Vigilante
Page 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Whilst Stanton was in Karachi Cadiche had picked up the reins. The bush telegraph had put him on the map with some aboriginal tribal elders - one in particular who travelled a long way to find the Cadiche Man. He used a name given to him by his father in memory of a missionary, an apparent bearer of good stories.
George Stone wore his red headband with pride as he wandered around Newcastle; lost and confused by his first trip to a major city and in stark contrast to his Kimberly homeland. George was picked up early one morning wandering the foreshore of Nobby’s Beach and taken to the Newcastle Central Police Station by a patrol car. George was pure aboriginal; his black eyes showed no other colour and looked like holes in the dark cream surround of his eyeball. His jet black hair with streaks of white straggled around in all directions was held in some kind of order by his dirty red headband. The lines on his face linked together in a map of times past, telling part of the story of his last sixty years on earth; his nose was wide and open across the width of his cheeks.
George had been picked to find Cadiche because he was the only one from his settlement that understood and spoke English to a standard that could be understood. George carried money but had no identification, the only clue being a collection of tattered bus tickets in his pocket showing a trail from Broome to Newcastle. Cadiche was summoned to see if he could assist and he walked into the interview room. George was surprised to see Cadiche was part white man as he shook George's hand. "You been part white man," George commented in surprise. They sat down at the table.
"Yes, my mother was aboriginal and my father was a white priest."
"Where your country?"
"Cape York, North Queensland. Where’s yours?"
"Kimberly, near big water place."
"Now that's a long way, must be important."
"We got too many bad dreaming fellas in our place, you come."
"What have you tried so far, there are people who can help from the government? I can find someone to follow this up."
"People already come, only bullshit. Bad dreaming young fellas no white law no black fella law. Dreaming stories Cadiche man big medicine. Now stories you big medicine, I come here and bad dreaming fellas go walkabout before I leave. Me hear you have thunder bone, fix bad dreaming fella up." Cadiche now knew how Stanton felt when making decisions on what he could and couldn't become directly involved in. He searched for an answer to give to George.
"The Cadiche Man is a spirit dreaming, he can be anywhere. Do your people not have a Cadiche Man?"
"Missionary teaches Cadiche Man no good long time. Bullshit fella put him in jail. Now no black fella law no white fella law. We need thunder bone on bullshit fella, then bad fella dreaming listen or have no country." Cadiche now for the first time had an inner realisation of how and why Stanton became who he was. He thought for a few seconds.
"I promise to come to your country and see bullshit fella for myself. I can only fix bullshit fella. You need to fix bad fella dreaming."
George nearly cracked a smile. "No bullshit fella, bad fella dreaming finished."
Cadiche showed George around the station; George was interested in the way the system they used worked. Cadiche explained the electoral system by comparing it to the system of elders used by aboriginal law; he seemed to be able to capture George's attention and George began to understand a few things that had puzzled him. Cadiche arranged for George to go home on a plane, this excited George who had not had the chance to fly before and stated it to be white man magic. George stayed overnight, meeting Lewis and Stanton's family at a hastily prepared meal in his honour as it was the first time they had been blessed with such a visit. George felt awkward with so many people he did not know and in surroundings he had only experienced in stories. Finally he worked out he was in the presence of the family of Stanton the Great White Cadiche Man most feared by the bullshit fella. Now he could tell stories of his own; stories in his land were everything.