Chapter 7

Sam stayed home on Thursday, completing his reading of Blainey’s Shorter History, and thought about the future. His future. Their future. He also thought about Tuesday night and Susie.

Last night he and Tessa had made love. The night before had been mere sex. He ‘loved’ Tessa, but had fucked Susie. She was just an ejaculate receptacle. That was demeaning. But Susie said she’d enjoyed herself and Tessa had certainly been exploring her sexuality. What about those two Swedish girls in Adelaide? No. Three girls, and only one of them Swedish. One was German and one American. Sam guessed they’d used him more than he’d used them. It had been far less fun than he wanted, he’d been a captive of mad women, frenzied with sex. Like the maenads or the bacchantes they were crazed, frenzied. And while the sensations were exciting, there was a dearth of feeling. There was no care, no affection.

In Adelaide, he’d been the other, the bit of strange. For Tessa, Susie was. Would it be for a day or a week? And what if there is a need for a second ‘swan’? Was Susie appropriate? What would be the right way to bring himself and Tessa into such a relationship?

And then the phone rang. It was Susie.

“I’m in a hurry,” she said. “I’ve got to cancel. I gotta leave and see my mum. She called and she’s crook.”

“Where is she?”

“Tamworth. I’ll catch the mornin’ train and be there by noon.”

“Oh. We’ll miss you. But family is important. We’ll see you when you get back.”

“Right. Say ‘sorry’ to Tessa.”

Well, that sort of solved a problem. Tamworth? Sam got the NSW guide book.

Tamworth was a center for horse raising, known for its koalas (which were reproducing after the fires of a few years ago) and was famous as the “Country Music Capital of Australia”, annually hosting a country music festival in late January -- the second-biggest country music festival in the world, after Nashville in Tennessee. Hmmm.

When Tessa got home, though, there was a different topic. She’d learned that not only men were “healers.” There were women – like Sam’s grandmother – who were possessed of ability.

“Right. But first, Susie called and cancelled.”

“Was I too eager?”

“I don’t think so. She said her mum was ill and she’s taking the train to visit her.”

“Oh. I hope she gets well soon.”

“So do I. The mortality rate for Aboriginal women is high.”

“That’s why this stuff about healers is interesting. Aboriginal traditional healers were born into the ability through family lines and knowledge passed down through family to family. In northern South Australia, in Pitjantjatjara, they were called ngangkari.” (Really close to nungungi, Sam thought.) “Becoming a ngangkari can begin as a toddler, when family and community members identify a child to be a natural healer.” (Like Patrick, Sam thought.)

“It’s really exciting,” Tessa said. “In the Anangu Pitjintjatjara Yangkunjatjara (APY) lands traditional health knowledge is still alive and well, and working in a contemporary setting. The Elders who are working as healers are ngangkari. In the Flinders Ranges we called them Yura urngi. And I knew that. I wonder what more there was in Iga Warta and Arkaroola that I missed.”

“What can we do with it?”

“What?”

“How do we fit these things to our path? Our paths.”

“Oh. That’s heavy.”

“We’ll talk about it after dinner.”

“OK. What did you get?”

“Was I supposed to? I didn’t. I was here reading all day.”

“Lazy bastard.”

“Not quite. Can we go somewhere fast?”

“I’ll call and you can pick up Thai from Bua Thong.”

“Fine. You call. I’m going to locate my shoes.”

When he got back, Tessa had set the table.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Just water, please.”

“You’re so-o-o easy!”

“Right.”

Later, Tessa told Sam about female healers. “You know the APY area? Well, there’s also an NPY, and an NPY Women’s Council. [She picked up a pamphlet.] ‘The Ngaanyatjarra, Pitjantjatjara and Yankunytjatjara Women’s Council is a community based community organization formed in 1980 delivering services to the NPY women in the central desert region across the borders of the NT, SA and WA, with its headquarters in Alice Springs. It provides a range of community, family, research and advocacy services.’ I think that’s interesting.”

“Are the Adnyamathanha close to the Pitjantjatjara?”

“I don’t know. Some of the words sound similar. The stories are similar, I think. I know that the Pitjantjatjara say ‘this Law was given to us by our grandfathers and grandmothers, our fathers and mothers, to hold onto in our heads and in our hearts.’ And that’s similar to what my grandfather would say.”

“And Tjukurpa refers to the creation period when ancestral beings, Tjukaritja, created the world as we know it. The Anangu don’t say ‘Dreamtime,’ but Tjukurpa. And that basically means ‘law.’”

“Do you know their story?”

“I know a short form: prior to creation the world was featureless and none of the places existed until our Tjukurpa ancestors, in the form of people, plants and animals, travelled across the land. During that time of creation and destruction, the ancestors formed the world as we know it. Our land is inhabited by many ancestral beings. Their journeys and activities are recorded at sites linked by iwara [paths or tracks] and iwara link places that can be hundreds of kilometers outside, far beyond Pitjantjatjara country.”

“That’s quite fine. When did you learn it?”

“When I was in Mintabie. Before I met you.”

“Are the animals the same?”

“Somewhat. I was called Bunjil. But the Mala Tjukurpa, for example, involves three groups of mala [rufous hare-wallaby people] who travel from the north to reach Uluru. Two groups then fled south and southeast to sites in South Australia. Kuniya Tjukurpa involves the travels of the woma [python] from the east. And that’s a different species from the Carpet Python, it’s Aspidites not Morelia. Many other Tjukurpa travel the area around Uluru, like the blue-tongued lizard and the emu.”

“Maybe you could become a folklorist.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“Of course. In fact, it was on that list of jobs you had.”

“Not ‘jobs,’ ‘vocations.’ It was vocational guidance.”

“Whatever. Let me see what I can find.”

“OK. I’ll clear the dishes and the trash.”

“Well. There are listings. Here are some.” Tessa read: archivist, festival director, museum curator, arts administrator, grant officer, teacher. “You need to talk to your grandfather and to your mother.”

“I guess so. Gordy’d know about ‘museum curator’ and mum about ‘arts administration’, that’s a no-brainer.”

“And I’ve a notion of a way to start out.”

“Go on. Raven leads Eagle.”

“We finish the year here and move to Sydney. You volunteer to ‘explain’ items on exhibit at the Museum and the Gallery. If things work out, you’ll know the route to follow, if neither works, you’ll know what’s closed.”

“You’re brilliant!”

“I know. I also know that while I point, you see from above and act. Only after you swoop can I peck.”