by P. J. Sky
She watched as the men unrolled the material between the two poles. Gently, they lifted Starla and placed her between the poles.
Maybe the stories in Cooper weren’t true? Or maybe there were other tribes out here? Different tribes to those found on the plains. And besides, thought Ari wearily, at this point what does either of us really have to lose? No one else out here is offering to help Starla.
“Come,” said the man with the satchel, beckoning to Ari. “Don’ stay ‘ere. Bad ‘ere. Will die ‘ere.”
Chapter 24
The men walked ahead, carrying Starla, while Ari hung behind and followed warily at a distance. They gently climbed, working their way through thick grass that grew up to Ari’s waist.
I never needed no-one’s help before, she thought. I was fine, I took care of my own. All until the river.
She watched the tall figures sway back and forth. The man with the satchel had taken the rear. She watched the shape of his wide brimmed hat.
Why are these men really here, she wondered? I am a stranger in this land; treat strangers kindly, for you never know when you might be one yourself. That don’t mean I can trust them though. Nobody helps no-one for nothing. And these are still tribesmen. Maybe they’re helping now, but later…
Finally, Ari called ahead. “So what do they call ya anyway?”
The man with the satchel glanced behind and the pendant that hung from his neck caught the moonlight and blinked. “They call me Jirra. He’s Koora.”
It grew darker but the men didn’t seem to need the light. Several times Ari stumbled in the long grass. After a short while the moon came out, big and white, and Ari could see better.
The party worked their way out of the valley, away from the river and over the crest into the bush. Eventually, they came upon a collection of dark, oval huts. At the round doorway of one of these huts, a curtain was drawn to reveal a room lit by the orange glow of an open fire. The men took Starla inside. Ari hung back but Jirra waited for her. When she didn’t come forward, the man beckoned.
“Come, be with ya friend.”
Ari hesitated. She looked about at the squat, bulky shapes of other huts, just visible in the moonlight. A chill whipped across the bush and Ari shivered. Inside the hut, she saw the welcome glow of the fire. She could stay outside and freeze or take her chances in the hut.
Inside, the hut was warm and had the sweet, burnt smell of wood smoke. The walls, formed from tree bark and mud, were supported between curved wooden ribs that met in the roof. Starla’s bed was arranged in the centre. Next to it sat various small, clay pots. What looked like blankets were piled up in a corner, next to a small, wooden cabinet with dozens of tiny drawers. A faded pattern covered the drawers, it was almost invisible but it reminded Ari of the porcelain with the part of the blue bird. In it, she almost thought she saw the shape of another bird.
To one side was a stone fireplace with a chimney worked into the roof, not dissimilar to the one Ari’s father had built. In the hearth, a small fire crackled.
Jirra knelt and undid the dressing on Starla’s leg. He removed the leaves and flower petals from the wound that were now sticky with yellow pus. Then he stood and left the hut. A few moments later, a big old woman with a round face clambered into the hut. She knelt down next to Starla and inspected the open wound. Jirra followed her and seemed to be waiting in earnest for her verdict.
In her large hands, she took one of the clay pots. She removed the lid and tipped a handful of live maggots into her palm. When she seemed satisfied with the number, she sprinkled the yellow creatures liberally inside the wound. Then she took some fresh leaves and flower petals and packed them back into the wound with the wriggling maggots. She bound the dressing in fresh leaves. She turned back to Jirra, nodded, then heaved herself from the floor.
Jirra went to the cabinet and opened one of the tiny drawers. He removed something, returned, and knelt next to Starla.
“Take a seat,” he said to Ari, indicating to the space by Starla’s bed.
Ari sat.
Jirra moved to the fire and placed on the hearth two clay cups. He filled them with the dry, green leaves, and added water from the bladder that hung by the fire.
“These are for ya,” he said. “You drink one, when ya friend wakes, she drinks one.” He looked at Ari as if checking she understood.
Ari nodded. “Okay.”
“Good. Now, stay ‘ere, look after ya friend.”
He stood, pulled the curtain aside, and left the hut, rearranging the curtain behind him.
They were alone. Ari looked at Starla. She slept, but in the warmth of the fire Ari imagined she already looked better. Ari picked up one of the clay cups; it was warm from the fire. She raised the cup to her nose, and the fresh, aromatic scent surprised her. She drew away and inspected the steam that curled off the liquid, then smelt it again. She took a sip; it tasted sharp but not unpleasant.
She leaned up against the wall of the hut and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
∆∆∆
Ari awakened with a start; the first pale glow of morning seeped through the curtain that covered the doorway. The fire had died to a few embers. When she looked across at Starla, her eyes were open.
“You’re awake,” said Ari. She took the cup of lukewarm liquid from in front of the fire. “Ya should drink.”
Starla raised her head. Ari moved the cup to Starla’s lips and she drank a little.
“Thanks,” whispered Starla. “Where are we?”
“The Angu helped us. Dunno why, ‘ere ‘ave some more.” She put the cup to Starla’s lips again. “They patched ya up right though. Dunno what they want but didn’ ‘ave much choice back there. Thought ya were a gonna.”
Starla took two more gulps. Ari removed the cup again.
“Ya gotta get better before we can go on,” Ari continued. “And we gotta make a plan.”
But Starla closed her eyes and seemed to fall back to sleep.
Yeah, we need to make a plan, thought Ari. First, we need to know if we’re guests or prisoners. My thinking is it could be either.
Ari looked about the hut. How long had it been since she’d slept under a roof like this? A proper one, with walls and a door and a fireplace. Not since her mother had died. She wondered that she’d fallen asleep so fast, in the calm indoor world of the hut, with its unfamiliar household provisions. She had the feeling of being home again, in a way she hadn’t done in a long time. Her life on the salt plains had been a restless one; a period during which she’d felt constantly in transit. But here, in the hut, this must be the feeling she’d have every day in the city.
Ari looked back at Starla.
I didn’t leave her then. Should I have done?
Gently, Starla’s chest rose and fell.
If I’d known medicines like these, maybe I could have saved my mother?
The question lingered in her mind. This was something she could learn from the Angu, if only she made her peace with them. Maybe none of the stories were true? She stood and clambered out into the cool early morning air.
A tall, wiry man sprang to his feet. His eyeglasses glinted in the morning light. He looked solemnly at Ari, brandishing a long spear.
∆∆∆
The man’s bare chest was a dark network of wiry muscles. Beneath the thick eyeglasses, the whites of his enlarged eyes were in vivid contrast with his tanned face. A crooked scar worked its way across the bottom of his jaw and his hands were large with round knuckles and long fingers that gripped the pole of the spear.
Ari had the impulse to reach for her blade. Her hand danced delicately in the air, ready to pounce. She looked into the man’s solemn eyes, but the eyeglasses robbed them of their menace. The man took a step closer and levelled his spear with her.
“We gonna do this?” said Ari.
The man didn’t respond.
There was a crashing noise from inside one of the nearby huts, along with what sounded like the twittering of birds. Jirra
appeared at the hut’s entrance and squashed his bush hat over his mop of black hair. His round pendant flashed in the morning sun. He looked about himself as if slightly confused and then looked at Ari. “Ya drink?”
“Yeah,” replied Ari.
“Ya friend drink?”
“Yeah.”
Jirra grinned. “Goodonya. She wake?”
“A little.”
He turned to the wiry figure with the spear. “Doug, she be right.”
The man lowered his spear but still eyed Ari suspiciously.
Jirra scurried over to the hut where Ari and Starla had spent the night. He hitched open the curtain and went inside. Ari followed him. In the dim light, he knelt down and undid Starla’s dressing. He cleared out the leaves and petals but left the maggots. Much of the yellow pus was already gone.
“Ya see,” said the man, indicating to the wound. “They eat the yella stuff.” He redressed the wound and went back outside. Ari followed him.
“She gonna be okay?” she asked.
“She’ll be right,” Jirra said. “A few days an’ she’ll be right.”
Ari nodded. “Look, why ya helpin’ us?”
The man scrunched up his forehead. “Ya friend not well.”
“Yeah, but what’s it to ya?”
The man scratched his chin, then he turned to the horizon and pointed over the top of the oval huts to a big red rock standing on its own.
“That rock.”
“Yeah.”
“That the rock of the village. Folks call it sacred. So Maka put that there, an’ Maka put us ‘ere. Maka put ya in the valley but he put the emu-bush ‘ere. Ya see? “
Ari wasn’t really sure what the man was talking about.
“Ya friend not well,” Jirra continued. “We’ll put ‘er back the way Maka wants it.”
Ari sucked on the bottom of her lip. “Well, thanks anyway.”
The man scratched his chin again. Briefly, he looked as if he was rolling an idea around in his mind, then he shook his head. He patted Ari on the back.
“She’ll be right.”
Chapter 25
Starla stood in a patch of long grass by a bare gumtree; before her was an oval shaped hut, simple and formed from wood and mud. Above, the sky was turning purple. The long grass tickled her bare legs. Starla watched as a tiny child, cradled in the arms of an old woman in a heavy shawl, was carried into the hut. She began to hobble towards the hut’s dark entrance. She needed to get the child back. Her leg hurt. From inside the hut, she could hear the baby crying.
I’m coming, she thought. But her leg was growing stiff and it was harder and harder to move it.
Then, in a plume of orange fire, the hut exploded.
Starla awakened gasping. Her heart thumped against her ribcage like a bird ready to escape.
A bird that was, for now, still caged.
It was only a dream.
It was dark in the hut and it smelt rich and musty. Starla rolled off her bed and a sharp pain surged up her leg.
She dragged herself to her feet and made her way to the entrance of the hut. Outside, men and woman had formed a chain, moving brown sacks into a hut opposite. They had the heavily tanned skin of the outsiders, some so dark it almost seemed black. They wore the well-worn rags of the outsiders too, though some were bare chested. Around their necks, some wore strings of coloured beads.
Where am I now, she wondered.
She became dizzy and dark spots formed in her vision. She leaned her forehead against the doorway of the hut.
Gradually, she let herself sink to her knees.
∆∆∆
Over the coming days, Starla began to improve. After two days, she was awake more often, and for longer, and after a week she was moving around the village on a crutch. Ari brought her food and drink but would also disappear for whole days into the bush with other villagers to hunt for lizards and kangaroos or forage for bush coconuts and grubs. This existence seemed to please Ari. She wasn’t quite as thin now and her pale eyes looked brighter. She smiled more often and slept soundly on the floor of the hut beside Starla, and Starla began to wonder if Ari would actually like to remain in the village indefinitely.
One afternoon, at the edge of the village, Starla took a seat under a gumtree in the shade. Once on the ground, she stretched out her throbbing leg and winced. Insects chattered in the dry grass.
Maggots, she thought. How could I let them put maggots in my wound?
Between two huts, she watched a group of boys and girls playing with a ball. They were kicking it between themselves and laughing to each other. Then two boys tripped each other over and a half-hearted argument broke out. Starla could barely understand what any of them were saying, the accent here was so much stronger than Ari’s.
A pain shot down her leg. Starla began to massage the top of the calf. In the city, her leg would have been fixed with a day in a medi-ray machine; a tedious day, but nothing more arduous.
Maggots, seriously.
And bitten by a crocodile. Starved, parched, threatened, chased by dingoes and half drowned. I should be in the city. I should be in my room, ordering syntho. I don’t belong here. These people don’t even know who I am.
But does who I am really matter?
The thought surprised her. She stopped massaging her leg and examined her hands, turning them over. They were dark and blotchy. Where they peeled, underneath the skin was red and raw. Her nails were blunt and uneven. Around her cuticles, the last residuals of her blue nail varnish still clung on, a final reminder of her other life. She was turning into an outsider. Her skin was ruined. She didn’t even have a mirror, which was probably lucky. She ran her fingers through her dark hair and it felt brittle and shapeless.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly and sniffed.
Maybe I’m glad not to have a mirror, she thought.
The children’s laughter distracted her and she looked up. They were running after each other, the ball bouncing between their legs.
A week, she thought. It’s been at least a week. And I can barely walk. What if I end up stuck here?
A heat rose in her gut.
But what if I did, she thought.
She remembered the glass tower that had been home for so long.
I felt like a prisoner. I was pushed around, controlled. What if I go back and I’m a prisoner again? And why haven’t I been rescued?
She scanned the pale sky. Would they come by land or air? If they’d come at all.
It seemed unlikely now, and day by day the city was becoming more and more like fantasy. She pressed the points on the inside of her arm.
Maybe there is no telephone, perhaps I dreamed it up.
Then she found the tiny scar left by the implant.
If I go back, things will have to change. I won’t be pushed around. I’ll stand on my own two feet, or I’ll be able to soon.
She began to massage her leg again and remembered leaping into the water to save Ari.
I did that.
And what about Ari? She’s happier here. Maybe she no longer wants to go back to the city? Could I make it on my own from here… Not yet, but when my leg is better?
A lump formed in her throat and the heat in her gut subsided.
Maybe I could make it? If that’s what Ari wants.
Under the tree, Starla felt small and alone and the children playing seemed miles away, like the alien beings of another race and time. For a moment, she had the feeling of disappearing entirely. It was as if her dark, blotchy skin was melting into the faded bark of the gumtree, and with it all the elements that once defined her small, confined existence at the top of the glass tower.
∆∆∆
Ari balanced the wooden spear between her fingers and thumb, neither end heavier than the other, just as Doug had shown her. One blackened end was sharpened to a point. She moved quietly through the long, dry grass. Downwind, she could smell the faint, spicy scent of the kangaroo. Something cracked
underfoot; the animal’s head shot up, grey hair prickled. It rolled its jaw, beady eyes searching the scrubland. It saw her but didn’t see her. Ari remained still.
The kangaroo dipped its head again and pulled at the long grass stems.
Gently, Ari raised her left arm forward, lining her empty hand with her prey. She drew the spear back with her right, twisting her body, ready to spring.
Left foot forwards, right knee bent.
She spun forwards like a wheel and released the spear.
The weapon flew quickly, in a shallow arch through the dry air. It fell short of its target.
The animal took flight, bounding erratically through the long grass. Ari took chase, dry blades dragging and cracking against her legs.
She reached her spear and grasped it as she ran.
Doug was moving through the grass too, his dark body a web of silent, rolling muscles, eyeglasses glinting in the sun.
The kangaroo leapt towards the tree line. If he made it, they’d lose him in the dense gumtrees.
Ari rolled her body backward, left arm forward, right arm back, and threw again.
The spear landed just a tail from its target.
The animal changed direction, moving up hill again, its body bouncing above and below the line of the long grass.
Doug pulled his spear back and threw.
The spear spun in a high arch, descending fast and striking home.
The kangaroo released a short, gravel like bark and went down on its side, the spear sticking upright from its belly like the pole of a victory flag. It gently moved with the rise and fall of the animal’s chest.
Ari ran to the fallen prey.
The kangaroo panted erratically, sticky red blood trickling from where the spear went in. It looked at her with wild, fiery eyes, perhaps recognising now what it had casually discarded before.
Doug appeared by her side, holding a spear upright.
Ari knelt by the animal. Her hands shook. She took the blade from her ankle and, one hand resting on its warm, muscular neck, she slit the animal’s throat. The spicy scent mingled with the metallic tang of blood.
