Alice shook her head.
‘A very special place.’ Sarah stubbed her smoke out. ‘How about you, what do you do?’
‘I, um …’ Alice trailed off. ‘Sorry,’ she said, rubbing her forehead. ‘I’m in communications.’
‘Communications?’ Sarah repeated.
Alice nodded. ‘I got a business communications degree through Open Uni. I used to,’ she stopped. Tried again. ‘I used to run a flower farm. But not anymore.’ If Sarah noticed her fumble, she didn’t let on.
‘Bloody hell. The way this place works will never fail to amaze me.’ Sarah laughed, shaking her head. Alice looked at the pub, not understanding. ‘No, no,’ Sarah said. ‘Not the pub. The desert. The people that blow through here. The timing and craziness of it all.’
Alice smiled politely.
‘We’ve just had a job opening for a visitor services ranger in the park. That’s why I’m in town, to talk to a few people about finding someone to fill the role.’ She grinned at Alice. ‘It’s a tricky one because we need someone who can do the hard yakka but is also qualified in communications.’
Alice nodded slowly, beginning to understand.
‘The pay’s good. You get housing,’ Sarah said. ‘If I give you my card and you’re interested, how about you email me and I’ll send you more details?’
Alice’s palms were clammy. It was a long time since she’d felt hopeful. ‘That’d be great,’ she said, brushing invisible things from her arms.
As Sarah took a card out of her shirt pocket and offered it to Alice, she got a better view of the badges on Sarah’s shirt. They read Kililpitjara National Park and adapted the design of the Indigenous Australian flag: the top half was black and the bottom half was red, with a yellow circle in the middle. In the centre of the yellow circle was a cluster of Sturt’s desert peas.
‘Thanks,’ Alice said, taking the card.
Sarah checked her watch and began to walk away. ‘I’ve got to go, but it was great to meet you, Alice. I’ll keep an eye out for your email.’
Alice raised the card in farewell as Sarah disappeared into the crowd. She held it to the light. It bore the same emblem as Sarah’s shirt. Alice didn’t need the Thornfield Dictionary. She’d memorised the meaning of Sturt’s desert peas the morning of her tenth birthday, when she opened her locket and read June’s letter.
Have courage, take heart.
The next morning Alice was waiting at the library when the doors opened at nine o’clock. She hurried to the computers with Sarah’s card, which she’d already dog-eared. She typed the national park’s website into a search engine and waited for it to load. Checked the clock. She was meeting Moss in two hours.
The web page loaded slowly, filling the screen with the national park’s homepage. At the top was a landscape photograph. Alice leant forward, as if she might will it to load faster.
A pale mauve sky. A few smoky wisps of cloud. A smudge of apricot light above the violet line of the horizon. An aerial view of green foliage on luminous red dirt.
It took Alice a moment to realise that she was looking at a crater from above; she didn’t grasp its size until the whole photograph uploaded and she saw a tiny dirt road and the white dots of vehicles. Her eyes were drawn to the centre of the crater, which was filled with red wildflowers. She drummed her fingers on the desk, waiting as an inset photo of the flowers loaded. She stopped drumming. The heart of the crater was a circle of Sturt’s desert peas in mind-blowing, blood-red bloom.
She gripped her locket as she scrolled down.
While Kililpitjara, or Earnshaw Crater, was only ‘discovered’ by non-Indigenous people in the early fifties, it has been a living cultural landscape for Anangu for thousands of years. Geologically, the crater is the impact site where an iron meteorite hit hundreds of thousands of years ago. In Anangu culture, the crater was caused by a great crash that also came from the sky, but not an iron meteorite; it is where a grieving mother’s heart fell to Earth. Long ago, Ngunytju lived in the stars. One night, when she wasn’t looking, her baby fell from its cradle in the sky to Earth. When she realised what happened, Ngunytju was inconsolable. She took her heart from her celestial body and flung it to Earth, to be in and of the land with her fallen child.
Alice stopped. She sat back, letting the images of the crater’s creation story settle. When she was ready she continued reading.
In the middle of Kililpitjara grows a wild, concentric circle of malukuru, Sturt’s desert peas, which bloom for nine months each year. Visitors come from around the world to see Ngunytju’s heart in flower. It is a sacred site of deep spiritual and cultural significance to Anangu women. They welcome you here and invite you to learn the story of this land. They ask that when you walk into the crater you do not pick any flowers.
Alice scrolled back up to the photo. She quickly opened another tab. Created a new email address, grateful for the sight of a blank inbox. She hurriedly wrote an email, typed in Sarah’s address and clicked send before she could overthink it. The computer responded with a cheery ping. Sent.
Alice slouched in her chair, staring at the celestial crater. The caption caught her eye.
In Pitjantjatjara language, Kililpitjara means belonging to the stars.
19. Pearl saltbush
Meaning: My hidden worth
Maireana sedifolia | South Australia and Northern Territory
Common in deserts and salty environments, this low shrub creates a fascinating ecosystem of almost hidden treasures: geckoes, fairy wrens, fungi and lichen colonies. Drought-tolerant, with silvery grey evergreen foliage that forms a dense groundcover that is fire-retardant.
Alice hurried down Main Street, her head full of colliding stars and blood-coloured flowers with dark red centres. She checked the name of the cafe she’d written on the back of her hand, along with Merle’s directions. Down Main Street, turn left. Look for plants and mismatched tables. She was fifteen minutes late.
The Bean cafe was in a small alley, an array of colourful chairs paired with knocked-about tables speckled with paint. Between each table was a small jungle of pot plants. It was a lush haven in the desert.
Moss was sitting at a table under a potted umbrella tree, running his fingers along the metal grate of a small pet cage.
‘Morning,’ Alice said, glancing at Moss. He straightened, his face awash in relief. Pip leapt at the grate, wriggling at the sight of her. She was plump, her coat was fluffy and her eyes were clear. A lump swelled in Alice’s throat.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ he said.
A young girl with dreadlocks arrived in a cloud of patchouli to take their order. ‘Coffee?’
‘Flat white, please,’ Moss said. The waitress nodded and turned to Alice.
‘Same, thanks,’ Alice replied. The girl took their menus and disappeared inside.
‘So,’ Moss said. Alice busied herself fussing over Pip. ‘How have you been?’
She pressed her lips together, nodding like a dashboard toy. ‘Good,’ she said. Pip nibbled at her fingers.
‘No more blackouts?’
She sat back and met his gaze. He looked genuinely concerned. She shook her head. The waitress returned with their flat whites.
Moss smiled and changed tack. ‘So, Pip’s right as rain. I put her on some pretty strong antibiotics.’