The Girl with No Name Page 2

  Some of the paintings were weathered and faded with age, but others looked as if they had been more recently touched up with fresh ochre. How long ago? Matthew wondered. It could have been in the last year or two. Maybe people still came here to do that. He looked back over his shoulder, almost expecting to see silent dark figures heading down the valley towards him. Suddenly he felt like a trespasser. With the strange sensation that someone might be watching him, he got up. He took one last look at the paintings, trying to fix them in his memory, then he turned to go.

  It wasn’t until Matthew reached the valley floor that the sense of uneasiness left him. The sun was now shining almost straight down into the valley, and he guessed it must be nearly midday. He decided to go on a little further, in case there was anything else to see. As the walls of the gorge got lower and less sheer, it didn’t seem so far to the top. Matthew decided to climb right out of the valley and see what the country looked like from above. He’d make his way to the pool along the top instead of clambering back over boulders the way he had come.

  Once he had left the valley and the rock paintings behind, Matthew looked across an expanse of spinifex country broken by hills. Still elated by his discovery of the paintings, he headed at once towards the nearest ridge.

  Maybe he’d find more paintings. There could be some hidden away in an obscure corner of rock, and forgotten. He’d be the first white person to find them. Matthew wondered what he’d do. He imagined his photo in the local paper, under a banner headline: ‘Schoolboy makes important discovery’. He’d be standing in front of the previously unknown rock paintings, surrounded by reporters, even television crews. No, that wasn’t such a good idea. He wouldn’t mind being famous, but he couldn’t bear the thought of all those people trooping out to this wild place. And it wouldn’t stop there. The paintings might become a tourist attraction. The local council, always looking for gimmicks to attract tourists, would put in roads and kiosks and toilets. The whole place would be ruined. No, it would be better to keep the paintings a secret. He could write about them in a private journal, and maybe years later someone would find it and realise he had been the first to make a great discovery.

  So Matthew’s thoughts ran on. The ridge was further away than it had looked, and when he reached it he could see that there was nowhere for an artist to paint. No natural gallery or wall offered itself. The entire hill was a jumble of broken rock. Nevertheless, Matthew scrambled to the top and looked about him.

  A breeze he had not been able to feel down in the valley now cooled his damp skin. Matthew looked out over a great stretch of country, red and green under the unbroken blue of the sky. For as far as he could see in any direction, there was no sign of human life. He could not even see the road, hidden as it was somewhere amongst the hills.

  He was surprised that even from this high viewpoint he could no longer make out the valley he had so recently left. Surely it was over there? He frowned, straining to see. But he knew which way he had come up the ridge, and he had only to get his bearings from there and head straight back to the valley rim. If need be he would retrace his own tracks.

  Even so, Matthew descended the ridge at once, with just the slightest sense of uneasiness. At the foot, nothing looked familiar. Or rather, the whole length of the ridge appeared the same to his increasingly confused eyes. He couldn’t be sure which was the exact spot where he had started to climb up. He thought it might be here – or was it a little further to the right? Annoyed with himself for not having taken more notice of his surroundings when he left the valley, but still keeping calm, Matthew started walking methodically from one end of the ridge to the other, trying to find a familiar feature, or some sign of his own tracks. The ground at the foot of the ridge was covered with boulders and small stones. To find any track was impossible.

  Well, thought Matthew, uncomfortably aware of his own heartbeat, I’m sure I came out of the valley over there. That must be almost due east. He remembered his impression that morning that the valley ran roughly north and south. Now he was less certain. He tried to picture the position of the sun as it had shone down into the space. At this cooler time of year it would still be well to the north. Had the sun been shining straight down the valley at midday, as it would have done if the valley ran north and south? He was ashamed that he couldn’t properly remember.

  Don’t start getting scared, he told himself. Just sit down and think. It’ll come back. He sat down for a few moments, but a feeling almost like panic swept over him, and he got up again at once. He felt driven to do something. He still had a strong sense that the valley lay to the east of where he now stood. There was only one way to find out. He made a conscious effort to register in his mind the exact spot at which he was standing. He noted the shape of the ridge just behind him, and tried to work out how it would look from the point where he wanted to go. Then he headed off. Having a sense of purpose calmed him down.

  The scattered rocks gave way to a layer of small round pebbles, and then to hard ground thinly coated with sand. Keeping his eyes fixed on a stand of trees as his bearings, with the sun now well past the meridian behind him, he headed towards what he hoped was the valley. When he reached the clump of trees he looked back to the ridge. Already it seemed to be changing shape, but he thought he could still make out the point from where he had started off. He didn’t want to become more confused than he already was.

  Matthew continued walking in the same direction for a while longer, when suddenly he became convinced he had gone too far. It had only taken him about twenty minutes to walk from the valley to the foot of the ridge. He seemed to have been going twice as long on the way back. Now he began to doubt his own sense of time. Was it because he was concentrating so hard that the return journey seemed longer? Earlier, his mind had been preoccupied with other things – his discovery of the rock paintings and his feeling of exhilaration at being so successful an explorer. His mood was different now. In so short a time he had lost all sense of accomplishment and pride. He felt mocked by his earlier confidence.

  Matthew squirmed inside when he remembered his daydream about making an important discovery. No explorer worth his salt would get lost, he jeered at himself. I didn’t even bring my compass – what an idiot! He’d been given a compass for his birthday, and had never used it except in fun around the garden and neighbour-hood for the first day or so.

  Then Matthew made another mistake. Instead of going back towards the ridge to get his bearings again, he headed off to the left, which he was sure was north. He reasoned that he should find the gorge more easily in that direction, where it was deeper. By doing this he lost sight of the ridge altogether, so that by the time he admitted to himself he had missed the valley, the ridge was well behind. Sweating in the afternoon heat, struggling against the feeling of panic starting to well up in him, he climbed another hill to try to work out where he was.

  From the top he could see neither valley nor ridge, nor any feature he could recognise with certainty. He no longer had any idea of where he had started out. All he knew was that he was facing east again, with the afternoon sun behind him. This seemed important, but since he had lost all confidence in his ability to find the direction of anything, even the road, the knowledge was of little use to him.

  Matthew was forced to admit to himself that he was lost.

  two

  Found

  In the shelter of the rock, where he had found a spot away from the wind, Matthew shivered. The stars were dense above him, and there was no moon. He looked up at the immense sweep of the sky, and for a moment almost forgot about himself and his predicament. He had never before spent a night alone in the bush. He had been camping out a few times, with a group of friends, but that had felt quite different. His main memories of those trips were of the fun he had had with the other boys.

  I wish Nick or one of the others was here now, he thought. At least we could keep each other’s spirits up. I bet Nick would find something to laugh at. Nick was the joker in
the group, and that was one reason Matthew liked him. Where Matthew tended to be quiet and thoughtful, Nick was outgoing. Matthew laughed more when he was with Nick than he did with anyone else. To pass the time now he tried to imagine Nick sitting there beside him. He could picture the funny-sad face making a comedy out of being lost. When, in a few days time, Matthew told him about this night, Nick would be sure to tease him without mercy. ‘Captain Matthew Scott the explorer!’ he’d say, mockingly.

  But when Matthew looked up again at the enormity of the sky, he forgot himself for a long moment. When he came back to earth, and tried to resume his imaginary conversation with Nick, he couldn’t pick it up again.

  The others would never stay quiet long enough to let us feel anything serious, he thought, surprised at himself for thinking it. Sometimes you don’t want to talk and fool around. You want to think. You want to feel just how vast everything is, and how small people are.

  On all those earlier trips with the other boys, their camping places had never been this far off the beaten track. They had camped in public caravan parks and down by the dam just out of town, and at other well-known waterholes. There had always been at least a few adults within reach. This was different. It was just Matthew and the bush. If he had not been lost, cold, hungry and a bit frightened, he would have revelled in the adventure.

  He didn’t doubt he would be found sooner or later. He knew that if he wasn’t home tomorrow his father would have a search party out first thing the next morning. His colleagues in the prison service and the police force would join him. Some of them were in the State Emergency Service, and knew all about search and rescue. He’d eaten his apple hours ago, and nibbled most of the fruit and nuts, but he still had water in his bottle. If he stayed in the shade in one place during the day until he was found, he should be able to make the water last.

  So Matthew kept telling himself, but at the back of his mind he couldn’t quite get rid of the nagging thought: What if they don’t find me in time? What if my water runs out?

  If only it wasn’t so cold. After the heat of the day, the drop in temperature seemed extreme. Fortunately it was a still night. The cold easterly wind that can blow all through the night in the cool season had dropped. In his backpack Matthew had left a fleecy windcheater. He thought of it now with longing. All he had on was a T-shirt and shorts, which were hopelessly inadequate cover for sleeping out.

  Every so often Matthew got up and walked a few steps back and forth near the rock, flapping his arms to warm himself up. Then he did squats and star-jumps until his heart raced and the blood ran fast in his veins.

  He watched the Milky Way move with interminable slowness through the sky. A few times he did manage to drift off to sleep, but the cold soon woke him up again. He listened to the rhythmic chirruping of insects. Once, he heard a nightjar give its excited call. He wondered what his parents were doing. They were probably asleep. They wouldn’t even start worrying about him until tomorrow evening. That seemed ages away.

  It was an endless night – the worst night Matthew could ever remember. By the time the first pale light appeared in the eastern sky he was stiff with cold. He was thankful when one bird, then another, started making conversation on the trees around, telling him the night was over. He sat up with his arms wrapped around his legs and watched the changes of the breaking dawn. The sky became slowly redder, then yellow. At last, the edge of the sun appeared over the rim of the earth. It was morning.

  With sunrise the wind got up again, and Matthew walked about and did some exercises until his circulation was pumping. His optimism started to return. Tomorrow he would be found, he was sure. He was tempted to set off again looking for the valley. He felt confident he would find it this time. But he knew that would be foolish. It was going to be hard to sit and do nothing, waiting for someone to find him, but he knew that would be the safest thing to do. He dreaded the prospect of another night like the one he had just been through, but he decided to spend time making a nest for himself with leaves and grass and whatever else he could find to keep him warm. Then I could try making fire by rubbing two sticks together, he told himself. He had a vague idea of how it was done, but he didn’t know what sort of wood to use. Still, it was worth a try.

  Matthew took a good look at the place where he had spent the night. The rock wasn’t bad as a shelter from the wind. But I could build it up at the sides with branches, he thought. He tried collecting some dry ones, but the leaves fell off when he dragged them into place. Green branches would be better, but he had nothing to cut them down with. He spent some time breaking off wattle branches, and the work warmed him up. He then tried arranging the branches in different ways to form a screen that would protect him from the wind. Lying down to test the result, he found the best method was to stack the branches with the foliage downwards, next to his body, the bare ends of the branches leaning up against the rock.

  Next he set about finding material for bedding. He collected dry leaves, but even when he had quite a pile he found they did not form the soft mat he had hoped. Instead, they crushed into pieces as soon as he stood or sat on them. He looked at the tussocks of grass, but they were coarse and spiky, and he decided they would be more uncomfortable than the bare ground, and maybe not much warmer.

  The optimism Matthew had felt earlier began to desert him. This wasn’t a game, after all. He had read accounts of people who had been stranded in difficult situations, and of what they had done to survive, and he had always imagined he would do well at that sort of thing. Now he was beginning to see that there was a world of difference between reading and thinking about survival, and actually having to do it. He had no tools and not many ingenious ideas either. He finished off the fruit and nuts, wishing he had something more substantial to eat for breakfast. Then he took a swig from his water-bottle, and realised with a jolt how thirsty his exertions had made him already. He would have to take it easy if he wanted the water to last.

  Despondent, Matthew sat down under the overhang of the rock near where he had spent the night. He clasped his arms around his legs, and leaned his forehead on his knees, trying to think. It was going to be a long day. His mouth tasted stale, and he idly picked up a twig near his feet and started brushing at his teeth with it.

  Suddenly, Matthew thought he heard a sound that wasn’t the wind, or a bird, or a lizard. He sat up and looked around, but could see nothing that hadn’t been there before. He went on brushing at his teeth with the twig, but he suddenly felt self-conscious, as if someone were looking at him. He stopped and sat very still, listening. Then he heard a voice quite close by, laughing softly. It was a young voice. He stood up quickly, turned, and looked all around. Again he could see nothing. He wondered if he had started hearing things that weren’t there. He sat down again under the overhang, taut and alert, waiting. There was a movement, a shadow fell. He glanced upwards and found himself looking into an upside-down face. It was a black face, mouth drawn back into a wide smile showing white teeth. Then the face was gone.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Matthew, jumping up. He ran back a few paces from the rock to try to see who was up there. As he did so, a long, lean figure swung itself to the ground a few yards away, and stood shyly looking at him. It was a girl. She was wearing a crumpled dress with no sleeves.

  ‘Hello!’ said Matthew in astonishment. ‘Where did you come from?’ The girl looked at him without answering, still smiling. She was younger than Matthew, with a beanpole figure and no breasts.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Matthew tried again. He was so grateful to see another human being that he felt tears nearly starting behind his eyes.

  ‘I know your name,’ said the girl by way of answer. ‘You’re Matthew Scott.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Matthew was astonished.

  The girl shrugged. ‘Everybody know you. Your father work at the prison.’ The girl’s voice was soft, and she spoke English with a particular accent, as if she were not speaking her own language.

  ‘That’
s right, he does. How come I don’t know you?’

  Even as he said this, Matthew realised he already had the answer. The only black kids he knew were the ones in his own class at school. But the girl just shrugged again.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ Matthew asked a second time. ‘Do you know the way back to Goanna Gorge? I got lost yesterday.’

  The girl laughed the same soft laugh Matthew had heard before. ‘ ’Course I know,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been here all night.’

  The girl nodded. ‘I know. I seen your tracks.’

  ‘What are you doing out here?’

  ‘My family got a camp not far. Me, I’m going hunting.’

  ‘True? Do girls go hunting?’ Matthew was surprised.

  She laughed again. ‘ ’Course we go hunting. Got to get meat!’

  ‘What sort of animals do you hunt?’

  ‘Oh, goanna, snake, pussy-cat – any kind.’

  ‘Pussy-cat?’ Matthew said with alarm. ‘Feral ones? Do you eat them?’

  ‘Yeah, we eat.’

  She looked around. ‘Where you did sleep?’

  ‘Right here,’ Matthew showed her. ‘It was perishing cold, I can tell you.’

  ‘What for you never light fire?’

  ‘No matches. I left them behind with my other things at Goanna Gorge, near the pool.’

  ‘Plenty bush matches,’ said the girl, pointing to a small tree not far from where they were standing.

  ‘Do you know how to make a fire from sticks?’ asked Matthew, impressed.

  ‘ ’Course. Blackfeller got to know.’

  ‘Well, I wish you’d show me.’

  The girl hesitated a moment, and he added, ‘I’ve never seen anyone make a fire from sticks. If you show me, I’ll be able to do it next time I run out of matches.’

  She looked at him for another moment without saying anything, then seemed to make up her mind. She went to the tree and selected a couple of straight dead branches, only about half a centimetre thick, and snapped them off. She shortened them by breaking off the ends, then looked around until she found a tuft of dry grass, softer than spinifex, which she pulled up. She picked up a couple of rocks, then sat on the ground with her legs crossed.