by Judy Nunn
Nyapi would lay his catch on the ground before Letye, placing them down with care one by one, and as he did so naming each slowly and distinctly.
At first Emily had thought the boy-man, whose name she had come to know was Nyapi, was merely trying to impress her, but then she had realised that Nyapi was teaching her his language. When little Tama and the women pointed things out, explaining their food sources and methods of gathering, their voices were no more than discordant gabble to Emily. She had never understood the words themselves, but she understood Nyapi’s lessons.
Nyapi had continued the process day after day. And when he had taught her the Arunta names of the creatures he had presented, he would point at parts of his body, his hand, his arm, his shoulder, his leg, and with infinite patience he would say each word, waiting for her to repeat it after him, which she obediently did, pointing in turn at the relevant parts of her own body, no longer conscious of her nakedness, nor even of his.
Their focus upon each other had not gone unnoticed. Atanum and Tjumuru had shared meaningful nudges and muttered asides. It was clear to them that Nyapi found the white girl desirable. They could not understand why themselves: they found her pallid and uninteresting.
Nyapi’s mother, Ngita, and his grandmother, Nangala, had also noted Nyapi’s attraction to Letye. But Nangala had sensed something else. Nangala had sensed that the feeling was mutual. She awaited the outcome with interest.
Then there had finally come the day when Nyapi had declared himself. There had been no words. The dance had been declaration enough.
Emily had watched in spellbound silence as Nyapi performed his love dance. The ritual was primitive, the steps unerringly animal-like, the clicking of the sticks insistent and primal. The dance was something she had never seen, something she could never have expected to witness in the whole of her life, but its message was abundantly clear. She was being wooed. Mesmerised by the sight of Nyapi and the intensity of his dance, her body had responded. Suddenly she had longed for him to touch her.
Nangala had granted permission for the two to marry and a traditional ceremony had been conducted to confirm the union. Akarletye had now become a true member of the family.
Letye feels the baby kick again, hard this time, and again her hand instinctively goes to her belly, making contact with the child.
Seated cross-legged beside her, Nangala notices. But then Nangala has noticed the entire exchange between Letye and Nyapi too. Nothing escapes Nangala’s eagle eye. Nangala is glad that despite her initial misgivings she allowed the union, for it is clear the pair love each other deeply. When the child is born she will teach Letye the women’s dance. They will dance awelye, all of them, she thinks; they will have their own ceremony, they will dance in turn, taking over from one another throughout the entire night from evening star to morning star, and they will rejoice. As women do. Nangala watches Letye watching Nyapi and she is happy for them.
Unaware that she is being observed by the woman she fondly calls ‘Nyanye’, the woman who has become her grandmother, Letye studies her husband. Nyapi is now absorbed in binding the kangaroo sinew firmly around his spearhead, reinforcing the strength of the glue. It is the final process in his spear-making. Letye, watching him, remembers the love dance. She will never forget that day. That was the day she stopped being Emily. Soon her child will be born and Emily will cease to exist altogether.
PART TWO
CHAPTER FIVE
2000
The new millennium saw Australia about to embark upon one of the largest civil engineering projects ever undertaken in the country. A mighty railway line traversing the nation from Adelaide through the arid heart of the continent to Darwin had been the dream of settlers and the ambition of governments ever since the completion of the Overland Telegraph Line. Now, over a hundred and twenty years later, that dream and ambition was about to become a reality.
The narrow-gauge railway track that ran as far north as Alice Springs had started operation in 1929 and was unofficially known as ‘the Ghan’, an abbreviation of The Afghan Express, a nickname aptly coined by one of its crew as a tribute to the Afghan cameleers whose teams of beasts had been essential to the opening of the hinterland. The plan had always been to extend the line through to Darwin, but by the time the connection to Alice Springs was completed, the costs had become prohibitive. The Ghan was running at a financial loss, too, so plans to extend further north were put on hold indefinitely.
The original southern Ghan track roughly paralleled that of the Overland Telegraph Line, which in turn followed the route of John McDouall Stuart’s 1862 crossing of Australia. Stuart had blazoned the trail for the Ghan, as his route to Alice Springs was the only one that provided a reliable water supply and steam locomotives needed large quantities of water. This very fact, however, led to difficulties, discomfort and added expense as the flood-prone track was notorious for washouts. Spare railway sleepers and equipment were carried in a separate flat-car and, upon encountering a washout, crew and passengers would alight to work together as a railway gang in order to repair the line. Travelling the Ghan could be quite an adventure for those from the city who might have presumed they were simply ‘catching a train’.
When the track was laid for the new southern Ghan, the advent of diesel locomotives needing far less water proved more comfortable for all concerned, as the track could then be altered to follow a much drier route from Tarcoola to Alice Springs.
The change of the Ghan’s track from the old narrow gauge to the new standard gauge in 1980 reignited hope in the hearts of the frustrated Territorian ‘Top-Enders’. After years of political discussion and endless broken promises, the federal government finally committed ten million dollars for preliminary work and design in extending the new standard-gauge line all the way to Darwin.
There followed a flurry of excitement that waxed and waned over the ensuing decade as teams of surveyors and engineers examined the terrain and professional negotiators met with Indigenous landowners to discuss the proposed route. But as time passed, the grand scheme once again languished due to the varying and often lackadaisical degree of support received from successive federal governments, who sadly did not share the passion and commitment of the Territorians and South Australians.
Finally, as the stalemate crept further and further into the nineties, the Northern Territory and South Australian governments took matters into their own hands, establishing the AustralAsia Railway Corporation in 1997 and calling for tenders to build the line between Alice Springs and Darwin. A BOOT (Build, Own, Operate and Transfer) scheme was proposed, meaning the private sector would build, own and operate the project for fifty years before ultimately transferring it back to the respective governments.
In June 1999 the Asia Pacific Transport (APT) consortium was awarded the commercial tender to design, construct and operate the railway. ADrail was to be the design and construction contractor and FreightLink the operator.
Less than two years later financial settlement was reached between all parties to fund the one point four billion dollar project, which would see the construction of fourteen hundred and twenty kilometres of standard-gauge railway line, together with all its attendant bridges and culverts, between Alice Springs and Darwin. The great dream was at last to be realised. The mighty Ghan would link the north and south of the land, traversing the vast red centre and forming the very spine of Australia.
An official ceremony was held at Alice Springs Railway Station on 17 July 2001. There, in the presence of South Australian premier John Olsen and Northern Territory chief minister Denis Burke, Prime Minister John Howard symbolically turned the first sod of red earth, delighting the throngs in attendance including hundreds of flag-waving schoolchildren.
From then on, as if to compensate for more than a century in the doldrums, everything started to move at mind-boggling speed. Factories and quarries sprang up in the country’s scorched heartland; sleepy desert hamlets that in bygone days had been no more than relay
ing stations for the Overland Telegraph Line became centres of industry; and temporary workers’ townships appeared like magic; slick, modern and completely at odds with the primitive landscape.
Production of crushed rock ballast for track reinforcement began at the Warrego Quarry in Tennant Creek and at Witte Quarry north of Katherine, and in both townships factories started pouring concrete sleepers. Thousands of tonnes of rail were delivered from the steel plant at Whyalla to Roe Creek just south of Alice Springs. An armada of heavy machinery, bulldozers, graders, excavators, haulage trucks and the like arrived in the outback to begin the laborious job of creating the rail corridor preparatory to the laying of track, and workers’ donga townships sprang into being every hundred kilometres along the proposed line, readily erected and dismantled within weeks as work progressed.
The plan, for time- and money-saving purposes, was to build the line in four sectors simultaneously, teams working north and south from Katherine and north and south from Tennant Creek. The final track to be laid would be that at the Port of Darwin in the north and that which would join the southern and northern Ghan at Alice Springs in the country’s desert centre. It was a plan that seemed not only efficient but symbolically satisfying.
A period of roughly twelve months had been allowed for the preparation of the corridor before track-laying could commence. Preparation included not only heavy earthworks, but the construction of bridges and culverts and level crossings, all hopefully to be completed before rail construction began. The route itself, however, which like the southern Ghan for the most part followed that of the Overland Telegraph Line, had long been decided. Negotiators had been working with Indigenous communities throughout the Northern Territory for well over a decade, confirming where the track could or could not go. Much of the land being under the freehold ownership of Aboriginal people, permission was needed and payment required, but most importantly, sacred sites were to be avoided at all costs. Anthropologists and linguists had been hired by the Northern and Central Land Councils and lengthy, complicated negotiations held with the local people of each area. All communication had been documented and legal agreements drawn up to the point where surveyors could set about mapping the course.
A further complication presented itself, however. Many Aboriginal elders who had met with negotiators in the early years of discussion, before the AustralAsia contract was proposed, had died. Fresh negotiation was now required to reassure new Indigenous leaders that everything was in place as previously agreed.
Nearly three years later, early in 2001, full agreement was reached and a total of twenty-two million dollars was paid for all land purchased or leased for the corridor.
Jess loved her job. It was 2002 and now, aged thirty, she’d been jointly employed by APT and the Central Lands Council, which was based in Alice Springs, for close on three years. Jess loved her job and she loved Alice. She returned regularly to Sydney to see her father, and he in turn visited her – whenever time allowed anyway, for Toby Manning’s recording studio remained as busy as ever. But Alice had become home to Jess and would continue to be home until the completion of the railway line, a fact for which she was profoundly thankful. Her work there with the outback communities she’d come to know so well had brought to her life a sense of purpose that had for some time been lost.
The purpose Jess served was certainly vital. She was quite possibly the best negotiator the Central Lands Council had ever encountered, and there had been many over the years, highly skilled experts in their field. Jessica Manning had every necessary academic qualification, she was an anthropologist with knowledge of the central desert people and a linguist fluent in many Indigenous languages, but of far greater importance she was accepted by the people as one of their own. Indeed, to the Western Arunta she was direct family. And what’s more, she really cared! Jessica Manning’s value, as agreed by all, was inestimable.
Jess had reverted to her maiden name when applying for the position of negotiator. She’d been determined to put behind her the marriage that had so undermined her confidence, the marriage that would most certainly have destroyed her had she not escaped its confines. Now these several years later, she was relieved to discover that she was well on the road to recovery. She no longer thought of Roger. Or if she did, she brushed his image aside. She was no longer Jessica Macready and Roger was no longer important. She could not afford him to be.
Jess pulled the four-wheel drive up at the end of the dirt track where, in the dry creek bed twenty metres away, the three women were waiting. They were sitting cross-legged in a circle chatting and drawing patterns in the dusty ground they’d brushed clear between them. She was surprised the aunties had arrived before her. She was even a little surprised they’d arrived at all. She’d offered to drive them out from town but they’d said no, no, Pam’s son Donny would give them a lift because Donny had to go to Ti Tree for a job that morning. Jess had half-expected that Donny would change his mind, or that the aunties themselves would: anything was possible. She was usually kept waiting at least an hour for a pre-arranged meeting like this and even then, on occasions, no-one turned up. Time meant little to the locals.
She jumped from the Toyota, which was a dull pink in colour, unrecognisable from its original white, melding with the landscape as most outback vehicles did.
‘Werte.’ Calling a greeting in Arunta she strode over towards the women and they smiled as they returned the greeting, teeth gleaming in black faces. Jess was a favourite with the aunties.
‘Narlaanama,’ Pam said, gesturing for her to sit with them.
Boot-clad and in shorts, Jess did so, plonking herself down beside the women to feel the earth soft and warm against her bare legs; it was a fine day in mid-April. ‘You been here long time?’ She knew that when the aunties were representing their people on official business they chose to open the proceedings in English.
‘Yeh, been here long time,’ Pam answered, Jill and Molly nodding and adding, ‘yeh, long time,’ although none of the three appeared in the least bothered.
Jess didn’t ask for specifics, but ‘long time’ probably meant hours. ‘How come long time?’
Pam explained that Donny had wanted to leave early in order to reach Ti Tree and report for the new labouring job he was to start that day. ‘He got a month contract up Ti Tree way,’ she said, ‘working for the railway.’
‘That’s good,’ Jess said, ‘that’s good news.’
‘Yeh, real good,’ Pam agreed.
They smiled at each other, but they both had their doubts. Donny had a big problem with the grog. He’d tried now and then to hold down a job – when there was one to be had anyway, employment for locals was scarce around Alice – but he’d rarely lasted more than a week. Jess sincerely hoped that with the railway providing a whole field of fresh work opportunities Donny might find a way to fight his addiction. Just as she hoped many others like him might. Donny’s problem was an all too common one.
Having settled themselves down for a chat, the customary niceties followed and, reverting to Arunta, Jess asked after Pam’s family. Then she asked after Jill’s family and then Molly’s, in order of the women’s seniority as a show of respect. Pam was in her early fifties, Jill and Molly, two years apart, in their late forties. All three were not only elders but grandmothers and as such the matriarchal position they held within their respective families was of immense significance, both practically and traditionally.
The recognition of family was imperative to any meeting. When Jess visited outback communities in her role as negotiator, she was prepared for endless greetings with elders and their families. Often she would sit talking with them all day and always when she took her departure there would be ceremonial farewells. Getting down to business could prove a lengthy affair.
She wasn’t meeting the aunties that day as negotiator, but rather as peacekeeper, which was the part she now principally played, assuring people that all was as it should be and that no undue desecration was about to tak
e place. The endless arrival of heavy machinery throughout the desert was unnerving to some, threatening untold defilement of the land, and a particularly frightening aspect was the talk of explosives. Today was an example of such concern. Word had got around that at some stage there were plans for rock cuttings to be blasted just north of Alice Springs, massive explosions that would rip the earth apart, hurling boulders and debris vast distances. This would surely affect the surrounding landscape, which was of particular worry to the women.
Pam, Jill and Molly, as elders, had approached Jess on behalf of the women of their community. There was a sacred site not far north of Alice Springs that was of great significance, playing an important part in secret women’s business. They needed a guarantee that this site would be safe and they wanted Jess to visit it with them. Once they had been there in her presence and once they had had her personal assurance, they could feel at ease and they could ease the minds of others. There was no-one else to whom the aunties would have made such a request and no-one else in whom they would have placed such trust. But despite their anxiety, first, as always, there must be discussion about family.
Jess listened to the talk of grandchildren, allowing things to take their natural course, for it would not be right to speed up the procedure. They were on to Molly’s family now anyway so there wasn’t long to go. Gazing at the aunties, her mind wandered a little. She thought what fine women they were, strong women with a deep commitment to their people. But for all their strength of character their physical condition was another matter altogether. All three were overweight, and their faces seemed to have lost their bones. Handsome faces that should have been lean were bloated. Pam, Jill and Molly all suffered from diabetes, a disease that along with alcoholism was rampant in the central desert communities. Jess’s own Western Arunta community at Hermannsburg was beset by the same problems. The issue aroused in her a fiercely mixed reaction: one of anger, frustration and despair. Surely there was more that could be done …
