Chapter 16

"Do you know where the nungungi is?" I asked Patrick after dinner.

"Different place. Band went to Lake Hondra for fishing. Too many tourists. Walkabout south of Charleville. Now between Wallal Bore and Bakers Bend. You're supposed to know."

"I do. The band went on walkabout to Lake Hondraman for the fish, but when they got there, there were too many white folks, so they went east. They're off the Mitchell Highway. It'll take us about three hours. If we leave here by eight, that should work."

"Okay. I'll let the band know. I'll wash and go to bed soon."

"Shirt, shorts and boots," said Weena. "There might be snakes or scorpions."

"Okay."

I got up early and had coffee with Dad. Then I woke Patrick and got him busy in the bathroom. I went and gave a kiss to a somnolent Weena and helped Patrick with his lace-up boots.

"Let's get some breakfast into you."

"Okay. But I'm ready."

"Can you read a map?"

"Not really."

"Well, we'll see how you do as we drive."

We sat with Dad as he had more coffee. I wanted more, but I knew what it would do to my bladder on the drive. I took the roadmaps while Patrick finished his cereal and milk. We were underway a few minutes after eight. Close.

As I pulled onto the highway westbound, I handed a map to Patrick. "Try unfolding this; it's tricky."

"Tricky?"

"It's what's called 'accordion folded.' Some people get confused and end up destroying the map."

"Oh." He looked at the folds, unfolded it once, looked at the way it went, and unfolded it once the other way.

"Good boy. Can you see the towns and lines?"

"Yes."

"Can you read any names towards the middle of the map?"

"I see Emerald."

"Good. A few centimetres under it should be Roma."

"I see it!"

"Great. Now there's a line running through Roma marked 54 -- that's a five and a four."

"Yes."

"Left of Roma you'll find Mitchell."

"No. There's a fold."

"Fine. Take the piece of the map that's in your right hand — the one near me — and fold it back. Now take the 'new' fold in your right hand and unfold the piece in your left hand — the hand near the door." I glanced over. He'd done it right. "Now find 54 again and Mitchell should be at the edge near me."

"Found it!"

"Okay. The next dot should be Mungalla."

"Yes."

"Fine. I'll let you know when we pass it, and then you tell me what comes next."

"Okay. I can do this."

We passed Morven. "Is Charleville next?"

"Yes."

"There's an up-and-down line that's the Mitchell Highway, I don't know the number. It goes down to Cunnamulla."

"It's seven-one."

"Okay. Now watch for the sign for us to turn left."

"It says 'slow sharp bend'."

"Okay."

"Now 'airport' pointing right."

"Excellent. Ah, here we are!" I turned sharply and then turned again. "Well, we're on the Mitchell. You can fold the map, if you want to. Does the nungungi know where we are?"

"I guess so."

"Tell him we're nearly at the golf club."

"There's a track off to the left going to a claypan. The track to the bore is past that."

"Okay. I'll keep my eyes open." We were past the golf club. There was nothing on the road, so I slowed to about 25kph. In a few minutes I could see the oblique sun reflecting from the iron-hard clay. "Over there, Patrick." I pointed with my left arm. "Hold on." We bounced off to the left and jolted to the pan at under 10kph. The pan was broken around the edges. Someone must have mined a load or two. I could see the track, because it was marked 'some water' in blackfeller sign.

"Over there," Patrick cried.

A few minutes later we were there. Barking dogs, a few humpies, some rusty trucks, folks standing about, and Jimmy and the nungungi in front.

"Unbelt and get that brown paper sack out of the back," I said. "Then get out and say hello — Jimmy first. He's now chief. Then give the bag to the nungungi."