Strandloper

by Alan Garner

  “Where are you going?” said Purranmurnin Tallarwurnin.

  “To Beangala,” said Murrangurk.

  “Never as you are shall you return,” said Purranmurnin Tallarwurnin.

  “How can I hurt you who am myself?” said Murrangurk. “I must go. It is my Dreaming.”

  He left the fires, across the marshes towards Beangala. An eagle hung above him.

  He travelled for a time, until he smelt two men coming towards him. They were young warriors, Pulmadaring and Wolmudging, and they carried their spears high, waving them. At the points hung bright colours. When they saw Murrangurk, they ran to meet him and gave him the spears. The colours were squares, tightly woven, one green, one blue.

  “Grandfather,” said Pulmadaring, “there are dead men at Beangala, and they are alive!”

  “They have made fire,” said Wolmudging, “and have eaten koim, without talk, and they will not go, but gave us these. They eat the land, without talk, and give us these! But we are not enough to fight them. Come and tell the People.”

  “I cannot come,” said Murrangurk. “The dead men do not know our way. I shall go to them, and talk peace.”

  He gave back the spears.

  “We have no peace with thieves of the land,” said ‘Pulmadaring. “The earth shakes; and the warriors are gathering.”

  Murrangurk watched them go, then he ran.

  He tasted the smoke of a fire, and moved in silence, looking.

  Near the shore of Beangala he saw a pole, and from it hung something coloured red, white and blue, but, although he had seen it before, he could not give the thin rug a name. He went nearer. The pole was by a fire, and, around the fire, the men had built a barrier of wood. They were white men. He saw three. And there were five other people, but they were covered with the same stuff, and no paint showed what else they were.

  There were shelters of white, and he knew them, too; but again they had no name; and there was a shelter of turf.

  Outside the barrier was a hole. He saw a man dip something into it and drink. When the man went back, Murrangurk moved to the hole and sat. He could hear the men talking, and again he knew the sounds, he had known them and spoken them, yet what they meant once had dried on the wind; but he saw dreams that he had forgotten, and smelt fear, and was himself afraid. Murrangurk sat and did not move.

  One of the people saw him, and pointed. They all turned and began to talk loudly, and to look around. At last, they became quiet, but watched. And when he felt that the waters had risen, Murrangurk stood, and walked forward.

  “Cheese it. What’s this fly clapperdodgeon?”

  “Gaw! Clap yer glims on that for a bastardly gullion!”

  The sounds. He heard them. What were they?

  “Joe, you askim he sabby,” said a white man to one of the people. When Murrangurk looked into him, he saw that the spirit was broken, and he did not know his tongue, but the man knew what Murrangurk was, and dropped his gaze.

  “Boss, him no sabby,” said Joe. “Him one bigpela bossman bilong here. Him scare dispela plenty toomuch. Him bigpreest bilong blackpela. Him mabn. Him got song, him got eye, bilong kill.”

  The white man stood in front of Murrangurk and smiled. He gestured, and spoke in a shout.

  “Do! Be! Seated! My friend!”

  Murrangurk looked at him.

  “Please! Sit! Here!” And the man sat on the ground and patted it with his hand.

  Murrangurk understood. He sat next to the man, but he kept his weapons across his lap. He looked into the man. The man was kind. He meant no harm. Why did he shout? Why did he not know silence? Why could he not feel death coming? Murrangurk must tell him, but how could he? The man’s mind was filled with noise.

  “Pray! Take! Food!”

  He held a lump of brown moss and put it into Murrangurk’s hand. Murrangurk smelt it.

  Coloured dreams came back and joined each other. Not everything. But enough. His tongue and ears opened, and he spoke.

  “Bread.”

  “What?” The man’s mouth was loose, his eyes wide.

  “Bake – Break – Bread. ‘A slice off a cut loaf isn’t missed.’”

  One of the other men pulled Murrangurk’s hair and beard aside.

  “He’s no chimneychops! The cove’s bug!”

  They sprang away from him. Murrangurk was on his feet in a move, shield and spear poised.

  “Don’t – send – back –”

  “Send? Where?” said the first man.

  “Pris – on –” said Murrangurk.

  “There’s no clink from here to Port Jackson,” said the other.

  “No. Yes. Sull-ivan Bay.”

  “Sullivan Bay? Not for thirty years and more, friend. The colony failed.”

  “Thirty? Years? Thirty? Three? Ten? Ten? Ten?”

  “Put down your spear, old man. No one will hurt you.”

  “Will –. William. William Buck-ley?”

  “Cut bene! What’s these inching cuffins?”

  A war party came from between the trees. It appeared as if out of the ground. Murrangurk fell between the worlds, and dropped his weapons, and lay on his face.

  “Shoot! Shoot!”

  “There’s fifty and more. We’ve no chance.”

  The warriors began to grunt, and they clashed their spears on their shields. The sound spoke to Murrangurk. He got up, and, unarmed, went beyond the barrier. The warriors were still.

  Murrangurk took the thundal from his medicine bag and held it up so that it flashed rainbows, and the warriors gasped and hid their eyes with their shields.

  Murrangurk sang.

  “I of the Kal Dreaming! Flesh of Thuroongarong! Son of Neeyangarra! Son of Binbeal, son of Mami-ngata, with his eagle!” He pointed above, and the warriors saw where the eagle hung. “And I have been dead before. But it is you who will die now. Though you may kill these, and though you kill many, yet more will come. Their featherfoot men are more than the stars of the sky. And if you kill even them, more will come, without end. They are more than the stars of the sky. They are more than the sand of the sea. Go. If you do not kill these men, they will bring gifts for you all, and for the women and for the elders, and will talk koim and all other trouble. It is I, Murrangurk, that sing!”

  The warriors shuffled their feet and looked at the ground. They turned, and were gone.

  Murrangurk came back inside the barrier and sat.

  “Safe now,” he said.

  “Can you be sure?”

  “With your people, I am a little man,” said Murrangurk. “With my People, I sing strong. Safe now. But not prison. Not prison.”

  “It’s a King’s Pardon for you, my matey, if William Todd has a word in it,” said the white man.

  “Bread,” said Murrangurk. “Grand as owt.”

  27

  EVERY DAY, MURRANGURK waited for the cloud of sail to appear on the horizon.

  He had been left with two of the white men and their People until the ship arrived. He went back to his own fires, and moved the women and the warriors to the Place of Growing, for safety, and returned to Beangala with Nullamboin and most of the elders. They made their shelters next to the white men, and Murrangurk stayed with them.

  The cloud came. Murrangurk watched. The ship hit a sandbank some way from the shore, and a boat was lowered. Then a cannon fired, and Murrangurk felt the claws of Neeyangarra within him, in joy and pain, for William Todd had said that, if he came back with the pardon, the cannon would be the sign.

  The boat was drawn up on the shore and William Todd stepped out, smiling, and holding a parchment fastened with red silk. He gave it to Murrangurk.

  “This is for you, Will.”

  “Is it me pardon?”

  “Open it.”

  Murrangurk broke the seal, untied the ribbon and unrolled the parchment.

  “From the Governor,” he said.

  “You could look more pleased.”

  “There’s promises,” said Murrangurk.


  “Then keep them.”

  “How can I?”

  “I have secured you preferment and a situation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your adventures are all the talk, and I have found a decent man who will provide you with food and drink, clothing and lodging, and remuneration besides.”

  “What should I want with them?”

  “But you cannot enter society as you are.”

  “And what makes this gentleman so kind as to do all this for the likes of me?”

  “He keeps a tavern and a music hall. It is his plan to show your marvellous adventures in a public spectacle, a divertissement: how you overcome the might of the militia in Man’s universal struggle to be free; how you brave the savages, through Almighty Providence, in your wanderings in the wilderness, and subdue their brutish natures to God’s wisdom in making you their king; and how, in the end, by your steadfastness to Him who shed His blood for all men, you are purged of Sin. For this, my friend will pay you eleven pounds per annum, all found. Will this not aid your promises, if, as I suspect, you mean your passage home, which could be yours in but a few years’ time?”

  “You’ve been right good to me,” said Murrangurk.

  “There would have been none to thank, without Will Buckley. Is that not so, Mr Batman?”

  There was another white man in the boat. He had eyes that did not move when he looked at Murrangurk. Murrangurk saw that he would not speak the truth.

  “What is it you’re at, coming here?” said Murrangurk.

  “To settle the land and to run sheep,” said Batman. “The first flocks are with us.”

  “And what shall you eat while you’re at this caper?” said Murrangurk.

  “There is game, and we have sown crops,” said Batman.

  “And what’s us lot supposed to do?” said Murrangurk, nodding towards the elders.

  “The niggers shall move,” said Batman. “They are few, the country is large, and there is room for all. And we cannot have them worrying the sheep.”

  “If you try at shifting us,” said Murrangurk, “you’ll happen find more nor what you bargained for. ’Empty bellies don’t have ears,’ think on. I’m telling you. It’s here as we belong.”

  “Here. Elsewhere. What does it matter?” said Batman.

  “Matter? I’ll tell you what it matters,” said Murrangurk. “If we’re shifted, we’ll not thole. And if we don’t thole, land dies. It needs walking, and it’s us must walk it. Do you not see? We’re all one, and have been since I don’t know when, since Beginning. It’s same as, like, whatsitsname, what-d’ye-call-em. Church! Yay! If you flit any on us, we’ll not live; and just you see: neither will land. We must have each other –”

  “This is sentimental nonsense.”

  “– same as Mami-ngata said! Same as Bible!”

  “The man’s deranged and blasphemous.”

  “‘For all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for ever.’ Look ye! I remember me Bible! So you just bugger off back where you come from!”

  “But here you are wrong, Buckley. Read me this.”

  Batman spread out a sheet of parchment, ornately written. Murrangurk peered at it.

  “‘Know all Persons that We Three Brothers, Jagajaga, Jagajaga, Jagajaga, being the Principle Chiefs’ – Nay! You read it! ‘Jagajaga’? What’s all this nominy? ‘Jagajaga’? So’s me arse! Chiefs? Give over! And we don’t write us names in pen and ink, neither!”

  “Nevertheless,” said Batman, “this document shows and proves that I have bought one hundred thousand acres of this land for twenty pair of blankets, thirty knives, twelve tomahawks, ten looking glasses, twelve pair scissors, fifty handkerchiefs, twelve red shirts, four flannel jackets, four suits of clothes and fifty pounds of flour. The land is mine. I own it.”

  “Nay, youth,” said Murrangurk. “The land owns us: every mortal one. But you! My song! Coming here! You’ve pissed chalice and shitten church!”

  Murrangurk walked away and sat at the fire with the elders.

  “The creature could threaten our venture,” said Batman. “We must remove him.”

  “But, sir, he has prevented massacre,” said William Todd. “We are greatly indebted to him. And the people hold him in high repute. It would be a madness to meddle with him.”

  “Allow me credit for a little wit, friend Todd,” said Batman. “Without his good offices, we should indeed be at risk. No. His fortune must become our special care.”

  “But there will be war among all the nations,” said Derrimut. “Then the Mogullumbitch will kill the Ballung-Karar, the Ballung-Karar the Wurunjerri-baluk, the Wurunjerri-baluk the Bunurong, the Bunurong the Kurung, the Kurung the Beingalite, we the Kaurnkopan, they the Gournditch-Mara, and so to the end of the world. Where are my spears? I shall make him peace!”

  “It is of no use, cousin,” said Murrangurk. “He speaks as one I dreamed once, who cared for nothing but his wish, felt no honour to the laws of elders, nor thought for any but his own. We cannot move these men. They will not go. They will swallow the world. Now my Dreaming truly begins. For this Nullamboin sang, and for this he danced.”

  “For this you are one with Neeyangarra,” said Nullamboin. “For this you have his songs. So, too, did I sing and dream, long ago, that you might come. Now is your Dreaming, now your song.”

  “Buckley. A word with you.” Batman spoke. Murrangurk got up from the fire and went to him.

  “Buckley. I have been thinking. Although my claim to this land is beyond dispute, I must own that communication with the natives, and their understanding of my claim, are matters of some difficulty. Could we not strike a bargain? If you were to accompany me for some months as translator, since I believe you are conversant with their several tongues, and if you were to lend your undoubted authority to my dealings with the chiefs, I should be prepared, at our conclusion, to fund your passage to England. What do you say to that?”

  Murrangurk looked up. The eagle was above him.

  “Ay. Fair do’s.”

  He looked again. The eagle was still there.

  28

  “I AM GLAD to see you, Murrangurk, but you must be gentle and hurt no one and speak straight.”

  Billi-billeri smoothed the ground with his hand. Murrangurk sat. He was painted white, marked with black.

  “I am glad to see you, Billi-billeri,” he said, “and I have come with these men who are dead, to talk land and to talk trees.”

  I have come to hold the Dreaming and to make it new, said his paint.

  “How are we to talk land and trees, when they are not ours to talk?” said Billi-billeri. The dead men shall die again, said his arm.

  “They bring gifts,” said Murrangurk. Do not kill them, said his shoulders. Many must die, and you will die, whatever you may wish. It cannot be stopped. But if you kill now, all will die. These men have come to take the land. They swallow the world. I am here so that others may find their ways in the Dreaming.

  “We thank them for their gifts, and will talk,” said Billi-billeri. What shall we do with our spirit? said his fingers. Our piece of Time is not used, our step not ended. Where shall we walk?

  “That is good,” said Murrangurk. I was sung to bring a new Time, a new Dreaming, said his hands, and in them you yourself shall walk. My Ancestor, Neeyangarra, speaks this.

  “Then let us eat,” said Billi-billeri, “and sing, and dance upon the earth.” He smiled at the white men.

  “Does he agree?” said Batman.

  “Ay,” said Murrangurk. “Soft as Dick’s hatband. You’ve getten more than you bargained for here.”

  “Good fellow,” said Batman. “That is the way to do it.”

  “I hope your bums are tough,” said Murrangurk. “You’ll be sitting all night with this lot.”

  They gave knives and axes when they left in the morning. For Billi-billeri there was a looking glass, and he smiled into it again.

  “Vanity is a cheap currency, He
aven be praised,” said Batman to Todd as they rode down from Bomjinna.

  “And no error,” said Murrangurk, who walked beside them. “Who’s next?”

  They went from the Kurnaje-berring to the Boi-berrit, the Wurunjerri-baluk, the Ngaruk-willam, the Balak-willam, the Ediboligitoorong, the Yalukit and all the Bunurong, and, after the talking and the journeying, to the settlement on the Birrarrung at Narrm.

  Well, that’s reckoned him up, said Murrangurk. Rump and stump, it has. Ay. Rump and stump.

  Batman and Todd had to be lifted from their horses, and they were put into bath tubs and washed by their servants. Pigeon and Bill Bullets, of the Camaraigal, of Port Jackson, who were waiting for them.

  “When’s me ship?” said Murrangurk.

  “There will be one next month,” said Batman. “I suggest that you spend some of that period in restoring yourself to the likeness of a civilised being.”

  “Time enough for that,” said Murrangurk. “I’m just off for a stroll, me. I’ll be back in a threeweek.” He marked his arm with bands for each day. “Be good, and then.” He set off along the beach.

  By, this here wants some walking. It always did.

  He kept on the move, staying at the water. It was Bunurong land, and though there was no quarrel between them and the Beingalite when he had left, the Bunurong were never trusted. Yet, he walked the shore for them, and danced the Morning Star, and sang their songs at any Place of Growing that he saw. But he made no fires, and drank from no roots, took none of their food, and slept lightly beneath his eagle.

  He was glad to cross the river into his own land, to see the peaks of the Youangs, where the bee thunder had spoken to him and given him its drink.

  Now he built a fire, and hunted. And he stayed a while, feeling the strength of the land under his feet, and dancing the strength back to the land each night.

  He reached Kooraioo, and was near Woodela, when he saw that there were too many crows ahead. He stopped, and climbed a tree. The crows were feeding in scattered groups. He smelt meat.

  Murrangurk waited in the tree, but nothing else was moving, so he came down and went inland towards the crows. There was a straight line of fencing not honouring the land. He sat by it, but there were only the crows and the meat. No one had passed that day, and there was no smoke. He went forwards across the grass, and the nearest crows called out to him to stay away, but when they thought that he did not understand, they turned back to their feeding until he was so close that they grumbled and flew up. He looked at his eagle. It had risen high to avoid the pack.