When Darkness Falls (5 page)

He would be safe now; she could return to the soak without worrying. As she gathered her earthenware bowls, dawn was in the making. She left: the camp to fill the bowls and start saving lives. As she knelt to reach the water in the soak, she noticed that the water was as deep as her hand, and as wide as the spaces from elbow to fingertip. It was more than enough. She thanked the Spirits for looking after them.

Then she saw four white roots, neatly lying in a row on the sand. One had obviously been bitten; a fifth lay with dirt still clinging to its skin. The stem was intact, with a couple of leaves beside it on a length of vine. She reached for the bitten root, and noticed the missing part lying in the sand. It had been chewed, sucked dry, then discarded. “Thank you. We owe you our lives,” she smiled and said loudly into the morning air.

Then she filled the bowls, gathered the roots and returned to the children. It took until mid-morning to slowly decant
the water into the mouths of each thirsty child. Soon the sun was high above them and she knew all these children would survive until she could return and give them all another drink. But for now, more urgent thoughts filled her mind...

“Munni? How do you feel, son?”

“Still weak, but a lot better than I was before I closed my eyes last night. I never ever expected to see you again, let alone another day.”

“Then you really are on the road to life.” She paused, then spoke carefully. “Munni, there is still a lot for me to do. I had a sort of dream; in it I saw other children left to die just like these children. But there is no one to look after them. I don't know how far they walked after leaving here, but I don't think it can be a great distance. I can't let them die, not if there is a chance to save even a few. I have to see if I can find them.”

“What of us? Will we be all right until you return?”

“Yes, son. I'm going to carry you over to the water soak and leave you there. You have to rest, slowly drinking a little water at a time. Pour enough over you to make you wet, it will stop the moisture from leaving your body, and the water will soak back through the sand. The water will be hot and it will make you thirstier, but if you try to quench that thirst you will only be filling your gut until you have to spew it all out. Then, when you try to drink more, you will find your body will reject it. You might die. Do you understand me, son?”

“Yes, Mother. I have no love to lose my life, not now that it has been given back to me.”

“Good. Let your strength return. Then when you are able, fill a bowl and return here and give each child a little drink. Feed the three little ones first. Put your fingers in the water, and let the drops fall from your fingers into their mouths. When no one is looking, sneak back in the dark and fetch
another bowl, and let them drink again. I will return as soon as I can. I will be back before tomorrow's dawn.”

“Could I not come with you?”

“And what of the others? No, I need you here. Here are some roots I have cut up. Keep two small bits for yourself, then share out the rest.”

She left him lying in the shade of a crackling gum. With a leather carry-all hanging flat against her chest, she carried her two largest earthenware bowls and made off in the direction the people had taken the day before. It was easy to track them, for as the sun had risen to its height they had started to discard bits and pieces.

By the time the sun was beginning to hang low, she came across more evidence of their passing. She saw the ants first. They swarmed in a mass, and it took a moment for her to realise that she was looking at the discarded body of a baby. Her hesitation at the sight caused her to stop long enough to hear the sounds of other children. The body had stopped her from walking right past those she was seeking.

The children all lay together after crawling from where they had dropped in their fatigue, the marks of their endeavours pitifully plain in the red sand. They lay panting their way to death. The closest, a girl about twelve years, lay suckling an infant on her small teats, the crusted white spittle showed how desperately the baby suckled, seeking moisture.

The woman took the infant and laid it in her lap so that its head hung limply backwards, then she dipped her fingers in the bowl and dropped life into the parched throat. She was rewarded with a cry of hunger. Gently she placed the child back into the arms of the girl, lifted the girls head and began to slowly administer the life-saving water.

“Your baby?”

The girl shook her head. She had only tried to soothe the baby's way to death.

The woman tended eleven children who had lain there anxiously, waiting for night to fall; everyone knew that the spirits came in the darkness of night to collect the souls of the dead. There would be only two for them this night; a girl and a boy who had died before she got to them. In tears, she had moved on to the next child, and then the next, wondering how many more would die before she could get to them with the precious water of life.

It was dawn when she returned to the waterhole. She found her son Munni waiting for her in the shadows of the crackling gum that grew beside the soak. And with him was Nellajidi, the oldest of the girls. Nelli had now regained sufficient strength to be able to help look after the others.

“Are the other children all right? Have they had enough to drink?”

“Yes, Mother, I did what you told me. Nelli gave me a hand, she fed the little ones for me.”

“Then you two have done well. Now I must get some sleep. Take some water to the children—they will be feeling their thirst about now. Give them all a sip and bring them here, it will save you walking up and down carrying water. And I think you should choose another boy to help you.”

“I have been thinking about that,” Munni told her. “There is this quiet boy who keeps to himself—he always has a ready smile, no matter how sick he's feeling. Datun. I have already spoken to him and he will help.”

“Good. I know the boy. His mother's name was Llanoene, she liked the company of men and good times. I can understand why the boy is quiet.” Her thoughts turned to the other
children's camp. “We have much to do today and tomorrow—there are as many children as the fingers of my hands, all barely alive, a good half-day's walk from here, waiting for my return and the water we will bring. But I need sleep as much as they need water; we might all die if I am too stupid to rest.”

“Have your sleep mother. Do you want us to wake you? Or shall we let you sleep until you wake yourself?”

She gestured to the top of the tree. “Wake me when the sun climbs to this height in the sky. I just need enough sleep to get my strength. There will be plenty of time to sleep after we get those children here. We have to find food, but more importantly, we have to get water to those children.”

She awoke and looked about her at the unsmiling, hungry faces that sat staring at her. She sought her son's face and saw the signs of hunger. He stood patiently hand in hand with the girl Nelli. Beside Nelli stood another girl and a gangling youth about the same height and age as her son. A smaller, more solid boy, whose curly black hair cascaded around his shoulders stood next to Munni. His head reached to Munni's shoulder, and as she turned her gaze to him, he smiled.

“You'll be Datun,” she thought.

“These are my friends, they're here to help,” Munni told her. “The tall one is Boodjang, and this—”

“Is Datun.”

“You know him?”

“I know him by his smile. Well, son, my belly burns from lack of food, so I know how the rest of you must be feeling.” She climbed to her feet and faced the children, gathering her thoughts. “But I have to forego my eating for a little while yet,” she told them. “There are many children half a day's
walk from here that have no food and water, nothing at all, except the hope that I will bring them more water. I am going now to take water to those children, and while I am gone you children will have to hunt for food. If you take your time and look very hard you will find all sorts of things that we can eat. Lizards, mice, grasshoppers—you might even find a snake. Don't be selfish and eat what you find, think of others. If we all work towards saving each other, then we will survive.”

She paused to take a small drink, and to let her words sink in. “There are bulbs in the ground, there are also roots like the one Munni handed out to you in small portions. It too grows underground, near trees and shrubs. You look for the vine that leads to the leaves hidden in the tree's foliage. Find the vine, dig out the root, then you must skin it and chew and suck the juice as you did before. Share as much of it as you can. Bring the leaves back to put in a stew, it will give it a nice taste. You lot on this side of me, seeing as you are nearest the desert, today you will look for the vine. You other lot will be the hunters for the day. Today you hunt, tomorrow you dig for the vines.”

She looked at one of the girls. “Cuddy, I see you. Is your brother Gulag with you?”

“No, Aunty. He went on with Mother, they left me here to die.”

“I see.” She spoke then to all of them. “Listen to my words and try to understand. Learn from this bad experience. Don't hold hate in your heart for the mother, and father who left you here to die. They were only obeying the law. For the tribe to survive, the weak must be left to fend for themselves. The strong must go on, and if they survive, the tribe will live to grow strong once more. Do you understand now, Cuddy? It was for the tribe that they left you.”

“But why did they come this way in the first place? Did
they not know this would be our fate, that so many of us would end up dying?”

“It is the way of arrogant men.”

“The arrogance of our Elders has created a disaster. Just how many people will die before the tribe reaches our homeland once more, we shall know only by the number of bones we pass on our way.”

“We are going to leave this water?”

“Yes, my son. Not today, or tomorrow, but one day we will have to. The moisture seeps slowly, which means there is little water from where it comes. As we catch the insects, lizards and mice, dig for roots and bulbs, day by day we will have to look further away from the water. One day, we will have to move.”

“At least we know now what to expect. Can we come with you this time and help bring back the brothers and sisters?”

“Yes, for that I shall need your help—Cuddy, will you look after the others while we are gone? We will return as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Aunty.”

She turned to the others. “Are you lot ready to go?”

“Yes, Mother, we have filled all the containers we can carry.”

“Tell me, Datun, why are you carrying a coolamon strapped to your back?”

“To carry what roots we find on the way. I've taken a liking to its sweet juice, and I'll be looking hard for the vines as we travel. I don't think the time it takes to dig one up will cost a life, surely—in fact, the roots just might save a life.”

It took them until evening to reach the thirst-stricken children in the other camp. The slow feeding the second time was easier. There was plenty of water, but the supply was limited; there would be need for it on the return journey. The
few roots Datun had found were divided and the children shown how they should be eaten. Then it was time to go.

A new moon hung low in the sky. Rested, with water in their bellies, the time had come to leave this place, a place many would dream about long after they had returned to safety. Unsteadily they rose, some with assistance, and began to make the trek back. As the weak failed, the older children carried the smallest and assisted those who couldn't make it on their own. Some began to feel the benefit of the water and they in turn helped their friends. Among the children they had rescued was Gulag, Cuddy's brother.

They travelled through the night, resting as often as needed, and at sun-up Munni pointed to the hillock that lay before them and announced they had arrived. There they could rest and drink, and there would be food for their bellies before they went to sleep that night. He threw back his head and cooeeed, and soon children ran streaming from the camp, carrying water, wanting to help. It was a crying Cuddy that held her small brother to her.

“Can we rest now, or is there something still for us to do?” Munni asked his mother.

“No, son, rest.” She turned to Cuddy. “Let those who have returned sleep for as long as they like. Did the children manage to find much food?”

“They did very well. We caught two big perentie, and there's enough for a big stew.”

“Good! Wake me when the sun starts into the afternoon. Ask the children to collect wood for the fire, and get them out digging and hunting again.”

“Yes, Aunty. You go and have a good sleep, you're swaying on your feet.”

As she talked to Cuddy, she watched her son Munni take Nelli's hand. Now they walked away together, stopping to
pick up the three babies, a large bowl of water, and went into the shade of the crackling gum. She watched as they sat and fed the children, and when they had finished and lay back in the shade talking quietly until their eyes closed in sleep. She smiled a gentle, loving smile, and relaxed within herself.

“You have chosen well, my son,” she thought. “Nelli will make you a fine wife, a good mother for your children, and a daughter that I can be proud of. But for a while, just be the children you still are, for as long as you can.”

Within days, the rested youths, with water and food in their bellies, had combed the area around the hillock and beyond. Their food source was becoming depleted, as the woman had known it would. Soon they would have to move, but where? This was a constant worry, from the moment of her waking until she closed her eyes to sleep. The children were stronger now; it would be possible for them to last at least another three days before the problem of water became acute again. They would have to move; soon she would start filling all the containers she could find...