Chapter 19

The next morning, many of the women and several aunties came to visit Tessa. She was happy to sit in the sun, sip sweet tea and listen to their unintrusive comments. She had barely spotted the napkin she wore overnight and was feeling quite well, though she was still depressed.

The oldest aunty, whose mum was a Pigeon Hole Bilinara [south of Yarralin], said that when she felt it was near her time, Tessa should eat fish. “Them fish contain baby. You eat fish with baby, baby grow in you. When baby big ‘nuff, baby come out.”

While it didn’t sound physiologically feasible, the women had all been reassuring. And they certainly alleviated Tessa’s depression.

Later, when Sam returned, Tessa related what the aunties had said, adding their words relating to the relationship between people and the country they grew up in. A child’s first food came from the earth and was fed to it by the mother. “Now the food come from store, but bye-n-bye they eat bush food – bush food tie body to country.”

“Interesting,” Sam said. “So should we be in the Flinders or in New South?”

“New South. Sydney’s got triple the population of all of South Australia.”

“Would you want to live in Sydney?”

“No. I don’t think so. But not far away. And not along the coast. I worry about the seas rising.”

“We should talk to Gordy about that.”

“OK. When should we make plans?”

“We’re doing that right now.”

“Should we just fly off?”

“What?”

“We could fly from here to Darwin and then non-stop to Sydney. Certainly the fastest way.”

“What about the 4×4? What about the stuff?”

“Well, we could ship the stuff. And we could give the Toyota to Jos.”

“Not easily. Gordy still owns it.”

“Right. I guess we need to make plans.”

Tessa laughed. “I said that earlier.”

“So you did.” Sam paused briefly. “OK. If we drive, do you want to visit your parents?”

“Huh?”

“My guess is that we can go via Katherine and Tennant Creek and then either head east through Queensland to Sydney or south through the Alice and on to Iga Warta and then south and east to Sydney. It’s about 4500 kilometers through Queensland and 5000 through South Australia. Over a week and under two weeks either way.”

“We drove here from the Flinders. Let’s go to Sydney via a different route. I’ve never been in Queensland.”

“I’ll get a map and we can work it out. Want more tea?”

“Please.”

Ten days later Sam and Tessa left for Sydney, by way of Katherine, Tennant Creek, Mt. Isa, Longreach, Roma, south and east to Newcastle, and down the central coast. Passing through Mitchell, Sam mentioned that it had been his great-grandfather’s station and where Gordy had been raised.

“In the second chapter of The Conquest of Bread, Kropotkin wrote:

Well-being for all is not a dream. It is possible, realizable, owing to all that our ancestors have done to increase our powers of production.

We know, indeed, that the producers, although they constitute hardly one-third of the inhabitants of civilized countries, even now produce such quantities of goods that a certain degree of comfort could be brought to every hearth. We know further that if all those who squander to-day the fruits of others’ toil were forced to employ their leisure in useful work, our wealth would increase in proportion to the number of producers, and more. Finally, we know that contrary to the theory enunciated by Malthus—that Oracle of middle-class Economics—the productive powers of the human race increase at a much more rapid ratio than its powers of reproduction. The more thickly men are crowded on the soil, the more rapid is the growth of their wealth-creating power.

“That was in 1892. Well over a century ago. We may no longer consider Malthus an oracle. Nor concern ourselves with industrial factories. But we all know that were we to work together and share, we would be better off than we were and better off than our parents were.”

Josiah paused. He had an audience of about twenty. There ranged from a young boy to an aunty of at least sixty. They were evenly split by gender. At least five different bands were represented.

“Sam and Tessa have gone east and south. Bunjil and Karlo have flown towards the rising sun. They may return in a year or two or several. But he has enabled us to begin to create Gabbaitch. We will continue to build. We will grow. We cooperate with one another.”

“Can we invite others?”

“I feel all should be welcome. But they must know that they must work. We can help the very young and the very old. And the old have much they can share with us. But we should not tolerate those who take and take.”

“If we grow bigger, we should plan,” said Zeke.

“Yes. Growth cannot be uncontrolled. Perhaps Boobook and Frogmouth can assist us in talking about this.”

“Will you be the boss?” Andy enquired.

“No. I am just a voice. No man is superior to another. No man has the slightest right to define another man’s duties. If anyone exercises such power it is only because others permit him to do so. Were those two drunks several weeks ago superior? They were no whiter than Sam, and they were stupider. They tried to boss you.”

Andy nodded, as did Zeke.

“But we must all be wary. Not merely of others, but of ourselves. Recall what Nietzsche wrote: ‘Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’ I fear being ‘boss.’ I fear becoming a monster. Think of how corrupt our politicians become. Until a few months ago I was but a well-read worker. But when Zeke and I came here, we were inspired. We followed our dreams. Those who come here will be following theirs. And they will be much like ours.”

“Do you think so?” came a voice from outside the fire’s light.

“Look up at the sky! We all see the dark line of the great serpent. Where ever you sit, you see it. I saw it when I was at school. No matter whence you come from, you can see the great serpent. So, too, the Dreamtime is the same to all. The stories may vary, but the meanings remain. Aesop was an ancient Greek slave. Yet his stories and their morals remain – across thousands of years and tens of thousands of kilometers. Remember his tale of searching for a king.”

“Can you tell it us?”

The frogs were unhappy that they had no established Ruler and sent ambassadors to Jupiter, the king of the gods, entreating for a King. Perceiving their outright simplicity, he cast down a huge log into the lake. The Frogs were terrified at the splash occasioned by its fall and hid themselves in the depths of the pool. But as soon as they realized that the huge log was motionless, they swam again to the surface of the water, dismissed their fears, climbed up, and began squatting on it in contempt. After some time they began to think themselves ill-treated in the appointment of so inert a Ruler, and sent a second deputation to Jupiter to pray that he would set over them another sovereign. He then gave them an Eel to govern them. When the Frogs discovered his easy good nature, they sent yet a third time to Jupiter to beg him to choose for them yet another King. Jupiter, irritated by all of their complaints, sent a White-Faced Heron, who preyed upon the Frogs every day till there were none left upon the lake to croak complaints to the gods.