by Mark Mann
For how long? For the rest of our lives?
It’s a terrifying thought. And yet I can’t help thinking how beautiful it is. The forest, the beach, the birds. Yesterday (I think it was yesterday) we saw a koala, asleep in a gum tree. And today we startled two emus. They twisted their long necks to gaze at us then trotted off into the bushes.
Ever since the dream I’ve had the funny feeling we’re being watched. The forest makes noises. Leaves rustle. Twigs snap. But all we see are skinks or lizards scurrying for cover. Or kangaroos bouncing off into the bushes.
Also, we keep finding small piles of sarsaparilla berries. I try to think: what animal makes piles of berries like that? There’s a bird called a bower bird that’s famous for collecting blue things, and the berries are purple, which is almost blue, so maybe that’s it. We eat the berries anyway.
Yesterday we found a fish beside a waterhole, like it had just leapt out of the water onto the land. It smelled fresh but we didn’t eat it. Just in case. We can’t afford to get sick. And today we found some duck eggs right out in the open, which was odd. But they smelled okay so we ate them.
JACK
I wake up. It’s those bloody birds again. Why are there so many birds? Just like I’ve done every morning since the flash, I open one eye, hoping to see my X-Men poster, the one that’s been on my bedroom wall since I was, like, twelve years old. But there’s Kaya, curled up on her bed of dry leaves. She even looks comfortable. I reckon she’s almost enjoying this. It’s like a great big Wolf Meares adventure to her. Me? I just want this nightmare to end. If we are going to be stuck here for ever, I think I’ll kill myself. Seriously. I mean, what’s the point of living like this for the rest of our lives? Just surviving. Would that be unfair to Kaya, leaving her all alone? I’m no use to her, anyway. I mean, what survival skills have I got? On a good day I can just about make toast without burning the house down.
I’m still debating whether or not to kill myself as I roll over and look out of the camp.
What I see changes everything.
There’s a boy standing in front of our shelter. Staring right at us.
I feel my heart thump. I quickly shut my eyes and pretend to be still asleep, which is probably a dumb thing to do but I need time to think.
I blink and sneak a glance at the boy. He’s tall and thin, with skinny legs and black curly hair and the darkest skin I’ve ever seen. He’s naked except for a cord around his waist. In one hand he’s holding what I think is a spear and he’s got a small stone axe, or knife or something, hanging from his waist cord. His dark body glistens with sweat. He looks about our age.
How long has he been there? Does he know I’m awake?
Is he friendly?
I nudge Kaya with my toe. She’ll know what to do. She’s good like that.
“Wake up, quick,” I hiss.
Kaya opens one eye.
When she sees the boy she lets out a shriek. The boy leaps back in alarm.
Without hesitating, Kaya sits up and smiles. “Hello,” she says. She points to herself.
“I’m Kaya. And this is Jack, my brother.”
I sit up slowly. I’m glad Kaya has taken charge. Saves me making a decision. Anyway, she’s better at dealing with people. Girls always are. The boy keeps staring, so Kaya points to herself and me again, repeating our names, smiling, trying to sound friendly.
The boy just stands there with his eyes wide and his mouth open. I’d say he’s as scared of us as we are of him. (On the other hand, he’s got a spear and we haven’t.) Finally, he taps his chest.
“Pullawarra,” he says. He points to us. “Binjin.”
He repeats the words. Then he spins around and suddenly he’s gone.
Seconds later he reappears with a handful of sarsaparilla berries. He puts them on the ground, steps back and points to us and the berries. “Mway, mway,” he says. He puts his fingers to his mouth to mime eating. We eat some of the berries and Kaya smiles. The boy—Pullawarra, if that’s his name—grins.
He takes a few steps into the woods, then turns and waits. He wants us to follow him. I look at Kaya. Can we trust him? Kaya says we should go with him. I say he could be leading us into a trap. But Kaya says if he wanted to kill us, he would have done it while we slept.
At least now we know we’re not alone. That’s a relief. Or is it? Pullawarra doesn’t look like someone from Baytown. Does that mean we really have gone back in time?
We follow Pullawarra. He moves lightly and silently, stopping to wait when we fall behind, which is often. At a waterhole Pullawarra digs up a small palm plant that’s growing beside the water. He hacks off the hard outer layers with his axe. There’s a soft white centre. He holds it out.
“Mway,” he says, pointing to his mouth. I take a bite. It’s watery and tasteless. Pullawarra watches me while I chew.
Further on, Pullawarra breaks open a log and finds some of the fat white grubs. He wants us to eat them.
Kaya takes a grub and pops it into her mouth. She swallows it, gives Pullawarra a big smile and rubs her tummy. Pullawarra grins. Now it’s my turn. I’ve resisted the grubs until now but I don’t want to look like a wimp in front of our new friend so I take one and swallow it quickly before I can chicken out. It’s all pus and gunk and sludge. I feel sick but I force myself to smile. “Hmm, delicious,” I say. Kaya laughs.
That seems to break the ice, because Pullawarra laughs too then begins to talk. Words tumble out like music but we understand nothing. This doesn’t seem to matter to Pullawarra, who leads us off again through the forest until we come to a stream.
Pullawarra wades into the knee-deep water, draws his spear back and freezes. Only his eyes move, darting back and forth, scanning the water. Suddenly he hurls the spear into the water. When he pulls it out again there’s a silver fish on the tip. He drops the fish on the ground and darts into the bush and returns with two sticks, which he scrapes smooth with his axe. Then he does what Kaya’s been trying to do—he cuts a hole in one stick with his axe, puts some dry reeds in the hole, then the end of the other stick. He spins the second stick between his palms. In minutes, the dry reeds catch fire. Kaya watches him like a hawk, studying every detail.
Once the fire is going, Pullawarra skewers the fish on a stick and cooks it over the flames. It’s the first hot food we’ve had since the flash, and I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything better.
We keep walking. We’re walking towards the sun, which is high in the sky so we must be heading roughly north. (Even I can work that out.) We walk for what seems like hours. I’m pretty sure we haven’t come this far north before.
All of a sudden we step out of the woods into a sandy clearing beside a lake. It’s Big Lake. There’s the small island in front of us where the pelicans gather, called Wally’s Bar. That means we must be standing in what should be Memorial Park, at the northern tip of Baytown.
Memorial Park isn’t here now. What is here is a low round hut made of branches and mud. A campfire glows by its entrance.
Pullawarra points to the shelter. He puts his head on his hands to mime sleep. He disappears into the bush again and returns holding a cooked animal by the tail. It’s a lizard, about a foot long, its skin blackened by fire. The smell of barbecued meat fills the air.
“Panga,” he says. He holds the lizard to his mouth and bites into its side, then offers it to Kaya.
“I wonder where he got that,” Kaya says. “I mean, ready-cooked like that.”
“Maybe there’s a lizard takeaway shop round the corner,” I joke. I know what she means, of course. She means Pullawarra isn’t alone. But right now the smell of the cooked meat is all I can focus on. I watch Kaya bite into the lizard’s belly.
“Mmm, that tastes beautiful,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her arm. She hands me the lizard and I bite into the side. If you’d told me a week ago I’d be eating roast lizard I’d have said you were crazy, but now I don’t give it a second thought. The skin is tough but the flesh
underneath flakes off like cooked fish. It’s delicious. We devour the animal greedily, biting into its belly and pulling chunks of meat off with our fingers.
After we’ve eaten, Pullawarra repeats his earlier sleeping mime, then he’s off into the bush. We wait for him to return but he doesn’t. It’s almost dark now and it seems clear the shelter is for us, so we crawl in.
Inside, the floor is covered with soft grass. The fire warms the shelter, and the smoke also keeps the evening mosquitoes at bay. For the first time since the flash we’re almost comfortable.
We talk about Pullawarra and debate whether we should venture off into the bush to see if we can find where he’s gone. But it’s dark now and we’re tired, so we decide against it. We stretch out and watch the fire and I feel myself drifting off.
***
“Jack, get out here. Quick.”
I can hear the excitement in Kaya’s voice. I rub sleep from my eyes. It’s light outside, and for a second all I can hear are birds singing. Then, above the chirping and squawking, I hear it. Someone is talking to Kaya.
In English.
In an instant I’m wide awake. I scramble out of the shelter. Kaya and Pullawarra are sitting on the ground. And there’s another man with them. An old man. He’s short and, not fat exactly, but he looks well-fed. His black skin is wrinkled and lined, and he has a bushy white beard. Like Pullawarra, he’s naked except for a cord around his waist.
“Morning. I’m Billy. Nice to meet you.”
“You ... you can speak English?” I stammer.
“Yeah, little bit. You like football?” He nods at my Baytown United football shirt.
Kaya breaks in. She sounds proud, like she’s somehow discovered this English-speaking man herself. “We haven’t gone back in time,” she announces. “Billy knows about our ... world.”
“Baytown, you mean?”
“Yeah, Baytown,” Billy says. “Well, this is Baytown too, see. Same place. Same time too. Just different Dreaming. You call it Baytown, we call it Dunjini-pula. Dunjini country. Dunjini, that’s us, see.”
I don’t see.
Billy draws an arch in the dirt with his finger.
“You came through that big stone arch, like this, yeah? Big flash, noise like thunder too?” We nod. “Well, we call that one the binjin rock. Binjin means gateway, see, ‘cos it’s like a gate between different Dreamings. A stone gate.”
Billy breaks off. He’s staring at Kaya’s necklace.
“Can I see that one?” he asks.
Kaya slips the necklace over her head and passes it to him. The crystal glints in the sun. Billy examines it carefully, feeling it and holding it up to the light.
“You know what this is?”
“Some type of crystal,” Kaya says. “I don’t know what it’s called. Mum gave it to me for my birthday. She bought it from that hippie shop in Baytown. Earth Visions.”
Billy strokes his beard. “And what were you doin’ up at the binjin rock? In your Dreaming, people don’t usually go wanderin’ about in the bush at night, do they. Especially not young ‘uns like you.”
“Well, yeah, I guess it is unusual,” Kaya agrees. “This boy Jayden ... it was just ... we just thought it would be nice to ...” she trails off, not quite knowing what to say. It’s not often Kaya is lost for words.
Billy looks at her and nods as if her answer made perfect sense. “I see. But how did you know about the binjin rock?” he asks.
“We didn’t,” I say. “We were walking up to the Castle and we were passing it, and there was this strange light shining through the arch and I thought it would be sort of cool to walk through it. We certainly didn’t expect ... this.”
Billy considers our story in silence for a while. Then, all of a sudden, he bursts out laughing. Pullawarra smiles too.
“Ha! When I heard two whitefella binjin spirits were walkin’ about in the bush, I got a big surprise. See, binjin knowledge was lost in your Dreaming a long time ago.”
“I don’t understand,” Kaya says.
“You see, binjin is secret business. Only binjin men like me learn the secret knowledge, of how to travel through the binjin rock. A long time ago there were binjin men in your Dreaming too. Blackfellas like us. They’d visit us and we’d visit them. But after whitefellas came to your Dreaming, all your binjin men died. Blackfellas forgot binjin. And whitefellas never found out about it. No more binjin spirits came from your Dreaming.”
Billy hands the necklace back to Kaya.
“That crystal, we call it maala. Without a maala crystal, the binjin rock won’t open.” Billy pauses. “Make sure you look after this one. Maala crystals are very rare. They come from only one place, far away. Lose this one and you won’t have time to get another.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “Why not?” I ask.
“‘Well, see, when you go through a binjin gate your mullabay stays in your own Dreaming. Your mullabay is your power. In your Dreaming some people call it your soul or spirit. When you’re away from your mullabay in another Dreaming, you get weaker. Stay away for too long and you’ll die.”
I really don’t like the sound of that.
“How long ... have we got?” Kaya asks.
“Everybody is different. Me, I can stay a long time away from my mullabay. One time I stayed a whole year in your whitefella Dreaming. That’s when I learnt English, see. Other people, though, they get sick fast. They can die in two moons. Even one moon. There’s no way of telling. But it’s worse for women. That’s why binjin is men’s business.”
“Great,” Kaya says. “The whole universe is sexist.”
Billy nods. “Women got a deeper connection to their own Dreaming, see. Their mullabay goes down deep into the earth, like the roots of a tree. If a tree is torn out of the ground, it will die. Same for a woman. A man’s connection to his Dreaming is different, weaker, up in the air. So he can live longer away from his Dreaming, see.”
“So that means Kaya ...” I begin.
“Don’t worry,” Billy says. “We’ll get you back to your Dreaming at the next full moon. That’s when the binjin rock opens, on the full moon. Until then you will stay here with us. It’s risky business for women to come through the binjin rock. But Kaya will be alright. As long as she don’t stay away from her Dreaming for more than one moon.”
Gateways to alternate realities, life forces, magic crystals. My mind is officially boggled.
But the important thing for us is that Baytown—our Baytown—still exists.
And we can go back.
We’ve just got to make it to the next full moon.
***
Billy tells us to follow him into the forest. He leads us to a larger clearing, a little way along the lake shore. In the clearing are six round huts, just like ours.
And there are people. Men, women and children, huddled together, watching in silence as we walk into the camp. They too are dark-skinned and curly-haired and naked except for cords around their waists. Some of the women have shell necklaces and plaited hair. Some carry wicker baskets strapped to their backs.
“Looks like we’re today’s big attraction,” Kaya whispers.
We stop in the middle of the clearing. Everyone stares. No one makes a sound, until a small boy bursts into tears and runs to hide behind his mother’s legs. It breaks the spell and everyone laughs.
Billy holds up his hand and everyone is quiet again. He begins to speak. He talks and talks, but everyone seems spellbound. There are gasps and nervous laughter, and people keep sneaking glances at us.
Billy stops and another man steps forward. Like Billy he has the loose wrinkled skin of an old man but still looks strong and fit. His dark face, with its wide flat nose, is surrounded by a mass of bushy white hair and bushy white beard. He too delivers a long speech. He presses his hand to his chest and his voice soars dramatically.
“He says he is Bambalaroo, chief of the Dunjini,” Billy translates, once the old man stops. “He welcomes the binjin spirits�
��that’s you two—to Dunjini country. He says we Dunjini will protect you with our lives.”
Billy stops. I guess he’s giving us the condensed version.
Bambalaroo stands like he’s waiting for a response. Kaya presses her hand against her chest like he did and smiles and says, “Thank you, Bambalaroo”.
At the sound of her voice a murmur ripples through the crowd of onlookers.
Billy tells us to sit down on the ground then begins to chant. He shuffles slowly in the dust. The other Dunjini join in, shuffling and chanting, stamping their feet. They chant and stamp, chant and stamp, kicking up a cloud of dust that makes us cough until Billy holds up his hands and everyone stops.
One by one, the Dunjini women approach us. Each woman puts some food down in front of us, on large leaves; berries and seeds and strips of dried meat. The women stare at the ground to avoid eye contact.
“Now eat,” Billy says. “Giving you food, that’s saying you’re part of our tribe now.”
As well as the nuts and berries there are fish, and tubers that look like potatoes, burnt on the outside but white inside. It’s hard trying to eat with so many eyes watching us.
And I guess that’s the end of the ceremony, because Billy gets up and says “follow me” and leads us back to the other clearing.
***
“What were you saying?” Kaya asks Billy.
“I told ‘em you were binjin spirits come to visit us. Told ‘em our law says we gotta look after you. To let harm come to a binjin spirit is bad luck, see.”
“They seemed afraid of us,” Kaya says.
“Yeah. They’ve never seen a binjin spirit before. Never seen a whitefella neither,” Billy says.
***
We spend the rest of the day at our camp. Just sitting or lying down. We’re still weak and exhausted after all those days of hardly eating. Sometimes we doze. From time to time Pullawarra brings us food, or water in a rough wooden bowl.
