The sight of the hunters marked with the sign of the serpent sent terror to every part of Arunta’s body. He fell to the ground and lay motionless. But it was too late. The strangers who had suddenly revealed themselves as enemies had heard the noise of movement in the bush and slowly approached the place where Arunta hid. He could not make himself any smaller. Only by becoming invisible could he save himself.
As Arunta waited for the inevitable pain of a spear in his back he thought of Burnum’s words after their near-death encounters with the stampeding pinyali and the savage ngurakin: Brother, nothing less than the serpent himself will see you off to the spirit world.
Cowering there in the bushes, Arunta wished his brother’s prophecy had included a warning that the serpent would come in the form of five men.
Abruptly, from the bush beside him, the white bird rose with a screech and a flurry of feathers and flew low over the heads of the hunters. In his state of fear, Arunta had not even realised that the bird had been there with him.
The hunters ducked their heads instinctively as the bird flew high into the great tree and perched above them. Laughing, they pointed up to the bird then turned back towards the water. After another inspection of Arunta’s imprint in the mossy rock, the leader led his band out of the clearing and into the forest.
Only after Arunta was sure they were far enough away did he dare to move. But even then he was not confident that they were gone for good. He decided to find a better place to hide, maybe even a place where he could start the burial preparation. Looking around he saw, not far behind him, that the ground fell away. He walked carefully to the edge. It was a shallow ravine, not very deep. While even that might be a good place, even better was what appeared to be the entrance to a small cave on the far side.
Picking up his father’s body, Arunta made his way down into the ravine and then across to the cave entrance. He had to bend low to see inside but when he did he was pleased at what he saw. It was deep and dry, higher inside than the small entrance would indicate. There was light at the front of the cave, but, more importantly, there was darkness at the back in case the hunters returned. Arunta was not concerned about what other creatures might have first claim to this cave or what the dark corners might conceal. For now, at least, this place was his.
Once inside the cave Arunta carefully lay his father’s body down. The appearance of the hunters, and their possible return, had changed things. Arunta knew that Yuka would have wanted the preparations for the burial to take place under the Tree of Spirits but he also knew that the more he used the shelter of the cave, the less chance there was that the ceremony would be disturbed by intruders of ill-intent who would continue the curse of the kadaitcha man.
So, although he would not be able to reduce his father’s body to ashes, he would, if he were careful and patient, still be able to bury him under the tree. He was grateful for a place where he could safely proceed to paint Yuka’s body and his own, to light the fire from which smoke would rise to tell the ancestors that another son would soon be with them and to sing the songs that he had heard the elders sing whenever a member of the tribe passed over to the spirit world.
Arunta’s first task was to light the fire but he did not want to do that until it was dark outside. He hoped the hunters were far away but he did not want to take the risk of attracting their attention with smoke that could easily be seen in daylight. But he could at least make some preparations. He had noticed a small abandoned bird’s nest in the bush near the cave’s entrance. It would be perfect tinder. This and two sturdy sticks would be all he needed to start the fire. Some larger pieces of wood should keep it going.
He peered carefully outside before crawling over to the nest and unwrapping it from its branch. The broken egg shells inside made him think fleetingly of his brother. And of Clare. But this was not a time for remembering. He found some sticks and small logs that he thought would be good enough. Back in the safety of the cave he rubbed the sticks together in the way that he had so often done. Blowing gently on the small plume of smoke, the nest soon ignited. Arunta selected the sticks in just the right order of size to ensure that the fire would need as little attention as possible.
The cave took on a different appearance with the fire. It suddenly felt warm and safe, a good place to be. While he wished for enough room to stand and perform a ceremonial dance, Arunta satisfied himself with the rhythmic flickering of the yellow flames and the entrancing movement of the shadows on the cave wall. After removing the cloak from Yuka’s body Arunta mixed the brown ochre with water and started to paint his father’s body from head to toe. This done, he added white to make decorations similar to those he had seen in a funeral ceremony of an elder who had recently passed. On Yuka’s chest he painted the large white wings of his father’s totem.
As he worked he chanted the sacred dirges of his tribe, softly at first, then, as he became lost in his song, more loudly.
He sang of hunting and fishing.
Of returning home with plenty of tucker and of going hungry.
He sang of sitting around camp fires and sharing stories.
Of kangaroo and goanna.
Of hot sand and cool water.
Of birth and death and spirits.
The smoke, although drawn out of the cave by some natural vent that time had carved through the rock, was filling his head. The rhythm of his song, the twisting, twirling flames, and the wildly dancing shadows – they were taking over and Arunta felt no control over what he was doing. Suddenly the little cave no longer had walls or a roof. He was floating above the ground watching himself see his father safely off into the Dreaming. He watched as he dragged Yuka’s body out of the cave and across the small ravine towards the Ring of Ancestors.
It was only a sharp pain slashing across his face that brought him back to reality.
The white bird was attacking him! No, not attacking – waking him up, bringing him back to his senses. The hunters had returned and were making their way cautiously towards the ravine which, fortunately, still concealed Arunta and Yuka. A moment more and he would have been out in the open. Arunta did not like to think what would have happened then.
He silently thanked the white bird and once again gathered his father in his arms and took refuge in the cave. The rear of the cave turned a little to the right, just enough that it was possible to squeeze around the corner and not be seen from the entrance. Arunta crawled as far to the back and around the small bend into the darkness as he could manage with Yuka’s body.
Then it struck.
The pain was like a hot knife thrust into his back. Arunta twisted his body to look behind him. “Ah, durrin!” The brown snake had bitten him in the back and quickly withdrawn. In the dim light of the fire Arunta could see the angry serpent with its body raised and mouth gaping wide. There was no escape. Again it struck. Pulling the snake from his leg, Arunta threw the serpent against the wall at the back of the cave.
It did not matter now whether or not the hunters found them. It was over. Again he heard the voices from his dream - Arunta, you have failed. You were not strong enough. You were not brave enough. Your father’s spirit and your own and the spirits of your children will wander forever lost in that place between the dreaming and the world of men.
There was only one thing Arunta could think to do. If he could not bury his father as the gods would want then he could at least show that this had been his intent. With a sickness rising in his belly, he managed to draw on the wall. The cave, the tree, the Ring of Ancestors. Surely the forefathers would understand and know that his intentions were good and right. Maybe in this way the curse of the kadaitcha would be broken.
Too weak to finish the drawing, Arunta’s arms went limp at his side and Clare’s song filled the darkness.
When sun burns your skin
And you're far far from home
When wells offer nothing but mud
When sand stings your eyes
Wh
en you're lying alone
Remember, remember our love
Arunta lay down and rested his head against his father’s cold flesh.
Look at the night sky
And count all the stars
Each one is a wish just for you
Climb the high mountain
And count every step
Each one is a kiss just for you
Arunta did not see the hunter at the cave’s entrance.
When winds from the east
Bring an ache to your bones
When winter says not yet enough
When frost on the ground
Runs a chill through your soul
Remember, remember our love
Arunta did not hear the hunter creeping towards him.
Tread surely the pathway
Breathe deeply the air
Drink long of the cool running stream
Feel warmly the sunlight
Touch gently the flower
Hold closely the one in your dream
Arunta did not feel the point of the hunter’s spear.