Forest Spirit (20 page)

‘The rocks are weeping. The rocks are weeping.'

There was a certain sadness in the words. Her journey was not yet complete.

Jars sat in the dappled shade of the ghost gum, leaning against its trunk. A soft breeze from the north-west brushed against her face, and with each whisper, each breath, the scents of the bush came to her – the musty dryness of the red earth, the sweet eucalyptus of the gum trees and the wet airiness of a coming storm.

She could see as far as the lake – Jacana Billabong, and the winding dirt track that pointed towards the highway, one hundred kilometres to the west.

The cockatoos were in their watching place, on the branches above, sitting silent and still, as though waiting for some great event. ‘You've never left my side, have you?' Jars said, mouthing the words silently to the birds. ‘Always watching.'

A crack, like distant thunder, came from the eastern end of the track. She turned her head, watching. A splash of red dust, like a billowing cloud, rose into the air.

Then, like a dream inside a dream, Jars saw her brother, then her mother and father. Their faces and upper bodies appeared without warning, floating in the air directly in front of her. ‘Eric? Mum? Dad?' she cried out without thinking. There was no reply. She continued to watch, refusing even to blink. They smiled and waved and disappeared as quickly as they had come.

They were gone, but now she knew – they would always be with her. She would have memories, memories that would not be blown away like leaves in the wind. They would remain, caressed only by her thoughts. Her face glowed like the wings of a butterfly and she smiled.

The buffalo lay next to her, his black nose almost hidden in the grass as he rested his head on the ground. His eyes were raised, watching the human next to him.

He snorted as Jars reached out and rested her hand on his head. She looked down. Two sets of dark eyes met. At that moment she realised. An understanding between them had been reached. Neither had been at fault. The buffalo was a wild thing who lived each day by his instincts. That's how he had survived from day to day. That was his way. She had been wrong to hate him for that. She knew that now.

The cockatoos stirred. They fidgeted and rustled their wings, then, at some hidden signal, rose into the sky, circling and screeching so that every living creature could hear their voices.

Jars smiled again. ‘The rocks will stop weeping now,' she whispered to herself, listening as the breeze brought to her the faint but familiar sound of a dying vehicle that lay on its back, wheels turning.

‘Whup – Whup – Whup – Whup.'