The young man he was staying with had been a fellow student at the School of Mines. His father was Jim Morris, a lapidary with a shop in Hannan Street where he sold semi-precious jewellery he had made himself. The business was now established so that other enthusiasts were bringing the stones to him. He and his son no longer had to go out and fossick for them, hence the availability of the Land-Rover. That and Kennie’s enthusiasm decided me.
The rest of the day passed quickly as we checked the vehicle and shopped around for the stores and equipment we needed. Mrs Norris gave us an early meal, and as the sunset flared to a lurid purple, I drove out of Kalgoorlie, taking the road north to Leonora, Kennie sitting beside me, tight-lipped and silent.
CHAPTER FIVE
ONE
We drove through the night, tarmac at first, a single track with verges of red gravel, then dirt. And the country, in the clear cloudless dawn, flat as a pan. We were into the northern part of the Yilgarn Block, metamorphosed rock, all gibber, the gravel eroded in situ, hardly any watercourses, but a great salt lake before we ran into Wiluna. Kennie was driving then and I was dozing, my eyeballs pricking with tiredness, the heat already building. I had nearly hit a kangaroo in the grey hour before the dawn, but there weren’t many of them here on the edge of the Gibson.
We were through the rabbit fencing, heading west for Meekatharra, the sun behind us, everything very sharp in the clarity of the early light, the dirt of the road running like a red ribbon through an infinity of spinifex and bare sunscorched rocks. ‘What about a brew-up?’ Kennie’s thin little beard was thick with dust, his long hair blowing in the wind from the open window. His teeth were even and very white as he smiled at me through the dust. ‘I could use a good brew right now, eh?’
I nodded and he drew into the shade of the next patch of mulga. It was a kind of acacia, but thin stuff, half dead and full of ants, the air breathless. The flies came at us in a cloud as soon as we had stopped.
Without Kennie it would have taken me three days to get back to the Pilbara. It wasn’t only the shared driving, it was the fact that he knew how to live bush — something at least he owed his father. Within minutes he had a fire going, the billy on and the bacon in the pan. Except for the flies, it was the finest breakfast I had had in Australia — the quiet and the huge sense of space, the close feeling of companionship. I was relaxed then, thinking how lucky I was, what a wonderful world. We didn’t talk much after we had fed, just sat there smoking and drinking thick Indian tea. It’s old — old geologically. That was what Petersen and Carter had said. It’s unique. And now I was out there, looking at it, remembering their words, the country as old as time and my mind involuntarily going back to Genesis and ancient, primitive gods. ‘Do you know much about the aborigine?’ I asked him.
But he shook his head. ‘Only what a Native Affairs Officer told us in a lecture he gave at the school. He made them seem a remarkable people, every day in their lives filled by the excitement of survival. Christ, look at it! I’d get a great kick if I could survive out here on my own, no tinned food, no cans of petrol, no gun, nothing but what I’d found and made. Reck’n that fellow was one of the really good ones, for he talked about living for a period in the Gibson. To survive, like that — ‘ He shook his dusty head, an almost dreamy look in those greenish eyes, now sun-crinkled at the corners. ‘And living like that, from hand-to-mouth — subsisting, no more — and yet the Dreamtime, all their myths, the complicated sacred side of their lives. After I’d heard that man speak I found myself looking at the poor bastards in Kalgoorlie in a different light. They’re a very strange people — but I respect them now. Imagine it — out there …’ He jerked his head towards the east. ‘Nothing but your wits, the knowledge handed down to you by your elders, and your bare hands. I wouldn’t survive for twenty-four hours.’
Later I was to remember that conversation, but at the time, replete and plagued with ants, the flies thick, I was too hot and tired to give a damn about the aborigines, accepting his words as part of the companionship developing between us, nothing more. A small wind rose, drifting red dust like a river across the road, and at Meekatharra we stopped for petrol and a long cold drink of beer. And then we were heading north, the tarmac running out into dirt after about fifty miles and the sun dimmed by a brown cloud of wind-blown sand that coated the Land-Rover and ourselves. It was a hell of a drive, until shortly after noon the wind suddenly dropped, the air clean again and the sun burning. Cheese and tomatoes, a long siesta among the ghost gums of a dry water course, then on again with the sun setting into the Gibson, the dark shape of hills standing like islands in a red-brown sea. Some where near Mundiwindi we lit a fire, cooked ourselves a meal. ‘What happens when we get to Jarra Jara?’
‘I don’t know.’ I was too tired, too battered with the jolting to think about that. Janet I knew would be glad about the analysis, but I wasn’t so sure about her father. We had our swags unrolled on the hard ground, and lying there, gazing up at the stars, I wished I knew him better.
‘This man Garrety, what’s he like?’
‘All right.’
‘Yes, but those samples — he don’t know about them. That’s right isn’t it? You said last night — ‘
‘Aren’t you tired?’
‘Yes, of course I’m tired.’
‘Then go to sleep.’
‘I can’t. I’m too excited.’ His cigarette glowed in the darkness. ‘Everbody I talked to — the old-timers, I mean — they seemed to know all about the Garretys and this station of theirs, the mine. It’s part of the history of the North West.’ But I had closed my eyes and in a moment the murmur of his young voice was lost in sleep.
He shook me awake shortly after three, the billy boiling and the stars still bright, and half an hour later we were on the road again. Dawn was breaking and Mt Whaleback a solid hump against the paling sky as I took the cut-off by the old airfield where I had waited for Janet to pick me up. Kennie stirred and stretched his legs. ‘How much further?’
‘About sixty miles — two hours if we don’t break a spring in the gullies.’
‘Christ! It’s back of beyond.’ His voice was sleepy. ‘What’s this girl like — tough?’
‘She rides a camel when they’re mustering.’
‘Sounds like dampers for breakfast and I could do with a good big steak.’
He went to sleep again and I drove all the rest of the way to Jarra Jarra. It was just after eight we crossed the cattle grid into the paddock. We topped the rise and there was the homestead just as I had seen it the first time, like a deserted settlement in the blazing sun with the galahs a flock of grey shot through with pink, bursting out of the trees at the rattle of our approach.
We stopped in the shade, the homestead silent, no dog barking, no camel crouched there by the further bole, only the galahs wheeling. ‘Reck’n they start at first light.’ Kennie pushed open the door and got stiffly out. ‘Most of these outback stations start early this time of year.’ He was thinking only of the breakfast he had been hoping for. He followed me between the out buildings, across the patio and into the dim cool of the wire netted room. It was empty, the house silent. I called Janet’s name, but there was no answer, the stillness heavy with the heat.
‘There must be somebody around.’ I went through into the passageway, to the door of Ed Garrety’s den. I thought perhaps he might be listening to the radio. I couldn’t remember where the morning sked was. But the door was locked, no answer to my call. I tried the kitchen then. A pot of tea and cups on the scrubbed wood table, the paraffin stove cold and nothing on it but a kettle, the water in it lukewarm. A current of hot air behind me and I turned to glimpse dark eyes watching out of a black face. The eyes were huge. ‘Sarah?’ A flash of teeth, a nervous giggle and the face of the black servant girl was gone. ‘Sarah!’ But by the time I reached the door she was running across an open compound towards some huts, running like a startled deer.