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It felt good to be back on a boat, breathing in the salt air, watching terns and gulls wheel overhead, feeling the rise and fall of the ocean under his feet. Dan, Claire and Waru spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon cruising the coastline and exploring the inlet where Claire spent her days. Several times they pulled into shore to check on a group of dugongs and she pointed out individuals she had already identified, while Waru pointed out various birds and animals, identified the trees, and related some of the stories he had grown up with. Twice, in order to satisfy Dan’s curiosity, they went a short distance up mangrove-lined river estuaries to see the salt-water crocs that stared silently at them from between the roots and then sank below the surface as they approached.
“Some say a Yawk Yawk lives near here,” Waru said, watching for Dan’s reaction as he pointed to a small trickle of water running out from between the roots of a mangrove with twisted, moss-draped branches. “She lives in waterholes and streams, and has long green hair made of algae and the tail of a fish, but she can change into a crocodile or a snake or even a dragonfly when she wants to.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
For the first time Waru looked a little uncomfortable. “I thought I saw one a couple of times when I was younger,” he said, “but not recently.”
“Does she have any special powers? What does she do?” Dan asked and watched Waru relax when he realized he was not going to be laughed at.
“Mostly she controls the weather; brings rain for people to drink and to water the plants, but when she’s angry she can bring a storm, and she can take different forms, mostly as a dragonfly.” He paused. “She’s also associated with fertility. My sister says she became pregnant after she saw a Yawk Yawk at a waterhole near Mandorah.” He stared out over the water. “It was her husband who was to be initiated.”
A vein began to throb in Dan’s head. How much weirder could this case become? Was it all coincidence? The only thing that linked the various crime scenes, other than all the thefts being of traditional regalia, were the consistent reports of sightings of spirit beings. Was that only the result of the beliefs of people who had grown up listening to their traditional stories, or was there something else going on? And now there was a spirit who could take the form of a dragonfly, a description given to the helicopter he was looking at as possibly being involved, and a link between that spirit and the man who was to be initiated. The man whose tjuringa was stolen.
A breeze stirred the leaves of the mangroves and carried with it the fetid odour of a swamp. Dan stared out over the bow and pictured himself on his return to Vancouver, trying to explain it all to the people who had sent him here. He was not looking forward to it. They were not men who would be interested in what they would consider flights of fancy. All they dealt with were cold hard facts.
***
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON, with the sun well past its zenith, when they turned back towards town. During the course of the day, they had completely circled Snake Island, staying well off the rocky shore with its numerous warning signs sprouting like a palisade erected to keep out a marauding army. The whole island appeared to be covered with low-growing trees and scrub.
“Have either of you ever seen anyone there?” Dan asked. “I can’t see any sign of construction. No house, no helicopter or boat, no dock. Nothing.”
“Saw a helicopter a couple of times, but only from the beach after it had taken off,” Waru said. “Looked like it was heading for Darwin.”
“Must be some low ground in the center,” Dan said. “Be interesting to see a satellite shot.”
They were altering course to take Waru back to the beach when Dan caught the glint of light flashing off glass or metal.
“Well, there’s certainly someone there,’ he said, nodding towards the island. “And whoever it is knows we’re here. We’re being watched.”
***
THAT NIGHT HE AND CLAIRE lay out on deck on a blanket, watching the stars wheel above them in a black velvet sky. After the heat of the day, the cool onshore breeze that had arrived with the disappearance of the sun had been too pleasant to abandon for a narrow bunk, and now they lay quietly, arms touching, letting the air cool their overheated bodies.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.” Claire voiced what they were both thinking.
“Unfortunately, I have no choice. That’s the date on my ticket and there’s no way I’m going to get any support from Harbinson with a request to change it.”
“You don’t like him much, do you?”
“It’s not a question of like—although I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.”
Claire’s comment had brought an unwanted image of Harbinson’s narrow face into Dan’s mind and threatened to spoil a previously pleasant evening.
“There’s something about the man . . .”
Claire pushed herself up onto an elbow and peered down at him. “You think he’s part of these thefts you’re investigating?”
“No. There’s no indication of that. It’s just . . . something’s not quite right.” He laughed and reached for her. “It’s probably something simple. Maybe he just doesn’t like Canadians invading his turf. Let’s forget him and get back to more interesting things.”
He pulled her down beside him and slid his hand over her smooth stomach.
***
THE NEXT MORNING THEY woke to the sharp cries of terns wheeling overhead. Claire brewed a pot of coffee and they ate a leisurely breakfast sitting out on the deck before heading slowly back to Maningrida. There were still a few hours until Dan’s plane left, and he wanted to visit the local Arts Centre where he hoped to learn more about aboriginal art and culture.
Claire drove the boat up into shallow water until the twin keels rested firmly on the sandy bottom and Dan took her hand when they waded ashore, savouring their last few minutes alone.
“Be careful.” He kept his voice quiet so his words would not reach Waru who was waiting on the beach. “There’s something going on here. I don’t know what it is, but I’m pretty sure it involves the guy who owns Snake Island, so keep well away.”
Her fingers tightened on his. “I will,” she said. “You don’t have to worry.” And then she smiled as Waru came down to join them.
***
TWO HOURS LATER THEY walked into the tiny airport terminal and sat outside in the shade under the same tin roof, in the same plastic chairs Dan had seen on his arrival. He had added two paintings to his luggage, and a good deal more knowledge to his understanding of both aboriginal spirituality and art, but while it intrigued him, it also frustrated him.
He now knew that an Alcheringa was a mythical ancestor who had taken the form of a geographical feature like a lake or a mountain, and whose spirit was believed to still reside in that site. He also knew that a tjuringa represented whichever Alcheringa spirit resided in the place someone was thought to have been conceived. But the people at the Arts Centre had told him that while each spirit was represented by designs made up of symbols, those symbols had different meanings in different designs. A concentric circle like the ones in the paintings he and Claire had purchased meant a waterhole in one, and a camping place in the other, although both paintings represented the journey, also known as a songline or dreaming, an Alcheringa spirit had taken to get to its resting place. It obviously made complete sense to the people he was talking to, but how could he, or any other white police officer, ever understand? And if they couldn’t understand, and if aboriginal police officers were only assigned to routine work, how could they ever hope to solve the theft and get the stolen items back to their owners?
Dan was certainly grateful for the information. He had enjoyed meeting the artists and loved the paintings he had bought, but nothing he had learned helped him know exactly what he was looking for, and it certainly wouldn’t help identify it. What it did do was make him wonder about the man he had seen in the gallery in Darwin, asking about songlines and tjuringas.
***
THE SOUND OF A PLANE coming in for a landing brought him back to the present and he reached for Claire’s hand.
“Stay safe,” he said, standing up and pulling her to his side. “I’ll phone you from Darwin before I leave.”
She nodded. “I’ll be back in Canada in a couple of months. Make sure you have the heater on in the boat. I’m going to need it!”
He stepped out into the sunlight, then stopped and turned back as a thought suddenly struck him. He might never know the name of the man whose Pukamani pole was stolen, or be able to see a tjuringa, or even know its shape or size, but some of the information he had been given might help him follow the trail—or at least point Wally or perhaps Ernie in the right direction. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Harbinson and his regional police would be doing absolutely nothing to help.
“Waru,” he called. “Do you know where the man who was to be initiated was conceived?”