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One gubba, a boundary rider, had taken a young bub, not even initiated. He held her captive in his hut. Our men crept to the man's hut in the dark, surrounding it. They started to throw stones on the tin roof. Gubba comes out to see what the noise is. Pssst. Pssst. Pssst. The spears hit him. He laid dead.

When the white fella found out what had happened they were mad. They came in a mob, on horses, and rounded everyone up. Even the old ones, the little ones and the women. And they were shot. You could see the slug marks in the skulls years later.

Garibooli's thoughts of the evening before were interrupted by her brother, Euroke, who had burst into the lean-to and jumped playfully on her.

“Guess where I'm going,” he taunted.

“The gilli
^*
?”

“No.”

“Where?”

“Over to the fishing grounds. I'm going to catch you a big goodoo.”

“You better make sure it's dead. Otherwise it'll eat you with one big bite.”

Euroke squealed with pleasure as Garibooli tickled him and made a face like a big fish about to eat him up. Euroke was her only sibling. She had felt an adoring, proud love for him ever since he was a little brown bundle with flapping arms and legs, like a naradarnt
, she had thought. Now he was growing and was included more and more with the older men in the lead-up to his Bora
. The male ceremonies were forbidden to her, as hers were to the men. She had been warned by the older women of the harshness of the penalties for breaching the rules.

*
gilli =
the moon

naradam =
bat

Bora =
initiation ceremony

Not all the rules had remained. Booli should have been married after her own ceremony. There was a Kamillaroi man picked out for her, but he had been sent away to a prison for spearing cattle and eating it, interrupting the traditional practices. Whether another husband should be found, or she should await his return, was uncertain. The Reverend and his wife had preached against it as they were against all Aboriginal laws no matter how sacred and central they were. Even the Bora had to be done secretly for fear of the wrath of the missionaries.

Garibooli doted on Euroke. She would follow behind him when he went to fish or set traps, letting him lead the way before her watchful eye. She loved the quick way his hands moved when he carved and the slow movements when he painted.

From the tree I can see across the land.
I look at the world from my tree. A sky goddess.
I always come back to this place. My place. Home.

Warm winds swept over the knee-length grass, like the breath of sleeping children. From her perch in the tree Garibooli could see the camp in the distance, the fire's lazy smoke drifting up in to the air until it mixed invisibly with the sky. Noon heat hung with the stillness of the day, as though the whole world were too hot to move. The other children had gone to the river. Garibooli liked to be by herself. She would watch as the silhouettes of the people in her family slipped between trees. She knew all the trees in the area she lived in. She nestled into boughs, straddled branches and climbed up high with graceful agility, ripping the hems and sleeves of her scratchy calico dresses. Or she would sit, still and quiet, in the tree and watch the world around her, then climb down, limb over limb, her brown fingers gripping tan bark.

The sun was melting into her. It was almost in the middle of the sky. Garibooli was thirsty and decided to return to the camp. “Kollo ngai ngin
^*
,” she chanted as she ran, as though it was a song. “Kollo ngai ngin.”

*
Kollo ngai ngin =
I want a drink of water

My favourite thing to do is run through the grass. It softly whips my legs. I can feel the strength in my limbs as I move. I can run fast on my skinny legs. I could surprise you. I am like the wind. My name means whirlwind — Garibooli. Say it. Garibooli. Say it fast. Garibooli. Say it over and over and over again …

Garibooli returned to an empty camp. Her mother would not be back until the sun was almost set as she had gone with the other women, even the oldest ones, to get the provisions from the ration store. The women would quietly line up, single file, clothes neat, eyes lowered: Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you, sir. Since Karrwi's budding breasts had been twisted by Tom Kerrigan's large hands, Garibooli's mother, Guadgee (now Thelma Boney), would not let Garibooli join the procession to get the rations. This meant that Guadgee would have to carry the heavy load all on her own, but she was stubbornly determined that her daughter would stay behind.

Garibooli had hoped that Euroke might have returned to the camp with the promised fish. He would have caught one by now, maybe two.

She found the water in the tin amongst the skins and gulped down refreshing mouthfuls. She thought she should walk to the river to fetch some more, gather some food if she could find some, just as her grandmother and aunts had shown her, and find Euroke. But the heat, her running, her climbing, and her late night listening to Kooradgie had meshed together to make her feel deeply tired. She curled up under the lean-to and enjoyed the deliciously heavy sleep. She was so deep in her slumber that she did not hear the birds squawk as they scattered in the distance. She did not wake as the car drove across the paddock, stopping just outside the cluster of trees that lined the camp.

It was the slamming of the car doors that stirred her. The sleep had clouded her head and her limbs felt thick. She heard the voices that she did not recognise and, realising they were strangers, sensed danger.

Euroke had been fishing. He liked the curve of the river where, it was said, an evil water spirit would attack if someone ventured there after dark.

He was carrying his catch on a stick on the way back to the camp. He intended to get his sister to help him prepare the fish for cooking, knowing she would be impressed by his success and flitter around him excitedly. He already felt the warm glow of pride in his stomach.

Euroke had always been aware of his sister's watchful eye. Her presence pulled from him a protecting and caring spirit. Booli would sit quietly and watch him as he worked or played, fascinated by his movements, her big brown eyes focused intently on him. He would suck in the pride he felt at being the centre of the older girl's universe, basking in her gentle adoration.

He passed three younger boys from his camp playing at making a nganda
^*
, nodding at them confidently as he passed, giving them the approval they had sought from him. A short way on, he heard the shrieks of the gila
as they scattered into the sky. Usually there had to be some disturbance to send the birds into such a fit. A car. Gubbas. Gunjies
. Euroke felt that something was wrong. Something bad. It was always bad when the men in black, in their black cars, came to the camp. Something in his heart told him that he needed to find Booli.

*
nganda =
canoe

gila =
galah

gunjies =
police