by David Laing
I tried to remember, and in my half-awake state, I told Gloria’s father everything that I knew about the kid. I told him that he was about twelve years old, that he was wearing khaki pants, braces and a peaked cap, and that he hadn’t said anything but just looked at us with a sad, downcast face – one you’d expect to see at a funeral. I also told him that the kid had left abruptly with a hurried, goodbye kind of smile. I also told him that I’d seen a dinosaur that was more than two storeys high.
Gloria, who was still holding on to Snook’s hand, had heard my story too; her blank stare told me that. So did Shadow, who at the present moment, was showing his concern for me by plonking his two front paws next to my nose. He then tried to wash my face with his wet, sloppy tongue. At any rate, my story must have shocked Gloria and her dad; the room fell silent. But Snook broke that. He sat up as if suddenly realising something and then, looking directly at me, he said, ‘You saw it too! You’ve seen what I’ve seen!’
With Gloria and her father looking on open mouthed and obviously clueless as to what Snook was on about, I could only stare as he asked, ‘What else did you see? Tell me.’
I told him everything, even down to the smallest detail, such as the smell of the sulphur and the distant rumbling of the volcano.
‘Yeah,’ Snook said, when I’d finished, ‘I saw all that. I didn’t like the bit when all the dinosaurs were panicking and runnin’ for their lives. That was real sad. The big dinosaur, the one that was eatin’ the leaves in the forest, looked really scared. I hope he escaped in the end. Did you see what happened to him?’
‘No, I didn’t, but I hope he escaped.’
‘Yeah, just thinkin’ about it makes me sweat.’
Gloria’s father, who was now shaking his head slowly from side to side, interrupted. ‘Okay, you two,’ he said, his voice shaky now, ‘I think Gloria and I have heard enough. You’re both obviously unwell. Try and get some more rest while we all wait for Snook’s parents to come home.’ Gloria was looking shaken too. She was biting one of her nails as she watched Snook, her eyes unblinking and narrowed.
I’m not sure why I said it but I found myself saying, ‘Er, when my aunt and uncle do come home, I don’t want to say anything about tonight. I don’t want to worry them.’
‘Neither do I,’ Snook said, agreeing with me. ‘Dad would just tell me to stop dreamin’ anyway.’
I looked across at Gloria’s father for confirmation, but he was pacing up and down the room, dabbing at his forehead with a tissue and breathing rather heavily. In fact, he looked as if he’d been possessed. ‘Doctor Huntingdale …’ I called out. He didn’t reply. Didn’t even look up.
I was pondering over his sudden nervousness when suddenly and without warning, I felt a tingling feeling sweep through my entire body. At first I didn’t know what it meant, but then I knew. I’d had it before. It was the feeling you get when you know something’s going to happen but you’re not sure what. Then it came … like a dream.
There was a slight breeze blowing, rippling through the leaves of the ghost gums and the man-high spear grass. There was the smoky scent of camp fires too, and I could hear the distant chattering of the women and the men as they went about their business, and I could hear the laughter of the children as they played. And above all that I could see and hear my mother … Minma. She was younger than when I’d last seen her and she was frowning when she told me:
Awa! Palatja kurun-kurunpa ngalya-pitjanyi!
I must have looked different or something because Snook, his face all squished up and frowning, asked, ‘What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’
Pushing up on one elbow, I whispered, ‘I’ve had a warning from The Dreaming. A spirit person is coming! Minma told me.’
Chapter 9
* * *
It was Saturday morning and we’d just finished breakfast. Still at the table, Snook was telling his dad what our plans were for the day, and like we agreed, he didn’t tell his dad about us going all queer last night.
‘Mmmm,’ Snook’s dad said, thinking over what Snook had told him. ‘You want to take photos of wild animals? Out by the gorge?’
‘Yeah. I thought the Ghost Mountain gorge area might be the best spot. Jars and I were gonna ride our bikes out there this mornin’.’
‘Right, sounds fair enough to me. And you’ll need to ride your bikes, anyway. Your mum and I are off to Queenstown this morning for the shopping.’ He then added, ‘Your mum then wants to go back again tonight, to the pictures … to see Red Dog. It’s supposed to be a real good film. Your mother’s been wanting to see it for ages. Anyway, we won’t be here when you get home, but your tea will be in the fridge.’
‘She’ll be right,’ Snook said. ‘Jars and I’ll manage.’
‘Isn’t Gloria going with you as well?’ he asked, going back to our plans. ‘I thought she said something along those lines last night … about Quenton going with you as well. What was that all about?’
Snook looked across at me for help. He obviously didn’t know what his dad was on about. His conversation with Gloria had somehow been erased from his memory. Raising my eyebrows and tilting my head a fraction sideways in a sort of half shrug, I tried to tell him that I didn’t know what his dad was on about either. I could only put our lack of memory down to the visions; it was as if the kid and the dinosaur had used up all our memory space.
Snook’s dad’s next words surprised us both. They came out of the blue. ‘Have either of you heard of the spirit monster that’s said to live out there … on Ghost Mountain?’
‘The what?’ Snook asked.
‘It’s a legend about a monster that lives on the mountain. That’s why it’s called Ghost Mountain.’
Suddenly and without warning, words began to form in my head and then pour from my mouth … over and over again. I couldn’t stop. Awa! Apu mamutjara. Awa! Apu mamutjara. Awa! Apu mamutjara. Snook and his dad, mouths falling open, stared at me. They were probably thinking I’d cracked up. I willed myself to stop as I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. After about a minute, when I’d finally returned to normal, I ended up saying, ‘It’s all that talk about ghosts and monsters that made me do that. It must have been.’
With a questioning look and with some hesitation, Snook said, ‘Okay. If that’s what you reckon. But what was the language you were spruikin’? It was just gibberish to me.’
‘It was Aboriginal … the Pitjantjatjara dialect.’
‘I didn’t know you could speak Aboriginal.’
‘I don’t, not really and before you ask, I haven’t the faintest idea why I spoke it just then. All I know is I was being warned of an evil spirit who lives on the mountain. I could grasp that much. And as far as the language goes, I learned a little Pitjantjatjara from my mother. She was from the desert country in South Australia and used to speak in her tongue sometimes.’
I looked across at my uncle. He didn’t seem at all fazed by my little episode. That’s the thing about Snook’s dad that I especially admired – his ability to take most things in his stride. Not even referring to my strange behaviour, he said, ‘There’s something else you two should know about that mountain. At round mid-afternoon, the gorge that runs through it suddenly goes black. That’s when the spirit monster is said to come out, or so they say. You should know all that, he repeated, otherwise the sudden darkness might freak you out.’
Snook couldn’t help himself. Pulling his best evil face and waving his arms in the air like a ghost, he put on his best witch’s cackle. ‘Hee-hee-hee …Watch ow-ow-ow-out … Mamu’s coming to get yoooooo … Watch ow-ow-ow-out.’
Giving Snook the that’s enough of that stare, his dad asked, ‘I suppose this is going to cost me; so what’s the damage?’
‘Ten bucks, but when I win the contest, I’ll give it back to you.’
Looking over at me, my uncle asked, ‘What about you, Jars, do you need anything?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m just going to be Snook’s ass
istant. You know, help him to spot the animals.’
That seemed to satisfy Snook’s dad who was fishing around in his back pocket for his wallet. As he did so, I couldn’t help thinking about the evil spirit on Ghost Mountain. I didn’t like the sudden coldness and queasy feeling in my stomach that had come over me either. It was as if I was getting another warning.
Snook brought me back to earth. ‘C’mon, Jars,’ he said, waving his newly acquired ten-dollar note in the air. ‘Let’s go down to Sam’s and give ’im this. Then we can take off for the mountain.’
Yes, I thought, where an evil spirit might be waiting …
Chapter 10
* * *
Snook and I parked our bikes against the wall of Sam’s shop. Shadow, who’d run alongside us for the short journey, lay down in his usual spot on the pavement. ‘Are you meeting Gloria here?’ I asked. ‘Your dad seemed to think so.’
‘Dunno. I can’t remember what was said, not exactly. I was hopin’ she’d give me a ring this mornin’, but she hasn’t.’
‘Why don’t you call her on your mobile?’
‘I don’t like to. She did say earlier, before you and I had that funny turn, that she was goin’ in the competition with Quigley, so that kind of leaves me out of it. That’s what I think, anyway.’
Leaving the subject of Snook’s love life closed for the moment, we pushed the shop door open and walked inside. Snook crossed over to Sam, who was stacking shelves at the far end of the counter. After the usual greetings, the two of them got into what sounded like a serious conversation. I could hear them from the other end of the counter. ‘Don’t forget,’ Sam was saying, ‘when you’ve taken your pictures, bring your camera back here. We’ll run the prints off using my computer gear.’
‘Thanks, Sam,’ Snook said. ‘That’s wicked seein’ as Mum and Dad haven’t bought a computer yet. They’re still makin’ up their minds. I think Mum wants one, but Dad reckons the old way of doin’ things is good enough.’
Nodding that he understood, Sam started to explain about Monday’s presentation night, when we were distracted by a loud, blaring noise coming from outside. We all turned to look and then scurried over to the window to get a better view.
Parked outside was the glossiest, shiniest, cleanest camper-van that I’d ever seen. I couldn’t see a spot of dirt or dust on it; even the wheel hubs shone. Its outside bits and pieces were not to be sneezed at either: a row of spotlights ran across the width of the cab, and below them were two long, retractable rear-vision mirrors. Dozens of Places I’ve Been stickers were stuck above the rear mudguard, and in large, black letters printed across its side and facing us were the words, TYRANOSAURUS REX. To cap it all off, mounted on the roof was the source of the noise – a large speaker.
Leaning towards the window, the three of us cocked our ears towards the noise and then we realised. It was a song – playing far too loudly. Sam burst out laughing and said, ‘I don’t believe it; he’s playing The Teddy Bears’ Picnic. I haven’t heard that song in years.’ Standing on tip-toes, he tried to see into the van’s cabin. ‘I wonder who the driver is?’ he said, more to himself than us and then, answering his own question, he said, ‘Whoever it is, he must be some kind of eccentric!’
‘Or nut!’ Snook suggested.
We were about to find out. A man alighted from the camper. He strode over to the shop. Sam’s door flew open with a loud swishing sound. The man entered confidently. He was chubby, and wore a floppy bushman’s hat and khaki shirt. His tacked boots rang against the timber floor, as he marched to the counter. In a voice that seemed to grow louder with every word, he boomed, ‘Good morning. I am Reginald Blowhard. I wish to book a camp site for myself and Rex.’
‘Rex? You have a dog?’ Sam asked.
‘Goodness gracious no, I’m talking about my pride and joy, my Tyrannosaurus Rex, my camper.’ And then, for good measure, he added, ‘You should have known that. I saw you looking out the window.’
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Sam. Obviously taken aback by this Reginald Blowhard’s gruff manner, he scrambled about under the counter looking for the camping ground booking sheet, which, as usual, was already on the counter in front of him. Eventually spotting it, he picked it up, brought it up to his nose and scanned it for a vacancy. The booking sheet was shaking quite noticeably. To make matters worse, Mr Blowhard leaned over the counter, and like a sergeant major, barked, ‘And be quick about it, my man! We haven’t got all day!’ I couldn’t help noticing the tiny globules of spit that seemed to explode from his mouth.
Mumbling to himself and looking like he might choke, Sam wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and, as if coming to terms with his newest customer, slapped his hand on the booking sheet and said, ‘We haven’t got any vacancies.’ Mr Blowhard’s face immediately developed a sour look as if he’d smelled rotten gas. Obviously expecting the worst from him, Sam sighed and glanced across at Snook and me. Probably looking for some sort of support I guessed.
I did feel sorry for Sam but I honestly didn’t know how to help him. The customer’s rudeness certainly left me wondering. I’m pretty sure Snook was a bit flummoxed too. Snook was looking like one of those artists who stand in main streets and make out they’re frozen. I was probably much the same.
‘What? What did you say?’ Mr Blowhard asked Sam, more spit preceding his words. ‘What were you mumbling about? Speak up, man!’
Pointing at the booking sheet, Sam repeated his earlier words, ‘I-I’m afraid the town caravan park is f-full. We have no vacancies.’
‘Full? For me?’ Reginald Blowhard leaned even further forward so that his face was almost touching Sam’s, and then, emphasising each word by poking Sam in the chest with his finger, he said, ‘Do … you … know … who … I … am?’
Shaking his head from side to side, Sam took a step back.
‘I am Reginald Blowhard, bushman extraordinaire, and as the stickers on my van will tell you, I have swum with crocodiles, wrestled wild buffalos and tangled with poisonous snakes. Rex and I have been on countless adventures together. We are known throughout Australia, and you have the impertinence to stand there and tell me that you cannot accommodate us.’
‘Y-you could try the Ghost Mountain gorge area,’ Sam said wiping tiny globules of sweat from his brow. ‘There’s a camping area there that has a couple of sites; it’s not far from here. Why don’t you drive out there and have a look? There’s a fireplace on each site and the wood’s supplied. You can get fresh water from a nearby creek, but there are no other facilities.’ Pointing in the general direction of the area, Sam added, ‘There are signs along the road that’ll tell you where to go.’
Snook tugged on my sleeve and whispered, ‘That’s where we want to go. If that guy goes there too, he’ll frighten all the animals. That voice of ’is would be enough to do that.’
Smiling at Snook’s down-to-earth nature, I said, ‘Don’t worry. Don’t forget about the evil spirit monster.’
‘Howdya mean?’
‘Maybe the spirit monster will take a dislike to him. If he does go out there, maybe Mamu will chase him away.’
‘Yeah, here’s hoping, but what I really care about is winning that photo competition.’ He jerked a thumb in Blowhard’s direction. ‘I couldn’t care less about him. Not really. I’ll be happy as long as he keeps out of our way and doesn’t go scaring the animals like I said.’
‘Very well,’ Blowhard was saying to Sam, ‘ Rex and I shall inspect the site straight away.’ He turned to leave, and then, as if suddenly forgetting something, he stopped in his tracks and glanced back at Snook. ‘What was that you just said, young man, something about a photo competition?’
Snook pointed to the notice board on the far wall. ‘It tells you about it up there.’
Without a word of thanks, Blowhard crossed over to the notices and read about the competition. Seemingly satisfied, he returned and said to Sam, ‘Please explain. I may be interested.’
Sam, who wa
s still wiping his face with his handkerchief – it was all getting a bit much – took down a form from the shelf behind him. He gave it to Blowhard. ‘You’ll need to fill that in and return it to me with the entry fee.’
‘My word!’ Blowhard exclaimed after he’d read the form. ‘I’ll enter at once. With my bush skills and my digital, SLR, super-duper camera, it’ll be a simple task to win.’ Taking a ten-dollar note from his wallet, he waved it in Sam’s face. ‘Sign me up,’ he demanded, ‘and book me into that camping place. Rex and I will make our way out there at once.’
‘Very well,’ Sam said, as he walked over to ring the money up in the till.
‘If I were you, my man,’ Blowhard said to Sam’s back, ‘I’d do something about those nerves of yours; they’re positively shot to pieces.’ With that he strode to the door, shoved it open and crossed over to his van. After climbing on board and starting it up, he began to pull into the centre of the road.
‘Would you look at that?’ Sam said, walking from the till to the window. ‘After all my directions, the famous bushman is heading out of town – going the wrong way!’
We all laughed as we watched Mr Blowhard turn right instead of left. Well, I thought to myself, it wouldn’t hurt for him to be put out … just a little. Still smiling, Snook and I turned to leave when Sam told us to hang on for a minute. He walked over and then reached below the counter. He pulled out a box which he handed to me. ‘It’s an instamatic camera,’ he said. ‘It’s not much but it doesn’t take a bad photo. Snook told me you didn’t have one, so I thought you could borrow that. That way you can go in the competition too. Here’s a form. You can drop it in later.’
