|
COMING HOME
I drove out from Melbourne just on dark, and ended up sleeping at a truckstop at a petrol station with the dogs at 2.00 am, because they wouldn't take us in at the caravan parks, the next morning blue sky, the dogs brisk with cold wagging tails, true-bluer than ever, the relief of a new morning lifted us, later that day we was in Bre with dad, next day we drove to Bourke from the Twin Rivers property to get some shopping at Payless, we took an esky for frozen food, coming home, we were surrounded by high grass and outnumbered by tiny birds darting in and out, that night we hit the town, dad was pissed, telling all the kooris about their past, about King Brewarrweena outside the local rodeo, grabbing at their shoulders when they didn't want to listen. Dad said, 'you are thin, but your two dogs are thinner, two jerry cans, a water container and sleeping bag, too tired to hold onto dreams and deserts, mosquito net lines etched into your shoulders, you arrived home without the words to reveal your experience, clothes ripped in places, odd little postcards of your damaged skin, the big arid land gave you the chance to come back ragged and start again, they'll never really know what hapened to you out there, you have given up trying to tell them.' Dad and Dean Steadman picked me up in Nyngan, I was coming home from a long trip inland, they said 'here comes the vagabond,' denim backpacks filled with opal, an old hat on, dad was drunk just on midday again, took me to the Brewarrina hospital, he said, 'She's got the gang-green,' because my legs were swollen around the ankles from excess fluid retention, dad's words for the local drunks are; 'blood-sucker', 'pub-bum', 'hotel-idler', and 'cadger', I dreamed of the Telstra wires from inside the car as we drove home - of how the distance in Australia is evident still, particularly between families and personal space. We are mainly spaced-out and dreaming. I wanted to see the cave paintings on the Louth road, Dad said, 'don't go on that fucken road, it's a cunt of a road, don't go on that fucken thing.' Preparation for the inland trip, involves some anxiety and excitement, the anticipation is stronger than the action taken, Australians who live in the city and suburbs don't know deserts, we have been hardly adventurous beyond Manly and the harbour, mainly see TV deserts and resorts, use luxury 4WDs after retirement, whilst Europeans travel around Australia in old bombs, we drove that EH Holden through waterfalls, swam in seven rivers, broke down in yet another drought for this decade, coming home to Sydney, I couldn't assimilate with the house, my eyes were accustomed to brightness and small distant objects, endlessly turning the house upside down, into familiar yet disconnected life, it's more vivid out back, remember those big skies?, life at its optimum, in the middle of the camp woman, bushfire, campfire, this map of Australia comes to rest on the blue wall, as the heat strips off its backing tape, the room wavers in the unsteady afternoon, a black marking pen lining the roads travelled, breaking up the map that broke us, and the red land was broken as the drought was never broken, cry tears for its interior, for the sorry red cows jumping for the second storey leaves on the road from Karumba to Cloncurry, if you want to see a lot of places like Darwin, if you want your continent broken go, to the place where you've got to travel three hundred kilometres of corrugation to get to a waterfall, when you get there it's a concrete swimming pool, and the kilometres have turned into six hundred appreciative German tourists on adventure safaris, their togs were as brief as their visit, the carpark accommodating the buses and you've got to pay to put your foot in the water, then go to where they tried to dam the Todd river in Alice Springs, it was said: 'if the aboriginals want to see their sacred sights, then let them do it through glass bottom boats.' |
