Whispering in the Wind

by Alan Marshall

  Peter mounted Moonlight and Greyfur stood by the side of the pony. She held the stirrup leather tightly in her hand and closed her eyes.

  Peter, who was beginning to feel afraid, said, ‘Look, before we start I’d like to make you a present of this leaf,’ and he handed the Willy Willy Man one of his leaves.

  The little man was overcome. ‘What a wonderful present,’ he said. ‘Now I must take great care of you because I regard you as my best friend. I won’t make the Willy Willy quite as big as I said. I was really boasting a little when I said I’d make it twenty yards across.’

  He put the leaf in his pocket, stood on his toes with his arms outstretched and began to spin. A few dull pops came from his pocket but no dust rose in the air. He stopped and sat down.

  ‘You see,’ he said apologetically, ‘I’m a two-stroke, and two-stroke engines are always hard to start. You know how difficult it is to start a lawn-mower. Have either of you got a cord on you? Once I start to fire I’ll take off.’

  ‘I’ll soon supply a cord,’ said Greyfur. She felt in her pouch and pulled out a starting cord complete with a little wooden handle attached to one end.

  ‘Good heavens,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘If I had a pouch like that I’d make a fortune. A cord like this would cost half a dollar at any reputable hardware store. Can you supply them in quantity? I’ll take a gross with the usual ten per cent discount for cash.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Greyfur crossly. ‘You make my pouch sound like an ironmonger’s. We love people and give them things.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘I am sorry,’ and he felt the leaf in his pocket.

  He bustled about preparing to start his whirlwind. He wound the starting cord around his waist and asked Peter to pull it. ‘A quick sharp pull is the best way to start me,’ he said. ‘Put all your strength into it.’

  Peter tried several times. Then Greyfur tried, but they couldn’t raise a bang or even a pop from the little man. He spun only as long as the rope was pulled then stopped.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong,’ he said with a worried expression on his face. ‘I had a complete overhaul only a month ago. I’m thinking seriously of changing to a four-stroke.’

  ‘I think the spark-plug must be dirty,’ said Peter. ‘Are the points all right?’

  He knew all about two-stroke motors because Crooked Mick had a lawn-mower which was always difficult to start.

  ‘I’ll have a look,’ said the Willy Willy Man.

  He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a spark-plug which he examined intently. He licked it, rubbed it on his sleeve; licked it, rubbed it on his sleeve, then looked at it again.

  ‘It looks clean now.’

  ‘Are the points all right?’ asked Peter.

  The Willy Willy Man handed it to him and Peter tapped the end of the plug on a stone.

  ‘Try it now.’

  He replaced it in his pocket and Peter once more pulled the cord.

  ‘Bang, bang, bang,’ yelled the little man. ‘Bang bang—pop-pop-pop-pop-pop,’ and he started spinning. Peter, still holding the cord, sprang back from the winding arms, and the Willy Willy Man spun past him with the dust rising from his feet.

  ‘All stand together. I’ll be back in a minute to pick you up,’ he called as he passed.

  He whirled out into the desert gathering dust as he went. It curled into the air, swaying to and fro like some huge rope hanging from the sky.

  Now it began to roar; a rumble at first that soon increased till it filled the desert with sound. Dust sucked up from the earth rotated madly in huge circles, rising rapidly till the rope became a column, and the column became a terrifying moving tower. Stunted trees over which it passed tossed their heads frantically. Leaves were ripped from them and shot upwards to ride with the dust five hundred feet above the earth. It circled over a mile away, then came towards them and the thunder of its march shook the earth.

  A mob of kangaroos raced ahead of it, then shot to one side while it went by. Emus, with their long necks extended like lances, sent spurts of dust from their toes as they sped at full speed out of the line of the Willy Willy’s advance.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ said Greyfur. ‘I don’t like it at all.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Peter. ‘I’ve got the wind up.’

  He jumped on to Moonlight’s back and Greyfur stood beside them grasping a stirrup leather.

  ‘I gave him the Magic Leaf,’ said Peter. ‘He won’t hurt us, I’m sure of that.’ But he felt nervous just the same.

  ‘I’m not frightened,’ said Greyfur biting her fingernails, ‘but that Willy Willy is out of control. He’s not a good driver. Hold tight!’ she shouted suddenly.

  The Willy Willy had veered and now bore straight down upon them. The air became disturbed and Moonlight’s mane whipped in the gusts of wind that preceded it. Greyfur buried her face against the saddle and Peter leant over till his face was covered by Moonlight’s mane.

  The column of roaring dust towered high above them. Leaves and twigs circled it like moths around the light. It thundered, and screeched and waved its huge length as if it were an immense serpent in pain. It swooped forward until the little group was lost in its midst; all they could hear was the roaring of the wind.

  Peter and Greyfur felt themselves seized by invisible hands which plucked them into violent movement. Moonlight plunged and reared and Greyfur, clinging blindly to the stirrup leather, was lifted upwards as the pony rose. She clung desperately to the strap though her hands slipped once and she nearly lost her grip.

  Peter felt he was astride a bucking horse but he tightened his knees and kept his seat. He could feel Moonlight’s body circle beneath him before they were suddenly ejected from the dust and darkness into a calm and untroubled area, a circular space of great height with smooth walls revolving around them. It was as if they were in the middle of a flexible chimney that towered up and up till the top was lost in the darkness of thunder clouds stooping down from the sky. There was peace here, though outside, as from behind walls, could be heard the faint roar of the Willy Willy as it marched.

  Seated on a chair, drinking tea he had poured from a flask, was the Willy Willy Man. The chair floated in mid-air without weight or motion. Beside it were two other chairs.

  ‘Sit down,’ said the Willy Willy Man, gesturing towards them. ‘I always keep these chairs out in the desert where I can scoop them up any time I feel like having a comfortable ride.’

  ‘Are you sure they will carry us?’ asked Greyfur. ‘They are not standing on anything.’

  ‘What about aeroplanes?’ argued the Willy Willy Man. ‘They carry chairs.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s different,’ she said.

  ‘Those chairs would hold an elephant,’ said the little man.

  ‘All right,’ said Greyfur, ‘we’ll see,’ and she pulled an elephant out of her pouch. It was the same elephant she had taken from her pouch when she first met Peter, and the animal was most annoyed.

  ‘Look, am I going to be pulled out of your pouch every time you want to settle an argument?’ he said angrily. ‘This is coming it a bit too hot. I’m sick of it.’

  ‘All I want you to do is to sit on that chair,’ explained Greyfur. ‘Come on. Sit on it, there’s a good chap.’

  The elephant, grumbling to himself, sat on the chair.

  ‘There you are!’ exclaimed the Willy Willy Man. ‘It hasn’t moved.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Greyfur; then to the elephant, ‘thanks old chap. Sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘Don’t let this happen again,’ said the elephant. He would have said more but Greyfur grabbed him, tipped him into her pouch and he disappeared. She then sat down on the chair.

  ‘You want to be careful with a talent like that,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘A Willy Willy is not made for carrying heavy weights like elephants. The whole thing might have collapsed and we would have broken our necks. As it is we’ve slowed
down considerably. I’ll have to change gear. I’ll bring her down to second.’

  He took a gear lever from his pocket and strapped it on to his boot. He juggled it till the Willy Willy began to increase its roar.

  ‘Pop, pop, bang, bang,’ he yelled. He shoved the gear lever into top and the Willy Willy spun round with increasing speed.

  Peter had sat down on the other chair and made himself comfortable. Moonlight was standing beside him, quite unconcerned by the noise around him and the fact that he was standing on air. He tossed his head and pricked his ears. Peter leaned over and patted him.

  ‘Attention!’ said the Willy Willy Man, who had suddenly become most important. ‘I wish you all a pleasant trip. We are now flying at five hundred feet before a fair wind and a following sea. Our position is longitude sixty-five, latitude twenty-three. There will be fog patches north and south of the ranges. The temperature at Darwin is eighty-nine, at Melbourne fifty-two. In case of emergency fasten your safety belts and blow up one of those rafts in the seat beneath you. Keep it blown up all the way down. Before you land place it beneath you. Thank you all for your co-operation.’ He finished with an important little cough that made everyone feel he was a good speaker.

  ‘I can’t make head or tail out of anything you said,’ commented Peter, who thought the speech was a silly one.

  ‘No one is asking you to make either a head or a tail out of anything I have said,’ answered the Willy Willy Man. ‘None of us here need a new head and only two of us possess tails, so the making of heads or tails from my words doesn’t come in to it. I spoke from my heart,’ he ended emotionally.

  Greyfur was impressed. ‘Well, I liked the speech,’ she said. ‘It’s interesting to know that the temperature of Darwin is eighty-nine. But what worries me is blowing up those rafts all the way down. It places too much responsibility on the passenger if the funnel collapses.’

  ‘It’s all rubbish,’ Peter persisted.

  Suddenly the funnel in which they sat became full of straw and hay. It whirled round their heads and circled far down beneath their chairs where it was more densely packed. It brushed against their faces and curved around their legs before spiralling upwards to end plastered against the walls. Peter could hear the shouts of angry men rising up through the funnel from far down on the earth.

  ‘Oh, dear me!’ exclaimed the Willy Willy Man. ‘We’ve passed over a haystack. It belongs to the four dwarfs who live in a cave far out in the desert. Listen to them. I’ll have to return that hay after I’ve let you out. Dear me! What a blunder!’

  ‘It’s good hay,’ said Peter who was examining one of the heads. ‘It would be perfect for horses—plenty of oats in it.’ He wished Crooked Mick could see it.

  ‘I must find out where we are,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘I’ve wandered off the track a little.’

  He pulled out a telescope from beneath his chair and extended it to its full length, which was very long indeed. He pushed it through the wall of the Willy Willy and looked through the eyepiece.

  ‘We are making north by south by east at one hundred knots,’ he announced. ‘The wind is freshening on Port Phillip Bay.’

  ‘But Port Phillip Bay is a thousand miles away,’ said Peter, who was beginning to wonder if the Willy Willy Man knew where he was taking them.

  ‘That’s so,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘But I can see a thousand miles through this telescope. We are now passing a great pile of rocks. I can see a rock wallaby. I can see a man walking alone in the desert. He is lost.’

  He snapped the telescope shut and brought the Willy Willy round in a swinging curve that took them back on their tracks so that they passed over the lost man. He was caught like a leaf and borne upwards till he popped in amongst them.

  ‘I’d like a drink,’ he said. ‘I was lost. I couldn’t have gone much further.’

  Greyfur pulled a bottle of lemonade from her pouch and he drank it thirstily.

  ‘No one should try to cross the Lonely Desert without a mate,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘You were lucky we came along.’

  ‘I was that. I saw the Willy Willy but had no idea it was occupied. I’ll admit I got a fright when it swept over me.’ He listened to the pop-popping of the Willy Willy, then said, ‘That motor needs adjusting. It’s not firing right.’

  ‘Do you understand two-strokes?’ asked the Willy Willy Man, feeling excited. ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I am a motor mechanic.’

  ‘Can you start two-strokes?’

  ‘Easily,’ said the man.

  ‘Then you have a job,’ said the Willy Willy Man, feeling pleased with himself. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘I like that name. It is short and easy to say. You and I are going to be friends, Tom.’

  A gust of leaves rose up through the funnel, danced around them, and came to rest against the wall.

  ‘We are skirting the Watchful Forest,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘I must have grazed a gum tree. I’ll bring her in now. Prepare to land. Fasten your safety belts.’

  ‘There are no belts on the chairs!’ exclaimed Peter, hurriedly searching the chair he sat on.

  ‘That’s right,’ said the little man. ‘Don’t fasten them. Hold tight! Here we go! Whoo-oo!’ And he closed his eyes.

  The Willy Willy swayed in a circle and came to rest. Its spinning stopped. They all began to descend as gently as leaves. Down, down they went until they stood on the earth. Dust and leaves and hay began falling in the still air until they found themselves sitting in the centre of a circle of hay that surrounded them like a wall.

  They were on the edge of The Watchful Forest, where the crowding gums stood listening to their thoughts and whispering their knowledge to those behind them, so that the whole forest was aware of their presence and their plans.

  ‘Only kind people can walk here,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘Your Magic Leaf will protect you. Now I have taken you across the Lonely Desert, as I promised the She-Oak tree. You won’t be lonely any more. Once you have crossed the desert safely, loneliness vanishes forever. See that hill over there,’ and he pointed to a hill that rose above the trees on the horizon. ‘It is called the Last Hill. Make for it. You will find all the answers to your questions on that hill.’ He turned to Tom. ‘Now you can start me, I’ve been looking for a man like you for years. Just wind the starting cord around my waist and pull it.’

  ‘Where’s the cord?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Dear me, I must have lost it!’ said the Willy Willy Man, feeling in his pockets.

  Greyfur pulled a bundle of them from her pouch and handed them to Tom. ‘Look after these for him, Tom; he keeps losing them. And look after him, too. He is a good man and needs a friend.’

  ‘I’ll look after him,’ he said.

  They all climbed over the surrounding hay to the cleared area beyond it. Peter grabbed a couple of sheaves for Moonlight, who was snatching mouthfuls as he clambered through, and put them under a tree some distance away where he could be left feeding.

  The Willy Willy Man stood on a dusty patch and Tom wound the starting rope around him.

  ‘I’ll come back for you,’ said the Willy Willy Man. ‘Stand in the middle of that hay and wait for me. I have to take the hay back to the dwarfs.’

  ‘Right,’ said Tom. ‘Stand clear.’ And he pulled the rope.

  There was a series of bangs and pops and the Willy Willy Man spun off in a cloud of dust. He moved out into the desert, becoming bigger and bigger until he reached the sky.

  He swung back and raced towards the hay where Tom stood waiting for him. He gave a final wave to Peter and Greyfur as the Willy Willy scooped him skywards, riding on a great mass of hay. The dust enveloped him and the Willy Willy moved out into the desert, growing smaller and smaller till it disappeared.

  9

  The Fight with the Doubt Cats

  They slept that night under a tree by the edge of the Watchful Forest. They got up early next morning just as the
sun was rising and folded their sleeping bags into neat bundles which Greyfur dropped into her pouch. They were camped on the bank of a creek and while they were having breakfast they watched black duck winging their way upstream to pools hidden in the bush. Sometimes they could hear the whistle of wings as teal and widgeon went by.

  ‘I’d like to live here,’ said Greyfur.

  ‘So would I,’ said Peter.

  The old tree beneath which they sat suddenly began whispering as if a wind were stirring its leaves. Peter looked up at the sound. He looked intently at the moving leaves, waiting for the whisper to become louder.

  ‘Listen,’ he said to Greyfur. ‘I think this tree is trying to tell us something.’

  Greyfur looked up at the tree and sat still, waiting.

  The whispering grew louder.

  ‘The Watchful Forest is a cruel place where everything that grows, listens and waits,’ said the tree. ‘You will feel as if you are being watched by a thousand eyes. Keep on the track and do not turn aside to explore the creeks and waterfalls you will pass. In the centre valley you will be attacked by the Doubt Cats. They are as big as leopards and striped like tigers. They scream and howl and will fill you with fear. But fight them off and keep going till you reach the Last Hill.’

  The leaves stopped rustling. The whispering died away. Peter stood up and patted the trunk of the tree, then, turning to Greyfur, he said, ‘Let’s start now. It’s a long way through the forest and we may take days.’

  ‘I am ready,’ said Greyfur. She waited while Peter mounted Moonlight then followed them across the creek where Moonlight splashed through the shallow water and stopped to have a drink. They clambered up the far bank and followed a narrow track that led into the forest.

  The tall gums stood still and straight all around them. There were occasional wattle trees and black-wood. The wild flowers were beginning to emerge from the leafy mould and the heath was already in blossom. The air was so beautiful that Peter took deep breaths and urged Moonlight into a swinging canter. Greyfur kept pace with them, her tail swinging up and down like a pump handle.