a smaller plane, a little one-prop job like my dad’s, and we fly to this landing strip in the middle of the outback and get on a bus. We drive with our windows open and the heat and the dirt are blowing in from the outside. When we stop the Americans smoke and the Japanese take pictures. We load back up. Sitting next to me is this guy from Holland. His name is Arnie Tang and he’s singing in this heavy accent, “Der wus a hoose in Neoorlins, dey call de risin’ sun.” He’s got this beat-up guitar that he says, “I am being carrying all over de wurld.” Arnie talks just like a neon sign I read in Amsterdam once. It said, “Real f***ing live show!!!” I still don’t know what that meant, and Arnie had the same quality. “It wus de ruin of many a man und Gott I hope I’m one.”
Finally, I see Ayers Rock on the horizon. This guy, a tourist guide, gets on the loudspeaker:
“G’day mates ( static ), and welcome to Ayers Rock, the world’s largest monolith. I know you’ve all come to climb the rock but before you do, I’d like to remind you that two hundred and fifteen people have died from heart attacks and another fifty have dropped to their impending death. Enjoy your stay and enjoy the rock ( click ).”
Arnie says, “But I have been coming to climb the rock.”
And I say, “I am coming to climb the rock.”
He says, “Well, I am climbing the rock.”
I say, “I am climbing the rock.”
People get off the bus and are cutting the rock a wide berth. Arnie and I walk right up to the base of the rock, grab this chain that’s hanging down the side, and start pulling ourselves up to the top. I wanted to quit three times, and about halfway up I say, “Arnie, I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
Arnie says, “I am keeping going.”
So I say, “I am keeping going, too!”
We get to the top, then we grab that chain and let ourselves back down, trying not to become statistics.
That night we’re at the campground. I could see Ayers Rock in the distance and I’m standing there doing the Australian salute, which is a hand wave in front of your face to keep the flies away, and behind me the sun is setting. As the red from the sun hit that rock, it starts to glow this brilliant red. Then as the sun sets further, that rock turns into this deep, blood red. As the coolness of the night hit the heat of that rock, it starts to move and to beat. The sun set, but I know out there in the darkness the heart of Australia is still beating. I go back to my tent and I write in my journal, “ No atheist leaves the rock .”
DAVID IS A BARRISTER —a lawyer—for the Aboriginal land rights in Alice Springs. I met him shortly after my visit to the rock. David explains that recently the United States, more accurately the CIA, was buying land in the outback. David has been helping native people here acquire their land through the court system, but records are sparse and inconsistent.
David goes inside and comes back wearing his powder wig and his black robe that his grandfather had used back in England. He’s standing there in the 110 degree heat, sweat running from under the wig, and he said, “The first people here didn’t understand this. And we certainly didn’t understand them. There are hundreds of native languages in Australia but not one word for ‘possession’ or ‘time’. My job is all the more difficult because there is also a different sense of family.”
I say, “Wait a second there, David. Family . . . that seems kind of cut-and-dried to me.”
He says, “No, our system, the Western system, runs vertically, like a family tree. That means your great-grandparents, your grandparents, your parents going up the trunk and your uncles and cousins going out on the branches . . . your vertical tree. But their family tree is like vines running horizontally around the earth.” Although a matriarchal system, a “brother,” for instance, may be the son of your mother’s sister; you’re also
Finally, I see Ayers Rock on the horizon. This guy, a tourist guide, gets on the loudspeaker:
“G’day mates ( static ), and welcome to Ayers Rock, the world’s largest monolith. I know you’ve all come to climb the rock but before you do, I’d like to remind you that two hundred and fifteen people have died from heart attacks and another fifty have dropped to their impending death. Enjoy your stay and enjoy the rock ( click ).”
Arnie says, “But I have been coming to climb the rock.”
And I say, “I am coming to climb the rock.”
He says, “Well, I am climbing the rock.”
I say, “I am climbing the rock.”
People get off the bus and are cutting the rock a wide berth. Arnie and I walk right up to the base of the rock, grab this chain that’s hanging down the side, and start pulling ourselves up to the top. I wanted to quit three times, and about halfway up I say, “Arnie, I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
Arnie says, “I am keeping going.”
So I say, “I am keeping going, too!”
We get to the top, then we grab that chain and let ourselves back down, trying not to become statistics.
That night we’re at the campground. I could see Ayers Rock in the distance and I’m standing there doing the Australian salute, which is a hand wave in front of your face to keep the flies away, and behind me the sun is setting. As the red from the sun hit that rock, it starts to glow this brilliant red. Then as the sun sets further, that rock turns into this deep, blood red. As the coolness of the night hit the heat of that rock, it starts to move and to beat. The sun set, but I know out there in the darkness the heart of Australia is still beating. I go back to my tent and I write in my journal, “ No atheist leaves the rock .”
DAVID IS A BARRISTER —a lawyer—for the Aboriginal land rights in Alice Springs. I met him shortly after my visit to the rock. David explains that recently the United States, more accurately the CIA, was buying land in the outback. David has been helping native people here acquire their land through the court system, but records are sparse and inconsistent.
David goes inside and comes back wearing his powder wig and his black robe that his grandfather had used back in England. He’s standing there in the 110 degree heat, sweat running from under the wig, and he said, “The first people here didn’t understand this. And we certainly didn’t understand them. There are hundreds of native languages in Australia but not one word for ‘possession’ or ‘time’. My job is all the more difficult because there is also a different sense of family.”
I say, “Wait a second there, David. Family . . . that seems kind of cut-and-dried to me.”
He says, “No, our system, the Western system, runs vertically, like a family tree. That means your great-grandparents, your grandparents, your parents going up the trunk and your uncles and cousins going out on the branches . . . your vertical tree. But their family tree is like vines running horizontally around the earth.” Although a matriarchal system, a “brother,” for instance, may be the son of your mother’s sister; you’re also
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