you were so crazy about. I’ve forgotten the title, but if you labelled it “The Gates of Hell” you wouldn’t be far wrong. No wonder the guy never laughs. Actually, I never see any of them laugh.’
‘Them?’
‘You’re right, I’m sorry. But one night in Alice Springs, when you were asleep, I wandered off and got lost. I didn’t tell you.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. But I found myself face to face with three of these great big guys. They stopped, I stopped. They reeked of beer. That’s all. They stood there staring at me until finally I turned and walked away. End of story.’
She paused, then added, ‘It was all so sad.’
‘You can see the same sadness in São Paulo.’
‘No, not the same. For one thing, there’s always laughter in São Paulo, no matter how terrible things are. Our slaves came from Africa, so at least they know how to dance. Really dance, I mean. Can you imagine a samba school here? But that’s not what I meant. It’s all so hopeless. Do you know that Groucho Marx joke? “We were standing on the edge of a precipice. Since then, we have taken a giant leap forward.” Even that was denied them. They were snatched away long before they got to the edge. Anyway, half of it is fake.’
‘What’s fake?’
‘Everything. They used to paint their bodies or draw pictures in the sand. It meant something, and then it was gone. A bit of wind, and the drawing was swept away. Nothing was for sale. If I buy a piece of painted bark that was once given to the dead, how can I be sure it’s worth anything? How many of them can one person make? And then what happens? Do they sit out there in the bush with their secret whatevers, waiting for another gallery owner with bags of money to land his Piper Cub on their airstrip?’
‘You’re disappointed.’
‘Maybe. And maybe I’m right.’
‘Because our precious dream has been shattered? And yet a week ago in Ubirr you were in ecstasy. Or have you forgotten already?’
‘No, I haven’t forgotten. But I can’t help feeling that somehow or other it’s all doomed. And then when you disappeared like that . . .’
‘I didn’t disappear.’
‘No, but you looked terribly unhappy . . .’
‘I wasn’t unhappy. I was just . . . somewhere else. Trying to work something out.’
She laid a hand on my arm. ‘OK, I’ll stop asking questions. I’m sorry. But the least you can do is make me laugh. Tell me a funny word, and then I’ll tell you my news. We’ve had an offer that ought to make you laugh. At any rate I hope so. But first a funny word.’
‘Maku.’
‘ Maku ,’ she repeated. When am I supposed to start laughing?’
‘As soon as you know what it means.’
‘Use it in a sentence.’
‘“Out in the desert I ate delicious maku .” Witchetty grubs – the larvae of ghost moths – and beetles. They can be found near mulga trees, along with tjala , honey ants. You can dig them up underneath a mulga tree after it has rained. The ants swell up to the size of frogs. They’re full of a yellowy, sickeningly sweet nectar that’s meant for the worker ants. They come over and suck it up. You see, I‘ve learned a lot. Send me into the desert, and I’ll survive. So what’s this about an offer?’
‘It’s in Perth. That’s miles away, but I think our junk heap can just about make it. There’s going to be a literary festival with a couple of theatre performances. They’re looking for angels, or rather extras dressed up as angels.’
‘To act in a play?’
‘No. I’m not sure I really understand it, but the way they explained it to me was that while the festival is going on, angels will be hidden all over the city. People are supposed to go and look for them.’
‘What do we have to do?’
‘Nothing. They give us a pair of wings and every day for a week someone picks us up and takes us to a hiding place in a church, or in a ruin, or in a bank. We just have to stay put all day and let people find us. Somehow
Vanessa Kelly
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