1
The last sliver of light slips into darkness. The full moon, now in complete shadow, begins its crimson mutation. The barren landscape, which only an hour before had possessed a dreamlike shimmering quality, falls into a murky haze.
The outline of a towering figure stands, arms crossed, amid a series of tiny rock outcroppings. A single, thin, sparsely leafed tree stands sentinel. Head tilted back and eyes lost in the night sky, the powerful and athletic frame of the form rocks slowly, almost imperceptibly, from one leg to the other. With a release of tension in the shoulder, crossed arms unfold and drop to the figure’s side. A guttural murmur, a quiet chant, joins the sound of the gentle breeze that moves the branches of the solitary tree. The crackled bass voice of the man groans out a mournful dirge.
“Jarntulu kalyu...jarntulu kalyu...kalyulurni pungu”
With the vibrations of the chant still ringing in the air, the man drops one knee to the ground, then the other. Sitting on his calves, he drops his torso to the ground, laying his arms on the parched, dusty earth in front of him. Whispers of a prayer mix with the sounds of the night. And then, silence.
A shaky breath and a sigh. The man seems to almost disappear, to merge with the landscape.
With the crescent shape of light returning to the moon, a second figure emerges a few hundred paces away. Smaller and frailer, the form moves toward the still prostrate man with a graceful masking of a limp. With the muffled sound of the steps approaching, the man sits up and wipes the back of his hand across his face. He rises, and rapidly turns and grabs a backpack sitting on top of the rocks next to him. The contents rattle as he throws the pack over his shoulder.
A shaky, husky feminine voice calls out in rushed and anxious tones, “Nyarrati-nyurra pakarnu nyunturtinpa?” The grace of her steps are gone and have been replaced by an awkward shuffling through the dust.
The man huffs out a breath and looks far off in the distance, away from the approaching woman. He responds in a resigned and gentle tone, “Jarntulu maru-marulu pajarnu multilya”.
The elderly woman arrives along side of the man and gently grabs his massive hand, placing her other hand on top of his. In the returning light, a line of tears can be made out running over the wrinkles of the woman’s brown cheeks. Her wide nostrils flaring with labored breath.
A faint smile tinged with sadness comes over his face. He slowly turns his head and looks fondly down on the diminutive woman. He turns his body, taking both of her tiny hands in his, surrounding them, holding them as gently as a small bird. He bows to her, bringing their foreheads together.
The woman begins a nearly silent chatter, a rapid succession of reverent utterings. The two remain connected at the brow amid a slowly, steadily increasing return of light to the desert landscape.
A gentle burst of wind waves through the man’s long beard. He breaks the connection, holding the woman’s shoulders, he kisses her forehead. Adjusting the backpack and slinging the other strap over his shoulders, He turns and strides with purpose around the solitary tree and off down a winding path carved through the brush.
The woman moves close to the rock outcropping, nearly collapsing her form in an embrace around the boulder. A shuttering breath and a faint whimper rise from her into the night. She raises her gaze to the crescent form of the moon and again returns to her nearly inaudible prayer. Her gaze moves down across the horizon and she spots a form moving briskly through the silvery darkness, fading rapidly and then vanishing into the night.
No comments:
Post a Comment