“HENNY-PENNY!”
He sat upright, out of sleep.
“Tongue of my heart, what is it?” said Purranmurnin Tallarwurnin, holding him.
“What?”
“You spoke.”
“What did I say?”
“They were words of sound, without meaning.”
Murrangurk scooped water and drank, then put red on his headband, painted the red lines across his eyes, and nose and cheek bones, the two lines down the middle of his chest, turning along the bottom ribs, the shorter lines that did not turn, and put white dots around them. He drew the solemn path of the snake upon his arms and legs, and marked its fires with a dot in the curve of each bend.
Nullamboin watched from his shelter.
There is a cloud on the sea from Narrm, said Murrangurk. It is at Beangala.
Sing strong, said Nullamboin.
Murrangurk gathered all his weapons: his shield, the spearthrower, his war spears, wangim and barngeet.
“Where are you going?” said Purranmurnin Tallarwurnin.
“To Beangala,” said Murrangurk.
“Never as you are shall you return,” said Purranmurnin Tallarwurnin.
“How can I hurt you who am myself?” said Murrangurk. “I must go. It is my Dreaming.”
He left the fires, across the marshes towards Beangala. An eagle hung above him.
He travelled for a time, until he smelt two men coming towards him. They were young warriors, Pulmadaring and Wolmudging, and they carried their spears high, waving them. At the points hung bright colours. When they saw Murrangurk, they ran to meet him and gave him the spears. The colours were squares, tightly woven, one green, one blue.
“Grandfather,” said Pulmadaring, “there are dead men at Beangala, and they are alive!”
“They have made fire,” said Wolmudging, “and have eaten koim, without talk, and they will not go, but gave us these. They eat the land, without talk, and give us these! But we are not enough to fight them. Come and tell the People.”
“I cannot come,” said Murrangurk. “The dead men do not know our way. I shall go to them, and talk peace.”
He gave back the spears.
“We have no peace with thieves of the land,” said ‘Pulmadaring. “The earth shakes; and the warriors are gathering.”
Murrangurk watched them go, then he ran.
He tasted the smoke of a fire, and moved in silence, looking.
Near the shore of Beangala he saw a pole, and from it hung something coloured red, white and blue, but, although he had seen it before, he could not give the thin rug a name. He went nearer. The pole was by a fire, and, around the fire, the men had built a barrier of wood. They were white men. He saw three. And there were five other people, but they were covered with the same stuff, and no paint showed what else they were.
There were shelters of white, and he knew them, too; but again they had no name; and there was a shelter of turf.
Outside the barrier was a hole. He saw a man dip something into it and drink. When the man went back, Murrangurk moved to the hole and sat. He could hear the men talking, and again he knew the sounds, he had known them and spoken them, yet what they meant once had dried on the wind; but he saw dreams that he had forgotten, and smelt fear, and was himself afraid. Murrangurk sat and did not move.
One of the people saw him, and pointed. They all turned and began to talk loudly, and to look around. At last, they became quiet, but watched. And when he felt that the waters had risen, Murrangurk stood, and walked forward.
“Cheese it. What’s this fly clapperdodgeon?”
“Gaw! Clap yer glims on that for a bastardly gullion!”
The sounds. He heard them. What were they?
“Joe, you askim he sabby,” said a white man to one of the people. When Murrangurk looked into him, he saw that the spirit was broken, and he did not know his tongue, but the man knew what Murrangurk was, and dropped his gaze.
“Boss, him no sabby,” said Joe. “Him one bigpela bossman bilong here. Him scare dispela plenty toomuch. Him bigpreest bilong blackpela. Him mabn. Him got song, him got eye, bilong kill.”
The white man stood in front of Murrangurk and smiled. He gestured, and spoke in a shout.
“Do! Be! Seated! My friend!”
Murrangurk looked at him.
“Please! Sit! Here!” And the man sat on the ground and patted it with his hand.
Murrangurk understood. He sat next to the man, but he kept his weapons across his lap. He looked into the man. The man was kind. He meant no harm. Why did he shout? Why did he not know silence? Why could he not feel death coming? Murrangurk must tell him, but how could he? The man’s mind was filled with noise.
“Pray! Take! Food!”
He held a lump of brown moss and put it into Murrangurk’s hand. Murrangurk smelt it.
Coloured dreams came back and joined each other. Not everything. But enough. His tongue and ears opened, and he spoke.
“Bread.”
“What?” The man’s mouth was loose, his eyes wide.
“Bake – Break – Bread. ‘A slice off a cut loaf isn’t missed.’”
One of the other men pulled Murrangurk’s hair and beard aside.
“He’s no chimneychops! The cove’s bug!”
They sprang away from him. Murrangurk was on his feet in a move, shield and spear poised.
“Don’t – send – back –”
“Send? Where?” said the first man.
“Pris – on –” said Murrangurk.
“There’s no clink from here to Port Jackson,” said the other.
“No. Yes. Sull-ivan Bay.”
“Sullivan Bay? Not for thirty years and more, friend. The colony failed.”
“Thirty? Years? Thirty? Three? Ten? Ten? Ten?”
“Put down your spear, old man. No one will hurt you.”
“Will –. William. William Buck-ley?”
“Cut bene! What’s these inching cuffins?”
A war party came from between the trees. It appeared as if out of the ground. Murrangurk fell between the worlds, and dropped his weapons, and lay on his face.
“Shoot! Shoot!”
“There’s fifty and more. We’ve no chance.”
The warriors began to grunt, and they clashed their spears on their shields. The sound spoke to Murrangurk. He got up, and, unarmed, went beyond the barrier. The warriors were still.
Murrangurk took the thundal from his medicine bag and held it up so that it flashed rainbows, and the warriors gasped and hid their eyes with their shields.
Murrangurk sang.
“I of the Kal Dreaming! Flesh of Thuroongarong! Son of Neeyangarra! Son of Binbeal, son of Mami-ngata, with his eagle!” He pointed above, and the warriors saw where the eagle hung. “And I have been dead before. But it is you who will die now. Though you may kill these, and though you kill many, yet more will come. Their featherfoot men are more than the stars of the sky. And if you kill even them, more will come, without end. They are more than the stars of the sky. They are more than the sand of the sea. Go. If you do not kill these men, they will bring gifts for you all, and for the women and for the elders, and will talk koim and all other trouble. It is I, Murrangurk, that sing!”
The warriors shuffled their feet and looked at the ground. They turned, and were gone.
Murrangurk came back inside the barrier and sat.
“Safe now,” he said.
“Can you be sure?”
“With your people, I am a little man,” said Murrangurk. “With my People, I sing strong. Safe now. But not prison. Not prison.”
“It’s a King’s Pardon for you, my matey, if William Todd has a word in it,” said the white man.
“Bread,” said Murrangurk. “Grand as owt.”