. What he thought was an isolated group of trees as before, turned out to be one copse in a long line that seemed to stretch into the distance. From the air, Martin would have imagined he was following another ancient riverbed that had long since drained off to one of those subterranean aquifers.

  Willy was following this new source of shade and branches to build his nightly shelters. His attention was now drawn to the trees themselves. Within a few hundred metres he stopped, sat Martin down in the shade and continued on a short distance, tapping the ground with his spear.

  Eventually he stopped, kneeled down with his face close to the sand and apparently satisfied, began digging a hole. It looked like a big hole. Martin’s curiosity was too much and he stood up and wandered over to see what Willy was doing. By now he was a good half-metre down and Martin noticed the walls of the hole were much darker, the lower he went.

  Then to Martin’s amazement, Willy stopped and sat back as if he was waiting for something to happen. And it did: suddenly the hole began to fill with water. Within seconds the water had risen sufficiently for him to lower his gourd. It sank below the surface, and as Willy scooped the loose debris out of its way, Martin watched a series of bubbles rise to the surface.

  “Plenty water now,” he said, lifting the gourd out of the hole, replacing the wooden peg and
slinging it back across his shoulder. “We go now.”

  It was the hottest part of the day and Martin was beginning to feel drowsy, despite the cover of trees protecting them from the severe sun. He felt different somehow. He was now rehydrated; his belly was fuller than it had been in days, his arm had stopped aching and the ground they were walking on seemed less severe. Yet his head was throbbing, his clothes felt wet and he was beginning to shake.

  Willy had put some distance between them or Martin was slowing down. He had stopped looking back. He seemed preoccupied with something up ahead. Martin’s eyesight had become blurry; that was another symptom of whatever it was that had taken hold of his system.

  Martin eventually caught up to Willy kneeling behind an acacia shrub. He gestured for him to sit down and gave the sign for him to be quiet. Willy looked furtive as he dropped his spear, boomerang and pouch beside Martin. Staying in a crouching position he slowly made his way through the trees. He took the rope from the plane off his shoulder, made a loop in one end and tied the other end around his waist. He then continued his panther-like prowl through the trees.

  Fascinated by Willy’s performance, Martin focused his attention on a spot amongst the trees about fifty metres in front of Willy. It was difficult to see at that distance, with his eyesight beginning to fail, but Martin suddenly realised Willy was watching a small group of horses nibbling on new acacia shoots.

  What took place next amazed him. He saw the Aboriginal boy’s character change before his eyes as he reverted to his native state. He appeared to take on the habit of the horses. He bent over and slowly walked with the horses, even grazed with them. He had become one of them and they hardly noticed him. Then he was amongst them. Brushing up against them as horses did, until he seemed to find what he was looking for.