Dean was one of those people who attracted attention. It wasn’t the way he looked, though his crooked grin and thick bristly hair gave him a distinctive appearance. It was his imposing personality and habit of doing or saying something out of place, that made him memorable. Older brother Ray was unlike him in about every way you could imagine and he had extricated Dean from difficult situations on many occasions with his calm persuasive demeanour.
Ray hadn’t seen his brother for a couple of months and wondered why suddenly, at this time of day, they had to meet. Dean had sent a text message pleading with Ray to come urgently. It was a short drive to Dean’s apartment and conveniently on the way to Ray’s work.
Dean was waiting at his ground floor apartment door when Ray arrived. “Hey, you’re not working today?” Ray asked as he walked inside.
“No, I’m really sick. That’s why I called,” Dean said.
Ray thought he did look pale. “Why did you call me? Go to the doctor.”
“I’ve been, had tests and they can’t find anything,” Dean said.
“Had tests, what’s the matter with you?” Ray asked with a concerned look.
“I’ve got this dull pain in the centre of my chest, and I feel tired all the time. Had this since I came back from holiday last week,” Dean replied.
“Can you stay a little while? I’ll explain what’s going on.”
“Yeah, okay, not too long - working you know.” Ray sat down at the kitchen table. Dean sat opposite.
“I think I’m going to die.” Ray was shocked and about respond. “Hold on, let me talk,” Dean added sharply. “I’ve been on leave - you know I said I was going to Uluru?” Ray nodded. “I was there last week with Jody. We decided to do a tour bus trip to an aboriginal camp not far from there.” The details of the events flooded back and replayed in his mind.
Dean stared aimlessly through the coach window. The grey-green grass that grew in sporadic patches through the red desert earth flashed by.
“Not much to see here,” Dean said to Jody who sat beside him in the aisle seat.
“Should be there soon,” Jody replied. Jody had been friends with Dean since high school and he enjoyed her company more than his male friends.
“I can see another bus parked up ahead,” Dean said as he peered between the heads of the passengers in front of them. The coach slowed as it pulled in and stopped beside the other bus. They disembarked in a disorderly fashion as the forty or so passengers stood, grabbed pack packs, water bottles, and checked cameras before moving. Dean had been planning this trip for some time. He had enjoyed his overseas trips and now felt compelled to see more of his own country and the indigenous culture.
There were six humpies dotted around the camp area in no particular pattern and two corrugated iron sheds. The tourists milled around. They were either listening to the guides talking, or speaking with the local camp aboriginal people. A young aboriginal man sat cross-legged in front of one of these temporary structures made of bark and branches. The white ochre paint on his cheeks, forehead, and arms gave him a menacing presence. The stark red bandana and loin cloth completed the picture. He was holding a didgeridoo across his knees and using a small paintbrush to highlight carved patterns as Dean approached.
“I had one of those when I was a kid,” Dean said looking down at the didgeridoo. “My Dad bought it, and a boomerang, at the souvenir shop in Brisbane. Where’d you get yours?” he asked with a smile.
“I made it.” The young man stared at Dean with black piercing eyes and a heavily furrowed brow.
“C’mon you get everything from China now... don’t you?” Dean’s grin was widening.
The young man put the didgeridoo on the mat in front of him. He stood up to a crouching position, turned and went into the humpy behind him. He started to chant and sing in low guttural tones – the intensity rising and falling. Dean was puzzled. Was this part of the show? He stood there transfixed. The young man suddenly appeared in front of Dean, chanting, swaying back and forth, with the rhythmic stamping of his bare feet raising the dust. He clutched a thin pointed object, like a long pencil, in his right hand. The young man continued chanting, dancing. The tour bus guide appeared from nowhere and grabbed Dean from behind by the shoulders.
“What have you done here? Let’s go...quickly,” he screeched. Dean was made of stone, he couldn’t move.
The swirling aboriginal man swung around to face Dean and stamped his feet as he abruptly became silent and went into a crouch. With his left arm across his body and his right arm stretched out with the thin object pointing directly at Dean’s chest. The guide managed to drag Dean away and back to the coach.
“Since that day I’ve been getting worse. I’m going to die Ray.” Dean said with anguish. “You know what he did to me?”
Ray sat wide-eyed. If it wasn’t his brother telling this story he wouldn’t have believed it. “You’re kidding right. Of course I know what he did. He pointed the bone – that’s just superstition – like voodoo. You don’t really believe he cursed you?”
“What else can it be? Jody and I laughed about it on the way back that day. But there is something powerful going on here – you know – metaphysical.” Dean sighed deeply. “I have to go back there and get the bloke to undo it”
“You amaze me Dean. Did you try to upset the man on purpose? Do you not have any respect for aboriginal culture?” Ray asked with a touch of venom.
“It was a joke. How was I to know he didn’t have a sense of humour?” Dean paused, feeling the weight of his brother’s critical gaze. “I’m sorry and I want to go and apologise – put things right.” He looked up at Ray. “You need to come with me.”
Ray organised a few days leave from his work while Dean purchased plane tickets from Brisbane to Uluru and the four-wheel drive hire from there. Ray had helped his brother out of trouble before. This time he wasn’t feeling confident.
“Did you know that the bone they use is a splinter from a human shin bone?” Dean said as their four-wheel drive was nearing the encampment.
Ray didn’t answer. He was feeling jaded from the three-hour flight and apprehensive at what may lay ahead. They pulled up in the designated camp parking area. There were no other vehicles so they parked adjacent to the camp. There were two aboriginal men standing at a nearby humpy chatting animatedly in their native language. They were both dressed like stockmen in jeans, long sleeve shirts, boots, and brimmed hats. One of the men had an expansive grey beard and appeared much older than the other. As Ray and Dean approached the two men stopped talking and looked at the brothers.
“No tours on today,” said the older man.
“We are not here for a tour,” Ray said. “We are here to see someone about a curse.”
The older man’s name was John. He was an elder of the tribe and he listened intently as Dean relayed the events that led to his having the bone pointed and his ensuing illness. He described to him the young aboriginal man and pointed out the humpy where it took place.
“That was Sam,” John said. “You must’ve upset him pretty bad.”
“Can we talk to him please?” Ray asked. “Dean wants to apologise and ask him to undo the curse.”
“He’s not here – gone bush,” John replied.
Dean hung his head in despair. “What can I do?” he pleaded.
“Well, you gonna die unless I help you.” The old man paused to see the effect of his words. “Do you really mean it when you say you’re sorry?”
“Yes of course. It was just a joke. I didn’t mean any offence.”
“You need to leave a token for Sam – to show you’re serious,” John said.
“Sure, money, how much do you think?” Dean asked.
“Doesn’t have to be money – a token – your watch would be good,” John said looking at the watch on Dean’s wrist.
“Geez that’s a $400 dollar watch – Okay that’s fine – no problem,” Dean said as he slipped the watch off and handed it to John.
“Okay, I can get a message to Sam – to return. Then we will sing over the bone and undo the curse.” John said.
“How will you get a message to him – smoke signals?” Dean asked.
“No, mobile phone,” John replied with a puzzled look.
“How will I know that the curse has been lifted?” Dean asked timidly.
“You won’t be dead,” John said as if that was obvious.
The two brothers thanked John profusely before heading off in their vehicle. Dean was starting to feel better almost immediately.
John stood motionless and watched at the four-wheel drive disappeared in a swirl of dust.
“Sam, you can come out now,” John called out in the native language. Sam appeared from the behind the nearby shed dressed in stockman’s garb similar to John. “You pointed the bone at that white fella.”
“Yeah, he was disrespectful and a smart arse,” Sam said.
“He was sure he was gonna die,” John said.
“Really, think he would know about that psychosomatic stuff,” Sam said with a cheeky grin.
“I don’t want you to do any more bone pointing. It can be dangerous to the simple white folk,” John used his best authoritarian tone. “And where did you get the bone, by the way?”
Sam smiled “KFC.”