Chapter 7

They walked back to where the gawkers were still gathered.

“Sure looks like it just washed away. Over 60 years old. I’ll warn ‘em in Canberra and in Perth to inspect earthen dams. I know there are others. If you lost a boat or a camper or a structure, you better get something in writing to the state. They’ll pay. It’s ‘disaster relief’ in the budget.” Patrick started getting into the SUV. “By the way, was there anyone in that wharf downstream?”

“Nah. Them never comes until the tourists are comin’.”

“Right. Thanks.” And with a wave he reversed, made a U-turn and drove off.

“Never even asked for your card,” Jos wondered.

“Speak with authority and no one questions you. Now, tell me where to turn off.”

Jos pointed to the unpaved turning on the right. Patrick drove a bit and parked where it was clear that others had parked. This hills were visible to the east, but there was no trace of the village. Jos led Patrick to the trace of the fire. The stones and ashes were there.

“Gone.”

“It was, but is no more.”

“I did not dream it.”

“No. Nor did boobook, frogmouth, wallaby, nor red kangaroo. Let us sit here.

“Do you know the word ‘Uunguu’?”

“No.”

“To the Wunambal Gaambera, Uunguu means ‘living home’ -- it is all the things in Wunambal Gaambera country to the west of here, along the coast, and the home of their ancestors for thousands of years.

“For Wunambal Gaambera people, Uunguu is part of Lalai, the story of how and when their country was made. Lalai is told through the rock art sites found throughout the so-called ‘Indigenous Protected Area’.

“The rock art speaks of the Wanjina spirits and the Wunggurr spirits, the creation ancestors who made the languages and the law for each family to look after a traditional part of country. Lalai started in the time when the world was soft, when each Wanjina had a job to do to make the country.

“Some Wanjina like Rumitjmarra and Wundulii carried stones, wet and soft as a cloud, as they moved throughout the land giving life and language to the country. These stones became the caves and shelters where Wanjina rested, leaving their images and stories behind in rock art.

“Wanjina is also in water, rain and cyclones and the wet-season build up of clouds. The Wunggurr snake travelled through the country making rivers, waterholes and hills. Some Wunggurr spirits still live in Punamii-Uunpuu (Mitchell Falls), one of the region’s most spectacular waterfalls. [Wandjina are named and localized spirits of place residing in specific tracts. Wunggurr is a more diffuse life force animating and underlying the particular manifestations of its power that find expression in all species of things, including the wandjina.]

“Today Wunambal Gaambera people live a different life from their ancestors - living in two worlds, embracing traditional culture and modern ways of doing things.

“What will Josiah’s people do?”

“You speak as a python, not as a whitefella.”

“True. But, it is past mid-day. Let us get food and then I must telephone a minister in Perth.”

“OK. But tell me why you said ‘so-called’.”

“The park where the waterfalls are was formed in 2000 without the consent of the Wunambal Gaambera nor following proper procedure under the Native Title Act. The whitefellas made the Act and they made the park. The spirits in the falls might be as angry as those that destroyed the dam.”

“Hmmm. Could an ‘indigenous’ whatever be formed here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never understood the processes that motivate Canberra – except for greed. But you mean, I suppose the area south of the Lake Argyle Road, east to the NT border and south to ... where?”

“I don’t know. Not as far as Warmun. Nor would we want the diamond mine.”

“Have you ever heard of Duncan Road?”

“No.”

“It seems to begin at the Victoria in Baines – that’s NT – and meander south and west and up and over and ends up in Halls Creek. A very large, but uninhabited area. We’ll look at the map when we stop. Where should we go?”

“I dunno. All I ever bought in Kununurra was take-out burgers.”

“Well, let’s try either Sails or the Pumphouse and see the water damage.”

“Oops.”

“Don’t fret ... I’ll tell them I’m with the Ministry.”

Sails was open and while there was water visible around the legs of some of the rustic picnic tables, the water was clearly well under a meter higher than usual. They sat at the highest table and Patrick spread out a map of north-west Northern Territory and the Kimberley.

“Jos.”

“Yes?”

“Please try to be attentive now.”

“OK.”

Patrick waved at the server. “Sir?”

“Is the manager or the owner about?”

“Yes, sir. Is something amiss?”

“No. I need to talk to him ... or her.”

“Right-o.”

Patrick took out his billfold and removed a laminated card from it. A grey-haired bloke, wiping his hands on a flannel, approached.

“Can I help you? I’m Henderson. I own about 20% of this. Bankwest’s got the rest.”