Red Dust Dreaming (12 page)

“So you know absolutely nothing about Aboriginal art?” Richard's keen blue eyes sparked with enthusiasm and she recognised another art lover.

“Absolutely nothing,” she grinned. “I'm guessing you know quite a lot.”

“Which is why I am here.” He spread his hands wide. “Wouldn't be anywhere else. Wait until you see the work. It's magnificent! Do you paint?”

Elizabeth sighed and placed her mug on the table. “Long story,” she said.

“I like long stories and it just so happens I have all day.”

“I ran away from home after high school. My parents wanted me to do something sensible like law…”

“Medicine, accounting, teaching…”

“Not teaching. Doesn't make enough money for my dad to count it as a real profession.”

“Ouch! Career snob.”

Elizabeth laughed. “He's been called a lot of things, never that. But you get the picture, right?”

“Oh, yes. I had the same speech from my dad. He was a police officer. IT was where I should be at he said. Secure and lucrative.”

“I guess the image of their daughter starving in a garret somewhere freaked them out. They only wanted the best for me.” Elizabeth drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them.

“The best for us is art and more art,” said Phillip. “So what happened? I take it you're not practicing art now.”

She shook her head. “I went to art school entirely self-funded. It was a disaster. I ran out of money after the first two years. Lost my part time job. My boyfriend left me for a life-model.”

“That had to hurt.”

“A male life model. My parents said they'd fund the rest of my education but only if I did a course of their choosing. My dad's a lawyer.” She held out her empty mug. “That's great coffee.”

“Enough said on both counts.” He took her cup and poured her another. “So you don't dabble?”

“Found myself too busy and my heart wasn't in it anymore.” She looked out the window at the bright day waiting for her, the colours of the earth and sky so intense. Out here there were no blurred lines, things were exactly as they were. Back home everything seemed layered with nuances by comparison to the open frankness she'd found in the Outback. “You know I never imagined there'd be a time when I didn't paint. It was so much of who I was yet I can't remember the last time I picked up a brush.” She turned back to look at Richard. “The other day I started sketching with Luke's crayons. That's the first time I've done anything even remotely artistic in years.”

He nodded. “May I say it shows?”

“What?” Elizabeth sat bolt upright planting her feet firmly on the linoleum floor.

“I'm not trying to be rude but you can see you're not happy. It's in every line of your body. When I met you I thought now there's a woman who's lost.” Richard leaned forward, his voice earnest.

Tears welled in her eyes. He saw her, he actually saw her. “You're right,” she whispered. “I am lost.”

“Yuendumu is a great place to be found. Come on, finish your coffee, get out of your pyjamas and we'll go and meet the artists.”

“But what about breakfast?” She was starving.

“Art will be your food,” he said in a mock-operatic voice. “Seriously, I'll make some toast while you get ready. Vegemite?”

“Oh god no! How can you people eat that stuff?” She laughed, cheered by Richard's forthright manner.

“Breakfast of champions!” He shooed her out of the kitchen.

She raced back to the bedroom. She'd just unloaded her soul on a virtual stranger. Her confession left her light and strangely joyful. Perhaps she was lost in the right place, a remote artist community where no one was going to tell her who she was or who she should be. She suddenly felt like dancing.

An hour later she stood outside the Warlukurlangu Art Centre. A large industrial wire fence surrounded a low brick building in a yard comprised entirely of red earth. The building was painted the same shade of red, the only foliage a handful of towering gum trees.

“Come and I'll introduce you to the artists,” said Richard taking her hand and leading the way into the compound.

They found several artists sitting cross legged with their dingo-like dogs under a veranda. The artists greeted Richard as he approached. Paint marks and splotches covered the floor. Clearly this was an area where a lot of the painting took place. On closer inspection intricate designs along with bits of graffiti covered the wall of the building.

Richard introduced Elizabeth as an artist, making her blush at the title. So much time had passed since she'd held a paint brush! No one questioned her, everyone seemed content to meet a fellow painter. No one asked her what she painted, they all simply nodded and said hello.

He ushered her through into the building itself. She gasped when she saw the paint store, shelf upon shelf, row upon row of glorious colours. She'd never seen anything like the place before. No self-importance, no artist narrative; just a bunch of people following their passion side by side and producing remarkable work. Richard showed her some of the finished pieces.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Amazing!” she breathed as she squatted in front of a large acrylic canvas. “All these symbols. You know what they mean?”

“Sure do. I'll ask if you can sit with the artists for a bit if you like. I'm sure they'll be happy to explain their work to you.”

“Could I?” Excitement took hold of her. “The way they put colours together makes me want to grab a brush and start painting.”

Richard laughed at her enthusiasm. “Warlukurlangu artists are famous for their colourful acrylic paintings. We've got an international profile you know. Done loads of exhibitions around Australia and overseas.”

“I'm ashamed to say I've never seen anything like this before in my life.” She bent to examine another piece. “The paintings are so full of life. What does Warlukurlangu mean?”

“It means ‘belonging to fire' in the local Warlpiri language. There's a fire dreaming site west of here and the centre is named after that.”

“Fire dreaming.” The words sparked images and ideas in her mind. A whole raft of new possibilities.

Richard took her back outside where the artists were happy for her to sit and watch.

“This is Elizabeth,” he introduced her to an older Aboriginal woman who wore a headscarf with a print of the United States flag on it. “She's American like your scarf. She used to paint once and would like to watch your work if you don't mind.” The woman nodded and indicated for Elizabeth to sit next to her. “Elizabeth this is Nellie. Her work is much sort after and you'll learn a lot from her. Let me know if you need a cushion. These concrete floors can be murder.”

The artists all seemed to sit at ease while her stiff hips and legs made her wonder if she should opt for the cushion up front.

Hours passed by. Elizabeth didn't always catch the quick jokes flying about or follow the conversations, the accent and local dialect left her befuddled, but never for a moment did she feel left out. Small children darted about along with dogs and more flies than she could count. Her bottom hurt from sitting on the hard floor yet it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She belonged here, here amongst the other artists.

“May I come back tomorrow?” she asked Nellie at the end of the day.

“Why not?” said Nellie. “Maybe tomorrow you can paint something, hey Lizzie.”

A bubble of happiness popped in her chest at the thought. “I'd love that!” she cried hugging Nellie so hard the poor woman nearly fell over. Nellie giggled and playfully slapped her on her arm. Everyone laughed. She laughed with them. Right in this moment uptight Elizabeth ceased to exist replaced by Lizzie, a girl who loved to paint and laugh in the sunshine.

Later, as Richard cooked dinner she wondered how she could engineer it so she never had to leave. The whole idea was impossible yet she couldn't help turn it over in her mind like a shiny pebble unexpectedly found. A lucky talisman. She hugged her dream to her, not sharing it with Richard. He'd only explain why it wouldn't work and she didn't want it shattered just yet.

“They call me Lizzie,” she told him.

“It suits you,” he said placing a plate of pasta in front of her.

“I'm starving. This smells delicious.” She picked up her fork and, not standing on ceremony, dug in.

“Love a woman with a good appetite.” Richard filled her glass. “Bon appetite!”

She grinned by way of reply, her mouth full; her body dirty, dishevelled and happy. Tomorrow she'd begin painting again although she had no idea exactly what she'd paint. “Do you have any books about the region?” she asked. “About the Outback?”

“Outback art or just Outback?”

“Either and or.” Elizabeth shovelled another forkful into her mouth.

“Happen to have both, Lizzie.” He winked as he used her new name. “Do you mind if I call you Lizzie?”

“Not at all. It will take some getting used to but I like how it feels.” She wiggled her shoulders as if trying on the name for size.

“Suits you. Suddenly you don't seem as lost.”

“You know I think you're right.” She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “No one mentioned Angela today. Did the people here know her?”

“Of course we did and we loved her. It's impolite to mention the deceased in Aboriginal culture. No photos, no mention of their names once they've passed over.” He smiled to soften the idea. “I know it sometimes seems harsh to us. We like to build memorials to our dead and remember them on anniversaries. It's just not their way. But don't think that means they didn't all adore Angela. She'd come here often, bring Luke along with her. We all miss her.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

Elizabeth sat perfectly still. Something about the gesture gave her pause although she couldn't put her finger on what made her so uneasy. After a heart beat in time she gently withdrew her hand and picked up her glass. “Thank you, Richard for a wonderful stay. I do believe it will change my life.”

“I hope so,” he murmured.

After dinner Elizabeth — Lizzie — retired to her room. She checked her watch and calculated the time difference with New York. It didn't matter what the time was, she intended to call anyway. She rang her father's cell number and he answered almost immediately.

“Elizabeth!”

“Hi Dad, what time is it there?”

“Nine-thirty in the morning. You just caught me between meetings. How's it going?”

“Well. Luke is wonderful and…”

“Have you found a will yet?” her father interrupted.

“Um…still looking,” she lied.

“Good. So when are you coming home? Get that boy on a plane immediately. No point staying out there in that godforsaken place,” he barked down the phone.

“I've got to scatter Angela's ashes. Apparently she wanted them left here.” Lizzie stalled for time.

“Rubbish! There's no will. Arrange for them to come home and we'll put them in the family plot where they belong.” Lizzie's chest began to constrict, and her breath became shallow. All the rigid conditions of her life in New York crashed in on her again. Her new self began to slip away. She had to hang on to Lizzie and let Elizabeth go.

“Dad,” she stopped to clear her throat as her voice, like her courage, began to waiver. “I'm staying to honour Angela's wishes.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Elizabeth. Get yourself on a plane tomorrow,” her father demanded.

“Sorry Dad, no can do. We're too remote to just up and go. Plus there is something I need to do first. I owe it to Angela.” Her father began to speak over the top of her and she stopped him. “No Dad, I'm doing it. I'm staying. You and Mom can wait another few days. What's the rush?”

“That man is after Luke's money. He wants the boy for his inheritance,” her father spluttered.

“I'm not so sure Dad. Caden doesn't seem like the type of guy who…”

“That money belongs in the family not with some stranger!”

“Dad! How on earth can Caden get the money in the first place? You're being unreasonable.”

“Bring that boy home now!” The line went dead.

Lizzie squinted at her phone as if it had the answers for her father's odd behaviour. What was going on? She shrugged and got into bed. It might be nine in the morning Stateside but here it was midnight after a very exciting day. She snuggled down and turned off the bedside light. Elizabeth would have rushed home upon demand. Elizabeth would feel guilty staying a few days at Yuendumu. But Lizzie didn't. She wouldn't be rushing back to Kirrkalan or New York any time soon. She closed her eyes and dreamed in Technicolor.

Caden waited impatiently for Richard to collect him from the air strip. Elizabeth had called and spoken to Thelma, asking for a lift back to Kirrkalan. She'd had her fill of Yuendumu, Richard too he hoped. He had thought long and hard about sending someone else to collect Elizabeth. She'd been gone only a few days almost as long as she'd been at Kirrkalan yet the whole household guarded her absence like water in a drought.

He had no idea what she'd been doing with Richard at Yuendumu. The thought of the two of them together clamped like a tight band around his head inducing him a splitting headache. If Richard broke her heart he'd break Richard's neck. They'd been mates for years and he knew exactly the kind of man Richard was – a ladies man. Elizabeth would be another conquest, a notch in his belt.

A plume of dust announced Richard's arrival. He came bumping down the dirt road in his beat-up old Ute pulling up in front of Caden.

“Good to see you. Get in.”

Caden didn't reply he simply swung the door open and slid inside. Richard spun the car around and headed back to the township. He threw a sideways glance at Caden.