About Aboriginal culture, he teaches me as much as he dares or as much as I dare to learn. Embracing Aboriginal lore requires a change in mind set that can prove profoundly disturbing.
He begins by asking, "Who is your ancestor in the Dreamtime?"
"Good question," I answer. "I must have one but I don't know who it is."
Max and I had been playing this game for quite some time, one that we both enjoyed.
"More's the pity," Max said. "You were wondering where I went when I went Walkabout."
"I'm beginning to get it," I said. "That's what you blokes do when you go Walkabout. You talk to your ancestors." I had already gleaned that where was a red herring to throw me off the track.
"Close," Max said. "We listen to our ancestors."
Suddenly I felt as if I were back in kindergarten. I could not imagine what transpired during a Walkabout but I was getting an inkling. That is about as close as any of us will ever come, save Dasiy Bates.
"Who is your ancestor in the Dreamtime?" Max persisted as he put his lighter to the dry bark I had been gathering. I think he was just yanking my chain so I didn't answer him right away, which is the way to be with an Aboriginal friend in the bush. Periods of silence are comfortable.
"What if I don't know?" I asked by way of belated answer.
"If you do not know, you are only half alive."
Suddenly I felt bereft but only for a moment for I soon began to realize that I was at last beginning to put the puzzle together. Max and I had often talked but this time was special because we had an hour or two or three to wait for the tourist bus to come by so that Max could serve American and European visitors damper and billy tea and tell them outrageous lies about life in the Outback, which he accomplished with aplomb.
Max usually had a helper but on this Saturday, his helper had gone Walkabout so I was pressed into service. Actually, I volunteered. Further to the disappearance of the helper, there were only two possibilities.
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