The Girl with No Name Read online

‘You bin havim goanna before?’ asked the old woman. Matthew shook his head, looking at the tail in some alarm.

  ‘Good one,’ No-name told him. ‘You try ’im.’ She showed him how to peel the skin from the white meat. Not wanting to be a wimp, Matthew took hold of a piece of the tail between finger and thumb, and pulled. The meat came away from the bone in a long strip. It looked like a piece of chicken. Overcoming his reluctance by telling himself that’s what it was, he put it into his mouth and chewed. To his surprise, the meat was tasty.

  ‘Good one?’ asked No-name, smiling broadly. Matthew nodded, and she and her grandmother laughed with pleasure, steadily tucking into their own portions.

  When the goanna and the tea and damper were finished, No-name started telling her grandmother the story of how she had found Matthew. She spoke fast, in a dialect that seemed to be mostly English, but Matthew could only follow the gist of it. The old woman roared with laughter at some points, but he wasn’t sure what it was she found funny. The part about making a fire seemed to tickle her especially – perhaps, thought Matthew, because he had shivered with cold all night, with fire-making wood all around him.

  Matthew was beginning to wonder if No-name had forgotten about taking him back to Goanna Gorge. Perhaps she thought he should be able to find his own way from here. In fact, he was more uncertain than ever about where he was. He knew there was no real hurry, but he would feel happier when he was back in familiar territory. Besides, he couldn’t stay here all day. He didn’t want to become a nuisance, something his mother often warned him against.

  ‘I’d better start heading back, now,’ he said then, a little reluctantly.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. You go now,’ said the old woman, nodding her head. Matthew thanked her for his breakfast, and she smiled and again said, ‘Yeah.’ He got the feeling that thanks were not expected.

  ‘Can you show me the way?’ he asked No-name, but she was already on her feet.

  ‘That waterhole not too far,’ she told him.

  Again the girl seemed to know instinctively which way to go. Without a moment’s thought she headed straight through the bush at an angle from the vehicle track. Matthew glanced at the sun, high now, and at his shadow, and calculated that they were going just north of east.

  No-name didn’t seem to be hurrying, but Matthew found himself walking fast to keep up with her striding bare feet. She never hesitated, but weaved the easiest way through the undergrowth, avoiding dense grass, dead wattle, clumps of bushes. Matthew felt a bit silly following the girl’s footprints so closely, stepping exactly where she stepped. For a while he attempted to pick his own path through the scrub, but he soon found himself slowed down by obstacles. He realised that No-name’s lifetime spent close to the bush had given her all sorts of skills that now came without effort. She was automatically picking the easiest path, so he might as well give up his own efforts to do better, and just follow her.

  The sun was hotter, but there was still a cool easterly wind blowing, and Matthew didn’t sweat much. His mind wandered back to his predicament of the previous night. He wondered how he would be feeling now if No-name had not come looking for him. Instead of the shame of having to wait for a search party to find him, Matthew would now be able to go home at the expected time, and his parents need not even know that anything had gone wrong.

  Maybe I shouldn’t tell them? he thought. What if they don’t let me come on my own again? But he hated being untruthful, and he would have to give his parents some account of his two days. He could not imagine leaving out the most interesting part of his adventure. Besides, he wanted to tell them about his new friends.

  Just then Matthew’s attention was brought back to the present by a sense that the bush through which they were walking looked familiar. He couldn’t be sure, but there was something about it that he felt he knew. No-name said something, and pointed straight ahead. Matthew was astonished to see his own bicycle, still leaning against the tree where he had left it.

  ‘You’ve brought us right back to the top of Goanna Gorge!’ he said in surprise. ‘I had no idea how close we were.’

  ‘True?’ said No-name, grinning at Matthew as she came to a standstill. He walked over to his bike and felt the handlebars and saddle in wonderment, as if he had been separated from the machine for months instead of just twenty-four hours. When he turned around gratefully to say something to No-name, she had already gone.

  four

  Home

  Matthew listened; he could hear nothing but the wind and the call of a honey-eating bird. He resisted his first impulse to call out to No-name. If she had gone, she must have her reasons. Even so, he felt suddenly lonely, and stood waiting for several minutes in case she came back. Then he started to climb down again into Goanna Gorge, where he had left his belongings.

  He stood near the water’s edge, where he had been standing at almost the same time the previous day, and was surprised at how different he now felt, as if the adventures of the past twenty-four hours had somehow changed him. Then, he had felt exhilarated at setting out on his lone quest. But that had proved to be the least part of it. Discovering the rock paintings, which had so excited him yesterday, now seemed of much less importance. His night alone in the bush, frightening and uncomfortable though it had been, had left a far greater impression on his mind. And, he suddenly realised, the last few hours with No-name and her grandmother had been, in a different way, just as important. For some reason, he was convinced he would meet No-name again.

  But when Matthew looked behind the bushes where he had left his backpack and sleeping-bag, they were not there. He glanced around in case he was mistaken, but he knew this was the right place. The grass inside the rock crevice was crushed from the weight of his things. Someone had taken them.

  As people do when they have lost something, Matthew searched vainly around, coming back several times to stare again in disbelief at the empty hiding-place, as if he expected his missing things to reappear by themselves. He looked also for signs to tell him who had taken them. At weekends and holiday times people sometimes came to Goanna Gorge for a swim or a picnic. Perhaps someone else had come yesterday, after he had left. He went back to the water’s edge and examined the ground for signs that had not been there before – empty drink cans or food wrappings carelessly left behind – but there were none. There were plenty of footprints, but he didn’t see any that were obviously fresh apart from his own.

  Feeling deflated now, Matthew filled his water-bottle from the pool, took a drink, and then lay in the shade of the rock wall. He wondered why he had insisted on coming back so soon. He could have stayed longer talking to No-name. I just wanted to get back to base, to feel sure, he reminded himself. And it didn’t take nearly as long as I’d expected. Now, he had time on his hands. For a while his mind buzzed with all that had happened to him, and all that would happen when he turned up at home without his pack and sleeping-bag. But at last his sleepless night caught up with him, and he dozed off in the warmth of midday.

  When Matthew awoke, the sun had gone well past overhead. In the depth of the shadows the air was almost chilly. He wondered what time it was. Certainly time to start for home. He sat up, stared at the still, grey surface of the pool, and frowned as he thought about his missing things. Now there was no choice – he would have to tell his parents what had happened, to explain how he had lost everything. Even though he knew it was pointless, he still couldn’t help having another look at the empty crevice to satisfy himself for the last time that nothing was there. Then he turned and started to climb the steps up the cliffside.

  At the top he unchained his bicycle, checked his saddle-bag to see if the tools were still there, and was mildly surprised that the thief hadn’t made off with them as well. Then he wheeled his bike onto the track and started his long ride home. As he rode he watched the sun sink towards the range of hills to the west, and finally disappear like molten gold behind them. Slowly the sky changed from pale blue to yellow, then orange, deepen
ing to red. By the time he reached his own house, it was dark.

  Matthew’s parents were about to sit down to the evening meal when he walked in.

  ‘We were just going to send out a search party,’ said his father, jovially. ‘Your mother was starting to get worried. Well, did you have a good time?’

  ‘It was fantastic,’ said Matthew. ‘But nothing like I imagined.’

  ‘Were you warm enough last night?’ asked his mother, smiling happily now that her son was back. Matthew hesitated.

  ‘Well, no, actually, I was cold.’

  ‘Sleeping-bag no good?’ asked his father, surprised. ‘Where is it, anyway?’

  ‘Dad, I’ve got something to tell you. And Mum. Don’t get mad at me till I’ve told you the whole story.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you lost it? And where’s your backpack?’

  ‘Well – I think they were stolen.’

  ‘Stolen? How could they be stolen? That’s a couple of hundred dollars worth of gear you’re talking about!’ Matthew’s father thumped the table with the flat of his hand. His wife gave him a warning look.

  ‘I know, Dad, and I’m really sorry. It’s a long story.’

  ‘Well, if it’s a long story you’d better tell us over dinner,’ said Matthew’s mother, always practical. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I’m starving.’ Matthew went to shower and change his shorts, then came back to join his parents at the table.

  ‘Well?’ asked his father, after a few minutes silent eating.

  ‘You know you said you were going to send out a search party?’ Matthew reminded him.

  ‘That was just a joke because you said you’d be back by sunset, and your mother was getting worried. What of it?’

  ‘Well, you nearly did have to send one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Matthew, you didn’t get lost?’ His mother sounded alarmed.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Matthew confessed. ‘I got lost yesterday. I had to spend the night in the bush.’

  ‘Not without your sleeping-bag?’ His mother was aghast.

  ‘Yes, that’s just it. I left my things back near Goanna Gorge pool while I went exploring. And then – I got lost and couldn’t get back.’

  Matthew’s father glared his annoyance. ‘You told us you were going to Goanna Gorge. You didn’t say anything about going off exploring on your own. You know what we would have said about that!’

  ‘I know, I didn’t think. It was silly how it happened. I went along the valley looking for those rock paintings you told me about. I found them too.’ Matthew paused, but his parents didn’t react, so he went on. ‘But then, instead of going back the same way, I tried to follow the valley along the top, and I climbed a hill and somehow lost my bearings. I still don’t know where I went wrong.’

  ‘This country is so dangerous,’ said his mother, shaking her head. ‘Thank God you’re safe. Think what might have happened! You had your water-bottle with you, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, how did you find your way back?’

  ‘I didn’t. Someone found me.’

  ‘Well, you were damned lucky,’ said his father. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘A girl. An Aboriginal girl, younger than me. She was hunting and found my tracks.’

  ‘Hunting? On her own?’ Matthew’s father sounded sceptical.

  ‘Yes. She knows the bush like the back of her hand – it’s amazing. She showed me how to make fire too.’ Matthew wanted to tell his parents about the best parts of his adventure, but they only seemed interested in what had gone wrong.

  ‘And she took you back to Goanna Gorge?’

  ‘Yes. Not straight away, though. She showed me where she stays.’

  ‘What do you mean, where she stays?’ asked Matthew’s mother.

  ‘They have a place there in the bush – her family does. There was an old ute, and a sort of tent thing, and a fire …’

  Matthew’s father snorted. ‘A blacks’ camp!’ he said.

  ‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ said Matthew, taken aback.

  ‘What’s wrong with it? Nothing if you don’t mind dirt and squalor.’

  ‘It wasn’t dirty or squalid,’ protested Matthew. ‘It was just a camp, where they go at weekends. I met her grandmother.’ He decided not to mention the old woman’s leper hands, or the chipped mug of tea. ‘They live in town most of the time.’

  ‘Where? At one of the reserves?’

  ‘Well, yes. Only they’re not called reserves any more.’

  ‘There you are – dirt and squalor.’

  ‘Oh, come on – you’ve never even been inside the communities!’ said Matthew, knowing he had once been guilty of thinking the same thing. He was surprised at how fiercely protective he felt towards No-name.

  ‘No, and I wouldn’t want to.’

  ‘Well, never mind about that,’ put in Matthew’s mother, frowning at her husband. ‘At least you’re safe. It was nice of that girl to help you, whoever she is. We’re grateful to her. If you ever see her again, you must thank her for us. Maybe we could give her a little present.’

  ‘If she hasn’t got one already,’ put in Matthew’s father.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You still haven’t told us how you lost your camping gear.’

  ‘That was gone when I got back to Goanna Gorge. Someone must have come yesterday afternoon, after I’d left, and taken it. I hid everything between some rocks, behind the bushes, but it was gone.’

  ‘Well, there’s no use worrying about that,’ said his mother. ‘Losing your things is the least of it. What if you’d fallen and broken your leg, or been bitten by a snake? Or what if you’d left your water-bottle behind?’

  ‘But I didn’t!’ Matthew reminded her.

  ‘Well, I hope you’ve learned something, Matthew,’ said his father sternly. ‘You were a stupid kid. I thought you had more sense than to go off wandering in the bush on your own. No compass, no sleeping-bag. You couldn’t have come to much harm if you’d stayed at Goanna Gorge, where you said you were going to be.’

  ‘I didn’t come to much harm,’ said Matthew, reasonably.

  ‘You got lost, didn’t you?’

  ‘But I got found again.’

  ‘That was just good luck. We’ll have to think twice about letting you go off on your own again.’

  ‘He’s not going, and that’s that,’ said his mother with finality.

  That night Matthew lay in his warm bed and remembered how cold he had been the previous night. Yet it wasn’t just the cold he remembered. He stared up at his blank ceiling, and tried to imagine he could see through it to the stars beyond. But the streetlight outside his window sent a glow into his room, and his ceiling remained a ceiling. He tried to shut out the low murmur of his parents’ voices, the occasional roar of a passing car, and to hear again the sounds of the bush. He remembered the joy he had felt at the break of day, and the welcoming songs of the birds. The walk through the bush with the strange girl, No-name; the goanna she had tracked and killed with such ease. He wondered what Nick and the others would say when he told them. They’d be sick with envy.

  Getting lost had been an ordeal, but Matthew didn’t regret it one bit. He sat up in bed. ‘I’m going to learn about the bush,’ he whispered to himself. ‘I’ll ask No-name to teach me!’ It was with a feeling of delicious anticipation that he finally lay down again.

  five

  No-name Again

  Over the next few days, Matthew often thought about No-name. Twice he cycled to Two-mile, where she had told him she lived. The community lay on the outskirts of town, down a stretch of pitted gravel road with scrub on both sides. It was like a small village fenced into a compound of its own. When Matthew reached the entrance, where a sign displayed the community name, Piyirnwarnti, which he couldn’t pronounce, and another sign prohibited entry to alcohol and unauthorised persons, he lost courage. Instead of going in, as he had intended, he hung about outside. F
or the first time, Matthew wondered why it was there. Why did most of the black people live tucked away in little compounds instead of having houses in the town like everyone else? Wasn’t a reserve the same thing as a ghetto? He’d heard of Jewish ghettos in Europe, and black ghettos in America, but he wasn’t sure what they were like. He’d have to ask someone.

  From where he stood he could see people moving about between the houses, and others sitting in the shade of trees or front verandas, but no one noticed him. He waited, hoping No-name would spot him and come to talk to him. After a while he began to feel self-conscious lurking there, so he gave up and cycled away.

  He watched for No-name in the streets. Whenever he saw a group of black girls walking together, he searched their faces for the one he knew, but hers was never amongst them. Doing this made him aware of how little attention he had paid to the black kids, for he recognised few of them. He was aware of their presence in the town, of course, but he thought of them collectively, as ‘the black kids’, never individually. Even at school, though he knew everyone in his class, none of his friends was black. He thought about Nick and the others. They weren’t particularly friendly with the black kids either. He’d never heard them sneering, as some of the yobbos did. Matthew wondered if he was at fault for not being friendlier. The black kids stick to themselves too, he thought as he rode home. Maybe they don’t want to mix with us. Yet No-name had been so friendly, out in the bush. He’d felt fine with her.

  When Nick came back from his trip to Darwin with his parents, he called around to tell Matthew about his adventures.

  ‘We went to Kakadu,’ said Nick. ‘Great place. They get much more rain than we do here. You should have seen the lakes and the wildlife, especially birds.’

  Matthew listened while Nick described the places he had visited.

  ‘They have Aboriginal rangers who know everything about the region. It’s their own country, see. They can show you all these caves and rock paintings. I reckon it would be a good place to go on a camping trip, and have a real look round. We only spent a couple of days there, and I had to stay at the Lodge with the oldies, so it wasn’t the same.’