Garrgiil tells of meeting Tarheto
One day while out doing what boys my age do, such as hunting, tracking or checking on yam vines, I came upon one of the newcomers. But he wasn’t like the others. His skin was darker but not as dark as my skin. And he looked like he was only a little bit older than me, and his body also had a shell.
I watched him as he walked a little to the gung garra (north) then stopped and looked around, and then went a little to the dhibaarr (south), as if he didn’t know where he was.
Perhaps he was lost?
I continued watching him from behind the trunk of a big babadha (bloodwood tree). After a while I saw him shed tears, as many tears as my friend shed when he was flogged by the elder for desecrating the girribidhi (dugong).
I felt sorry for him and moved slowly to the side of the babadha. By this time he was sitting and crying into his hands.
Hands that looked like ours.
This made me think he might not be a spirit.
We know that spirits have four toes or four fingers, and they are depicted in our rock art like that.
As I emerged from the babadha he saw me and scurried backwards like a waan (crab).
I smiled because it was funny. On seeing my smile, he stopped and gave me a half-smile in return.
For a long time we watched each other before he lifted his hand and half-heartedly waved. This is something our people do, so I waved back.
This funny boy, or spirit, got up on one bung-gu (knee), then the other, and very slowly rose to his feet. Throughout this he never took his eyes off me and without warning he spun and ran straight into a bigger babadha and landed flat on his arse.
Nhayu dyidyiil wangar barrngaa (I laughed out loud) and I continued to laugh as he slowly stirred like he was waking from a deep sleep. Eventually he sat up and stared at me before he too began to laugh out loud, joining me in laughing until tears came to our eyes.
Eventually we contained ourselves. I thought this funny spirit-boy didn’t seem harmful. We had shared a laugh together and I could see he had five fingers on each hand and he also had five toes.
I was sure he wasn’t a spirit, so I slowly walked towards him. But I could still see the uncertainty in his eyes, so I laughed again and he in return gave a stifled chuckle.
I then got down on my knees about ten paces from where he was and made a motion towards his head where he had hit the tree.
He slowly lifted his hand to touch the large lump on his forehead where blood was slowly trickling down. When he looked up to me he remembered running into the tree and the both of us in unison started laughing again.
I then made a motion with my right hand, asking where he was going.
He in return made a sign with his hands by shaking them. I was surprised because we use the same sign language for No, Nothing or Don’t Know.
I moved slowly towards him. I wanted to feel this strange thing he was wearing.
Watching with a half-forced smile, he said a word. ‘Hello!’
It was a strange sound, but I knew he was trying say something to me. But it wasn’t in our language.
In reply I imitated the word he had spoken. ‘Hello’, I said, and his face lit up aglow. He started talking, pointing all directions, and then stopped to look at me as I had the face of bewilderment.
So, I said ‘Hello’ again. And he understood that all he said hadn’t made sense to me.
As it was getting dark, I needed to get back to our people’s camp. I tried to explain this to him with hand signs. Then, as I turned to leave, he spoke and threw his arms in the air, as if to ask where I was going. He seemed to be afraid.
I then understood his odd behaviour: walking in different directions and returning to the original spot—he was lost. I could have shown him the way back to his camp, but I did not.
I motioned for him to follow me.
I walked back to our camp with this boy—I was now certain he was like us—keeping a small distance behind me. As the sun began to set and it became dimmer I could feel his footsteps close to mine.
Without turning, I sang a song about him in jest, Nhulu-yi ygi yiniil manadhi, nhulu walu diwaan bidha (This spirit is afraid like a little scrub turkey chicken).
I repeated this over and over until we reached our camp, when everyone came to see what strange creature I had brought back with me.