Landscape of Farewell (18 page)

So they travel together for three days to the country of the messengers and there he recognises the place of his vision and knows it already, even to the detail of what he will see when the leader’s dark-haired daughter takes his hand and leads him into their dwelling, observed and smiled upon by her mother and father. It is on the track that he meets the leader himself, the man he will kill when the moment comes for him to strike the blow. He is gratified to see the curiosity and the courage in the leader’s steady gaze, and knows him at once to be a worthy adversary. He tells him his name. ‘I am Gnapun,’ he says, touching himself on the breast, and at this a smile is forced into their eyes. It is a smile of recognition and is filled with such lively intimations that they are both abashed by the unsettling intimacy of the contact. What deepness is this between them that they acknowledge? When the leader and his companions have
ridden on a way, the leader lays a hand to the cantle of his saddle and he turns around and looks back. Gnapun is still watching him—the way death watches, dispassionately, for the moment when it will strike us down and see us come to our end. Seeing the leader turn in his saddle and look back at him, Gnapun lifts his hand and the leader returns his salute. They are brothers, there can be no doubt of it, and it is their brotherhood they acknowledge with their salute. Their intimation of familiarity. And in this moment they each know themselves to be men first and only the sons of their fathers by the accident of birth. One of them will surely slay the other. The unseen hand ceases to riffle the pages of the sacred Book, for it has found the passage it seeks: And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand … And so the fear in his heart. But what is there to fear if death is not to be feared? Gnapun asks himself. And he is remembering the night in the scrub when his heart cringed by the ashes of his fire and he knows there is something greater than death, something more terrible and more final, and he is aware that he has begun to wait for it and that it begins to possess him. He does not know what this thing is that he waits for, and his ignorance makes him uneasy and distracts him. He is not himself and speculates that perhaps some part of him does not belong to his people, but belongs only to himself,
marking him for what is to happen. This sadness on his heart. Why must it always be like this?

When he and the messengers reach the camp of the strangers he is shocked to see the terrible evil that has been done there. No fiend, in all the great store of teachings, has ever been said to have done such a thing as this. He stands looking on at the nightmare before him, numb with disbelief. How is he to understand that one people can treat another in this way? The thought that enters his mind then is like a sharp splinter of poison and it makes him tremble: The strangers do not respect the reality of the messengers’ people, but see them as beings who are less than human. What other explanation can there be for this horror? For the strangers have collected the stones of the sacred playgrounds of the messengers’ Old People and have built walls from them. Gnapun turns to the tall messenger and he puts his hand on his arm and tears roll down his cheeks. They weep together helplessly. Even though there are old men among the messengers’ people who know the position from which each stone has been taken, everyone knows that to restore the stones to their places would not restore them to their power. Having been taken from their places, Time has been brought to the stones and they are lost to the eternal present of reality. They were there, now they are not there. They have lost their position in the sacred Dreaming and their power
to sustain the messengers’ people can never be restored to them. Set once again in their old places, the stones would themselves only belong to the past and would be merely history, there to remind everyone of what had once been and has been lost. The messengers’ people, Gnapun sees, as he stands there weeping beside the tall man, cannot survive this but have been made exiles in their own country. They have been rendered capable of suffering from their past, an evil previously unknown to them, and a punishment no people has ever had imposed upon it before this day. For as everyone knows, to suffer from one’s past is a punishment without remedy. It is the end of belief. To sing, after this, would be a blasphemy. After this there can be no innocence. The Old People of the messengers have been banished and humiliated. How will anyone ever bring them back?

As he stands there in sorrow looking on at the scene of activity before him, the stone walls and bark cottages occupying the sacred site of the playgrounds of the Old People, the timber yards, the cows and pigs and sheep and the horses and the men and women, the terrific noise of everyone hurrying about their work, hammering and sawing and calling out to each other, the familiar trellis and the vegetable garden, he sees before him at last the thing that is greater than death and knows it for what it is. He is too stricken by grief for the people of the messengers to enter
the camp of the strangers, and he turns away and walks alone into the forest and finds a place to lie down where he will not be seen. And there he stays and weeps, not eating or drinking, for three days and three nights. On the morning of the fourth day he rises and goes in search of the principal camp of the people of the messengers, and when he has eaten and his strength is restored, he speaks to the tall man of what must be done.

When the tall man calls the young men of his people to him they all come and not one stays away or finds an excuse to decline the invitation. They listen to Gnapun in silence and when he has told them his plan, they arm themselves and go with him readily to a waterhole in the thickest part of the forest not far from the camp of the strangers, each one of them considering it an honour to be a member of Gnapun’s war party, and none fearing death so greatly that he does not welcome this opportunity to demonstrate his courage at the side of such a leader and to revenge his people. The tall man leaves nothing unsaid in praise of Gnapun, but is eloquent in his enthusiasm. ‘Gnapun cannot die,’ he shouts at the young men, waving his skinny arms over his head, so that their eyes follow his arms as if they follow little birds flitting about in the scrub. ‘We may die but Gnapun will live forever, a hero in our hearts and in the hearts of our people,’ he yells. ‘And those who go to war with him will be remembered as heroes
with him. This will be a war of vengeance, which we all know is the fiercest kind of war. It will be bloody and terrible and will help us for a little time to deal with this grief in our hearts. It is better to die as a warrior where the playgrounds of our Old People once stood, and to shed our blood there, than it is to live filled with hatred in shameful exile on our own country.’

When the tall man at last stops speaking, Gnapun cautions patience and, leaving his weapons with them at the waterhole, he goes alone into the camp of the strangers. Men and women are busy ploughing the ground and planting seeds, and yet others are baking bread and milking cows. There is no end to the activity, and the country all around echoes to their shouting and laughter and to the bellowing of their milk cows and the bleating of their sheep. Gnapun goes among them, observing their enterprise, and seeing that it is their intention to change everything and to leave no sign of the old world. Already many of the great trees that have shaded the playgrounds for centuries have been cut down and sawn into lengths, the tender flesh of the timber gleaming palely in the sunlight where it lies, the sky open and blank.

He sees the woman with the dark hair watching him from the doorway of a hut and knows her to be the leader’s wife. When she sees that he has noticed her she smiles and beckons to him. He walks across to her and stands before
her, examining her. She reaches and touches him lightly on the arm with her hand. ‘Gnapun,’ she says and smiles. Her eyes are beautiful, her thoughts soft and dark and filled with curiosity and confidence. He touches her arm and then his own breast, asking her name, and she replies, ‘Winifred.’ They stand smiling at each other. She takes him by the hand and leads him inside the hut, where her two daughters are at work making cheese. The young women welcome him and show him their work with enthusiasm, the youngest taking his hand and directing him to touch the smooth handle of the churn. At the touch of the girl’s hand the rage swells in his breast and he grips her fingers fiercely. She whimpers and shrinks away from him, and he smiles and releases her. Her mother goes to the girl and comforts her, looking at him with reproach, the air between them quivering. A shadow falls across Winifred’s features and Gnapun turns to the door. The leader steps into the hut and greets him. Outside the hut Gnapun signs to the leader that he wishes to help, mimicking the actions of a man who is sawing timber nearby. The leader readily accepts Gnapun’s offer of help and signs to him that if there are other strong young men like himself who are also willing to help, then Gnapun should bring them in and he will give them work. Gnapun observes the man and understands him with little effort. ‘We are short of labourers,’ the leader signs to him. ‘Our ambitious building
plans must be completed before the arrival of my two eldest sons and their numerous party, who are approaching through the southern scrubs with the flock.’

When Gnapun understands this, he knows that he cannot delay but must act swiftly, and he returns at once to the waterhole where the young men are waiting for him. He tells them he will take them into the camp of the strangers a few each day, so as not to alarm the strangers. ‘You must make yourselves useful and act with friendliness and decorum at all times. When our entire war party has assembled in the camp of the strangers and they have grown accustomed to our presence and are at ease with us, then we shall destroy them. A night will come when I shall instruct you to arm yourselves with your favourite weapons. And the following morning you will come into the camp as usual, ready to work, and will each choose a stranger to slay and will stay close beside your chosen victim, your weapon concealed, which you all know well how to do. When we are assembled and I see that we are each of us in our place, I shall give the cry of the Wylah, the funereal black cockatoo, for you all know by now that this is the bird of my spirit and you will recognise my command in its cry above the clamour of these people. At the sound of the Wylah’s cry you will deliver the death blow. If the strangers should be given a moment to sense our intention and to arm themselves, then our chance of success
will be lost and we ourselves shall be the ones to lie on the old playgrounds at the end of the day in our own blood. And if by some mischance the battle is not going well and you see your friends and brothers dying around you, and you feel like running away, remember that Gnapun the warrior is with you and he will fight with you and will die in your country rather than run away to the safety of the scrub.’ He does not disclose to them that the leader’s two oldest sons are soon to arrive with their own men and a flock of sheep, for he does not want them to be distracted and to be forever looking over their shoulders during the battle.

Days go by and Gnapun takes the young men into the camp of the strangers in ones and twos and they willingly join in the work, bending their backs and shouting and laughing with the strangers, cheerfully sharing their meals with them and showing them the best places to catch fish in the river. It is not many days before the young men are skilled in the use of the axe and the crosscut saw and the iron wedges and the great heavy bars and have become well liked and respected by the strangers. One or two are much admired by the young women of the strangers and are inclined to respond to their smiles. Gnapun warns them not to be distracted in this way but to be alert for treachery. He points out one particular
young man who is never without his weapon at his side. ‘You have all seen him and know with what malice he regards us. He would give the order to shoot us all if his father were not to be a witness to it. This man is the leader’s youngest son. He watches me closely and shows me great distrust no matter how I strive to beguile him with the innocence of my intentions. He is angry with his father for allowing us to join them and warns his father to be on his guard against us, telling him he should not have permitted so many strong and agile young men to come into the camp. His father lays his hand to his son’s shoulder and, with a gentle smile, for he loves his son, he admonishes him, advising him to place his trust in the Lord and to treat us with respect and kindness, For that is the way of the Lord and it will profit us in the end. And he takes from the pocket of his black coat the book he always carries with him, just as his son always carries a weapon at his side, and he reads to his son from the Book. And his son listens in sullen silence to his father, who he respects and knows to be a worthy and a good man. And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. This is your country he is talking about.

‘And he reads much more than this, telling his son that the Book and not the gun will rule the new Jerusalem and that things will not turn out here as they have turned out
in other places, where men of different creeds and races are forever in dispute with one another. This is the blessed country of our Lord, he says. He has prepared it for our coming and we are the first pioneers of His Providence. These people who are already here are the children of His country and from them we shall learn the ways of this land, which is their mother, and in return we shall give them the gift of the Gospels and the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the Saviour of all mankind, and they will make us welcome in their turn and this land shall be our mother also. And together, hand in hand, just as you see us working and laughing around you this very day, so the leader tells his son, we shall build the new Jerusalem. He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son, so saith the Lord our God. Such is the promise to us of His great plan.