Corroboree (44 page)

She shook her head. ‘He does not like me. He says I
have devils in me. But he makes me work hard, cooking for him, making magic powder. Cure powder, for sick. Sometimes insect drink.'

She hesitated, and then she said, ‘Wait,' and wriggled her way back to the entrance of the shelter. She came back straight away, with a wooden bowl full of water and a large curved piece of flaking bark, in which she had wrapped four or five large chunks of cold roasted emu breast.

Eyre propped himself up on one elbow, until his head was almost touching the main supporting branch of his shelter. But he was too hungry to worry about whether or not he might destroy his temporary palace. He crammed the half-cooked meat into his mouth, chewing it as quickly as he could; and then washed it down with gulps of cold spring-water. He belched twice; but he couldn't have felt less ashamed. He had sat there all evening, stark naked, watching hundreds of other people eat. Now it was his turn.

Once his hunger had begun to abate, however, and his chewing had slowed down, he turned to look at Minil with suddenly awakening suspicion.

‘I'm a
djanga
,' he said. ‘You realise that I don't usually eat this stuff. I'm only doing it so that I won't hurt your feelings. You realise that, don't you? Normally, in the spirit world, we survive on … well, on clouds, air, things like that.'

‘You are not a
djanga
,' said Minil. Her nipple was pressing against his right arm, and he was beginning to feel surges that had nothing at all to do with Yonguldye, or Captain Sturt's opals, or tonight's corroboree.

‘Of course I'm a
djanga
,' he insisted. ‘It's in the story. The
djanga
returns to earth from the land where the sun sets; accidentally causes the death of a young Aborigine boy; and goes to the clever-man to seek forgiveness. That's me; that's why I'm here. Seeking Yonguldye's forgiveness.'

‘Yonguldye knows that you are not a
djanga
,' Minil told him.

‘What?'

‘Yonguldye knows that you are not a
djanga
. He knows that you are nothing but a white man. You cannot be a
djanga
because
djanga
never eat.'

Eyre chewed even more slowly. ‘Sometimes we do,' he said, in a petulant voice. ‘Just to keep in practice.'

‘Perhaps,' said Minil. ‘But you are not one of them. And anyway Yonguldye believes that the old story foretells the landing of the white men, not the coming of the dead. A white man will kill an Aborigine boy; perhaps by mistake, perhaps not. But he will travel through the desert seeking a medicine-man who will forgive him for what he did.'

‘All right, it's the same story,' said Eyre. ‘The only discrepancy is that I'm a white man; a white man who eats cold roasted emu; and not a ghost.'

‘What happens in the end is the same.'

‘I don't think I understand you.'

Minil reached down and touched Eyre's bare thighs. Then, quite matter-of-factly, she grasped his penis, which was already erect, and began with a gentle black hand to stroke it up and down. Eyre knew that he should have told her to stop; that he was a
djanga
, and that
djanga
had no sexual feelings. But he found himself powerless to say a word. The feeling was too compelling. Apart from which, he didn't want to upset her until she had told him why Yonguldye didn't believe that he was a real spirit, returned from the dead.

Minil said, ‘Yonguldye talks tonight to your man Joolonga; and your man Joolonga talks to you. But what Joolonga says to you is not the same as Yonguldye says to him. Joolonga says, “This is the white man who killed the boy in Adelaide. He is come here just like the story. He seeks forgiveness just like the story. Everything he knows I will give to you, if you tell me where to find firestones, and if there is sea to the north where men can sail.”'

Eyre looked down. In the shadows of the shelter, he could just make out the black outline of Minil's hand, massaging him, and the whiteness of his own skin.

‘I don't—' he began, but then he collected himself, and said, ‘I don't see that it makes very much difference—whether Yonguldye believes that I'm a spirit returned from the dead or not. He's agreed to give poor Yanluga all the proper Aboriginal burial rites. He's told us where to find the firestones; he's even directed us towards the inland sea. I mean, I can't tell him much in return. I don't have a lot in the way of magical knowledge. But he's fulfilled
his
part of the bargain, and so I'll certainly do my best.'

Minil suddenly took her hand away, leaving Eyre highly aroused and crucially frustrated. ‘If you really were a
djanga
, Yonguldye would not even dare to ask you for magical knowledge. He would be too frightened that you would drag him away to the land beyond the sunset. But, you are a white man, and he wants the white man's knowledge, and he is not frightened to take if from you. It is the white man's knowledge that he thinks will make him strong; and the leader of all the medicine-men, of every tribe. As well as that, he wants to stop the white men from exploring his country; to keep them away from his sacred places. He wants to use the white man's knowledge against the white man himself.'

Eyre said, ‘Really, Minil, no matter
what
I tell him, he's never going to be able to keep white settlers out of his territory. Not for very long.'

‘He thinks that he will.'

‘Well, let him think it. As long as Yanluga gets his burial, and Captain Sturt gets his opals.'

‘But I am trying to say to you that he will kill you for your knowledge. Tomorrow, he will kill you.'

‘What?
What are you talking about?'

‘Yonguldye believes that if he strikes you down, and breaks open your head, and eats your brains, that he will
take all your knowledge, all of it, even those things that you would try to hide from him.'

Eyre's erection shrank away like a frightened skink retreating into the sand. ‘I can't believe that,' he told Minil. ‘Eat my
brains?
But Aborigines aren't cannibals.'

‘It is the way that Yonguldye believes he will learn everything you know.'

Eyre slowly chewed the last stringy mouthful of emu meat; although now he didn't feel hungry at all. He began to see at last what game Joolonga had been up to, right from the very beginning of their expedition; and, even more alarmingly, what game Captain Charles Sturt had been playing. There
was
an ancient Aboriginal story about a
djanga
returning from the dead and killing a boy; and although what had happened to Eyre had differed from the legend in several material ways, it had been close enough for Joolonga to excite the blackfellows around Adelaide into believing that at last it was coming true. Aborigine messengers must have taken the news to Yonguldye days and days ago; and to the kings of other tribes as well; and so this corroboree at Yarrakinna had been swelled not only by the tribes who normally would have come here at this time of year, but by scores of curious Aborigines who wanted to witness the great coming-alive of a celebrated myth.

It was the way in which Captain Sturt had so inventively used the legend that disturbed Eyre the most, however. Impending bankruptcy had obviously made the good Captain unusually sharp-witted. Sharp-witted enough to instruct Joolonga that he should tell Eyre about the legend just before they caught up with Yonguldye; so that Eyre would be prepared for Yonguldye's worshipful welcome; but also sharp-witted enough to conceal from Eyre the frightening truth about the legend which Minil had now revealed to him. In the days before the arrival of the white man, the Aborigines had thought that the
djanga
would be a real ghost; but over the past fifty years they must have come to believe that he would be a white man, and that his
appearance would signify the moment when they would at last learn the secret of white supremacy.

All of the complicated conversations which had taken place between Eyre and Yonguldye throughout the evening had been a sham. Yonguldye had known very well that Eyre was no resurrected spirit, and that Joolonga was tricking him. Between the two of them, Yonguldye and Joolonga had been doing nothing less than preparing Eyre for the final ceremony which would take place when the sun arose tomorrow morning. His sacrifice to the cause of Aborigine resistance.

Presumably Dogger and Christopher would be murdered as well: and even poor Midgegooroo.

Sturt's cunning appalled Eyre. Sturt must have known from his earlier encounters with Aborigines that there were opals to be found somewhere in the southern plains; and that a route could one day be found to the great inland sea. There was probably silver and gold, too, although Yonguldye didn't know where it was, or was not prepared to disclose it. But now Sturt had discovered exactly where the opals lay, and how to reach the sea, by offering the Aborigines the life of a fellow white-man. Sturt would reap all the profits, and the glory. He would probably hold a memorial service for those brave adventurers who had lost their lives in order that South Australia and Captain Sturt, could become rich again. And he would have risked nothing, not even the possibility of real resistance from the Aborigines, because of course Yonguldye would learn nothing at all from beating Eyre's brains out.

Eyre said to Minil, ‘I must leave here at once. Do you think we can escape without being noticed?'

‘There are watchers.'

‘Well, we'll just have to take our chances, then. Listen, go across to the other shelter and wake my companions. Tell them they are in terrible danger. Don't try to explain why. Just bring them back here, and then we will try to get away.'

‘I must come with you.'

‘It's too dangerous. They will probably try to kill us.'

‘I do not care. I must come with you.'

Eyre laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Go and find my companions first. Please. It will be daylight very soon.'

Minil touched his cheek with her fingertips. Then she nodded, and wriggled silently out of the shelter, and off to wake Christopher and Dogger. Eyre meanwhile sat up in the shelter, and retrieved his rifle, and made sure that it was ready to fire if necessary. His mouth felt very dry, ‘like a lizard's gizzard', as Dogger used to say; and his stomach kept grumbling because of the half-chewed emu meat he had swallowed.

It seemed to Eyre that almost half-an-hour passed before the crouching shapes of Dogger and Christopher came into sight through the encampment, closely followed by Minil and Midgegooroo. They huddled up close to the entrance of Eyre's shelter, shivering in the pre-dawn chill. Dogger had had the sense to make himself an improvised
buka
by tying a kangaroo-skin around his shoulders.

‘What's up?' asked Christopher. ‘One minute I was dreaming about horse-racing; the next thing I knew I was being prodded through the dark by your lady-friend here.'

Eyre said quickly, ‘It's too difficult to explain in detail. But Captain Sturt and Joolonga have betrayed us; and Yonguldye intends to kill us tomorrow morning. We're going to have to try to get away from here right away.'

‘But they'll see us. We're going to have to climb right up that ridge again, in plain view.'

‘Then we'll have to take a hostage,' said Eyre.

‘Who do you have in mind?'

‘The most valuable man in the tribe, of course. Yonguldye himself.'

‘Now I know you're funning,' said Dogger. ‘Let's get back to bed.'

Eyre said, ‘It won't be as difficult as you think. Yonguldye knows the power of a rifle. He also speaks enough English for us to be able to make it clear to him what will happen if he doesn't co-operate.'

‘Well, I can think of more pleasant ways of going to the great green pasture beyond the mountains,' said Dogger.

Christopher shivered, and raised his head, and said, ‘It's getting light. Whatever we're going to do, we'd better do it right away.'

Eyre eased himself out of his shelter, dragging his rifle after him, and then stood up. Only a few yards away, the great fire that had burned during the corroboree outside the entrance to Yonguldye's
tantanoorla
was nothing more now than a huge heap of hot blowing ashes. Eyre said, ‘Wait here,' and made his way barefoot across the rocks to the skull-hung entrance to Yonguldye's den. He glanced back for a moment at his friends, squatting apprehensively on the shadowy ground, all watching him; and then he crouched down and managed to penetrate the darkness of the shelter without making any of the skulls rattle.

It was so black inside the
tantanoorla
that Eyre had to rely on feel, and on the sound of Yonguldye's snoring, in order to make his way to the far end, where most of the kangaroo hides were piled. He was fairly certain that the great Yonguldye would have reserved for himself the warmest and most comfortable place to sleep. He edged his way forwards on his elbows and knees, holding the rifle clear of the ground in his right hand, and groping around in front of him with his left.

The smell of sleeping bodies was so rancid that Eyre had to suppress an upsurge of bile. Added to the usual grease and sweat, there was a stench of meat, and farts, and foul breath. And all around him there was the thick breathing of Yonguldye's wives, a chorus of congested bellows.

He touched something in the blackness. It felt like a foot. He circled around it warily; but as he did so, he partly lost his balance, and had to jab out with his left hand to prevent himself from tumbling over. His hand went straight into soft flesh: a woman's stomach. There was a jerk, and a screech of surprise; and a sudden harsh cry that could only be Yonguldye's.

Eyre stumbled up on to his feet, knocking his head
sharply against the main branch which supported the shelter. But then he threw himself forward, his left hand flailing around to find Yonguldye, and after two or three wild lunges he caught hold of a bony shoulder; and then a greasy, wrinkled-skin chest. He rolled himself forwards and sideways over the kangaroo-skins so that he was clutching Yonguldye from behind; and he rammed the muzzle of his rifle right up into Yonguldye's skinny back.