AT 29 (113 page)

“The first Whitehurst lies here. His death came in the arms of my people, above this place where the sky meets the earth.”

Over the next hour Illa told the story of Jonathan Whitehurst. He pointed to the grass surrounding where they sat, identifying otherwise inconspicuous spaces as graves, dozens of graves, unmarked and indiscernible to the casual eye. At times, the black became animated, his eyes wild as his arms and hands joined his words to paint a picture of another time when few, but the indigenous natives knew of the Otway Ranges. Jimmy's interest grew as Illa described battles between warring clans; battles won by his ancestors aided by a huge white man who stepped from an unseen place and frightened the enemy.

“Our power became great as the legend of the Whitehurst traveled to the ears of those who would kill us. In this place my fathers protected the Gadubanud with the Whitehurst spirit as their guide. He embraced our ways, spoke our words and sang to our children. His song could be heard from the mountaintops and out to the sea where he took fish. His fires summoned us to feast.”

“Nigel's ancestor from England?” Jimmy posed the question even though he knew the answer.

Illa shook his head. “He was not of another land. He was the spirit of our people, returned to give us courage.”

“He had a son, Nigel's grandfather?”

“Many of our women wished for his seed. He was not like the others who murdered our men and took our women. He respected our ways. His hair was white when the child was born.”

“Why did he take the boy away?”

“Why does the spirit come? Why does the spirit go?” He waved his hands outward at the peaceful meadow. “It was necessary as it is necessary for you and the one called Nigel to know.”

Forty-five minutes later the Ute turned into another parking lot. Again, Illa eschewed the manicured national park trail that led the way to the cliff overlooking the Twelve Apostles. He took a circuitous route that skirted the hillside and padded along another unmarked path deep into a thickly covered area of bushes and trees. In time, he stopped and waited for Jimmy to catch-up. He pointed out an Echidna ambling in the low growth. The sight startled Jimmy, barely one meter from where he stood yet so camouflaged that the animal blended into the surrounding bush, completely invisible, but for Illa's notice. Both men watched it disappear into the scrub. Then the Aborigine proceeded more slowly until he came to a small space three meters square, once occupied by something and now disrupted from its natural foliage.

“He showed you the truck?”

“Yes,” Jimmy answered, intrigued.

“The one called Aaron put it here before his spirit flew into the wind.” Illa moved away deeper into the bush, his arms brushing against branches as he made his ascent to the cliff.

Jimmy had questions, but the Aborigine gave him no chance to speak. His only choice was to follow as the route made a wide arc coming out hundreds of meters distant from the more popular official park vista above ‘London Bridge'. Some of the other spectacular sandstone structures could be seen in the distance far below in the swirling ocean. It reminded Jimmy of the many stunning photographs he'd seen in the shops along the Great Ocean Road during his futile search for Les; calendars, photo books and dozens of other Australian memorabilia depicting these monuments of nature.

Illa approached the edge of the cliff and calmly looked down at the waves. Farther out, one of the massive ‘Apostles', encircled by frothy surf, dominated the view, shimmering red and brown in the afternoon sun. Jimmy held back from the edge as he alternated his gaze back and forth from the distant object to the lone black. The scene could have been a thousand years earlier. All sense of time was lost in the sound of wind and surf. Illa stepped back and trotted past Jimmy into the bush. When Jimmy turned to follow the Aborigine simply said, “Wait.”

Minutes later, he returned with his arms full of dry brush and wood. He dropped the load in a pile a few feet from the edge of the cliff and began to arrange it in preparation for a fire. Jimmy watched, simultaneously annoyed and curious. In short order, Illa had the fire going. He removed his shirt and placed it on the ground. Then he made a slow circle around the flame, letting out intermittent whispers that gradually rose in volume. Jimmy didn't move as the black slipped into a trancelike rhythm then dropped to his knees and let out a fearsome shout.

“What am I doing here?” Jimmy wondered aloud as he shrank back, ready to escape. Illa opened his eyes and waved for him to come close and sit. Jimmy cautiously complied.

“You are afraid.” Illa's voice betrayed sensitivity for the first time. “Our ways are not for the whites to understand.”

“You're right. I don't understand.”

Illa nodded and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. “You refuse to see what is everywhere all around.” He took his time lighting the smoke then took a drag. The cigarette was finished and tossed into the small fire before the black spoke again.

“I am Illalangi Illuka. Today I am released from the burden my fathers have carried since the one called Jonathan brought his son back to his people. When the first Whitehurst left our clan our wise man said the Gadubanud would be cursed because jealousy caused our men to drive him away. His child had the image of the whites. Some wanted to kill the Whitehurst and his child, but the wise man said that an even greater curse would befall us. “What are we to do?” My ancestors asked in fear. “They were told that the Gadubanud must remain close wherever the Whitehurst goes in our land. Only in this way could the Gadubanud be saved. They chose my fathers for this burden and, it has been the burden of the sons down to me.

“The one called Jonathan left his child to live with a man and his barren woman on our land near the bay where I came for you today. Then he went away, but later he returned and his songs once again filled the ears of my fathers. Upon his passage to spirit, my people buried him in the sacred place I showed you earlier. He rests, not with the
Gadubanud, but with the spirits of our fallen enemies because that is where the Whitehurst bond with this land is strongest.

“His child, the second Whitehurst called Nathan, became our new quest. We watched him grow and my fathers protected him from harm when he became the object of his people's hatred. He grew large and had the features of the whites, but there was a part of him that betrayed the blood of the Aborigine. When he went to sea my people became weak. We were no longer close to his spirit and the white's diseases killed many. Their guns killed many more until he returned with a woman and child of his own.” Illa paused and lit another cigarette. He regarded Jimmy through penetrating eyes as he dragged on the burning tobacco and blew smoke into the air. “Something happened to the one called Nathan. He left his wife and child and went back to the sea, but he never returned. The quest of my father's father fell upon his child, the third Whitehurst, the one called Aaron.

“He grew even stronger and bigger than the others. He loved to take to the waters where he tamed the waves with his powerful limbs. His mother was not of this land, but she embraced it and treated all who came into her life with kindness. Yet the fortunes of the Gadubanud did not thrive. No matter how close my father stayed by the Whitehurst on our lands above the bay the Gadubanud continued to suffer. The whites drove us from our lands and killed the animals we relied upon for food. If they came upon us fishing by the rivers they ran us off and erected barriers so we could not return. Our children starved. Only a far off war between other whites saved us. The land of my fathers emptied of those who would see us dead and we returned to our ways without fear.

“The one called Aaron joined with the other whites who went away. When he returned he was broken and knew nothing of his life before. A woman returned with him. My father watched this woman and the kind mother nurse him back to manhood. Happiness returned to the cottage, but it did not last. One day both women were gone and the one called Aaron climbed into the hills where he lived alone, except for the watchful eyes of my father and me.”

Jimmy interrupted, “Why are you telling me this?”

The black ignored the question. “In those years when the long path was cut through our lands, the Whitehurst with one arm became as the first Whitehurst who lived with my fathers. He hunted and fished with my people. He stayed high in the hills far from other whites. As he worked, clearing the path of growing things, he filled the wind with song, not the pleasant voices of his fathers, but a cry that challenged the spirits to end his pain. His song was the Gadubanud song of death for the great path would be the final end of my people.

“In this time, my father saw the destruction of our ways and he knew the curse was fulfilled. The Whitehurst he watched over could not hold back the others of his people who would come into our land and take it for their own. My father passed here in this place with me by his side. With the last heave of his chest, he told me the curse would prevail. The one called Aaron also went into the wind on this spot. That is why I have brought you here. This is where the legend of the Whitehurst must be told and where my burden must end.”

“I am sorry, but your people's struggle has nothing to do with me.”

“Before my burden can be lifted, I must answer the questions that remain. The Whitehurst called Nigel had many questions, but he is only one. Another Whitehurst has also returned. He sits with me now.”

Jimmy raised his hands. “No.”

“You listen, but refuse to hear. You are shown, but you refuse to see.”

Jimmy shook his head. “My name is Buckman.”

“Did you see the Echidna before I pointed?”

“No.”

“It was like the bush. It could not be seen.”

“You saw it.”

“That is because I have learned to see with more than my eyes and to hear with more than my ears.” He pointed at London Bridge. “What colors do you see?”

“Red and brown.”

“And, the sun? What color is it?”

Jimmy looked at the horizon. The sun was a brilliant red globe. “The atmosphere makes it red.”

“So it does. An illusion in the same way that the Echidna becomes one with the bush and the gray rock in the water glows red. The one called Aaron could feel his lost limb. He cried out in pain from a part of him that was no more.”

“It's late. Nigel said you would drive me to Airey's Inlet.”

Illa didn't move. “You feel a different pain.”

“I want to leave this place. I want to leave Australia.”

“Time is also an illusion as is death. There is no time and there is no death.”

Jimmy stood. “I want to go, Illa. If you have more to say tell me in the car.”

“You refuse to believe.”

“I am not part of your story.”

“I circled this fire and spoke to my fathers. They are with us.”

“Take me to Airey's Inlet.”

“Open your mind so you may see.”

“We met at Bell's Beach. Nigel needed help. I was there, you came. We did what we needed to do. That's the only bond we share.”

“I am my fathers and they are me. You are him and he is you.” Illa reached for his shirt and put it on. Then he gathered handfuls of sand and threw them onto the embers. A moment later the fire was extinguished. “I will take you to Aireys Inlet, but first we must watch the moon rise above the waters of the bay you call Apollo.”

The ninety-minute drive was made in silence. Jimmy relaxed, relieved that the strange day would soon be over. Illa made him uncomfortable. He wanted to be free of the man. Jim Buckman wanted to forget Australia.

A crescent moon hovered mid-way between the horizon and the apex of the dark sky when Illa brought his Ute to a halt on a street that skirted Apollo Bay.

“It is good that the moon is weak. It will be hard to use your eyes to see.” They walked onto the beach. “Now you must see the right way. Then you will know.”

“Whatever you say.”

Illa settled upon the sand a few feet from the water's edge. It was low tide and the waves lapped gently up the slope. He lit another cigarette and offered the pack to Jimmy who shook his head. It was past dinnertime and he was hungry.

“My fathers believe the one called Nathan was the greatest Whitehurst because he had the most blood of the Gadubanud. It ran through the one called Aaron and runs through Nigel. But, the one called Nathan was the first. He was as much Gadubanud as white.

“His life was unhappy. The white children did not accept him. He was shunned because those who came to live on our land looked down upon any who joined with the blacks. We killed his chief tormentor, a larger boy with no honor like his father and the other men who pointed their guns our people. The torment stopped, but it was not enough to keep the one called Nathan in our land. He went away on a wooden ship that once rested in this water. When he returned as a man he brought a woman he had taken for his wife from a place across the sea. America, the place you think is your home.”

“It
is
my home.”

Illa ignored Jimmy's protest. “His songs can still be heard up there.” He pointed back to the town. “Soon after he brought the woman to our land she delivered a child and there was peace and happiness in his life. But, too soon, the Whitehurst called Nathan went back to the sea. When he did not return sorrow filled the empty hearts he left behind. My fathers sought to know his fate. The spirits allowed them to witness his passing. Not with the eye as the whites pretend to see in the illusion of time, but with the mind where the illusion cannot interfere. It was a poor end in fire and water. He cried out for his woman and child and he passed in shame because he could not provide for them as all men of honor wish to do.”

“I want to leave.”

“Soon. My story is almost finished.” Illa puffed on his cigarette and glanced at the moon. “When the Whitehurst called Aaron passed on the cliff above the sea I ended the vigil my fathers had carried for many years. His son, Nigel, went to live with other children like himself. I threw off the burden of my fathers. I did not follow, but I was wrong to turn away from my responsibility. The spirits shunned me until the Whitehurst called Nigel reappeared. Why did the Whitehurst return? I called upon my fathers for guidance. Watch and be patient they told me. Another will come and the curse will end.” He pushed his cigarette into the sand. “Do you remember that day when I was waiting for you?”