23

Bonny has learned from the Samoyed people how to make sleds for the coming winter and garments from reindeer skins. He dresses in Samoyed clothes, furs and thick boots of hide. Finally, he will be warm, even when the snow falls. He sings the northerners’ songs and performs their dances. When my daughter, Hilda, went looking for him, he hid his face.

I watch the heavy European clouds part and suppose it is Beeral looking down on Bonny from the sky. Does the great spirit wonder what game the young man is playing? Beeral sends a message with Can-o-bie, which lands as a wind on Bonny’s cheek. I feel the wind, too, and understand it to say: ‘Have you forgotten your people, Bonangera? Your desire to meet the Queen? Is this a new way forwards, a new way of surviving? A new songline entirely?’ Bonny looks to the eastern sky.

People gather to watch the performance here on the outskirts of Lyon; they clap along. More people come, nudging their children to the front of the crowd. Men and women jostle to get a better look at this strange, dark-skinned Samoyed who defies all expectation. A man with pen and paper recognises him and reports in the newspaper the next day that the mystery has been solved. The dark-skinned man is in fact the missing Aborigéne. The report reads:

To have such varied people forming a harmonious family is surely a sign of the civilising effect of this country.

I can tell from the way Bonny holds himself, his shoulders curved and slightly raised, that he has tired of Europe. A pigeon coos over Bonny’s head. It flies towards him and lands briefly on his arm before taking again to the air.

Bonny follows the bird away from the crowds and into a small park. A French boy tugs at Bonny’s reindeer fur as he passes, asking to see his dark skin, because he is a savage and a liar. Another child comes, then another.

The pigeon is sitting on the head of a statue. It seems to be using Bonny’s real name and, because of that, Bonny pays attention. I understand the bird’s cry to be saying, ‘Bonangera, Beeral wants you to know this: It is time. You have done your best. You have fought. You have been brave. But you have not been treated well.’

Bonny nods in agreement.

‘There is someone here to see you,’ the bird says. It is flying over a man’s head. I am as surprised as Bonny to see the Dutchman, Hans, whom Bonny met on the ship from Australia. The fair-haired man roundly scolds the children who are pinching and tugging at Bonny’s clothes, unsupervised like a pack of rats. He holds out his arms to Bonny and embraces him.

‘I have been looking for you for some time,’ Hans says in German, the language they share most words in. ‘I have been following the newspaper reports. I see Dorondera has married.’ Bonny nods, and Hans continues, ‘I was deeply saddened to hear of Jurano’s passing.’ Hans grips Bonny’s shoulder and asks him in Badtjala what he wishes to do.

‘They kept Jurano’s skull,’ Bonny says, pressing at his wet eyes. ‘I buried it by the river.’ He points back towards the Parc de la Tête d’Or. ‘I sang the funeral songs as best I could, but I do not know them all. I am worried his spirit is not free. I am worried also for my people at home. For Little Bonny. I think I heard him calling for me.’

Bonny sits on a wooden seat and hangs his head for some moments.

The Dutchman listens.

‘I did not see the Queen,’ Bonny says.

‘But it has been long enough, and you do not look well. There is too much sickness here. I am sorry to inform you but many of the other Aboriginal troupe that is touring Europe have fallen ill.’

Bonny listens as Hans continues.

‘Do you want to go home, Bonny?’

Bonny is silent.

‘If you tell me what you want to say to the Queen, I will write it down, and I promise to give her the letter myself. I will be the messenger, but they will be your words,’ Hans says. He shoos the children away again. ‘I will help you to get on a ship back home, Bonangera. Before the worst of winter. You are a clever and skilled man, but the crowds here have made up their minds.’

Bonnie reaches into his reindeer-skin coat and takes out the cowrie shell that contains his Jun Jaree.

Hans points to the shell. ‘You can do more good on K’gari. Your nephew needs you.’

Bonny nods and holds the shell to his lips.

I rush to K’gari, where Little Bonny turns his head in the direction of the wind. The boy lifts the shell that houses his own Jun Jaree and smiles as he listens to his uncle’s voice coming to him across the sea.