Chapter 23: Sydney

“I’ll see you’re checked in and go home,” Gordy said. “I’ll be back by six.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

When they we in their rooms, Tessa said, “It’s a lot better than the hotel in Marree.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’ve been thinking about Marree.”

“Oh?”

“They did a history when the town was 100 years old. It’s got a lot of old photos and chapters where I found it hard to tell gossip from history. Anecdotes about Afghans. Stories of whole families dying between Farina and Innamincka...”

“Farina?”

“Town about 30 klicks south of Marree. It was the railhead before the extension to Marree. Just a deserted ghost town now. We’d pass it driving from Iga Warta to Marree.”

“I’d like to read the history.”

“Eventually. When I get my stuff from home. I’ve got to shower now.”

“I’ll help.”

They were showered and cleanly clad when they met in the lobby.

“It’s only a kilometer to Kindred. Do you mind walking?”

“Not at all,” Tessa said. “It’s quite different walking here in the city.”

They greeted and sat and ordered dinner. Then Gordy said that he’d “Really like a narrative of the last week.”

Tessa began with Patrick’s departure. She told of Boobook and of their visit to the radio station. Tessa began to eat and Sam took over the narrative, telling of their drive and of Tessa’s remarks about invisibility.

“Interesting,” said Patrick.

“You think so? Well, the next day ... last Saturday ... we were going to see Lake Argyll. But on the way we saw a track off the road and I saw a wedge-tail hovering over it. So I pointed it out to Sam.”

“And I followed Bunjil onto the track, which led us to a small settlement, Yardungari. We spoke to Potoroo, an old man and he had a younger man show us several caves with a lot of drawings and carvings. Tessa and I spent the night in a specially marked cave.”

“‘Specially marked’?”

“Several meters of Guion Guion moving from east to west, with a raven in the east and an eagle in the west,” said Tessa.

“So we dreamt there. In the morning we returned to the village, spoke to Potoroo and later returned to Boobook in Kununurra. And that was when we realized that we’d experienced something strange.” She paused.

“Yes,” said Sam, “Boobook told us that Potoroo and his band were no more. They had been ‘removed’ when the dam was built, when the lake was formed. ‘There are no Yardungari. They were relocated a decade ago.’ That’s what Boobook said.”

“Very interesting,” Gordy said.

“Amazing, I’d say,” added Patrick.

“What do you think?” asked Sam.

“I think Patrick needs to consult Dayah Minyah,” Gordy responded. “We need another authority.”

“I serve the Serpent; the Powers that be are not commanded by us.”

Rachel remained silent. Weena stared at her brother.

They were all relatively quiet as they finished dinner. Rachel, Patrick and Weena drove off; Gordy walked back to the Adina with Sam and Tessa.

“Do you have any plans?” Gordy asked.

“I need to do some shopping,” said Tessa. “Some appropriate clothing and food supplies.”

“As do I. But we both need to determine what we can or should do.”

“Think a little and then phone me.”

“Right. And thanks.”

Sam and Tessa spent Tuesday in shops and just walking about. Tessa phoned home, but Sam was introspective. They ate at the Dumpling Bar in Spice Alley but they were both focused on the future.

“I have a major question,” Tessa said in mid-afternoon.

“To wit?”

“Together or apart?”

“On my part, together.”

“I am glad! I was afraid.”

“Remember what Boobook said: ‘The Raven deflects the Eagle from the sky.’ I need you for that.”

“Only that?”

“Wait till we’re back in our suite!”

“Yes, master.”

“And your thoughts on the future?”

“Some university.”

“Have you any preferences?”

“No. Just the opposite. Not Adelaide; not here in Sydney; I didn’t like Darwin.”

“Gordy went to Brisbane and spent over a decade at UWA and my other grandparents live in Canberra.”

“Melbourne? Someplace inland?”

“Not Wagga. I’m not a fan of the Rivers area.”

“We’ll have to look online. I’m not sure what’s left.”

“What do you want to study?”

“Corvines and raptors.”

“Very funny. I’m going to try for some mixture of Anthropology and History.”

“I think I’ll try Psychology or Sociology.”

“Well, we’re both into humanities and social sciences.”

When James Cook landed in Australia in 1770, Aboriginals had been there for about 60,000 years. Their 500 or so separate nations lacked kingpins or settled agriculture, so colonisers deemed the land terra nullius, free for the taking. Aboriginals were butchered or displaced, and later their children were stolen and placed in foster care under a cultural assimilation programme that lasted for six decades. They got the vote only in 1962. After a referendum five years later, they were included in the census. But not until 1992 did the high court recognise that they should have some claim over their land.

Even well-intentioned policies brought in more recently have failed them. When the law said they must be paid the same wage as other Australians for the same job, many were sacked. Billions of dollars are poured into programmes to help indigenous peoples every year, with mixed results. The decade-wide gap in life expectancy is getting wider. Though only 3% of the population, Aboriginals fill a quarter of Australia’s prison cells. Their young men have one of the highest suicide rates in the world. Their children are almost ten times more likely to be in state care. (The Economist, 29 November 2018)

Later, in their suite, Sam was searching on his laptop. “Hey! There’s a site that lists the ‘top-humanities-social-sciences’ programs and has ‘australian-rankings’!”

“Well, what’s listed?”

“UNE, Sturt and ANU are the top three.”

“Where’s UNE? I know it’s here in New South.”

“Armidale. Around 500 klicks north. Five or six hour drive from here; about an hour by air. I know Gordy’s been there. I don’t know much about it.”

“Well, Sturt’s in Darwin and ANU’s in Canberra. So, let’s look at UNE.”

“Yes, dear.”

The next day, Sam called his father. “Am I disturbing you?”

“No. I’m trying to explain ‘Native Title’ to a group of angry tribesmen.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The fact that ‘native title’ isn’t.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“‘Native title’ rarely confers actual ownership. Neither does it permit a veto over projects. To extract compensation from mining companies, for example, traditional owners are often required to ‘extinguish’ their title, which is anathema to those who view their land as sacred. The best they can do is delay and ‘protect’ some sites.”