44

Bingargy watched the Ancestral Spirit wade ashore. He was still sore from the ceremony. The sand-filled scars on his chest, arms and buttocks were of little concern, but his penis was throbbing. It had been sliced open along the full length of the underside, a red flower placed inside the wound and flattened on a rock. His brothers Yangarra and Jillawar had also suffered in silence. They were Worora people and they had been joined by the Wunumbul, the Wungemi and the Umedi people; to show discomfort would have been shameful for his tribe. The ceremony had lasted many days and nights, filled with dancing and singing and, best of all for Bingargy, the storytelling.

He had learned how Ungut and Wallanganda, the serpents, had given birth to Creation by dreaming all creatures that live on the earth, including the spirit ancestors of the Worora people. The elders told the secret and sacred stories of the Wandjina who brought rain and fertility to the people. It was a Wandjina that cast the first bolt of lightning by splitting open his penis and discharging fire and lightning from it.

Now that Bingargy had completed the initiation, he could make the spearheads and follow the teaching of the Wandjina from the Creation time. The elders had told him that he was to be the helper of the medicine man. This was a great honour, as it was the role of the medicine man to fill the Wandjina with renewed life, to guarantee that rain would fall. The medicine man was the connection between the spirits of the Creation time and the present.

It was no surprise for him to see the Ancestral Spirit, with his white face and strange-shaped head and body, step on to Worora land.

Bunting had insisted on changing into his cassock before setting ashore. ‘Hand me my pastor’s hat, Jakob. I will bury the Holy Words here, in this Godforsaken uninhabited part of the world and give the occasion the solemnity it deserves.’

They had travelled south for a few days, almost always with land in sight. Pobasso and Philip’s carefree manner had lifted everybody’s mood on board. Even Amir seemed to have recovered from his horrific recollections of a few days previous.

‘Master Bunting, do not think our lightness is a character fault,’ said Philip, ‘The weather has been kind to us and we should enjoy our good fortune while we have it.’

Sailing between some barren islands and the steep red-cliff shoreline, Amir sighted a wide sandy bay.

Pobasso waved his arms back and forward as he spoke to Philip.

‘Pobasso says that although it appears calm, there is a large tidal surge which can be dangerous. However, he believes if he gets his timing right, we can reach the shore and as long as we do not spend too much time on the land, we can safely get back out to sea before nightfall.’

Bingargy heard a shift in the earth behind him and turned to see Yangarra and Jillawar. He motioned for them to remain silent and pointed at the Wandjina standing on the sand with his helpers. As they watched, the Wandjina and one helper commenced climbing the rocky cliff, leaving the others at the water’s edge.

Bingargy whispered to his brothers, ‘It is because of our initiation ceremony that the Ancestor Spirit has come to teach us himself. He is looking for us.’

Many years later, near the end of Bingargy’s life, he drew this Wandjina onto the sacred cave wall, as it was now his task to repaint all the Wandjina before every monsoon. There had not been a day in the previous fifty years he had not thought of the meeting. When he had finished painting, he filled his mouth with water and blew it over the images. When his helper, his son from Angiwarra, asked him the reason for this, he explained that this was the way that the Wandjinas had brought rain to the land in the old days and when they wanted the rain to stop, they would turn into rainbows.

Jakob and Bunting clambered up and over the last rocks and stood on a plateau, at the top of the cliff face. As they wiped away the sweat and gathered their breath, they stared in awe at the land stretching infinitely into the east. They waved down to the others, now swimming and frolicking in the shallow clear water.

‘Our quest is over, Heinrich,’ said Jakob, looking at his friend, holding the wooden box carefully in the cerecloth. ‘Where would you like me to bury it?’

Bunting surveyed the immediate vicinity. ‘I think over there Jakob, beside that dwarf tree.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Thank you, for I could not be here doing my sacred duty, if it was not for you.’

Jakob moved towards the tree and suddenly, where there had been nobody, stood three tall, wiry, and naked figures; two holding wooden spears double their height at their side and one with a curved piece of decorated wood. Jakob gasped out loud and stepped back towards his companion. It was as if they had appeared out of thin air. At first Bunting thought they were of grey skin, but soon discerned that their black bodies were covered in a type of ash, with geometric lines in white paint or clay. Each man had different decorations on his body and face. Neither group moved or spoke. As the shock wore off, Bunting could see the terrible scarring across their chests and arms, and he assumed from violent encounters. Still no one moved. Their expression was impassive as they stared at the priest. Jakob noted their protruding foreheads and curly black hair; like him their noses were flat and large.

‘Shall we go,’ Jakob whispered to Bunting in a shaky voice.

At this moment, one of the men started gesticulating, holding his spear in the air with his right hand, while placing his other hand on his penis.

‘What is he doing?’ hissed Jakob, without looking at Bunting.

The other two soon joined their companion, shaking their weapons and grabbing their groins. One of them started shouting, creating a sound that neither of the two Europeans had heard anything like before.

‘What do we do?’ said Jakob, paralysed by the extraordinary confrontation and the intensity of the speakers’ words.

To Jakob’s surprise, Bunting stepped forward towards the group and pronounced in a loud, clear voice.

‘We are visitors in your land. We have come from far away, across the sea on a great quest. We mean you no harm.’

Bingargy turned to his brothers. ‘I asked Wandjina to teach us how to throw lightning. He has agreed to show us the secret.’

Bunting continued, ‘We will return to our vessel and leave you now.’ He then turned slowly to Jakob. ‘Let us go down to the boat now, without turning our backs on them.’ The two men slowly started walking backward, along the plateau to the cliff face.

‘Look,’ said Bingargy, ‘Wandjina says for us to turn around and walk with them.’

The three young initiates then turned around and started walking backwards, in the same direction as Bunting and Jakob.

A Wedge-tailed Eagle flying above might have found it odd to see five humans walking in such a manner and may have shouted out at them as to what they were doing and to explain themselves.

However, there were no such interruptions and all five clambered down the cliff face.

Philip, whose keen eyes spotted the strange procession, urged Amir and Pobasso to prepare the proa for sail. Bunting, on reaching the bottom of the cliff shouted out to his retreating companions, ‘We will walk to you. Do not make any aggressive movements.’

Both scared, Bunting and Jakob turned slowly, faced the ocean and steadily waded out into the shallows leaving the young Worora men a few spear lengths behind.

As Philip and Amir helped Jakob up into the ship, Bunting, waist-high in water turned and addressed the three young men. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. We will take our leave.’

With waves now lapping over their knees, the three Aborigines stared at the Wandjina as he was lifted onto the strange-shaped vessel. They stood silent, watching, as it disappeared slowly into the great sea.

Bingargy turned to his brothers. ‘The Wandjina has left Worora land. Let us tell our people of the great honour that he bestowed on us.’