The Ab-Original Journey - Part II

This story is continued from the previous blog ...

Szuson and I didn't see each other on the overnight trip but, as we got out at the Alice Springs station, she asked me where I was staying. I had booked nothing, trusting in providence, so agreed to go to the hostel she'd booked into. It didn't feel right, somehow, so I went in search of different accommodation the next morning.

I was drawn to a hostel in the main street and walked past it several times. Each time I got a feeling of rightness, a warmth, as I approached. I booked in, still feeling uncertain about why I was in Alice Springs, in this hostel and even why I had been prompted to come to Australia at all. I was given my key, went to my room and froze. On the shelf was a huge, white coffee mug with one word in bold red writing - Philip! It was even spelt, unusually, with one "l" as my name is. I opened the top drawer and there was a new, unopened, tin of boot wax.

I cracked up laughing, knowing that I didn't know why I was here but knowing I was in the right place. I finally relaxed.

The next day I joined a group of young people on a guided trip round Uluru  and Kata Tjuta* . From the moment I saw Uluru, my right eye started streaming and it stopped abruptly as we left the area, three days later. Sitting in the noisy bus - loud music and constant chatter - I was presented with many visions as the red, dusty desert flew past my window. It was as if I was remembering a time, long ago, when I was an Aborigine and we hunted kangaroo in groups. We'd call to the spirit of kangaroo and we'd be guided to an animal that had volunteered to feed us. It was apparent, in these dreamy/visiony things I was having, we could all talk to each other in our minds over very long distances. In fact, distance was irrelevant - we could (and did) do it sitting next to each other or hundreds of miles apart. There was also the mystifying - then terrifying - spectacle of strange white people coming to our land and the land cried to us in pain.

Back in Alice again, I didn't know what to do so I hired a car and drove west - "go west, young man," the advertisement said! I stopped often, walking up most (maybe all) of the gorges on the route and, at one point, I sat on a mountain ledge and felt like I was talking to a circling eagle and to the spirit of rain. Black clouds formed and I just made it back to the car as the heavens bucketed down for half an hour. I later discovered that it had not rained there for the last six years.

At the end of the road was a resort that didn't feel right so I drove back towards Alice and slept beside my car on the side of the road. Later I was told that was lunacy on account of the poisonous snakes and spiders that abounded. Not knowing what I don't know is sometimes a good thing.

The next day I went east of Alice and, late afternoon, I ended up at Ross River, a very rustic, very basic, very Australian, tourist place. It felt right and, as I booked in, I asked about horse riding - I hadn't been on a horse for a long time and, seeing them in the yards, yearned to be back in the saddle again. As it happened, their monthly, two-day horse and camel trek was just starting. The receptionist dashed out to stop them from leaving without me while I threw my luggage into my room and changed into my boots and akubra.

Only two of us went on horses while the others (a party of ten Germans) went on camels. The other horse rider, Grub, worked at Ross River and, after racing each other over the rough and dusty terrain for over half an hour (so exhilarating!) we walked the horses to give them a rest.

The camel riders were miles away and, in that wide space, I asked Grub, half jokingly, if I could get a job working there. He said a barman had been given the sack the previous night and if I spoke to the manager, I was sure to get a job. I told him that I had never worked in a bar, at a tourist resort or in any kind of accommodation or waiting job. That, he said with a smile, would be no obstacle - ask and the job would be mine. My soul expanded as the landscape did and the two days went by too quickly - riding under the wide blue sky and sleeping under the star-lit heavens was awesome.

When we got back to the main buildings, I asked about a job and Grub was right - I started my first bar job a few hours later. And, in that isloated pub in the middle of Australia, is where the Aboriginal people came to me ... which I'll explain in the next blog.

*Uluru is Ayers Rock and Kata Tjuta is The Olgas.

In the meantime, enjoy a little more of Arthur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog ...

"Did you feel that?" asked Amanda quietly.

"Yes I did," whispered Toby.

It seemed as if the mysterious and gentle zephyr had touched them as one rather than each of them individually. They both felt this, somehow, but might have found it hard to explain it to others … even to themselves. They knew what had happened and the shared experience - though brief and simple - touched them deeply, though they knew not why. Their hands sought each other out and, as their fingers intertwined, it seemed that the massive room and corridor in which they were standing filled itself with a presence - warm and caring, somehow - and they felt a deep safety, a quiet unconcern, for what was about to unfold. All their uncertainties, fears and questions were enfolded in this presence, this sense of deep and ancient caring and they needed to do nothing but smile and wait for further guidance from within.

Toby put his arm around Amanda's shoulders and she leaned into him with a sigh.

"So, what are you two doing? Snogging?" asked Dottie in a loud and commanding voice as she strode down the corridor. Amanda and Toby separated, looking shocked and embarrassed, confirming Dottie's suspicions.

A Head Job
Wednesday, 14th March 2012, 8.16 a.m.

Arthur, Arthur, came a sound, a whisper on a breeze, that slipped quietly through his dreams. Arthur, Arthur slid through gently, serenely and on those words he sat, gliding down a grassy slope in the warm afternoon sun, guided by a grace that was not his own. He was content to be led on a word that felt familiar, down a hill he'd never seen but knew intimately. As he glided on, one Arthur behind the other, he realised he could lie back if he chose. Sitting up pleased him as he could see the flitting swallows above, the parting grass before him and the sun glinting on the sea far below. He approached the sea and it seemed to come no nearer.

As he looked up he fancied he could see - or was it feel? - a thudding in the clouds behind him.

He became happily drowsy and lay back on the two Arthurs with no sensation of their touch. Looking up he saw not sky but a face; a face he knew well, he supposed. The face was close, blurred, and its lips were moving, saying something - saying, "Arthur, Arthur," the very words he was lying on, sliding on. His eyes saw the face but didn't look at it - he looked through it, wondering - how could that be there, not the sky.

The thudding in the sky seemed to be closing in. It was definitely a feeling now.

The face moved back and the mouth - a familiar mouth, somehow - was still moving, saying Arthur and other words. He could see the eyes now and, like the mouth, looked sad happy … mmm, sad happy? Yes, that's what they looked like. The face still filled his sky as he slipped gently down the grassy slope towards the sea. There was a light now, behind the face, shining through hair and around the edges. There might be, perhaps, other sounds, human sounds and the birds had stopped chirping.

The face moved closer and seemed comforting; warmly comforting and he was pleased it was there. His forehead was touched gently, caressingly, and he smiled.

And then the smell of the grass gave way to the scent of roses … mmm, not quite roses, but a scent he knew well, a scent he longed would remain. The scent, whatever it was, revived old chipped memories, fragments of events unconnected, parts of a life that felt familiar, parts of several lives, perhaps - child-times, adult-times, baby-times, teenage-times, all scattered about as confetti in the gentle breeze of his mind. This scent, so familiar, brought with it smiles, disappointment, sweetness, loss, fear, calm, hurrying, boredom and exquisite peace as after love-making.

As he looked at her emerging face he realised he wasn't seeing it as he usually saw faces, saw bodies, saw things. There was no distinct nose or mouth or eyes, no individual pieces, different from other pieces. It was like an unfolding picture in lights but not individual, twinkling lights … it was a picture in light, one light, bright and subtle. He imagined he was looking at a patch of water on a still lake, into which a small pebble had been dropped, a hundred yards away. The surface of the water before him might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. The light, her light, might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. He knew her light to be different from the background light and the light of other beings but he wasn't sure how he was distinguishing these differences.

In the gentle light he sensed a concern, a worry about the container, the capsule, labelled as Arthur. Ah, yes, his small capsule - that was what she feared for. He understood her fears and was, at the same time, bemused for he knew there was nothing to fear, to worry over. The small capsules, with all their different labels, were not what was really there.

He looked in and saw … no, not saw … knew his capsule was open - perhaps for the first time - and a larger essence had been released to encompass … well, everything, really. There were no boundaries, no limits, and it just sort-of flowed into other essences, slightly separate but not.

The capsule he'd known so well seemed to be closed and, inside, it held all its fears and concerns. He was touched and the formless light of his essence enfolded her capsule and she burst into tears - a flood of tears so long held back and now released with the relief of an ancient knowing that cleansed face and soul.

"Arthur, you're back, you're awake!" came her voice through the mist of his gentle perplexity. Unused to such a way of seeing things … of knowing things … he relaxed, unconcerned, and enjoyed the small blissful waves of light as they caressed him.

The Hunter is Hunted

A few months ago I wrote a short story for a competition and won the competition - here's the story ...

It was not a good day for hunting. The sun was bright and the shadows warned the prey of impending death. Far better a grey and cloudy day for a stalker to listen for footfalls, munching jaws and murmuring beasts. Without the warning shadows to scare the already timid game, the silent predator had more chance. No, not a good day for hunting but there had been a whole moon-turn of bad hunting days and hunger drove the hunter out.

Weakened by lack of food, the silent hunter crept upon padded paws without his usual stealth and awareness. His eyes – slightly blurred and less keen than usual – tried to focus on the movements about, on who had marked the ground and the direction of their goings. Slightly wobbly and determined not to rustle grass or break twigs, the cruising hunter knew that every day without food made it more and more difficult for his body to find nourishment.

In spite of the glare of the sunshine casting shadows across his weakened body, he must find food this day. He forced himself to focus, to be steady and to be deeply aware – more deeply than usual – of the tremors through his feet that told of the goings-on around him. There was the constant rumble of a world on the move and, within that, he must discern and seek out the particular tremors that told of food, precious and juicy food. The earthly rumbling was high as was to be expected – creatures moved more when the sun shone.

And so it was that he found it difficult to hear the close noises, the particular sounds of his patch of earth made by his particular prey. Dulled by lack of food and his senses partially blinded by mass migrations to the sun, he struck out with determination and a little trepidation, for the first time. He had always had his skills, fitness and cloud-cover to his advantage. All he had now was luck and it was only desperation that pulled him forward today. It was not the joy of discovery and the chase – with nourishment as the reward – but a blind need for survival that pushed him out to his accustomed patch in an unaccustomed way.

The grass waved in the sunshine and its shadows rippled around before him, confusing his staring eyes. He moved forward, as he must, and the shadows were soon behind him, as well as in front. He started to feel a little trapped within the swirling play of light and shadow. He wondered, as he darted from spot to spot on this island of giddying shadow-plays, if he was the hunter or the hunted. He soon got a taste of being hunted for the first time. Not a nice taste at all. He faltered, almost darting back to the safety of his lair. For the first time, ever, he tasted fear and he shivered, uncertainly and with his instincts failing him.

He forced himself to stop, to listen, to feel, to focus. What had been so natural, so instinctive, had now to be remembered with intense focus and unrelenting concentration.

As he focused all his weakened senses he felt, within the regular earthly tremors, a particular shudder, a growl, that seemed to be growing and moving towards him. It was not the tremor of a familiar prey and so he faltered again, confused. He listened and felt and looked around cautiously. What was this beast, this potential morsel, that moved with such speed and shaking of the ground?

He turned and felt no more as the lawnmower flipped two halves of the black beetle into its gullet.

You can see the original story at http://bit.ly/ae7eZS

So, now, back to the story of Arthur Bayly and Mary Collins, continued from two blogs ago ...

"Yeah, cheers to all the sad bastards of the world!" said Angus raising his glass and leaning over to clink it with hers. "Anyway, I'm here, I've broken out of me little cage, I have no idea where to now and I'm scared and excited but, in a way, I don't really care. Does that make sense?"

"Aye it does - sounds just like I felt when I first left home to come down here … and it all worked out. It's not perfect but I'm alive and reasonably sane, I think," said Mary, cheerfully.

 "Yeah, when I moaned about all the reasons not to do something different, Belinda said that the worst that could go wrong is that I could fail and what would that mean? I wouldn't get rabies, my bum wouldn't fall off and I'd still be alive and kicking," said Angus, laughing at the memory of that conversation. "I'll actually survive, no matter what I chose to do."

"Yeah, I guess we all do, don't we," said Mary, musing over the recent dangers she'd survived.

"Not guess, Mary. We absolutely do survive," said Angus with a determination she'd not seen before. "Whatever decision we make, as Belinda put it, we're all looked after so, really, nothing matters. So I did it - took leave from the job, left me home, left me mates and here I am. I can always go back if I want to."

"And what did Mum and Dad think of their rebel son, off on his adventures to unknown lands?" asked Mary.

"Well, Mum didn't say much, just grumbled as usual," said Angus. "Dad was dead against me going. Said I'd regret it and predicted all sorts of painful and immoral things. I actually think he'll be missing me but couldn't say so."

"You'll be right, Angus, for you've always been there," said Mary. "It'll be a wrench for them. And now I've finished me whisky, Angus, I really do need some sleep." She got up and pulled the bed clothes back. "We can talk more in the morning."

"Aye lass, lots more to talk about," said Angus, finishing his drink. "Good night, Mary."

An Inside Job
Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 4.33 p.m.
As the shadows of late afternoon stretched their darkening fingers across the expansive lawns and solid walls, the house was quiet. Unusually quiet. Deathly quiet.

Two men were unconscious and the plump bodyguard was standing over them, as if wondering what the heck to do next. He'd never actually hit anybody before and he wondered, in panic, if he'd gone too far. He stood and gazed at the prone figures, uncertainly.

In the kitchen the six had been stopped by the yelling, crashing, grunting and thumping in the corridor through the wall. They looked at one another and seemed to have the same confused mind. Do they rush out and help Arthur and be injured themselves? Do they creep out to find a band of thugs waiting for them? Do they continue through to the office and find the thugs there? The unknown, as always, posed a greater threat than the known and they didn't know much - where they were, who they were saving, why they were saving him/her/them and who was waiting round dark corners for them all.

"Time to move!" whispered Amanda decisively, taking out her pistol.

"Amanda! You can't go shooting people!" pleaded Martin in a hoarse whisper, his eyes nearly popping out.

"And your idea is?" Amanda asked quietly.

"Oh, ah, yes, I see …" said Martin. "But we can't have guns … they kill."

"And someone's not dead already?" whispered Amanda, pushing past Martin. "And who's going to be next?"

"Oh, gosh, but we can't just … let's talk about this," pleaded Martin, going quite pale.

"Dominik, you take the rest through to the office and around," whispered Amanda. "I'll go this way."

"But you can't just go … you know … shooting people," whispered Martin, grabbing Amanda's arm.

"So, you come with me, mate," said Amanda, shaking off his grip. "You can keep me from killing someone." She continued out the door to the corner.

"I'll come with you two," said Toby, launching himself out of indecision mode.

Joan held up her hands and smiled to Dottie as if to say, 'whatever we do, it's a mess'. Dottie nodded and smiled back, grimly, and they followed Dominik to the back of the kitchen, to a door that must have remained closed for many years. Dominik grimaced as the door creaked and groaned, despite his efforts to open it quietly. He opened it enough for them to slip through, one by one. The three found themselves in the dark, but for light sneaking through the half-opened door from the kitchen. The uneven cobbles and the cobwebs impaired their progress in the shoulder-width passage. They scrambled along sideways and it was soon obvious that Dominik had no idea where to find the door into the office.

"There's got to be a torch somewhere," said Joan, awkwardly squeezing herself back into the kitchen. Dottie followed her and they rummaged through drawers and cupboards as quietly as they could. In the corridor they heard a man's shout, Amanda's yell, a thud and then silence. Joan's instinct was to rush out to help Arthur but her logical mind told her to leave it to the professionals who would help him more than she could. Her prayers went out to him as she returned to their search for light. They found candles and an old box of matches.

Back in their dark, dank passage, they fumbled with matches, lit three candles and handed one to Dominik. It was good to see a little more till Joan spied a large spider, then another, then another and she desperately tried to hold back a rising bile as she saw this space between walls was overrun by insects of all kinds. She would have leant back against the wall to steady herself but realised she'd be leaning into nests of spiders and other unmentionable critters. It was only Dominik's sigh of relief - she hoped it was relief - as he was scratching around the wall, ahead of her. There was a rattle of metal - a chain? - and bumping on wood.