Chaseling glanced across at the boy, who was pressed up against the side door, sitting as far away from the unwelcome passenger as possible. ‘Hello Davie,’ Chaseling said. The child remained silent, responding only with a quick, fearful look. Perhaps in his world, Chaseling thought, white people meant bad news. He resolved to win him over.
He said, ‘Do you know how to play Yes and No?’
‘No,’ the boy replied in a half-whisper.
‘Well, if we were playing you would have just lost that round,’ Chaseling said. ‘You see, how it works is that one person asks the other questions. And the one who’s answering the questions isn’t allowed to say “yes” or “no.” Now, do you understand the rules to the game?’
‘Yes,’ Davie said. The two men in the front burst out laughing.
‘The idea,’ Chaseling said, ‘is to say something like “I do” or “that’s correct” instead of “yes.” Same with “no.” So you’re totally clear about the rules?’
The boy hesitated, then said, ‘I am.’
‘Very good. We’re playing seriously now. So what are you into Davie – do you like the footie?’
‘I do. Australian Rules. Adam Goodes, he’s my favourite.’
‘Is he?’
‘Yes.’ Then Davie realised what he’d said and put his hand over his mouth, to another chorus of laughter from his father and grandfather. These people laugh easily, Chaseling thought to himself.
Clarrie steered them off the bitumen onto a rutted, potholed dirt track, where the wheels juddered along a series of corrugations – ribs of compacted dirt and stone. Chaseling’s head almost hit the roof and he settled deeper into the lumpy seat. ‘Now it’s your turn to ask the questions,’ he told Davie.
The boy thought for a second, then said, ‘What are you into?’
‘Doctor Who comes pretty high,’ Chaseling said. ‘I like watching old episodes. Do you know how many Doctors there’ve been over the years?’
‘No,’ said Davie, then put his hand over his mouth again.
‘That’s OK,’ Chaseling said, ‘it’s only me who’s not allowed to say the words when you’re the one asking the questions.’
The boy gave a sly smile. ‘What words are they?’
Chaseling decided to fall on his sword. ‘Why, “yes,” and “no” of course,’ he said. Then he slapped himself on the forehead. ‘Oh no!’
‘You said it again!’ said Davie, laughing.
‘Anyway,’ said Chaseling, ‘I know you’re dying to find out how many Doctors there’ve been. And the answer is twelve. Unless you count the various movie spin-offs, webcasts and audio series, in which case it’s around fifty. I wrote a small paper on it when I did a media course at university.’
‘What’s un-iv-ers-ity?’ Davie pronounced the word slowly, blurring the last couple of consonants. His eyes were looking up at Chaseling almost hungrily, as if aware that this hitherto unheard-of place could hold the key to exciting new worlds.
‘It’s my turn to ask the questions,’ Chaseling said, ‘although when I come to think of it, the rules of Yes and No don’t contain an actual ban on questionees asking the odd question. So I’ll answer your question. University, also known as uni, is where you go after you finish school and study things in more detail.’
‘Like Doctor Who?’ The boy’s eyes were gleaming with delight.
‘If you like.’
‘I wanna go to uni!’ Davie said excitedly.
‘Do you?’ said Chaseling.
‘Yeah.’
‘I should have mentioned that saying ‘yeah’ is the same as saying ‘yes,’ Chaseling said.
‘I’d like a turn at this,’ Noelie announced from the front seat. He tilted back his hat as he looked round at Chaseling, his eyes alive with the spirit of fun. ‘Ask me something, Kumina.’
‘Well,’ said Chaseling, thinking about the design on the front of Noelie’s T-shirt, ‘I understand you’re pretty good at the didgeridoo?’
‘How do you know that?’ the cowboy-hatted man said with a look of astonishment, craning his head round.
‘Your T-shirt,’ Chaseling said, disappointed not to be unravelling, like Holmes to Watson, some more complex piece of deduction. He looked over at the driver. ‘How about you, Clarrie – do you play the didge?’
‘I play guitar, but I don’t play the didge,’ Clarrie said.
‘So you play the didgeri-don’t?’ This set off a fresh gale of laughter from the two men in the front.
Chaseling gazed across at young Davie, about to get him back into the conversation, but saw the boy’s eyes were half closed and his body had sunk low in the seat, his head resting against the holdall.
Clarrie said, ‘Kumina, you said you were going to Alice Springs. What were you doing out here so far from the highway?’
‘I drove off the highway and went to Jarramooka. Wanted to have a look at the fossils there.’
He delved into his pocket and produced the fabulous opal he’d found. It glimmered blue and green in the moonlight. Seeing the gleaming thing in Chaseling’s hand, Noelie shied away like a vampire exposed to a cross and said something in dialect to his son. Clarrie looked round and said, ‘Jarramooka’s a sacred place, Kumina, people are buried there. That’s a bad luck stone. You gotta take it back where you found it.’
Chaseling slowly withdrew the hand holding the opal, regretting his mistake in showing it to the men, feeling a premonition of remorse that he may have desecrated the grave of an honoured ancient. Then he was distracted from his guilt by the Falcon’s engine suddenly cutting out. It coughed, then spluttered into life again, but only for a few seconds. The engine gave a final gasp and ground to a complete halt. Clarrie turned round to give Chaseling an accusing look, as though to blame the car’s malaise on the unlucky stone.
‘Out of petrol?’ enquired Chaseling. He gazed over Clarrie’s shoulder at the fuel gauge. It was reading below empty.
Clarrie let three seconds pass before replying. ‘Yeah,’ he grudgingly admitted. He opened his door and got out of the car. ‘We’re gonna walk, it’s not far.’
Chaseling got out. A warm breeze was blowing across the plain, carrying the faint sound of a dog howling somewhere out in the blackness. Clarrie had the boot lid open and was having an animated conversation in dialect with his father, who was shaking his head and apparently rebutting whatever Clarrie was suggesting. But finally the elder nodded and said: ‘Uwa.’
Clarrie turned to Chaseling and said. ‘OK, you and my Dad, you’re going to lift out that roo and put it on my shoulders.’
‘Sure,’ Chaseling replied, like someone who was called upon to hoist dead kangaroos every day. He grabbed the roo by the tail while Noelie took its shoulders and they got it out of the car boot, Clarrie standing by with his shoulders lowered ready to receive his load.
The kangaroo was a male, possessed of a large scrotal sack dangling pendulously from its loins, and was the weight of a small man, at least 65 kilos. They draped it stomach-down across Clarrie’s shoulders. Clarrie’s arms gripped the tail on one side and the back legs on the other. He half-straightened his body, staggering slightly under his burden. He looked like someone wearing a strange fur coat, one that still had the body attached. The mashed, bloodied head of the animal could form a nice little conversation