Ruby walked ahead, and Alice followed. Unsure of herself or her place, Alice left all of her questions unasked.
The walking track met the ring road at a site called Kututu Puli, where a sheltered bench and water tank offered a close view of the crater wall jutting dramatically from the earth: a cascade of red rocks and boulders covered in silver and mint-coloured lichen. For a moment, Alice was spellbound. But then she remembered the water tank and fell to it, drinking until she was full.
‘This is a thirsty place,’ Ruby nodded. ‘Where Ngunytju’s heart caught fire and burned as it hit the earth. That’s what the rocks are, pieces of her heart in flames. The lichen is where the smoke still rises from the embers, staining the crater wall.’
Alice couldn’t look at Ruby, fearing she’d see the tears in her eyes and decide once and for all she was hopeless.
‘Do you live in Parksville too?’ Alice had seized the first thing she thought of. Why didn’t she ask more about the crater story, which she was here to learn for her job? She cursed herself under her breath.
‘Uwa,’ Ruby nodded. ‘But only when I’m here for training. I come to teach you fellas about culture. Like I said, my family doesn’t live here. It’s a sorry place. Not a place to live.’ Ruby dusted her hands off. ‘You right to keep going?’
‘Yep,’ Alice replied, burning to ask why any of them were there if it wasn’t a place for living.
They walked the rest of the way around the crater in silence. A large tour group passed them in the opposite direction, heading back to the main car park. Alice eyed them suspiciously; had any of them picked desert peas? Swallows swooped overhead, singing. Sunshine fell in patches through a canopy of gum trees. Eventually the trail turned out of the shade and began to climb the crater wall, the same track Alice had found that morning with Pip. She shielded her face from the glare. It wasn’t even mid-morning but in direct sun the temperature felt like it must be close to forty degrees.
At the viewing platform, Ruby sat to catch her breath. Alice did the same, taking in the heart of desert peas.
‘Kungka, I’m going to tell you the whole story of this place,’ Ruby began.
‘Oh, yes,’ Alice leapt in. ‘I read. On the internet. About the mother’s heart that fell here, after her baby fell to Earth in another impact crater near to here.’ She couldn’t stop herself.
This time Ruby didn’t even look at her. She set her jaw, got up and left the platform, following the trail down into the crater.
Helpless, Alice watched her go, dumbfounded by her own stupidity. Shut the fuck up! she screamed to herself. She’d never wanted to impress anyone as much as she did Ruby. But her nervous chatter was ruining everything.
Alice put her head in her hands. She’d never gone for a job interview, or done an orientation, or undergone training like this before. She’d never been out of June’s protective gaze. This was her first real chance to make something of herself, on her own. And she was fucking it up royally.
Have courage. Take heart.
She sat up. Adjusted her uniform. Nodded to herself determinedly, and followed Ruby into Kututu Kaana.
The temperature inside the crater was stifling. Waves of heat rose from the earth. Flocks of green birds flew overhead.
‘Those tjulpu.’ Ruby laughed, waving at the birds. ‘Cheeky buggers.’
As they approached the flowers, Ruby gestured towards them, about to speak. This time, Alice kept quiet.
‘Minga come because of the story, but when they get here they’ve got closed ears. They want the story but they don’t hear it. They only hear it if they take a piece of it with them.’ Ruby’s voice was sad, but strong. ‘So many people coming, going off track, the threat is to the roots. These malukuru, these flowers, they’re strong. They grow here, and have for thousands of years. But their roots, you get down there and make their roots sick and the whole lot will die. True. We ask them not to, but people still go. Into the circle. To pick flowers. Take a piece of Ngunytju’s heart away with them. They’ll make the roots sick. Those roots get sick, we all get sick.’
Alice paused, waiting for a moment before she spoke. ‘Root rot,’ she said. ‘Sturt’s desert peas are vulnerable to root rot. If their roots are disturbed, they’re more likely to die from that than they are from drought.’
Ruby had a mix of surprise and appreciation on her face. ‘Eh?’ she said, giving Alice a playful nudge. ‘You’re a bit ninti pulka with our heart flowers, eh kungka?’ She smiled. ‘You’re a bit clever, eh?’
Alice exhaled, letting her shoulders fall from where they’d been hunched around her ears.
‘You’re all right, kungka.’ Ruby chuckled as she toed a stone with her boot. ‘You just need to close your mouth a bit and open your ears a bit more. Calm those thoughts in your head that are like cheeky tjulpu,’ she said, pointing to the budgerigars on her trousers, ‘so you can take the story of this place in.’
Alice nodded, unable to meet her eyes.
Ruby tugged on Alice’s sleeve. ‘Listen, when you wear our flag on your arms here,’ she pointed to the badges on Alice’s shirt, ‘you’ve got a responsibility to tell it true now, the story of this place, to all the minga that come from all over the world.’ A gust of hot wind blew around them, rustling into the circle of desert peas. ‘This is a sorry place. A sacred place, for love, sadness, rest and peace. This place holds the ceremonial stories of thousands of years of women. My ancestors, raising their babies and looking after this land, and the land looking after them. Malukuru, these flowers, they keep their stories alive. We need to work together to protect them. That’s your job now too,’ Ruby said, gesturing towards Alice. ‘Palya, Kungka Pinta-Pinta?’
Alice looked at her.
‘Okay, Butterfly Girl?’ Ruby translated, smiling.
What do you think you’d like to be when you grow up, Bun? Alice’s mother had her hands in a pot of fertiliser among the ferns in her garden. Her face was obscured by her gardening hat. Alice didn’t have to give it much thought. A butterfly, or a writer, she replied, smiling. Anything that kept her close to her mother’s garden, or between the pages of books.
‘Palya, Kungka Pinta-Pinta?’ Ruby asked again.
‘Palya,’ Alice replied.
Ruby gave a satisfied nod and turned, her hands behind her back as she began to walk the trail around the flowers and out of the crater. Alice took a last lingering look at the desert peas before she turned and walked away.
After sandwiches and juice from the visitor centre cafe for lunch, Ruby pulled Alice aside. She had a strange look on her face. ‘Before you go out in the field this arv, there’s something I want to show you.’
Alice followed Ruby up a flight of stairs to an attic-like storage space in the roof of the visitor centre. It was cramped, hot and stuffy, full of shelves holding large plastic boxes. Ruby went to a shelf and took down a box. She lifted the lid and gestured for Alice to look inside. It was stuffed with letters, some printed, others handwritten. Inside every single one was a pressed, dried desert pea.
‘Sorry flowers,’ Ruby said. ‘From people who pick them as souvenirs, take them home to wherever they come from, then start to believe their bad luck in life is a curse for ignoring our culture.’ She gestured to the shelves behind her, filled with similar boxes.