The Map of William by Michael Thomas

Author:Michael Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fremantle Press
Published: 2023-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

It was a great distance to Nullagine and the route was not as the crow flies. The trail was perilous in parts and our progress hampered by buffeting east winds and swirling desert debris. My father had been conservative in his estimation of the distance we would travel. Two hundred and forty miles and a week in the saddle according to Donal, who was proving to be a fine judge in these matters. We had crossed the mighty Fortescue River some days past and replenished our dwindling supply of water but we were under no illusions. The worst of it was still to come.

Much like the sun and flies, monotony was an enemy and sharp conversation helped lift our spirits. Stories flowed thick and fast with each man trying to outdo the other in bouts of wit to pass the time. I had found my voice in our happy company and held my own for the most part.

Samuel recounted the legend of Russian Jack who pushed his injured friend all the way from Fitzroy Crossing to the sea – two hundred miles or more in a rickety wheelbarrow. Rover told of a Manilaman who could hold his breath a full five minutes before ascending to the surface, pearl shells clasped tightly in his hands. I recalled the bravery of my brother Robert who outswam a bull shark in the River Swan. My father wove a compelling tale of his stranding in a blizzard on Mount Snowdon. But none could match Donal who claimed to have swum with whales at Point d’Entrecasteaux.

We journeyed side-by-side alternating our positions so that no man was left to travel on his own. Rover and Walala would talk for hours in their common language and I would listen to its rolling lilt and marvel at the sound. Samuel Grace had taken me under his wing and was more a kindly uncle than the gruff ostler I had first met in Roebourne. Donal and my father shared a love of maps and charts but there was something deeper in their connection and I was glad of it. No longer a company of strangers but comrades one and all and bound by something greater than the adversity we faced.

There was bounty in the desert if you knew where it could be found. Rover and Walala supplemented our rations with roots and grubs extracted from the soil. A leaf that was so coarse to the touch made a refreshing tea that tasted much like mint, and desert python cooked in paperbark had the flavour of giant rat or chicken.

The red granite land held its secrets well but Walala seemed to know the location of every gnamma hole along the way. The water was cool and clear, untouched by the sun and fit to drink without boiling. My father was cautious of the typhoid and insisted that we boil every drop.

When evening came and darkness sapped the light of day, a million lights become a billion more. As I cradled

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