Fantasy Score by Tom Robertson

Author:Tom Robertson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781781481745
Publisher: Grosvenor House Publishing
Published: 2013-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

The Tunnel

In this job you do have to deal a weirdo now and again and the old gent had an excited air about him. But even so the questions he asked left me speechless. He was white and not evens an Australian: so how could he know of things only a handful of Tjukurpa teachers are ever told?

Once I collected my wits, I muttered something to the effect that the collection of photos of aboriginal art work on display at the reception desk might interest him but, although he thanked me politely, I was well aware that he knew he was being fobbed off

I didn’t see him again until the next day when he looked as even more excited than yesterday. It wasn’t just that he was sweating, all the tourists were sweating from the walk from the air conditioned hotel to the coach park but he was carrying a cloth bag that he gave me to stow in the coach luggage compartment, He didn’t say anything, but the look of feverish anticipation in his eyes was very unnerving .

I didn’t want him on my coach and I most certainly didn’t want him to reach Uluru, but what could I do? He wasn’t drunk or misbehaving in any way, There were no white-man’s rules I could think of that I could use to stop him and I was only a hired guide here; perhaps though it was something the Ancients ordained – I’ll never know.

As part of the day trip involved looking at rock paintings, the tour operators provided, and insisted that everyone wore, a hard hat and he when he refused the one I gave him I thought that would give me the excuse I wanted. It turned out however that he had brought a safety helmet with him and asked my permission to wear that one instead. Again what could I say? The one that came out of the bag was a top quality one complete with built-in lamp and battery pack and obviously far superior to the one I had offered him. He had come prepared in other ways as well. I caught a glimpse of a thick file in the bag as he rummaged for a hard-backed sketchpad with clipped-on eraser and assorted pencils.

I kept an eye on him all morning to make sure he didn’t slip away and, as his distinctive headgear made him easy to spot among the tourist group ahead, I noticed immediately when he turned off into a little gully. A call of nature I supposed. I know that little gully well it’s quite pretty at this time of year when the shrubs are in flower but it’s small and leads nowhere.

When I reached the gully didn’t want to intrude on his privacy and hung back waiting for him to come out again – but he didn’t.

The rest of the coach party thought I was completely unreasonable when I called off the visit to the caves and insisted they searched for the missing man.

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