The Great Empty

by Anita Melillo

  The groans rose deep from the pit of his stomach. All had been lost somewhere in the bottom of an endless bottle.

  As he laid there prostrate with his head pressed flat against the sun parched grass, he wondered how late in the day it was, because his face and neck were already stinging from the intense rays coming down.

  Something wet whisked across his cheek. Slowly, he inched his hand through the grass to wipe it off and groaned more as the beads from the heat had formed on his skin. Painstakingly, he forced his head up and a notch to the right so that he could adjust his eyes to the blinding light of day.

  But the more he strained to see, the more his head throbbed. So he dropped it back down, closed his eyes and sighed.

  There was another wet tap, but this time on his nose. He wiggled it, thinking that it was a blade of grass with an insect on it, which was still enough to force his eyes wide open. But what came into focus was even more surreal than his nightmares.., a lizard from hell.

  Preston wailed, which startled the reptilian. Its headdress of ruffles flared straight out from all sides as it hissed.

  Another long shriek abounded from the old man as he struggled to his feet. With all of his might, he ran through the thick grass until he reached the highway, as though the demons of his past were flicking forked tongues at his heels—but the lizard, in the opposite direction.

  Frantically, he headed down the road with a trail of dust lifting behind him, and he could see the glare of metal coming in the distance.

  “I’m saved.., I’m saved,” he yelled.

  As the four-wheel safari truck got closer, the driver saw the delirious fellow flogging wildly towards the vehicle. When he saw the debris from the wreckage further down the road, he turned on the red flashing lights. The white off-road van was wrapped around a Eucalyptus tree with a gas can, spare tire, and bumper blocking both lanes.

  When the vehicle stopped and two armed men stepped out, Preston was nervous. But when they pinned his arms behind his back and forced him to taste the warm Australian soil again, he was terrified.

  “That’s him!” the teenager shouted from inside the vehicle. “That’s the man that held me at gunpoint!”

  Chapter Ten

  Veins of perspiration flowed from Donovan’s itching forehead and down his neck, merging with the sweaty streaks that had gathered at the base of his collar bones. His exposed white skin was drenched and burning from the briars and bushes he had spent the morning trudging through. The ninety degree temperature felt more like one hundred and ten as a wave of humidity rose from the forest floor. It was the closest he had been to walking through an open oven and the farthest he had ever imagined going from civilization.

  Fading glimpses of the burnished head boy had flashed through the thinned areas of trees where rays of sun had spotlighted the ground, but where was he? Now that the thick wall of green was behind him, the dotted plain of scrubland and sky seemed to go on forever.

  “How will I ever get back?” he mumbled to himself. He couldn’t tell which way was north or south and resented that he had bought the woomera instead of a compass.

  Without any sense of direction, he bent over to grab his knees as he heaved in and out of breath. The sweat sprayed from the roots of his hair as he shook his head, but the beads that hit his chest and back only stung more against the cuts and scrapes the flies were stabbing at.

  Collapsing into the grass, he cried, “Have at it, you blood sucking leeches!”

  Then he tossed his jacket over his face and closed his eyes. If he let his mind escape, he could easily entertain the thought of being cast into the stone age.

  Throughout the broad open range of grass boomed red tinged monoliths that erupted from the earths surface like dormant volcanoes. Some even took on shapes that gave him the sensation of being watched. But to the natives, those mounds would have been ancestral gods.

  Every part of the landscape was sacred to the Aborigines and every formation had meaning to the Bunitji people. According to their tradition, it was all created by Indjuwanydjuwa, an ancestral being who turned a bare plain into the colorful radiance of Arnhem land as part of his journeys. After his masterpiece was finished, he changed into a rock and surrounded himself with pink lotus flowers.

  The same could be said about everything Donovan passed, but to him he had only been taught about one God. And yet he couldn’t keep the question from surfacing.., “Would that God be able to hear him in the remotest part of the world?... And could He send someone to lead him back to safety?”

  He felt his world spinning beneath him as the contour of his body meshed with the grass. His throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow and he didn’t think he had the strength to get back up. He didn’t know what might sliver up beside him, either.

  Lifting one arm of the jacket, he saw that his backpack was too many feet away and he felt something crawling around in his make-shift bandage. He wiggled his foot, but it just dug deeper into his heel. So he sat up and untied the mud stained shirt.

  Peeling away the thick layer of cushion, he turned to one side and winced, “Oh, please don’t let it be a leech.., I was only joking.”

  “Ahhh!” he screamed as the black slimy strip appeared beneath the bandage. It was attached to the wound on his heel and he kicked several times, but it wouldn’t come off. He looked around for a stick and couldn’t find one and he wasn’t about to touch it with his hands. So he hopped over to his backpack and removed a couple of the cards, and cupped them beneath the flat worm. And with one swift scoop, it was off.

  He tried to regain his composure with a deep inhale, but with it came a taste of the green leaves he had eaten that morning. Everything in his stomach spewed out, as he coughed and gagged with tears filling his eyes.

  “There has to be water nearby,” he choked in agony and closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, rather than having to shield the glare, the bright ball of gas had resigned behind the clouds for a moments relief. And in the shade of iridescence his face turned to stone.

  “Water!” he yelled as he looked around. “I’m going to die here without it!”, he sobbed beneath his breath. There was nothing more he knew to do and he felt too tired to keep going without it. He wiped his forehead with his arm and tried sipping some of the sweat, which just left a more bitter aftertaste than the leaves.

  Then as the sun came out and slipped beneath the cloud cover again, it brought with it a ray of shimmering light that rippled across a patch of wildflowers.

  “Oh, please don’t let it be a tin pan,” he crossed his fingers.

  Leaning all of weight onto his left foot, he pulled his backpack through the high grass and to the stretch of flora, where he finally found his treasure underneath—clear marsh.

  From where the Aborigine stood peering through a thicket of trees, the Balanda was an amusing sight, splashing water on his face and arms as though the billabong would dry up before him. What was he doing in the outback all alone and why had he been following him? He tried measuring up the one who was wandering aimlessly on sacred ground.

  He would have walked right up and asked, but the pale mate looked like he needed the soak. And since he had made good timing on his journey into manhood so far, he decided to watch for a while.

  Now that the outside was somewhat refreshed, Donovan pulled off the wet pants that were clinging to his legs. The two brown socks were the only thing he had to treat the wound with, and he pulled them both onto the same foot. It might not help the infection, but at least it would keep the bugs off and allow him to focus on his biggest problem, how to find a decent meal when there were no restaurants around.

  Three raptors were circling a clearing in the woods. And although he wasn’t interested in any leftovers, those birds looked pretty tasty. If the woomera was half as fast as the ranger let on, he would be eating within an hour.

  Cautiously, he approached the opening where the large black hawks pic
ked at the decaying wallaby. With uncertainty for this strange tool he gripped in his hand, he reared back and flung it at the smallest of the three. It shot through the air and hit the dirt, completely missing the bird, but ruffling its feathers at the swipe.

  “Woo hoo!” he exclaimed as he stomped over in a fury to retrieve it.

  The hawks had taken refuge in the tree-tops. So Donovan hid quietly behind a bush for a few minutes until they reappeared.

  This time the birds were on alert as each one took turns swooping down to pick at the carcass, but Donovan wouldn’t be outsmarted so easily. With all of his strength and agility, he aimed for the largest and hoisted the woomera high above his head. It cut into the trunk of a skinny tree and stayed there, too high up for him to reach.

  “For crying out loud!” he shouted again. As much as he was trying to remain positive, matters just seemed to get worse. So he reached down to gather some rocks, and caught wind of the stench from the kill. It was so nauseating that he questioned whether or not he was really hungry enough to eat one of the birds.

  “I’ve got to!” he concluded, half famished. He would try one more time and if that didn’t work, he would begin foraging for roots.

  As he contemplated his next move, his hand happened upon a hefty-sized rock. As soon as he picked it up though, he quickly slammed it back down on the monstrous looking creature behind it, a Thorny Devil.

  It was the most bizarre lizard he had ever seen, and his hands trembled as he watched it twist around, hissing in the dirt.

  Thorns protruded from it at every angle of the rounded shell attached to its back. It was in that instant that Donovan made it a point to put his shoes back on. He could slip and slide along the forest floor, but he wasn’t about to step on one of those.

  He picked up another large rock and smashed it down again against its head. The lizard eventually stopped writhing.

  Donovan studied the find for a bit, and cautiously took it by the tail and suspended it in the air.

  “Nah,” he sighed and tossed it back on the ground. “I’d rather have the bird.” Now he had conquered and was ready to do it again.

  This time, he took the big rock, pranced a good striking distance from the prey and threw it as hard as he could.., but out of nowhere.., something beat him to it.

  A whirl from the trees shot straight up at the raptor with lightning speed. With a thump, the bird dropped to the ground and the object landed beside it—a boomerang.

  Donovan spun around to see where it came from and found the Aborigine boy facing him about fifteen feet away. The chiseled white lines of paint on his black skin were more detailed than before. And with the exception of a leather strip that stretched about his groin and waist, the native was naked.

  Neither said a word until the Aborigine grinned, revealing a mouthful of twisted ivory teeth.

  “Thanks,” smiled Donovan hesitantly.

  “You’re welcome,” the Aborigine replied in a mild toned voice that sounded oddly Australian in dialect.

  Donovan was more than a little surprised. “You mean..,” he paused as though removing the blinder of ignorance from his eyes, “you speak English?”

  “Sure I do, mate,” the boy replied as he walked over and retrieved his boomerang, and slipped it into the narrow strip of leather.

  “Then why didn’t you answer me when I called to you before?” Donovan asked.

  The Aborigine grinned again, “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t loony that’s all.., goin’ around yellin, yippi yippi yoo,” he answered defensively. “What kind of language is that?”

  Suddenly, Donovan felt stupid and embarrassed. “I don’t know really,” he thought about it and then laughed too, realizing how foolish he must have sounded. “I was just trying to get your attention.”

  The Aborigine walked over to the Thorny Devil and picked it up by the tail, and turned to Donovan as though it was appetizing.

  “You can have him,” he gestured out of good will, “if you show me how to cook that bird.”

  “Well,” he scratched his head, “I guess it’s a fair trade. My name is Neji, by the way.”

  Donovan smiled, feeling more secure in the fact that he had a new friend and was no longer alone. “I’m Donovan.”

  There was no exchange of hands, only friendly glances as Neji nodded toward the bird and motioned, “Follow me.”

  Donovan got his backpack and strapped it over his shoulders, grabbed up the bird by the legs as its head drug against the ground, and walked slowly behind him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bumper to bumper traffic and streets filled with a blend of cosmopolitan multiculturalism with the eccentricity of outback openness, clamored together in a bustling array of holiday fever. Not that the Aussies ever needed a reason to celebrate, the germ ran as freely through their veins as the golden liquid they consumed by the gallons.

  Streamers and confetti floated from the highest story windows of modern office buildings and was trampled underfoot by the parade of historical gaiety that rounded the corner of Smith Street.

  The eight miles from the Darwin International Airport had been a continual stop and go from the start. Elizabeth had already nibbled her finger nails down to the quick and the tips were on her lap.

  Allister took her hand and forced it by his side. “Please love, you’ll be needing those to gouge out the old cockneys eyes,” his jaw clenched tight.

  “Oh, stop it,” she jerked her hand free. “That’ll only make matters worse. I shouldn’t have left them anyway..,” she turned to face the window as her eyes festered red with tears, remembering the last words Donovan had said to her at the airport. “Please don’t leave me”

  The sorrowful vision was felt beyond the window as pedestrians began to notice how distraught she looked from inside the stalled yellow car. In the stream of mascara she rubbed her hand down her face, as though trying to wipe the anxiety away. The sea of brown faces was watching all looking directly at her more Asians and Aborigines than anything else.., her mind drifted off.

  Then she snapped out of the mesmerizing trance of futility and gut wrenching guilt. She had to think about something else or she wouldn’t be able to help either of them. So she concentrated on Darwin and how it looked more like Indonesia and Southeast Asia than anything to the South.., but so much like Honolulu.

  “This is absurd!” Allister spoke out of total frustration through gritted teeth. The cab driver weaved in and out of lanes until nothing was passable and everything came to a standstill.

  “Can’t you get around them? It’s a life and death situation!” he scoffed.

  “Doin’ the best I can, mate. Just sit tight. The roads ‘ll clear up in a jiffy,” the scruffy driver tried to reason with him.

  “It’s in the middle of the day. Why don’t they wait until after dark?” he complained as an aerial display of fireworks exploded above them.

  The cabby turned on the windshield wipers to clear away some of the confetti and Allister gripped the door handle, as he calculated the distance between the small terminal. He was concluding that he could probably get there faster on foot.

  It was indeed Anzac Day. As Elizabeth’s eyes searched the teaming faces of camaraderie, she wondered which ones would be kind enough to care for her son.., a stranger in a distant land. Families surrounded them by the dozen, with their happy children, all appeared glad to be there. “Surely they would be kind to a..”, she mumbled when a man caught her attention. He looked different than the colorful profusion of people as he stood with his back to them, eyeing a poster that was nailed to a telephone pole. The clothing was so rugged, shredded blue jeans, a knife strapped to his side, the roll on his back, and the oversized brown hat with the bobbing corks.

  “Whatever are they for?” she mumbled to herself again.

  “Yes, love?” Allister asked, as though returning from the void himself.

  “Is that what a swagman looks like?” her voic
e was non-evasive.

  “I suppose so,” he replied, not really listening as his thoughts trailed off again.

  The man’s knotted brown shoulder length hair separated with the wind from beneath his hat, and sent the corks into a celestial spin. A fog of smoke remained where he had stood, as he smothered out the lit cigarette into the sandy pavement. And as soon as he walked away, Elizabeth screamed as though something had surged through her innermost parts like electricity.

  “What is it?!” Allister anxiously jumped in his seat and stopped when his head met the sagging overhead.

  “Over there!” she pointed. “That poster!”

  She opened the door and leapt from the car. So Allister slid out of the car behind her as he tried to make out the peculiarly blown up face of a child with a finger lodged up his nose.