Chapter 6

Gordy

We met in the lobby and I got a thermos of nearly-coffee from the deskman. Weena climbed into the rear seat, announcing that she was going to sleep some more. As soon as we were out of town, I floored the accelerator. "No speed limits in the Territory outside of towns," I remarked. It was cool and a middle blue, as we sped south on the Stuart Highway. "We go a bit more than 300 kilometres -- 200 miles -- on this. There's really nothing much. Sand. Salt pans. Some ravines to the side. We might be able to see some mountains in the distance to the west." I waved.

"Ayup. Do you mind?" asked Charlie. He stretched his legs and tipped his hat over his face. It was as though I was all alone in the world. Not an animal to be seen. No birds. No noise but the rover. The east began to pink — I'd looked it up, sunrise was just after 6. The sand banks cast long shadows on my left; those on my right were red, getting paler by the minute as the sun rose. I could see the tips of the MacDonnells. I wished I could stop and look at the sand, seeing the ants and the spiders coming out of their holes — maybe a bilbie or a snake. This was why I'd become a biologist. This spacious, beautiful, mysterious country.

The road veered left. We passed Orange Creek ... rather a sign that said Orange Creek. About halfway to the Lasseter turnoff. Then we veered a bit right. It got warmer, too, as the sun came up. A voice from the rear asked: "Where are we?"

"Just getting to the bridge over the Hugh. Then the Finke. Then the Palmer. Then the highway to Uluru." Charlie stirred.

"We're comin' to them rivers?"

"Yep. You just missed the Hugh. Looked mostly dry. We'll see if there's any water in the other two. That's important." The landscape got more wrinkled. "This is where the big battle took place."

"Battle?" asked Weena.

Two tribes of ancestral spirits were invited to a feast, but were distracted by the beautiful Sleepy Lizard Women and did not show up. In response, the angry hosts sang evil into a mud sculpture that came to life as the dingo. There followed a great battle, which ended in the deaths of the leaders of both tribes. The earth itself rose up in grief at the bloodshed, becoming Uluru.

"Is that real?"

"Sure is. This next 200 kilometres is sacred land. I wouldn't violate it. Anyway, it's why Uluru is red."

We came to the bridge and I pulled over to the left shoulder. "If you need to do anything, this is a good place. Weena, you go first. Charlie and I'll stay on this side and walk to the bridge." I got out, as did Charlie. Then Weena climbed out of the back. (Damn! That's a nice butt!)

We walked out a bit. There was no traffic yet. Still too early for the trucks; far too early for the tourists. The motor coach from Alice to Uluru was just pickin' them up. Looking down the ravine, there was a lot more brush — emu bushes; even a few small mulga trees. And water! It looked to be a yard wide.

"Not much of a river," said Charlie.

"No. We've had years of drought. But I'm glad to see it. Most likely still some water where we're heading. Maybe more." Weena had joined us. "Charlie, take your turn." I just did my thing. Nothing Weena'd not seen before. We all got back in. Weena's "spot" was completely dry already. About 20 minutes after we started there was a neat sign, "Palmer," and a bridge, but nothing to see. Everything was bright orange-red now. I just kept on driving. We got to the sign "Endunda" and then the turnoff to Uluru. I pulled off to the side a few miles in. "Time to top off the fuel and check coolant." Charlie got out and started to walk. "Be careful!" I said. "Lots of things are venomous."

"Ayup," he responded. "At least there ain't too many bugs."

Weena got out her gloves and opened the tank. I unlatched the hood, then got out one of the jerry cans and poured. I then restowed the can and got out the one with coolant. "Maybe we'd better wait a few minutes. I don't want anyone scalded. Hey, Weena! Where's that coffee?" She got it out of the back, and I took a cup. It was still dreadful; but wet. I offered some to Weena. She took a few sips and said she'd wait another hour or so. I offered some to Charlie, warning him. He shrugged, took the cup, drank some, drank the rest.

"Boy, that is awful."

"Yep." I took one glove from Weena and loosened the cap. It hissed but didn't erupt, so I loosened it and took it off. I topped it off, closed the jerry, closed the valve, and relatched the hood. Then I hoisted the jerry into the back and gave Weena her glove. "OK. Let's go." It was just 7. 90 minutes later, Weena asked: "What's that?" pointing north towards a distant mass.

"Must be Mount Connor. It's a few times the size of Uluru. We'll be coming to the road to Angas Downs, soon. Used to be a station. I don't think anyone lives there now. We ought to catch sight of Uluru in a half hour." It was just about that when Charlie pointed at about 11 o'clock. It looked like the top of a cake turned out of its tin. The sun was hitting it at about 60 degrees. Then we saw the National Park signs and, sure enough, a tollgate. $25 apiece! Of course, we paid. And drove on. And parked in the lot.

Uluru was big. And impressive. "Oh, my!" was Weena's only thought. "Holy shit!" contributed Charlie. "The rock's really grey, but it's covered by a layer of fine iron oxide dust. That's why it looks red."

There was a sign pointing to a path to a "viewing area," so we went that way. Sure enough, as we got closer, you could see the drawings and the scratches. They looked just like the things in museums did, and better than the photos in books.

"Do you know what they are?" Weena asked.

"No. I know that's a snake and that's a woman. But that's not what they mean. These are ancestors. Uluru is inhabited by dozens of ancestral beings. They tell about the events that took place, whether those events were important or whether the ancestral being just rested and then went on."

There is a physical feature of some form at each ancestral site which represents both the activities of the ancestral being at the time of its formation and the living presence of Tjukurpa within that feature. For the Aboriginal people, that feature, whatever its form or appearance, is the Tjukurpa. It can be anything. The creative essence is eternal.

Around Uluru there are many sites. The Anangu explanations of them and of the formation of Uluru itself derive from the Tjukurpa. Most of the explanations are secret information and aren't disclosed to Piranypa, non-Aborigines.

'The Dreaming' isn't a creation myth, it's a formation myth. The world existed, but was featureless. Giant beings, resembling plants or animals, rose up from the plains where they had been sleeping.

They roamed the land aimlessly. As they wandered around, they carried out the tasks that the present Aborigines do today. When they became tired of doing those things, Dreamtime ended.

Wherever the creators had been active, some form of natural feature now marks the place. The creators made everything with which the aborigines are in daily contact and from which they gain their living. They also established laws that govern all aspects, both secular and sacred, of the tribes.

Dreamtime was in the past, but it is the Aborigines' present. They say, 'As it was done in the Dreamtime, so it must be done today.'