Matilda's Last Waltz
Now she had Wilga to manage as well, she was rarely at home. The two drovers were finding it hard to keep up with the work, and she’d had to teach a couple of Gabriel’s younger boys how to look after Tom’s cattle. There were only about a hundred head, but they provided milk and cheese, which she sold, and the occasional steak. Matilda hoped that by the time the war was over, she could begin to see the fruits of her breeding programme, for cattle could do well out here.
The bulls and rams had been penned throughout the drought and hand fed, they were the life blood of the properties. But the bills from the feed store were high, and she didn’t know how long she could manage to pay them. The wool cheques had been meagre, mirroring the fall in quality in the wool, and as she pored over the books every night, she realised they still had to live from day to day despite the intense labour over the past few years.
The Australians and Americans fought fiercely to drive the Japanese out of Indonesia, but hundreds died there from the bitter cold and the jungle fevers which could rage through an army division faster than a sniper’s bullet.
Matilda listened to the news reports when she could, and tried to imagine the hell of fighting in a jungle that glowed with phosphorescent fungi and steamed in tropical rain. The Australians and Americans were being slaughtered not by the enemy but by the conditions in which they had to fight. Beriberi, foot rot, open sores which attracted creeping, stinging things, malaria and cholera – all unavoidable in jungle warfare. It made her feel lucky to be in the middle of a drought. How the diggers must be longing to smell the baked earth of home and to feel the sun warm and dry on their faces after the leeches and humidity of the jungle.
Gabriel had been afraid of the radio at first, shaking his fist at it and murmuring his heathen curses, but Matilda had shown him it presented no threat by sitting on it and switching it on and off. Now he came to the house, surrounded by his large tribe, and took up his place in the doorway, one foot resting on a knobbly knee as he listened. She doubted very much if any of them understood what was being said, but they liked to hear the concerts that always came after the news.
She and Gabriel had become friends over the years and Matilda had even learned enough of his language to understand the story-telling that was so much a part of his tribal tradition. He was exasperating at times, and work-shy, but she looked forward to his company on the few evenings she took off to sit on her verandah.
She was sitting that evening in the rocking chair her mother had once used, her mind drifting with Gabriel’s sing-song voice as he sat on the top step, surrounded by his tribe, and began to tell the story of the creation.
‘A great darkness was in the beginning,’ he said as he looked down at the spell-bound faces of the children. ‘It was cold and still and covered the mountains and the plains, the hills and the valleys, and even went down into the caves. There was no wind, not even a breeze, and deep inside this terrible darkness slept a beautiful goddess.’
There was a murmur amongst the tribe. They loved this story. Gabriel settled himself on the step.
‘One day the great Father Spirit whispered to the beautiful goddess: “Awake and give life to the world. Begin with the grass, then the plants and trees. Once you have done this, then you will bring forth the insects, reptiles, fishes, birds and animals. Then you may rest until these things you have created can fulfil their purpose on the earth.”
‘The Sun Goddess took a great breath and opened her eyes. The darkness disappeared and she saw how empty the earth was. She flew down and made her home in the Nullarbor Plain then set out on a western course until she returned to her home in the east. The grass, the shrubs and trees sprang up in her footsteps. Then she travelled north and kept going until she passed to the south, repeating her journeys until the earth was covered with vegetation. Then she rested on the Nullarbor Plain, in peace with the great trees and the grass she had given birth to.’
Nods of recognition went round the circle and Matilda looked at the faces and felt she was privileged to be a part of such an ancient ritual.
‘The great Father Spirit came to her again, telling her to go to the caves and caverns, and to bring life to those beings that had dwelled there for so long. She obeyed the Father Spirit, and soon her brightness and warmth brought forth swarms of beautiful insects. They were all colours, all sizes and shapes, and as they flew from bush to bush they painted their colours on everything and made the earth glorious. After a long rest, in which she shone continuously, she rode her chariot of light up into the mountains to see what glory she had created. Then she visited the bowels of the earth and drove the darkness away. From this abyss came snakes and lizard forms which crawled on their bellies. A river came from the ice she had melted and ran into the valley. Its waters held fish of all kinds.
‘The Sun Goddess saw that her creation was good, and she commanded that the new life live in harmony. After returning to rest on the Nullarbor Plain, she again went into the caverns, and with her light and warmth brought forth birds in great numbers and colours, and animals of all shapes and sizes. All the creatures looked upon her with love, and were glad to be alive. The Father of the Spirits was content with what she had done.
‘It was then that she created the seasons, and at the beginning of spring she called the creatures together. They came in great numbers from the home of the north wind. Others came from the home of the south wind and the west wind, but the greatest number came from the east, the royal palace of sunshine and sunbeams. Mother Sun told them her work was complete, and that she was now going to a higher sphere where she would become their light and life. But she promised to give them another being who would govern them during their time on the earth. For they would change, their bodies returning into the earth, and the life the great Father Spirit had given them would no longer dwell in form on the earth, but would be taken up into the Spirit Land where they would shine and be a guide to those who would come after them.
‘Sun Mother flew up and up into the great heights and all the animals and birds and reptiles watched in fear. As they stood there, the earth became dark and they thought Mother Sun had deserted them. But then they saw dawn in the east and talked amongst themselves – for had they not seen Mother Sun go to the west? What was this they could see coming from the east? They watched her travel across the sky and finally understood that Mother Sun’s radiant smile would always be followed by darkness, and that darkness was the time for them to rest. So they burrowed in the ground and roosted on tree boughs. The flowers that had opened to the bright sun, closed up and slept. The Wanjina of the river wept and wept as it rose and rose in search of brightness that it became exhausted and fell back to earth, resting upon the trees and bushes and grass in sparkling dewdrops.
‘When dawn appeared the birds were so excited that some of them began to twitter and chirp, others laughed and laughed while some sang with their joy. The dewdrops rose to meet Mother Sun, and this was the beginning of night and day.’
The tribe began to move away from the verandah, murmuring amongst themselves, sleepy children dangling from hips, as they headed for their gunyahs. Matilda carefully rolled a cigarette and handed it to Gabriel. ‘Your story is very like the one I was told as a little girl,’ she said softly. ‘But somehow it feels more real when told by you.’
‘Elders must teach the children. Dreamtime important. Walkabout part of that.’
‘Tell me why it’s so important, Gabriel? Why do you keep going walkabout? What is it out there you have to find when there’s food and shelter here?’
He eyed her solemnly. ‘This Mother Earth. I am part of earth. Walkabout give black fella his spirit back. Take ’im to hunting grounds, Uluru, meeting places and sacred caves. Speak with ancestors. Learn.’
Matilda smoked her cigarette in silence. She knew by his expression that he would tell her no more. He was a part of an ancient people, almost the same now as they must have been in the Stone Age. He was, and always would be, the nomadic hunter who knew t
he land and the habits of the creatures and plants that inhabited it with a skill that few white men could emulate.
She had seen one of the younger men bring down a kangaroo with a boomerang, had watched the children trap scorpions in a ring of fire. The blocking of the wombat’s hole several feet from the entrance meant that when the hunter approached with his nulla nulla, the animal found itself to be trapped as it tried to get into its burrow. The tug of war that followed was always fierce for the wombat is extremely obstinate.
Gabriel had shown her where a few scratches on a gum tree showed where the opossum was resting in the hollow trunk or amongst the thick boughs. How a few hairs among the rocks leading to a hole with a smooth surface to the entrance indicated the presence of sleeping opossums. She had been entranced by the cleverness of his honey collecting. She had watched in awe as he attached a feather to a spider web then dropped it on to the back of a bee as it sucked nectar from the wattle blossom. For over an hour, she and Gabriel had followed that bee as it went from flower to flower, then, with the white feather trailing behind it, returned to its hive. Gabriel climbed up the tree and carefully plunged his naked arm into the hive to steal the honey. The bees seemed unaware of his presence and he wasn’t stung. Matilda felt foolish as she hid behind the tree.
She sighed and stubbed out the last of her cigarette. She knew the other squatters thought her strange, and had overheard their speculation about her relationship with Gabriel, but she ignored them in their ignorance. Gabriel and his tribe could teach her far more than any gossiping, small-minded squatter’s wife.
‘Why you got no man, missus?’ Gabriel’s voice dragged her back from her thoughts.
‘I don’t need one, Gabe. I’ve got you and your tribe.’
He shook his grizzled head. ‘Gabriel soon go on last walkabout.’
Matilda’s spirits fell as she looked at him. He’d seemed old when she was a child, but had become such a part of the surroundings she hadn’t really taken much notice of how much he’d aged recently.
Yet, as she regarded him now, she could see his skin had lost its healthy black sheen and was the colour of dust. But then age was catching up with all of them, she thought as she did a rapid calculation and realised with a sense of shock that she was almost thirty-six. How the years had flown. She was older now than her mother had been when she died.
Dragging herself back to the present, Matilda touched Gabriel on his bony shoulder. ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘The earth can do without your old carcass for a few years yet. I need you more than the Spirit World.’
He shook his head. ‘Sleep come soon. Gabriel must go back to the earth, meet his ancestors, throw stars into sky.’ He grinned toothlessly. ‘You look, missus. One day you see new star.’
‘Shut up, Gabe,’ she said sharply. If he left, then so would the rest of the tribe probably. He’d become a part of Churinga, and it wouldn’t be the same without him.
‘You’re talking nonsense. You still have years ahead of you. Don’t wish your life away.’
He seemed not to hear her. ‘Churinga lucky place, missus,’ he murmured as he looked out over the parched earth and wilting trees. ‘Rain come soon. Men come home. You need a man, missus. Man and woman need to be together.’
Matilda smiled. Gabe was a past master at changing the subject, but she did wish he’d change his tune now and again.
His eyes were misty as he looked into the distant horizon. ‘In Dreamtime black fella meet black woman. Black fella say, “Where you from?”
‘Woman say, “From the south. Where you from?”
‘Black fella say, “From the north. You travel alone?”
‘Woman say, “Yes.”
‘Black fella say, “You my woman.”
‘Woman say, “Yes, I your woman.”’
Gabriel turned his solemn face towards her. ‘Man need woman. Woman need man. You need man, missus.’
Matilda looked deep into his wise old eyes and knew he spoke the truth as he saw it. There was nothing she could do to stop Gabriel from leaving her, and he was trying to make sure she had someone to look after her once he was gone.
‘Fight it, Gabe. Don’t leave me now. I need you. Churinga needs you.’
‘The spirits sing me, missus. Can’t fight the singing.’ He stood and looked down at her for a long moment, then stepped away.
Matilda watched him crawl into his gunyah and take the youngest of his dozen children into his arms. He sat very still, staring out over the land of the Never Never, and the child lay quietly looking up at him as if communing with his silence and understanding the portents.
* * *
Emperor Hirohito’s delegate signed Japan’s surrender and on Sunday 2 September 1945, the world was finally at peace. For the Australian squatters it had been six long, gruelling years. Afterwards, while Europe laboured over her devastated cities, Australia looked to her land.
For almost ten years not a drop of useful rain had fallen but on the morning peace was declared the skies rolled black and laden over the parched earth. The clouds split and the first heavy drops began to fall.
To Matilda, it was as if Father Ryan’s God had held back his gift while the world was at war to punish man for his violence and hatred. But the rain was surely a sign of his forgiveness and the promise of better things to come.
She and the tribe stood out in it and let it drench them in its refreshing coolness. The earth swallowed the downpour and the streams and lakes began to fill. For hours rain soaked into the land, darkening it, turning it into swirling, raging rivers of mud. The animals spread their legs as they stood in the fields and let the cooling water run down their backs and wash away the lice and ticks. Trees bent beneath the deluge, galahs hung upside down from their branches, opening their dusty, mite-ridden wings to the water. As it thundered on the galvanised roof she thought it was the sweetest sound she would ever hear.
Matilda stood on the verandah. She was soaked to the skin but it didn’t matter. How sweet the air was, cool and perfumed by the smell of water on parched earth. How willingly the gums bent under the weight of water, their leaves touching the ground, their branches glistening like silver in the gloom. Life was suddenly good. The war was over, the men would return, and the land would yield wonderful, life-giving grass. Churinga’s water tanks had just held out. They had survived. Gabriel had been right. This was a lucky place.
The rain fell for three days and nights. Rivers broke banks and the earth turned to mud, but the sheep were safe on high ground, the cattle well away from the creeks. Ten inches of rain meant new, strong grass. Ten inches of rain meant survival.
On the fourth day the rain petered out and a weak sun peeked from behind dark clouds. A green fuzz could already be seen over the paddocks, and within a couple of weeks, the first plump plumes of grass began to rustle in the breeze. Life had begun again.
‘Where’s Gabe, Edna?’ Matilda had just ridden into the yard after a long stint in the pastures. ‘I need him to take a work party up to the north field and mend the fences. The river’s run a banker, and about three miles of posts have been ripped out.’
Edna looked up at her from the top step of the verandah. Her eyes were wide and untroubled as she rocked her baby. ‘Walkabout, missus. Singing take him.’
A jolt of dread made Matilda unsteady as she climbed off the horse. Although she was desperate to know Gabe’s whereabouts, she knew Edna would only become mulish and tight-lipped if she shouted at her. Sick with worry, she tried to keep her voice calm.
‘Where’s he gone, Edna? We got to find him quick.’
‘Out there, missus.’ She pointed at some vague spot in the distance before climbing down from the verandah and ambling back to the camp fire which always seemed to be burning.
‘Bugger it.’ Matilda rarely swore, but she’d been around men long enough to have quite a colourful vocabulary. ‘Damn and blast the lot of you,’ she yelled into the faces of the men and women who seemed unfazed by the
fact their leader was dying out in the middle of nowhere. ‘Well, if you won’t do anything about Gabe, then I bloody well will.’
Leaping back into the saddle, she galloped out of the home paddock and began the long trek towards the water hole. The knot of trees stood at the foot of Tjuringa mountain where the water trickled into a pool from out of the rocks. Ancient paintings marked it as a place sacred to the Bitjarra. She hoped Gabriel hadn’t chosen somewhere else to die. If he had, then she would have to return to the homestead and get the men together for a more concentrated search further afield.
For twelve long hours she searched all the ancient sites she could think of, but without help from the other tribesmen knew she could go no further. The caves were empty, the rock pools deserted, there was no sign of Gabriel.
She turned her horse towards home where there was no word of him, and finally, reluctantly acknowledged she couldn’t spare the time or the men for another search party. If Gabriel didn’t wish to be discovered, she knew no white man – or woman – would ever find him.
The Bitjarras were stoic in their acceptance of his disappearance. She would find no help there. It wasn’t laziness on their part, they cared for the old man and respected him, but it was a part of their tradition that when the time came, death was for the person who had been sung – it didn’t concern the rest of the tribe.
And as Gabriel had said, you couldn’t fight the singing.
Three days later one of the boys, who had been out in the bush as part of his initiation into manhood, returned to Churinga. Matilda had seen him come back and had watched with suspicion as he headed straight for the elder. She couldn’t hear what he was saying but recognised the bull roarer he had tucked in the kangaroo hide around his waist.
‘Come here, boy,’ she called from the verandah. ‘I want to speak to you.’
He looked at the elder, who nodded, then came reluctantly to the foot of the steps.
‘You’ve found Gabriel, haven’t you? Where is he?’