The bedroom was a dim cavern. In a small pool of light cast by a lamp, his uncle lay unmoving upon the bed. Was this what death looked like? An old man propped up against a pillow, wrapped in the shroud of a single sheet? William crept towards the bed. His uncle’s head hung forward, sightless white slivers under his eyelids. There was no rise and fall of his chest, and William was at the bedside now. He reached out a hand to touch his uncle’s cheek, to feel the lifeless flesh, to know for sure.
‘Ah,’ the old man whispered,‘William.’ Strangely calm, neither relieved nor disappointed, William drew back. His uncle’s eyes fluttered open, blinked slowly. ‘I was dreaming of you.’
And fleetingly, William saw himself in his uncle’s dream, climbing unaware through the darkness of the House, to this bedside. One dreamer calling to another.
The invalid did not speak again for some time. Then his throat worked, and gave a rattling laugh. ‘Come up to watch me die, have you?’
William shook his head.
‘It’s all right. I don’t mind. We’ll watch together, and see if it comes.’
They waited in silence. The room, for all its gaunt size, felt as confined as a closet. The windows were closed and the curtains were drawn. The clock at the bedside told that it was four in the morning. It ticked the seconds away, pulsing in time to the pain in William’s ear.
The old man licked his lips.‘I can smell burning. All the time.’
William swallowed.‘There’s a fire in the mountains.’
A faint frown.‘You know that’s not what I mean. We’ve both seen him.’
William said not a word.
‘And now you’ve met my daughter.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well? What did you think of her?’
But he couldn’t speak about his cousin. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t?’ A tremor of anger ran through his uncle’s voice. ‘She had plenty to say about you.’
William closed his eyes, forced the words out. ‘She told me things.’
‘About me?’
‘About you. About the station, too. I don’t know if they were true.’
‘She tells lies, Will. And they’re clever lies. I warned you.’
William opened his eyes again. The old man was gazing dreamily at the ceiling, his head sunk deep in the pillow. It wasn’t enough, William thought. It wasn’t enough just to say that she lied. The doubts were embedded in his mind now. They were one and the same as his illness, and could only be driven out by something certain and clear.
William spoke. ‘She said the League was stupid.’
A flicker of pain crossed his uncle’s face.
‘She said you were wrong about the new laws.’
But the old man shook his head, slowly, fighting against the stiffness in him. ‘None of that matters any more. Not to you and me, Will. It’s out of our hands.’ He seemed to be looking far beyond the walls of his room.‘I listen to parliament on the radio. They’re sitting late, night after night, trying to get the legislation through before the end of the year.’
An image came to William, as if transmitted from his uncle’s mind, of the parliamentary building in Canberra, and of hundreds of men in suits, gathered deep underground within the hill, as the night and the moon rode silent above them.
‘It’s bad a thing, isn’t it,’ William asked, not knowing what he hoped for.
‘It’s bad,’ his uncle agreed, ‘but it hasn’t passed yet. The vote will be close.’
‘Ruth said…’
‘I don’t want to hear her name.’ The old man breathed fitfully for a moment. Then his head tilted towards William, oddly gentle. ‘You talked to her, didn’t you? You told her about this property being perpetual lease-hold. She got that idea from you, didn’t she?’
‘I’m sorry…’
‘You gave her a weapon, Will. She’s a lawyer, remember. That perpetual lease has got her thinking. She’s gone to stir up trouble.’ And to William’s bafflement the old man sounded almost fond. ‘She wants to frighten me with Native Title. But you don’t have to worry.’
‘The lease is okay?’
‘Forget about the lease. There can never be a claim on Kuran Station regardless. There’s nobody who can lodge one.’
A vision of the plains joined the tumble in William’s thoughts, of grassland afire from horizon to horizon.‘Nobody?’
‘Only traditional owners can lodge a claim, Will. And none of them are left, not from this part of the world. They’re all dead, or they were taken away long ago.’ The old man might have been recalling a pleasant story. Then his teeth were bared.‘There’s only me left. I’ve been here all along. So
I
claim Native Title. I claim it for both of us.’
A chill ran through William. This wasn’t the solution. Something crucial was being warped here, bent into a shape it wasn’t meant to be. It was too heavy, and out of balance. And it would be crushing when it fell.
His uncle was turning his head from side to side, drawing in ragged breaths. ‘Are you sure you don’t smell burning?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t smell anything?’
William whispered his deepest truth.‘I smell something dead.’
The old man’s gaze locked onto him, intent suddenly.‘Yes.’ His body shuddered, and a hand crept across the sheets to clutch William’s arm.‘Yes, I smell it too.’
‘You do?’
‘Something rotten. Something rotten and burned.’
‘What is it?’ William pleaded.
Madness ignited in the old man’s eyes. ‘A sign, boy, it’s a sign. It’s my death you can smell.’
‘No…’ William moaned, trying to tug his hand away.
His uncle wouldn’t let go.‘We’re blood, remember, you and I. I can feel it in you. You’re an open door. The world talks to you. You see things.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘You mustn’t say that. It’s a good thing. It’s why I chose you.’
‘Chose me?’
‘When I die, Will, all this will be yours.’
‘You’re not dying.’
‘It’s the only way. You can’t own this House until I’m dead.’
‘I don’t even want it!’
‘What?’ The old man withdrew his hand, aghast. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t know!’ William cried miserably. And then, more softly. ‘I thought I did … But everyone keeps telling me different things.’
His uncle sank back, staring.‘Ah … I see.’
William turned his face to the floor, abject. He rubbed the skin of his arm. It radiated heat from where the old man had touched it.
‘Was it that easy for her, Will? Has she set you against me?’
But William didn’t know what had happened to him any more, or who had done it. All he longed for was to feel normal again.
‘Listen.’ The command was urgent, and William looked up to see his uncle heaving his body forward, straining to sit higher against the pillow. ‘Listen. I was born here. And then I was sent away. Forty years it took, to find my way home.’
‘I know …’
‘Yes, but before that there was one time I came back. I never told you.’ The old man’s gaze was alive now with the memory. ‘I went to the water hole … and it spoke to me, Will. The hills, the mountains, the station — they
spoke
to me. And in that moment, everything about my life changed. There was never any doubt about what I had to do.’
William stared, caught by a force that seemed to reach out like enfolding wings.
‘This country will speak to you too, if you listen. The blacks say it flows into you through your feet, and they’re right. But it’s not an Aboriginal thing. It’s not a white thing either. It’s a human thing. Not everyone has it. But I do. And you have it too.’
His uncle had hold of his arm again, and heat was streaming through the old man’s hand. ‘I don’t have anything,’ William said, afraid.
‘You say you don’t want the station any more?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘Well, it wants
you
.’ And the eagerness in his uncle was insatiable. ‘You can’t lie to me, Will. You feel this country calling. I know you do.’
‘I feel sick, that’s all.’ It was a despairing plea.
‘You’re fighting it, that’s why. But it’s out there, William. Out there in the hills. That’s where it happened to me. At the water hole. That’s where you have to go too.’
And suddenly a vision exploded in William’s mind. Water. Cold and dark and deep. Surrounded by cool shade and dripping rock. And for an instant he saw himself plunged into the depths of that water, a freezing relief from the heat, from the confusion, from the fever in his head.
His uncle’s eyes were wide. ‘You see it, don’t you, right now.’
William nodded in amazement. It was the answer. The disease in him could be extinguished and washed clean. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
‘Alone,’ the old man insisted, his hand clutched still tighter. ‘You have to go there alone. You can walk it in a few hours. Take food. Take water. Leave right now.’
William’s wonder faltered.‘Now?’
‘It’s almost dawn. You know the way — I showed you. You know the places, the powerful places. Forget me, forget my daughter, go and learn for yourself.’
William struggled with the insanity of it. The water hole was ten miles away at least. ‘I can’t go on my own.’ And yet, he could feel the conviction in his uncle’s touch, the utter certainty of it, seeping through his body. ‘Mum wouldn’t let me…’
‘I’ll look after her. I’ll tell her you went exploring. I’ll tell her to pick you up at the water hole tonight.’
Could he really do it? He would be alone out there for a whole day. But if he dared … he would be immersed at last in water so deep and dark it would be like oblivion. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again. And the old man’s breath was hot on his face.
‘You have to do this now. Before my daughter gets back. So we can face her together, show her that she’s lost, once and for all. Say you’ll do it. Say yes to me. Then all these last months will have been worth it.’
It was as if his uncle’s mind had become one with his own, a whirl of fear and hatred and flame, and William saw that the old man was right about everything. The decision passed between them in the beat of a heart, and the old man’s face lit with triumph. He flung William’s arm away.
‘Now! Before your mother wakes up!’
And William went. He backed away from his uncle’s bed, withdrawing from the pool of light, leaving his uncle illuminated there alone, crazed eyes burning, waving a bony arm.
‘Go on. Stick to the track. Go!’
Then William was in the darkness of the hallway. The shadows didn’t matter — the old man’s certainty blazed within him, and he knew exactly where he was going. He slipped back to his bedroom, dressed silently, and gathered up his old school backpack and his captain’s hat. Then he stole into the kitchen. Prying open cupboards and the refrigerator, he collected random items of food — biscuits and bread and cheese. He filled a plastic bottle with water, jammed it into the backpack.
The front doors waited open for him. A pale light was growing in the sky, the world warm and quiet, hushed before dawn. The certainty still burned in his mind. He crossed the garden, climbed the wall, and set off eastwards into the hills.
S
UNRISE FOUND WILLIAM IN A STRANGE LAND.
He had already passed by the church and the graveyard — the broken tombs of the White dynasty watching on silently — and was further away from the House than he had ever been on his own. The haze and smoke gathered low to the ground like a mist, and there was a darkness above that might even be clouds, promising rain. Birds called in mournful hope, and William strode forward eagerly. The water hole was still a sparkling vision in his mind, his body felt as light as paper, and it seemed that he could walk there in no more than an hour.
But gradually the light strengthened. The sky revealed itself, pale and empty as ever, and when the sun finally lifted above the mountains, William felt heat prickle upon his face. He had been carried this far by the force of his uncle’s hand, gripped about his arm, and by the conviction that had possessed them both. But now, as he stumped towards the sun, he felt something shrinking inside, something that the old man’s touch had left swollen and inflamed. He realised that, in fact, he had covered hardly any distance at all. Taking a drink of water, he considered the bottle. It would have to last him until he reached the campground, where the windmill and the water tank waited. As far as he could recall, that was about halfway to the rock pool.
He strode on, labouring a little on the upwards slopes. Walking the track was nothing like rolling along it in a car. In a car, the miles slid by with the pleasant crunch of gravel under the wheels, and the track itself seemed to curl tightly about the hills like a wandering stream. On foot, it was a longer road of slow, sweeping curves, in which he could see every rut, every jagged stone, and feel them too, biting at his feet. There was little shade, and ahead of him the sun blazed in a hard white sky, all vestiges of the misty morning long gone. The hills were naked brown, and the only sound was the occasional croak of a bird. The station felt abandoned to drought. He was completely alone out there, every step taking him further away from home.
The water hole, he reminded himself. All that mattered was that he get there, then dive into its depths and … and do what? It had all seemed so clear in the old man’s room, but William found he was struggling to remember. Illness was seeping back into his head, muddling his thoughts. Some understanding was supposed to come to him out here, some voice was supposed to speak — his uncle had made all sorts of promises. But they seemed faintly ludicrous beneath the glare and heat of the day, with the hills dozing in stupor and flies droning in the grass.
The sun climbed steadily towards midday, and William could feel the beginnings of sunburn on his arms. The track had become hot, scalding his feet through his shoes. Flies began to cluster on his back and whine about his face. He flapped his hands at them futilely. At one point he caught a glimpse of something dark as it slipped into the grass, and he knew, with a flicker of fear, that it must have been a snake. Still later he saw a crow, pecking and digging at something on the track. It flew away as William approached, and when he arrived at the spot all he saw were stiff remnants of bloodstained fur. He could smell that the animal had been dead for days … or was it only the smell he already carried with him? He stared at the remains for some minutes, uneasily fascinated.