Table of Contents:

         Chapter One; Secret Women's Dreaming.

         Chapter Two: The Love-birds.

          Chapter Three: From Out of the Blue.

          Chapter Four: The Twin Bejewelled Snakes.

          Chapter Five:  Dreaming Jimmy.

           Chapter Six:  The Great Whale's Gift.

            Chapter Seven:  The Rainbow Snake Stirs.

            Chapter Eight: Jimmy Makes His Entrance.

             Chapter Nine:  Blessings from the Rainbow Snake and the Great Whale.

              Chapter Ten:  Inner City Dreaming.

               Chapter Eleven:  Jimmy and Sammy. 

               Chapter Twelve:  The Dreadful Dream Fulfilled. 

                Chapter Thirteen:  Gay's Parting Letter. 

                  Chapter Fourteen:  Jimmy in his Dad's Country. 

                 Chapter Fifteen: Jimmy Joins the Toffs.

                   Chapter Sixteen: Mad Uncle Max.

                     Chapter Seventeen: The Fiery Transformation.

                    Chapter Eighteen:  Prodigy Upon Prodigy.

                    Chapter Nineteen: Gaia's Children.

                      Chapter Twenty: Gaia's Children Find Each Other.

                         Chapter Twenty-One: Secret Kids' Business.

                       Chapter Twenty-Two: The Empire Lurches Forth.

                        Chapter Twenty-Three: Jimmy Messes With the Reptiles' Minds.

                               Chapter Twenty-Four: The Media in Hot Pursuit.

                         Chapter Twenty-Five: The Noosphere.

                         Chapter Twenty-Six: Masters Re-made.

                            Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Great World Dream.

                             Chapter Twenty-Eight: Jimmy Hides Away.

                            Chapter Twenty-Nine:  Big Brownie Transfigured and Re-born.

                            Chapter Thirty: The Great Adventure Begins.

                            Chapter Thirty-One: Jimmy's Reprieve.

Chapter One;  Secret Women's Dreaming.

The old girls laughed and cackled, joyously, uproariously, slapping their thighs and guffawing. One fell backwards deliriously, overcome with glee. Some old joke, some ancient tale of male foolishness or the comical vagaries of fate had them gasping for breath.

Doreen Kartinyangarra had walked away from her raucous friends and family and settled down a little way apart, snuggled in the fold of a sand-dune, closer to the beach and the comforting sound of waves washing ashore. She was tired and a little anxious. Doreen would have been warmer near the fire, or at home in her bed, a few hundred metres away, but she felt the need to sleep out under the stars and forget her worries. Her daughter Gaia was up in town, in Adelaide, and although she was a good, sensible,young woman, Doreen felt a nagging worm burrowing into her thoughts that would not go away. A worm that said Gaia that was in trouble or even, perhaps, in danger.

Doreen spread her blanket out, snuggled into her old sleeping-bag, and gazed up at the stars. They were spread out in glorious display, those many old friends that she had known since childhood, when the old women, her granny in particular, had entranced her and the other children with the ancient stories that her people had woven around the celestial parade as it slowly turned over their heads. They were fruit of thousands of years of eyes gazing heavenwards, thousands of years of creative imagining and thousands of years of breathless night-time story-telling as uncounted generations of children nodded off to sleep.

Raising herself up on one elbow, Doreen looked out across the water to where the rising moon had just pulled itself up above the horizon. It shone brilliantly, its rays a shimmerglow reflected in the cold, southern ocean all the way across the slowly advancing waves that endlessly dashed themselves on the beach, and, fleetingly, beyond, as the sea-water vanished into the sands. Every drop of water was a tiny reflective mirror. She fell into a reverie, remembering those full, fat, wondrous moons of her childhood, on this very beach where her people had gazed moonward, enraptured, for eternity. As Doreen fell into sleep, her granny visited her sleepy thoughts, softly singing her favourite song, 'Mighty Lack a Rose'. Gran's rendition, however, was in a somewhat different voice from that of Paul Robeson, whose performance had been much beloved as it sounded from Gran's one and only LP record.

As Doreen slept, she began to dream. Like all sensitive people, all people still truly in touch with their real inner selves and this, the material world in which humans are fated to exist, indigenous Australians like Doreen's people, the Ngarrindjeri, put much store in dreams. A good dream was better than any movie, or much of the noise that pretended to be music. A good dream told you secret things, about yourself and the mysteries of life, if only you knew how to understand and interpret them. And Doris, after years of recounting and discussing her dreams, first with her gran and her mother, then with her sisters, aunties, cousins and friends, had been taught and learned a lot about dreams. She understood the symbols, and their meanings -what a snake meant, what a rainbow, what a water-spout.

Tonight's dream, however, was relatively simple, but very unsettling. Doreen saw Gaia, her only child, clothed all in brilliant white,  and with a rainbow halo behind her. Gaia (or Gay as Doreen always called her) was smiling at her and whispering, but Doreen could not hear her words clearly. Gaia turned around, her back seemingly even more brilliant and radiant than her front and when she turned back she was holding a boy baby in her arms. Doreen knew instantly and intuitively that it was her grandson, and Gay held him out to her, smiling. Doreen took him and gazed into his happy, deep, dark, brown eyes and he looked back at her, seemingly with ancient wisdom, a knowingfulness that had her suddenly crying with joy in her dream. He's surely been here before, she thought. She spun happily about, the baby in her arms, but when she turned to face Gay again, she had vanished.

Doreen looked all about her, but there was no trace of her daughter. She looked at her grandson, and he had suddenly become about three years old. Shocked, Doreen placed the boy gently on his feet upon the ground, which was carpeted in flowers, and walked a few paces towards where Gay had stood. There was not a trace of her, just that radiant brilliance all around that softly suffused the air.

Doreen felt a tug on her shirt, and, turning to see who it was, she saw that her grandson was now watching her adoringly, his dark eyes and beautiful face even more perfect than before. Another fruitless search for a sign of Gay and she returned to the boy who was standing quietly, now five or so years old, silently voicing some reassurance, his precocious wisdom and happiness transfiguring his face. Slowly Doreen began to understand his words.

'Don't worry, Gran' he said. calmly in a soft voice. 'Mum's with us, always. She comes to me when I sleep, and we talk, and she tells me all about you'. He smiled at the memory and reached up to hug her....

Doreen woke with a start. The dawn was just coming up over the distant horizon. The clouds of an approaching southerly front were catching the rays of the sun, still hiding his brilliance behind the curve of the world. The clouds were twisted and fantastical in form, rapidly tumbling and turning as powerful winds blew them hither and thither. A mighty bolt of lightning transected the sky, lighting up the inner caverns of the cloudscape. A distant clap of thunder rumbled and Doreen cried out-'Gay!'.

Doreen didn't doubt the meaning of her dream for an instant. Her daughter would present her with a grandson, but would not be there to bring him up, to see him grow. A dreadful mix of joy and terror gripped her. She looked over to the camp-site, where a few figures were already stirring awake around the still glowing embers.

Doreen Kartinyangarra was a tall, lean, woman, and not given to sentimentality. Her angular, sharply chiselled features, softened and rounded now a little by age, showed that her ancestry included the odd Irishman a few generations back, but that made her feel not one jot less Aboriginal, not a bit less Ngarrindjeri. After all, they used to joke, the Irish were just blackfellas who got lost thousands of years ago when on a rather long walkabout-looking for an early opener as one wag had added. Doreen was self-educated, a voracious reader as a child, haunting the local library and particularly fond of myths and legends. That was where she had chanced on the myth of Gaia, the Earth Mother, whose story so closely reflected indigenous beliefs in the land as mother and source of all life, to which mere individuals, transient creatures, belonged, from which they had sprung and to which they would return. Doreen never forgot that story, and had surprised everyone when she picked it as the name for her first, and, as it had turned out, only, child, her darling daughter. She was fascinated and made proud when she realised that her people were already very old when the Greeks invented that tale, and she had become a great repository of her people's stories, spending hours listening to her aunties and the other old ladies, and committing it all to memory and numerous note-books.

Doreen knew one thing as surely as she knew anything-that dreams were visions, of the future foretold or of the past carelessly unremembered or repressed. She was scared, frightened as rarely in the past (for she was a brave and fearless woman)and instinctively understood that this dream must be shared with her trusted friends, and its truths revealed.

Doreen leapt to her feet, being still fairly agile and strong for her age, and tramped through the soft sands to the camp-site. Already Mavis and Ruby, cousins on her Mum's side, her oldest friends, were awake, softly speaking together and solemnly nodding agreement. They looked up at Doris and Ruby gasped, 'Dorrie, we've had a dream...a terrible dream......both of us.....the very same dream..'

'About Gay', Mavis blurted out. Doreen felt her head spinning, and the sky was whirling madly overhead as the storm-clouds raced ashore, and she dropped to her knees next to Mavis. She felt beads of sweat break out on her forehead and she searched frantically for the right words to utter. Her confusion was horrible and somehow Mavis knew that she, too, had dreamed the same dream.

'You, too?' Doreen gasped, her face contorted with fear and wonder. “It's not possible...not all three of us...not the same....what did you dream....quick, tell us, quick now', she demanded, uncharacteristically insistent.

Doreen drew in a deep breath, felt how tight her chest was, how fast her heart was pounding and mumbled, not waiting for the others to speak up, 'I saw Gay with a little boy...'

'Beautiful with dark eyes...' Mavis blurted.

'Yes, yes...beautiful, dark eyes....he grew up quick...and Gay was gone...in an instant....she gave me the boy and she was gone...all glowing and white, but the little fella told me that she was 'with us' and I didn't understand, but then I got frightened and I woke up, just now and I came over here, quicksmart'. Doreen was almost beside herself with agitation.

'Oh, Dorrie, it's just the same. We just woke up, and I told Ruby straight away, and she nodded all the way along and finished me sentences and everything. Only we both watched it happen, watched Gay give you the baby, saw him grow, saw that Gay was gone, saw him talking to you but heard nothing....you heard nothin', too, Rube, didn't ya?' Mavis entreated.

'Nothing Mavie...not a thing...just saw his little lips moving and Dorrie looking confused and worried, worried like Hell'.

'Oh, Gawd...girls, what's it mean? Is Gay goin' to die? Is she going to have a kid and die?' Doreen muttered.

'Nah, don't you worry Dorrie', Mavis soothed, but her voice betrayed her real feelings. 'Gay's a good, strong, clever girl. She'll see us all out, don't you worry. And I bet she'll have a whole mob of kids as lovely as that little fella, once she meets the right bloke for her. You know they're already lining up, she's such a treasure. Don't you worry your head for a second', she clucked, struggling to disguise her real feelings.

'But Mavie,' Doreen cried ' how do three people have the same dream? Has that ever happened to you...have you ever heard of it happening to anyone before...it's creepy..weird...I can't help being frightened...she's all I've got, you know, all I've got in the world'. Which was true, both her sisters having died very young, without kids of their own. Doreen choked back a sob and suddenly, as if to break the terrible tension, a brilliant bolt of lightning hit the sea just behind them, followed by that sudden explosion of thunder that signals that a storm is upon you. Heavy thuds of storm-rain, half-frozen into hail began to hit the sand all about them. One hit Doreen forcefully on the brow, its bitter cold adding to the thunder shock. Doreen blurted, 'We'd better get inside, somewhere, quick!' And they made to wake the others, now just two- the others having tramped home last night- the old ladies, Grace and Emily, distant aunties from up river who often visited for a yarn and a giggle. They couldn't take a freezing drenching at their age, let alone being blown to bits by lightning.

As Doreen bent down to rouse Grace, to shake her up, she saw that she was already awake and gazing about her wildly. Grace was breathing rapidly, shallowly and she was crying. She looked up, and recognising Doreen dimly through the gloom of early morning, storm cover and her untreated cataracts she groaned, 'Dorrie, luv...I've just had this 'orrible dream...'

Dorrie quietened the old girl with a promise to talk once they were safe and dry, and the little gaggle of old ladies made their way, as fast as they could, through the scrub to Ruby's house, the nearest to the beach.

Half an hour later, as they sheltered in Ruby's little place nestled among she-oak trees that howled and whistled in the storm, as the heavy rain pounded the corrugated tin roof and the windows, as they brewed tea and made sure that the old girls were dry and as Doreen sucked on a therapeutic, and normally forbidden (on doctor's orders) cigarette, in a vain effort to calm her nerves, the total of group dreamers had risen to five. Grace and Emily had had just the same dream as Mavis and Ruby, had seen the beautiful baby grow into the handsome boy, had seen, or rather didn't see Gay disappear (one moment there, the next gone) when the boy had, suddenly, grown to three or so, while Doreen cradled him, but had heard nothing. When Doreen told them of what the boy had said, Grace clucked, gloomily.'That's no good...it sends shivers up me back...it's jus' like old Betty from up at Murray Bridge...you know, my cousin on me Dad's side....she had a dream like this, years ago, about her boy, her only boy, and he drove his car into a tree trying not to run over a blinkin' cat....it broke her 'eart, of course it did...oh, dear......I can't think of it without cryin'....and now you Dorrie, and she's all you've got, too...'

'Now, now, Gracie, don't get upset' Doreen murmured. Her strong character was asserting itself. She wasn't afraid of anything, and as long as she was around nothing would touch her girl, not even the Devil himself. That steely determination aside, Doreen realised that they were all part of something remarkable, something that the racists who ridiculed her people's beliefs would dismiss in an instant as a 'fabrication' or 'mass hysteria' or 'secret women's business'. A miracle that even the most sympathetic outsiders would find hard to credit, as it defied rational explanation, yet here and now they were living just that crazy reality.

'You'd better give Gay a ring, dear' Mavis advised, 'and check she's OK. She'll have a good laugh when she hears about us old sillies.....', but her bravado petered away as her show of confidence deflated. They all felt as if they had been in a road smash, or some other jolting experience, had walked away, seemingly unscathed, but now were suffering from delayed shock.

'Yeah....where's your 'phone.....under a pile of garbage, I bet'. Doreen blustered, but, in truth, Ruby's shack was neat and tidy, unlike Doreen's, which was strewn with newspapers, books and bowls of food for the various rescued animals that she cared for. Indeed Doreen cared more for animals then human animals, in general, but she was not alone in that.

'There it is, you blind old bat' Mavis chuckled, pointing to the mobile 'phone sitting on the rickety bookshelf that held Ruby's tiny library of moth-eaten volumes. That 'phone was Ruby's pride and joy, but she only used it to make outgoing calls, preferring the joys of undisturbed privacy. It was there mostly in case her heart condition flared up, having been given to her by the community nurse, Jane, to make sure she could call up the ambulance if her chest pain came back, or the choking breathlessness brought on by years of cheap fags, drawn back on really deep, which she had indulged in from ten to forty years old, one of her biggest mistakes. Still, back then it made her feel 'grown up', even 'sophisticated' like in all the adverts.

Doreen picked it up and punched in the numbers of Gay's mobile. The phone rang out, followed by a voice-mail message. Doreen left a short message, along the usual lines, that is, 'Please ring home...don't worry but I need to talk to you...it can't wait...Love you...see you soon...Mum'. Just like a billion other such messages sent with heavy heart, or light-heartedly, or with no heart at all, sad to say.

As Doreen returned the 'phone to the shelf and as a new round of hot tea was delivered by Ruby from her spotless, almost too clean, kitchen (the latest design in fibro', corrugated and galvanised iron and silicone)there was a loud pounding on the door, preceded by the tread of heavy footsteps and heavy breathing. An insistent voice bellowed, 'Rube..you in luv?...I've gotta see you...now...Rube!..Rube!'

Doreen got to the door first, pulled it open and saw that it was Claire, another old dear and friend, if a slightly batty one. Her hubby, Charlie, had disappeared one day while out fishing, and his little boat was washed ashore a few days later, almost bitten in half, with a dirty great shark's tooth, the biggest anyone had ever seen, embedded in a plank. No-one doubted that he'd been taken by some huge white pointer, no-one but Claire, who, left with five kids to raise, battled on bravely, ever clinging to her belief (fairy-story, really)that he had swum ashore safely but had suffered amnesia and was roaming the world, searching in vain for his forgotten past, in other words Claire, their kids and their happy life. Keeping up the pretense of belief in this comforting fable had slowly unhinged Claire. Fortunately all her kids had turned out good, and had looked after their Mum, but losing her one true love had weakened  her ability to cope with life. Claire had slowly given in to a waking dream of pure self-delusion. She'd sit, quietly, at parties or when visited or visiting, surrounded by her children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, quietly chatting to her dear, long lost, Charlie, nodding along with his soundless conversation that she alone could hear.

'Dorrie...oh, my Gawd, I'm glad to see you...you'll never...I mean, you'll never believe it...I'm lost for words....oh, dear....I had a dream...' Claire blurted out.

Before Claire got too flustered Doreen sat her down, calmed her, brought her a hot cuppa and quietly explained how everyone had had the same dream, and at the same time. The rain was still pelting down, and they had to dry Claire off, sitting her close to the fire. She had come out in such a hurry that she had forgotten her brolly, and was soaked through, cold and shivering, but not from the cold alone. Claire was a great believer in the power of dreams, like all the old ladies thereabouts, and many of the younger ones, too.

Doreen looked about her, and came to a quick decision. A firm believer in not dilly-dallying when decisions had to be made, she was, if the truth be told, impetuous, but her friends and relatives trusted her judgment and her sincerity, and knew that if she made a mistake she would not dig in her heels and attempt to impose her will on others. Doreen examined the faces of all those gathered there and understood that Gay must be kept in the dark and never told about this strange group dream. Looking directly at Mavis, who she was sure would be the first to blurt out the truth she spoke, softly but firmly.

“Girls, we must never, ever, tell Gay anything about this. If something bad is going to happen, there's nothing we can do to stop it. But if we tell Gay, she's just going to worry herself to death. It would be like pointing the bone at her, and it might never have happened. I mean most dreams are just gobbledygook that no-one understands. People just pretend afterwards that they knew what they were all about.'

Mavis piped out, 'How we gonna keep it secret? She's sharp, your girl-she'll soon suss us out. Then the fact that we kept it secret will worry her even more. I reckon you should tell her, but just say it was your dream. Then it won't seem so creepy'.

'She's got a good idea, I reckon' Ruby muttered, and, one by one the others mumbled in agreement. Doreen nodded, slowly, and agreed, if slightly reluctantly. She knew, however, that if ever and when Gaia was expecting a baby that she would be terrified for her. So Doreen walked quietly to the door, and, judging that the rain was finished, she readied herself to leave. Turning to her friends she said, 'So, it's agreed- no-one tells Gay a thing, but me, and if nobody lets slip, she'll never be the wiser. I'm relying on you all, but I know I can trust you'. Doreen meant it, too, her friends being as 'thick as thieves' as they say.

Doreen walked briskly across the little porch, down the two rickety steps and across the now sodden ground towards her own house. It was another small fibro and corrugated iron shack, but it had served her and Gay well as a home. Gay's father, Jake, had died in prison, of a heart attack, not long after Gay was born. He'd been locked up for some petty reason, like so many other blackfellas, and Doreen had never forgotten nor forgiven the injustice of it all. Gay had wanted a father and had missed one, but Doris had used up all her reserves of love on one man, and no-one else who had come along had been able to match his memory. Besides, the way the system worked, local blokes were almost certain to be unemployed, defeated or drunken, all of which Doreen couldn't tolerate. She just kept herself to herself, and cultivated her garden.

In Doreen's case that was quite literally true. Her house was surrounded by a lush garden, with a vast veggie patch prominent. She grew enough vegetables to give them away, and had several apple, fig and other fruit trees and, need one say, several gaudy chooks. Gaia lived up to her quaint name, having been a real little 'earth mother', with deep green thumbs, ever since she was old enough to walk and pull out weeds. Now Doris ambled over to her veggie patch and started weeding, thoroughly relaxing work in her opinion, and one where you could let your mind wander in search of answers, sometimes even before she'd thought of the questions. Meditative weeding. The best, the truest solutions to problems were never turned up by frantically searching for them, but by forgetting the problem at hand, and then relying on the answer just popping into existence in its own good time. 'Presently' as her gran used to say, which could mean anything from within a few minutes to the end of time. When the time was ripe, like her tomatoes that needed picking before the first hard late autumn cold arrived. Doreen grabbed her secateurs off the porch, where they hung handily accessible. She commenced cutting the tomatoes from the plants, placing them in a wooden box, and cutting the plants into short segments for removal to the compost heap. The big fruit would ripen in her kitchen, and the little ones make green tomato chutney.

As Doreen worked away, quietly and unhurriedly, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She felt real worry, but knew that she could not give in to it. Whatever happened she would remain strong and determined. That was her character. Looking up from her stooped position picking the tomatoes, she saw Mavis and Ruby walking across the way and knocking on the doors of other shacks, and on the mobile homes and caravans that were also part of their little community. Doreen paid no heed, and went on working, emptying her mind of all but the task at hand.

In that manner, time did what it must-it passed. Before Doreen knew it the sun was high above, she was dripping with sweat despite the cool weather, and her hands were sore and reddened from being scrubbed clean more than once. She had transferred a good few kilos of tomatoes to her kitchen, she had peeled, sliced and de-seeded several dozen green tomatoes of various sizes and was making ready to brew them into pickles and chutney. She had brought out her old recipe book, not that she needed it, but it was covered in little drawings Gaia had made when a child, and they comforted her. Doreen turned to the pickle section, and, as the book fell open, she felt a shock, like a brisk blast of cold water. There, on the blank facing page, drawn with childish simplicity, was the very picture of a young girl, clothed in glowing white, a great, glorious rainbow spread out behind her and holding a little baby in her arms. Written carefully underneath, in Gay's studious hand were the words 'Jimmy and me'.

Well, you could have knocked Doreen down with a feather, as they say. She sat down, abruptly, on a chair, almost pitching back onto the floor. She commenced crying again, only this time sobbing and her nose began running.Doreen never cried like that, and she was embarrassed that she might be caught blubbering like a baby. How had she never noticed this drawing before? Doreen reached out and grabbed a tea-towel, to wipe her eyes dry, just as Mavis ran up to the door, and knocked, loudly and insistently.

“Dorrie, Dorrie!' she shouted, 'You here?' She was really flustered, her face pallid and she was breathing heavily and noisily, not just from exertion, but from excitement and fright, too.

Doreen composed herself, dried her eyes, and opened the door, 'What the blazes is up, Mavis!' she demanded, uncharacteristically blunt with her old friend. 'I'm not in the mood for any more frights. I've had enough for one day, thank you!'

'Cripes, Dorrie- don't chew me head orf! I've just been 'round the other shacks and seen all the other old girls. Now, hang on to yer hat... but there's eleven of us all had that dream, eleven, as far as I can tell. All the same and all pretty shocked to hear everybody else had the same one, I can tell you'. Mavis was jumping up and down, well as best she could without her feet actually leaving the ground, with excitement.

Doreen and Mavis quickly left the shack, and Doreen went around the camp with Mavis, hearing every story from the horses' mouths, as they say. One by one, until she'd seen them all. And, after patiently listening, she made them all promise the same thing. To never tell anyone, not their husbands, not their kids-no one, ever, what had happened. It would have to become another 'secret' business that they kept for themselves. One day they might discover what it was all about, but blabbing to strangers and those not touched by the miracle wouldn't do any good. In fact, of course, as they knew from bitter experience, if the story got out, they would just be accused of making it up, as they had been before. And, above all else, Dorrie had them promise not to tell Gay, because it would do no good, and possibly frighten her out of her wits.

By the time Doreen and Mavis had visited everyone, and had a few good yarns, drunk a lot of tea, eaten a few butterfly cakes and some of Aunty Betty's scrumptious fruit cake, it was well into the afternoon. The sky was clouding over again, and the wind getting up, driving the high, grey, fluffy, clouds fast towards the east. Doreen asked Mavis to excuse her, and promise to see her again at Doreen's place at dinner time. Doreen needed some time alone to think, and the best place for that, she'd always found, was out on the dunes facing the southern sea, near the end of the lagoon, alone with her thoughts and the whirling, undaunted, elements.

Doreen found her spot quickly, where she felt comfortable, where her thoughts quickly calmed down from their headlong rush, and settled down to quiet reflection. As she sat peacefully, her legs crossed, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders to keep out the cold wind and her gaze fixed on the grey, indistinct, distant horizon, she fell into a reverie, a waking dream. She had always been able to distance herself from the woes and calamities of life, the tragedies of premature death, of lives blighted by racism and drink, the absolute unfairness of it all, and she had done it without religion. Not whitefella's religion at any rate, which had robbed so many of her people of their heritage and left them despising their own culture and beliefs. Doreen had met some blackfellas who had been strong enough to hold their own identity while coming to believe in the whitefella's God, and she admired them for it, but she was content to cling to her people's stories and myths. In fact the whitefella's God was probably in there, somewhere, and maybe, one day, he'd show himself to her. But she was too proud to pretend to be a good little 'Mission Black'.

As the seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes rolled on into hours, she sat and thought. At first her thinking was crazy and fretful, but, bit by bit, she threw out the mad ideas and feelings, and substituted the sensible and positive ones. Every now and then one of the crazy, mad, thoughts returned, but each time she clobbered it and drove it out again. She had experienced something magical and frightening, but, after all, life was often unbelievable and scary. It was only in the contrast between scary and horrible and amazing and delightful experiences that we saw just how wonderful the good ones were. If anything happened to Gay, if she died before Doreen, if she went away and never returned, at least Doreen had had over twenty years of being the mother of a beautiful child, a girl loved by all who knew her. Not everybody had been that lucky.

Eventually Doreen noticed the gathering clouds as another squally front approached, wreathed in thin sea-fog and low misty, clouds. It was time to get up and go home and prepare dinner for her and Mavis, and a good old chin-wag. She slowly got up, her knees stiff and sore from being unstraightened for so long, and slowly made her way home. As she came within sight of her shack, she saw that Gay's old, battered, Morris Minor was parked alongside the verandah, and she broke into a briskish trot. 

Chapter Two: The Lovebirds.

Doreen jumped up onto the porch like an aged impersonation of a ten year old, and threw back the front door, which was slightly open. In her little dining-room, Gay and Mavis were chatting happily, and broke into laughter as Doreen entered. Doreen cast a meaningful glance at Mavis who winked in reply, signalling that all was well, and she hadn't let any cats out of any bags. But what really caught Doreen's attention was the tall, slim and handsome young blackfella who rose gracefully from a chair, and smiled, as Doreen approached.

'Hello, Mum!' Gay chortled, still wracked with laughter. 'Mum, Mum.....can I introduce my boyfriend, CJ. He's from up Alice way, you know, right out in the scrub on an outstation. Romantic, don't you think?' She blushed at the inaptness of her words, and Doreenwas dumbfounded. This was Gay's first,'official', self-proclaimed, boyfriend, for a good few years, she having set herself rather high standards in men.

'Well, well..I'm pleased to meet you, young man....I must say, Gay, he's a good-looking fella, this CJ'. Doreen was transfixed as she smiled at the young man by how clearly he resembled the little boy in her dream, with the very nose, those deep, dark eyes, the pitch-black hair, the line of the jaw, and, when he smiled, which he did with that ease of those who know just how lovely they are and what a jackpot in life's lottery they have won, little dimples that accentuated his fine, high, but not too high, cheekbones.

'Please, ma'am' CJ stuttered, all formal and polite, but instantly smiling, mischievously, 'Not too much praise..It'll go to my head' and he giggled like a happy child.

Doreen sat next to Gay and Mavis, and began nattering, nervous that she might betray her inner confusion and agitation. She was convinced that this would be the little boy's father and that belief made the whole dream seem even more real, more a premonition. She felt like blurting it all out, or going cuckoo and driving handsome young CJ out, if only to protect Gay from fate. But she knew that that would not do, and that Gay, as stubborn as her Mum, would follow her heart. And from the way CJ and Gay gazed at each other and exchanged knowing glances, it was plain where her heart lay.

'Now, I suppose', Doreen intoned, self-mockingly serious, 'that this is where I ask you whether your intentions are honourable. But I won't embarrass you-I'll let Gay sort that out. She's no fool. But for me, I have just one question...If you two get together, where will you live?'

' Cripes, Mum...you don't beat around the bush.' Gay giggled.'If we stick together, we'll stay in Adelaide mostly, 'cause we're both studying down there, and we'll come up here on weekends, and holidays, and get away up to CJ's country when we get time, and for birthdays and stuff. CJ tells me its lovely out there, particularly in winter or when it rains, and his family's a big mob, scattered around, so there's plenty of places to visit, people to see....you know', Gay babbled happily. She was pretty plainly smitten, and she, with her dreamy dark eyes, olive skin with a scattering of freckles, fashionably (a fashion that never grew stale)symmetrical features and dark brown hair with a hint of auburn, was quite a catch herself.

Gay looked over at CJ who was smiling, as ever, and he nodded in agreement. He seemed, on first inspection, almost too good to be true, Doreen thought. She'd been watching him intently, and he displayed not a hint of nervousness or pretense. He seemed plainly decent and good natured. There'd be no chance that Gay would give him up, under any circumstances, it was obvious.

'Now, young man-call me Doreen, none of this 'ma'am' stuff, and tell me about yourself. I rather fancy I'm goin' to be seein' a lot more of you.' she drawled.

'Well Doreen, I'm twenty-eight. I've got two sisters, and my Mum's alive and well, but Dad died when I was little, of the booze, so I'm a teetotaller. I study at the same college as Gay, and I'm going to be a district nurse, soon, and I'm going to work here, or in town, or up bush, or all three, I'm not sure yet.' He prattled on, and Gay nodded in agreement as he went.

Mavis piped up, 'How did you two get together? I bet it was romantic'.

CJ blushed, but he launched right into it. 'It was love at first sight, I know that I never believed in it before, but, when I saw Gay coming down those stairs at the railway station, I was a goner, I tell you'.

Gay laughed and said, 'You should have seen him Mum-like a poddy calf, all wide-eyed and toey. I should have laughed, but he was so handsome, so happy, so right, that I just muttered something silly after he spoke to me, and he just held my hand first...so romantic...I wasn't taken aback at all....very romantic he was, and I just laughed, with happiness. And in about five minutes I knew that I was smitten, forever'. Gay said 'forever' with a breathy emphasis, her voice falling away, that affected Doreen deeply. She began crying, quietly, the tears tumbling down her face, yet again, and Gay had to tell her to 'get a grip'.

'Get a grip, Mum. I know its all mushy, lovey-dovey, and you should be happy for us, but don't get carried away. Maybe I'll change my mind' she chortled, obviously kidding, and CJ never looked worried, even for an instant.

'Yeah, maybe I'll turn out to be a wrong-un' he laughed. 'Sorry Doreen-I'm only kidding. I'll never hurt your lovely daughter as long as I live, and that'll be quite a long time yet, I reckon'.

Doreen felt a moment's unease at his tempting fate like that, but let it pass into nothingness. These two love-birds were pretty sick with it, for now, but the test of time would tell, as it always does.

The rest of the afternoon passed sweetly. Gay and Doreen went out to the veggie patch and picked a salad of late-growing greens, and Doreen boiled up a few spuds, opened a can of baked beans, and mixed up a nice early dinner, plus apple pie to finish. They drank a lot of tea, and yarned. CJ was very interested in the notorious 'secret womens' business', and was a sympathetic listener, and plainly, on their side. He entertained them with hilarious stories of crazy carryings-on among his plainly eccentric family, and had them moist-eyed with the 'sorry business' that his people, like all Aborigines, suffered so cruelly. CJ said it often, and from his heart, that he wanted to make things different, to leave just one thing in the world better, although he hoped for more of an achievement than just one good deed. He was a surprisingly good yarn-spinner for one so young, but a lot of what he did, said and helped ease into being with the others seemed the work of someone far older, far more experienced.

Finally, later in the evening, they settled down to sleep. CJ slept  on the floor, with a quilt underneath, and one on top, his wiry frame stretched out like a cat. Mavis went on her way home, and Doreen and Gay slept in their beds in the one bed-room. Doreen was rather scared to fall asleep, lest the night bring dreams even more disturbing than the night before. But she had little to fear. Instead she dreamed of cats, and tall trees, forest trees from some northern region that she had only seen on TV, full of squirrels and bears and tigers, all not in the least frightening, but strangely re-assuring. Life would go on, come whatever.

The next morning they slept in a while, and the sun was rather high up when they took their coffees out into the garden. CJ was relaxed and immensely pleasing, a son-in-law in a million, so Doreen thought. However, it was too early to count those particular chickens. Sure, Gay gave all the signs of being smitten, but she had not seen any of his not so good sides yet, and everybody, no matter how lovely, has them. Still, first and second impressions were re-assuring. He didn't gaze at Gay all the time, like some love-sick and possibly possessive puppy, but when they talked it was with real affection and friendliness, which needs to be there when youthful passion has burned out. Or so Doreen believed, but she did recall that when she was young, she too had been convinced that love's flame would burn brightly and undiminished forever. She was wracked by contradicting emotions, but she was surprisingly trusting of this young man, who seemed about to take her daughter from her. But that's life, and there's nothing that can, or ought to, be done about it.

Around twelve, after they had spent an hour weeding, mulching and digging in the garden, spinning yarns, laughing their heads off and drinking lots of tea, CJ announced that he was leaving. This took Doreen by surprise, but Gaia was not shocked. CJ was going home, up country, to see his family, and his Mum in particular, to break the news, before he landed there with Gay in tow. Doreen found his attitude very level-headed and considerate. After all, his mother was about to lose her son, too, and it's best to break this sort of news gently. It convinced Doreen that his intentions were sure and good, and she felt happy with his decision. Gay would stay at home until he returned, then, after college holidays commenced in a week or two, she'd go up to meet his people. CJ said that, if it all went well, that he would take Doreen up home as well, so that they all could get to know one another. He had it all mapped out, further sign of his intent, Doreen reckoned.

'I've got to help out with a bit of work on their homes, too', CJ stated, matter of factly. 'The weather's pretty rough up there, you know, hot as hell for months, cold at night...then The Wet...and a lot of the places were rubbish built..you know...nothing but the worst for the black fellas'. He guffawed and went on,' There's lots of people living in 'em, too, and lots of kids, and they're a rowdy bunch. They love kicking footies up against the wall, that sort of stuff, and you've got to keep fixing things up'.

Doreen nodded, 'Yeah, us blackfellas don't appreciate just how lucky we are, eh? What handyman stuff are you good at, then, CJ?'

'I'm good with a saw and hammer, Doreen...they taught me a bit about that at school, before I realised my brain wasn't too bad, either, and I got ideas above my station.' CJ giggled, 'I'm sort of an amateur carpenter, meaning I'm in love with it...I love doing things with my hands, and, you know, it's good for your brain, too, fiddling around with your hands'

'Good on you, love' Doreen exclaimed 'and when you're finished up there, well there's a fair bit needs doing around here, too. The old place is getting a bit ratty 'round the edges..like me!' and she laughed, loudly and happily. What a treasure this fella seemed, and so far, on one day's experience, not a flaw in sight.

Gay and CJ said their goodbyes, and jumped into the old car. Gay was driving CJ back to town where he was getting a lift with some friends that he had talked into a short 'working holiday' in the bush. It had been raining up at CJ's place, so the desert scrub would be blooming, and the nights cold and starry-just the place to get the grit and grime of the city out of their system. After all, the blackfellas had spent sixty thousand years living outdoors, and a hundred or so trapped in the whitefellas' boxes, so the outside life was really more their thing. One of his white mates was coming, too, but he'd grown up on a cattle-station, so he was also an outback boy, like CJ. Waving a cheery goodbye, the two love-birds disappeared in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Doreen stared at the disappearing car, and felt a surge of hope and of dread, in about equal measure.

The next few hours passed slowly. Doreen set to cooking dinner for herself and Gay, and baking a tea cake, in case any of her old friends dropped in. And, just as expected, Mavis soon enough appeared on the porch, calling out cheerily.

'Where the kids gone? Back to town?'

'CJ's going home, up in the Territory, to help out for a bit.....have a holiday, too....Gay's stopping down here, but we'll all go up later, you know, when he's broken the news'

'How you bearin' up, Dorrie? I mean, it's been pretty amazing, this last day..that crazy dream...I'd almost forgotten it, but this all makes it seem more..you know..more...'. Mavis' voice trailed off, and she looked worried that she may have said too much, or spoken unwisely.

'More likely' Doreen replied, 'I suppose you mean more likely. Don't worry, it's occurred to me too Mavie, and its playing on me mind right now. Now there, don't be afraid to talk...I've got to talk this one through, one way or another. There's so much to take in. I've always been able to talk things through with you, love...you know..you're my oldest friend....so let's have a cuppa and a nice bit of cake and nut things out'.

The old friends busied themselves brewing a pot of tea, cutting hot cake and covering it in butter that swiftly melted and soaked in. They sat down on the porch, and chatted away like a thousand times before.

'Well, Dorrie, if you ask me, there's nothing for it but to sit back and wait, and see how things turn out. You know me, I'm a fatalist. What will be, will be. Trying to do something is always a mistake, because we always choose the wrong ruddy thing to do....you especially, because you're smart, so you get all confused with alternatives none of the rest of us would even think of....' Mavis paused for breath, and a swig of tea, and Doreen remained silent, knowing that her old friend was not finished, '...and then you imagine all sorts of bad things going wrong...I can't blame you for that...we've all seen too much sorry stuff over the years...and she's all you've got...but we can't change fate...you know that'. Mavis finished abruptly, and looked pretty unhappy with what she had said, despite her sincerity. She was frightened that she had not said anything helpful, just stated the bleeding obvious.

'Oh, you're right, Mavis' Doreen replied after a bit 'I'm just all worked up...I'm too old to get this agitated.....but it's all so ….spooky....that's the right word, I think...like things are out of control, which they always are, come to think of it...or as if it was still a dream, and I'll wake up soon, and that dream...and CJ, and everything will turn out just to be my imagination. Us sitting here, this tea...everything...all just a...bad, bad, crazy dream'.

'Don't get carried away, love' Mavis chuckled 'We're both large as life...larger, unfortunately, in my case....just as old and twice as ugly' She really hooted over that, and ended up laughing until she cried. Doreen couldn't help thinking that she seemed a little...well, you know...hysterical.

'Calm down, dear...it's not good for you....you'll wet yourself....you know it's not very dignified, at your age.....come on, calm down...that's better' Doreen heard herself saying, without much conviction. As Mavis composed herself, with another gulp of hot, sweet tea, Doreen returned to the subject at hand.

'So, you reckon that we'd better ignore it all, just pretend nothing has happened, and see how it turns out? Are you mad? You know I'd go potty trying to keep this all under my hat....and what about the rest of the blabber-mouths....they've never kept a secret...except the women's business...but that's different.....'. Doreen's voice ebbed away, and she seemed suddenly lost in thought.

Mavis understood just what she was thinking.'Gawd, Dorrie, maybe this is more secret business....I mean, where did the old secret stuff come from, if not out of dreams. I mean, I always believed that stuff because the old girls got it from the old girls when they were kids, and...we all know it goes, way, way back....I mean the Dreaming must mean having dreams....I've always thought that....maybe we're getting new Dreaming right now, right here.....maybe it'll help heal the country, you know, end the drought, stop the kids going crazy, get the whitefellas to move back to England.....'. Her rambling  drifted off, into the ether.

'Yeah, I'm thinking just that Mavie...after all, dreams are messages, we all know that...and such a dream must mean something big's goin' to happen......we've been through a lot, but I still think that we're here...we've been here, so long....that it must be for some reason....I guess it just depends on what you think a 'reason' is'. Doreen seemed tired but content, as if she was constructing a story that she could put her faith in, that might calm her down a little, something she could live with.

'But we can't tell Gay', Doreen continued,' No matter what, she mustn't worry...she's got herself a really fine fella, I reckon....and something like this might cruel it for 'em both....you agree, don't you, Mavis?'.The question was couched in rather dogmatic manner, as much command (and a little as entreaty)as question.

Mavis, ever the good friend, and having no idea what was the better or best course, murmured her agreement. There'd be plenty of time for talk, later. Best not jump into things. Let 'em run their race. She got up, and took the cups and plates over to the sink to wash up. Then Mavis turned back to Doreen and said, softly, 'Let's go for a walk, down by the sea. It's a lovely evening'.

Doreen nodded in agreement and struggled to her feet, her arthritis making her movements a little slow and stiff in the colder weather. As they walked out onto the porch they were greeted by a dazzling red and orange sunset, and a big V of pelicans flying high over the lagoon. And, just as they stepped down into the garden, Gay's battered old jalopy swung around the corner, in a flurry of dust, and shuddered to a rattling halt.

Gay jumped out, all smiles and chat, and she agreed to come along for the walk. The three women slowly trudged down the path to the lagoon, the sky suffused with colour all around them. Doreen spoke first.

' How'd CJ go, love? Everything hunky-dory? Did he meet his mates?'

'Oh, yes, Mum.' Gay replied 'They were all down at the General Franklin pub, but not pissed. I'd not let him get into a car when anybody's been drinking, but neither would he get in. He's got a good head on those shoulders'

'Nice shoulders, too'. piped up Mavis, and they all had a laugh. Doreen remembered how the old girls had good naturedly teased her when she was young, about boys. She was glad Gay had met someone. As far as she knew, CJ was her first really serious boy-friend, like someone to stay with, 'forever', a pretty usual ambition at her age, but Doreen had always known that Gay was a true romantic, a one-man woman if she could manage it, and it looked like she had.

'He'll send for us in about a week, he reckons. That'll be the longest week in my life.' Gay mumbled, a little breathlessly. 'And after that, I'm never goin' to leave him, ever again'. And that was said pretty determinedly.

'Steady on, love. You gotta give a bloke a little room to be himself, you know. It's not all milk and honey, forever. There'll be rough times, too-you know that'. Doreen tried to bring her down to earth a little.

'No, Mum-you're wrong there. We're special, us two. I knew it the moment I saw him, and saw how he looked at me. It was real love at first sight. We held hands before we even spoke, he just took my hand and squeezed it a little and said 'I'm happy, now'. How romantic is that, specially seeing as how he really meant it?' Gaia was gazing up into the sky, at the red clouds with their stark outlines, against the orange glow, and tears were running down her cheeks. Doreen was overcome with happiness for her daughter, and cried, too, for a little while.

'OK, dear-I believe you. You're a lucky coot, all right. Shall we turn back and make us a little dinner? It'll get dark soon enough, and we'd better pick something from the garden to eat. Oh, by the by, this 'CJ'-what's it stand for?'

'Ah, Mum, he's a little, you know..embarrassed...it's....after his uncle...it's 'Cecil' James' and she said the C with that little whistle which was an old joke from gardening shows on the telly when she was a little kid.

'Nothing wrong with Cecil love...it's Cedric or Cyril that you gotta look out for. Did he get teased? Doreen replied.

'A little, he said, but everyone loves him..I'm pretty lucky, no doubt about it'. Gay nodded firmly in agreement with her own declaration.

As they tramped back through the sand and sedges up to the firmer ground near the little settlement, and back onto the path that ended at Doreen's vegie garden, Doreen felt several strong emotions, all at once. She couldn't help, didn't want to help, feeling deliriously happy for her daughter. But she felt sad, also, to be losing her at last. When your kids are gone, you're finally old, she thought, not a cheery prospect. With luck, 'though, there'd be grand-kids, something she envied most of her friends for having, and they could stay over sometimes, if they didn't live too far away. However, Doreen still also felt, despite her best efforts to banish it, a slight, unwelcome fearfulness, growing out of that rotten dream. The more she fought to forget it, the more it intruded. It seemed to be growing stronger, and be burrowing down into her mind, like a thought-worm that wouldn't bugger off, as she so wanted it to. What she needed was less thinking time and more stuff to do, like cooking dinner.

'Come on, girls' Doreen cried. 'Let's pick a few things and have a nice salad, with spuds and eggs, and I'll open a tin of tuna. How's that sound?'

' Sounds good to me, Mum' Gay cried, a little loudly, as if she too, was glad to be released from her solitary thoughts, and she went straight up to the beans, and begin twisting some of the juiciest looking ones off the trellis.

' Mustn't forget some nice beans, Mum, You know how much I love 'em' ' she chortled.

Mavis went inside and returned almost immediately, with a wicker basket, which they filled with goodies. More tomatoes, although there were plenty inside, potatoes, beans, salad greens, edible flowers, until they cascaded out the top. 'Steady on, ladies', Gay blurted out. 'We'll have too much'.

'What we don't eat the chooks'll take care off' retorted Doreen, and she checked out the hen-house, returning with six fresh eggs.'They're good layers, those girls. I must get a new rooster so we can get some chicks, too'. She was pretty self-sufficient, but she dreamed of getting a cow, or goat, too, for the milk, and to have a go at making cheese. Doreen's gran had managed all that, and making bread all on an old wood stove, and fetching shell-fish and seaweed and samphire up from the shore. That's the life, she thought, and she dreaded having to do it all without Gay. A plan began to form in her head, a scheme to keep Gay and CJ and their kids close by.

'Come on, Mum, stop daydreaming'. Gay yelped suddenly.'Let's get cookin'', and she ran up the path and into the shack. Soon the din of pots and plates banging raucously cascaded out of the kitchen. Doreen and Mavis trudged along behind, and then set to work, peeling the potatoes, slicing tomatoes, mixing dressings and boiling eggs. Bit by bit, minute by minute, a grand feast took shape, enough for six or seven.

'Let's see if any one else is hungry' Mavis exclaimed, and with a nod from Doreen and a smile of agreement from Gay, she set off to interrogate the neighbours. She returned a few minutes later with Grace, another old lady and distant relative, and good friend to Mavis and Jane Donne, the district nurse, who had been visiting Grace to check her blood pressure and diabetes. Jane was bubbling along, as ever, but she seemed almost too chatty, even for her, as if nervous about something. She looked at Gay strangely when they hugged and exchanged friendly kisses, and Gay saw it, too. Jane was flustered and she looked at Doris, imploring help, silently. Doreen grabbed her by the arm and dragged her towards the back-door, saying 'I've got something to show you in the garden, Jane. Gay, keep an eye on them eggs', indicating the boiling eggs in the saucepan.

Gay nodded, but still looked bemused. Doreen pulled Jane along, to the far corner of her vegetable garden, then blurted out,

'Not you, too, Jane. Come on, let's have it...you had that bloody dream...go on tell us'.

Jane had gone pale, even for a white girl. Little beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and she sniffed nervously. She mumbled her words a little.

' Doreen, I was going to come across as soon as I was finished with Grace...I had this strange thing to tell you...but you seem to know it already...how can that be?'

'Jane' Doreen interrupted 'we all...I mean eleven or so of us...we all had a weird dream, last night...the weirdest thing was that we all had the same dream....it was about...about Gay' and she trailed off.

'Gosh, Dorrie, that's spooky...more than spooky...my God. I mean...me, too...I had a dream about Gay......she had a baby, but she disappeared and the baby grew up really quickly, and you were looking after him....'Jane blurted this out as if achieving some sort of catharsis.

'OK, Jane...here's what's happening. Eleven, make that twelve of us, had the same dream. That's a miracle...you're not part blackfella are ya...only honorary...ha, ha... but we mustn't tell Gay, or she'll be scared to death. The really, really scary thing is that she's got herself a fella, and he's the spit of that little Jimmy in the dream. It just gets stranger and stranger, and I'm trying to keep Gay in the dark, We all decided that I'll tell her about my dream, change a few details, and everyone else has to keep quiet. You agree?' Doreen couldn't help looking sternly, as if for immediate acquiescence.

'Yes, yes, Dorrie. She's your kid, you make the decisions. I trust you to do the right thing. We better go back in, before she gets suspicious. Hang on. How do you know he's called Jimmy?'. Jane was thoroughly bemused.

Doreen smiled awkwardly, 'Because she drew that very scene we saw in our dream...in common...last night...in my recipe book...God knows how I never saw it before....when she was a kid. She called it 'Jimmy and Me'. And that, dear Jane, is 'spooky' squared. Come on'.

They went back inside and made an excuse about having been checking out some native orchids, and Gay seemed none the wiser. They had a jolly dinner, laughing and chatting, and it went on until pretty late, when Jane had to drive back to her home at Goolwa. Mavis took Grace home, then returned for a final natter, and left, trudging tiredly over to her place. She seemed weighed down, and Gay noticed it.

'Mavie's looking glum, Mum' she said, chuckling at her rhyme.'Too glum, Mum, for your best chum. Ho, ho, ha, ha'. Doreen laughed, too, relieved that nothing had come out, so far. Gay was too love-sick to worry about strange looks, whispered confidences and furtive comings and goings.

They quickly cleaned up, then sat out on the porch and watched the waning moon come up over the sea. Owls hooted nearby, and an old koala bellowed out a series of low grunting howls, from over by the little woodland that fringed one corner of the settlement. The night was a little chilly, but not too much, just enough to get Dorrie thinking of her pull-over, but she chose an old, moth-worn blanket instead, one that had once lined the bed of her last dog, Jack, a black Labrador so superior to all other known canines that, when he died, grey of beard and full of years (and fleas) that she had sworn never to have another. Too much to live up to. Gay chatted away amiably, flitting from one subject to another, carefree and happy. Doreen began to forget that dreaded dream, sticking it in the far recesses of her mind, until Gay suddenly piped up,

'Mum, if our first kid is a boy, we're goin' to call him James Cecil, so that I can call him Jimmy. That's my favourite name, always has been, since I was a girl'

Doreen was dumbstruck, for a second, but gathered her senses and smiled, a little stiffly, and muttered,

'A lovely name dear...I found one of your old pictures in my recipe book, and, you've got a little boy there, called Jimmy. Funny you bring it up now, the same day. Quite a coincidence, eh?' Doreen tried hard not to sound strained.

'Yes, Mum..we're going to have three kids, and we'll both work, you know, health stuff, and we'll travel a lot so that they can see the country, and, when they get bigger, we'll take them overseas somewhere, so that they see the whole world. We'll live somewhere down here, so we'll be close, of course, and you can stay with us sometimes, and we'll come up here a lot and leave the kids when they're older and know about snakes and stuff, and can swim properly...oh, I'm soooo happy! Gay blurted the last bit out as a little yelp of joy.

Doreen nodded and smiled. She forgot all of her concerns again. She was too happy, as well, to let worries ruin everything.

 Chapter Three :  From out of the Blue.

The next week or so passed quietly. Gay drove down to college once or twice to return books to the library, and Doreen pottered about. Mavis and some of the other old girls popped in from time to time for a chin wag, and slowly the memory of the fateful dream faded a little. CJ rang often as he travelled, but then he went out of mobile coverage when back home on his family's out-station, as their satellite dish had been clobbered in a storm, and needed expert attention, so he had said cheerio, as he left Alice Springs, and not to expect a call for a week or so. The weather up there was unseasonably wet, and humid and they were possibly not going to be able to do much in the way of repairs for a while. Gay was happy enough to wait to hear from him, and when he rang that last time from near Alice Springs she asked if he had told his family anything yet.

'Well not yet, I haven't...but my old Mum...she knows something's up. She knows me too well...she knows when I've got a secret......She'll get it out of me soon enough, once I'm there. One more day, then I'll spill the beans'. CJ laughed loudly, then the call dropped out. Gay waited for a bit, then tried to ring him back, but the coverage was gone.

'Don't worry, love', her mother advised 'He'll get back to us soonish, I'm sure' Doreen returned to writing her journal, which she'd kept for years. She was filling it with news of Gay and CJ, but she didn't mention the dream directly, only in code. It was 'that new TV show' she'd seen, the one with the 'mysterious, secret message'. Not that she let anyone read her diaries-they were 'secret business' for her. She wasn't too sure whether to burn them one day, or leave them to Gay. There was a lot in them, about the 'secret women's business' and what not that she thought might be valuable, but not while she was alive-raking over it would be too painful and just get the racists stirred up all over again.

The weather had been glorious, but the days were shortening, and the nights were getting colder. That Sunday dawned fresh and windy, and Doreen rose early and set out down to the lagoon with a plastic garbage bin, to collect some storm-tossed sea-grass from off the beach, to add to her compost heap. She just had to soak it in fresh water for a couple of days to get rid of the excess salt, and then it would be ready. Seaweed and comfrey, and comfrey tea, slowly fermenting in old garbage-bins -she swore by it, literally sometimes, as the garden cure-all and nectar for plants. Her trees were growing quickly under its influence. Doreen had planted a little windbreak between the vegie garden and the sea and its often times violent winds. Already the she-oaks and eucalypts were well over head-high, and the birds found them a convenient perch from which to flit about, playing chasings and singing out in sheer birdly happiness. They did a good job of keeping the grubs down in the garden too, and Doreen used to love watching them, the wrens in particular, bobbing about under the leaves and emerging with a fat grub, eaten nowadays on the spot, this year's fledglings having flown the nest by now.

A week later, on the second Sunday after CJ had left, nine days after, to be precise, Doreen again rose early, as she preferred, and turned her old radio on while she took a cuppa out into the garden. The sun was just coming up, far away to the east, and the morning sky was a mass of gold and grey clouds spread on a background of salmon pink with tints of orange. Doreen reflected that the colours were unusual, if gorgeous, and tuned the radio to the six o'clock news. It was the usual dreary litany, of food riots overseas, floods, droughts and hurricanes, plus interludes of local politics, themselves even more depressing than the cavalcade of natural disasters. Mid way, there was a story about Central Australia suffering heavy rainfall, flash flooding and violent winds, the tail end of a cyclone that had struck Western Australia and kept on barrelling straight for Uluru and beyond. Perhaps CJ could make the trip to 'the rock' to see the famous waterfalls that thundered down after these sorts of rains, that's if the roads weren't washed out, particularly as it was a couple of hundred kilometres from his place. He'd not be doing much outdoor work for a while. Maybe he'll head home sooner rather than later. After more than a week the work must have been pretty well finished. Gay had begun to fret a little, too, as the days had passed.

Gay was awake, and she shouted a cheery hello from the porch. Doreen rose to greet her, but Gay jumped down into the garden herself.

'How'd you sleep, Mum?' she inquired. 'OK' replied Doreen. 'Well let's have a bang-up brekky, hey', came the retort. 'And CJ sent us a text yesterday, that I just found. They've fixed the dish, and the work's nearly done. He's told his Mum and Gran, and his sisters, about us, and they're over the moon. So everything's absolutely fabulous'. Doreen smiled to see Gay's relief that CJ had finally contacted her. They went back inside and set to work gathering all the left-overs for bubble and squeak, which was one of Gay's favourites. Doreen wandered out to the chook shed to get a few more eggs, and feed the girls some scraps and a few choice weeds. The hens were clucking about, raking the ground, turning it over and fertilising it. Soon Doreen would have to move their yard sideways, to where the tomatoes were finishing off, and set about planting winter vegetables in their old run. She rotated the chooks this way, and they cleaned out the insects and grubs as well as their other duties.

Back in the kitchen the leftovers were frying away, nicely. Doreen cracked the eggs on top, and put the pan under the griller, the way Gay had liked since a little girl. This ritual took Doris back all those years, to those days when it was Gay and her, alone in the kitchen, chatting about stuff, sharing confidences. Gay prattling on about something she had learned in school, and Doreen telling her stories from the Dreaming, and other ones from her collections of myths from every country. There were even a few ridiculous tales of Gay's aunts and other relations, and the silly scrapes they got themselves into. Doreen was by then resigned to the fact that her family would be small, just the two of them, but Gay filled her with such simple happiness that she was reconciled to that reality. And now, hopefully, Gay and CJ would have a whole tribe of kids, but she thought better of projecting her thwarted dreams onto them. Best not tempt fate to intervene and dash all her silly hopes.

They took their breakfast out onto the porch, and sat quietly munching, with an occasional slurp of hot, bitter, coffee. The sun had hauled itself up, the colours of dawn long gone, the sky pale blue, the clouds white and fluffy, the breeze soft and scented from the sea. It was quite blissful, and, after Gay took the plates in, Doreen began to doze. Gay left her to sleep, and sat in the lounge, reading her Mum's time-worn copy of the Larousse Encyclopaedia of Mythology. She had just finished the section on Celtic myths, one of her favourites, when she heard a car pull up outside, a door flung open and brusquely shut, heavy footsteps tramping over the ground, and, then, firm, insistent knocking at the door. She opened it, and found that it was Sgt Chapman, from the Goolwa Police, an old friend of everyone, including her Mum, who was not overly fond of coppers, and she saw in an instant that he had bad news.

Doreen was half-asleep, half dreaming, in that in between world where hags and hallucinations could leap out to sit on your chest and frighten you awake. She was imagining herself, sitting under her trees, reading a book, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and a little, beautiful, brown skinned boy was dashing about, playing merrily. It was Jimmy, of course, and Doreen idly wondered where his brothers and sisters were. She became aware that the radio was blaring, in the background, some horrible caterwauling that kept growing in loudness and intensity, then she instantly grasped that this was not a dream. Doreen woke with a jump, and the whole world of sound was completely dominated by a hideous, primal, scream, that reverberated through her entire body. Even worse, she knew that cry of anguish and grief well. She had produced it herself, once, almost turning herself inside out with the sheer physical effort and the dreadful emotional torment, the day they told her that her beloved Jake had died in gaol. Doreen leapt to her feet, just as Sgt Chapman, his face a white mask of horror and pity, walked out onto the porch.

'She needs you, Dorrie. It's bad, bad, news...I'm sorry...it's her boy...'. He mumbled the last quietly, as Doreen ran through the doorway and into the lounge. She was met by another hideous, animal, cry of grief and fright, coming from Gay, who was standing in the middle of the room, transfixed as if turned to stone. Doreen grabbed her in a fierce embrace, and Gay wailed again, only this time it was words,

'No, no, no...it's not true....not CJ, not him.....not when I just found him....no, no, no....it's not fair....you're lying, aren't you.....this is some bad joke.....oh, oh.......help me Mum'. Gay uttered a sharp cry, and crumpled into a heap on the floor.

'Oh, dear, God help us...Sergeant, could you please get my friend Mavis' Doreen stuttered, feeling that she needed some support in her hour of need. Gay was whimpering on the floor, and occasionally screeching another outburst of disbelief. Doreen knew that she could say or do nothing, that she just had to be there. The Sergeant went to leave, but he beckoned Doreen to the front door, and whispered,

' I got a 'phone call this morning Dorrie. It was some bloke up north, he was at an outstation, so I got what he said confirmed by the local cops, in Alice....and he didn't really know much about you.... but he knew Gay and he mentioned some fella called CJ, so I checked with Gay when I got here. I wanted to call for you, but she got real, you know, frantic, so I told her what I'd been told. He was hit by lightning, last night, during a storm, well just before it hit, apparently...the lightning was miles ahead of the front...these things happen sometimes. A 'bolt from the blue', for cryin' out loud. Killed on the spot...he didn't suffer...but that's no consolation for Gay...poor darling. His mates had to go to Alice to make the call. That's why it took till this morning, I guess'. He ran out of puff there, and looked at Doreen with great sympathy. Thank God it's him and not some raw constable, wet behind the ears, Doreen thought.

'Thanks, Bill...I'm glad it come from you, but by God I'm sad it's come. She was mad about that boy. Her first real, serious, boyfriend, Now, be a love...get Mavis...I'm goin' to need some help here'. The policeman left with a sad nod of his head, his furrowed brow eloquently betraying his inner anguish and sympathy. He was back in minutes with Mavis trotting behind.

'Doreen, love..tell me it's not true...oh, dear, Gay....you poor darlin' She made to bend down, but Doreen snapped, 'Leave her for now Mavis. She's got to scream out the pain before we can think of patching her up. Make us a cuppa, and we'll sit here and watch, until she needs us'. Doreen turned to the Sergeant and beckoned him onto the front porch. 'Thanks' she whispered 'We'll be right, now...as right as we can be....you be off.....I'll give you a ring later, you know, to get details....whatever....I guess there'll be a funeral, and in-laws who never met us.....what a bastard it all is'. At that her tears began to flow. The sergeant placed a beefy paw on her shoulder, and squeezed, then turned and left, hopped into his car and drove off, slowly and respectfully.

When Doreen returned inside, Gay was lying quietly, as if paralysed. Mavis was in the kitchen, weeping quietly as she stirred the tea and added extra sugar. The old girls sat down opposite Gay, and quietly watched her, looking for the littlest sign of animation. They sat like that for an hour, as Gay lay frozen to the spot, then she suddenly sat up, and got to her feet. She crossed to her Mum and hugged her as tight as could be, and began crying bitterly, but there were no more screams. The tears went all round, buckets of them, until Mavis piped up, 'I've run dry'. and she hobbled out to the kitchen, legs stiff, to brew up again, leaving mother and daughter alone.

'Oh, Mum..tell me it's just a bad dream...tell me it's just a dreadful nightmare....wake me up, go on' and Gay bowed her head onto her mother's shoulder.

'I've got the sergeant checking things dear, but he made sure this morning, you know, that it wasn't mistaken identity or something, What can I say, sweetie....it's just so bloody unfair......if I could change anything....well you know....I'd do anything for you darlin' and that lovely boy'. Gay let out a great sigh, and said, 'I'm going to lie down Mum. You and Mavis look over me. I've got to just lie down, and rest'.

She turned and slowly walked to the bedroom, and lay down on her bed. Mavis returned from the kitchen, and sat quietly next to Doreen. They sat and watched, and the minutes turned to hours, the day rolled on outside, and, before they knew it, it was past midday, and the sun was high in the sky. Mavis moved back and forward to the kitchen, fetching tea and coffee, but they had no appetite. After a while they had seen that Gay had fallen asleep, and, so great had been her emotional turmoil, that she slept soundly, utterly exhausted and spent. Her soft breathing, rising and falling rhythmically, lulled Mavis asleep as well, soon after noon, and she slept upright slumped in Dorrie's rocking-chair. But Doreen did not, could not, sleep. Her mind was racing. Too much had happened in too short a space. CJ dead meant that there would be no dark-skinned Jimmy, so alike to CJ, so that portentous dream must have been sheer invention, or an accident, or some greater force had intervened to steer fate down another path. She sometimes felt as if it all must be another dream, in which she had dreamed that dream, and soon she would awake, and it would all vanish like morning mist. Doreen even pinched herself like a six year old, to see if she was, indeed, sleeping, to no avail. It was all too tragically real.

Around three in the afternoon Gay stirred, and slowly woke. She slipped to her feet, and crossed over to her mother and kissed her on the cheek.

'Thanks, Mum, for being here...you're my rock, as ever...I'm just going to ring his mobile, and see if I can speak to someone'

'Of course, love. Do you want privacy, or shall I just sit here?..' Doreen inquired.

'Please stay just where you are, Mum. I want you to hear everything, so I can keep a check on reality, you know....you be my witness'. Gay smiled, wanly, but it quickly vanished, as if she suddenly felt guilty that her expression somehow betrayed CJ's memory. She reached for her 'phone in her bag, and tapped in the already familiar numbers. The 'phone rang for a while, then it was answered.

'Hello' said an unfamiliar female voice' Who is this?', spoken quite curt and demanding.

'Hello, this is Gay....I'm CJ's friend, Gay'. Her voice was weak, and frightened.

'Oh, dear', came the reply, now softer and more friendly. 'Look, love, this is Mabel....I'm CJ's sister...I thought you'd ring....I don't know how to use this fandangled 'phone..', and she began sobbing inconsolably.

After a few seconds, Gay spoke, 'I've heard Mabel...the cops came around...it's true, then, is it...no mistake'. She waited for the reply.

''fraid not love...my beautiful brother's gone.....just like that...no-one can believe it....but what about you, darl....you must be.. gutted'. Mabel spoke the last with a mixture of heartfelt concern, and a little hesitancy, lest it appear too gruff or coarse an expression.

As Doreen sat and listened the women exchanged stories of CJ's great virtues, Gay explained how they met, and what they had meant for each other, and Mabel let her know that CJ had told her of his new love, and also told his Mum, Thelma, and his other sister Sandra. But not his Gran, who was 'out bush'. Thelma had gone out into the scrub to bewail her son, so she wasn't there to speak to Gay, but Mabel promised to let her in on things when she returned, not that it wouldn't make matters even more tragic. Mabel also described how CJ had been struck down from out of a clear sky, while repairing a tin roof, just before dusk, with the storm miles away, which no-one could understand. The paramedic who pronounced CJ dead had mumbled something about coming in as soon as it starts raining, but it wasn't even spitting, and it was too late for all that. After a while Gay broached the funeral subject, and Mabel said that they would be burying him at home, near the church where he'd been baptised, and where his late father, and three grandparents lay. Mabel made it plain that Gay would be most welcome, if she was up to the trip, and Gay swore to be there. About there the conversation petered out, and Gay said that she must go, but would ring the next day. The funeral would be in three or so days, so she had to organise reliable transport. The two parted as sisters in sorrow, brought close, so quickly, by tragedy.

Having said a final, tearful, goodbye, Gay hung up, if that's what it's called these days. She filled her Mum in on all the details that had not been plain to her as a mere listener, and her mother listened quietly and intently, not interrupting, and waiting until she had finished. When it was plainly done, Doreen asked, 'Do you want me to come with you?'

'Oh God, yes, Mum. Of course. I can't do it without you there. I'll need you to lean on....' and she began sobbing again. Doreen hung on to her tightly, and squeezed her in a bear-hug, then sat down and waited. Gay soon composed herself a bit, and left to ring some friends. She called two mutual acquaintances, neither of whom knew of the disaster, and more tears and sobbing ensued. The first, an old friend from college, offered to do the sorry business of ringing everybody else to spare Gay the distress, and promised that she would ensure that they all waited a day or so to ring Gay herself. The second, one of CJ's firmest friends, Richard, was entirely lost for words, but when asked, indicated that he would be glad to take Gay and Doreen up for the funeral. He had an old, but reliably tough, four wheel drive that had ridden all over the outback, so it would be depenndable transport. He had several large tents, in case accommodation was stretched, and he promised to get out right away and check that the old brute was in good order for a long trip. Richard had a bit of a short, manly, cry himself at the end, and gruffly apologised for 'losing it', ending with the observation that of all the people he knew, it had been CJ who he had been convinced would do the biggest things in life. “Look how wrong you can be', he observed, expressed his condolences again, and was gone.

Gay finished that call standing outside, near the garden. She had been moving about as she spoke, finding movement somehow consoling and relaxing. She was so uptight, so tense, that she feared bursting into tears or screaming out at any moment. Gay knew that this was normal, even healing, but she kept thinking irrationally about it all. She couldn't help denying it all, inside her heart. She knew too well how much tragedy her people suffered, from the booze, the drugs, the premature deaths, the social traumas that they still suffered as outsiders to a mainstream that required conformity. Not that Gay hated the mainstream. She had plenty of friends, none of whom were racists, except, perhaps, Adelaide AFL supporters in regard to Port Power (and vice versa). No, that was a good, old-fashioned, feud. And now she was in that wretchedly familiar position for her people, of having to bury a loved one dead years too soon. Gay felt the tears splashing down again, but this time she wiped them off furiously, and made herself do something.

That something was to return inside and start cooking. Gay went through all the cupboards, and dragged out everything edible and began to throw things together to see what combinations she could find. Edible combinations, that is. Her Mum watched her quietly from the lounge, not wishing to interfere, recognising that she was making the effort to 'get a grip on herself'.

Doreen knew that this was a healthy sign, this forcing herself to live, even in the most mundane effort. Soon the smells of cooking were emerging from the kitchen, and a fog of steam. There was a shy, quiet, knock on the front door, and Doreen sang out,'I'll get it, love'.

It was Mavis, with Jane the district nurse, who had come to check on Gay, as a friend and as a nurse. They mumbled pleasantries on the porch, and Mavis and Doreen sat down while Jane went in to talk with Gay. The old girls sat quietly for a while, as the soft lilt of conversation rose and fell in the kitchen. Gay and Mavis, being somewhat hard of hearing, couldn't catch any particulars, but the cadences and rhythms of the young women's conversation reassured them. After about five minutes Jane came out, quietly appearing at the doorway, her eyes red with tears, sniffling a little, but smiling.

'Gay's not too bad. She's coping well, by the look of it. She wants us all to help her out in the kitchen. Are you ready?' Jane spoke firmly and matter-of-factly, brooking no hesitancy. The old girls smiled their agreement, and they all joined Gay in the kitchen. There was a good deal of mess, and Gay admitted that she had let things get a bit out of control. Mavis collected all the scraps, and threw them into the chicken-run. Doreen swept and cleaned and Jane whipped up some egg whites for a meringue. Soon they were lost in work, and they began to talk artlessly, as if nothing was awry.

This culinary campaign was soon being waged on several fronts. Pumpkin for scones was boiling away, the scone mix was resting, the meringue was slowly cooking, a ham soup was bubbling away and an omelette full of left-overs was ready to hit the gas ring. Soon it was plain that there would be more than they could eat at one sitting, so Gay suggested that they get a few others together for afternoon tea. Doreen inquired whether it might not be too draining, what with all the condolences and expressions of sympathy and all, but Gay said that it was better done quickly, to get it over with. Mavis left to see who was free and who wanted to see Gay, at this time, as they say. Meanwhile the three left behind set to on the scones, and an orange cake materialised as well. Gay worked quietly and soberly, but spoke from time to time with her mum and her friend Jane, and soon they appeared almost cheerful.

Mavis returned in a while with Ruby, Aunty Betty and her daughter Lois, who was up visiting from town. They were all very quiet and respectful, and didn't stare at Gay, instead averting their gaze shyly, until Gay spoke up and said,

'Thanks for coming, ladies. It's good of you to be here, when I need help so much. I'd do the same for you...but, thanks. Now, speak up....tell me how sorry you are.....believe me you couldn't be one millionth as sorry as me...

Gay's voice faded away, and she let out a little strangled whimper, but got her self-control back at once. She smiled at each woman in turn, and hugged Aunty Betty, who she loved a good deal. Betty hugged her back, perhaps a little too hard, but she quickly relaxed and held her at arm's length.

'Let me look at ya, love. You've always been me favourite of all the kids. It couldn't 'ave happened to someone who deserves it less than you, love. I know it's just empty words, love, but what can I say? Words are some use, after all, the more the better, I reckon. And hugs, lots of hugs'. And Betty hugged her tight, again.

The condolences flowed like winter rain, the hugs got tighter, the tears fell, and soon the cakes, scones and tea were being distributed. The chatter grew more animated, and, finally, someone let out a laugh, possibly too raucous, a real guffaw. It was Aunty Betty, of course, and it broke the ice completely. Soon it was as if nothing awful had ever happened, then just as suddenly, everyone fell silent, embarrassed at their thoughtlessness. But Gay spoke up quickly,

'Don't worry ladies. CJ would have laughed too, at the joke of it all. Struck by lightning...I mean he was electric, all right....but I bet he never thought that...such a thing... would happen....He'd like us all to be happy, despite it all.....there's no point being down...it won't bring him back....come on, let's keep nattering....silence is too cruel. Let's put on some music!' With which Gay jumped up and turned on her Mum's radio.

A weird wailing, Eastern, dirge blasted out from the speakers. Strange, spooky, mournful music. It was oddly appropriate Gay thought. CJ loved all sorts of music, not like his mates, for whom there were but two- country and Western. CJ was a 'There's good music and bad music' type, and he'd have loved the rising and falling wail what sounded like bagpipes jamming with a didgeridoo. Doreen piped out, not very convincingly. 'It's lovely, Gay, but a bit loud, don't you think?

Time passed, tranquilly, and the chat ebbed and flowed, Gay and Jane spent a fair time out in the garden talking quietly. The older women worked their way determinedly through the piles of food, and night began to close in. One by one each and all departed, with a last hug and a final tear, until Gay and Doreen were alone again. They sat among the debris, silent and forlorn. Gay it was who spoke first.

'Well that's that Mum. I'll never forget him, or forgive him for leaving me, but...it's over, and there's no denying that...'Gay's voice faded away, as if utterly exhausted and she sniffled, but did not cry. A small, quiet interlude followed, then she looked up and smiled a thin smile, half a grimace.

'I'm off to bed, Mum. See you in the morning. The first day of the other half of my life, eh. The after CJ half'. Gay stood, leaned forward, kissed her Mum on the cheek, and went to bed.

Doreen moved out to the porch and watched the Moon come up, late. It was thinning, half-way to a crescent, and cast a callow light over the lagoon, the sand-dunes and the sea. The little night creatures were scuttling about, the mice, native rats and frogs and the crickets were chirping. Everything seemed so peaceful, so eternal, so unchanging, but it really was in constant flux, ever changing, shifting from one mood and one state of being to the next. Doris wanted to magically turn into a nightjar and fly off, or a pelican, perhaps, to soar far out over the ocean and look down on the petty things that made up a human life. But that was all so much bulldust, so she snuggled down on her chair, instead, wrapped an old blanket around her, and fell asleep.

The next morning the Sun was high enough to burn off the morning mist when Gay shook her mother gently awake. Doreen stirred and grunted with pain, her neck stiff from sleeping awkwardly upright in the old chair. How she had slept through she did not know. Gay leaned over and whispered, 'Let's get ready Mum, Richie will be here at ten. We've got to get going. It'll take a couple of days to get there. He knows the place. It's out back of Alice, somewhere up near Utopia...you know, where the famous artists come from...Emily what'sername...

'Kngawarreye', mumbled Doreen, rubbing her eyes and stretching. 'So he's...he was...one of that mob, eh? Or thereabouts. Pretty good roots, deep in the earth, those. O.K. I'll just have a wash, and pack a few things. We'll be gone a week or so, I expect. I'll be along, presently. Could you just go tell Mavis or someone...oh, don't worry...I'll do it as we drive off...Oh, speak of the devil...'

Mavis was coming into view, ambling across the roadway, such as it was, and calling out, cheerily, 'Good morning, sleepy-head. I was here a couple of hours ago, but you were snoring ya 'ead 'orf!' And she started laughing. She struggled up the steps to the porch and dropped into the chair opposite Doreen. 'When you off, then?'

'At ten apparently' Doreen answered.' I'm goin' to wash, so will you knock up a few sandwiches and a bit of brekky for us? And make it edible, for a change!' They both had a good hoot over that, and Mavis shuffled into the kitchen, where Gay was already cooking an omelette.

Doreen washed quickly, changed into some travelling clothes, and packed a bag, making sure to include a sombre outfit suited to a funeral, and a little memento as a present for C.J's Mum. A couple of books for the long trip, toiletries, a torch and that was that. She locked the old school-case, that she had kept for yonks, and secured with an 'ocky strap' as the locks had long since 'gone home'. Doreen dropped it near the front door and joined the girls in the kitchen.

'What's cooking?' she demanded. 'Eggs' replied Gay, who looked like she hadn't slept a wink, unsurprisingly. Mavis was busy cutting sandwiches, and three cups of tea were steaming away. Doreen ate her omelette slowly, and demanded to know where Gay's was. When the answer came that she wasn't hungry, Doreen grunted, knowing that Gay would eat eventually, and sipped her tea. Mavis, finished with the travelling food, sat down and grasped her cup, firmly.

'How long'll it take ya, to get there, then?, she croaked.

' A couple of days, Mavis', Gay piped up. 'We're gonna stop at Alice, then go on to CJ's place the next day, up past Alice, to the east. Near the Plenty Creek, which is 'plenty of nothin', so CJ said.. It's a couple of hundred miles further up the road. He's a ...he was a...you know, one of them outstation people. They've been pretty organised up there, since the '70s, and they know what's what...' Her voice trailed off and she fell quiet.

'Yes, a couple of days to get there, same comin' back...so we'll be about a week and a half, I expect, Mavis.' Doreen said.'Look after me chooks, and help yerself to the vegies while we're gone. It'll be dry I reckon, but who knows...if it rains just make sure there's buckets under the leaks...you know, the old place is like a sieve'. At which thought she chuckled, but only to herself.

'Yeah, yeah..I know the drill. Bring us back some bush-tucker will you. Some of them honey-ants, you know. I was up that way once, and I loved 'em'. Mavis looked wistful at the memory.

'Thinking with your stomach, again, I see. We'll do our best. Stick a jar in the bag, and we'll fill it up if we can. Who knows, maybe CJ's folks only eat pizza'. Doreen snorthed, a little dismissively.

'No way, Mum. CJ told me they eat bush food and grow their own stuff, and they eat like kings. There's no grog allowed but beer, either. They look after themselves'. Gay smiled, a little, not being able to help herself, the memory of CJ being so sweet.

Just then a flurry of dust and the screech of an air-horn announced that Richie had arrived. By the time they reached the front door he was on the porch, a wiry, wild-eyed, mixed race fellow, scruffy and with nicotine-stained fingers from roll your own smokes. He was older that CJ, and weather-beaten, with crooked, yellow teeth, but he smiled nicely.

'Morning, Gay. Morning ladies. Hello ma'am, Richard Selby I'm here to be....your chauffeur, so to say....let's get goin''. Then remembering the sombre circumstances, he hugged Gay and mumbled a solicitation, but was, plainly, lost for words to express himself. In the end all he could say was 'It's not...(he hesitated rather than swear)...fair, is it? The best bloke around, and all the bums (spoken with emphasis) will die in their beds at ninety' He looked abashed at his vehemence, and apologised.

'Sorry. I'm not good with words. Shouldn't slag off others, even if they are....Still, CJ was a beaut, a real champ, and no-one argues with that..no-one.' Richie let that declaration hang in the air, unanswerable, then grabbed the bags, and dropped them in the back. Doreen offered to travel up front so Gay could snooze a bit, and they waved Mavis goodbye, and set off.

The old land rover was built for rugged conditions, and bounced along their little track until they reached the paved road. They turned left for Meningie, and the kilometres began to roll away. Wellington, Tailem Bend, Murray Bridge, Mannum, Anguston, Nuriootpa, then Kapunda, just in time for lunch. Gay had been dozing, and they let her rest. The old conveyance Richie parked opposite a bakery, and Doreen bought a few real Cornish pasties, meat up one end and apple down the other, and a loaf of bread. They sipped a cup of tea each, sitting outside the bakery, and Richie told Doreen just how crook he was over CJ's accident. Then he popped out for a quick smoke, and returned and outlined his background for Doreen's benefit. His Mum was pretty much three-quarters Aboriginal, with the missing quarter Afghan, so his roots were in the centre. Richie was no good with camels, 'though, he joked. His Dad was a ne'er-do-well Yugoslav, an opal miner from Coober Pedy via Belgrade, or the other way about. He wrote to fairly distant relatives in what was left of Yugoslavia from time to time, and had a tattered picture of his grandparents, all droopy moustaches and funny hats, but they were, naturally, long, long dead, during the 'Hitler war'.Richie talked amiably and slowly, and dropped the occasional swear word, for which he reflexively apologised, but that was his usual patter. Doreen listened politely, while keeping a wary eye on the land rover parked across the road. Gay didn't stir. Soon the food was gone, the tea drunk, and Richie said, 'We'd better get going..it's a long, long way to go'. He jumped up quickly, but waited politely as Doreen struggled, less nimbly, to her feet. They crossed the road carefully, and bundled into the land rover, where Gay looked up, smiled a little and rolled over. They pulled out, and the road began passing under their wheels again.

Burra, Petersborough, Wilmington all came and went. At Wilmington Richie filled the tank, checked the tyres and the oil, and off they drove. Gay was awake now, and though a little stiff, was much rested. She began chatting away, and alternatively gazing out the window at the flat, featureless, landscape. The Flinders Ranges were off in the distance, high, weathered, lonely and ancient sentinels. Then they turned west, and Port Augusta passed by, after which the gaps between towns grew greater and greater. Woomera, then Glendambo and Coober Pedy were hours apart, and dusk was falling. Ritchie pulled up in Coober and said,'We're not going to make it ladies, not before two in the morning. We'll have to stay here, which is OK, because my sister lives here. Will I give her a call?'. Gay and Doreen agreed. And soon enough they were pulling up by one of Coober's famous underground houses, out front of which stood a tall, weathered woman, with two teen-aged boys, her sons. Greetings were exchanged, the boys hugging their Uncle enthusiastically, and Richie introduced Gay and Doreen to Maya, his sister, and Boris (after Ritchie and Maya's Dad) and Robbie, his nephews. Then they all retreated underground, where a warm fire was burning, but, as insulation was no problem, it burned slowly in a slow combustion pot-belly stove. Peter, Maya's husband, was in West Australia, mining, and was away for three weeks at a time.

Later Maya laid on a huge spread for dinner, with roast salt-bush lamb and vegies, dessert, coffee and cakes. The boys joined them for the meal, but then retired to their rooms to do their homework.

'They're good boys, no doubt about it' Maya proudly observed. 'They never stop studying, and I'm goin' to lose 'em to Uni down in Adelaide, soon. Still they've got a lot to do in their lives, what with the bloody mess we've left the world in for them to fix'.

Doreen, uncharitably, thought it ironic that the boys' father earned their living digging stuff up and doing his bit for ruining things, but she felt ashamed of her reflection. After all, she'd only done a little bit to save the earth, planting trees and growing vegies, and couldn't really claim moral superiority

Maya may have read her mind, or some subtle facial signal, because she spoke up,

'Their Dad and I are going to retire when they go to Uni, and buy a property up near Innimincka, and fence it off, pull the weeds and let it turn back into bush, as a reserve. We're both very keen on that. It's what keeps him going over to WA-the money's just too good, and we can put it to useful purpose'.

'Good onya' Doreen exclaimed, 'I was just wondering about the mining bit, but it's goin' to a good end, not pissed up against the wall or blown on grand cruises or something. I've planted a few trees, and a garden, and vegies and chooks, but I really would like to do more. Well good on you!' She beamed at Maya, and noted, happily, that Gaia was smiling, too, although she had only picked at her food.

They all sat in the lounge-room, listening to some music, classical Baroque stuff that Doreen didn't recognise, although she listened to music often, on the radio, while doing her domestic duties. In the garden less so, as she preferred the bird-sounds, the wind in the she-oaks and the distant pulse of the sea breaking on the shore. The conversation soon turned to discussion of the environment, and the future, and Doreen was a good deal intrigued to see Gay become quite animated and passionate about it all. She, Ritchie and Maya, and, so it became apparent, C.J, also, were and had been, extremely worried and very angry about the condition of the planet, and what they were inheriting, and passing on. Maya spoke in a very heartfelt manner of how much she feared for her boys and her grandchildren, whose eventual appearance she took for granted. She explained that both her boys were driven to study hard, and to concentrate on science, simply because they were convinced, already, at their tender ages ( 14 and 16) that they would have to do their bit to save humanity from self-destruction. Maya confided, in a low voice, as if to ensure that they would not overhear her in their rooms, that her greatest fear was that the boys would grow disillusioned and depressed when they realised just how great was the threat and how dedicated and fanatical the opposition of vested interests. At that gloomy thought they all fell silent for a good while, then Gaia spoke up.

'CJ. was always on about it, too. He was going to organise his people, and other out-stations, to restore as much land as they could. He was hoping that some sane Government might materialise from somewhere...outer space, maybe...and hand over money, you know, enough to keep things nice on the out-stations, for preserving things and keeping the ecology going. He had so many plans, good plans, hey Rich?'. Gay's voice subsided softly, and she sniffled a little, but quickly got herself together and stated, defiantly and happily,

'And we won't let him down, will we Rich? Not on your Nelly!' At that call to action, Gay laughed out loud, a little too loudly, perhaps, and Ritchie nodded assent.

'You betcha, Gay. We'll do our best, for CJ, Maya's boys and all the kids to come. What else can we do?'. He stood up at that point, excused himself, and went outside for a smoke. Before he had returned the older boy, Boris, had emerged from his room, and he gave them all a run-down on his latest science project, which went over Doreen's head but impressed them all, if just for his boyish enthusiasm and hopefulness. Doreen was taken with both boys, particularly as they seemed so lacking in artifice and guile. They both spoke to adults openly and without youthful bombast, and listened intently, even to an old codger like Doreen. Doreen was struck by a sudden dreadful fear, that losing CJ. might stop Gay from ever having her own kids, if she held too strong a flame for him, or held it too long, and didn't meet another bloke who came up to his standard. Grandchildren as lovely as these two would be a real blessing in her old age, but she put that thought aside as probably too self-centred, and turned her attention back to her company.

Gay was chatting intently with Boris. She even laughed once, as he made a good joke out of some Rightwing politician's latest denialist imbecility. Gay managed to wrangle out of the boy a little info concerning his girlfriend, but Boris wasn't the type to brag, he just confined himself to the simple but heartfelt observation that she was 'beautiful'. Gay left him to his adolescent reverie and turned to her Mum, and suggested that they go outside to look at the stars.

It was a moonless, cloudless, icy-cold night. They were a little way out of town, and there were no street lights. Gay turned off the outside light near the front-door, and, after they walked up the incline to ground-level, they were in inky blackness. Overhead the stars were laid out as you never see them in cities, or anywhere, really, but in the dark interiors of continents. The stars burned fiercely, the red and even the hot blue ones apparent and shooting-stars flashed by every few minutes. The straight, fixed track of satellites crossed from horizon to horizon as bright dots, and a high-flying jet flashed a weak light.

Doreen hadn't seen the stars quite so resplendent for some years, since the last time she'd been bush. It was a really moving sight, and she felt a primordial attraction, buried deep in her soul, inherited all the way back to that first ancestor who had stared at the night sky, through different eyes, perhaps those of the primate or of a tree-shrew or God knows how far back, and had been, shall we say, suitably impressed. She wanted to leap up and fly away into the star-encrusted blackness, and go on flying, for ever and ever, like a drop of water in the ocean. Just be patient, she thought. Another twenty or so years and she'd be making that very journey, or something like it, or so she shyly hoped.

Gay had lain down on the little patch of rough grass that grew over the septic tank, the treated water from which irrigated Maya's little kitchen garden. She gazed upwards, too, lost in dreaming. Gay felt that exact same impulse as her Mum, to soar away, to be everywhere at once, and in all time, everywhen, just like her people's ancient 'Dreaming'. But after a few minutes, alas, the bitter cold overwhelmed her dedication to swimming in the infinite cosmos, and she jumped to her feet and called out.

'It's too flamin' cold, Mum. I'm going in for a cuppa. Let's come back later, with jumpers'. Doreen croaked agreement, and they strolled back down the ramp, and inside, turning the outside light back on as they went.

Back in the lounge-room both boys were jumping about, laughing and cavorting. The little one, Robbie, was teasing his big brother over his girl, but in a friendly, happy sort of way. Boris was returning the favour by nominating several girls who were smitten with his brother, who was, truth be told, a boy over-endowed by that capricious creature, Fate, with more than his fair share of good looks. Robbie was dismissive, even embarrassed, until Boris let slip that fateful syllable, 'Jane', whereupon the younger boy blushed revealingly, and grew all tongue-tied and flustered. Boris saw his little brother's heart laid bare, and like the good chap he was, did not tease him any more. He changed the subject, back to science, and off the brothers raced, to grand flights of fancy and enthusiasm. The time passed quickly until 9.30. when Maya gave the boys their marching orders, and off they obediently trudged to bed.

'They'll read for a bit, I dare say, to wind down. Robbie loves poetry and Boris devours science fiction. I'm constantly amazed at just how easy they've been, so far. Never a real problem, unlike so many others. Boris has never had a drink-he says that, 'scientifically speaking', it's a bad idea until you're at least twenty. So he's promised to have one beer on his 20th birthday, and see if he likes it! We'll see, but he's pretty strong-willed. Half his mates get plastered every week already, but he just doesn't give in, once he's made his mind up.' Maya appeared half admiring and proud and half astonished at his strong-mindedness.

'Still', she went on 'You can tell pretty well how they're going to turn out when they're still quite small. Boris could play by himself for hours, chattering away, oblivious to the rest of us. He took ages to potty train, until I kept the potty right next to him, and sat him on it every now and then. He'd be too busy playing, off in his own world, to even remember to hop on the po. While Robbie just wandered everywhere, looking at things, no concentration, just a butterfly flitting from one new thing to the next, and laughing his head off at everything. Still happy-go-lucky, him. I hope the girls go easy on him, because they're after him already, but I guess that's better than being rejected.' She stopped abruptly, as she saw that Gay was staring forlornly with tears trickling down her cheeks. Maya realised that all this talk of domestic bliss had probably triggered an understandably bitter regret in Gay, whose dreams, no doubt of similar happiness, had been so cruelly dashed so recently.

Maya took Gay by the hand, wordlessly, and led her out to the kitchen, where she gave her a big, sisterly hug, and suggested that they bake a cake for the intrepid voyagers to take with them. The brewed up some tea for everyone as well, and Gay soon, if not cheered up, at least stopped silently weeping. After a while she began to natter, too, and before long they were exchanging stories and even laughing a little.

Doreen and Ritchie were left chatting in the lounge, and then, after a while, Ritchie asked if he could put the TV on, to watch the football replay. Doreen was happy enough, but football not being her greatest love in life, she excused herself and joined the girls in the kitchen. They cooked up three cakes and some scones, in the end. A chocolate zucchini cake, a pumpkin cake, a fruit cake and pumpkin scones. It was nearly midnight when they were done. Ritchie was asleep on the sofa, the football just ended, so they threw a blanket over him and left him to snore contentedly away. Gay and Doreen got the spare room with its two beds, and Maya said goodnight, and retired.

Pretty soon Doreen and Gaia were asleep, but neither slept dreamlessly. They both dreamed more or less the same dream, one of those lucid dreams that tricks you into thinking that you are awake, and this waking dream is what reality has suddenly, and magically, been transformed into.

Their dream was set in the earth, in the ground, just where they were, for the time being, dwelling, if only for one night. However, in their dream they were in a living, all-encompassing earth, deep, deep, within it, and they had always been there, like mysterious subterranean creatures who'd never seen the Sun, but perhaps had heard of, or guessed at its existence. What's more, the earth whispered to them. They woke, in their dream, to a quiet murmuring, that came from the wall of their room, which was identical to the room in which they were sleeping, but was not, somehow, inexplicably, the same. A little 'window' left unplastered to open onto the earth in which the house was set, was the source of this insistent, insinuating, whispering. Doreen and Gay walked together across the room to this earth window, and rested their ears on the soil. It felt warm and friendly, and they soon realised that the sound, rising and falling like waves on the sea or ripples on a pond, was the sound of a human voice, that of an old lady, gently singing. The song was a chanting, haunting invocation, that they both intuitively recognised from somewhere, and it rose and fell as if it would go on forever and had been doing so since the beginning of time. They both understood what it meant, but not with their minds. While they could not find words to express the meaning,  yet it was permeating their bodies, and not as some alien, external, thing, but as part of their very being, long buried, that was being invoked and awoken.

After a few minutes they both returned to bed, in their dream, and fell back asleep, and slept long and deep, and without any more dreams. And when they awoke in the morning, they recollected not a thing of the dream, in their minds, but their bodies, unbeknownst to them both, remembered it all.

The morning was a rush, because they had far to travel, and Ritchie had decided to not stop in the Alice, and head straight to CJ's home, down the quaintly named Plenty Highway., which left the Stuart Highway just north of Alice. A good day's driving, so he said. Boris, Robbie and Maya helped load the old truck, they had a big breakfast together, there were hugs for one and all, and they were off by nine. Gay felt a faint reluctance to leave, a half-felt desire to remain underground, buried in the earth, although she simply couldn't understand why that should be so.

On that long day's drive, Gay often thought of those two boys. She had thought them lovely young blokes, and envied Maya her luck in having them. Gay felt pretty desolate over her prospects of ever being a mother, what with the possibility of finding anyone to match CJ seeming absolutely out of the question. Perhaps time will heal that wound she thought, but then recoiled from the idea. It seemed so unfaithful to CJ's memory. Still, she didn't think herself a feckless girl. It was just that annoying habit her mind had of throwing up stupid, even, occasionally, nasty thoughts, like some sort of ongoing moral interrogation, to see if she would ever fail to dismiss them promptly. They were still troubling, although she had gotten over the childish fear that they showed that she was really wicked, somewhere deep inside. She didn't think that any more. However, Gay had a firm conviction that people lived mostly on the edge of madness, that it took a real effort to keep the 'balance of your mind' set right. One little push by fate, and the whole thing could go tumbling, head over heels, into a darkness without stars.

Gay felt that she was bearing up well under the strain. Her Mum was a rock, as she had always been, but she had felt something special had happened when she met CJ. Soul mates, and all that self-indulgent malarkey didn't seem to do it justice. Everybody felt like that sometime or other, but Gay was convinced that it was more than just infatuation. And now it was all gone. She was pleasantly relieved that she hadn't gone bananas, yet. Time would tell.

The immensity of the land was alternately awesome and tedious. When they stopped for leg stretches, Gay and Doreen wandered off into the scrub, while Ritchie brewed a billy or rolled a smoke, or both-the tea, more than once, tasted of roll your own tobacco. Gay and Doreen would sit on the ground and watch the clouds and the birds, either soaring overhead or flitting amongst the thorny undergrowth. At one stop a tiger snake slithered into view, and seeing the women, turned tail.

'Thank Gawd fer that. Did you see the size of the brute. And all them lovely stripes!' Doreen chortled, but she had had a shock, and they returned to the car. Ritchie was apologetic. 'I should have said be careful. Around here is tiger town. They're pretty deadly up here. I've got anti-venom in my first aid box, in the esky, though, so you'd...probably...be OK'. He laughed out loud at that morbid thought.

'Nice brew that, Rich. What do you call it 'White Ox Pekoe'? Doreen grinned.

'Ah..sorry ladies...I guess a little fell in while I was rolling a durrie. Funny how it doesn't taste too bad. Could be a smoking cure. Maybe I should sell packets of tea mixed with tobacco. Just hope being rich won't change me'. Ritchie grinned his gap-toothed smile, and chuckled to himself.

Far off on the horizon low ranges of hills baked in the sun. They were getting a lot closer to the tropics, but, being early winter, the sun was slanting in from the north. It wasn't baking hot, like it would be in summer, but warm and comfortable, and dry, although unseasonable rains had fallen in the last few weeks, including the storms that took CJ. The land was as red as ever, sandy as ever, but the bushes and trees were ablaze with flowers. It was still too cold at night for insects to breed up. Most were hibernating as grubs underground, and a veritable feast awaited those who knew where to find them. Little mammals had been digging around the roots everywhere and they were having a grand season of fattening up, so long as they avoided the feral cats. Not far off Gay at one point could see a mob of camels strolling up to a little hillock, to have a look about. They were a real nuisance nowadays, but a lot of outstations were making some money shooting them for wild meat. She, being a vegetarian, would never know, but her carnivorous friends swore it was delicious, and at least they lived free and easy lives until the fatal bullet hit, not the wretched lives of feed-lot cattle.

'Come on Gay. We've got about four more hours. We want to get there before dark'. Ritchie was kicking the tyres to check their pressure, and topping up the radiator. Doreen was already sitting in back, looking rather exhausted. Gay felt worried for her Mum. She wasn't as energetic as she had been, but she always bounced back, and wasn't finished yet. She made a mental note to get Jane, the district nurse, to give her a full check-up when they got home.

Ritchie preferred driving directly past Alice Springs, on the Stuart Highway, then on up to Plenty Downs, as he called the little settlement, that way. He'd been up this way a few times with CJ, so he knew the route. The so-called Plenty 'Highway', and the track off it to the settlement were often very dodgy after the rain, so they took all the usual outback precautions. CJ's mob lived on one of the larger outstations that had been formed back in the 1970s. It had kept most of the social problems that afflicted indigenous people at bay, and the outstation lifestyle and the traditional foods, medicines and lifestyles had delivered a really healthy life for the people. Of course the white racists hated the outstation movement, because their preference was for assimilating Aborigines, and making them disappear into 'mainstream' life, and the outstation land was coveted by pastoralists, mining companies and tourist interests. Every obstacle that they could think of was put in the outstation movement's way, all couched in nauseating sanctimony about 'concern' for the blackfella. Doreen knew white racism too well. She and her people had felt it over Hindmarsh Island, and she wasn't prepared to forgive or forget. Doreen really admired the outback blackfellas a good deal, and she always loved visiting anyone living a bit like the old way. In fact she thought that they ought to let a few whitefellas from the city enjoy the lifestyle with them. After all they deserved a break from the rat-race, and, in any case, the city life wasn't going to go on much longer, anyway, and people would have to learn self-sufficiency and living off the land soon enough, if only to survive.

Doreen spent a pleasant few hours daydreaming along these lines. She felt tired but strangely elated after her night in Coober. She felt like she'd been reinvigorated somehow there, but also drained a little, as if she'd been for a long, long hike over mountains. Maybe it was oxygen deprivation underground, or Maya's spicy cooking, roast lamb with paprika, or the tobacco tea. She chuckled to herself at her varied theories of everything.

Gay was watching the road ahead, keeping an eye out for 'roos. They'd missed a big one by inches just after they crossed into the Territory, and a fella that size could cause a lot of damage. The sky was a blazing blue, few clouds about, it being the dry season after all. Gay felt pretty awkward, what with meeting people she'd never known, but now tied to her forever by her love for CJ. He was alive, within her, she felt, and as long as she lived he wouldn't really be dead, and when she 'passed over' as the old girls loved to say, well, who knows? Maybe she would see him again. The omniverse was full of wonders and surprises, it went without saying.

That thought set her off again, and the tears began trickling down her cheeks. No shame there, of course. Only natural, it was. Her Mum was breathing softly, half-asleep, resting her head on her shoulder. Gay had Ritchie stop the car, and she got in the front, to let her Mum snooze away on the back seat. Gay kept quiet for a while, and then, without turning to face him, she softly asked Ritchie,

'What did you really think of CJ, Rich?

' After a few seconds, Ritchie answered.

'He was the best bloke I've ever, or ever will, been...honoured....to know'. He took a while to decide on honoured. 'I'll miss him, a lot, you know....when it sinks in...you know....it's not really real yet...it's...well it's just not right!'.Ritchie grew a little heated at the injustice of it all.

'Sorry, love. It just hurts a lot. We have a lot of 'Sorry Business' to put up with, but this is the worst. I mean...he was so set up...you know...to have a good life...and help people and have kids look up to him....I mean...Jeez!....oh, bugger!' He lapsed into silence, and Gay notice a shy, lonely, tear, trickled out his eye, then congeal high on his cheek. After a bit, Ritchie wiped it off, and laughed.

'Bloody silly world!' After which he kept his quiet.

Gay didn't trouble him again. Ritchie was, obviously, a man of few words, but deep feelings, and, it was torment for him to put them into speech. She felt his concern and respect, however, wafting over her like a soft, cool breeze on a hot day. Gay gazed straight ahead, and the miles rolled by. Alice Springs came and went, and further up the Stuart Highway, the turn to the right, the east, onto the Plenty Highway. The shadows lengthened, and the moon, nearing fullness, began to glow whiter and whiter in the gathering dusk. As happens, with the setting sun, the cooling air and the spreading shadows, all the little animals began to come out, to stretch themselves after sleeping through the day, to get set for the night-time of hunting and being hunted, and playing about. Pretty soon they were scurrying across the road, now unsealed and corrugated, and Ritchie had to keep his eyes peeled, so as not to run over any.

Gay began to doze, too, just like her Mum. Her eyes grew heavy, and her thoughts listless and hazy. In no time she was dreaming, half-dreaming perhaps, then deeper and deeper, until she found herself, not in the front-seat of an old jalopy, carefully barrelling along the track masquerading as a highway, but back home, standing out back near the vegie garden. It was morning, the Sun was rising like a gigantic orange, and she found herself gazing at the blazing orb as if mesmerised. Then, quite slowly at first, like figures materialising from a desert mirage, two figures emerged from the fire, stick-figures at first, one tall, one small, holding hands. They grew rounder and fuller as she squinted and they walked towards her. Gay felt a tremendous, happy anticipation, and, all of a sudden she recognised the taller figure as CJ, just as she had last seen him, but the small figure she did not recognise. He was a little boy, about six, brown and handsome, and smiling as if he and Gay were old friends, or ….. She was growing perplexed, as the two turned to each other and CJ picked the boy up and hugged him close, and kissed him on the forehead. Then, just as it dawned on her what her tormented mind had conjured up, she was woken, with a start by Ritchie.

'We're there, Gay. This is it! This is CJ's place, and them....over there.....they're his mob'. He turned the car off the track, and parked it under a great tree, near a little cluster of houses. It was nearly dark.

Gay didn't answer. She could not. She was in shock. Her dream had been, so she clearly understood, of CJ and their child, who never would be, but just as he might have been. How could her mind, her sub-conscious mind, play such a cruel trick on her? It's not as if she hadn't imagined herself and CJ with their kids, but she'd never expected those now hopeless wishes to have ever come alive in her dreams. Gay wanted to cry out loud, and she was on the point of tears, when her Mum leaned over and, sleepily, drawled,

'We'd better go and make a nice first impression, eh, love?'She kissed Gay on the cheek, and opened the back-door and slid, slowly and stiffly, out. Gay followed, slowly, and hesitantly. She walked around Ritchie's car, and up a little rise, to where Ritchie was chatting with two women. Gay waited a few seconds for her Mum to catch up, then they walked together.

'Hello, love' cried the taller woman, her lean frame clothed in a red cotton dress, and shod with old boots. 'I'm Mabel, dear, and you must be Gay. CJ told us all about you'. She looked as if she would burst out crying, and her bottom lip began to tremble.

'And I'm Doreen, Gay's mum, Mabel. I'm very sorry to meet you like this...I only met CJ once, but he was a real beaut.' Doreen paused, waiting for Gay to speak.

Unfortunately Gay was too emotional to speak. She stood, rigid, as if frozen with fear, so Mabel stepped forward and hugged her, and they both began crying. The second woman stopped looking on, and walked up to Doreen.

'G'day, Doreen. I'm Sandra, CJ's sister, too. Just call us Sandy, if you like. It's what I'm used to. What do you think of our little place?' Sandra was a striking woman, rather heavier built than Mabel, with greying hair, although only about ten years CJ's senior, at a guess. She was possessed of a piercing gaze, which she attempted to mellow for her guests, to avoid appearing too intrusive. The effort ended up causing her to squint a good deal, as if she was very short-sighted.

Doreen, too, strained to see clearly by the now almost extinguished day-light, and looked around. There were ten or a dozen little places scattered about in view, all neat and tidy, with verandahs. A few sheds and a large satellite dish added to the feeling of settled living. Trees were in abundance, many gums, northern ones by the look of them, sub-tropical kinds she didn't know too well. A few pepper trees and kurrajongs, there were, too, old favourites of hers. Not many dogs, perhaps two or three, healthy looking brutes, too, curled up on verandahs. A few people sat on the porches, smoke erupted from one chimney, and there was the drone of a radio, distantly. All in all, pretty tranquil.

A little way off, to the east, there was a small hill, with a little chapel, built, it appeared from stone and painted white.

'Is that your church, Sandy?' Doreen inquired.

'Yes, Doreen, dear. The vicar...I think he's Lutheran or something, pops in every now and then, for services, funerals and whatnot, you know. Not my cup of tea, but some of the older ones, they take it serious. Our Gran does-sort of. That's where my brother will go, tomorrow, with his Dad, and our little brother Freddy...he'd died....he was still-born, you know......and a fair few other of us Browns.' Sandy sighed, deeply, and Doreen gave her a big hug.

'So, you're Browns are you. I never asked what CJ's family name was. Tell us, Sandy, how are things up here with using CJ's name, now that he's ...gone...you know. How traditional are people up here.?

'Not in front of Gran, I'd say Doreen' Sandy replied forthrightly. 'She's very traditional....she's out in the scrub wailing and covering herself in dust and all that stuff. We're a bit more, sort of 'semi-assimilated' if that's the right word...life out here is good, but we go up to Darwin and over to Alice a lot,,,and a few of the kids work in WA...in the mines and down in Perth.'

Sandy indicated that they should walk over to the nearest house. Ritchie looked pleased to be moving along, and they sat down on some sturdy old chairs, on a somewhat rickety porch. Gay and Mabel were sat down on a tree trunk, lying across the ground near where Ritchie had parked. They were talking softly.

'This old porch was CJ and his mob's next project. We've kept the places in pretty good nick for years, but the white-ants, the camels, the cockatoos...well, they all have a go from time to time. The flaming kids swinging off it.. it wears it down. Be careful as you get about...it's unsteady in places, and the wood's rotten'. Sandy smiled a wan smile, and paused for breath.

Doreen leaned over, and whispered, ' Where'd it happen, dear?

' 'Right here Doreen. On this roof. Bang!! Like some flaming bomb going off....nobody saw it, but they all heard it. The other boys were a fair distance away...that's why they didn't see him being hit...... out the back, sawing some wood for the roof....but they saw the flash alright....super-bright. They never saw a bloody storm comin'. The weather's been so flaming strange, lately, so unpredictable. Well, they came around to check on him, 'cause he was pulling old nails out of the iron on the roof, and they found him, dead on the ground. He'd been hit, alright, although the roof wasn't damaged at all'. Sandy stopped and paused, but couldn't go on. She was crying, silently.

'That's plenty for now, love' Doreen said 'We'd better save it for Gay'. They sat in slightly shaken silence, while Ritchie rolled himself a smoke. After a little while, with the bats flitting in and out around the outside lights and the masses of insects attracted to them, Sandy got up to make tea.

'This your place, love' Doreen asked

' 'No...it's Mum's, but she won't be back till later, I guess..or maybe even tomorrow. She had to get away with Gran. They were really cut up....you know, CJ was everybody's favourite....it's just un-bloody-believable, if you'll pardon my French'. Sandy rushed back to the boiling jug.

Yes, it was unbelievable, alright, Doreen agreed. She liked Sandy already, and Mabel was still comforting Gay. Nice people, lovely brother. Life cruel and unfair, as ever. She was very frightened for Gay after such a heartbreak, but she had to not show it too clearly. Gay had to live through the hurt and come out on the other side, through her own will to live. There's no-one else can live your life for you but yourself. And you never, ever, know how strong some-one really is, until tragedy strikes.

Just as she mused these bitter truths, Sandy called out, 'Milk and sugar?

' 'Black, thanks dear, and not too strong'.

'I'd have thought you'd have yours 'Black and strong!' said Sandy, as she emerged with three steaming mugs on a tray. Ritchie took his milky brew and stirred in a few spoons of white sugar, to aid the tooth decay process. 'I'm not as sweet as I oughta be', he chuckled, then looked a little aghast at his self-deprecation.

'Nah, Rich...we all know just what a treasure you are...you'd better get a girl soon, too, as obliging and kind as yourself'. Sandy cooed, and Ritchie looked abashed. He took refuge in a deep drag on his rollie and a slurp of sweet tea.

'Yeah, Doreen..' Sandy said,' CJ told us about you being one of the people, you know...caught up in the 'secret business' trouble. He said Gay had told him everything, and that girl of yours is pretty proud of you, don't you know. I guess you do. That was good work your mob did...standing up and not backing down.....with every racist in the country on your back....tough old girls, just like ours up here, let me tell you'.

Sandy was beaming, and Doreen more than a little embarrassed, changed subjects.

'You're pretty famous painters up here, by all accounts', she ventured. 'Are your folks here part of the Utopia painting mob?' Doris felt like a school-girl, addressing an idol. The desert painters were among her most admired people, blackfella or white.

'Not us so much, Doris'. Sandy replied.'A few of the boys are into music, and one's a cook in Brisbane. He's going to come back and open a bush-food gourmet restaurant, in his dreams, but..who knows?. Some of the old girls write a bit, and Gran's a pretty good story-teller. I've been trying to write down some of her stories to make a book for kids, if only to keep them alive, after she leaves us. She's 86, which is pretty old, but she never smoked or drank or lost her temper. Now, how do you manage that, do you reckon, Doreen?

' 'Dunno, Sandy, dear, but I'll ask her when we meet. I've gotta read these stories of hers, if it's OK. Not 'secret kiddies' business' is it?' Doreen laughed, and was somewhat amazed by her irreverence.

Sandy giggled a bit, too and Ritchie spoke, rising from his chair.

'I'll just go for a wee stroll, if you'll forgive the pun', he drawled, and ambled off into the now solid dark.

'Gawd, I hope he doesn't piss on a brown snake..or worse', giggled Sandy. 'Would you like some tea-cake, Doreen? Sorry...I forgot that Mum baked one a few days ago, and there's a couple of slices left'.

'Thanks, Sandy, don't mind if I do.' Doreen rarely knocked back an offer of cake.

While Sandy was pottering in the little kitchen, Doreen heard the sound of footsteps and faint voices approaching. She looked over, and saw that Gay and Mabel were joining them. Both were red of eye and nose from crying, but the tears had dried, and Gay managed a weak smile as she climbed the two steps to the porch. She leaned backwards against a supporting pillar and Doreen felt such a sudden burst of love for her dear daughter, that she struggled upright and hugged her, good and proper. Gay didn't hug her too tightly in return, but rested her head on her Mum's shoulder, and they stood there a while. Mabel had gone into the kitchen and told Sandy to wait a little bit before taking out the cake. Mabel organised two more cuppas, and shyly took a peek outside.

Ritchie was crunching back through the undergrowth, so Doreen kissed Gay on the cheek, and they both sat down quietly. The sisters emerged with cake and tea, and they sat in silence, until Gay piped up.

'Mum...CJ's in Alice...the Coroner had to ...you know....so his mates are bringing him back, tomorrow, for the funeral in the evening. He's going to be next to his Dad and little brother...' Gay broke off there as the emotion got too sharp, but, after a few seconds, went on, a little hoarse at first from the stress.

'It's the end of the line, Mum...Mabel says that the family have had only boys for as long as any one can remember...I mean only one boy, single boys, lots of sisters, no uncles, sorry one uncle, lots of aunties. Two boys, for once, but …..well, it's too sad, really...' Her voice wandered off, wavering, into silence.

'Now, now, ladies' Ritchie piped up, 'Let's remember all the good times, too. It was better to know CJ for twenty odd years than never to have..I mean.. there are so many..wastes of flamin' space out there, and we were lucky enough to meet a real pearler. That was my old man's highest term of praise, 'A real pearler', and that was CJ. Let's toast him, as he would have preferred, in tea. To CJ', and he rose to his feet. As did they all, and sipped their tea in unison. Just then two raggedy figures emerged from the shadows near the parked car, and shuffled across towards the house on whose porch they stood. It was CJ's mother and gran, looking forward to a soft bed.

'Come on Mum..look..it must be Gay and her Mum. And old Ritchie'. It was the younger woman speaking.

The speaker, in her late fifties to guess, wore a tattered old floral dress, with old Slazenger tennis shoes. She was pretty comfortably built, as they say, and her thick black hair was cut quite short. Her face was as lined as a lifetime spent in the open air, without much indoor living until she was a young woman, will ensure. These lines were deep in places, but from laughing at least as much as from frowning or scowling. She was, however, clearly in distress, fidgety and restless, her eyes darting to and fro, as if frightened to rest their gaze on any one object for too long. This agitation prevented her thinking of the disaster for too long. Now she would have to sit and chat, with strangers, one of whom had a claim on her darling CJ. She felt a strange resentment of the lovely young girl, whose intrusion into her life, as a probable future daughter-in-law, had filled her with joy a few days before. She just knew she had to behave properly, but a strange impulse to play up and scream and shout bubbled away, just under the surface.

The older lady was helped up the steps by Mabel, who gave up her chair, having placed a moth-eaten old cushion on it to comfort the old girl's ancient bones. Even sitting down was a struggle, but, when she had, she sat bolt upright and gazed, calmly at Gay, with a look of maternal solace on her face. Facially she was the 'spitting image' of her daughter, but, seemingly, immensely older, much greater than a mere generation. Her hair was white and wild, her eyes red from age and decades of wind-blown sand, her teeth were few and snaggled, her cheeks high and lined around the eyes in particular. She carried an old lady's paunch, but her old bowed legs still kept on dragging her from place to place. Her dress was of similar style to her daughter's, but much sewn back together from rips and tears, and not a little patched. Her footwear was a pair of old slippers, that had once, it would appear, been red. Now they were dilapidated, with holes where toes stuck out, and in the sole, but her feet were so tough from decades of bare-footedness that they were simply a decoration and creature comfort, a pair of old friends that she donned simply to feel that things were at ease, and in their proper order.

CJ's Mum went up to Doreen first, and gave her a strong hug. She said nothing, but eked out a faint grimace, that might, on a better day, have been turned into a smile, but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances. Doreen smiled in return, mostly with her eyes, so as not to be indecorous. Then CJ's Mum turned to Gay, who was standing transfixed. She stared at her for a couple of seconds, almost long enough to have Doreen speaking up to break the tension, but then she suddenly piped up,

'Goodness gracious, darling! You are a lovely girl, aren't you that! I'm Thelma, CJ's Mum...bloody silly name for a blackfella, eh? Blame me Mum..she let the vicar's wife come up with it, when they wanted us all 'assimilated'. Dear me..that boy had good taste. Come on... don't be frightened...give us a hug'. Thelma forced another smile, this time lighting up her dark eyes with something on the way to satisfaction, if not yet outright happiness.

Gay gave a deep, deep, sigh, having been breathing as low as a little animal hiding from a hunter who wanted her for supper. She embraced Thelma tentatively at first, then with a firm squeeze, followed by an awkward disentanglement. The two woman stared at each other for a second, then Thelma turned to her Mum, and helped her to her feet.

'Come on Mum, come and meet CJ's Gay.' She repeated the invitation in her Mum's native tongue, as best she could, not getting much practise these days. Her mother patiently corrected her usage, and shuffled over to Gay, actually beaming. Gay felt a little taken aback, but the old girl giggled and said, very softly 'Sorry for little CJ, but happy for you, lovely Gay. Call me Gran, darlin'...I've got blackfella and whitefella names, but you call me Gran..you hear?' She raised her skinny old arms and drew them weakly around Gay, and hung on, for what seemed a long time. Perhaps she's too weak to let go, thought Doris. Then the old girl finally let go, and sat down gingerly, assisted by Thelma and Doris. Then, looking around, Gran announced, in a very happy voice,

'That lovely little girl...that lovely Gay....she's goin' to have a baby!' And the silence that followed was profound, to state a plain fact.

'What in blazes did you say, Mum' Thelma shouted, then, realising that she had been a bit loud, she repeated herself, softly. The others were simply shell-shocked, mouths agape, looking quite bemused. The old girl was finally, losing her marbles thought her family and Ritchie. Doreen felt sympathy for Thelma, as an erratic old relative was quite a burden. She didn't entertain the notion as anything but senility speaking, of course. But Gay, still standing, whispered softly to herself, 'I knew it' over and over.

'Come on Mum...what's up with yer? Thelma was insistent.

The old lady smiled and laughed, 'Why ain't you happy, Thelm? You're gunna be a Gran, too. And it's a boy, too, how about that!' She was now almost crying with happiness.

Doreen was taken aback. She rose unsteadily to her feet, and turned towards Gay, who had turned quite ashen. Gay looked almost as if she was about to faint. Ritchie saw it too, and he took Gay's arm and sat her down. She was staring, vacantly, ahead, as if transfixed, Doreen leaned over and whispered in her ear.

'You OK, dear. You've lost all your colour. Don't worry about the old girl, Gay- she's probably just a little doo-lally, you know....she is a great age....too much sun, maybe....

Her words ebbed away, as Gaia showed no sign of having heard her at all. Doreen looked over to Thelma, who beckoned her to have a word.

'Sorry, Doreen,...but Mum's ...well she's usually pretty right about these things....she says she 'feels' it, and, well....I've never known her to be wrong.' Thelma tried to look concerned, although, already, she secretly hoped that it was true. 'Mum used to do all the births 'round here, for years, if the girls stayed away from town or the big settlements. I don't think she ever lost anyone. She knew when things were not going right....and she'd send for the doc, or the Flying Doctors from Alice. She's no fool. We'd better ask Gay if it can be true, you know.. if it is possible...'

Doreen was flabbergasted. She didn't know how to broach the delicate subject, but Gay put her worries to rest.

Suddenly, as if waking from a trance, Gay spoke up,

'Yes, Mum...it could be true. We were...together.....but just once........and I hadn't been with another boy for two years.....so.....Oh dear, this is such a shock..... oh, Mum, give us a hug, please'.

Doreen obliged. Gay was breathing deeply and slowly, and half-sobbing, as if she was wrestling with ferocious emotions. Poor pet, but, if it's really true, then Doreen realised that this meant that the little boy might yet come true, which meant the dream might yet be realised, which was quite frightening. But that was for later. She just squeezed Gay tight, and old Gran shuffled over and lay a comforting hand on Gay's head. Gay looked up, and smiled at the old girl.

'It's such a miracle, Mum. Who'd have thought. We were only...you know....once....just that night before you met CJ....just the once...' Her words drained away, the burden of events just too much..

As Gay's words faded into the night, Doreen felt the hairs on the back of her neck rising up. A cold shiver ran down her back. The very night of the dream! That night, if the old dear is right, the same little boy in the dream came into existence. Just a few weeks or so ago. That was too, too much to take in, she thought, but her thoughts were a jumble, a mess of conflicting emotions. Happiness and dread, and deep trepidation at what it all meant, what it meant for Gay, and for her. Surely such strangeness was just a reflection back of her over-wrought temperament after all the shocks of the last weeks.

Thelma came to her rescue. She helped them to their feet, and ushered them inside. The little house had only three rooms, and, out the back was a long narrow bedroom with two old double-beds covered in quilts. It was a bit chilly, already, and Thelma suggested that they get an early night, because it would be a long day tomorrow, and a sad one. The boys would arrive with the hearse and CJ's body about ten, and the vicar was coming at eleven, so he hoped. Best to get as much sleep as possible. Gay nodded agreement, and Doreen tucked her in to the bed with the red quilt on top, then left to spend a little more time with the others.

They sat along the porch, both sad and amazed at the once. Old Gran mumbled away to herself, droning an old song blessing the new baby. It went around and round, possibly forever, meaning that she'd be kept happy for a good while, probably until she slept. Thelma and Sandy were making new cuppas, so Doreen sat between Mabel and Ritchie, who looked shell-shocked.

'It's too bleeding much to take in, Doreen'. Mabel exclaimed, then fell silent. The silence was intensely uncomfortable, as if they both wanted to speak but were afraid to be the first to break the ice. It would be too easy to say the wrong thing, no doubt about that.

Doreen began to feel the creeping chill of night. She pondered whether to tell CJ's mob about her strange dream, but decided not to, certainly not now. Later, maybe. She had rarely felt less confident about what was the right thing to do. Perhaps there was more than one 'right' way to act, and several wrong ways of varying disastrousness. She tried to brainwash herself into believing that it would all turn out well. If there was a baby, well and good. Gay would be a good Mum and CJ would live on, and his line would not end. And if the old girl was ga-ga, well it was just a rude shock that would slowly fade. There was no malice involved, so forgiveness would be easy, if forgetting a little harder.

Thelma and Sandy brought out the drinks. More cake, too, but shop bought this time. 'It's a bit stale, Doreen, but I scraped off the mould. Ha, ha...only kidding....the termites ate it!'

Thelma's heartiness seemed more than a little forced, but welcome nevertheless.

'It's lovely, dear. I like cakes after a few days. So long as there isn't any cream, like in a sponge-cake. They're better fresh, of my opinion'. The last was her contribution to the nascent light-hearted air. Doreen judged it not too much of a success. The air was still heavy, brooding, as if they were frightened to speak their true minds.

'Alright, Doreen...it's time to have a chin-wag over this' Mabel proposed. 'Are you with me?'. She more or less implored Doreen to agree.

'Well, yes, of course, but we'd better not decide anything until after the funeral. I guess it will be too hard until then...you know...for Gay to think straight'. Doreen answered.

' They all nodded in agreement. Ritchie stood up, and said that he'd leave the women to sort out women's business, and he left to sleep in the back of his ute. As he sauntered off he called out a merry, 'Cheerio', and the woman got down to talking. The four soon agreed that, once Gay knew for certain if Gran was right, she had better fly back to South Australia, rather than bump along all the rough and ready 'highways', for two or three days. CJ's Mum and sisters, once the shock began to fade, were really happy that CJ's memory would live on in a son. They took it for granted that Gran knew best in these things. Her singing kept droning on, although she piped up now and then, to utter some desert wisdom, or recount how her gran used to tell her about her gran's talent at baby detection. You had to watch people close, all your life, and the clues, once you had been taught them, were there for all to see. Babies, kidney disease, incipient blindness, even cancer, all had their traces, their marks in behaviour, facial expressions, gait, appetite and other 'secret' signs.

At one stage she abruptly ceased singing and exclaimed, 'He'll be very handsome, too..even more than CJ....and very good...like a little angel...and clever......and he'll do big things, real big. Cripes, he's a real champ, this fella.' Gran went back to singing, and no-one bothered to ask just how she knew all this amazing stuff.

Doreen heard the old lady speak with a mix of awe and fear. Things were coming together, like the outlines of a scene looming closer through a fog or materialising out of the gloom as the Sun rose. Bits and pieces were growing more concrete, more certain, and the whole was becoming discernible. The meaning was still elusive, but she suddenly felt elated, as if she had been chosen to be part of a great adventure. She was, after all, this special boy's Grandmother, which looked increasingly as if it might be a great privilege. Doreen had to calm herself down and remind herself that the boy was, even if real, and not the figment of an old woman's imagination, still just a mass of furiously dividing cells, as yet indistinguishable from a fish or a sheep in appearance. She didn't like this sort of thinking, so she rose and went to see how Gay was going.

To her surprise, she found Gay sleeping, curled up and breathing regularly and deeply. Doreen pulled the quilt up over her, and, after saying goodnight to the other women, she, too, retired for the night. She fell asleep pretty quickly, despite a bat flitting in and out of the open window. There were no vampire bats in Australia, she reassured herself. Well, only human ones.  *

Chapter Four: The Twin Bejeweled Snakes.

Doreen slept, but did not dream. She had dreaded what dreams might have come, but, if any had emerged from the nooks and crannies of her mind, well, by morning they were gone, and not even a shadow of their presence persisted. Her sleep was deep, and, seemingly brief, one second lying awake and watching the faint moon-shadows of gum-leaves, shimmering in a haze on the opposite wall and the next she was waking, the cock's crow and dawn chorus of  hundreds of birds breaking the spell of night.

The dawn light was just creeping into the clouds overhead as she poked her head out the window. The air was heavy, and the buzzing of bees and other insects visiting the flowering trees was an insistent presence. Gay was still sleeping, so Doreen crept out, through the living room, where Mabel and Sandy were still sound asleep. Gran and Thelma must be in the little bedroom, off to the right, so Doreen walked as softly as her old, arthritic, legs would allow, across the porch, down the steps and over to the log where Gay and Mabel had chatted the night before.

It was pretty quiet, still. Doreen saw that there were several houses in sight from the porch, and all looked fairly rough and ready, but not falling down, nor neglected or derelict. Patched-up but well loved. After all, CJ and his mates had come up more than once to fix things, and other relatives and friends had often lent a hand. Others were, she later learned, scattered about over nearly a kilometre or so, hidden amongst the trees. Up near the little chapel was a solar tower, and a half-finished wind turbine, which must be where they got their electricity. Every house had two or three big rainwater tanks, and, upon inspection, a composting toilet, with a communal one, for emergencies, a few metres away from the solar collectors. And behind the furthest visible house, down a slope, in the open air and near a dam, filled at the present with water-lilies and lotus, and patrolled by squadrons of dragon-flies, was the vegetable garden, surrounded by chicken wire (to keep the chickens out).

Doreen wandered about a bit admiring their self-sufficient little oasis, and then she ran into a young fellow, about ten, a lively boy, running down to the dam. ' Yikes....hello ma'am ...I don't know you, do I? I'm Peter, just call me Pete. You up visiting, are you? From..where?' This Pete was an energetic, talkative, boy.

'Adelaide, young fella' Doreen replied.

'Oh! You'd be here for CJ's funeral, is that right ma'am?' Pete instantly looked concerned and compassionate. Doreen liked this young fella right away.

'Yes, Pete...CJ was going to marry my Gay, you see.' She was lost for words after that.

'It's real sad, ma'am. CJ was everyone's friend. My dad and him, they was great mates. My Dad was really cut up...still is. I'd better go. Mum wants some tomatoes for brekky. I'll see you later then ma'am. Tell your daughter that I'm really sorry about CJ.' Pete smiled a little sad smile, and ran off towards the vegie patch. Doreen was much impressed with the youngster, so sympathetic for one so young. Then again, she thought, the young, sheltered up here, probably keep their childish innocence and empathy so much longer than kids caught in the rat-race. And that thought made her rather sad.

Doreen walked around the little settlement, to get a better idea of the place. She saw one big brown snake, paralysed by the cold, curled up waiting for the sun to revive him and she gave it a wide berth. Off to the east, where the sun was newly risen, there was a distant range of low hills with four or five 'mountains', or what passed for them on maps. The hills continued around to the north, and to the west and south things were rather flat, as far as the eye could discern. A mob of camels grazed off to the south, and flocks of shrieking parrots wheeled overhead. The ground was pretty green, the result of unseasonal deluges and storms, or so Sandy had confided. All in all it was a picture of tranquillity and peacefulness. What a shame they were there on such 'Sorry Business'.

Eventually Doreen finished her circuit, and ended up back at Thelma's. A trickle of smoke emanated from the rough and ready chimney, so someone was awake. In fact they all were, and were gathered in the kitchen, firing up the wood-stove. Cheery greetings welcomed her back, and even Gay raised a smile. Doreen gave a good morning kiss and hug, and asked her how she was.

'Pretty tired, Mum. I just want today to be over, then I can find out if I really am expecting...then...well God knows what then.' She finished very softly and almost plaintively.

'Well love, if it is true..'Doreen began.

'It is true, and its very good.' Gran exclaimed, from her hidey-hole in the kitchen.'Her boy is going to be extra special, let me tell you. I sang up a dream about him last night, and he's a special gift, this one. Not just to you, lovely Gay, but to everyone. I mean every flaming body'. She finished, her face lit up by an enormous, childlike, grin.

'OK, Mum...that'll do for now. Let Gay get used to the idea. It's a real surprise, after all. And, remember...all kids are special, aren't they?' Thelma wanted to lessen the emotional pressure on Gay, particularly before the funeral.

The woman busied themselves cooking breakfast. Eggs were fetched from the chook-house, and tomatoes and greens from the vegetable garden. Coffee was brewed, toast produced, and soon quite a repast was ready. No-one spoke of the day's doleful business. Ritchie ambled over with a bag of mushrooms he brought from Adelaide, and disappeared to 'freshen up' down by the dam. That meant taking a quick dip, and washing his hair, which could have been performed under Thelma's rainwater shower, but Ritchie liked 'going bush' when up country. He returned bright and clean as a button, to tuck into his share of the grub.

After they had finished eating, Thelma and her girls left to tidy up the chapel, and grab some fresh flowers and leaves for floral decoration. Gran started singing again, and Gay and Doreen sat out on the porch.

'I'll be glad when this is over, Mum...to say the least....', she murmured sadly.

'As I was goin' to say before...Gay....if it's true, then you'll have to go home by plane, from Alice. We don't want you sitting in the car, for two days...now, don't argue. I've got enough money, and I'll come with you....it's the best way..no doubt about it'. Doreen was determined.

Gay saw that determination, so she nodded her consent. It was the best idea, after all, and she had no intention of risking the baby. She'd been more than a little thrilled by old Gran's outburst before breakfast. Gay felt blessed, to be the Mum of a special ....but then she grew unhappy again. It wouldn't be the same without CJ. How horrible that he wouldn't see his son. Gay began to cry, noiselessly, which her Mum saw, and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

'You lie down a bit love. I'll go and get our bags from the car, and we can decide what to wear. My, it is getting humid, isn't it. Let's hope there isn't another storm, later. Flamin' weather'. Doreen really dreaded a thunder-storm, and more lightning. It would really just be too much, too harsh a reminder.

Doreen wandered over to Ritchie's old waggon. He was tinkering about with the engine, and said a cheery hullo, as if they been parted for days. Doreen dragged out her old carpet-bag, and carried it back to Thelma's place. She and Gay sorted out their funeral clothes, and Gay turned to lie down and rest. Gran was gone, God knows where, but Doreen wasn't worried. She'll turn up later, she was sure.

After half an hour or so of quietly contemplating the great clouds already piling up over to the north, and the frantic efforts of a colony of ants to build great ramparts around the entrance to their nest, Doris decided that there would definitely be another downpour, but still reckoned that it would have to be later in the day, probably during the post-funeral get-together. Not a 'wake' but a remembrance. No boozing, hopefully, or at least, with restraint and respect. She figured that CJ's mates would not be drunken ne'er-do-wells.

Thelma and her girls returned, with Gran in tow. It was getting on for nine-thirty, so there was no time to be wasted.

'It looks pretty good up there, now, Doreen' Sandy declared.' Washed floors and windows, cobwebs demolished, and flowers everywhere. So long as the weather doesn't turn dirty', and she gazed worriedly at the boiling thunderheads growing ever more gargantuan, even though they were still a long way off.

Doreen went in and sat besides Gay. She was dozing, half-asleep, and Doreen really didn't want to wake her, but she had to, so she did. Gay stretched and yawned, and even smiled, but then, as if she had momentarily forgotten what the day meant and then had, in a trice, recalled it all, the smile dissolved from her face. She rose briskly and went outside without a word, grabbing her towel as she went. Gay was gone five minutes, and returned looking remarkably fresh. Just a bit of a wash down, from the rainwater tank and home-made shower, she declared. She quickly got into her chosen clothes, dark blue and grey, top and dress, very sober, very sombre, as befitted the day. Doreen followed her example, and filled up the shower with a bucket, and had a brisk, cold, shower, or rather, all-over wash, and felt much the better for it. She had taken her mourner's attire with her, all black and grey, and she dressed behind the corrugated iron shower stall. The ants were furiously running to and fro, even as they were inundated by the shower. Their activity seemed even more frantic, more energetic, than the usual, eternal, antish freneticism.

When Doreen returned to the house, Sandy took her place in the shower. The process was quick, and, eventually they were all washed, bar Gran, who declared that she'd '..given up sweatin', years ago. Gay remained lying down, undisturbed by the others. Ritchie appeared, having washed in the dam again, having really enjoyed his dip earlier, and this time he'd shaved and slicked back his hair, and wore a rather shiny suit, the only one he'd ever owned.

'You can keep that for when you get hitched, Rich' Thelma teased. Ritchie shook his head,

'Nah, Thelma...I like women too much to inflict meself on anyone, even the long-suffering type. My idea of chivalry is to remain a bachelor'. He wasn't kidding, either.

A couple of minutes later, and the peace was broken by the approach of an old rattler. It was a very battered old ute, driven with a certain carefree aplomb by a tall, grey-bearded, grey-haired and grey, deep, dark grey, suited whitefella, who leaped out and ambled right up to Thelma and kissed her proffered hand.

'Cripes...it's good to see you, Malcolm...it's been a long, long, time'. Thelma smiled broadly and almost coquettishly.

This, it transpired, was Malcolm Hill, the local GP, once upon a time, now working in Alice, on probation after being 'struck off' the roll as a doctor for smoking the 'demon weed'. He was an old friend of everyone at the settlement, particularly CJ.

'I was at work, Thelma, love...you know, when they brought CJ in for the Coroner. To say that I was gutted is the understatement of the century. It was the worst shock I've had for years...I'm very sorry, Thelma. He was a fine, fine, man'. Mal, as he was universally known, seemed to decide that few words were better than blabbering on, so he left it at that. He hugged them all, one by one, and was introduced to Ritchie, who he had not met before.

' This is Doreen, Mal. She's Gay's Mum, and Gay was...is...CJ's ….soul-mate...you know the drum... .blah, blah...I'm makin' a fool of meself! Thelma retreated in embarrassment.

Malcolm short-circuited her ill-ease by introducing himself to Doreen. He looked a real rogue, she thought, if loveable. He was quite tall, and very lean. Eyes cold blue, but friendly. Nicotine stains on fingers, teeth intact, smile crooked and sardonic, self-conceit apparently minimal. He looked you in the eye, without being intrusive, as if patiently waiting for some imperishably important communication. He'd put people at their ease, good for a quack, thought Doreen. She asked him to be patient while Gay rested, and he nodded his understanding.

Slowly, other people began trickling in, in twos and threes. Old friends, acquaintances, relatives, all made the pilgrimage to Thelma, the bereaved mother, to condole her. Finally the priest arrived, some sort of Lutheran, it seemed, along with his wife. Pastor and Mrs Petersen, who had spent all their lives, from child-hood, living with and respecting blackfellas. Doreen could see that Thelma was not that committed a 'believer', but as Sandy observed later, it was best to have an 'eachway bet' for CJ's sake, and to get him buried properly.

Finally Doreen had to fetch Gay. She was sitting on the bed, looking very ill at ease.

'All those people, Mum. I have to meet them all, or they'll think I'm awful. I'm just not ready for it'. Gay looked quite despondent, even beaten, emotionally.

'Come on chook...you can do it.....there's only ten or so left....the rest are waiting up by the church, smoking and that.....you can see them after'. Doreen offered a helping hand, and Gay took it, grasped it tight, and, arm in arm, they went to meet the other mourners.

Gay was very brave, Doreen thought, as she met each new face in person. Malcolm observed that she was every bit as beautiful as CJ deserved, which almost caused her to cry again, but she gathered her strength, and sat down on the porch, to await the return of CJ's earthly remains to the place where he had come into this world. The hearse was now overdue, and as the minutes dragged by, the tension grew, bit by bit. After an hour, Malcolm left to search the road to Alice, to see if they'd broken down. He didn't get back for another hour, during which time the atmosphere grew rather strained.

'Yeah, that's it. They had two flamin' flat tyres!' Malcolm moaned upon return. 'They'll be here presently. Can I have another cuppa, please, Thelma?' Then he strode off with his tea to smoke under a tree. It was now well after midday.

Still the black hearse was absent. After yet another hour, it finally swung into view, followed by a Range Rover, borrowed for the occasion, in case of accidents on the way. The hearse drove up to the chapel, and the Rover stopped next to Thelma's place. Three young blokes alighted, two likely blackfellas from the look of them, so Doreen thought, and one young whitefella rather red from too much sun. They walked sheepishly over to Thelma, and apologised for their lateness.

'Don't worry yourself, boys. You've been really good to us all...fixin' things....taking CJ over to Alice....bringin' him back. Here, this is Gay, you've met, I hear...and this is her Mum, Doreen'. Thelma handled the introductions with aplomb.

Gay said hello, fleetingly smiling, and Doreen, introduced herself to them, one by one. The dark boys were Sam and Bob, typical city blackfellas, pretty lost up bush, but laid-back, and clearly not down and outers. They and their pale mate, John, were all friends of CJ from TAFE, where they were doing technical courses. They'd all met Gay a few times, at TAFE and down the pub.

'Now, everyone....we'll take CJ into the chapel, if you like'. Sam spoke up for CJ's mates.' And then you can come and...you know....say goodbye...before the service. Does that sound OK?' He didn't want to impose himself, but the hearse had to get back to Alice, and it's driver didn't want to get bogged if the storm did strike.

'Yes, boys..thank-you'. Thelma replied. John looked to Gay, who was staring rather blankly into the long distance.

'Gay, love...is that alright with you?' Doreen asked. Gay looked up, as if lost, then simply nodded.

The boys and Malcolm ambled over to the hearse, and in a few minutes they and the undertaker had carried the simple coffin up the little hillock and into the chapel, and the hearse and its driver, after his formal condolences to all and sundry, set out to return to Alice Springs. The coffin was laid across an old trestle, and the lid opened. CJ lay there, looking quite serene.

'He almost looks like he's smiling', Bob muttered.

'Well, maybe he knows something that we don't... yet', answered John, half-heartedly.

Malcolm turned to the others and said, 'I was working that night that they brought him in. Worse shock of my life, let me tell you. And I had to assist the Coroner...' He looked around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

'We didn't have to do much. The cause was, well, it was pretty apparent...no need, thank God, to cut him up and all...but...you saw the scar, didn't you..?' Malcolm looked a little ashen.

'Yeah, we all saw it. The weirdest thing....but they say that lightning does strange things to people...you know...well I'm no expert...' John was plainly disturbed by just what he had seen.

'Well, guys...I used to come here a lot, I know these people...I know all the mobs around this country..Do you know what this place is called....ask old Gran, she'll tell you..It's 'Rainbow Serpent Dreaming', and, if that scar isn't a bloody great, shining snake, then I'm a dingo!'.Malcolm finished abruptly, then added. 'Don't tell anyone who doesn't already know. Did Thelma or CJ's sisters or anyone see it?

' 'No'. John answered. 'We only saw it when we got to the hospital in Alice. His clothes were singed alright, but we only saw it when they undressed him in the Emergency, and one of the nurses asked us it it was some kind of home-made tattoo. Then we had a look, she let us have a look...it was bloody scary, actually..it even had a head and eyes, and, well....'. He was lost for words, his thoughts defeating his capacity to articulate them..

They all agreed to keep it quiet, but Malcolm was worried that it would percolate back to CJ's family, some time. He had removed the hospital's photos of the scar from the file, which would not, he trusted, be noticed for a while, if ever. The written description he had altered on-line, to add a few 'appeared a little likes', and leave out most of the detail.

Just as they agreed to keep it between themselves,  and as the air of grave but repressed consternation, and, even, foreboding that the recollection of the weird scar had engendered, slowly dissipated, Sandy stuck her head around the doorway, and asked if they were ready. Malcolm nodded, and soon Sandy returned with Doreen, Gay, Thelma, Gran and Mabel.The men all left, to leave the family alone, with their boy. CJ's sisters both bent over the coffin and kissed him on the forehead, then walked out, quietly sobbing. Thelma kissed CJ on the cheek, and placed some bush daisies on his chest. She turned to Gay and hugged her tight. Gran just kept quietly keening away, then she touched Gay on the shoulder, gaining her attention.

'Here, love...this is for you and CJ. You take one, and you put the other with our boy....and you'll meet again...later on, darlin'...in good time'. Gran held out her grizzled, weather-beaten hand, and in the palm lay two figurines, snakes, colourful and vibrant. They shone with light, both reflected, and, so Gay imagined, burning from within.

'My Mum made 'em, years ago, out of glass and metal....when she learned art, at the old Mission. The nuns didn't like 'em, much...you know... too primitive...not 'Christian'... but they are both those things, love, and anything else you want them to be'. The old girl was beaming now, full of joy at giving away such a treasure. She had kept them hidden away for years, and even Thelma did not know of their existence.

Gay took the little figures, which were surprisingly heavy. The bellies were burnished copper, with little scales incised by hand, laboriously and carefully. The heads and backs were embossed with tiny shards of coloured glass, red, green and blue, mostly. The eyes were tiny and black, the only black glass used. They seemed almost ready to slither off her hand, and onto the floor. Gay was overcome with emotion by this surprise. She knew that this gift was just meant for her and CJ, and she didn't contemplate spurning it for an instant. And she'd thought of something similar herself, and had a little carved tortoise, one of a pair, in her pocket, for precisely the same purpose. The snake and the tortoise, perhaps not necessarily natural friends, but they'd see CJ 'over'.

Gay said, 'Thank-you, Gran. They are beautiful. Your Mum must have been a wonderful woman...to make such things'. Gran smiled, and whispered, 'And, your little boy...when he's growed up...you give yours to him, you see you do, so it'll stay in the family...you watch that you do that, our lovely girl'. She kissed Gay on the forehead, then turned quickly and she and Thelma and CJ's sisters left Gay and Doreen alone.

The chapel remained quiet for what seemed a very long time. Gay was surprised that Gran had instructed her (for it had felt like an order)to pass on her snake. She'd just thought that it would be buried with her, one day, but the old girl seemed to know what was really required. Gay sighed, and thought it was best left for another day, and she'd have to decide then. She turned to her mother, and Doreen smiled quizzically back at her.

'She's a character, ain't she?' Doris exclaimed, rather too loud and abrupt. 'Show us, love...show us those ….what are they? She peered closely as Gay held them at arm's-length, and could not help almost shouting, 'But they're lovely! Who'd of thought that ...well, I never'. Doreen was getting overcome, again.

Gay said, 'You say goodbye, Mum...then I'd like to be alone, you know...for a few minutes'. And she smiled, just a little.

Doreen leaned over and stroked CJ's hair. He was shockingly handsome and peaceful, to all intents and purposes just sleeping. But the grey pallor, the blueish lips and the coldness of his skin told her otherwise. She felt it inappropriate, unbecoming perhaps, to kiss him, so she merely stroked his cheek, hugged Gay hard, and quietly left. Outside the women were all quietly sobbing, respectfully. Gran had started up keening a funeral song, to sing CJ safely on his way, and  various other of the guests were now straggling up the hillock. The sky had become dark with thunder-heads and the air thick and humid. Distantly, thunder rumbled. A great cloud of galahs wheeled about, screeching and tumbling in that drunken, carefree, way of flying that they had perfected. Thelma kept everyone outside, as Gay had her private moments, and the atmosphere was sombre and introspective.

Inside Gay had bowed her head over the casket and intoned a little poem that she had created for CJ. Then she whispered a quiet, secret, message in his ear, kissed him on brow and both cheeks, then ever so lightly, on his lips. One of her tears fell onto his cheek, and was frozen there, almost congealing. Gay wiped it away and then placed CJ's little snake, the gift of his great-grand Mum, Gran and from Gay herself, his little lucky-charm for his journey, under his shirt, over his heart, and then her little tortoise, too. She softly said, 'Goodbye' and then, after a second's hesitation at the thought that it might be a little silly and contrived, 'Until we meet again, darling'. And then she burst out crying.

Gay rushed outside, running right into Thelma, who hugged her close. 'Go on, darlin'. Cry your heart out. You've gotta get it out, love'. Doreen walked over and laid her hand on Gay's shoulder, and rubbed it back and forth, comfortingly.

Malcolm discreetly inquired if the time had come to close the coffin. Gay and Thelma nodded, and he and Sam, 'did the needful'.

Soon they had all filed in, about thirty altogether, and at least a dozen had to stand up the back. The service was brief and respectful, of course, of both CJ's notional 'Christianity' and his somewhat assimilated but fundamentally proud indigenous heritage. Indeed, as the Pastor Petersen emphasised, CJ was just the latest in a line of indigenous men who had lived thereabouts for ten thousand years, or more. One by one the pastor was followed by friends and family with mercifully short testaments to CJs character and his effect on people, and, then, it was all over. The boys hauled the casket onto their shoulders, and they solemnly bore the weight and walked outside.

While the short service, only thirty minutes or so, had been proceeding, the weather had closed in. All around enormous thunderheads loomed, and lightning played back and forth. The sun was totally hidden, and a twilight gloom had spread across the land. The wind was getting up, and the trees were commencing to moan and howl as the leaves felt the keen gusts of the approaching storm. Away in the distance, the grey shroud of the fast approaching rain had fallen like a curtain.

Still the men proceeded with their task quietly and in a dignified manner. CJ's coffin was lowered on ropes into the deep grave that the back-hoe had dug. The Pastor intoned the familiar lines, and tossed a clod of mud into the grave. All the guests followed, and Gran had collected all the flowers from the chapel, which she scattered over the coffin. Gay was last, then, as the mourners wound their way back to the safety of the houses, the boys, led by Malcolm, quickly started throwing the dirt into the grave where their friend was laid. It was hot work in the humidity, but they worked quickly, and in a few minutes, they were done. Just as they raked over the mound, they were thrown, violently, to the ground by a veritable detonation, an explosion of noise and air, as a great lightning bolt hit the chapel.

Confusion reigned. They all picked themselves up, and inspected each other for damage. Malcolm's ears were ringing with tinnitus. He smelt burning, and imagined himself alight. He was quickly reassured, that he was in fact already wet and sodden, because the rain had arrived on a fierce whirlwind, and was teeming down, almost horizontally.

The burial party all ran, as fast as they could, instinctively fearful of an improbable second bolt from the sky, down the hill, and onto Thelma's porch. About twenty people were sheltering there, but mostly inside, as the rain was just too fierce to stay on the porch. The rain was impenetrable to sight, with the other houses having disappeared, as if into a fog. Leaves were ripped off trees as the hurricane raged. Soon cascades and rivulets were running everywhere, and Thelma's place was leaking like a sieve. Thunder and lightning flared and exploded, and the hairs rose on the back of peoples' arms, so electric was the atmosphere. Then Gran exclaimed, 'The old church...he's gone caught on fire!

 How she could see it through the rain, and how the church could burn as it was flooded with rain, befuddled everyone. But soon the orange flames were plain enough, and the stench of smoke reached their nostrils. There was nothing to do but marvel at the oddity of it all, the ghastly strangeness of the fire burning so bright, yet being deluged by water that seemed incapable of putting it out. After ten minutes the storm first died down, then after another twenty or so, abruptly ceased. Those inclined sloshed through the mud and debris of fallen branches and leaves, up to the chapel, to see what could be salvaged, but the old place was utterly reduced, to a pile of smoking timbers and piles of ash. The heat must have been prodigious, but, within a few feet, bushes were untouched, although almost denuded of leaves.

Pastor Petersen was dumb-founded. 'It's some sort of horrible miracle,' he mumbled, but he could not pursue the logic of his conjecture. Surely it had been like the opening of the gates of Hell, yet there was no way that CJ.... and then he dismissed the thought from his mind.

'It's that old blackwood, that they built the place out of', proffered Malcolm. 'Its full of sap and burns like a fury....and that lightning, probably ignited the whole place, and off it went. Christ, it's bloody frightening....to think that we nearly....', but, at that point, he could not go on.

Doreen was pretty worked up by it all. Things were going haywire, and she suddenly felt a strange compulsion to confess everything about the group dream to Gay. She was now scared for her again. Doreen looked over at CJ's grave, which was, oddly, seemingly untouched by the downpour. Then, as the lowering Sun finally burst through the last clouds obscuring its setting, off to the east, where the black storm was fast retreating, a brilliant double rainbow blazed into life. Doreen had never seen one so vivid, so electric in its colours. Inside the inner ring, the clouds seemed much lighter grey than outside, or between the rings. The wind was blowing little white clouds off to the east, and as they sped away into the rainbow's inner ring, it looked like they were being sucked down, into an infinite grey oblivion. They all gazed, in frank wonder at the sight, and old Gran spoke, seemingly for them all.

'That's good. Them's two rainbow serpents...one for little CJ.. and the other is for you and your baby..', and she hugged Gay.'Hold on to your little snake, darlin'. That's why it was made for you, all them years ago. My Mum knew it was for a special girl, and a special boy, two little 'uns that she'd never, ever, see. She said that she knew you were comin', and she paused, as if to heighten the effect, '..cause she dreamed it, and dreams never lie'.

Well, at those words Doreen let out a little cry of shock, of fear and wonder, and everybody stared at her.

'Don't worry, Dorrie, dear' Thelma consoled her. 'Mum's always got these 'dreaming' stories. Everything's a dream, ain't that so, Mum', she implored her mother for relief from the tension.

'Now Thel..I never told you...because Mum made me promise....but she told me all about this dream she, and all the other girls had...one night....years ago....they all had the same dream, but it's a secret, and I shoulda shut up...but, by Gawd... it sure looks like it's comin' true'. Old Gran was smiling broadly now, besides herself with joy.

Doreen, needless to say, at the mention of group, shared, dreams, felt the need to sit down, before keeling over in shock. She felt unbalanced, as if she had just wakened to find that she was no longer in control of her life, that she was some sort of actor in a play, directed by....God knows who, or what. Doreen felt beads of cold sweat trickling down the nape of her neck. She was quite frightened. Doreen felt that she was falling back into a mysterious world of dreams and Dreaming, of time that was infinitely plastic, where the past, future and present were intertwined inescapably. Everywhen, all at once, now and forever, and all that ever was, or ever will be. She didn't even have a firm grip on her own reality, any more. Doreen just felt almost in a panic to get out of there, return home with Gay, and quieten right down. She really felt as if she was 'losing her marbles'. That thought made her laugh, which snapped her out of her day-dreaming ruminations run amok.

'It's OK, everyone...I've had a lot to cope with, lately...and I'm not as young as I was...who is, eh?' She laughed, but it sounded like a cackle to her ears. Doreen looked around, and the entire party seemed on edge. Which was easily understandable.

'Thelma..I hate to cut and run, but I want to take Gay back home, today, if it's possible. You've been lovely, and we'll come back, one day, I promise...but., I just want to get home. Is that alright with you, Gay?' Doreen implored her daughter.

Gay nodded her agreement, and went up to Thelma and gave her a big hug. 'We'll see you later, Thelma...particularly...you know..if Gran's right..about the baby. We'll bring..him...up to see you, of course we will. And you can come down and see us in Adelaide. We've got space for all of you...haven't we Mum.'

Doris smiled at the improbability of fitting them all into her little place, but nodded her agreement. She turned to Malcolm and asked if there was room in his car for them. Malcolm said that there was, and it was settled. Better to make a quick, clean, break, and get home, where they could relax and feel secure. Ritchie agreed that he'd rather stay on for a while, and he and the boys would finish some repairs around the little settlement.

'Maybe we can get started on a new chapel', he exclaimed, not looking very convinced. The pastor cautioned against over-exuberance, and counselled that they wait for the time to be ripe, whenever that would be. Everyone looked a little as if caught off-guard, but Doreen was determined to leave quickly, so she hastily packed their bags, and got Malcolm to carry them out to his car. The sun was setting, and the far off clouds were burning bright orange and pink. Doreen already loved this place, but now she also feared it, after the storm, the fire and Gran's creepily reminiscent dreaming story. She really couldn't take it all in, or make sense of the last few weeks' tumult of events. Under it all, very close to the surface, a dreadful fear lurked, not for herself, but for her dear Gay. She just wanted to get safely home.

Doreen and Gay hugged and kissed everyone in sight, as they made their quick goodbyes. Gran was singing mournfully, but she waved cheerily as Mal's car swung out onto the track back to the Plenty 'Highway' then Alice. Doreen turned to wave, and they were all there, waving vigorously, if a little bemusedly. After all, it was only about twenty minutes since Doreen had announced her desire to leave. But quick farewells are best, so she'd heard. Malcolm turned on the car radio, but reception was rubbish, so they drove in silence, for a while. Gay was lying down in the back, and Doreen rode up front, scanning the darkening scrub for 'roos and camels, in case they ran in from the gloom.

'Do you think that I was a bit...rude...back there, Malcolm?' Doreen finally inquired.

Malcolm snorted, and then laughed, quite loudly.

'Doreen, after everything that happened this afternoon, well I was headin' out quick, myself. I've never been so ...well, so shocked...in my life. The funeral, poor old CJ, the storm, that rain, the lightning...almost blowing us all to Kingdom Come, along with CJ..'. Mal looked over his shoulder at Gay, who was dozing, and he lowered his voice a notch or two. 'I mean, for a split second...I thought I was dead, too...the way the electricity built up, the hairs on my arm were twitching, then, bang...I jumped ten foot, I think...and I thought I'd been hit...I swear that I did. Then the fire, that fire, man, how do you explain that!?' At that Mal abruptly stopped talking, as if fearful of his own train of thought. They drove on in silence, the dark now deep, the night black, the stars blazing. Occasionally the headlights reflected the eyes of a kangaroo, and deterred them from a suicidal leap in front of the wheels. The road was surprisingly good, and, after an hour or so, they reached a sealed section, and their ride became much smoother.

Soon enough the lights of Alice came into view, and in a few minutes they had drawn up at a motel, on the edge of town. Malcolm booked a room and insisted on paying, and hooked up to the motel's computer and booked them on a flight to Adelaide via Broken Hill, the next day, nicely timed for 12 noon. While they settled in to their room, Malcolm picked up some Chinese take-away, and a few beers, which he quietly quaffed while they ate. Gay's appetite was pleasingly robust, thought Doreen, what with all the stress of the last few days, but she'd always loved Chinese tucker. They chatted away quietly, mostly avoiding difficult subjects, and Malcolm regaled them with tales, some tall, no doubt, of the bush characters he'd met, and treated, even while struck off.

'Well, it seemed a shame to waste all that education...whadya reckon, Doreen...no-one else went some of those places, and I knew my limitations...and I couldn't refuse....I told the coppers and the Flying Docs, when they showed up...at least I never stuffed anybody up, so, you know, they turned a blind eye, so to speak'. Mal laughed abruptly at the recollection, and so, too... Glory Be!, ..did Gay.

'Crikey, Mum...I suddenly felt a little...happy...just for a sec. I'm not cold-hearted, do you think..I'm not forgettin' him already...'.Gay sighed and blushed with embarrassment.

'No, no, darlin'. You're just normal. You'll never get over it completely, but you've gotta keep on living. We've all got to see it through, to the end. We all get there, in the end, through thick and thin, through good and bitter. You'll be right. I'll look after you, then you'll take care of yourself. You''ll see.' Doreen was more than a little abashed to have uttered some many meaningless cliches, one after the other, but she had no flowery, poetic words for such occasions.

After a while, Malcolm took his beers outside to have a smoke, and he swapped one or two with some locals for a medicinal inhalation, as he was want to call it. He knew a lot of people in Alice, and most were pretty laid-back, without being perpetually horizontal, which was his kind of company. Mal returned to the room after a while, checked the sofa for comfort, and, when it failed the test, decided to sleep on the floor. After watching a few minutes of an excruciating cooking show, which Gay and Doreen were, inexplicably, enjoying immensely, Mal got up, and said goodnight to Doreen and Gay, then went back outside. The night was hot and clammy, almost like Darwin, he thought. The weather was getting meaner and more unpredictable. Even the diehard climate change deniers out in the scrub had begun to see the light...too late, he thought, but then he remembered all the kids that would have to live with it, so he commanded his mind to get optimistic. We will muddle through, somehow. He was pretty mellowed out by now, so he found optimism, even if forced, quite amenable to his mood.

Inside, Doreen and Gay next watched a silly movie for a while, then called it a day. Gay had a long shower, and Doreen read a magazine or two, full of the usual guff and bulldust, but with some lovely pictures of Thai food, exotica with which Doreen had had little experience. After they switched off the lights Doreen fell asleep right away, tired out by the day's experiences. Gay lay awake for a while, her thoughts racing. She felt, in her heart, that Gran was right. She was expecting. It was a miracle, it was a gift, it was CJ living on and it was absolutely frightening. Everything since she first met CJ had gone like a runaway car, a train hurtling along, with her as a passenger, and no idea of or care for the destination. CJ had been that destination, the departure from her old, still childish, world and the arrival at a new, grown-up world of partnership and parenthood. Gay knew it was the great change of her life, then it had been severed, so cruelly and abruptly.  She wondered how her Mum would cope with a baby, with being a Gran, with her moods, (and she knew that she'd have them in plenty) and she wondered and wondered, on and on, until she dozed off, too.

Chapter Five :  Dreaming Jimmy.

After Gay and her Mum got back home, late the next afternoon, they turned all Doreen's old cronies away, when they came calling. Doreen pleaded tiredness and stress, and told Ruby and Mavis to come back the next day, when a full report could be made.

The departure from Alice had been pretty uneventful. Malcolm drove them to the airport, then stayed until boarding time. He made them promise to return some time to CJ's place, and he exchanged addresses with Doreen, so he could keep up his writing skills, so he said. He was a queer coot, Doreen reckoned, but had a pretty good heart, which was the most important endowment that any man could possess. There were too few like him about, she thought, but then considered again, and admitted to herself that there were more than just a few.

The flight had been smooth, and the stopover in Broken Hill brief. The plane was a relatively small propeller driven job, and Doreen, no great enthusiast for imitating the birds, had, surprising herself, coped pretty well. The land below was green to begin with, then grew parched and brown, and Doreen was intrigued at how it looked so much like the paintings of some of the tribal artists, as if they had somehow envisaged their country, like an eagle, soaring high above it.

The long drive from the airport, courtesy of Mavis' son Alex, who had been contacted in the morning, was quiet and uneventful, too. Gay dozed fitfully in the back, while Doreen sat up front. Alex was a man of few words, carefully weighed and seldom spent, so Doreen had a couple of hours to think to herself. No day-dreaming permitted-just cold, hard, calculation. If there was a babe on the way, what of Gay's education? What of the infant years? Doreen could help, but she'd probably have to move to town, to be close at hand for baby-sitting purposes and other duties. Doris had hoped that grandmother-hood would have come, in the fullness of time. She was fifty-six, and still fit as a fiddle apart from the arthritis, but a little rusty in the childcare field. Still, there as no getting out of it now, and a new stage in her life was opening. The last, no doubt, but that was the rhythm of life, was it not? Doreen had never been frightened by the prospect of growing old. Indeed, in her culture, old age was respected and honoured, and she rather fancied that she had earned the right to respect and influence -over whom, she wasn't quite so sure. A little child to help mould in the habits of kindness and humanity that she proudly saw in her only child, that would be that proverbial 'blank page' on which might be written many good thoughts and sentiments. She was all in favour, at the same time, of allowing children as much freedom to find their own path, to fulfil their destiny, as they would come to see it, but it was finding the best combination of support, encouragement and freedom to make your own mistakes, no-one else's, that was the daunting task. These idle ruminations, and the occasional almost startled recollection of the preposterous events of the last few weeks, saw the minutes fly by, and, seemingly in a trice, they were home.

Alex declined the offer of a cuppa with a cheerful, but negative, grunt, so they were soon alone. Gay rang Jane, the nurse, at home in Goolwa, and arranged for a pregnancy test, the next day. Jane was, to put it mildly, astonished and pleased, and, as far as Doreen could tell, didn't spill any beans regarding 'The Dream', as it now appeared in Doreen's mind, suitably capitalised. Jane recommended blood tests to confirm things categorically, and check out Gay's general condition, given all the shocks of recent times.

Doreen checked out the vegetable garden, and harvested a few goodies for a Spanish omelette, of sorts. The cooking and general busyness kept them occupied for a while, then they sat down on the porch, as the sun set, and they, as mothers and daughters do, when their relation-ship is happy and secure, discussed matters.

Doreen led the way.'What happens to college, if your are expecting, love?' she ventured.

'Not much, I'd say, Mum. The college has a creche, that takes babies, and some women study right up until they're....you know....'ready to drop'', and she chuckled, which was a little surprise. 'I'll take a few weeks off, then I can feed him at school...they make allowances for that, you know. I can keep up by studying at home, here, if I can'. Gay paused, awaiting her mother's answer.

'Of course you can, pet. So you think he's a boy, do you?' Doreen quizzed her, not at all forcefully.

'Yes, Mum...I reckon old Gran was right....I know it, now...somehow...it's just a feeling, you know..a feeling, that is 'there' inside my heart, not my head. I can see what's coming, like it's realer than reality'.

At these words Doreen froze inside, suspecting that Gay would confess to knowing about the dream, and everything, but it was just a coincidence. Gay went on, now speaking quite animatedly, almost happily.

'It must be that CJ and me meeting was predestined, you know...like I felt straight away...and this boy,....it's gotta be little Jimmy, you know, like I told you....is someone special, sent here for some reason....do you think that I'm daft, Mum?', Gay implored, once again a little taciturn, her thoughts plainly turning her mood around again.

'Look, love...every child is special....you're special, believe me. This one will be a beaut, I can tell, just because his Mum and Dad are so ...wonderful.' Doreen was searching for the right words.

'And his Gran, she's pretty amazing, too eh Mum?' Gay laughed, liltingly even, and Doreen nodded agreement.

'And what about that dream she went on about. All the old girls, her Mum and all...having the same dream...about me and CJ...I was thinking about it on the plane. Did you believe her, Mum'. Gay looked expectant, seemingly hoping that her Mum would have some sort of answer.

'Crazy old lady talk, love', Doreen lied, not believing that for an instant.'Half remembered stuff from seventy, eighty years ago. Lovely story, though. But let's concentrate on 'Jimmy'. We'll bring him up really well, because, you see love...I reckon he'll be a real bobby-dazzler, a real champion for us blackfellas and everybody else. I've got just such a good feeling about him...he'll do great things..and so will you too, love....wait and see. And CJ will live on....in his boy.....I'm getting pretty misty, love...I'd better leave it there'. Doreen was, indeed, moist-eyed at the thought of it all.

'Me, too, Mum...me too' Gay affirmed, and her tears were more substantial than her Mum's. The two women sat in silence for a few minutes, then Doreen set to on her omelette, in earnest, but Gay merely picked away at it, suddenly having lost her hunger, and grown rather cold inside.

Later Gay turned on the radio to listen to the news, and Doreen began a letter to Thelma and the other girls to let them know how they had fared. She left a space for the result of the pregnancy test, although she no longer doubted the truth, if she ever had. When she finished, she sat quietly outside, watching the night-time comings and goings, the little rodents scurrying around in the dark, the bats flitting about, the insects doing that which they had done for hundreds of millions of years. Looking up at the stars she suddenly felt truly inconsequential and insignificant. She'd been a little blob of protoplasm like Gay and CJ's babe, only half of one brief century or so before, and now she had but ten, twenty years left on earth, to do what, she wondered. Grow vegies, natter to her mates, listen to the radio, to the same old political bulldust...or, to help make a little baby into...something wonderful. Doreen was thankful for this precious opportunity, to help teach at least one little one, once again. She felt quite proud and not a little emotional to think of how well, if she said so herself, she had raised Gay, pretty much alone. Still Gay had been a good kid from the start. What if little Jimmy turns out.... not so good? Doreen dismissed the very thought as preposterous....given his excellent breeding, and all the hopes attached to him.

They retired early, Gay wanting to be as relaxed as possible when she saw Jane, in the clinic. Both slept deeply, and, if they dreamed, the memory had gone of it when they awoke. The morning then passed quickly, and Jane arrived about ten, all afluster.

'Gay, Doreen...I mean it's wonderful, but...sad, too...isn't life the strangest thing?' Jane told Gay that they would have to drive into town to do the tests properly, at the little hospital at Meningee, and Gay agreed. Doreen said she'd come, too, to do a bit of shopping, and for moral support, so to speak. While Gay dressed, Jane and Doreen chatted, at a discreet distance from the back-door.

'Now, Jane...you didn't let on...about that flamin' dream, did you'. Doreen interrogated . the nurse, directly.

'Of course not, Dorrie, dear.. do you think I'm as dumb as I look? But by God, if she'd told me face to face....well she'd a known something was up, 'cause I ain't got no poker face....Ken, my partner, said I looked like I'd seen a ghost...He wanted to know just who had died. I spun him a yarn, but it got so convoluted...he knew it was bulldust....but he let me off the hook. I didn't sleep too good last night, 'though. It was playing merry Hell on my mind...I can tell you. I mean, cripes, Doreen...what's goin' on?, Jane implored, rather exasperated by it all.

'Don't ask me, dear. We've just gotta go with it...with 'the flow'..and see what happens. She mustn't suspect...I mean, she's already spooked enough...did she tell you about CJ's old Gran...how she knew as soon as they met..?' Doreen waited for the reply.

'Well, she told me a bit...but it was pretty garbled. What's the truth?' Jane demanded, rather abruptly.

'OK, here it is....as best as I can remember...it was all a bit of a blur, really....like a dream, of course...like a dream, where you're dreaming that you are having a dream..' Doreen cast a glance at the house, not wishing to appear too conspiratorial when Gay emerged from the bathroom. 'The old girl come in from the bush...she'd been mourning CJ...and she hugged Gay, and, straight out...started laughing and chuckling that Gay was expecting...and it was a boy. Thelma...CJ's Mum...reckoned she was never wrong, you know...secret bush midwives' knowledge....heh, heh....why am I laughing?...still she wouldn't hear that she could be wrong, so everyone was a little cheered up, and a little down-hearted by it all....and that's about it. I'll tell you about the funeral, and the bloody great disaster....don't ask just yet...I'll tell ya later. Let's get back inside, before she suspects we've got secrets'. Doreen moved quickly to return to the kitchen.

They were soon getting on board Jane's rather battered vehicle, an old VW, which had seen better decades, let alone days. They chugged along uneventfully, for about half an hour, sharing meaningless chit-chat. Gay wondered once or twice just why Jane wasn't asking about the funeral, or CJ's home, but she just thought that she was too flustered by the baby talk. Jane was a mid-wife and Gay was hatching a plan, that included her, just so long as there was a baby coming after all.

The little hospital was quiet, and Jane organised an examination room that they could use. She took some blood from Gay, and sent it off to be tested. She started a record of pregnancy, just in case, and after Gay provided a urine specimen, she rather solemnly dropped a few drops into a pregnancy test. The little + sign soon appeared, and she looked up and spoke.

'You know what that means?' Gay smiled and nodded, then burst out crying. Doreen gave her an especially big hug, and began sobbing as well. Jane joined in, out of politeness and happiness for her friends. This went on for about fifteen seconds, then Gay blew her nose, wiped her eyes and announced.

'Let's get down to business, Jane. You've got some notes...a history, to take, if I'm not too mistaken'. She looked very determined, which encouraged Jane a lot, although Doreen would have preferred some company in blubbering.

'Í'm going to stretch my legs,' Doreen declared, 'while you girls get on with it. Give us your mobile phone, Gay, dear...and give us a ring when you want me back'. Gay handed the phone over, and smiled at her Mum as she left. Doreen wandered down a few corridors until she reached the front entrance, and she stepped outside. It was a lovely, late autumn early winterish, early afternoon. The sky was clear and very blue, too blue altogether, but what can you do about the sky, Doreen wondered. A cloud or two, some promise of rain, would have cheered her up a good deal. She ambled over to a little bench set under a big old plane tree, and sat down, rather heavily, or so she thought. Her mind was not exactly calm, so she tried to pacify it, staring meditatively at the passing parade coming and going from the hospital, and she began to day-dream. Nothing profound, just a little wishful thinking to order. Pictures of Gay, and 'Jimmy' and Doreen together, defying Fate and stupid dreams of hysterical old ladies, and just existing. Gay a proud Mum, Doreen a doting Gran, and Jimmy the spitting image of his Dad. Doreen succeeded really well in brainwashing herself to order, so much so that she drifted off into quite a peaceful self-entrancement. She felt rested and content for the first time in days, not harried by an over-active imagination. Life was better off lived one moment at a time, and malign things are best put out of mind. Doreen felt that it was bad enough that everyone eventually suffered, one way or another, without living in fear and trembling before disaster called, or in morbid and pitiful regret after it had passed on.

An hour or so had passed quickly, and the Sun slowly sank a little into the north-west, when Doreen was rudely accosted by a great crow that landed at her feet, and began hectoring her, for food, or so she imagined. She shooed it away, but it only flew a few feet off, from where it regarded her with a baleful eye. Doreen felt inclined to pick up a stick and fling it at the creature, for destroying her dreamy quietude, but then the mobile rang, and Gay was summoning her back inside.

While Doreen had day-dreamed, back in the little consult room Jane had taken a history, written a referral to an obstetrician, booked an ultrasound and handed Gay a pile of literature. The two friends were now quite girlish in their excitement, nattering away like noisy minahs. Presently, after Doreen had returned from outside, Gay, turned first to her Mum, and then turning back and forth to the them both, she expressed a strong desire that had grown in her heart over the last few hours.

'Mum, Jane...I've...well I've decided that I'm going to have this baby...at CJ's place!' She finished quite demonstrably, even defiantly, as if she expected some resistance to her idea.

Doreen was, reflexively, astonished. She was about to mouth an objection, when she realised that she actually had none. None rational, in actual case. It was, really, a not bad idea at all, and would make CJ's family very happy...or so she imagined. But, before Doreen could say, 'Good onya, luv', Gay continued.

'And I want you there, dear Jane...and Mum, of course'. Gay paused, waiting for the idea to sink in. Jane looked absolutely gob-smacked, so to say, but quickly stated, firmly, 'Only if it's safe, Gay...only if things go well, and your obstetrician approves. I know a good one who will let you do it, with his blessing, I mean...they can't just stop you...but he'll have to forgo his fees to be in attendance, you know...he's not likely to attend in the Territory...OK he might arrive a little late, after the birth...ha, ha...that's a midwives' joke... but, if it's really your wish. He's rich enough, already', she added cheekily and accurately.

'Thanks, Jane, but it's only if you can get away. I mean it will be in summer..what did you reckon, the middle of January, so it'll be hot and wet, you know....and your family might need you...school-holidays will be on and all, you know'. Gay looked a little sheepish, as if afraid that she may have imposed too much on her friend's good graces.

'Nah, It's a good idea, I mean if you go full term, I can book my holidays. I always take them then, to be with the kids during hols. And Ken and I were already planning to take the caravan up to Uluru and Kakadu this year, with the kids. I mean, it's all working out well. But what do we do if you get into trouble? How close is Alice? You don't want to 'fail to progress' and need an emergency Caesar too far from town'.

'Don't worry, Jane. I'm going to ask Malcolm, CJ and Thelma's old mate. He's a doctor, twice over. Struck off once, and they had to let him back, he's that good!'. Gay laughed very girlishly, at her silliness. But she knew that Malcolm was definitely 'up to the job'. She felt it, in her bones.

Doreen was getting more used to the idea, by the minute. Jane, Malcolm, Gran, Thelma and her girls, herself...that was quite a team, and only on doctor's orders. It would be absolutely fit and proper that 'Jimmy' came into the world where his Dad had, too. The circle of life would keep on turning, yet unbroken. Thelma would be delighted, as well, Doreen was certain.

'And are you still set on calling him Jimmy, love? No change of mind?' Doreen wanted this question out of the way so she could think of her grandson with his real name.

'Yes, Mum...that never changed. James, but always 'Jimmy', and Cecil, like his Dad, but around the other way. No jokes about JC, either. As far as I'm concerned he'll always be able to walk on water.' Gay almost purred out the latter declaration, smiling in anticipation.

'Well, pretty soon he'll be swimming in water....or amniotic fluid to be technical', exclaimed Jane.' Just wait for that first kick, sweetie. That's the best feeling you'll ever have'. And they fell silent, but all were happy. Good fortune seemed to be flowing smoothly again, at last, after so bitter an absence.

The drive home was very lively, with lots of happy conversation and optimism. Doreen, had neglected to do her shopping and had absolutely forgotten 'The Dream', and Jane had begun to believe it was just a mass delusion. Perhaps she had never had any such dream, perhaps the old girls had just brainwashed her. She knew that wasn't true, but she preferred it as a useful white lie to herself. Doreen was very effusive, bubbling away about being a gran (at last she thought, but keeping that to herself). The drive was not long, and soon they were back at Doreen's place, Jane stayed for a cuppa, and a piece of cake, they chatted, a little aimlessly and then Jane left, to head home and pick up her kids from after-school care.

Doreen saw her to her car. 'It's been a real roller-coaster, hasn't it, Doreen...for you and Gay. Do you think that you are coping OK'. Jane was doing her preventative care job, trying to identify stress before it afflicted her 'clients'. She really hated that expression.

'Whadya reckon? A girl's only human, love! Stress, strain, horror, fatigue, despair...just the usual stuff for us blackfellas. I've seen worse hit others. I'm tough...I think Gay is too. Don't mention that dream, alright...it is officially gone...never happened, as far as I'm concerned. We're just a bunch of loony old ladies. Nothing's happening to my girl or her boy. You know that, Jane. Nothing more bad is goin' to torment my girl. As Gawd Almighty is my witness. There you go...it's official'. Doreen looked fierce, and Jane wouldn't have dared disagree, even if she wanted to.

'That's the spirit love. There's a lot of fight left in you'. Jane hugged Doreen tight and whispered in her ear some little reassurances. She hopped in her car, and disappeared down the road in a flurry of grey exhaust and yellow dust.

Back inside, Gay was reading the literature that Jane had given her. There was a good deal, some of it daunting, about tests and possible conditions and deformities that might afflict her Jimmy. She rejected them as impossibilities, and moved on to the stages of 'gestation'. Gay felt both elated and, understandably, apprehensive. She whispered a few thoughts to herself, and for CJ, who she assumed was somewhere or other where he could hear her. Gay had become rather religious, in a sort of superstitious, non-Churchy sort of fashion, ever since CJ's funeral. The sight of him in the coffin, the strange insight of his Gran, the storm and, above all, the mysterious fire, the all-consuming fire...well, they had all incited a sudden quasi-spiritual awakening on her. She'd never been really a transcendental sort of person and never entertained a belief in life beyond this world, but, now, she was changing, and changing heart. Gay promised herself not to ever become a 'Bible-basher', but events were pushing her down pathways she never knew existed, and would never have imagined treading. After a while, as Doreen busied herself with dinner, Gay dozed off a little, day-dreaming of Jimmy, of his crawling, toddling, setting off for school. She could only see him as old as a little boy, however, but that seemed pretty fair. After all he was still nothing much more than a blob of protoplasm. She disliked that thought, and replaced it with a 'little bubble of joy', which she liked simply for its mawkishness.

Later, at dinner Doreen ate heartily, a little relaxed after a long period,(so it seemed) of pretty unbearable stress. Gay chattered away happily, and Doreen was heartened by the return of her better moods. It was still so soon after CJ's death, but she seemed to have started healing. The conversation soon turned to idle speculation about Jimmy.

'I reckon he'll be a doctor, Mum...and he'll work in the bush, helping his people....or maybe he'll teach doctors and nurses....yeah, that might be better'. Gay pondered this pretty thought happily.

Doreen felt a little naughty, so she interjected, 'What if he's a little tear-away? What then? What if he wags school, to go swimming or fishing with his mates?', she inquired, mischievously.

'Aw, Mum...that'll be alright....he's gotta be happy, first of all....his Dad was always so...cheerful.....'. Gay's words and thoughts trailed off into sad recollection.

Doreen jumped in before the sadness took hold. 'Bloody good thing, happiness. Every child should swim in it....we'll throw the little beggar into the deep end of the 'happy pool' and teach him to swim...like a dolphin....after all, we can take him down the coast to see the real ones, and the whales....maybe they'll sing to him, and teach him stuff....maybe he'll be a leader or a guide or a guru, for others. A blackfella guru...'. Doreen was getting a little carried away, but her monologue had broken the unhappy spell, and Gay was smiling again, marvelling at her Mum's cheerful silliness. The funny thing was that she, too, but seriously, not crazily, had been thinking just the same thing. Her boy was going to be leader, not a follower or a passive bystander. After all, wasn't that what the poor, diminished, degraded and abused world needed-human beings who would nurture it and care for it, rather than plundering and exploiting it? Gay was already laying plans for Jimmy's apprenticeship, how he'd have to read a lot, learn a foreign language, learn his tribal tongue, master music....and she giggled at her ambitions. Yeah, what if he was a lazy little devil, what if he's not interested in leading, what if...... Her brow furrowed a little, and Doreen, catching the signal, gently inquired,

'What's the problem, Gay. I thought I'd snapped you out of the glums. What's the matter?' Doreen sat up and leaned forward, as if to catch Gay's reply more fully.

'No, Mum...it's nothing serious....I just felt strange talking like this...I mean, you know, its a long way off...nine months....then years and years of growing up....and I can't live his life, I mean plan his life, now, even before he's even here...now can I. Really, it's his life, not mine.' Gay stopped talking abruptly, the last observation delivered with some certainty, as if to brook no dissent.

'Yes, dear. Trite platitudes aside.....now don't look so put out...you must have felt like you were stating the bleedin' obvious, surely...Yes I thought so. It's hard not to try and imagine the future, but it will look after itself. I just hope that I'm spared long enough to see him grow up...' Doreen was growing a little maudlin.

'Oh, Mum...don't be so morbid. You've got years left. You're as fit as a circus flea. You'll see my grand-kids, you watch!' Gay was looking forward, far forward.

Doreen snorted, not in ridicule but in mirth. She was lost for words, so the women instead exchanged broad smiles and snickers. The meal proceeded with happy chatter. As they moved to the lounge-room for another cuppa and more cake, there was a loud knock at the door. Doreen answered, and there were Mavis and Ruby, who Doreen had only seen in passing since she and Gay had returned from up north. The ladies were made welcome, furnished with tea and cake, and Mavis blurted out,

'We heard that you...I mean you Gay....have had some good news...'. She stopped there and cast Doreen a strange, worried look, and Doreen felt like kicking her. She spoke up for Gay, who was blushing, and seemed not to have noticed Mavis' peculiar look.

'That's right, love. Our Gay is going to be a Mum, and poor, dear, CJ, will have a son....we're pretty sure he's a boy....even though he'll not be here to see him....which is a bloody shame'. Doreen noticed Ruby looking uncomfortable, too, so she asked Gay to step outside and fetch her book, which was sitting on the table on the verandah.

'But, Mum...you're not a cripple....can't it wait till tomorrow....I'm in a 'delicate condition' after all' Gay pleaded, jocularly.

'Be a pet, dear' Doreen replied.

Gay smiled, and shrugged, and followed her mother's instructions. Doreen waited until she was out the door, then leaned forward and whispered, softly but forcefully, to her two old friends,

'Not a flamin' word, you two, about the dream. Remember. I'll tell you everything tomorrow'. Then she sat back, and waited for Gay to return.

Mavis and Ruby were taken aback, a little, by her vehemence, so they nodded meekly in agreement. Gay hurried back to report the book located, and handed it to her Mum. Doreen threw it on the coffee-table with a sigh, and turned to Ruby.

'So this is what has happened, girls'. With which she spent a good few minutes relating the details of their trip north, the funeral, the accompanying wonders and terrors, CJ's family, his old Gran and her hypnotic singing and strange baby-detecting powers, Thelma and her girls, Malcolm the medico, and today's events with Jane and the happy news. Doreen spoke at furious pace, hardly pausing to draw breath, then finished abruptly. She felt like smiling, but could only manage a sort of strangled grin, that looked awfully like a grimace.

Mavis and Ruby had clucked and nodded, sighed and squirmed in their seats, like the good attentive friends that they were. When Doreen finished, Ruby smiled and asked Gay, ' And how is it for you, princess? How are you doin'? She tilted her old head a little to the left, as if to indicate even greater than normal interest in Gay's answer. Her old dark eyes glinted with sympathy, but something about the lines around her eyes betrayed a certain worry, too, which Gay noticed. Still, she accepted it right away as her old 'aunty's' usual kind-heartedness.

'Me? Why I'm happy as a kid at Christmas... and as sad as a new widow...whatever mood wins, you know...I just don't know, yet...it'll have to be happy, in the end...for Jimmy's sake.' Gay managed a wan smile.

'Who's Jimmy? The little 'un? exclaimed Ruby.

'Oh, yes...James Cecil...after his dad, but reversed to fit my wishes. I always wanted a son called 'Jimmy'. James for formal, you know. I keep repeating it in my head, and it sounds very fine, already'.Gay was quite certain of that.

Well good on you, my dear' Mavis responded, and she leaned over, old bones creaking, and kissed Gay on the cheek. She felt a good deal of unease at developments, but, if you dismissed the crazy dream, which she had always been inclined to do, it was, after all, just very good news, particularly after CJ's death. Mavis sat back, heavily, and beamed, as did they all.

They chatted away merrily for hours. Doreen now related all the minute details of the funeral, storm and the lightning-induced fire. The friends were suitably impressed, and said so. Eventually it got quite late, and Doreen said that she'd walk her friends home, while Gay went to bed. It had been another long, long day. As the three old friends rounded the corner, halfway home, Doreen stopped, and began interrogating them.

'Now, girls, you've forgotten that dream, I suppose, haven't you. After all, you're getting' on and...memory fails....you know what I mean. Forgettin's the best medicine, sometimes'. Doreen waited anxiously for their answer.

'Doreen, dear...she's your kid'. Mavis replied.'We'll do exactly what you want. Some of the old girls have probably forgot it already...but I'll see 'em all tomorrow....those that are hereabouts at present, and I'll make sure they know to keep their traps shut. We'll make sure she never knows. That's the ticket. 'Ignorance is bliss', and what's more blissed than a new baby, eh?' She paused for breath, having grown a little agitated.

'Thanks Mave..... and you too, Ruby. You're good mates, no doubt about it. We'll look after her, won't we? All three nodded in firm agreement, and they went their separate ways home.

At Doreen's place, Gay was already asleep, minutes after 'hitting the hay'. Doreen sat up for a while, calming down, then she too retired, and fell asleep, heavily, in no time at all. She'd been worn right out by everything, and sound sleep was the infallible medicine.

Chapter  Six : The Great Whale's Gift.

In the days and weeks that followed, life returned to something vaguely approximating normal. Gay went back to college, but dropped a couple of subjects so that she wouldn't be too stressed at exam time. The other students, her friends and CJ's, looked after her, fussed over her, threw a baby shower for her and generally comforted her. She grew bigger and bigger, as happens, and winter passed into spring. The winter was hard, cold and dry, and fierce storms blew up from the southern sea, breaking trees like twigs, throwing spray far inland, eroding the dunes, and keeping Gay and Doris inside most of the time. Sunny days were few, yet it didn't rain much, either. Lowering, gloomy, skies prevailed. The vegie patch, well it vegetated, or, rather, it weedified, but that wasn't a complete calamity, as the chooks loved the weeds. Eggs were produced, a lot slower than in the warm months, but the old girls made the effort, and Doreen thanked them for their persistence.

One day, in August, after a really rugged night, when Doreen had feared that the roof would be lifted right off, they heard from young Alex that a whale had beached itself, not two miles away. They hopped into Gay's car to see if they could help in any way. When they got to the beach, the sight was quite unforgettable. It was a fully grown blue whale the size of a freight train. There was no way to float this behemoth back to sea on the next tide. His, or her, sheer magnificent size had condemned it. The giant seemed yet still to be holding on to life. An occasional whisper of breath passed through its blow-hole, but pitifully weak for such gigantic lungs.

Gay walked across the sand towards the whale's head. The great eye was still open, but seemed fixed and staring. She leaned up against the leviathan, and, almost automatically, began stroking its great bulk, and whispering to it, to not be afraid, to let go, to not linger in pain and confusion. How different the hard unyielding beach must seem to one who had floated and flown through the seas, like the most magnificent bird, for so long. Gay began to cry, and knelt to look the whale in the eye.

Gay, being now, after her suffering and after witnessing various ordinary miracles of existence, of sufficient spiritual awareness, was struck instantly by the mighty intelligence and kindliness of the gaze that she received in return for hers. She felt drawn to the whale as a fellow creature, and, even more particularly, as a fellow soul. Gay could almost sense through that eye what that eye had seen, experience the joy of sounding down into the abyss, of gulping wide and swallowing an ocean of krill and of revelling in your unmatched power and strength. And Gay felt, indeed she knew, that the whale was piercingly entering into her soul as she gazed into its, and the whale was communicating, soundlessly, with her, through that very eye and the immense understanding that it benevolently projected.

Then, just as she was about to lose herself utterly in that reciprocal vision and believe herself become one with the whale, its whole flank shuddered, and a mighty, despairing gasp rattled out the blow-hole. Slowly that great, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-understanding eye clouded over, as if a cloud had crossed the face of the Sun, and the spark of life and intelligence ebbed away. The great eye-lid slowly closed, and one more, tight, strangled and pitiably weak breath leaked out, and the whale was gone.

Doreen who had observed the drama from a few yards away, hurried to her daughter. Kneeling down, she saw that Gay was quietly weeping, and held her firmly by the shoulders.

'There, there, darling......don't fret....it's gone somewhere better than a smelly old beach, littered with plastic'. The beach was, indeed, covered in great tide-lines of plastic and other trash. Gay and Doreen kneeled together, then sat quietly, quite transfixed by the tragedy.

Then, suddenly, a cacophony of rowdy voices broke their quiet vigil. A pack of children, yelling and brandishing sticks, crossed the sand, accompanied by a troop of feral adults. Doreen thought an uncharitable thing or two, then struggled to her feet in anger. The children were hurling stones at the great whale, and one or two older, bolder, ones commenced lashing the dead creature's flank with sticks and a cricket bat. Doreen couldn't believe her eyes, but, upon reflection, she was not that surprised.

But, by God, she was angry. She lurched through the softish sand yelling as she advanced.

'Stop that! You little bastards! Stop that now- ain't you got no respect!?' Doreen was answered by a chorus of abuse, much of it racist, from the older children. The littler ones took flight back to their adults. Doreen advanced determinedly, ignoring Gay's pleas to ignore them.

'What's up with you...you old bag?',one delightful twelve year old or so blustered.

'Have some respect you nasty piece of work', Doreen answered. She felt inclined to give him a good slap, but thought it not appropriate, or even safe.

One of the adults, a young man in his mid-twenties or thereabouts, shouted out as he ran over to the scene.

'What's up, granma.? You got something against kids having some harmless fun? It's just a big, fish-thieving pile of dog-food, now.' The lout was not a good advertisement for the human race, thought Doreen, but he grabbed the loud-mouth kid by the arm and sent him off, then remained, leering, if not threateningly, then certainly insolently.

'What's the problem? This one of your 'sacred sites' is it? One of your Dreamtime mates, was it​?' Looking at Gay, he, slurred, it was now plain drunkenly. 'Secret women's business, is it?' He teetered, a little, as he tried to draw himself up, menacing and contemptuous. His beady eyes, closely set, burned darkly, mixing anger with alcoholic rancour.

Doreen saw red, but her automatic stabilisers, that she had built up over a life of dealing with aggressive, often drunken, racists and other ne'er-do-wells, kicked in. She smiled, through gritted teeth, and spoke firmly but unaggressively. Her face was a mask of repressed emotion.

'OK, mate. Just call them 'children' off. This animal just died. Show some respect.' Doreen smiled, slightly, out of one corner of her mouth, not quite knowing why.

The yobbo turned abruptly on his heels, and walked over to the children, who had now been joined by the adults. Doreen heard him order them to drop their sticks and stones and just have a look, because they'd probably never see anything like it again. Doreen felt relieved, having expected another earful of abuse, and she was pleasantly pleased that the previous remarks had, she imagined, just been fuelled by the booze. As she stared at the crowd, one older woman walked over to her. She looked pretty tired and pretty tired out, too. Old beyond her years, the wrinkles creasing her face and nicotine stains attesting to a continuing tobacco habit. When she spoke, her teeth were revealed as a higgledy-piggledy of crook, brown, stumps, with lots of gaps. But her eyes sparkled with kindness, and she spoke softly, in a raspy voice.

'Sorry, love...these kids are pretty feral, I'm afraid....they grow up with no respect, and some of them...I fear for them, that's all. My boy Don (she indicated the drunken chap who had confronted Doreen) he's the worst when he gets shickered...you, know, drunk...but he's still got a good heart, thank Christ. I'm Shirl....I hope you aren't too put out...'.Shirl offered her hand in greeting, and Doreen squeezed it, but not too tightly.

'Thanks for that, Shirl. I'm Doreen...that's Gay, over there...my daughter. You from hereabouts?' Doreen was much more relaxed now, and suddenly in a quite chatty mood.

'No, Doreen. We're from town,..I mean from Elizabeth, just down for the day, for a picnic...to see the sea. This is something unforgettable, though...isn't it? Never seen nothing like this. Is it dead? Hate calling it, it. No way to tell, though, is there? Shirl chuckled to herself.

'Well Shirl, I've lived hereabouts all my life...and whales get washed up...or swim in on purpose, God knows why...and little whales and dolphins....we sometimes pull 'em back...but there's no chance this time, and, it's too late. The old bugger just passed on, just before you got here'. Doreen felt more relaxed now.

'Then I'll say a prayer for its journey. I'm a sort of lapsed Catholic, Doreen, but I do love all creatures, great and small, as the song says.' Shirl bowed her head and mouthed a few silent words, then crossed herself, a little uncomfortably, as if 'He' was watching.. She looked up and smiled.

'God likes hearing from us old sinners, so the priests used to say'.

Doreen gave Shirl a hug, and excused herself because she had to check Gay. Shirl hugged her back, and rejoined her party. Doreen saw that Gay had walked off a little, down the beach, so she quickened her steps to join her. Gay was dry-eyed now, and didn't look at the whale any more, but silently, out to sea, where the ocean spread out, choppy and restless still, all the way, over the horizon to Antarctica. An icy wind was blowing from the south, and Gay's face burned bright from the cold and her emotions.

'Let's go home, Mum. I'm tired out'. Gay almost moaned. Doreen nodded silent acceptance, and they trudged off across the sands, diplomatically avoiding the 'city-slickers', although Doreen waved a cheery 'Goodbye' to Shirl, who returned the gesture.

Back home, Doreen stoked the fire, brewed some tea, and got Gay a warm jumper and a blanket, to drive out the seaside chill. Night was falling, cold and bleak.

'Things seemed to turn out alright..in the end....with those kids...who was that woman, Mum?' Gay inquired, as she sipped her tea.

'Just someone from up town, dear. A nice woman...but her son's a lush, with a drunk's bad mouth on him. Still, he got the message quick enough. His conscience ain't dead, just anaesthetised. Those kids were little horrors, though. God help us when they grow up. No respect for living things...'.Doreen didn't like bad-mouthing children, who deserved second, third and fourth chances, so she stopped there out of dismay at her own thoughts.

'It's true, though, isn't it, Mum. We're stuffing everything up, destroying everything, just as little Jimmy comes into the world. I'm so worried for him...', Gay looked quite wide-eyed with distress, to Doreen's consternation.

Doreen really had no idea about Gay's feelings. She was, herself, a real pessimist. She'd seen all the beautiful world of her childhood chipped away at piece by piece, by 'development' over the years. Animals that used to be widespread and numerous, had slowly dwindled, then vanished. Butterflies were a tiny fraction of their previous abundance, Beetles, fish, parrots-all reduced greatly. The repeated droughts were growing longer and deeper, interspersed with ferocious rain and storms. The Coorong was turning to salt, the fish diversity vanishing. And her parents and grand-parents had told her of times of scarcely credible richness and abundance, when they had been children. Doreen hadn't noticed any great environmental awareness or concern in Gay, but, obviously, it was there. She suddenly felt a dreadful fear that her beloved daughter and her grandson, to be, might regret being born into such a desecrated world, a world so radically impoverished by human greed and destructiveness. Doreen hugged Gay tightly, and whispered into her ear.

'Don't worry, darling. People will wake up, before it's too late. We ain't hung around for 60,000 years to let ourselves get wiped out in 200. You wait and see....your little boy will do his bit.....he's born to it, you see'. Doreen was astounded by her words, which seemed, somehow, not hers, but, upon hearing them, she was glad that she'd said them. She liked the idea of Jimmy as a hero. It made her vaguely recollect the strange dream, but she now was quite practised at purging it from her consciousness, so she made it disappear.

Gay pulled herself together. 'You're quite right, Mum' she affirmed. 'You're always on the ball, thank God....Where would I be without you?' She smiled, but it was forced. Her eyes gave the game away. They usually sparkled when she smiled, but not this time, alas, thought Doreen. Still, she'll come around, later, Doreen was confident. Then they could plan little Jimmy's progress, together.

Mother and daughter busied themselves with dinner, and they were able to chat, pretty relaxed, about the great whale. Gay was now convinced that the whale was female. I felt it, she stated, confidently.

'I just felt that she was a mother, too. You know, what I saw, or what I felt...when I looked into that giant eye.....you know, Mum...it didn't all sink in, right away. All the time since, whenever I remember, I see more and more. It's like she transferred some big thing, some big gift of thoughts and...visions....into my head. Maybe they do that when they're dying....but there weren't any whales there....so I was the next best thing...better than a sea-gull, or those wretched brats'. Gay looked very pleased with her strange speculations, which seemed to make ever more sense as they rolled off her tongue.

Doreen liked the sound of it, too. 'You know, Gay, when I was a little 'un...the old girls would say that, when they were little, their grans had told them that...in the old, old days...that some women were able to sing to the whales, and they...they sang back, and the old ladies would paddle out, past the breakers, when the sea was not rough, of course...they weren't no Dawn Frasers (she laughed at her little joke)...and they'd dive down and listen to the songs. Then they go home, and, that night.....they'd have these dreams where they'd hear the whales, but...they could understand what they were saying'. Doreen felt a little uneasy at the recollection, which was coming back to her with a powerful resonance.

'What did those dreams say, Mum?' Gay was pretty keen to hear about the old stuff, the forgotten knowledge, but more so than ever after today's experience.

'Sorry, love. If you asked them that...well they'd just laugh and run away...or play silly...well some weren't playing ...but it was 'secret business' for one set of ears only, each time. The message was different for every one. We can't, and we don't, share everything in life...do we?' Doreen felt a little guilty at that evasion, but she passed over it, and went on.

'But, once the whaling got going, and the killing got bad, well the whales stopped singing to us. It hasn't happened for a long, long, time, far as I know. You wouldn't know, I suppose...if people still keep it secret, but I can't remember anyone even trying to listen in...they're all too bloody scared of white pointers! Then, for years, there just weren't that many whales, but, now, I guess they're making a come-back'. Doreen felt a strange desire to give it a go, herself, but figured that she'd drown, or get taken by an irony-loving white pointer.

'Not the blues, not like that whale, Mum. There's still only a couple of thousand left, in the whole wide world. And one less, now. I'm pretty sure she was old, and had used up her span, and she knew it...and she beached herself...I'm feeling that right now...Mum...it's really weird...it's like I'm reading a book, and a new page just opened...it is..amazing, not at all frightening. Maybe I'll run away to the ocean and turn into a whale.....ha, ha...you should see your face!' Gay laughed ecstatically, and she wasn't ashamed or surprised by it at all.

Doreen had turned deathly pale at the thought. She was beginning to fear that Gay was getting a bit, more than a bit, carried away by all the whale business. Her laughter unsettled her even more, although, in any other context, she would have been thrilled to hear her girl so exuberant.

'Calm down, dear. People don't turn into whales any more. That's finished, for now at least...maybe such Dreaming magic will come back, one day...maybe never. Let's just eat...I'm starvin''. Doreen wanted to change the topic and get back to mundane matters, as quickly as possible.

The two women ate slowly, and thoughtfully. Doreen had whipped up a vegie casserole, with some bits of chook thrown in from an old boiler she'd dispatched a few days before. No point getting sentimental, once they stop laying. Good thing it doesn't apply to people-or does it? She laughed, a little, to herself.

'What's so funny, Mum?' Gay was onto her in a flash. 'Nothing dear, just a little joke at the chook's expense'. Gay nodded, as if she understood completely.

They sat and chatted for a while, then there was a soft knocking at the door, and Doreen answered it. It was Ruby, who was visiting for her daily chin-wag. The three women chatted for an hour or two, before Gay, who had given Ruby a full run-down on the whole whale episode, suddenly felt an overwhelming need to sleep. It was about 8.30 which was her self-prescribed bed-time these days, so off she went, with a hug and kisses from Ruby to lull her off to sleep.

After a decent interval, Doreen closed Gay's bedroom door, quietly, lest she disturb her. Then she turned the radio on, softly, and placed it on the table near Gay's room, to muffle conversation. Doreen got Ruby to sit near the far end of the room, and the two women began chatting, quietly, but earnestly.

'Well, Ruby...how do you think she looks? Doreen demanded.

'Bloomin', Doreen ...positively blooming. She's a picture, but she does seem...a little...you know....she's got something on her mind. Is everything OK?' Ruby leaned forward, further and further as she spoke, and nearly toppled out of her chair as she posed the question.

'It's that bloody whale, dear. The whole ...episode...well it's got into her head. She thinks she goin 'to turn into a whale...well she was joking...I think she was...mostly..but she's just acting a bit...strange, you know'.

'Course I know, dear. Just like her Mum. You went completely bonkers from time to time...when you was expecting Gay. You come up with that silly Greek name for her, too, if you remember...' Earth Mother'...I mean, really. Thank God Gay stuck, instead. She'd a been teased mad at school otherwise'. Ruby had always had a 'bee in her bonnet' over Gaia's name.

'OK, OK...case closed. Let's have a tiny sherry, to celebrate something. I've had the bottle for a year, without a drink, and I just figure that I need one now'. Doreen looked sternly at her old chum.

'You know me, Doreen. Won't say no to one...or two...but three is me ruin.'  And Ruby laughed, loudly, at her jest.

'Quiet, you old duffer, or you'll wake her up'. Doreen snapped, then she sneaked over to Gay's room, and quietly opened the door to check on her. She'd been leaning toward the open door for a good minute before Ruby noticed that she was frozen still, the blood draining from her face. Ruby shuffled over to her friend, and lay a friendly hand upon her shoulder, and whispered, 'What's the matter, dear?'

Doreen kept her ear to the open doorway, and whispered hoarsely, 'Can't you hear her?' Ruby, unfortunately, was getting a little deaf, so she didn't hear anything, for a while. Doreen pushed the door open a little more, and now Ruby could hear it, faintly. Gay was singing, singing in her sleep. But not words, not as we'd understand them. No, she was singing, in whistles, clicks, hums and soaring trills and cadences. Gay was singing, like a whale. Or, rather, she was singing as a whale.

The old friends listened a while, but Doreen feared waking Gay, as if some terrible thing might happen if she was awoken while dream-singing, so she hurried Ruby home, apologising for sending her off so abruptly. Fortunately, Ruby understood, and left without even a hug. Doreen sat down on the floor outside Gay's room, the better to keep an eye, and an ear, on her. Doreen listened a while, then, when the singing died down to inaudibility, she moved to her camp-bed and quickly dozed off herself.

During the night Doreen slept only fitfully. No more sound but faint breathing emanated from Gay's room, but Doreen felt impelled to get up and check her more than once. Doreen woke late, the sun having filled the room with light. She quietly made a cup of coffee, and went outside to sit on the porch. To her surprise, Gay was sitting there, quiet and serene, seemingly radiantly happy. Not just her smile, but the whole aspect of her body, the easy grace of her posture as she lounged on the old, battered, armchair. Her eyes sparkled in the cold morning light, and a faint puff of condensed air escaped from her lips as she breathed quietly. Gay didn't speak for a while, just smiled enigmatically at her mother, for too long a time, or so it seemed to Doreen, who was too scared to speak, lest Gay answer her in whistles and clicks. Eventually Gay rose, and taking her mother by the hand, and staring deep into her eyes in a manner that ought to have been disturbing, but was, on the contrary, reassuring and comforting (as if she was the mother and Doreen the child) she spoke, softly and liltingly.

'Mum, I know you heard me last night. I saw you both, standing at the door....just as if I was standing with you, but in a dream. And I dreamt everything that the whale, who was an old, old, lady, had communicated to me in a blink of an eye...a final blink....a gift, just for me, and for Jimmy. I'm sorry, Mum, but I can't tell you. One day you will see, but I can't tell you. Only Jimmy, when he's born. She taught me a song that I have to sing to him.....it's very beautiful...you can hear it then, but only Jimmy will understand. He's a magic child, Mum....can you imagine that? Our boy is magic.' Gay stopped there, having said enough, for the time being.

Doreen was transfixed. It brought back the memory of the group dream, and, for a second she was going to tell Gay about that, but she quickly decided against it. Gay smiled, as if reading her mind, but said nothing. Then she said, quite mundanely, 'Let's get some brekky...I'm famished. That whale dreaming is tough exercise'. At which she laughed outrageously.

It took the two of them a while to settle into cooking, then eating, while ignoring the strange tidings that Gay had delivered. Gay tried to help her Mum relax by saying, 'It's only a few months, then, when Jimmy's here, and after I tell him the secret stuff, that's just for him only, I'll tell you all you have to know, and...then you can tell me your little secret....I know you have one....not before, mind you Mum...you mustn't tell me until the right moment, or, it'll all be outta whack.' Gay looked like a kid with a special secret, one that gave her peace of mind, and empowered her. Doreen knew that things were coming to a head, and she felt not just elated, and scared, but privileged, too. Strange and wondrous  things were becoming everyday and ordinary- well, almost.

They spoke not a word about these things, for the next two days. On the day after that, Gay rang Jane, who drove over the next day, the Sunday, and the two friends began to plan the trip north, to deliver Jimmy, in earnest. Jane had her holidays, two weeks either side of the due date, January 10th. The obstetrician was on board, so far. Nothing untoward had turned up during the pregnancy, so far. Gay had gotten a letter through to Malcolm, who had agreed to attend the birth. Mal assured her that he would have a decent 4WD ready to get her to the highway and an ambulance, if required. He had, he promised them, a good deal of experience, registered and unregistered, in outback baby delivery. Gay had also, naturally, written to Thelma, to get her approval, and she was happy, to say the least, but she, too, cautioned not to go ahead if there was any doubt in the various doctors' and nurses' minds.

'There won't be'. Gay told Jane.

'Don't go counting your chickens, Gay. Things happen, and our best plans go pear-shaped. There's nothing you can do about it. The baby's the most important person. We are planning some months ahead, after all.' Jane thought it best to keep Gay's feet on the ground.

Gay, however, was almost sternly adamant. 'It will happen. I know it will happen, because I've seen it all, even your black-eye', and she gave a knowing laugh.

'Black-eye? What black-eye? Will it hurt?' Jane was obviously non-plussed, but gave it no thpought.

'You'll see. Of course it will hurt, but not much. Now, back to the planning'. And they chatted, took notes, drew up lists and thoroughly enjoyed themselves for a couple of hours, and Jane forgot the odd prophesy of the 'black eye' entirely . Jane left with her copy of the plan, promising to report on the logistics soon. She reminded Gay of her next obstetrics appointment and left, quite happy at the way things were going.

The obstetrics appointment was kept, and all the necessary others. The pregnancy went beautifully, through winter, then a glorious spring. Gay got a clean bill of health from the obstetrician, who she charmed with her steadfast determination to do what she thought was right by her child's dead father. It was, unavoidably, always difficult to deal with widowed mothers, when they crossed his path, which was rarely, fortunately. Gay struck Dr. Richards, for that was his name, as a very self-aware young woman, almost too much so. He suspected some post-traumatic delusional dysfunction, but Gay laughed, as if she had read his mind, and reassured him that she wasn't bonkers. She was a most persuasive young woman. Dr. Richards, of course, would not be attending the birth himself. 'I can't make thousand kilometre house-calls', he joked.

Summer then started mild, but heated up around Christmas, without getting too torrid. Christmas was a pretty subdued affair, as Gay rested as much as possible. Her exam results were good, but she wasn't sure whether she would be back next March. Doreen encouraged her with tales of peasant ladies giving birth in the fields, before getting back to work, right then and there. Gay pleaded softness caused by too much 'civilization' to avoid such a harsh necessity.

As the time drew near to travel north, Gay and Doreen checked that all was well, booked their flights, and saw Jane one last time. She was going to set out with her family a day or two earlier, to drive to the community slowly, and camp out on the way. Their expedition was admirably organised, with a giant tent, sleeping bags, stove, chairs, water, GPS, CB radio etc. They were going up the Barkly Tableland after the delivery, for the rest of their holiday, and they knew how to travel safely in the outback. Jane and her little expedition left early on the Saturday, and dropped in for breakfast with Gay and Doreen before they left. Jane was pretty upbeat, having been infected by a strange enthusiasm. She seemed to be growing ever closer to Gay, like sisters more than friends, and she was bubbling with excitement.

'We'll see you in three or four days, then, you beautiful Mum-to-be'. Jane yelled as their car and trailer rolled out and down the track to the main road north. Doreen waved in a lack-lustre fashion, but Gay was more enthusiastic, almost throwing her shoulder out.

'OK, Mum....let's pack!'she exclaimed, and by morning tea time all was ready. Gay folded the baby clothes that she and Doreen had picked up at the Goolwa markets a few weeks back. They were decorated with embroidered whales and dolphins, and Gay had squealed with joy when she saw them. They were 'just perfect' she cried. The old lady selling them enigmatically murmured, 'They're for special children only, and you're having a special little boy, ain't you?' It was more statement than question.

'How do you know it's a boy?' Doris quizzed, hoping to Heavens that she wouldn't say that she'd dreamed it. The old girl's eyes sparkled and her face, a patchwork of wrinkles, lit up in a glorious smile. 'Because it's always boys whose Mums want the dolphins. The girls get me flowery ones...over there...you see. People are so bleedin' predictable, but it's still lovely. Had six of me own, twenty grand-kids..it's what life's for, don't you think? Get born, grow up, have kids and pop off...but make sure you have plenty of laughs on the way. Ain't that so love?”she asked of Doreen.

'Yes, dear.....and your embroidery is wonderful. Lots of practise makes perfect'. Doreen liked this old woman immediately. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, until another customer, after the pretty flowery stuff, having waited patiently for a good five minutes, interrupted, and Doreen thanked the old girl for her conversation, and she and Gay wandered off to the plant sales.

These baby clothes were, like everything else,'special'. Gay believed it, Doreen feared it, in a way, and the other old aunties and friends had laughed to themselves. First-time Mums were always like that, thinking themselves real pioneers. They'd learn. Just wait for the nappies and the two o'clock feeds...in the morning! The old girls who'd dreamed the dreaded dream were a little more circumspect, those that remembered it. Old memories can be conveniently fragile.

Having packed, Gay went to lie down. She said that Jimmy was kicking away a bit more than usual, and she figured that was a sign to take things very, very, easy, lest she provoke an early labour, and miss out on getting to CJ's place. Doreen sat out on the porch and read a book of poems by Henry Lawson. After a while, she picked up a volume of his short stories, which she preferred, and then, after a while, she drifted off to sleep. The weather was warm, and the flies were buzzing, the birds were flitting through the bushes, and the she-oaks were whispering softly. She dreamed, innocently enough, of her garden, overgrown as if turned tropical, with kangaroos, wombats and echidnas all wandering through.

Doreen slept for a couple of hours, then was awoken by a sudden gust of wind knocking over an old sheet of corrugated iron. The clattering set the birds squawking, and Doreen pulled herself up, and set to weeding her garden, despite the heat, to calm her mind with some innocent distraction.

Gay slept for a few hours more, then Doreen woke her so that she would sleep well that night. They had a plane to catch in three days, and a long, tiring day of travel then loomed ahead. The evening quickly arrived, and after a light dinner, they retired early, and slept like the proverbial logs.

All went pretty well over the next few days, too. Doreen arranged the usual services from Ruby and Mabel, in other words feed the chooks, collect the eggs, help themselves to the vegies. Her cat would just have to wander around cadging food or, alas, eating birds, or better, rats or rabbits. There were no orphaned or distressed native animals to farm out at the moment, so that was that. The three days passed, including a last phone call to the obstetrician, who gave the all clear, and his best wishes.

Finally the day of departure dawned, and they were ready by eight o'clock. Ritchie arrived to take them to the airport, and he drove quietly and carefully. They were allowed to jump the queue to board, after hugging Ritchie and farewelling him, and the two hour flight was over in no time. Alice Springs was baking hot, but Malcolm was waiting and he greeted them in his usual laconic manner.

'You've put on some weight, love'. he drawled ' And it suits you, too. Blow me down, a new CJ is about to make his triumphant entrance!' Mal looked quite wistful, and changed the subject quickly.

'Your mate Jane and her crew arrived this morning. They're setting up camp right now. They're bloody well prepared, I must say. Are they going to stay a few weeks, or something?' He seemed bemused by their preparations, being a perpetually simple traveller not much burdened by the accoutrements of civilization..

'No Mal' Doris answered for Gay, who'd simply smiled weakly in the dreadful heat. 'They're goin' up the Barkly after, for the rest of their hols. To show their kids a thing or two'. Doreen admired Jane and Ken's love of the bush. When society went awry, in a few years, they'd be able to sit it out in the bush. Doreen was an environmental pessimist, (or, as she insisted, realist) and she'd seen too much destruction in her life to expect the whitefellas to change their habits before it was too late. She pitied the kids, including Jimmy, and rarely breathed a word of her fears to Gay, not when she was young and certainly not now, but she had only become more confirmed in her opinions over the years, while keeping quiet about it.

'And what about you two? How long are you staying, after the baby arrives?' Mal questioned them both, neither in particular.

'Oh, a few weeks, I guess....but then I've gotta get back to college. I've booked him into the creche and I'll be able to feed him, and all that...you know', Gay replied, tiredly.

They hopped, or rather, slid into Mal's Four Wheel Drive, with its air-con blasting, and in no time they were turning off the so-called Plenty 'Highway' and onto the even rougher dirt track that took them forty kilometres further, to CJ's little home. Mal drove very carefully, joking that he didn't want to have to turn around and head back to Alice if some big pothole set proceedings in motion. The drive was pleasant, Malcolm playing some restful music on the CD, and Gay was soon slumped on the back seat, snoring quietly. Doreen took in the view with an eye out as ever for any 'roos who fancied a collision, or, worse, a grumpy feral camel with no sense of 'the right of way'. The sky was clear and glowed with reflected light and heat, no wind blew, and the dust swirled behind them. It was very dry, and Mal observed that it had been hot and dry ever since they'd gone back home, nearly eight 'bleeding months'. It should be raining by now, but The Wet was well late, and things were seemingly 'out of whack', once again.

'We've stuffed things up, haven't we Doreen? I mean, every year for the last ten....or so..I guess...yeah, about ten....has been different from what we're used to. Every bloody one. Hot and dry, then it rains like billy-oh....storms, hail like footballs...I'm not kidding....lightning like that strange one that killed CJ...clear sky....clouds miles away, then....bang'. The last he said very softly, lest Gay was awake. Mal's little rant had left him spent, and so he 'clammed up'.

'Yeah, Mal. We see it down south, too. We're a bit more attuned to the weather than the city-slickers, and the old farmers all see it, too. They're getting' to be a bit frightened, I think.' Doreen felt the fear a little, too, after hearing Malcolm stating it so plainly.

'We've got to be careful about fire. There's been a few big ones in the area, and they just have to burn themselves out...but the weeds, that grew up after the rains...the exotic weeds, the sub-tropical, African, stuff...it's like bloody thicket of explosive bamboo, it grows that fast..once its alight it's every man for himself'. Mal paused for breath, then went on.

'You know, Doreen...I was over in the Tanami a few weeks ago...seeing some old mates on an out-station. The Government is trying to starve 'em out, the bastards, to get hold of the land, but they're hanging in there, with eco-tourism and harvesting bush-tucker. They're doing good, and I'll lend a hand any time to any blackfellas being railroaded. It's an honour. But, I'd been there a couple of days when I got introduced to an old fella, real long in the tooth, like....he'd been born in the desert, when his family were still wandering about.....and they didn't come in until he was ten...even then they'd wander back at the earliest opportunity...give the Missionaries the slip. The old priests didn't really mind, 'cause this old fella was really sharp....he learned English quick, and memorised the Bible, then he started telling one old priest all the Dreaming stories his Dad and Grandad had told him. He knew hundreds. They'd been 'lost' by the priests, at Headquarters, in Brisbane, so the old bloke was dictating them again, before he died. They reckoned he was ninety, but he looked years younger, and his mind was so sharp'. Mal paused for breath, and to navigate a dry creek-bed. It took some tricky manoeuvring, but when they were back on the trail, he went on.

'So, Doreen, this old chap loved to yarn. He told us a few good 'uns, too, but others were secret, so I missed out. Then he just starting telling me this....stuff...about the weather and the future, and the Earth Mother....and all sorts of crazy stuff. I thought that the Earth Mother would be 'women's business', but he said that it was everyone's business...and well, in the end I felt pretty queasy...and he laughed, and said I'd gone white as a ghost..even for a whitefella'. Malcolm was quite fidgety now, and looked rather unsettled.

'Go on, love' Doris reassured him. 'Let's hear what he said'

'Well, he reckoned that people were upsetting the Rainbow Snake. That snake held stuff together. It's the guardian, in a way, of the web of life. It follows orders from the Earth Mother, and it's pretty pissed off, apparently. All the pollution, the digging of great mining holes, the ripping down of forests, the over-fishing. The powers that hold the earth together...they'd given the whitefellas a few hundred years to get their act together, like the blackfellas, to live with the earth rather than against it ...you know....like she's our mother, not something to abuse and rip off forever'. Mal paused for dramatic effect, but looked rather unsettled.

'You're not telling me anything I don't know, Mal' Doreen replied 'Go on...what did he say...I'm fascinated'.

'Well, he said, straight out, that we were heading for destruction. Unless we changed our ways, the Earth Mother and the Rainbow Snake were going to hit us hard, to teach us a lesson. The Snake controls the weather, and that's why it was going crazy, so it's like a warning, to us, to change our ways. The old bloke laughed that the blackfellas would just go bush again, and the smarter whitefellas were welcome to join them, but, the rest of us...well it wasn't going to be pretty'. Malcolm had finished, because he saw that Gay was awake in the back seat, and he didn't want to alarm a mum-to-be.

'What you raving about, Mal'. Gay drawled, yawning and talking at once. 'We're all doomed, is that it? I could have told you that. They love only money, the crazies, that is'. She giggled, as if that was something funny. Pre-natal nerves, Malcolm thought.

'True enough, love...as it ever was...and ever will be, I suppose. I'm glad I'm not greedy. Too much like hard work. Should've picked richer parents, though. Come to think of it....I'd probably be dead by now, so....thanks Mum and Dad'. Mal looked a little wistful as he spoke, and Doreen surmised that his parents were gone, and that he missed them, so she didn't inquire too deeply.

The road soon levelled out a bit, with fewer and smaller pot-holes. Gay noticed an old knobbly hill off to the west that she'd seen from the old church, so she knew that they were close. She didn't feel any sense of place about the settlement yet, which wasn't surprising, but things had been so charged emotionally and psychically that she had, in a way, hoped that she'd get a frisson of excitement as they neared the place. Not so far, but no worries-it would come, in its own good time. Later, when she brought Jimmy up for holidays with his other Gran, Thelma...maybe then it would grow on her.

The afternoon was late by now and the shadows long and stark under the blazing sun when they swung into the little settlement. The old church was still a pile of ash, the timber having burned entirely away, studded with stones cracked by the heat, and twisted corrugated iron. A couple of new houses had been built by the locals, it turned out, to ease the crowding. Nice little places they were too. Over by Thelma's place Gay immediately saw Jane and Ken, pitching their big tent, and, as they drew up next to them, Gay let out a snort of amazement.

'Well, blow me down! Look at that shiner!' Gay was not really that shocked, but seeing Jane's black eye she felt both uncomfortable and reassured in about equal measure. Now she knew things would be OK.

'Well, I told you...didn't I?' Gay hollered out her window at Jane. Jane ambled over to the car and laughed.

'Head-butted while feeding an emu....a poor choice of activity. Cranky bastards they are...notoriously so. I shoulda known better. Ken warned me. Still, I knew straight away that it had happened, what with you predicting it and all'. Jane lowered her voice to keep Doreen out of the conversation. No more bleeding dream stories, no matter what. Time to be wide awake and get this baby born. And no asking just how Gay knew about the black eye. If she didn't volunteer it, Jane would just assume it came, like so much else lately, from a dream.

'So, how you travelling, love. The baby's getting pretty low by the looks of you. Can't be long now. You're 38 weeks and a bit today...that's it, ain't it? I thought so..I've got it written down somewhere. Could be any day now...any minute by the look of you. You'd better get out and have a little walk. I brought my old obstetrics gear and the old ear-piece for listening to the baby's heart-beat. You should see it. Came out of the Ark, I tell you'. Jane laughed raucously and grinned from ear to ear, showing her bright, slightly crooked teeth.

Jane helped Gay slide out of the car, and held her arm as she stretched her legs gingerly, her balance not great with that boy upsetting her centre of gravity. Jane liked assisting at confinements very much indeed. Women's business, not secret, of course, but ancient, older than any religion, she supposed. The old girl chimps surely must help the young ones give birth, or so she hoped and expected. It's definitely not something you want to do on your own. Jane's babies had all been easy deliveries but some of the women that she'd attended hadn't been so fortunate, and one had lost her baby when the cord ruptured. Nothing to be done said the coroner, but it had stopped Jane doing independent home births. She'd lost her nerve. So she was very happy that Malcolm was here, although he presented as a little 'eccentric', despite his claimed 'over one hundred outback deliveries'.

The two women walked carefully over to Thelma's, with Mal and Doreen in attendance. Thelma and her girls were there, waving wildly and hooting. 'You're the size of a house, darling' Thelma cackled. ' My grandson's goin' to be a big lad by the look of things'. She smiled wanly. Thelma remembered her days waiting for C.J to arrive. What a dreadful shame that he wasn't here to see his son. She bit her bottom lip, and forced the tears back.

'Hows about a cuppa, girls?”Doreen barked. 'My mouth's as dry as the bloody weather. When'd you last get rain?

' 'That day of the funeral, Doreen. Hasn't been a drop since, and the Wet should've been here weeks ago. The weather's on the move, no doubt about it. The ants are acting crazy, all the big lizards have disappeared somewhere, half the birds are gone, the others aren't bothering to nest....it don't feel good'. Thelma frowned, but quickly recovered, this being a joyful time, not one for moaning and grumbling.

Mabel and Sandy were brewing the tea and cutting the obligatory cake, while Malcolm helped Gay up onto the porch. Jane hurried over to her little camp, and returned with husband, children and more cake. They all settled down, some on the porch, some sitting on wobbly chairs, Mal on the steps, the kids playing under a tree and Gay spread-eagled on an old couch, trying to get comfortable. Jane fussed over her, and produced her baby listening ear-piece and had a little listen to Jimmy.

' He's goin' like a freight-train' she beamed. 'What a heart!'

'He's been kicking a bit since I lay down, Jane. He can hear us, can't he? Gay looked hopeful, as if the answer was vital.

'So they say' Mal offered.'I even met a bloke who claimed he remembered his Mum backing a winner at the gee-gees, and jumping and hollering...but he was a real toss-pot, poor fella...so..you know...' Malcolm trailed off, and looked a little embarrassed by his recollection.

Thelma got up from her chair and asked Jane if she could use the ear-piece. When Jane nodded, Thelma, instead of listening, put her mouth to the contraption and whispered softly, 'Welcome to your second home, little Jimmy. This is your other Gran, Thelma, your Dad's Mum and I love you and I just can't wait to see you.' The last words were chokingly spoken, emotion getting the better of her. She handed the trumpet back to Jane, and, sitting down, wiped a few tears away. Gay smiled resplendently and Doreen sniffled a little. She didn't repeat Thelma's act, however, not wishing to repeat such a spontaneous, beautiful and eccentric gesture.

The gathering swiftly relaxed after that. Thelma's Mum was not there, having gone bush on her own, again, to everyone's dismay. She'd up and gone a few mornings before, leaving a little note scratched out in her own, peculiar, language.

'Gotta go. See ya in few days, if I don't cark it. Not back in a week, then I'm a goner. Don't bother looking for me. I'll be safe. Love youse all and for good. Mum'.

'That's a shame'. Doreen said. 'This was her little discovery, this baby. She'd hate to miss him arrivin'. Doreen felt just a twinge of unease that the old girl wasn't there. Why, she wasn't really sure.

'Don't worry, Dorrie' Thelma mumbled. 'Mum'll be back in time. She'll suss out when this boy's comin', and she'll be back... or the ant's will be munching on her!

' 'Mum..don't be so morbid!' Sandy demanded. 'It's not nice'.

'Not nice be buggered. She'd say the same thing herself. Her mob used to bury people up trees so the birds could get at 'em. Mum's not afraid of goin', and I reckon she's just waiting to see the boy, then she'll wander off for good. And she won't say goodbye. She's bloody tough like that, like the old desert people were bloody tough. No room for sentimentality'. Thelma surprised herself at her own vehemence, blushed a little, and said no more.

The late afternoon passed quickly. Thelma turned on the radio to catch the news, and the dreary cavalcade of car-crashes, murders, wars and political bastardy was politely ignored by one and all. Sandy switched to the local music station, which played an endless round of maudlin country and western stuff, which lent a nice downbeat touch to the mood.

After a silent interval of at least ten seconds, caused by everyone, all at once and together, running out of nice platitudes, Sandy piped out, 'Looks like you got here just in the nick of time, Gay'. She seemed pleased with that, thinking it a good conversation starter on the way to more serious talk. Sandy smiled broadly, and Jane giggled at her self-satisfaction.

'You're right, Sandy, of course. I'm nearly there, and Jimmy's getting pretty toey, let me tell you!' Gay put the emphasis on the 'you', for some reason, probably to make her observation seem more definitive.

'This baby is coming into the world where his Dad did,' Gay continued, 'which is right and proper. There's a line, isn't there....that goes back...forever, since the first CJ wandered down from the north. I guess they came from the north. Who knows. All we do is wander about, from birth to the end...looking for interesting things to see and do. That's our lot in life. Here today, gone tomorrow. A flicker in the dark..'

' 'Hang on love' Doreen broke in, not liking Gay's mood, or her flat voice. 'This is no time to be morbid. You're about to have the biggest thrill of your life. Not everyone gets to be a Mum, you know. And you'll be a beaut, I know it'. Doreen tried to look positive, but, in truth, Gay's tone had worried her deeply.

'Yes, Gay. You've got all that we have left of CJ kicking and wriggling in your tummy. Be happy, dear, for us all, please', Thelma pleaded.

Gay sat up, with difficulty, looking embarrassed. She'd just been struck by the pity of it all, yet again, that CJ wasn't there. Gay didn't want to be a gloomy burden, but thoughts of single motherhood were afflicting her as well. Still, she needed to be strong, like her Mum had always been, in the same sort of circumstances.

'Sorry everyone. Positive thinking time. Where's dinner....I'm famished. I'm eating for two, you know'. Gay laughed at her own presumption, to be demanding food like Lady Muck.

Sandy laughed out loud, with a snort like a choked sneeze. 'Dinner's ready, sweetie. A nice salad, with bush food, and tomatoes from the vegie patch, and all sorts of goodies for dessert. We don't cook much when it's so hot and dry...just live off salads and fruit. So dinner's ready whenever you are'. Everyone nodded and grunted approval, and the ladies of the house retired to the kitchen to dish it all out. There were eight adults and two kids, so it took a while, but soon they were all getting stuck in, perched on chairs, the steps and the old log, chatting and laughing amiably. After dinner Jane and Ken and their kids left to finish setting up their camp, and the sun finally set, the sky and the scant, rain-less clouds an inferno of orange, red, pink and apricot. Malcolm thought the sunset rather strange, unlike any he'd seen thereabouts at that time of year, when it was usually raining late in the afternoon, but he didn't give it too much thought. The stars came out, very intense, the air being very dry and clear, but they faded later as a fat, nearly full moon ascended from out of the far desert ranges. By ten the moonlight was intense, and Gay and Doreen decided on a moonlit walk. They stretched their legs down by the pond, and up the hill to the old church, from where they admired the moon and the brighter stars. Occasionally an owl or mopoke hooted in the distance, and little animals scurried in the undergrowth. Gay wandered over to CJ's grave, to lay a sprig of wild rosemary on his grave, and to tell him how his son was getting on. She'd not been gone but a few minutes when she hurried back to Doreen.

'Mum, come look. Go slow though, in case it's awake. You've got to see it...but don't get too close. It's pretty cool now, but...you know...you never can tell..

Doreen walked over slowly, Gay holding her hand to keep from rushing in, where angels feared to go, or so she thought. They stopped about ten feet from the grave, and Doreen saw it immediately, and took a reflex step backwards. A gigantic snake was coiled up, very neatly and tidily, right on top of the grave, resting next to the rough-hewn tombstone that CJ's mates had had carved by a local artist. It was, by far, the biggest serpent either woman had ever seen, and, after a moment's perusal, they decided to beat a hasty retreat. They stepped gingerly away, then walked quickly back to the little house.

The others were enjoying a late night cuppa, and Gay was quite breathless with excitement, wonder and shock, when she blurted out, as she struggled up the few steps to the porch, 'You should see the snake....on CJ's grave...it's the size of...I don't know what...it's huge!' She expected everyone to immediately grab torches and join her for another look, but Thelma just giggled.

'Oh, that's Old Brownie. He's been hereabouts for yonks, getting bigger and bigger, but leaving us alone. You can just about tread on him..I mean, if you're pissed...pardon my French.....he's so hard to miss...but he never goes for people. He's a King Brown, so you'd be dead in minutes if he bit you...but he gives us a wide birth. He's great for keeping the rats down. Don't worry about him. He's probably just visiting CJ...they knew one another, when CJ was little. He'd watch him hunting in the bushes. They were old mates. He's always laying down on CJ's grave, paying his respects I guess.' Thelma gave Gay a reassuring look, and hoped that she would not want to go out again, so late. She was tired herself, and just wanted to sleep.

Gay and Doreen just looked at each other with puzzled expressions, then Gay burst out laughing. Nothing to worry about. The biggest snake she'd ever seen was an old friend of CJ's. Reality always outdid imagination.

'That's quite a yarn, Thelma', Doreen spoke first, seeing that Gay was speechless. 'Your boy was quite a character. Friends with King Browns, for gawd's sake. Who ever heard of that', and her tone indicated that the only acceptable answer was 'No-one'.

They all suddenly felt very, very, tired. The moonlight was hypnotic and relaxing. It was lulling them to sleep, so they all decided to call it a day. Malcolm spread his swag on the porch, and asked Thelma if 'Brownie' was likely to pay him a visit during the night. Not a chance Thelma said, but he'd better keep an eye out for the tarantulas, the big hairy blighters having had a bit of a population explosion lately, what with the lizards who usually ate them in big numbers having gone walk-about. Malcolm didn't look at all happy about that information, and Thelma reassured him that they rarely came into houses, unless they heard mice scurrying about. The thought that they live on mice further uneased Malcolm, but he resigned himself to his fate, while keeping a shoe handy for arachnid squashing purposes. He soon fell asleep, after a false start interrupted by the off-putting imagined sensation of not so little, hairy, legs scuttling across his face.

Gay called out 'Goodnight' to Jane, who returned the favour. Their tent fell dark, and so, too, did the little house, with the five women within swiftly sinking into sleep. All around the night was full of activity. The animals were most active at night, during the hot times, the mammals and the nocturnal birds the most. The big, hairy, spiders were kept busy, lying in ambush, or rushing about looking for victims. They'd spend they day down their burrows, avoiding those birds who knew how to handle them, how to flip them on their backs, puncture them with their beaks, and rub off the irritating hairs, all while keeping clear of those nasty, scimitar fangs. The moon rose higher and higher, and the old snake on the grave watched it as he had for as long as anyone living could remember, and longer still. But he had work to do, and he had to get to it. And all about him, and across the surrounding country, the ants began pouring out of their nests, carrying their eggs, pupae and queens to the surface, and higher ground.

Chapter  Seven: The Rainbow Snake Stirs.

Doreen woke first, that next morning, sitting bolt upright in bed, jolted awake by a strange rumbling. She thought it was her stomach, burbling away after last night's high-fibre dinner, but she was wrong. The next second she felt the bed move from side to side, then the walls began shaking, and Doreen heard a great flock of corellas screeching as they launched themselves into the air. The shaking rapidly grew stronger, and, just as she heard heated mumbling from the next room, the walls really began to shake, the bed leaped a couple of inches into the air, and the sound of glass crashing came from the kitchen. Doreen suddenly realised that this was an earthquake, which, needless to say, took her by surprise. Perhaps shock and panic would better sum up her feelings.

The women next door were now fully awake and yelling, somewhat incoherently. The shaking kept growing, and, as Doreen tried to stand, she found herself thrown back onto the bed. Curiously enough, Gay kept sleeping on. Doreen went to shake her, but a violent jolt threw her on to her back, and she felt a sudden pain surge down her leg. She turned to see Thelma standing at the door, gripping tight on to the frame, and swaying back and forward. Her face was as white as snow, which Doreen had never once seen, but often imagined. Thelma looked scared, with a capital S.

On the porch, Malcolm had been thrown right onto his face. He struggled to his feet, and stared, wild-eyed at the scene of pandaemonium all about him. The trees seemed to be whirling and spinning, leaves were being wrenched free and were falling like grey snow-flakes. Branches were snapping off and crashing to the ground. Everywhere ants were milling about on the surface, plainly having left their undergrounds nests as being too dangerous. They must have known, Mal thought, but he was too scared to be impressed. The shaking and heaving was formidable. In the distance vast dust clouds were filling the sky, projected heavenwards by the violent shaking. The sun glared red through that veil, and the shadows dulled and softened. On the other horizon the moon was setting like a blood orange, ripe and ready to burst. Malcolm vaguely imagined that it might be the end of the world, so overpowering was the outburst of Nature's fury, then he came to his senses as a great, dead, old gum tree crashed to the ground, crushing his four wheel drive, and setting off its wailing alarm. With that, the shaking ceased, and the ants began to pour back into their labyrinths, and set to work repairing the damage.

It had all lasted but a few minutes, but the old house was not the same. The walls were not any longer even remotely square and straight. The old place had shaken with the earth, and been spared destruction because of its very unsturdiness. There were no tiles to fall off the roof, but a few of the corrugated iron nails had popped out. One window had cracked in the shaking, and the water-pipe had been wrenched off the rain-tank, which was sitting at a crazy angle, the ground having subsided along the back of the house by quite a way. In the kitchen the cupboards had all flung open and their contents had fallen out. Fortunately Thelma preferred tins to jars, and enamel plates and crockery to china, so the breakages were minimal. But there was a hell of a mess to clean up.

As she lay on the floor, her leg aching, Doreen called out to the other women, 'Christ! What was that? You ladies OK? You never told me you had 'quakes up here. God, my leg hurts'.

Sandy rushed in, her face betraying shock and relief. She knelt down besides Doreen, and asked, appropriately enough, 'Where does it hurt? Did something fall on you? What about Gay'.She turned to the bed, and saw at once that Gay was still, somehow, sleeping. It beggared belief. Sandy leant over and shook her gently. Gay opened her eyes right away, and looked sleepily up at Sandy. 'What's up, love. Is it morning. I slept like a log'.

Sandy simply bellowed with laughter, then remembering Doreen and her pain, called for help, while still laughing. Thelma entered, hair dishevelled, clothes askew, face, naturally, ashen, and seeing Doreen lying on the floor and grimacing, she quickly helped her daughter to get her to her feet, then down onto the bed. Gay stretched and yawned, then plaintively, enquired, 'What's up. Has something happened?' With this the three women all joined in the laughter, while Gay could only look bemused. After a jolly twenty seconds, or so, Doreen regained her composure and blurted, 'You've only slept through a bleeding earthquake, that's all, you mad bugger. Slept through an earthquake....I don't believe it!

 Gay was confused. For a moment she thought that they were pulling her leg, but while they chuckled she lurched up to her feet and went out to the kitchen for a drink of water. She immediately saw that this was no joke, and she set to to help Mabel and Malcolm to begin tidying up. She had her drink, then tried to brew up some tea, but the solar electricity was not working. Malcolm went for a walk, past and through the scurrying ants and other insects, picking his way through the fallen branches, over to the little solar power station that gave them all electricity. Some of the neighbours were already there, surveying the damage. Somehow the solar panels were intact, but the wiring was pretty messed up, and Bill and Jim, the solar experts figured it would be a few hours at least, before the power could be put back on. Malcolm chatted for a bit, finding that no-one had ever experienced anything like this, although one old fellow reckoned the ants had been a dead give-away, although he admitted wryly, that he'd expected a cyclone and flooding, not a 'bloody earthquake!' By the time Mal got back to the house, Jane and Ken and their kids were there and Sandy had visited all the neighbours, finding no injuries, but lots of damage.

They all sat down on the porch, quite shell-shocked . Over by Mal's crushed car, which had stopped screeching its alarm, the angry ants had encountered a big tarantula whose burrow had disappeared, and they were swarming it, and stinging it with relish. Mal watched the scene with satisfaction, being an arachnophobe from way back. Thelma had started the old wood-stove up, so tea and breakfast were coming. The corellas had returned to their roost, but were still cackling their shock to one another.

The radio soon announced that an earthquake of Richter scale magnitude 7.9 had struck central Australia. The biggest in recorded history in the country. Much damage in Alice Springs, but no deaths reported, so far. Malcolm tried his mobile phone, but there was no signal. His satellite phone was crushed in his four-wheel drive.

'I'd better go into Alice, later. See how the hospital is, you know, if you need to be admitted...if anything goes wonky with the baby'. He looked pretty grim.

'Don't worry, Mal. It'll be OK...I know it will. Que sera, sera.' Gay giggled. 'Look, we got through the biggest ever earthquake in the country's history....Boy, oh boy...won't we have a story to tell him... Man those ants are fierce...look at 'em chewing up that poor spider'. And true enough, the ants were butchering the spider, now, hopefully, lifeless, carting it off, bit by bit.

After a hearty breakfast, his appetite not affected one iota, Mal set off for Alice, borrowing Ken and Jane's car, and taking Sandy who wanted to do some shopping. The others set about tidying and checking for damage. The tree crushing Mal's car was swiftly hacked into moveable logs, revealing not a little damage. The panel-beaters would be busy. Ken and Jane went house to house with their tools, helping to fix little things, Ken being a handy-man, while one who knew his limitations. Doreen had Gay rest in bed, and a couple of hours work saw everything tidied, a list of necessary repairs drawn up, and calm returned. Later, when Gay woke up and needed a walk, she and Doreen walked up the hill to the church, to see if the old snake was still there.

He was gone, after all, but he had been busy overnight. He had shed his old skin, for the umpteenth time, and it lay on the ground, wrapped around the gravestone. It was brilliant, iridescent and glowing, not at all like the skins Doreen had seen back home. It was like a rainbow, or the colourful light from a halo around the full moon. Gay picked it up gingerly, and, for the first time, she saw the carving on the back of CJ's tombstone. It was of a great Rainbow Serpent, twisting around a full moon. She felt quite dizzy, and Doreen, whose sore leg was much improved, being, seemingly, no more than a jarring, had to offer a helping hand. When she, too, saw the carving, she understood Gay's shock.

'Cripes...that's bloody spooky...again! I'm starting to get more surprised when I'm not surprised around here. It's a magic place, no doubt about it. They do love their snakes. Let's get that skin back home and see about preserving it. It's a bloody wonder, don't you think?' With which, Doreen smiled a little defensively.

'Yes, Mum...everything's very strange. Signs and wonders, all for Jimmy...do you think?' Gay looked imploringly at her mother, for some reassurance.

'Too bloody right, dear. Special boy, special snake, special earthquake, special flamin' mother!' Whereupon Doreen laughed, raucously and easily. That laugh broke the spell, and the two women wandered back to the little house, cradling the magic snake-skin between them. It produced a few cackles of amazement from the other women. Old Brownie usually only left translucent, grey, skins. This one was like none that anyone had ever seen. It was fourteen feet long, surely some sort of record, and they gently rolled it up in toilet paper. The colours were marvellous, and they placed it inside an old cardboard box, surrounded by more loo paper and plastic bubble wrap. Doreen had decided to have it mounted and placed in a glass display-case, a course of action that they all thought only proper, but where it would bloody well go, she had no idea.

After lunch Gay had to lie down again, being mentally exhausted. Jane sat outside on the porch with Doreen, while Thelma and Mabel cranked up the wood oven to bake some cakes. The little community was buzzing with activity. A crew from Alice had turned up, to help with repairing the solar electricity, and they brought news of a good deal of destruction, but, miraculously, no lives lost. News kept coming in on the radio from Mount Isa to Geraldton, to the Flinders Ranges, of shocks and damage. It was the biggest story for years. The quake's epicentre was said to be 100 kilometres north-east of Alice Springs. It took a little while for that to sink in. At about the third utterance Thelma suddenly piped out, 'North-east of Alice...that's us...one hundred and two kilometres to town. Christ...we were right on top of it. Blimey...what about Mum?' They'd all forgotten the old girl out in the desert. But they all quickly agreed that, although she might have got a shock, well she wouldn't have a house fall in on her, would she?'

Well, as they say, speak of the devil...and not five minutes later who should shuffle up the road, covered in dust, like some wraith, but Thelma's old Mum. She mounted the steps to the porch, demanded a cup of tea, and chortled, 'That old rainbow snake, he sure turned on a show....whadya reckon?', then she quietly sipped her cuppa, without a care in the world. 'I had to come back for the little 'un. He's coming. That snake, he shook him loose...you see. He'll be here, presently', and she began singing to herself. About a minute later, give or take, Gay shouted from the next room, 'Mum...my waters are breaking'. At which the old girl chuckled to herself, while the other women went into a mild panic.

Chapter Eight:  Jimmy Makes His Entrance.

Jimmy's coming into the world, on January 5th, a week early, was quick and uneventful. Jane looked after things with help from Thelma and Doreen, and Mal got back just in time to crack a celebratory champagne that he'd bought in the Alice. Just like a real obstetrician, Jane joked.

'Typical Alice'. Mal observed. 'Everything shaken to bits, walls down, footpaths cracked, but the flamin' pub is OK, and doing a roaring trade. Got six champers...to 'wet the baby's head' as they say. On special, too.' He poured Thelma and Doreen another glass, and went next door to check on Gay again.

Gay was sitting up on the old bed, propped up with pillows. Jane was fussing over her, and congratulating her on the quick delivery. 'Bloody miracle, Mal, it was. Four hours from broken waters to baby. Must be a record for a new Mum'. Jane beamed at her friend, so happy that all her forebodings had turned out wrong. She fussed about in typical fashion, and brought her own kids in at one stage, to say hello to the little one. Jimmy was a remarkably placid little fellow, with fine features and a head of thick hair, not that usual in her experience. However, it was his eyes, that were deep and so brown that they verged on black, set just far enough apart, and lively, inquisitive, and, so she imagined, so kind, that made the most startling impression. Jimmy had his first feed easily and happily, but not greedily, suckling at a nice steady pace, then he promptly fell asleep on his mother's lap.

'Well, love...that's a fine boy you have there'. Jane ventured, not sure of anything else to say but the bleeding obvious.

'Yes. Thanks so much, dear Jane. I never thought it could be so easy...well relatively easy. Don't you just love his eyes! They are so like CJ's...only more so..'. Gay's voice petered out sleepily and ruefully, wishing CJ to be there, but no magic could make that come true.

Doreen quietly entered, leaving the busy hubbub of the living room and the rapidly emptying bottles of champers behind. She sat down next to Jane, and clasped her hand fondly, and whispered 'Thank-you' with deep emotion. Gay and the babe were dozing.

'All in a day's work. That'll be number one hundred and thirty-two, I think. If I ever call Jimmy '132' you'll know what I mean. The best of the lot, and I mean it. I don't like judging babies against each other, but, as soon as he was wrapped up and cleaned up and snuggling against Gay, well I knew it was a remarkable day. A day in a lifetime. No kiddin'. Jane relaxed and smiled, and her face glowed with happiness for her friends. After all the tragedy a little baby was making a lot of it fade away. That Jimmy had no Dad was tragic, of course, but what can you do? The world grinds on, we enter at one moment, and, moments later, we depart. Jane felt her age. Her kids were growing up. Soon she'd be a Gran like Doreen, or Thelma. Where was Thelma?

'What's up with Thelma, Doreen? She hasn't been in yet. What she waiting for? Jane asked.

Doreen looked a little stern, her face collapsing from her cheery, Granny grin at the sight of the baby, into a sombre, reflective mask. She seemed gripped by a sudden uncomfortable realisation, her brows arching a little, the corners of her mouth wrinkling as if she had something painful to utter. Doreen seemed suddenly burdened by foreboding, and her dark thoughts were struggling against her suppression of them because negative and inappropriate.

'You know, Jane....I think it's hard for her, 'cause of CJ...you know....this must bring back happy memories that have turned sad....that must be hard. We haven't lost a kid, so we don't know what it's really like...do we? Doreen's question hung in the air, heavy and doleful, and Jane had no words with which to answer it. However, after a minute or two, she got to her feet, and, on the excuse of going to get a glass of bubbly she left Doreen and Gay alone with little Jimmy.

Doreen watched her girl and her boy sleeping quietly. She held a shy little hope that her dead husband, Gay's Dad, might be witnessing this happy moment, somewhere, somehow. Religious faith was not her strong point, being an agnostic by temperament. Not an atheist, however, that seeming too dogmatic and certain by some degree. Her little girl had been a bub just an instant ago, or so it seemed. All those years had flown by, the memories few and fleeting. Only the present moment, only now, here in the middle of nowhere, the three of them, the quiet bubbling of talk from next door, the leaves rustling outside, the tiny, barely heard noise of life going on as ever, almost indiscernible to old ears like hers, only that was real. And soon this happy moment would be just another, fading, memory. So she sat back to enjoy it while it lasted. Doreen relaxed into a half-sleep, imagining little Jimmy's life to come, all his adventures with his Mum and Gran, all his school-days, all his fun and joy. The Dream surfaced once or twice, but she simply dismissed it as a false memory, something that she had dreamed and gotten awry. Doreen began to weave a new dream, one where nothing ill happened, and she began to force herself to believe this new story. She would make herself believe it, by golly, and forget the other. As this process of wrestling with and making memory pliant went on, she fell fully asleep. Doreen had dozed for some time when she woke to see Jimmy sitting up in his mother's arms and smiling at her. So advanced was he, so precocious, that she quickly realised that she was having a waking dream, and woke in earnest. Thelma and Jane were leaning over Gay and whispering to her, apparently in order not to rouse Doreen.

'It's OK, girls...I'm awake. I just had a little nap, and a tiny dream'. Jane looked aghast, as if Doreen was going to let the cat out of the bag, but Doreen winked at her and guffawed, 'Let's not talk of silly dreams. Thelma, it's good to see ya! What do you think of our grandson?' Doreen asked, with a soft insistence.

'Oh, he's great, ain't he. He's so like CJ....it took my breath away...but what do you expect, eh, Doreen....Your clever friend here (she nodded to Jane, who was sitting placidly at the end of the bed)...she realised that I was going to crack up over CJ, and that's why I'd stayed outside...but she convinced me that it was as close to CJ that I'll ever get, being with his boy...this side of the grave....well, I plucked up me courage....and it was worth it!' Thelma seemed to have used up all her strength getting that out, and she sagged a little, and Doreen placed a friendly arm on her shoulder, and gave her a little rub, Gran to Gran.

'Look there...he's awake!' Thelma exclaimed, and the little man was indeed stirring, wide-eyed and wriggling just a bit.

'Can you imagine that. He's so full of beans. He was so quick to get born, that he never tired himself out. Why he's wiggling like a worm'. Jane was, plainly, suitably impressed.

'Just look at those eyes! Strike me lucky....have you ever seen anything like them?' Thelma let out a real gasp of admiration, and Jimmy fixed his gaze on all the fuss. ' They're so deep, so dark...my CJ had lovely eyes, but those...oh, my, he's a one-off that one, I tell you!' She put a lot of emphasis on that 'you'.

The cackling and exclamations had aroused the interest of the baby's-head-wetters, next door, and Mabel, Sandy and Malcolm all entered, after a polite tap on the door. There was a good deal of clucking and fussing, Mal observed that it might be easier to fly down to Adelaide for post-partum care, what with the damage in the Alice, which deflated Thelma and her girls a bit, but Gay declared, 'If we're OK, I'll stay a few weeks, and take my chances like the other mums in Alice. I've got to be back in four weeks for college, and I'd love to stay till then. I mean, you'll only see CJ at holiday time, or if you come down to Adelaide.....' She ended softly, as she noted Thelma's consternation.

Thelma snapped out of it, and laughed, 'You said 'CJ” love, when you meant Jimmy. Silly sausage!' She smiled around the room, and the others took little note.

'Well, Thelma, I've been thinking of your son, my love, Jimmy's Dad....you know, constantly, since ...since I first met him, of course...but, you know, it's pretty hard....but I've gotta be strong for Jimmy, eh?' Gay looked steadfast, but relaxed, as if she had made a firm, but easy, resolution.

'Too right, darl' Doreen agreed.'We blackfellas have had to be tough, ever since the flamin' whitefellas....no offense Mal, but you're an honorary blackfella now...ever since they set foot on the land. So you'll find the strength, my dear girl, you'll find it...and we'll all be there, to help you just as much as we can....' At that Doreen's voiced faded away, as if she had suddenly run out of things to say. In fact, she just wanted to shut up, and not any longer listen to her own voice spouting platitudes.

'As a matter of fact, Doreen' Malcolm interjected, before anyone else had a chance to speak, and before his champagne-addled mind forgot what he wanted to say, 'I see myself as not black, not white, but muddled-up....in other words, a typical uptight ape, like the rest of us. No offense, but we're all bloody Africans, just differing in the time that we left home. You blackfellas obviously loved 'walkabout' so you buggered off early, and ended up here, with nowhere else to wander.' Mal looked pleased with his anthropological dissertation, so he shut up, and left it at that.

'Good thinking, Mal'. Sandy chortled 'I'm bloody glad we didn't move on to New Zealand. To bloody picturesque for my liking. I like country flat, with little hills. Mountains scare me.' She chuckled at her own, imagined, wittiness.

As they all prattled on, to and fro, Gay finally noticed that Gran wasn't there. She inquired of Thelma as to just where the old matriarch was, and Thelma informed her that Gran was sparked out on the old battered divan on the far end of the porch. She'd collapsed when Gay went into labour, out of exhaustion. Mal had checked her out, and marveled at her slow heart-rate and low blood pressure, more appropriate to someone in shock, but, after all, she only weighed about 40 kilos, covered in dust, and had just wandered in from the bush. She'd been softly snoring away ever since, and the others had checked her from time to time.

Well, as they, whoever they are, say '…..and she will appear.', for just then an aged, gnarled hand grasped the inside edge of the door, and Gran poked her wizened old head around its corner. She looked years younger, brighter, intensely cheerful and bright, and seeing Gay smiling broadly at her, she fairly hopped across the room, like some bush marsupial, and plunked herself down on the edge of the bed, shoving Doreen further down.

'Good golly...look at that one.... he's even more beautiful than CJ...eh, Thelma....these boys keep getting better lookin' eh?' She tickled Jimmy under the chin, and the little fella smiled at her.

'Howsabout 'im, eh?' Gran cackled.'Smilin' at me. He knows his great-gran alright. Clever little bloke!

Jane couldn't help herself, and butted in. 'It's just wind, or a reflex, dear, New-borns don't smile. That comes after a few weeks' She put on her midwifely tone of authority, then blushed at her presumption.

'Bulldust! Look there, he's doin' it agin'. The old girl was bouncing about with excitement, and nearly fell off the bed. Sure enough, little Jimmy was smiling, no doubt about it, and his eyes ranged around the room, as if taking it all in.

'That's it! That's it!' Gran was very excited now.'He's the one! He's the one! The one in my dreams!' At that Doreen and Jane both felt a sinking sensation in their stomachs, as if in a lift descending rapidly. They gazed in each others' direction, both too frightened to speak.

Sandy did it for them. 'What dream, Gran? What are you cacklin' on about?' She felt just a little annoyed that the old girl was stealing the show, as usual, what with her dramatics and acting-up and all.

'Look, love. I've been dreaming about this little one...ever since I was a babe meself. A little baby, dark eyes like the bottom of some deep well....old when he's born....been here before, can't you see it...he recognises us, right away...like he's ...oh, I can't put it into words. Not in whitefellas' words.....not in any words....you'd have to have the dream, and feel it...you can't know this stuff...you gotta feel it'. At that she jumped up, and hugged Thelma, then Sandy and Mabel, then Doreen, then shook hands solemnly with Malcolm. She seemed alive with nervous tension. Then she bent down over Gay, and whispered something in her ear, then kissed her on the forehead and then she kissed Jimmy on the cheek, whereupon he gurgled as if trying to speak. The old lady, hopped over to the door, and beckoned Thelma to join her.

'Goodbye you lot. I'm going bush, again...but I'm not comin' back this time....Don't look so frightened girls....I'm old, and I'm finished....I know it, and I only hung on to see the little fella...'. Strangely, Gran's words were so firm and authoritative that no-one felt the impulse to argue with her. She took Thelma by the hand, and blew a kiss to everyone, as she walked out the door.

Thelma was gone a long while. Jimmy, who had gone to sleep almost as soon as Gran had kissed him, dozed quietly. The others sat or stood in bemused silence. The old lady had a powerful effect on people, always had had, and they had just taken in her declaration like a fact of nature. No doubt the old desert people had known when their time was up, when they became too much of a burden, when their enjoyment of life had been surpassed by the pain of continued existence. Strangely, no-one was, or felt like, crying. It all seemed just as it should be. The old girl had weaved a spell over them, and they were now living with her understanding, her wisdom, projected onto their minds.

When Thelma returned, she, too, had not been crying. However, as she spoke, the tears began to fall, as if the spell was lifting, bit by bit, now that her mother was gone, forever.

'She just hugged me, and said that she was finished...she's 'sick inside' and it's time to leave. She's got a place ready, in a cave, out in the hills. She's goin' to just lie down, not drink, and sing herself to sleep'. At this Thelma sobbed, once and deeply, and Sandy and Mabel hugged her tightly. They sobbed rather more loudly.

'But', Thelma added, after a few seconds,' Mum said she was real happy, 'cause of the boy, and because she'd lived long enough to see him. She said that we can all be sorry, but not for too long, that we've gotta look after Jimmy, because....' Thelma looked a little bemused by it all ,'....because he's going to save the world. She must've got a bit sun-struck out there, those last few weeks. But babies are the hope, and ain't that the truth....' Thelma's voice petered out, as the others listened with rapt attention.

One by one the baby-admirers retreated to leave Gay in peace, until only Doreen and Thelma, the guardian grans, were left. Gay and the baby dozed, and Thelma suggested allowing the baby to sleep next to the bed, in the lower drawer of the chest-of-draws. It was where, the exact spot in fact, CJ had slept as a baby. Both agreed that it was a terrific idea, and they quietly prepared the little bed. As they moved things in and out, Thelma waited for the right moment, after closing the door, and checking that Gay was fast asleep.

'Mum told me about her dream, Doreen' she said, with a lowered voice. 'She said that she knew that you'd had a dream, too...only different'. At these words Doreen felt quite faint. She blanched and her legs turned to jelly. She sat down on a chair, halfway from the bed to the door. The old, dilapidated room, with its peeling paint-work, the cob-webs in every corner, the one battered old window with the silhouettes of trees beyond, the daggy old rugs on the floor, all clean and neat, but emphatically 'pre-loved', spun around as if it were a vortex sucking in every fear and emotion set loose over the last few, frightening, mysterious months. Thelma grabbed her by the shoulder, as if to save her from falling off her chair, and her firm grip broke the spell. Doreen brightened up, and nodded.

'The old darlin'. She's right, of course. I had a dream, and I wasn't the only one...' At that revelation Thelma's eyes arched upwards, and the corners of her mouth drooped, as if she's just heard some bad news, bad but not surprising. Thelma nodded for Doreen to go on, and sat beside her, grasping her hands in a sisterly gesture.

'No, No! Thelma, you go first. Tell me what the old lady said about her dream. I'm dyin' to hear. Put me out of my misery!' Doreen looked imploringly, and rather feared that she'd die, there, on the spot, if the dream was too shocking. She felt that almost imperceptible mix of dread and elation that she'd experienced so often lately. Then Doreen cast an almost reflex glance at Jimmy, and felt wonder and amazement at the little fella's magical influence. Not 'almost magical', not any longer.

'OK, then' Thelma began.'Calm down, now...it's a bit amazing. Mum was almost besides herself telling me, like she'd waited all her life to tell someone, like she always knew it would be just before she...passed over.... Well, first she said that....it was when she was a little girl, about ten...her Mum and Gran were still alive....they were livin' out in the hills, doing walkabout most of the time, but comin' into a Mission every now and then. She was a real bush babe, digging tucker, listening to the old girls' stories, every night. Her favourites were about the Great Mother who protected life, you know, because it made women the real centre of things....she was strong-willed even then, and she used to brag that no man ever tamed her...silly old love....my Dad just conned her for years...but, let's not get side-tracked'. Thelma smiled at the memory of her Mum and Dad and their incessant battles of wits.

'No, no, Thel...I love hearing you....take all the time you need...I want to hear it all, well as much as you feel happy (she emphasised the word) telling me'. Doreen was impatient, but she realised that the story had to flow in its own good time.

'Right, right. OK...so...she's ten, and they're camped out at some place in the hills...a sacred place...they were there for some 'women's business', and the women were camped away from the men. They'd sat up half the night, listening to the old ladies tell Dreamings about the stars, and the Mother, and her helper, the Rainbow Snake. There were about six girls who hadn't heard the stories before, and they slept together later, near the fire, to keep warm, while the older women slept outside them. Mum....she woke up in the middle of the night, and there was a halo around the moon...you know, Doreen...when those thin high clouds, in winter, are round the moon, and...it was a full moon....the halo's like a circular rainbow, or....as Mum imagined, a snake holding its tail. She was really amazed, not having seen it as bright as that before....so she woke the other girls …..and they just gazed at it for ages, until the high clouds passed by, and they all fell asleep again. I'm not goin' too slow for ya, am I?' she inquired.

'No, no, go on...it's a great story. I love camping out, too, but we've not been walkabout people for a long time...we had it pretty easy, by the river and the sea'. Doreen looked entranced, which she was. She could feel a rising tension within her, as the story unfolded. She began to feel as if she was being drawn in, as if she, too, had slept by that fire, heard the old girls, seen that rainbow moon, that snake biting its tail.

'Well...as I said...they drifted off, and Mum had this dream. The really weird thing is....you won't believe it...but all those little girls had the same dream as Mum' Thelma paused, as if for dramatic effect.

'Believe me, love, I believe every word', Doreen replied, after a pause where she pondered the weird parallels emerging, between her and her friends and these girls. The repetition of events, of symbols, of themes was beginning to seem even more than magical. It was as if all the dreaming stories were coming alive, just as they had been living for the old people, the countless generations who lived the Dreaming every day, for tens of thousands of years. Here it was, alive and kicking, despite all the whitefella nonsense, all the bloody 'Royal Commissions' and newspaper guff.

Thelma continued. 'OK, OK..I see it means something to you...already...why am I not surprised? Right, so Mum wakes up, and she's almost crazy with this dream, this....you know the type....the dream that seems real, like you're living it....and, well, ...it was a dream about a giant brown snake, that was the Rainbow Snake......you know, that's why she loved Old Brownie...she used to feed him rats and sit talking to him, and singing to him. He was the nearest thing...to the dream snake. Well, the dream snake, he coils himself around her, but doesn't bite her or strangle her....she's never frightened, mind you...just elated...very, very happy.' Thelma paused for breath, looking flushed and excited, and relieved to be sharing the story. Her Mum had made her promise to only tell Doreen, and not another living soul.

'Go on, love'. Doreen was in no mood to wait too long now. She felt as if a circle was about to be closed, and something pretty important revealed, although the outlines, the blurry shapes, as if half-hidden in the mist, were plain enough to discern.

'Right, right...the snake looks her in the eye and it smiles at her, his tongue flickers over her face, but it's not scary...it's exciting, wonderful....and he sings a song to her, in snake language, all hisses and slitherings...but she understands it all....and he says that she will be the ancestor of a very special boy....a boy who will put the fractured world back together. The whitefellas are wrecking the perfection of the world, turning everything into money...and destroying that which gives them life. But their young ones, and the children everywhere, they were going to wake up, just in time, you know, to the danger.....and fix it all up, then live like the old people...with the planet, not as its Masters and destroyers.....sounds like a 'Green' snake, not a brown one, eh, Doreen'. Thelma paused for breath, not a little exhausted.

'And Mum thought for years that CJ was the boy, although she never saw anything that special about him...not in the earth-saving stakes. Then he died, and she was really upset, not just for CJ and me, but for the Dream....but then Gay turns up, and Mum knew what was happening, which is why, she reckons, she was able to hang on long enough to see him. That's it...oh, yeah...the kids'll save the world...the snake got that right...it sure needs fixin'...but our Jimmy..he's going to be the leader, the one who makes the kids wake up. How about that? ' Thelma looked to have finished, but then remembered the last, vital piece.

'And Mum, she started telling the other girls, and...blow her down...one by one the others....they'd had the same dream. They all swore to never tell no-one, to keep it secret, which they did, and, one by one they died, some young, most old, like Mum, until she was the last....and she's gone, now, too...'. Thelma finished quietly, and dropped her head in contemplation. Doreen had taken in every word with rapt attention, her mood alternating between elation, consternation and outright amazement. So group dreams were not unique to her friends and her. The gap in years, nearly eighty, was just a blip in time, really, but the whole story was now spreading out over a long, long time, and all coming to its culmination in that little bloke, slumbering away. Doreen knew that she had to break her vow to keep her dream secret, by telling Thelma, but she somehow dreaded doing so. However, not now, not in person, not with Gay here. Perhaps later, by letter, a letter to be burned and the ashes buried. That would be best.

When Thelma asked Doreen about her dream, Doreen excused herself. She said that it was a secret that Gay mustn't ever know, and she promised to write it down for Thelma, and leave the letter when she and Gay left. Thelma was a little cross, having told Doreen her Mum's dream, but Doreen simply refused to let it all out, there and then. She just assured Thelma that it was like Gran's dream, but different. Then she gave Thelma a big hug, and told her how sorry she was about her Mum, and they both had a good cry, for different and similar reasons. That done, the catharsis complete, for the time, they both went to bed, Thelma ending the drinking session by moving it outside, and the little house was soon quiet, save bor Malcolm's drunken snoring, from his position, slumped out on the old sofa, on the porch.

 Chapter Nine:  Blessings from the Rainbow Snake and the Great Whale.

The four weeks that followed seemed to go by very quickly. Thelma and her girls searched about a little for signs of Gran, but she left no tracks that they could discern. They borrowed an old Jeep to visit some of her favourite haunts, but she'd disappeared. Thelma knew that it was fruitless to imagine the old girl changing her mind, and going to hospital for 'Whitefella's medicine', and ending her days in a ward, but she felt driven to see her again. It was too late, already, of course, as she felt in her heart of hearts, but search she did.

Meanwhile Gay went into the Alice with Mal and Doreen, Malcolm having received a new ute in lieu of an insurance payout, the extreme damage to his previous vehicle by earthquake presenting some difficulty or other. Alice Springs was a wreck, but the hospital, although damaged, was running clinics for Mums and babes, and Jimmy got the once over. He impressed everybody mightily, with his alertness and placidness, although the smile never returned, apparently having been expressed just for Gran's parting delight, perhaps to let her know that he was indeed just who she thought he was. Gay noticed that Jimmy not only impressed the other Mums, but she noticed not a trace of jealousy or baby rivalry amongst them. She was already feeling quite proud to be his Mum, and looking forward to his growing and unfolding his character.

On one particularly lovely morning, about ten days after Jimmy's birth, before the heat of the day hit home, Gay took Jimmy up to visit his Dad, on the little hill near the burned-out Church. She had him rugged up tight for the chill morning, but by the time they got there, it was obviously a little too snug for the rising temperature. Gay unbundled him, and lay him on her lap, holding his head steady, and softly telling him about his father. Gay was not quite finished, when she heard a rustle coming from behind her, and turned to see what was up. She almost leaped up and ran, because it was old 'Brownie' moving at full-steam, which is quick. He slithered right past them, and straight to CJ's grave, where he coiled around the gravestone, and rose up, a few feet off the ground, tongue flickering and head rocking back and forth, and gazing intently at Jimmy. The little fellow grew quite lively, clucking and gurgling, sniffling and dribbling, and, for a second time, he broke into a broad grin. Gay was, to her surprise, neither startled nor worried. Things seemed utterly normal, as if giant snakes always dropped in to check out the latest babies, and welcome them (rather than swallow them whole).

The mutual admiration society of two had but a minute's duration, then Brownie collapsed back to earth and slithered into the undergrowth on the other side of the hillock, as quickly as he'd arrived. Gay suddenly understood, somehow, that this was also the proper time for her to sing the whale's song for her little boy, so she bent close over him, and began to sing. Not words, of course, but whistling, clicking and humming. As she sang, he gurgled happily in return, as if delighted to be so serenaded. Gay soon reached the end of the song, as she remembered it, so sang it backwards. How she did this, she had no idea. She had fallen into a trance, back in her whale dream, once she began the song, and as she closed her eyes, she saw the great beast's all-seeing, all-knowing, all-understanding, eye before her again, as on the beach, and the song grew stronger and her singing more insistent. Then she suddenly comprehended that the message, whatever it was, had been passed on, and that was enough. Jimmy was smiling an enigmatic smile, as if he was a little monk, deeply immersed in the inexpressible. Gay experienced a deep sense of fulfilment. She had done her duty to the noble cetacean, that great intermediary and messenger, as she had promised her that she would. Jimmy fell asleep as they walked back to the house, and slept for several hours afterwards, so long that Gay decided to wake him for a feed.

That afternoon Jane and her gang were off to the Barkly. They were running out of holiday time, and Jane was sure that Mum and baby were fine, so she organised to see them in three weeks, back in South Australia. Gay began to tell her about the snake, but Jane stopped her, pleading 'magic overload' and 'Dreaming exhaustion', but promised to hear her out later.

'Too much spooky stuff goin' on for me, love. I'm down to earth, you know. You blackfellas have too much imagination. All that sitting out under the stars...with no TV, no computer games...just making up stories to while away the hours. Too much, too much...' and at that she had a good belly-laugh.

Gay and Doreen waved them off later that evening. Jane and her family were only going a couple of hundred kilometres due north, to get to a nice camping-ground, for a couple of days, then over the Barkly Tableland, up to Kakadu, then a slow drive home through desert country on the border with West Australia. They'd done it before, so they were well provisioned and had satellite phones, distress beacons, radios etc, -all the paraphernalia needed for a safe trip. As they rode off into the afternoon heat, Gay was happy to know that she'd see Jane again in a few weeks, and they'd all be back home, safe and sound. She wanted Jimmy to spend lots of time here, in holidays, and get to know his Gran and aunties, but she wanted to bring him up back at her home. For no particular reason, really, apart from her studies and wishing to live with her Mum, but also because it seemed somehow, safer, for him. The spectre of CJ's death haunted her, although she didn't want to admit it, being opposed, on principle, to superstitious dread. Superstitious joy was quite acceptable, but dread, not so much.

The two weeks after Jane's departure seemed to fly by, in retrospect, and then it was time to leave. Jimmy was blooming, as were Gay and all the others. The pall of gloom over Gran's disappearance had eased just a little, and the baby was a constant delight, even if he slept so very much and deprived them all of his comforting company. Mal came and went, keeping close in case he was needed, while visiting mates scattered around the eastern Territory and into western Queensland. He knew more outstation people than practically anyone he was aware of, and that suited him. Mal vastly preferred country to city, and the further out the better, and he was a noted raconteur, too, having scores of outrageous tales of eccentric individuals and behaviour, many of them completely authentic, and only a few embroidered for artistic effect. He believed history and recollection to be quite plastic, even elastic, and stretching the truth, whatever the 'truth' was, seemed only to be honouring the original with a respectful interpretation, like a pianist lending his recreational art to the composer's. That he was both creator and re-creator of these yarns gave him the kudos to so embellish, at least in his opinion. Indeed he liked nothing better than to be congratulated by his friends for wittily expanding his yarns, or theirs, as the years went by.

When the time came to leave, Mal drove them into Alice, after a teary farewell. Gay promised to return at the end of the year, and Thelma promised to make them welcome any time. Doreen handed Thelma a 'thank-you note', with her dream story outlined inside, with a wink, and promised regular letters, and, of course, reciprocal visiting rights in Adelaide. Sandy and Mabel sobbed a little, and covered Jimmy in kisses. He responded by smiling and grinning, briefly, and just for his Gran and Aunties, his first smiles since that one he had bestowed on his great-Grandmother, and his reptilian acquaintance, Old Brownie. Jimmy knew, already, when to turn on the charm. The neighbours gathered about, too, and the usual parting decencies were observed. It was still wretchedly dry and dusty, but one old girl noted that the ants were acting more normal and building up flood defences around their nests. The rains couldn't be far off, months late, but better late...

The drive was uneventful. At Alice the heat and humidity were stifling. The air felt like a heavy blanket of invisible fog, so thick that you could just about taste it. Away to the north a huge array of thunder-clouds were boiling up into the sky, and the news was dominated by a 'Biblical' downpour that had hit the Darwin area for several days, with huge flooding and the usual salt-water crocodile panics, that Territory journalists relished. Dry followed by flood-the 'new normal'. Malcolm saw them onto their plane, promising to write and visit, and would they please send pictures of Jimmy, as he was smitten with him, like everybody else. He was, also, as Doreen suspected, saddened that he had no children of his own, and was probably too old now, almost certainly to catch a young enough lady. Mal had had his chances, but hadn't taken them, so he would have to live with regret over that, if not at much else, not being too demanding of himself, or of life and certainly not of other people. There he had very few illusions.

The flight was pretty quiet, too, straight to Adelaide. They were met at the airport by Ritchie, who had arranged with Doreen to meet them and drive them home. He was over the moon about Jimmy, like everyone else. Ritchie did for a moment get a little misty thinking of CJ, but pulled himself together, manfully, and carried the bags to his car. The trip home was relatively quick, missing the peak-hour traffic. After a couple of hours, just on dark, they pulled into the little settlement, and right up to Doris' place. Unpacking took no time at all, and before you could say, 'Jack Robinson' the kettle was boiling, the windows were flung open, and Beryl(another cousin), Mabel and Ruby had arrived with a cake, the usual gift for returning prodigals that the gift-givers could enjoy, also, as luck would have it. Pretty quickly the house filled with well-wishers and family, and some new stock of champagne was unearthed, although of the 'Galah Spew-muchly' vintage, as Ruby, a connoisseur of cheap 'wobbler', now retired, called it. Still, the baby's head needed another wetting, in his other 'country'. The drinking was polite, and sedate, and much cooing and clucking was to be heard, as Jimmy's plain perfection was duly admired by all, with proper enthusiasm.

'He's too good to be true, Doreen'. Ruby gushed. 'Just look at him. Look at them eyes of his. Have you ever seen such dark eyes....he's 'Heaven-sent'', and on and on in similar baby-adoring fashion. Doreen quickly grew tired of it all, and shooed everybody off, promising to visit them all the next day, while showing Jimmy the sights. As she ushered them out she whispered to Ruby and Mavis, after dragging them aside, 'No word about the dream....you hear'. Mavis nodded, but Ruby blurted out, 'But he's straight outta that dream...ain't he, love...I mean...you know it's true', for which observation she earned a rebuke.

'Just keep quiet, about it....I don't care....she's not going to know. You promised, remember'. Doreen glowered at them both.

'Well, you made us promise, remember...', Ruby began, but on seeing Doreen turning dark with indignation, she retreated.

'OK, OK. Not a whisper...not now, not never'. The two old friends retreated in disorder before a Doreen bristling with determination.

Doreen returned home, where only distant Auntie Emmie, and her grandson Phil were left. Emmie was from Walker's Flat, so they had come a fair way, after hearing about the babe. Emmie was Doreen's second cousin, or great-aunt, once removed and never returned (as they used to joke). Nowadays a solid, shortish woman with brawny arms and grizzly grey hair set above a weathered face, eyes set close, chin prominent, nose somewhat wide, teeth higgledy-piggledy, she'd been kidnapped in the 'Stolen Generations' days, and, really, no-one was quite sure just whose kid she actually was. Still the extended family had taken her back when she turned up, all grown, years later, with just one foster family's word about her roots. The Government had been, typically, unhelpful. Nonetheless things had turned out well, as she was a dear, and had had a nice little family of her own, full of lovely, respectful, educated children. Emmie had made certain that there would be no excuses for taking her kids from her, not that 'the Authorities' needed many. She was one of Doreen's favourite relatives, so she got to stay a little longer.

'He's a beaut', ain't he just'. Emmie cooed. 'Look at them eyes....so lively....so wise....he's an old one, don't you think, Doreen? You know...he's been here a few times before. He knows it now, but can't tell us.....then, as he grows up...he'll have to forget it....'cept in his dreams....it'll come back then, but he'll just think it's a dream, nothing more'. The same old favourite observations, but nicely elaborated by Emmie.

'Where do you get this stuff from, Aunty Em?' Doreen teased her. Still Doreen had often heard the 'He or she have been here before' story. More often 'He', though, which one old girl had explained was because return voyagers who had been women, had seen just how crook the world was for women, so they insisted on being boys on subsequent trips. Unless, of course, they'd been 'that type' of girl who had made the most of their gender assignment, which of course implied behaviour that the old dears plainly did not approve of....well, not in others, that is.

'Oh, one of my foster mums, one of the good ones....the best, really...she'd been here a good many times, I'd say....she told me all about reincarnation and that stuff. Oh, Dorrie, love, it's true...you must know that'. Emmie let it rest there. After a few minutes more chin-tickling and fussing, she made her goodbyes, knowing well not to overstay her time, leaving Gay to rest, and the baby to sleep.

Doreen waved them off. Emmie's final words were, 'That's Mr Wonderful you got in there, Doreen. You could feel it in the room. Everybody was relaxed and happy, even the wound-up ones who are usually fretting and whining over somethin' or other. He...that little babe....he made them relaxed and happy. Powerful stuff. I'm sorry I won't be 'round to see him grow up ….he's going to make his mark, that one'. Emmie smiled innocently, as if a little girl again.

'Don't go all maudlin on me, Emmie. You'll be around a lot longer....you see if you ain't. Why, how old are you?' Doreen was intrigued. Emmie was old, alright, but she was as fit as a circus flea, as was oft-times said in these circles.

'No bloody idea, Doreen. Sixty-five, give or take one or two, maybe three. My first couple of fosters didn't believe in birthdays for 'Abos', so it was only when I ended up with the good ones, when I went to school for a bit...you know...they had to put me in kindy, and I was nearly as tall as the teacher...'though, come to think of it, she was pretty 'dainty'. Emmie cackled at the memory.

As those last two guests drove off into the night, Doreen promptly returned to Gay and the babe. Gay was feeding Jimmy, who snuggled tightly against his mother, burrowing down like a hibernating squirrel. Doreen set about preparing the beds and the little crib she'd borrowed from some cousins over the river, whose last baby had just outgrown it. She listened to the radio as she worked, and the ten o'clock news brought the headline story of a 'storm-ravaged' Alice Springs, hit by a 'Biblical Deluge' of hundreds of millimetres in a few hours, accompanied by cyclonic winds and tornadoes. The damage to structures weakened by the earthquake had been 'extensive'. Apparently they'd got out just in time. Mind you, the 'weather system' was heading south, with the Flinders and 'northern agricultural' due for a pasting tomorrow.

Doreen poked her nose around the corner, and Gay smiled back at her. 'It sounds rough in Alice, Mum. I hope Mal's OK'. She looked a little concerned, but not too much.'He'll be OK, you know him. Lands on his feet, like a cat, that's Mal'. Doreen replied. Gay seemed quite satisfied with that, and snuggling little Jimmy to her chest, she rose up, lightly and gracefully, but eager for a good night's sleep. She lay Jimmy down in the crib, and he dozed off, quickly, as was his habit. Gay brushed her teeth, changed into her pyjamas and kissed her mother goodnight, and fell asleep almost as soon as she lay her head down. Doreen closed her door, and listened quietly to the radio for a while. She preferred the News station to the alternatives, and followed the unfolding drama of the super-storm, the 'inland cyclone' as the more excitable commentators were already calling it, for an hour or two. Midnight struck, and she had to crash, or be totally exhausted in the morning. And, who knows, maybe the baby will be restless in his new home. Doreen, as Gay had, fell asleep as her head hit the pillow, and she slept long and deep, dreaming of tornadoes, an unfortunate sign, or so she imagined.

Doreen had no reason to worry about Jimmy, who slept like the baby he was....and not, as the joke says, 'Waking up screaming every hour'. He did stir about six, but Gay heard him, and fed him, and he went back to sleep, while Gay sat up in bed and read by the light of the dawn, the sunlight flooding in through her window. She was going to do Dickens at college, as part of her ambition to be an English teacher, so she was setting out on David Copperfield, and she read avidly, quietly contented. Gay did still occasionally feel a sharp shock of regret at a fleeting thought of CJ, but she was hardening herself, putting his memory straight out of mind, as soon as it appeared. She felt a little callous, but knew that wallowing in regret was not what she and her baby boy needed right now. College was only days away, so she had to arrange childcare, social security, study programs, baby health etc, all in the next few days. Gay was going to be busy.

Around eight, Gay woke her Mum with a cuppa. Doreen was pretty well rested, and immediately turned on the radio. The Alice Springs disaster, and the flooding further north, were dominating the news. The storm system was still being fed by 'massive' tropical moisture inflows, with 'unprecedented' rains, huge numbers of lightning strikes, gigantic hailstones and scores of tornadoes, fortunately only one of which had hit anywhere populated, destroying a caravan park near Katherine, with five killed and scores injured. Doreen was impressed at just how the reporters, weather 'experts', meteorologists etc all pontificated about the cause of the disaster, without anyone daring to mention 'climate change'. Well-trained as ever, she thought. It was all 'La Nina', or perhaps 'ENSO', or the 'Indian Ocean dipole' or 'monsoon moisture' but never climate change. The politicians were worse, bristling at the suggestion when it was raised by one intrepid journalist, plainly not planning a long career. Not surprising, the NT Government being pretty crazily Rightwing, but the Feds were just as bad. Doreen turned off, in anticipatory disgust, as the PM was introduced to voice his entirely predictable, impressions.

'How'd you sleep, Mum' Gay cheerfully enquired as she emerged from the bathroom, clean and fresh. 'You look a little, pissed-off. What's got up your nose, so early in the morning'. Gay was now a little less cheerful.

'The bloody so-called news, that's what. Bunch of liars and morons-overpaid liars and morons', Doreen added, for emphasis. She looked like she wanted to find some naughty boys and girls to chastise.

'Why do you listen to them, then? You know they always piss you off, so what is the point?' Gay was stern, now, heartily sick of her Mum's addiction to bulldust, an addiction that did nothing but annoy the blazes out of her, to no good, whatsoever. Gay felt the same contempt for the lies, half-truths, group opinions, collective amnesia etc, but didn't share her mother's strange addiction to being chronically annoyed and outraged. Better to turn it off, and listen to a gardening show instead.

The women soon settled down to a more relaxed mood. Gay put on the classical music station, and they both enjoyed some Schubert, Gay's favourite, if a little rarefied for Doreen, whose tastes were more down-to-earth.

'Those flamin' tunes are too lovely', she declared.'I mean, music's meant to get you excited...up and dancin'...you know, love, like......' Doreen's opinionating died out there, as she caught sight of Jimmy, who was burbling and gurgling a real treat. 'Looks like you've passed on your taste in music, Gay. He's having the time of his life...that's not saying much yet, is it. He's having the time of all his lives, if Emmie was right about that.' Doreen rather regretted adding that last little bit.

'Whadya mean, Mum?' Gay was eating some toast, and her diction was suffering. Swallowing, she went on. 'What did Aunty Emmie say?' She looked eager to hear, not imagining that it could be anything bad.

'Well', Doreen started, while sitting down next to Gay and Jimmy and tickling him under the chin, 'Well, Emmie's a little...you know...whacky, about these things. She sort of believes in weird stuff, sort of part blackfella 'Dreaming' stories, part Hippy whitefella stuff. Comes from her fractured upbringing, but never being really badly treated, just neglected, and sometimes looked after pretty good, so....you know, she never lost faith in life...not like so many other 'Stolen' kids. Emmie believes in reincarnation...she's always telling me so-and-so has been here before, or it's their first trip, or they're ready to finish with it...that sort of loopy stuff'.

'Why dismiss it, Mum. I mean...we don't know, do we?' Gay was half, but only half, mind you, teasing her mother.

'OK, OK...it might be true. Not that we ever know, or, so she says, only in dreams'. That word dream, she found hard to utter these days, particularly with Gay, and she tried to surreptitiously gauge her reaction to it. There was none, of course.

'Right-o. Emm said that Jimmy's been here before. She was convinced. So that's it, in a nutshell, where lives a dear old nut-case.' Doreen blurted this out, wanting to change the subject as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

'Fair enough, Mum. I reckon she's onto something. Have you noticed that he never gets startled? No matter who or what he meets, he never cries or cringes. He only cries, if you can call it that, when he's hungry or needs changing. And its only like, letting me know, verbally. He never screeches. That spider I found in his bed....he was just staring at it, real interested, and the old dog that came right up to us and barked....it just made him chuckle. I was thinking it was like he'd seen spiders and dogs before...somewhere...or somewhen, eh?' Gay giggled at her linguistic dexterity, if not inventiveness, because she had seen the word used before, but she couldn't remember where, exactly.

'Yes..you're right about his temperament...you were a lot like him, but you could caterwail if you got frightened....he's the calmest...isn't he...the calmest you could imagine...' Doreen pondered the implications of everything that had happened, and was happening, and was lost in awe and unease, in somewhat equal measure.

'What's up, Mum....You look like you've seen a ghost. Did someone walk over your grave. I could have sworn I saw a shiver go up your back. Don't fret...Jimmy'll be OK '. Gay contemplated her mother who was still lost in thought, more than a little concerned at her suddenly uneasy state of mind.

Doreen felt her worry, as mothers do when their child is perturbed, so she brightened and chuckled, if only in a somewhat forced way, 'Righto, then. Jimmy's a return traveler...I can buy that...perhaps he's the reincarnation of someone famous...they're never the reincarnation of Joe Blow the garbo, are they? Perhaps some great blackfella we never heard of, eh. Better get him some crayons and stuff, and he can draw some Dreamtime stuff, before....Emmie says they forget their previous lives once they can talk....before he loses it, the memory, I mean. Stick a crayon in his hand...OK, OK...I'm getting carried away...'. And she laughed, jumping up to get another cuppa for the two of them.

They spent another couple of hours tidying, cooking, and putting Jimmy down for a snooze, then decided to go for a walk. Gay had a carrier papoose sort of arrangement, in fetching khaki, and bundled Jimmy up into it, and had Doreen help with the straps. They had Jimmy facing out, so that he could take in the scenery. Later, when he needed to sleep, he could be turned inwards to snuggle up to his Mum.

They first visited the garden, and picked flowers for Jimmy to admire, and smell. He seemed very taken with lavender, so Gay reckoned that he must have been French in some life, always associating lavender with France, since school-days. 'Oh, he must have been Napoleon, then', Doris suggested, with a grin. Gay preferred Gerard Depardieu, and Doreen laughed, 'Just so long as he don't get that fat!' she guffawed. And Gay recollected that Gerard was, fortuitously, still alive. They then suggested a few other Frenchmen, but ran out of possibilities quite quickly. They weaved through the garden, and the sun began to grow warmer, even hot, and the atmosphere grew very humid, as it neared noon, so Gay plonked a little cotton hat on Jimmy's head. It sat at a rakish angle, so they decided to leave it as it was, and Jimmy, placid as ever, never batted an eye-lid.

The women left the garden, through the windbreak, and across the dunes, down to the beach. It was quite deserted, and the sea was thoroughly relaxed, a gentle swell only sending little innocent waves lapping up the shore. The tide-mark was quite pronounced, and the waters had thrown up a good many shark-eggs, little purses now empty of their cargo. Somewhere, out there, a great white, perhaps, was on the first leg of his or her journey. Perhaps they'd been here before, too.

'Do you think, Mum....like the Buddhists think...I mean, can you be another animal....before you're human...'. Gay was thinking of outrageous examples, mostly from politics and the media, to fit into this scheme, none flattering. 'I mean, whatisname, the Opposition Leader..

' 'He who must not be mentioned...not in my company, at least..' Doreen chuckled.

'Yeah, that's him...I mean he must've been a (and here she named an animal not famous for its good behaviour, or odour)in a previous life. No...I tell a lie....He's one in this life!!'And Gay fairly roared with mirth.

They walked along the water's edge, to let the ocean tickle their feet and shins. The sand squished between their toes, and the waves left behind little lines of bubbles, and others emerged from the sand. Down there, between the grains, was a universe of tiny creatures, innumerably innumerable, teeming and multiplying. They walked, like Gods, atop this world, their weight crushing the creatures into the sand, wherever their feet sank in. How many were destroyed, how many simply inconvenienced, as they went about their simple tasks, not much different from ours, of eating, digesting, extruding waste and reproducing, was unknowable and probably didn't need knowing. Indeed simply contemplating it all, as Gay was doing, was an exercise in futility. Yet she felt strangely drawn to these creatures, that she'd seen once on TV, wriggling, squirming and cleaning the sand, recycling bits and pieces of waste into the stuff of their bodies, them becoming a snack for something slightly bigger, on and on, up to the fish eaten by the human, who then goes swimming, when along wanders a white-pointer, and.....Gay gave up the fantasia there and then. She didn't like thinking of ...that. Gay looked, instead, not to the sand, or the water, but to the ultimate dimension, the infinity of the sky. Now that was more reassuring, somehow. Being an insignificant dot, on an insignificant planet in a corner of an infinite omniverse, the sheer scale of her tininess had always comforted her, where it mostly horrified others. Perversely, Gay felt her insignificant size and temporality made her inversely important. A whacky idea, but one that had come to her as a child, while gazing at the night sky and the countless stars, yet imagining herself equal to them all. You gaze into the universe and it gazes right back into you.

A sea-gull screeched overhead, and Gay turned to her Mum, who had been equally lost in thought. 'What you thinking of, Mum?' She inquired respectfully. 'Nothing' Doreen replied. 'Nothing, because the sea, the sky, us here, on this beach...why we're just passing through, like cloud shadows on a windy day. You know how it is..I'm getting old and maudlin, love. I'd fancy being a cloud, you know...here one minute, gone the next, back a minute later. Its their lack of substance I envy. My old knees are getting worn out. Well, look at him', Doreen exclaimed, nodding at Jimmy, who was waving his arms and legs about, and nodding, as if in furious agreement.'He thinks his old Gran's gone barking'. At that Jimmy let out a long chorus of gurgles, grunts, huffs and sniffles, all rising in pitch, as if transported with excitement.

'Look, Mum. Look over there. He's seen a whale.' Gay pointed out to sea, in the direction that Jimmy was staring, and Doreen, too, turned to face about due south. There, sure enough, a huge tail thrust itself out of the sea, five or six hundred metres away, and was whacked onto the water surface with great force. The 'thwack' almost made their ears ring, and Jimmy squealed with delight. The splashing and thrashing went on for some minutes, then the whale disappeared, only to breach the surface and crash down with a mighty report, sending waves surging out in all directions. At that Jimmy began to gurgle and burble like a whale singing. Well as much like a whale as puny, baby, human lungs and immature vocal cords could manage. Still, it was most peculiar, and rose and fell like a real song, repeating certain sequences like mantras. Gay was part amazed, part horrified. She even stepped back from the water, almost involuntarily, lest Jilmmy throw himself into the water and swim away. Doreen physically pinched herself to ensure that it wasn't a dream, then joined Gay at the water's edge.

The whale began to swim away, still breaching from time to time. Jimmy kept up his musical chortling, singing fit to make his old great-Gran proud. Then he abruptly stopped, and Doreen saw that he was asleep, just like that, in a trice. They adjusted the sling to have him face inwards, and they sat down high on the beach, amongst the dunes and grass (after checking for snakes).

'Dear, oh dear...what do you make of that....I mean...who's goin' to believe us. What's the matter, darl?' Doreen had noticed Gay's tears, trickling down her cheeks.

'I'm sorry...Mum...but I'm amazed... and ...frightened. He's my baby boy, he's everyone's favourite...but ….who is he?' The last was said with hushed intensity, part joyful, part fearful. 'I mean, who the hell talks to whales, and just a baby?' Gay's fearfulness was more plainly apparent at that observation. 'I had to sing that whale song to him...just the once, because the old whale wanted me to. I had to...he had to hear something in that song, and, today...he was singing to that other whale. I mean, he's...it's so silly, but he's...he can talk to whales...am I going bonkers?'

'Oh, come on luv...he was just gurgling with excitement. He probably didn't even see it properly....a baby his age... I'm glad you sang to him. I guess it's just your vivid imagination, but like I said...we used to sing to 'em, so maybe we're getting the gift back. I dunnno, but it's a lovely thought, ain't it?' Doreen didn't believe her own words, but she wanted to calm Gay down. 'It's just our imagination. Typical new mum, first time Gran, eh. Every baby's 'special' to his family...I bet there's kids who talk to dogs, or trees...it's just our imagination, running wild'. Doreen hardly believed a word that she said. No, it was that she was no longer quite sure of what she said, things seeming both true and revealed and false and crazy, all at once. And Gay knew it, but she let it rest. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and, the whale, having, unknown to them, sounded deep into the off-shore canyons and the impenetrable dark and not returning, they set off for home. They didn't talk as they trudged, not a word until they were sitting comfortably in the living-room, and Gay commenced feeding Jimmy, who was remarkably quiet and docile, as if worn out by his previous excitement.

Doreen broke the ice, wishing to steer things away from the everyday fantastical that was becoming their lot in life. Maybe we should start keeping diaries, she suggested, having nothing better to offer as a circuit-breaker.

'I already have, Mum. I started when I knew I was expecting. It's all there, for Jimmy to read one day, when he needs too, although, I suspect he'll know it all already'. Gay seemed to be struggling for the right words to express her feelings.

'What do you mean, sweetie?' Doreen was intrigued by the bold assertion.

'I mean..all the while that he was growing, I...felt...like he was thinking as much about me, as I was thinking of him. It sounds silly, and I thought that I was just a crazy, bereaved, mum to be, I even thought it was some sort of psychosis..I spoke to Jane and the obstetrician....they told me not to panic, you know...Jane said she imagined all sorts of crazy stuff when she was expecting her first...I don't know if I believe her, really, the pet...just trying to put my mind at rest... but, as God is my witness, every time I thought hard about Jimmy, particularly after I started feeling him move....I just felt him 'feeling' me back. Like you think about someone you love, and you don't need to wonder if they are thinking of you, because you know that they are. I mean, who's he going to think about, if not me. He was a real 'captive audience' wouldn't you say?' and Gay giggled at her little joke.

Doreen decided, then and there, to start her own journal, to set down everything before it was lost to memory. She'd start that night, and so she did, as soon as Gay and Jimmy retired for the night.

Doreen and Gay ate a little dinner of salad vegies and bread, and Doreen allowed herself a glass of beer, for jangled nerve soothing purposes, only. Gay was off to college to arrange things the next day, so she needed a good sleep. Doreen stayed up, to read she said, but as soon as Gay was off in the Land of Nod, she dug out an old text-book, and starting at page 10, leaving the useful jam recipes intact, she began to write down everything that she could remember from the time of their first trip to CJ's home. There was an awful lot, and she made asterisks besides the bits that were a little vague, so that, if her memory cleared later, she could return to correct the record. In the end there were thirty tightly-spaced pages, written in her increasingly spidery handwriting, which was devolving into scrawl as the years went by and her arthritis worsened. What's more, she was only up to the birth, so at least another thirty pages awaited the morrow, as they say. Doreen crashed out in the living-room, on the sofa, it being one o'clock in the AM. Soon she was snoring contentedly away, oblivious to the world.

Chapter Ten:  Inner City Dreaming.

The next day they both slept in until nine. Gay was woken first, by Jimmy crying out to be fed. She fed him tucked up in bed, the wind rustling the curtains, the air heavy and leaden with humidity. You could feel the brewing storm, but she had to get to college, to prepare for the new academic year and to arrange a place in the creche for Jimmy. A lot of work to do, and she had to check that the old Morris was still functioning, and she had to secure the baby capsule, too. Gay changed Jimmy, and showered quickly. She left him sleeping soundly, in the crib, with the door open to the living-room, where Doreen still had not stirred. Gay noticed the old school-book, open at the last page that Doreen had reached, and had a little read. She smiled to herself, thinking that there would be interesting conversations in the future as to whose recollection was the better, judging by the little she'd quickly scanned.

Outside, the old Morris sparked to life, after a little coaxing. The capsule attached fairly well, and securely, to the fixture she had had installed when she knew that she was expecting. Nothing for it, but to get going, after saying good-bye. The air was quite oppressive now, and Gay could see ominous storm-clouds far off to the north, promising some torrential downpour later. Still, storms often missed them here, and struck somewhere nearby or far off, instead. Weather was unpredictable, or so she believed, and you couldn't run away from it, now could you?

Back inside, Doreen was, at last, awake. She'd put the kettle on, in morning ritual, and was hunched over the radio, imbibing the forbidden delights of 'the News'.

'You should hear this, love. Those storms have smashed Broken Hill, Mildura, Jamestown, right over to Ceduna, last night. It's a bloody disaster. Fifty dead, so it seems....listen to that....tornadoes...I mean, since when do we have tornadoes, here....' Doreen returned to the radio, ear firmly attached.

'Mum, don't get hysterical. Of course we have tornadoes...little ones....but fifty...are you sure you heard right?' Gay was feeling a certain uneasiness about it all, as if a fire was approaching. A tornado wouldn't spare the old weatherboard houses hereabouts, she thought, uneasily.

'Yep. Heard it twice, once from that buffoon Prime Minister of ours. They hit a packed caravan park in the Flinders, and one hit an old motel in Broken Hill. Big brutes, apparently, like in the States. Dear me, it is getting worrying. The weather's gone mad ! I'm glad you going to town. It'll be safer there. Stay until the storms have passed. Stay till tomorrow at least. Stay with friends. It mightn't be safe here'. Doreen certainly looked troubled by it all.

Gay promised to do just that, not wanting to be driving in such weather, with Jimmy on board. She downed her tea in three fiery gulps, changed Jimmy again and dressed him for the heat, packed a bag for them, and kissed Doreen goodbye. Outside the air was getting ever hotter, heavier and quite still. As she drove out towards the Adelaide road, Gay almost gasped at the huge size of the approaching storm-clouds. She calculated that they would be upon the city in a couple of hours, so she decided to make straight for the College Refectory, a sturdy multi-storied, steel-frame building, which was, conveniently, where they had the creche and the childcare centre.

Gay had just reached the inner suburbs of Adelaide, about ten minutes from the College, when she ran into a traffic jam. Someone had run up the back of another car, and a nasty little contretemps had developed. People were rushing about in the heat and humidity, trying to calm the belligerents down. They were two rather uncouth boofheads, she thought, uncharitably, yelling and gesticulating, but thankfully not trading blows. The day had darkened as if at twilight, and many cars had their head-lights on. The sun was completely obscured by thick black clouds, that boiled and tumbled overhead. Distantly, thunder rumbled, and bright flashes from behind her car told Gay that lightning was approaching. Jimmy was asleep in the back, and she wanted very much to just get moving again, and finish her journey, before the tempest hit.

After a few minutes the police arrived, and ordered the road-ragers to grow the 'whatever' up, and get driving. The traffic had just started crawling along, when, startling Gay almost out of her seat-belt, a blinding flash of lightning followed instantly by the crash of thunder, exploded around them. Gay had never, ever, heard such an explosion of power and might, save for the blast that destroyed the old chapel at CJ's, place, and before she could compose herself, the windscreen of her little car exploded, and a hailstone the size of a cricket-ball landed on her lap, amid a shower of safety glass.

The hail quickly began falling like a bombardment from artillery. All around cars were veering off the road, their windows smashed and panels dented. Trees were being shredded of their leaves, gardens obliterated, roof tiles smashed, corrugated iron dented and pedestrians were running for their lives. One girl passing by was bloodied by a strike, with blood rushing down her face and soaking her hair. She hopped into the car in front of Gay's, screaming hysterically. The rain was coming down almost horizontally, driven by a frenzied wind, which rocked Gay's old auto from side to side, as if deciding whether to flip it over or not.

Then, after less than two minutes of fury, the hail ceased, the wind died down and the rain abruptly stopped. Car alarms were echoing all around, and dazed people were wandering about, some checking on cars and their occupants, lest they be seriously hurt. Before long Gay was able to get moving again, as a way through the traffic opened up. She drove slowly, passing cars pulverised as if by some demented giant with a club, and a fondness for panel-beaters. Big, old, trees had been uprooted, others denuded of leaves or had had large branches roughly amputated. It was very much worse than any storm damage that she had ever seen before. Gay was struck by the dazed expression of so many that she passed, and the beaming faces of others, who seemed genuinely glad to have survived the few minutes of utter chaos and fury.

The College was similarly affected, but with less obvious damage, A satellite dish was thrown down into a car-park, and the old gingko tree in the Education Quadrangle was badly shaken about, but smashed windows were fewer, and cars dented rather less. Obviously the peak intensity had been elsewhere. As she drove into the multi-story car-park, Gay was suddenly horrified to remember that she had not checked Jimmy once, so thoroughly had the chaos diverted herself from all other thought and feeling. She turned around abruptly, almost crashing into a column, and there he was, sleeping like a ...baby. He hadn't stirred throughout, as if nothing whatsoever of any importance had occurred. Gay almost gasped at his calm, and she, for an instant, reflexively wondered if Jimmy might be deaf. That, of course, was rubbish, but the craziest thoughts sometimes inveigle themselves into our minds, without rhyme or reason.

Gay quickly unhooked the capsule and carried the still dozing Jimmy inside. There was a real hubbub of excitement evident from the astonished looks on faces, and the excited conversations taking place all around. By the time she reached the creche, only a minute's walk away on the same level, Gay had exchanged amazed greetings with numerous strangers, and one or two vague acquaintances. All were in shock, to one degree or another. Inside the creche the children were playing, blissfully unaware of the storm, having been brought inside as the tempest approached. The care-givers were sitting around the TV, which was reporting on the storm disaster further north, no news of the Adelaide storms having come through, yet.

The northern storms were being accorded the dubious distinction of being the 'greatest disaster since Cyclone Tracy', of untreasured memory. One guest inadvisedly declared it the result of 'climate destabilisation' which brought derision from the other commentators. The News host quickly changed subjects, but the trouble-maker kept at it.

' This is ridiculous. Not only is the science settled, it has long been settled. And denying it when weather disasters are coming thick and fast is simply reprehensible!' That set off a cacophony of outrage, whereupon the guest, the only scientist present it seemed, ripped off his microphone and stormed off, shouting something unpleasant about 'morons'. The conversation settled into a polite discussion of the Great Storm of 1896 (apparently much worse than this) and the malign influence on our children of 'warmist propaganda'. Gay didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or both. The carers seemed divided into two camps, too, and a hectic argument began, until a little girl cried out, 'Stop fighting! It's afternoon tea time'.

Gay found the creche co-ordinator, one Olga Wade, a name fit for a prison Governor, and apologised for her lateness for her appointment.

'My dear', the co-ordinator, a middle-aged dowager of relaxed aplomb and formidable reputation, chortled, 'It's a bloody miracle you got here at all. You drove from down by the Coorong, didn't you?' Gay nodded yes, and added, 'We got caught in it around Wayville. It was terrifying, but it was over in minutes, otherwise I would have died of fright, I think.' .The co-ordinator nodded. 'It was scary enough here, surrounded by reinforced concrete, let me tell you'. Ms. Wade laughed heartily, seemingly not at all frightened, not now.

The two women chatted amiably for a while. Gay was interrogated about everything, from CJ (the co-ordinator was very solicitous and sympathetic)the earthquake, the bush, her Mum and her academic plans. After a while Ms Wade insisted on being simply addressed as Olga, which she insisted was a name she loved, because her parents had given it to her, after her great-gran, who had died just before she was born.

'My dear', the co-ordinator said, at length, 'I hope it is no embarrassment to you and that I'm not making an ass of myself, but I do really love indigenous people'. Olga looked a little apologetic for having put it so bluntly, but went on before Gay could reply.

'I generally like everybody...I'm not a hater, you see...not of groups...some individuals...well, you know...',and she rolled her eyes heavenwards and sniggered, '...but Aborigines....I do prefer 'blackfellas'...it's so lovely and Australian, don't you think...'whitefellas', 'blackfellas'.. well, as I say, I like to help indigenous students, and I like the cut of your jib, Gay. It'll be a real pleasure having Jimmy here'. Gay smiled happily at the slightly self-conscious but plainly heartfelt declaration.

'Now, you'd better introduce me to the young man. He's in the capsule, I take it. Is he sleeping?' Gay nodded yes, and got up and fetched the capsule from the quiet corner within view where she had left Jimmy, and, noticing that he was still asleep, she carefully carried him over to the co-ordinator's desk. The 'office' was just a corner of a large playroom, not currently required as the children were next door, painting and drawing and mucking about.

'Well, I never', Ms Wade murmured.'He is a trooper, isn't he. Look, he's waking up.' And she was, of course, correct. Jimmy had timed his entrance for maximum effect, and already a practised heart-puller, he looked up at the co-ordinator and beamed. She was very taken by his baby charisma, and told Gay that he was the bonniest baby she'd seen, since her own boy, twenty-five years ago.

'But I'm biased, of course, Gay. Your son is simply beautiful. It will be a real pleasure looking after him from time to time. Now let's go and join the girls for afternoon tea'. Olga led the way out of her office, Gay following on, carrying the capsule.

The two women joined the other care-workers next door, where tea and cake were being dispensed, and fruit and milk for the kids. Outside the sky was brooding and leaden again, as the view out the north facing window revealed. The conversation was enlivened by disputes over whether the storm was the most violent ever seen by those present, or, perhaps, not as bad as one that '..my gran told me about'. It was agreed, however, that the talk had best not get too doom-laden, while the children were present. The TV was turned up after ten minutes when the first reports from Adelaide came in. Gay had not been in the real eye of the storm, just the eye-brows, so to speak. The next suburb south had been monstered but good, with hundreds of cars damaged irreparably by hail the size of cricket-balls, (the standard definition of 'big' when it came to hail), or so the report went. Tarpaulins were being rushed in, as hundreds of roofs were perforated like colanders, and gardens had been reduced to green, pulverised, sludge. The weatherman was wheeled on, to deny that it was 'global storming', his joke, but to promise more of the same, that night, as moisture continued to stream in from the north. At that Olga ordered the TV silenced.

'There's only so much ...bullshit...(she'd lowered her voice, lest the kids hear her)...that you can take', she asserted. 'And I've reached my limit'. Then she steered the conversation onto creche matters. New toys were coming next week, so the worn-out ones need collecting, for the College collective of retired tradesmen to repair or recycle. The walls were to be painted white outside, to cool the rooms down a little in summer. New curtains had been ordered, etc, etc. Gay learned that there was a monthly parents and staff meeting, that was not necessarily boring, and group trips to the zoo etc. She already felt happily at home amongst the women, and one young bloke, studying early childhood development and getting 'hands-on' experience.

After a pleasant half-hour, Gay made her goodbyes to the creche workers, and 'Olga'. She had decided to stay in town with friends, and rang her Mum to say so. The 'phone rang for a while before Doreen answered, and Gay knew immediately that something was up.

'What is it Mum? You sound really flustered? How's the weather up there?' Gay waited, expectantly, and she heard Doreen take in a deep breath, before replying.

'It's a flamin' shambles, darl. I've never seen such hail. The roof is cratered..the iron's dented everywhere......there's stacks of dead birds on the ground, and....my vegie garden is pulverised.' Then Doreen laughed, a little nervously. 'But I'm still alive...I thought a bloody tornado was coming, and...I'd be blown away.....not necessarily to Kansas....but there was one near Goolwa, so the radio says. Lovely bloody weather'.

Gay butted in. 'We got caught in town. The car's dented, the windscreen's smashed...but the creche is just wonderful...so it's not all bad.' She laughed at her apparent calm, not believing it for an instant, but wanting to affect a certain nonchalance in the face of Nature's fury.

Doreen figured this out, but wanted Gay to be safe more than anything. More storms were forecast. She didn't want Gay driving tonight, so she insisted, 'You'd better stay there tonight love. You can't drive a wrecked car, all the way home, you know...'

'Yes, Mum..of course you're right. I'll stay at a friend's near here. Sally, you met her once, remember? The girl with the tattoos. You told her she was mad, and she said 'Thanks'. Yes, thaaat one. She's a real dear'. Gay let the conversation end there, said her goodbyes and told her Mum to keep safe, taking on the mothering role, again. Doreen, cheekily promised to be good, and hung up.

Gay rang around her friends, getting no answer from Sally, who, it turned out, was up in Sydney having some of her tattoos lasered off, and others embellished. In the end Gay got shelter from the storm from Melanie, a little further into the wilds of inner-city trendy-dom, but with a really lovely little cottage and garden. The drive only took ten minutes, normally, but there were so many road blocks from fallen trees, downed power-lines, repair crews etc, that it took forty. Gay was frightened lest it rain again on her windscreen-less jalopy, but the tempest Gods spared her that trauma. She even found a park right outside Mel's place, courtesy of Mel parking in the neighbour's driveway as she approached. The helpful old neighbour then produced an old tarpaulin, with which they covered the battered Morris, and they retired to Mel's place for the night.

Within minutes, as Mel poured Gay a stiff drink (a rambunctious shiraz with no discernible reticence), the rain was back, at first a pitter-patter, sly and insidious, first soft, then louder, then softer yet, then, suddenly, falling like fury. The clanging on the corrugated iron spoke of hail, and a look outside from the open front door revealed a street embalmed in what looked like vibrating fog, but what in fact was intense rain and hail. The hail was small, but falling in unbelievable quantity. It was soon covering the ground like snow, and blocking the drains on the street, along with masses of macerated leaves and twigs, causing the street to quickly flood. Torrents of water were quickly coursing through Mel's frontyard, but, luckily, the cottage was about a metre off the ground. The water poured next door, where it ploughed through the front garden, bearing the mulch and much of the soil away, God knows where. And so it tumbled down, for fifteen hectic minutes, until, as abruptly as it began, the deluge ceased, and the sun even shone out. It being late in the evening, and the sun low in the sky, this sudden burst of bright sunlight produced a magnificent double rainbow. Gay and Mel were marvelling at its intensity, the brightness of the colours, the strange effect of the storm-clouds within the arches seeming a much lighter grey than those without, and the unforgettable sight of clouds, blown by the prevailing wind, disappearing as if into a vortex as they blew 'into' the rainbow arch, and turning a deep apricot colour, a gift bestowed by the lowering sun. Gay was cast back, in memory, to the same, the almost exact same spectacle as seen back at CJ's place after his burial and the lightning strike on the church. The two rainbows and skies were so alike that it was almost as if the intervening months had never existed. That was a thought so unsettling that Gay rapped her knuckles on Mel's front porch, to wake herself up and bring herself back to reality. Mel rushed to her bedroom to find her camera, and returned to begin furiously clicking. Gay, although transfixed by the powerful and eerily familiar grandeur of the sight, suddenly heard little Jimmy excitedly gurgling in his capsule. She grabbed him and carried him to the door, and he plainly enjoyed the spectacle as well. He threw his little arms about wildly, chuckling and drooling with abandon. Jimmy stared, as if mesmerised, at the rainbows, and Gay did not doubt for a second that he was bedazzled by the beauty of it all. They stood there for at least three minutes, Jimmy little by little settling, possibly exhausted by his excitement, then the rainbows began to fade, gradually, then all at once they were gone, the sun having sunk behind a bank of darkly ominous clouds, the next wave of assault.

Mel went next door to check on her elderly neighbour, who was very disgruntled over her washed-away garden, but her house was, luckily, quite water-tight. As Gay fed Jimmy, Mel visited her mostly elderly neighbours one by one, and was gone a little while, one or two needing some help cleaning up leaks and minor floods, and ringing for assistance. By the time she returned, Gay had settled Jimmy down for a nap, and begun cooking a little dinner.

'I hope I'm not being too forward, Mel, but I had no idea what you were doing, or when you'd be back, so..I helped myself to your fridge, and I've cooked up a nice chilli stir-fry. I hope that's OK'. Gay looked in anticipation at Mel, who just laughed and gave her a hug.

'Thank blazes for that! I wasn't looking forward to cooking, and ...well, I'm just happy not to have to bother. Let's sit down a have a chat, before it starts raining frogs, or brimstone, or some hurricane sucks us out the windows'. Mel laughed broadly at that thought, for a moment at least.

The two women sat down to talk. Gay declined another drink, having Jimmy to think about, and not being much of a drinker. Mel prattled on and on, and soon it was time to eat. Mel's housemate, Jenny, was away in Vietnam having a holiday, so Gay got her room, and she settled Jimmy into one of the drawers in the side-board-a familiarly snug little nook. The two friends watched TV for a while, mostly news of the storm damage, which, along with the toll of death and injury, was mounting up and up. Nothing like it had ever happened in the country before, and there was now little prevarication about 'It was worse in 1896', or similar bunk. The trough that had channelled the moisture south was moving slowly eastward, so New South Wales and Victoria were next in the line of danger now. Queensland was being inundated, with floods everywhere, but the worst was over for South Australia. 'For now', thought Gay, but she was happy enough for the respite.

Around ten Gay retired for the night, while Mel kept watching a reality TV show about redesigning a public convenience while cooking a cordon bleu meal, which seemed recklessly unsanitary to Gay's mind, but she had never had any ambition to find fame and fortune in 'tittietainment'. The rain fell steadily all night, but moderately, even modestly, and it lulled Gay into a deep sleep.

After one early morning feed for Jimmy, the new day dawned bright and sunny, all the city pollution seemingly washed out of the sky. Gay woke to find Mel already up and about, and Jimmy quietly gurgling in his improvised cot. She picked him up and quickly changed him, then joined Mel for breakfast, while feeding Jimmy, who was greedily famished.

“I'd love one of those, you know'. Mel remarked, while holding an half-chewed piece of toast at a jaunty angle.'A baby, of course...I've just got to find a bloke who isn't a baby himself, a bum, or a control freak. How did you find yours, Gay? Where are they hiding?

Gay felt a stab of 'pain at the mention of CJ, but she knew that Mel meant no harm by it. 'He was pretty special...you are so right' She replied, blushing a little, and growing a tad moist-eyed.

'Sorry, Gay...I just think...if you'll excuse my intrusion, that it's...better...to remember just what a good bloke CJ was, you know...rather than sort of forgetting, to avoid the pain. I know it must be awful, but...it's better to talk about it with friends...little by little...I think...'.Her voice trickled away, into that desert where helpful thoughts go to die, starved of the encouragement of grateful acceptance. Mel's whole demeanour was that of one who wished to be thought well of, of one who always feared that she had tried,  just that little bit too much, to be a support for her friends, and who dreaded being thought merely a 'busybody'.

Gay appreciated Mel's predicament, and tried to put her at her ease. 'Thanks, Mel. You are right. I'd better talk about him and let him go, because he isn't coming back. I've got our boy, though, and I hope you have yours one day, too. You deserve it, because you are generous and kind. But, tell me, when are you coming up to visit us at home?'Gay had decided to change the topic, before it grew too maudlin, and steer things onto mundanities.

'Soon, Gay, soon. But, you, where are you going to live next year? I mean, you can't drive all that way with the little fellow in your old Morris, can you.? Have you found somewhere to stay, yet?' Mel's question was quite insistent, almost intrusive, to Gay's surprise. She'd barely mentioned her plans to anyone.

'I don't know, yet. I think I'll rent a flat, but go home on most weekends, at least I think I will. It's all 'up in the air' so far'. Gay had been putting off deciding, but she was convinced that she would have to live close to the College. The commuting was too great, too much money, effort and time on the roads, which were never all that safe, especially near home.

'Well, look no further. Stay here. Jenny's moving out when she comes back. She's moving to Melbourne to be with her 'artistic' boyfriend, a graffiti 'artist' that is'. The 'artist' was pronounced with a certain mocking inflexion. 'He sprays the walls, while she keeps look-out, then takes the pictures that 'immortalise' it all, on some obscure web-site. Still, he is nice and rather good-looking, in a were-wolfish sort of way, but that's all the rage these days. His 'monobrow' is quite fetching, so she thinks....and who am I to argue?' Mel was fairly beaming now, apparently very happy for her absent friend.

'Not that bloke she took to Plastic Arthur's Halloween party? Realllly! Well, good on her. He looked like he needed a lot of looking after, and Jenny's the girl for that job... well, well, a 'street-artist'. I thought he was a copper or something...that short hair, and the gruff manner. He was rather hirsute, come to think of it. Funny old world. But, enough of Jenny. Give me a moment to think it over. OK, I'm in!'. And Gay chuckled at her spontaneity. It was, however, an offer too good to refuse. The cottage was lovely, the area peaceful, the College nearby, and, after a quiet enquiry, she found that the rent wasn't bad, either.

'I own this place, because I bought it years ago, when the area was just on the cusp of yuppification, and worked my bum to the bone paying it off, before the property boom. So I don't need to charge you much rent at all, what with students being so poor. I reckon you're company, good company, and Jimmy's presence will be worth a small fortune. I can't live on my own, never could. Well, that's settled. What amazing luck'. Whereupon the two girls began planning a makeover of the entire place, and the garden. Gay felt really happy, for the first time in quite a while. Then Jimmy emitted a smell signal to indicate that he needed changing and Mel lent a hand with the task, then made tea.

The day stayed fair and mild, so Gay decided to make a dash for home. She hoped that any assiduous police-man who pulled her over for driving without a windshield might be convinced to take pity on her when she mentioned the need to get Jimmy home, before getting the car fixed. So she set out, with Jimmy rugged up against the wind, and she wearing sunglasses borrowed from Mel. And, luckily enough, she saw no police all the way home. There was a good deal of impressive devastation to be beheld as she drove, and, once back home, where the trees were stripped of leaves and the ground furrowed by the tracks of flash flooding rivulets, and welcomed by Doreen with a nice cup of tea, Gay rang the panel-beaters at Goolwa, to pick up the Morris. It would be a few days, they being inundated with work, but they sort of promised three days, at most, and Gay just had to accept that small delay.

With delay being the enemy of something or other important, or so she surmised, Gay broached the topic of moving straight away. To her immense relief Doreen agreed immediately, and gently reminded her that she had not been going to stay at home when CJ was alive. Gay agreed that that had been so, but she asked her Mum if she hadn't hoped that they would stay up home, her and Jimmy, for just a little while.

'Maybe, darling, but....I've always tried to put your best interests first...'. Doreen hesitated, turning a little pale and wrinkling her eyes, as if staring at the setting sun.'....of course I'll miss you, but it's only sixty miles, isn't it....OK...100 kilometres, whatever...not so far....then you have weekends, holidays blah, blah....and I can come down any old time...this Mel, she doesn't mind old black ladies, does she?' She looked mock quizzical, as if trying to stir Gay up a little.

'Mum, of course she doesn't...and you're not old, remember that.' Gay was annoyed, partly because acknowledging her Mum as old (which she was in a way, g+-iven indigenous life expectancy) implied that she, too, would soon be like her. She still fancied herself a girl, despite being a mother...and widow.

'There you go, dear. No problem at all. Let's have a lunchy-breakfasty feed, then we can start packing your stuff. There's no point hesitating. Get it over with, I say.' Doreen chuckled as she struggled to her feet, her sore old joints afflicting her a little harshly. Fortunately, after a few minutes moving, she loosened up a good deal, and, while Gay pottered about, she inspected the vegie patch to see what was salvageable. The fruit trees were badly hit, but she filled up a hessian bag with fallen fruit, fit for jams and to be bottled for winter. The greens were an inedible mess, so she reefed them out, and added them to the compost mountain. Of the tomatoes, the less said the better, the pumpkins were battered and bruised, but intact, while mostly leafless. The root crops seemed imperturbable and impregnable, safe in their subterranean redoubts, although with their vegetation somewhat shredded. The raised beds were everywhere eroded and loosened, so she mounded them up with a hoe, and, suddenly, a good hour had passed. Gay joined her, carrying Jimmy, who was burbling, smiling and chuckling, as ever.

'He seems very advanced, darling. Look how he holds his head so firm, and how he looks you in the eye. My goodness, what a feller he is'. Doreen was impressed, even beyond grand-motherly bias. And at that praise Jimmy let out a tremendous laugh, laughing so hard that he farted, to the women's great delight.

'He's telling me he needs changing.....or will soon, I'd say'. Gay gasped, wiping away tears of mirth. They returned inside, but Jimmy was merely wet, saturated in fact, and got a good wash for his trouble. Gay had whipped up a nice 'brunch' of fried vegetables, harvested before the macerating storm had reeked its damage. They sat down on the porch, with an old bamboo table between them, Jimmy lying peacefully in an old bassinet, and he chatted away to himself. Gay was in fact torn between the desire to stay with her Mum, and the need to live near college. In a way, she had decided that Mel needed company, while her mother had plenty of old mates, near at hand, so she was probably making the right choice, all things considered. She also felt that Jimmy would thrive in the creche, and she could take him to the zoo, the city, the markets, the museum, all of which would feed his growing brain with interesting experiences. Gay was content that it was, indeed, the correct decision. And all around the trees swayed and nodded agreement, and the gentle breeze vibrated the gum leaves that reflected the soft late summer, early autumn, light like little shimmering fish, just hauled from the water. All was well, for a change, and Gay felt hopeful and confident of her future. Happiness was not exactly overflowing, but it was percolating nicely, just under the surface.

Chapter  Eleven. Jimmy and Sammy.

The move to Mel's went off smoothly. The old Morris was quickly bashed back into shape by the lads at Goolwa, such older cars being able to take quite a lot of 'tough love', to use a wretched term, surely invented by a PR hack somewhere or other. Ritchie arrived with a trailer attached to his old bomb, summoned by Doreen, not Gay. He was happy to be of assistance, but Gay suspected that he was rather more fond of her than she was of him, although he kept it well hidden, out of respect for CJ, and everyone else. Of course people cannot help where their heart drags them, but near hopeless infatuation was very regrettable, and Ritchie was, essentially, despite his gruff exterior, a true gent. He thoughtfully spent most time with Doreen, then Mel at the city end, so as not to crowd Gay, at all, even accidentally. Gay understood, so she thanked him nicely at the end, but without a kiss, just a friendly hug, so as not to take any chance of 'leading him on'. Ritchie left very quickly, vowing, to himself, to keep well away, unless requested. He really hated 'love-sickness' in anybody, but in himself....well it didn't bear thinking about.

Doreen drove down with Gay, to help with the unpacking, and Mel welcomed her with a wish that she stay for a few days. That turned out to be a week, as the three got on famously. Indeed the vegie gardener from the Coorong soon hacked out a nice little patch from the jungle of Mel's overgrown backyard. Mel was so impressed that she invited Doreen to stay, as 'Head Gardener'. 'Capability Dorrie' as Gay joked, but Doreen,  after swiftly re-dubbing herself  'Incapacity Doreen', promised Mel that she would soon get on her nerves.

'Mum's a little hard on herself, Mel. She's actually pretty easy going, but can get a little bossy with daughters. You'd better look out you don't become a surrogate daughter...then it might be a little...trying'. Gay was happy with 'trying', not being too harsh, or too forgiving, but perhaps erring towards flippancy. Oh well!

'Don't believe a word she says, Mel'. Doreen chuckled. 'I spoiled that girl rotten, like all only children. You're not a 'singleton' yourself, are you?'. Doreen felt comfortable enough to move into prying mode.

'I wish! 'Mel sniggered.'Four bleeding brothers, all younger by at least four years. A real rat pack, if you'll forgive my …. honesty. Two have done time, for minor stuff, no violence, and all four are dope-heads. Despite it all, Mum and Dad won't hear a word against them. Dad even has a smoke with them, from time to time, the silly old...patriarch'. Mel had meant to say 'duffer' but her Dad was really pretty wonderful, and the boys dope smoking hadn't turned them into no-hopers-just fools. At least they didn't drink much or start fights.

'Sorry, Doreen...I'm getting carried away. They are good blokes...top footy players back home in Gumeracha, which is real social kudos, let me tell you. All married, all got kids...I'm a multi-Auntie....and no trouble with work, just can't kick the weed, or be bothered kicking it. Otherwise they're perfect brothers. The local cops busted Billy, he's the youngest...a couple of years back...you know...for a couple of spliffs...but it was footy finals, you know...so they just 'confiscated' the evidence and let him go. He was 'Best and Fairest' in the Grand Final too, and the old sergeant tried to take the credit. The old crook'. At which recollection she laughed, long and hard.

'They sound a real interesting mob, your family, Mel, Nobody's perfect, never have been, never will be. It is, at least in my experience, preferable to the booze. That's a real killer'. Doreen didn't really endorse dope smoking, if only for the trouble it could get you into with 'the Authorities', but she simply hated boozing.

The days passed quickly, and after the week Doreen simply had to get home, if just to check on things. The night before she left, Mel bought a feast of Thai take-away food, home delivered. Doreen enjoyed the new tastes very much, and made a mental note to grow chillies and lemon grass in pots, and put up a little tunnel-house to keep them safe over winter. She really had to have a go at making such tasty stuff, particularly the salads.

The next day Gay drove her Mum home. Gay's study year had just begun, and she had spent a day enrolling and visiting the library and various college facilities. Doreen wanted to just leave Gay to it, that is study and getting on with re-building her life. Gay didn't waste any tears on leaving her Mum at her old home. She knew that she'd see her a lot, starting with that weekend, when she had promised to drive up and report on matters. Doreen kissed her goodbye and hugged her, but not too hard. She bent down to kiss Jimmy who laid his little hand on her face.

'He's a lefty, you know, love. He always does the gentle things with his left, and his right hand just flaps around like the village.....you know what'. Doreen stroked his cheek, and closed the Morris back-door. 'See you on Saturday, love. I'll get Ruby and the girls over for lunch...a cake lunch, eh? They can see how grown-up and clever you're becoming'. Doreen waved goodbye as Gay drove off, and quickly rushed back inside.

The weather was wonderfully pleasant, not too hot, not yet cold, brisk in the morning, cool at night, clear blue skies, as if compensating for the previous disasters. In fact, the weather tragedies were quickly forgotten by all those who had suffered little, or not at all. Those who had lost roofs, gardens, whole houses or even loved ones, they grieved quietly and privately, and society went back to sleep, too frightened, perhaps, to recognise the perhaps not so slowly unfolding calamity. People obsessed with material possessions, with 'aspirations' to outdo the neighbours, buried under debt, had more pressing things to worry about, or so they imagined.

Doreen slowly repaired her garden. Winter vegies went in, the fruit trees were pruned and damaged limbs amputated. There was a lot of mulching and feeding, and frogs were recruited from a local water-hole for slug and slater eating duties. The pace of work was slow and the routine intermittent, which suited Doreen perfectly. She preferred taking things slowly, which she figured was the blackfella way of doing things, and had suited her people just fine, for umpteen thousand years. It was no surprise that the whitefellas had burned up the place in a few hundred years-the whole planet, in fact- because they were always dissatisfied, always after 'More' no matter how much they already had. Greed was truly the worst disease that you could catch, because incurable, and most whitefellas seemed to have it, and many had it bad. Not my worry, though, Doreen thought. It'll be Jimmy and the kids who'll have to try to fix things up. She silently wished them luck, but knew that she'd be lucky to see Jimmy grown. Doreen would have to concentrate on living healthily, and not worrying too much about anything, because there just was not a blessed thing that she could do about it all. Not a happy thought, she figured, so she stopped thinking and instead listened to music on the radio, and concentrated on pulling out weeds.

Gay arrived as promised on Saturday. Ruby and the old girls were all there and a smattering of young friends and relations. A couple of lively kids, too, and one other baby, a little older than Jimmy. Everyone fussed over the babies, but no-one mentioned the plain differences in development, liveliness and alertness between Jimmy and his distant cousin, Sammy. Sammy was pretty indolent, quiet and withdrawn, particularly next to Jimmy, the baby dynamo. Doreen couldn't help worrying that not everything was OK with Sammy, and his mother, Helen, who seemed rather distracted. Helen kept casting envious glances at Jimmy, but maintained the proper demeanour of shared motherhood and baby fussing. Gay made a great effort to praise Sammy, although she too, noticed his lethargy. Perhaps he's just a slow developer, she thought. Then, as she held Jimmy close to Sammy, to introduce him to a cousin that he, undoubtedly, would have much to do with over the years, Jimmy began gurgling and bubbling enthusiastically, and placed his good left hand on Sammy's cheek, and left it there. Gay didn't move back, and, within a second or two, Sammy seemed almost to wake up, and returned Jimmy's gurgling with glee. Then, just as Helen bent over to see what the commotion was all about, Sammy broke into a broad, happy, smile, and his hazel eyes simply sparkled.

'Oh, my Gawd!' Helen exclaimed.'Look at that! He's never smiled like that before. And all that noise, and...look at the wriggling. Come here you worm...come to Mummy...' She picked her boy up smiling, then looked almost aghast at Jimmy.

'That boy's got the gift, Gay. He's a proper....what would you call it...a proper 'inspiration'. Look at them two...chattering to one another'., Helen exclaimed. It was true. The two babies were gurgling and wriggling, and looking at one another, as if no-one else was in the room.

'You'd think they were twins, by the noise they're making,' Gay exclaimed. Helen's mother Pearl added. 'Sammy's got a new brother, or best friend...strike me....what a happy turn-up', which last she almost whispered, and threw Gay a surreptitious, almost unbelieving, look. Gay leaned over and kissed Pearl on the cheek. She certainly didn't want to claim any special powers for Jimmy, if only to let him progress at his own pace, towards whatever strange fate seemed predestined for him, but this had definitely been quite an odd occurrence. Gay no longer felt that her son was a 'normal' child, if she ever had, and that simple thought scared and elated her, both at once.

'Look at those two'. Helen murmured 'Have you ever seen two babies hit it off like that? They're going to be thick as thieves. No...doubt...about...it'. Pearl gave her a knowing look, and Helen, smiled happily in answer.

'Good God, yes, Gay'. Helen exclaimed, wrinkling her little, snub, nose into a smile, and showing off both her dimples and the incipient, smoker's, 'crows-feet' around her eyes. 'You're right. They are like brothers. We'd better feed 'em and change them, before they get too tired'. Gay nodded in agreement. The two boys were taken to opposite sides of the room, whereupon Sammy went back to a state of relative torpor, while Jimmy quietly smiled his way through a feed and change.

Later, as the two Mums nursed side by side, Sammy by bottle, Sammy rebounded to his more active mode, while Jimmy kept suckling away. Large pieces of scrumptious cake were being handed about, and Gay ate a chunk of apple cake, with lashings of cream, and chatted happily with Helen. The two promised to meet again soon, Helen not living far away, just down the river a few kilometres. As often, Gay wondered just how many relations she actually had tucked away around the place. It seemed like dozens. Still she had a wonderful feeling that Jimmy might really help Sammy to open out, but...how the blazes does he do it? Was his happiness infectious, like a cold? Would it work on other kids? On adults...the answer to that seemed to be an unequivocal, 'Yes', judging by reactions to his presence.

The little get-together went swimmingly, so to say. The babies got back to chortling at each other, the kids played up, the young women chatted, and the old ladies bemoaned their fates. Around three the gathering began to break up, and by four only Ruby was left, and she and Doreen grumbled away, while Gay and Jimmy had a nap. Gay woke after an hour, and set about studying. After a while Doreen asked if she was staying the night, which seemed to surprise her, as if she had forgotten that she didn't live there any more. Gay got on the phone to Mel, and announced that she was 'too tired' to drive, so she'd be back the next day. Mel was happy enough, and they said their 'see you laters', until tomorrow.

The evening passed quietly. Gay worked studiously on an early assignment, wanting to create a good intial  impression, and Ruby and Doreen gas-bagged on the verandah, where it was just warm enough to sit, with a light cardigan or top to keep out the cool, and to keep the warmth within. It got harder every year, Ruby declared, but she was a bit older than Doreen, and she used to smoke and drink, more than a little. After a while, Doreen asked if Ruby had seen the 'meeting' between the babies.

'Of course I did, Dorrie?' Ruby sighed.'When Jimmy touched him, everybody went quiet, even the kids. Like a spell went over them. I'm not kiddin'. It was spooky. Then that little Sammy...he's been as flat as a tack, since he was born. You know, Helen kept drinking for three months...and 'eavy, before she knew she was expecting... poor girl... she blames herself...but she's on the waggon now....well Sammy's never smiled much or done much, and the nurses are getting worried....and there he goes and becomes a ...chatterbox, just like that....that Jimmy...well I never'. Her old eyes lit up and she nodded quite energetically, her dense, white, locks flying to and fro. Through the smile, in her little eyes, set deep in her fleshy face, you could just make out the twinkling of joy, and the sparkling of tiny tears. Doreen was happy for her, happy for Sammy, happy for Helen, but a little worried for Jimmy. After all, people were starting to treat him like an alien, or a magician, or something weird, and people once thought exceptional can easily be thought of as 'exceptionally dangerous'. She felt herself being swept along by a wave of paranoia, and was not happy about that.

Later, after Ruby had left, and Doreen, Gay and Jimmy were in their beds, Doreen took a good deal of time to nod off. Her mind was racing, full of the strangest thoughts and premonitions. She, naturally, began to recall the old dream, and was a little surprised that Ruby had not brought it up, so to speak, when talking about Jimmy's special influence on people. With luck, the old chook had just forgotten it. Who knows, but she was getting forgetful. Then there was all the weirdness up at CJ's place, his crazy old Gran (God bless her) etc, etc. Doreen was in a quandary, or several. She even thought to wake Gay and tell her about the dream, but decided that it would just make matters worse. Later, later, would be better, perhaps never would be best. In the end she was forced to turn on the radio, and the drone of ABC waffle soon sent her off into a deep sleep.

When Doreen woke, having not dreamed even a little (a blessing she thought)the morning was misty and cool. She struggled out of bed, threw on her old winter dressing gown, her 'dressing-down dressing gown' as Gay called the old thing, and trod tenderly on sore feet to the kitchen. Gay and Jimmy were asleep, still, so she put on the kettle, and brewed a tea. She sat down on the porch and watched the sun shadows piercing the fog, which thickened noticeably by the minute. Soon the house was blanketed in dense, grey, fog, and some of the shadows of the few people moving about were surrounded by haloes of faint rainbows, an effect that Doreen had not seen before. Birds flew invisibly through the mist, screeching raucously, then suddenly materialising, in a slash of green and orange. How did they know where they were going, at such speed? The magpies were singing a treat, and various other songsters were joining in a late dawn chorus. Doreen listened, raptly attentive, wishing she had a tape-recorder. Then, suddenly aware of a presence, she turned to the door, and there, standing on his own two feet, was Jimmy, apparently having turned about three overnight, smiling and singing to himself, just like his great-grandmother. He turned to Doreen, and she felt as if she was falling, tumbling down into the depths of his dark eyes, but she felt no terror or trepidation. She just gave in and flew away, and suddenly the old familiar world was gone, and in its place there was....

A light and friendly hand, Gay's of course, which woke her from the dream, just at the critical moment. Doreen was so frustrated by waking just when she knew that something really tremendous was about to be revealed, that she almost shouted with anguish and frustration. Gay was instantly solicitous, taken aback by her mother's obvious distress.

'Sorry Mum...I didn't mean to startle you....were you dreaming, all alone on the porch, in the fog.....was it a nightmare? Gay was worried for her mother, who generally never flew off the handle.

'Bloody Hell, Gay. Haven't you heard about waking dreamers. How they can lose their souls to the dreams. I was just...you know...going to learn...something, something …..inexpressible, and now I'll never know. Oh damn it all!' But Doreen was already over her annoyance and most of her frustration, and she offered Gay a sip of her tea,

'Well there you go,' Doreen sighed..'Some things have to remain secrets, I guess. Not your fault. Who knows, maybe you saved me. Maybe the dream was too important to come back from, you know, like those killer dreams the old bush blokes used to use to knock off other dangerous men. My gran, she used to say, that her gran had said that, if you had one of these dreams, that you would keep dreaming of yourself dreaming, until you were so deep into the dreaming that you couldn't get back, and they found you dead in the morning ...either with a happy smile, a terrified stare or just a blank, lost look, but D.E.A.D. dead. Maybe someone's trying to get me, the old-fashioned way, and you just saved my bacon, in the nick of time'. Doreen rather liked her tale, and her own embellishments in particular. That's the way to keep stories going. Keep re-inventing and re-creating them.

'Oh, Mum. Have you been at the vanilla essence again? What a palaver. You're frightened someone's pointed the bone at you?' Gay chortled, mighty relieved that her Mum was making a joke out of it. The two women retreated from the foggy porch, and closed the door, to keep the creeping blanket of moisture out, and with it any spooky death-in-dreamings.They quickly cooked up a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon and other, left-over, stuff, and while Jimmy still slept, they gobbled it down, rather greedily.

About mid-morning, the fog finally having lifted, Gay set off back to town. As they lifted Jimmy into the car, in his capsule, Doreen bent to kiss him bon voyage. Once again he laid his good left hand softly on her cheek, and Doreen again felt that vertiginous pull of his deep, dark, eyes. Fear of heights is not all fear of falling, it has been said, but rather also of surrendering to the void and jumping voluntarily. Doreen knew that Jimmy's eyes didn't lead to death, not physical death, at least, but to something transfiguring, like a death and then a rebirth into some other thing …. mysterious and new that she had never known, but guessed at or vaguely sensed, from time to time. Doreen pinched herself, to break the spell, whereupon Jimmy grunted in a slightly disgruntled way. That boy doesn't know his limitations, yet, she thought, and certainly doesn't comprehend those of others. She pecked Gay on the cheek, and off she and Jimmy drove, into another glorious, sunny, day.

Chapter Twelve: The Dreadful Dream Fulfilled.

Gay's studies went well, in fact rather better than she had hoped for. The teachers liked her, and she found that a brief introduction to Jimmy had them eating out of her hand. She even began to feel slightly....opportunistic, perhaps, at using Jimmy like a lever, but he continued to have this strange effect on people, young and old. The creche staff loved him immediately, Olga Wade calling him 'That Magic Child', and she soon used Jimmy to calm down the more over-wrought newcomers, and longer term recalcitrants. He was soon crawling everywhere, enjoying touching other babies and little children, always left hand first and most often, and generally calming things down. Olga asked for permission to film his progress, and, after some thought, Gay agreed, but only for instructions for the staff. Olga agreed that it would be best to take things slowly. Jimmy's rapid progress and innate gifts were best left to mature in their own good time, everyone agreed. And by eight months he was walking, and saying more than a few words. Olga enquired if Gay would allow a child development expert to assess Jimmy, for study purposes, and Gay agreed, so long, it went without saying, that she was present.

The boffin put Jimmy through some simple tests, many of which he knew from the creche, and he flew through them. Other more difficult, unfamiliar, tasks took scarcely more time, and his creative play and interaction with others seemed to bemuse the researcher.

'He operates like a top-notch two year old, but he's not yet one...you say. He's rather physically advanced, too. Delicate movements, incisive, deliberate, of that left hand. Quite remarkable. He is...(he hesitated, for greater effect) 'one of us', I mean Homo sapiens, you're sure?' At which attempt at humour he laughed and promised that he was, of course, 'merely joking', but he was thinking 'Midwich Cuckoos'.

In the end the developmental researcher, to give him his title, simply recommended that they keep up the stimulus, with lots of rest, lots of play, etc, all the usual stuff, and he promised to come to his high-school graduation, at age eight, by his calculations. He warned against 'hot-housing' or too high expectations, and parted with one last recommendation.

'Make sure he learns music. Any type, so long as he learns the language. I'd bet that he has perfect pitch. Music broadens the mind, no doubt about it. Appreciating it is great, but making it, understanding it...that's the high road to achievement. We should all aim to be as near perfect as we can. Your boy will get closer than most, I would say.' The childhood behaviourist, for that was another variant of his academic identity, seemed almost embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, and his little eyes, bright and lively, darted from face to face, seemingly imploring forgiveness for his excessive excitement. He quickly packed his toys and pictures, promised to remain discreet regarding Jimmy, but implored Gay to allow him to test him again at six monthly intervals. Gay, agreed, a little reluctantly, but with Olga Wade nodding in agreement, she felt that it could do no harm. It was October, so it was three months to his first birthday. Jimmy was already walking, now quite steadily, talking more and more, and devouring kids' puzzles and such like. Gay almost felt as if she'd prefer that the break-neck speed just slow down, so that she could enjoy his babyhood just a little longer.

Gay was now often taking Jimmy, in a pram, for walks to the shops, and on buses and trains. He loved travelling, seeing people, smiling at them, touching them, always left hand first, cheering up people wherever he went. The end of the college year saw Gay sail through her tests, her assignments already highly praised. Christmas was great fun, the summer not so bad, the storms much less than the year before, a nearly 'normal' summer, so far. New Year was quiet, then Jimmy's birthday drew near, and the preparations became intense, for 'the party of the year', as Doreen dubbed it.

The party did indeed go off well. Many of the assorted relatives were there, kids by the dozen, old Aunties etc, etc. Thelma and Sandy travelled down, too, as Gay was working over the holidays to earn some funds for the next academic year, so she and Jimmy couldn't travel north, this year and, besides, Gay decided that she would rather not do so in summer. Jimmy was the centre of attraction and loved every minute of it. All and sundry were impressed by his walking and speaking, which were both progressing famously.

The year that followed was also very satisfying. Gay once again did awfully well at her studies, even more than the year before, yet again surprising herself more than her teachers. She thought of CJ all the time, but the pain was losing some of its biting and bitter edge. And she had 'little CJ', Jimmy, at least. Jimmy loved the creche and his friends. He saw Sammy often, when he and Gay visited home and when Helen visited town. Sammy was developing very quickly, too, no longer a laggard but forging along. At the creche Olga Wade supervised a sort of 'obstacle course' for Jimmy, to entice him along a little, and his six monthly progress check-ups continued to impress the developmental behaviourist, as he had re-christened himself. Gay did, however, draw the line at a MRI scan which his assistant had wanted to perform, that being rather too intensive for Gay's liking. Olga absolutely agreed. 'They'll turn him into a laboratory specimen if we let them', she observed.

Jimmy began his recommended music 'lessons' which amounted to listening to music, of all types, being given 'instruments' to bang and hit and group sessions of banging and hitting, but he always came back to his singing. Often it was whalish hums, clicks and whistles, but he soon added bird imitations, even impersonations, and then, as he neared two, human singing of nursery rhymes and nonsense songs.

In the winter of Jimmy's second year, during the July semester break, Gay and Doreen took him back to his Dad's and his, birthplace, at 'Rainbow Serpent Dreaming', which seemed to be its local name, in some opinions at least, near the Plenty Creek. Gay had been sending e-mails to Sandy, with attached pictures, as Jimmy progressed, but seeing him in the flesh again was very much the better. His great-gran had, indeed, completely vanished as she had said she would, and the authorities, displeased by such voluntary 'disappearances' had taken a while to declare her 'deceased'. Otherwise the ladies were unchanged, although Mabel was living most of the year away, in Alice, working as a secretary.

The settlement had grown a little. A couple of 'grey nomads' from 'down south' had settled in, living in a big caravan, and driving off in their 4WD to explore the Never-Never. More solar-panels and a better satellite dish had added to the 'mod-cons'. Old Brownie hadn't been seen since the day they collected his electric snake-skin, which Thelma had had mounted and framed behind glass, at some expense, and it now occupied one wall of her living-room, fastened, due to its weight, to a roof beam as well as the wall. Visitors all thought it a work of art, not a real, sloughed-off skin, so kaleidoscopic were the colours. The two weeks that Gay and Doreen could spare were a perfect break from the rat-race back home.

The next Christmas and New Year were very hot and dry. No great storms ventured south, and the Wet was Dry up north as well. Jimmy's second birthday was kept a quiet affair, just a few kids from the creche and his best mate Sammy, who had progressed to being almost as far advanced as Jimmy, and with whom Jimmy seemed to possess an almost psychic understanding. Sammy would pass just the block Jimmy needed for a Lego creation, or pick the best word for a story, or the right colour for a drawing of a flower. Jimmy would reciprocate in like fashion. As if they were 'Siamese twins joined in the mind', as Doreen called them one day. Indeed the link was so close that Gay sometimes sensed that Helen was withdrawing a little, not visiting so much and keeping Sammy to herself. Sammy, so she said, would pine for Jimmy if too many weeks passed between meetings, and she'd have to invite them down to her place, only an hour's drive away, or go up to the Coorong themselves, just to keep Sammy happy. Although he always was delighted to see Sammy, Jimmy never mentioned him between trips. The boys sang together a lot, all the time, in fact, during some visits. Nursery songs, animals songs, birds songs, anything that came into their heads. And never a fight, over anything.

They both grew, physically, very quickly. And they'd run everywhere, climb trees, fall out, all pretty hair-raising for such little ones, but nothing got broken. They saw which were the best height to climb, the safest, the right trees with the strongest branches. No running through long, snaky, grass, however. Nothing crazy. Level-headed 'toddlers'. 'Two going on ten', said Helen one day, when they carried in a jar full of frogs.

Gay's exams had gone according to her hopes. She had been instructed to do Honours, or else, by her tutor, so next year would not be her last. Gay had found a part-time job in the Library, to bring in money, which, with Doreen's pension and tiny cache of super, meant they could afford a decent sufficiency. Mel was happy to have her company, still, and was like a second Mum to Jimmy, often baby-sitting him at weekends while Gay worked in the Library. Thelma, Sandy and Mabel all came down from the north for another visit and holiday, and crammed into Doreen's place, staying two weeks and having a great time. The Big Smoke, however, was not to Thelma's liking, and she much preferred the few days they all spent on Kangaroo Island.

All in all time was flowing along gently, various acts of commission and omission, and sundry accidents were all happening as they should and will regardless of our feelings or predisposition, with no great dramas or disasters disturbing the relative calm. After all, as Doreen often thought, there had been more than enough drama and heart-ache, and the peace and quiet was far preferable. Gay had had more than her fair share of misery. She often day-dreamed of her job to be(she had definitely decided on librarian), a comfortable little home, Jimmy growing up and Doreen perfecting the art of pulling weeds in the vegetable patch. More than that was of no great interest to her at all.

Doreen helped out a bit from time to time at Jimmy's creche, when she stayed in town for the odd week or two. She and Olga hit it off famously, and formed the hardcore of Jimmy's fan-club. Olga eventually offered Doreen a part-time position, to earn a little dosh, which Doreen promised to consider. Three seconds later she said 'Yes! You bloody beauty-if you'll pardon my French, Olga, dear.' Unfortunately she could not start until the new year, not long after Jimmy's third birthday. Which, after Christmas and the New Year came and went, was the next 'Big Deal', for which the planning began early, then went into overdrive, as the day approached, Gay having decided on a big bash after last year's relatively quiet celebration. Jimmy grew excited and excitable, for him, which meant he invited everyone from the creche, and asked for a rocket-ship birthday cake, and just one, big, present, not lots of little ones and then, for the first time in his life, he got sick, really sick.

At first it was just a sniffle and a runny nose, which surprised Gay as he had been 110% healthy all his natural born days, all 1100 or so of them. The 'cold' soon worsened, and, when he had a temperature of 40 degrees the next morning, Gay drove him to the Children's Hospital.

He was seen quickly, the triage sister assessing him as a Priority 2, and soon a phalanx of paediatricians, nurses, infectious diseases experts, etc were surrounding Gay and Jimmy. After a couple of hours, Mel arrived, with Doreen in tow, driven down in Mel's brother's ute, from home. Doreen couldn't take it all in, but kept out of the way, to give the doctors and nurses room. Jimmy had by then been cannulated, and given antibiotics, in case of meningococcal disease, luckily, for the familiar rash soon appeared. He was taken to ITU, and closely monitored. All through the drama, he remained calm, and collected. 'One of the best patients, child or adult, that I've ever seen. Does he ever cry?', said one nurse. All that night and the next day the fever raged, the rash spread a little, but then stabilised. Jimmy did not cry, because he never cried much, but he seemed to withdraw into himself, and he was gone inside for quite a while.

Although the potentially deadly disease had been nipped in the bud, Jimmy took a long while to recover. He left ITU within two days, but in the ward he remained listless, almost unresponsive. The paediatricians cautioned that he might have suffered some cerebral insult, but were optimistic because of his age, and general good health. After which hopeful prognosis, the days rolled by, and still he remained terribly flat, the precise opposite of his usual liveliness.

After a week, a big group of Gay and Doreen's friends came down to visit. Doreen had organised the trip, to cheer Gay up and offer support. Helen and her Sammy were there, and Sammy was a real picture, now as lively and happy as Jimmy had been before.

'It's a bloody miracle, Gay. Ever since Sammy met Jimmy...well, you know how he perked up right away..and then, back home, he just kept getting livelier and livelier...you've seen him often enough since. The Baby Health nurses were very impressed, and so are the nurses at our local practise....and, well, I just had to bring him down, you know...to see if he could cheer Jimmy up. You mustn't worry love...your Jimmy will get better...it's just a matter of time.' With which happy affirmation Helen smiled so brightly that Gay felt a real infusion of optimism.

Sammy sat next to the hospital bed, in which Jimmy, who was staring, blankly, at the ceiling, lay quietly. Sammy immediately began talking rapidly and happily, saying 'Hello' and urging Jimmy to come and 'Have some fun', which generally meant mucking about. He raised himself on his arms and leaned right over Jimmy, murmuring now, more softly, and then he placed his hand on Jimmy's cheek, just as Jimmy had on Sammy's before, when they were babies. Sammy stared at Jimmy a while, quite quizzically, turning his head a little to the side, then, after a few seconds, he smiled very brightly and laughed, all of a sudden, quite out loud. 'See, Mum! Jimmy's better! We'll have lots of fun, now!' Jimmy had turned to face him, and, slowly at first, then with a real quickening, he smiled, for the first time since he had fallen so ill. Within a few minutes, the two were hugging and chuckling, and Jimmy turned right over, sat on the edge of the bed, still looking a little queasy, but with his pallor rapidly disappearing, and struggled to his feet, then turned and lent a hand to Sammy, who also stood up. The two friends stood there exchanging friendly smiles, and Jimmy said, rather croakily, 'Mum-I feel much better, Mum. I was very sick, you know', to Gay, who answered, 'Yes. You had us all really worried'.

Gay, who had been watching the sudden recovery of her precious boy with her habitual amazement at Jimmy's wonders, but with the added excitement of seeing him return to normal in just a few minutes(somehow she had never doubted that he would, in time, fully recover)thereupon burst out crying, and picked him up, and kissed him on both cheeks. Jimmy returned the favour, kissing her back, and gazing intently at her. All the other visitors flocked about, and the senior nurse, noting the hub-bub, also joined the throng.

'Crikey! That's quick! Ten minutes ago...well, he wasn't doing much, was he....who's his little mate?' she said, indicating Sammy.

'That's Sammy... Jimmy fixed him up a when they were babes and Sammy was a bit...'delayed', and Sammy's gone and paid him back, now. Blimey...you wouldn't read about it'. Doreen observed.

'Jimmy 'fixed' him...what do you mean?' the nurse was intrigued.

'I'll explain it later, but, dear, could you get a doctor to come and check Jimmy out, there's a pet'. Doreen was insistent, but polite. This transformation needed medical supervision, or so she thought, just to make it 'official'. The others, particularly Gay and Helen were going to be pretty hopeless for a while, what with all the blubbering, so she thought it better to take charge.

In no time, for a hospital, thirty minutes in layman's terms, the paediatric registrar arrived. She had been one of the pessimists concerning Jimmy's long period of stupefaction, and was rather incredulous at first, and, not having seen the pre-illness Jimmy, was in for a shock. As she examined him, Jimmy smiled and giggled, and then started singing, a lot like his old Great-Gran from the bush. The registrar finished her examination laughing, and, addressing Gay, asked, 'What is that...singing...he's doing.? It sounds so melodious...and mysterious. Did he do it before?' Her face was etched with surprise and wonder, not usually her state three-quarters the way through an eighteen hour shift.

'Jimmy does, a little, you know, ...but this is the most I've heard, for a while. He sits in the garden singing to the birds, sometimes. It's pretty strange...you'll think me odd, I guess...but, it's just like his Great- Grandmother, up bush. She sings, or rather she sang, like...just like that...I've got no idea what it means, if it 'means' anything, but...there it is', and Gay nodded appreciatively in Jimmy's direction.

By now Sammy was joining in the singing with Jimmy. He was being held by his Mum, having been lifted up out of the way while Jimmy was inspected. Sammy turned to his Mum and said, 'It's better singing with Jimmy. He knows the best songs, and you just follow him, and make it up...as you go along.' He joined Jimmy, after Helen put him down, both standing at the foot of the bed and the two friends began singing away together. The paediatrician pulled her mobile phone out of her white gown, and set it to record the song. It went on for another few minutes, then Jimmy stopped, as if he had finished all he had to say, while Sammy went on, quickly gaining in confidence and volume. Then, after a little solo lasting several minutes, which Jimmy watched with smiling admiration, he too had finished what he had to say, although his song trailed off rather than ending abruptly. The two mates then raced over to the little play area, and set to mucking about with each other and two other kids who were there. The assembled group, including the other visitors who had been there seeing their kids, exchanged introductions and opinions on what was going on. It had everybody intrigued. The young registrar played back the singing, and promised to copy it for Gay and Helen. She confided that it was one of the weirdest thing that she had seen yet, and asked permission to play it for her 'senior colleagues' and the child behaviourists. Gay agreed, outwardly happy enough, but inwardly beginning to worry again over all the attention Jimmy kept drawing to himself. She just wanted him to lead a quiet, non-amazing life for a while.

Doreen, too, was beginning to half fear Jimmy's capacity to shock and confound. She hoped that it would all simmer down soon, because the sheer impact that he could have simply turned her mind back to the dream, and all its horrible implications. Funny how such wonderments could have us turning fearful, she thought, but these were double-edged blessings, unfortunately.

As Doreen pondered these dark and gloomy imaginings, the singing began again. Turning to see who it was that had decided to entertain those assembled again, she saw that it was not just Jimmy, who led off, or Sammy, who quickly joined in, but the other two children as well. One a little girl, about three, who had been in hospital for months after nearly drowning, the other a beefy toddler, just out of traction after a spiral fracture of his femur. All four were sitting on the floor, and joining in, although the melody was a bit distorted, the newcomers being more enthusiastic than yet accomplished. The paediatrician was already taping, as she had been filming Jimmy in the play-pen.

' He's like a Mastersinger'. She blurted out, regretting her rather precious comparison as soon as it passed her lips.'He just sat down next to those two, then started murmuring, and...well they seem to have picked it up. They started out, just following his lead, but now they're right into it....amazing!' She looked as if she wanted to join in, too, but her  grown-up self-consciousness precluded such disinhibition.

The singing went on for a few minutes, growing rather more complex, then the newcomers stopped first, and went back to their toys. The mother of the little girl, who looked partly amazed and somewhat aghast, picked her up, and, smiling nervously at Gay, took her back to her bed.'It's time for her nap, I think. Too much excitement....' And she hurried away to the corner of the ward, casting one furtive look over her shoulder.

The other three played happily, and the paediatrician declared Jimmy finally on the road to full recovery, and left to answer her numerous pages. She was very keen to share her experience with others, so that she would not be considered 'prone to exaggeration'. The various parents and other visitors chatted away, animatedly, then it was rest time, and only parents were allowed to remain. Doreen led the others out, and they decamped to a nearby Italian cafe for a coffee. Helen, who had brought Sammy, as Jimmy was soundly sleeping, as if totally knackered by his swift recovery, was still pretty excited by it all, and she prattled on excitedly.

'It's like they're brothers...sort of brothers..don't you think, Doreen? I mean Jimmy's the 'big brother'..but Sammy...he's just a new boy, since....that business at your place. Look at him, now...he's so calm and aware, watching everybody...and he's the pre-school's top boy, if there's such a thing. Reading, talking non-stop...and only three. And I thought that I'd...you know, with the booze...well I've been on the flamin' waggon ever since. Now I'm just a caffeine addict. A long black, thanks Dorrie'. Doreen was shouting, to celebrate, in properly caffeinated and abstemious fashion, Jimmy's miraculous recovery.

Doreen ordered the coffees and, naturally, cake, While she was over the proverbial with happiness at Jimmy's recovery, as even she had begun to worry about him, the story of Sammy's 'recovery' as a baby having been exposed, if only partially, really concerned her. She had long feared Jimmy turning into a freak show, with sick and backward children being brought to him for some sort of blessing, or...God knows what. Current affairs TV? The horror!

Just then, as Doreen was pondering her little grandson's peculiar destiny, Helen, who was facing the window, exclaimed,, 'Oh, look. It's Gay. She's looking for us, I think. You'd better go and call her, Doreen'. She pointed across the road, where the great concrete hulk of the hospital loomed over the inner city streets and lanes.

Doreen struggled to her feet, and shuffled arthritically to the door. It was getting on for seven, and the evening was gloomy. It had begun raining, rather steadily, and the sun was almost set. She called out and waved to Gay, who answered immediately. The traffic was busy, and the rain began to pelt down. Gay was getting soaked, and she began to grow impatient at the steady stream of cars and trucks. Just then a gap appeared, as a truck laboured up the hill, giving her an opportunity to reach the median strip. Gay jumped off, and looking intently in the other direction, to see if there was a chance to complete the crossing in one go, she didn't see the battered old sedan, driven at break-neck speed by a reckless idiot, racing along but hidden from view by the truck. Gay's usual caution in crossing busy roads had been allowed to waver, influenced first by excitement and elation, then by the intense desire to get in out of the rain. Even so, she did almost make it to the median strip, alerted to the danger by the swoosh of the oncoming car, careering over the wet and greasy road. The driver had no time to brake, and he hit her pretty full on, and she was flung away, like a rag-doll, right across the road, landing not far from the cafe, where Doreen had witnessed the whole horrific scene, as if in slow motion, standing under the cafe's awning, next to the door.

Doreen let out such a scream, so primal an outburst that she felt as if she would fall down dead on the spot. She stood frozen immobile, as cars screeched to a halt, and several people jumped out to lend assistance. Doreen's inability to move suddenly vanished, and she rushed to be with Gay, but went at it too fast, and tripped and fell heavily. By now a number of the other visitors from the hospital, including Helen, had leaped to action, and while some went to see if there was anything they could do for Gay, others rang for an ambulance, and Helen attended to Doreen.

Doreen was whimpering, from what would turn out to be a broken wrist and an all too plainly gashed head, but far more from the hideous pain of seeing her only child, her baby, smashed lifeless (for so it seemed) right before her eyes. The sickening thud as the car hit Gay echoed in her mind. Helen knew that Doreen had to get to Gay's side, so she helped her limp, dripping blood from her lacerated scalp, over to where a little knot of people had gathered around Gay. She was in a pretty bad state, blood seeping through her clothes and onto the footpath. Gay was unconscious, fortunately, and, fortuitously, seemed not, from external appearances, to have hit her head as hard as the rest of her. Her right leg was plainly badly broken, sitting at a ghastly angle. A nurse returning from dinner took charge of the first aid, and quickly found the source of the bleeding, from a laceration right across her belly. The nurse applied pressure with a tea-towel, from the cafe, and tried to ascertain Gay's neurological status. Internal injury seemed certain, from her deathly pallor, thready pulse and the sheer force of the collision. Fortunately, an ambulance raced across the road, direct from the Hospital Emergency Department, where a nicotine-addicted visitor had witnessed the accident from the 'Smokers' Lounge' in the car-park. In no time at all, just a few minutes in fact, Gay was surrounded by staff, ambulance and emergency, and they quickly stabilised her condition, ready to move her across the road.

All this time, just those few minutes, seemed like hours to Doreen, who was dumbstruck. She needed attention too, but she only had thoughts for her daughter. To make matters worse, the thought ghastly and seemingly foreordained,  would not leave her that 'the Dream', that damnable dream,  was coming true. All the silence and pretense that it never happened had been to no avail. Doreen blamed herself, although for precisely what in particular, she wasn't certain.

Gay was loaded, still unconscious, onto the ambulance. She had had her right leg splinted, a neck brace fitted, and intravenous fluids were flowing as quickly as possible. Her blood pressure was pretty low, and falling, so internal bleeding was almost certain. It was better that she be stabilised in the hospital before going to a major trauma centre-that was the agreed course of action. The ambulance officers helped Doreen to sit inside the back of the ambulance, and one paramedic got the general drift of what had happened from her, and took notes. As the ambulance doors closed, Helen, sobbing hard, waved a dejected hand at Doreen, then joined the others, and they all set out for the pedestrian crossing and the Hospital Emergency. All in all, fifteen minutes had passed since Gay made the fateful decision to run for shelter from the rain. Across the road, the police were interrogating the driver of the car which had hit Gay. He was just on his way home, for his son's birthday, and he never saw Gay coming. She just ran out, onto the road. He didn't cry, but his guts were knotted tight. The police breathalysed him, and, it being negative, they let him ring home. That's when it hit him, and he let out a wail that startled even the hard boiled coppers.

In the hospital, Gay was taken straight to the Resuscitation Room. While the nurses and doctors followed the well-practised routines, stabilising her condition and deciding whether she was fit for ITU at this hospital, or required transfer across town to the big teaching Hospital and its major trauma centre for adults. Doreen was also being assessed. Her wrist was x-rayed, and her head too. Nurses and doctors kept asking her what day it was, where she was, to poke out her tongue etc, and shining torches in her eyes. She received an injection of Morphine, it being considered safe, as she did not appear to have suffered any neurological damage from her relatively and blessedly slight head knock. The bleeding from her scalp had ceased, so the nurses cleaned the wound, and glued in together with adhesive usually kept for the kids. All the while nurses carried information back and forth on how Gaye was faring. Her x-rays had shown a ruptured spleen, torn liver and a good deal of internal bleeding, hence the blood pressure problem. She was wheeled past, intubated and monitored, heading for emergency theatre, and that was that.

Doreen asked if she could have Gay's effects, meaning, mostly, her jewellery. Once they established that Doreen was the next of kin, the nurses consented, and handed over a yellow envelope. Missing, alas, was Gay's rainbow serpent of the pair that CJ's Gran had given them. Doreen made a strong mental note to ask a nurse to keep an eye out for it, and see if it had come off ….when it happened....but she was so sedated by the Morphine that she nodded off. The few minutes of narcotic dreaming that she experienced were not pleasant in the least. She kept striving to wake, but could not, and the image of Gay sailing through the air, her crashing down like a wounded bird, and the dreadful, hollow, thud of the impact, all ran over and over in her mind. Luckily, after a few minutes, the nurse shook her awake, to check that she was alright, and to tell her that she had a visitor. It was Mel, Gay's house-mate, who had been visiting earlier, before Helen's mob, and gone out for lunch with a friend (a longgg lunch), and returned to find the other visitors milling about out the front (the smokers, mostly)from whom she heard the dreadful news. She had taken the shock quite bravely, and prevailed on the triage nurse to be allowed to check on Doreen.

'You're in a right mess, too, Doreen' she began. 'How's that arm?' Mel looked rather more shocked than concerned, however, plainly being more worried about Gay, but not wishing to broach the subject right away.

'Yeah, yeah...I'll live', Doreen snapped, uncharitably.'Look, darl, don't worry about me. I want you to do me a favour.' Doreen suddenly seemed frail and vulnerable, and it was not because of her fractured wrist. She felt like her world was rapidly darkening, as if it was ending, but, if the worse came to pass, she still had Jimmy to look after, and he had nearly been plucked away so recently....Doreen's mind was racing, one tormenting disaster after another popping into her mind, as if reality was not cruel enough for her. But she gathered her thoughts, and gave Mel two instructions.

'Mel, dear....go and check on Jimmy and see that he's OK....then get some news about Gay...ask the nurses to keep checking on her...there's a love. Get back quick. These dope-dreams are not so good...Look out, they're coming for me'. With which she waved Mel off, as the nurses and doctors approached.

Mel, nodded a greeting to the staff, squeezed Doreen's good hand, and hurried off. Behind her, Doreen was wheeled away to have a back-slab applied, she being judged sufficiently doped up to take the procedure. Doreen enquired after Gay, but all the nurses could say was that she was in theatre, and would go to ITU afterwards. They were all matter-of-fact, but sympathetic. You couldn't let the tragedy get to you, Doreen figured, or you'd burn out in a day. All around the other emergency patients were a sorry lot, sick kids and suffering adults attending them. Doreen was glad to be out of the room, where fourteen patients were crammed into the space designed for ten, and being pushed down a lonely corridor, and into the Plaster Room. The procedure was painful, but the psychic pain of not knowing how Gay was doing, well that was infinitely worse.

Doreen was back in the Emergency Room after thirty minutes, and Mel, and Helen were sitting quietly, waiting. Mel spoke first,

'Gay's in theatre, and they won't tell me more. I'm not a relative, of course' She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, but only with the right side of her mouth, and a little wrinkling of her cheek and nose. 'I saw Jimmy, though. He's awake, and sitting quietly on his bed, just staring off into the distance. The nurses were a little worried about him...they thought that he might be feverish, or having some sort of 'absence' seizure...but when I told them about his Mum, they both said....well one said, then the other agreed...that, it, I mean his waking up and then just sitting and staring, well it began about the time Gay was hit. You see...she'd only just left when he'd fallen asleep, and after she'd given him that little snake to wear....

' Doreen cut her off, right there.'Sorry, Mel...sorry to butt in ...but the rainbow snake....you know that it was Gay's...and CJ had one....was buried with one....'. The conversation was straining her reserves of calm, yet again.

'Of course I do, Doreen' Mel retorted, looking a little surprised at Doreen. 'Gay showed it to me, and told me all about it....and the other one. She was going to give it to Jimmy when he'd grown up.....God knows why she did it today. It seems quite, you know....', but she couldn't finish, because it was, really, just too ominous to put into words what she was thinking.

'You mean...she knew, somehow, that it was her time. She knew...' Doreen, too, couldn't utter all the thoughts that she was having.

While the nurses busied about, getting Doreen ready to spend the night in the surgical ward, all the adult hospitals being full to the rafters, Mel filled Helen in on the rainbow snake story. Helen looked, from time to time, over at Doreen, her face a picture of consternation and disbelief. After a bit, she excused herself with a kiss, and told Doreen that she was going to join the others in the waiting room, where they were all nervously hanging about for news. The pleasant day out, the happiness at Jimmy's recovery, all that had evaporated like the rain on a road on a hot summer's day.

Doreen was eventually wheeled upstairs.Mel tagged along, to be of any help that she could. It was now long past visiting hours, but the nurses were flexible. Doreen found the double-room congenial enough, her room-mate a poor little girl with a fractured femur, and rather an odd mother, heavily tattooed and, seemingly, more heavily sedated than her daughter.

After freshening up a little, Doreen indicated that she wished to visit Jimmy. She gave the nurse in charge a brief run-down on the day's calamities, and the nurse, an older woman, not far behind Doreen in years, was almost moved to tears. She had a more junior colleague fetch a wheel-chair, in case Doreen felt giddy, checked her blood pressure as a further precaution, and instructed the younger nurse to take Doreen  ward. Doreen had her promise to check with theatre, again, on Gay's progress. As Doreen and Mel disappeared down the corridor, towards the lifts, she did, indeed ring theatre. What she was told left her knotting her brow, in sympathy and concern.

Doreen hated being pushed in a chair. The young nurse was friendly, but not overly so, a fine discretion, or so Doreen thought at that particular time. He was a careful driver, too, so it took about five minutes to reach the kid's ward. It was named after some Grand Dame of Hospital history, and it was quiet. A little light shone from the nurses' desk, and Doreen saw that the nurses had moved a bed up near to the desk, so they could keep a close eye on one of the children. That child was, unsurprisingly, Jimmy. He still sat quietly on the little bed, his dark eyes seemingly burning with unchildlike concentration, and staring straight ahead. Doreen leaned over to kiss him, having alighted from the chair, wishing that she could pick him up, and she immediately noticed that the seemingly brilliant intensity of his gaze was in fact the light reflecting off silent tears, that were trickling down his cheeks.

' He started, just before you got here', a young, pink-haired, nurse declared. 'We heard a little sniffle, and, there he was, silently crying.' She looked bemused, perhaps even a little frightened. She placed a caring hand on Doreen's good shoulder, which did her peace of mind no good, at all.

And, just then, as the nurses' hand rested lightly on Doreen shoulder, little Jimmy bent his head back, and cried out, not loudly, but urgently and painfully, and his tears began to fall the quicker. His sobbing grew louder, and more rhythmic, like one of his songs, but sad and dirge-like. Doreen asked Mel to pick him up, as she could not, and give him a hug for her, which she did willingly. Jimmy reached out to Doreen, his eyes over-brimming with tears, and Doreen could see that he knew, that he had, somehow, understood that his mother was gone. She hardly felt the need to have theatre rung, but she asked politely and calmly, for that phone-call to be made, just for confirmation. The young nurse did the needful, and her impulsive grimace and lowered voice told Doreen all she needed to know.

'That's alright, love' Doreen reassured her.'Little Jimmy knew. I knew as soon as I saw him, well, I knew, too. Don't be sad. Gay was a grand girl, but, that's that.' Doreen felt more sorrow for the nurse than for herself. Mel was crying buckets, and deferred, naturally, to Doreen, but Doreen was like a rock. After all, she had known, somewhere within, that the dream had, just had, to be true, all along, and that Gay's fate had been sealed, God knows how long ago. And now it was over, done with, irrevocable. She would just have to concentrate on looking after Jimmy. Her feelings were deeply conflicted. Doreen felt that being Jimmy's Mum would be a rare privilege, but it wasn't right, it wasn't her place-it was Gay's. Not for the first time, the finality of death confounded her. She dreaded seeing Gay tonight, so much, that she had the nurses ring the theatre again, to beg off seeing her until the morning. Doreen then sent Mel home, and, on the way, to tell the others to go, too, nothing being left to do here. And then she insisted on staying with Jimmy, propped up in a recliner chair. Doreen gave Jimmy a half-cuddle, and he hugged her back, tightly, sobbing a little but not speaking. And so the night passed, Doreen getting precious little sleep, while Jimmy rolled over the once, facing Doreen, but stayed awake for a good hour, until sleep overcame him at last.

Chapter Thirteen: Gay's Parting Letter.

While Doreen dozed fitfully on and off, at about one-thirty, the Night Supervisor spoke to her, to see how she was coping. After which she left Doreen alone to her sad thoughts, and asked the night duty nurses, as well, how she was faring. She listened, intrigued, to the story of Jimmy and his tears, but when the nurse mentioned the time (which she had noted, on paper)she was even more surprised, in a most discomforting way.

'That's really about when they began to lose her. About ten. She was bleeding everywhere inside. They gave her forty units of blood, and Gelofusin and every drug they could think of.....but they couldn't stop all the bleeding'. The Supervisor had had to read the theatre report and speak to the nurses, it being a coroner's case.

'And she....passed away....at 10.32, give or take...is that correct', the younger nurse asserted.

'Well, yes....the certificate says 10.33, actually...did you ask the theatre people?' The supervisor was beginning to feel quite faint, for some obscure reason.

'No, Sister...that was just when Jimmy, her baby, began sobbing and...sort of...singing, you know, like a ...really sad, sad, song. We all knew then, starting with his Gran', at which she nodded to Doreen, who was stirring a little.

'Stuff and nonsense, Nurse. You need to take no notice of superstitious gobbledegook from...Abos!' The Supervisor was instantly back home in Queensland, back to red-neck territory, and habits of mind that she thought were well behind her, somehow provoked by the weirdness of events, and the unease she felt because of them.

The young nurse was, for an instant, quite dumbfounded. However she was a brave girl, but not recklessly so, and she replied, quietly but respectfully,

'Sister, I saw it myself, and I'm certainly not a ….black person. I'm sure that you didn't mean to be so ….blunt, did you? Her voice was instinctively modulated to contain a mild rebuke in a sugar-coating of understanding, without inappropriate judgmentalism.

The old Supervisor recognised the life-saver, and grabbed it, gratefully. Best not to get a reputation as a bigot, which she was not, now, although she once had been. She made a mental note to keep an eye on this nurse- she had 'human relations''capabilities'.

'Thank-you nurse. I was out of line, there. It's just hard to accept these sorts of things, unless, like you, you've seen it with your own eyes. Give Mrs Kartinyangarra all our condolences again when she wakes, and I will see her in the morning....the morning of her mourning, I suppose....and I'll take her to see her daughter.' Then they discussed the other child patients in the ward, and their condition for a further twenty minutes.

Doreen woke, fully, about five. The nurses were busy with early morning, end of night shift, work. Some children were awake, needing feeds, or changing, both, or just attention. Jimmy, however, was now fast asleep, lying on his tummy, covered by a blanket. Doreen could see the rainbow snake, now hanging on the cot-rail, having been considered a choking risk while sleeping. A tiny risk, of course, but the more experienced paediatric nurses could well remember unbelievable tragedies that no-one had foreseen, so they were always on guard against the impossible.

Doreen had not dreamed of the tragedy. Indeed she had, strangely, dreamed of storms and sinister, distant, tornadoes, reaching down from the sky like roots from a fig-tree. Always far off, and sensed, like a prickling of the hairs on the back of your neck, before being seen. Doreen took a few seconds to recall the tragedy, and realise that it was all too real, not some horrible nightmare or illusion. She had to bite her lip to not start blubbering. Doreen was determined to look after Jimmy, to fulfil whatever ghastly 'purpose' was behind all this tragedy. Both parents gone! A little orphan boy! But he still had her, and Thelma and his aunties up bush, so he'd be right. She'd see to that, or die in a ditch trying!

Doreen borrowed some towels and gave herself a wash in the bathroom. She put on a hospital gown, and hospital dressing-gown one of the nurses found her, amongst the linen, and helped herself to coffee and biscuits. Jimmy slept on. Then, about six, the Night Supervisor returned. She was ready to take Doreen to see Gay. Doreen decided against taking Jimmy, now, and slumped back into her wheelchair. Well, it was, in fact, another chair, pushed by an orderly shanghaied from Emergency, the 'Super' being too grand, and her arthritis too severe, to push wheel-chairs any more.

The mortuary, of course, was in the basement, and Gay was laid out on a bench in the 'viewing-room'. She was translucently pale, from the blood loss, but, thankfully, looked as peaceful and beautiful as ever. All the various intravenous and central lines inserted in the vain effort to save her life remained in situ, as she was to be examined officially, by the coroner. Doreen understood this, but the super explained it all, thoughtfully, in case she didn't know. Doreen touched Gay's cheek, and almost recoiled from the coldness of it. She did not cry, but, after one kiss on her forehead, turned to the Supervisor and asked to leave.

'Is that all, Mrs Kartinyangarra?' She asked, lest Doreen be unsure of herself.

'Yes, thank-you. I'll say good bye properly, later. With her boy. That's all, thanks' And she sat down, heavily, in the wheelchair. They soon were back in Jimmy's ward, where Doreen poked at the food rustled up for her by the kitchen staff, her appetite gone, her belly a knot of pain and despair. The nurses were consoling, having heard all the details from the Super, and Doreen retired to an armchair near the communal TV, for those who couldn't afford the expense of the bedside arrangements. Doreen was surprised that they still allowed free TV at all, as it must cut into the precious profits of the TV renters, but she took advantage to watch the morning news shows. The commercial ones were the usual farrago of crime stories, to keep the public frightened, 'human interest' stories of no interest to Doreen, particularly not, at this time even more than before, the public airing of others' grief and tragedy. The exploitation of personal tragedy had always repulsed her, and she really did not understand how people could allow themselves to be so cruelly used, but, well, she ended that train of thought as too unsympathetic, and turned instead, to the ABC. There the news was, self-consciously, a little more, say, middle-brow, while the compulsory political inclination was not at all camouflaged. The dreadful weather disasters coming in from across the world, floods, droughts, landslides, melting ice-caps, were all just 'natural variability' as one talking-head after another assured the punters. Doreen particularly appreciated how the 'journalists' were so subtle at asking their leading questions, although one meteorologist got his lines wrong, twisting the phrases, but, then, realising his error, getting them in the right sequence, with that concentrated air, and gazing upwards as if for Divine Intervention, of a disinterested school-kid reciting poetry. Ah, yes, rather too obvious, that routine, she thought. A wave of revulsion had her turn to the Looney Tunes cartoons, and the comparatively decent antics of Bugs Bunny and the incomparable Daffy Duck. A furtive thought, that it would be wonderful introducing Jimmy to this lunacy, crossed her mind, but was swamped by regret at the instant it meandered across her disconnected thoughts.

Jimmy woke about eight. He was still quite tired, but hugged Doreen hungrily, although he still did not speak. Jimmy neither ate not drank, and moped about. At half past Doreen and a nurse supervised a shower, and he dressed himself in new shorts and tee-shirt, then sat on his little chair, once again silently. At nine o'clock the Orthopaedic mob traipsed in, having been told that she had spent the night with her grandson. Doreen was to be discharged and return to the Fracture Clinic in a week to see how things were, but the surgeon was pretty sure that she would need screws and plates etc. He was decent enough to sit down at her side, while his minions looked on, and ended by saying, 'The sisters informed me of your terrible loss, Mrs Kartinyangarra, and...I'm ...well I'm truly sorry for the loss of your daughter. More than that I cannot say'. He was a fairly young and homely fellow, but he was undoubtedly sincere. Doris was grateful that he had left it brief, and to the point, with no mawkish or maudlin embroidery. From one heart, thankfully empathic, to another, sorely broken. He gave her good hand a consoling squeeze, and they all trooped out, the last, the dogs-body intern, a girl, smiling a sad farewell. Not a bad lot, Doreen thought. Orthopods had a bad reputation for gruffness at times, she knew from others' experiences, but this mob were suitably humane. And now Yosemite Sam was being outwitted by Bugs-as he would be for eternity.

The nurses then sat down with her, and politely enquired when and how she would be leaving. Doreen knew that she would have to stay in town, and really, all she could afford was to stay at Mel and Gay's place. Better ring Mel, and see if she could pick her up. But Doreen's first priority was to see to Jimmy's welfare. Doreen felt a little stronger, than yesterday, so decided to walk back to the surgical ward. She told the nurse in charge there that she had had to stay with Jimmy, and the nurses all nodded in understanding. Doreen was told, before leaving to return to Jimmy, that her pain-killers and outpatients appointment would be ready in a couple of hours. That particular nurse gave her a nice, little half-hug, a squeeze and a whispered, 'Be strong, Doreen...for the little one', which seemed not at all too familiar, just reassuringly human. Doreen returned the compassion with a peck on the cheek, and left, having come over all misty.

Back in Jimmy's ward most of the children were playing, quietly in the main. Jimmy was sitting noiselessly on his bed, staring at his feet, or so it seemed. The nurse told Doreen that he seemed to know that something bad had happened. He still hadn't eaten.

'Who is there for him, apart from you, that is?' the nurse enquired, tentatively and with not a little hesitation at prying.

'Well, dear, you see....it is just me.....now he's an orphan....his Dad died nearly four years ago....he never saw his son, or knew that he was coming....and now, his Mum..... it's just me and his cousins and aunties and uncles, of course, of which there are heaps. He'll be OK' Doreen had reassured herself, a bit, by listing all those that she could rely on.

'I'll have to get the social worker to see you, to tie up the loose ends...that's all. I know that for...Aborigines...there's some reluctance, you know, to let social services intervene...after the child removal stuff....but our social workers are very understanding. Can I make an appointment for you to see one?' Doreen was instantly on guard, but she also knew that there was no way of evading the system.

'Yes, love...you do that. How much longer will Jimmy be here? It's a mystery to me.' Doreen had only just thought of that problem, much to her surprise. She had really left all that to Gay to worry about. Now she'd have to play Mum again, starting with a broken arm. Tricky. The nurse replied, while mentioning that her name was Mona, a detail that had slipped her mind when she had first met Doreen, that Jimmy just needed a day or so of tests, to ensure that he had fully recovered, which would start today, with a full paediatric check-up.

Doreen asked for and got permission to take Jimmy for a stroll, in a pram, for an hour, at most, as the paediatricians were expected at noon. She checked that she could push the pram one-handed, with not too much difficulty it turned out, so they strapped him in. He was still very diffident, but smiled once or twice at Doreen, who bent down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes did light up at that, which cheered everybody up. And so they left, escorted by another nurse, Kylie, who had the morning tea coffee orders to collect from the cafe downstairs.

By the time they reached the ground floor, it was ten-thirty. The need to phone Mel was done away with, as she was there, sitting in the corner, sipping a latte'.

'I was just trying to summon up the courage to see you, Doreen. I didn't sleep a wink. How did you go? Mel enquired softly, and her red eyes and puffy, and her general hang-dog expression testified to her deep sorrow. She had come to be firm, even best, sisterly friends with Gay, in the last two, nearly three, years, and with Doreen, and was yet another deeply impressed by little Jimmy, so the events of the last week or so had affected her deeply.

'On and off, dear. Not much. Now, I'd better not beat around the bush- can you take us in for a while...my arm will take a while to heal....and I can't go home...not with Jimmy...not till I can look after him properly. What do you think?' Doreen tried to not look too demanding, but not like she was a-begging, neither.

Mel laughed, just a little. 'Doreen, if you can bear to live in Gay's old place, then you can stay as long as you need...or like. The memories might be hard, though...don't you think?' She hadn't really thought this through to herself, so her nose and cheeks were somewhat quizzically twisted at the prospect. This left her with a rather odd expression, which almost had Doreen laughing, but she put a lid on that, firmly and quickly.

'Melanie, sweet girl....the whole world, the rest of my life, will be nothing but memories of Gay. But life goes on, and I've gotta look after Jimmy...see him through to being grown-up...so I'll not be wallowing in grief or self-pity. Can't afford to. I've got to convince the social workers first, apparently, so I'm going to be on my best, most optimistic behaviour, from right now!' At which prospect, despite her instant fear that it looked silly, almost hysterical, she let out a loud guffaw. It felt good, however, and relieved a lot of tension. Mel appreciated it, too, and they fell to nattering about domestic arrangements, and tickling Jimmy from time to time. He progressively picked up, always having loved to be tickled, growing steadily more lively, although in between excitements he fell into quietness and contemplation, if that not be too grand a word for a three year old's behaviour. Well, nearly three, his birthday being but a week away, now. Doreen knew that Gay had sent out invites, already, to Sammy and other little relatives, and to the kids at the creche, for a party at Mel and Gay's place.

'Mel, I've just been thinking...yes, it's a nasty habit, but I can't help myself...I've been thinking about the party. What do we do about the party, for goodness sake? Doreen was in a quandary, and was looking to Mel for assistance. It did seem, on one hand, inappropriate, because the party would be near the funeral, and everyone would be ill at ease, but then, it was only really for the kids, who wouldn't know. And it might help Jimmy get back into the swing of things, so to say.

'Well Doreen, I'd definitely say, 'Go ahead', because you've just got to 'Go Ahead' now, don't you? You're not the kind of person to wallow in self-pity are you. Sorrow and grief, they're inescapable and they are....well, they're actually healthy, but only if they fade over time, and don't grow and grow into a real burden. Do you think I'm right?' Mel had decided on a short assertion, rather than a lengthy homily, to test the waters. Let Doreen agree, bit by bit, if she would.

'Yes, you're right Mel. The party goes on!' And just as she made that declaration, Helen and Sammy, along with a couple of Helen's sisters walked in, to visit and commiserate. Helen parked Sammy next to Jimmy, and the two mates, in no time were chatting away, with Sammy plainly very solicitous of Jimmy's sad condition. In a few minutes the two had escaped their prams and commenced playing 'catchings' around the foyer. The adults exchanged hugs and tears were spilled, then they left for the ward, the paging system having requested Jimmy's presence back there.

It was for the paediatric consultation. The senior on-call paediatrician, the second in charge of the department, was present, with various other colleagues. She apologised that the Head of the Department was absent, being on an 'overseas junket' in Lisbon. 'Perks of Office', she proclaimed.

'Your turn will come, dear' Doreen assured her.

'Not a moment too soon, I'd say. You know, he never walks down stairs with me, and always gets an intern to sip his coffee if I've been out to get it.' She smiled at her own cheekiness. The others in her posse looked on, slightly abashed.

'My last promotion' Mel interjected, smiling wryly, 'was as the result of a silver stake being, tragically,  driven through the heart of my Boss. No, no kidding...',  she drawled, oozing sarcasm, but it had at least taken the heat off the paediatrician. Now Mel had taken the lead in the 'Inappropriateness Stakes'.

At that, as Doreen and the others chatted, and Sammy played happily with the other child patients, the paediatric gang put Jimmy through the process of assessment. After half an hour, the paediatrician, who introduced herself (while apologising for forgetting to do so before) as Phoebe, Phoebe Innes, took Doreen aside, into the office, and closed the door. This, Doreen felt, was slightly ominous.

Fortunately it was just respect for privacy. Dr. Innes began by kindly offering her condolences, and enquiring whether Jimmy knew of his mother's 'accident'. When Doreen merely nodded affirmation, leaving out the details, she seemed satisfied. Phoebe had found Jimmy delightful, still a little withdrawn, but that was not unknown in one who had been so sick. His blood results were excellent, and he was so easy to get samples from! Very co-operative. The nurses had reported rapid cognitive and behavioural recovery since yesterday, and Doreen informed the paediatrician of little Sammy's role in that recovery. Before she knew it, Doreen had blurted out the whole story, during which Phoebe's round, high-cheeked face had grown, from its initial diffidence, at another grandmother's whacky tale, to curious and, finally, almost excited. Doreen finished, stopping herself from the temptation of mentioning all the other 'signs and wonders', lest she seem altogether crazy.

Phoebe sensed that there was more to be said, and she intended finding out, out of sheer curiosity if nothing else, but slowly, without prying. She told Doreen that Jimmy was so well recovered that no scans were in order, and that he could leave, that day, but she would like to check his progress in one month. She made an appointment, on the spot, through the Outpatients Department. Doreen promised not to forget, and they parted with a friendly handshake. And, within the hour, they were home, at Mel's, Doreen having picked up her medications and appointment card from her ward.

Doreen did her crying privately, not wishing to alarm Jimmy. The reality of Gay's death finally hit home with full force, and Doreen feared that it would only grow and grow, for the rest of her days. At least she had Jimmy to think of, which gave her life continuing meaning. He had to be nourished, somehow. Not just food, and he was a hungry little blighter,  but the question of how he would react to his mother's sudden disappearance also bedevilled her. She sat and talked it over with Mel, and Helen, who had come along with Sammy, so that Jimmy might have someone to play with. The three women worked out a plan of action. They decided that Jimmy would best not see Gay, thinking that it might have some effect worse than her just suddenly not being there. They had no idea if they were right, so Mel rang a Social Work Hotline, to talk it over. When she returned, after waiting on hold for half an hour, she reported that the anonymous social worker had agreed that it was the lesser evil, and thus it was decided.

Doreen also rang the creche, where Jimmy had been missed, and Gay had not had the time to tell them when Jimmy would be returning after his illness. She spoke to Olga Wade, who started out bright and breezy when hearing that Jimmy would return the next day, but who gasped, then snorted as she suppressed her sobs, when told of Gay's death.

'Oh, dear-that is just awful' she said, and repeated, but she gathered her wits quickly, and went on.

'Jimmy will need his friends, here, Doreen....he's the real pet here.....so lovely...oh, dear....it's just unbelievable......Gay was such a dear girl, such a good mother...but we must think of him now, first and foremost. Bring him in tomorrow, and we'll look after him. Maybe a short day...what do you think...to begin with...yes, yes, that's the ticket, I'd say..' and her voice trailed away, like she had run out of puff, as she waited for Doreen to affirm her ideas.

'Yes, yes, Olga...that'll be just fine. Bit by bit...see how he goes...yes, I agree....nine o'clock, then up to lunch....see if he's happy. He's still rather...flat, you know...not yet his old self, but...he's getting there, poor darlin', at which thought Doreen sniffled a little, but not too much. She was going to be strong. 'He knew, last night, Olga. The nurses said he woke up, just when things started going wrong in theatre, and he moaned and cried, exactly when she died. But he ain't said a word yet, to me, and he was so chatty yesterday, with Sammy'.

The women parted telephonic company with Olga gushing yet more copious condolences. Doreen was, in the end, just happy to escape, the effect of too much sympathy beginning to get her down. She did, however, remember to tell Olga that Jimmy's party was still on, the coming weekend, at Mel's place, and Olga Wade promised to be there. That conversation over, and just as the three women began to prepare afternoon tea for the boys, and themselves, Ruby rang, from back home, ringing Helen, who passed the phone to Doreen. Ruby started out hysterical, and grew more unbridled in her anguish from there on. The stream of words, jumbled and indecipherable much of the time, had Doreen demand that she calm down, or put someone else on the line. Ruby handed over to Sandra, her cousin, whose mobile it was that was in use.

'Listen, Sandra...tell Ruby to calm down a bit, or I won't be able to talk to her. Now, tell me...what have you lot heard up there?' Doreen was firm and expected sensible answers, which she got.

'Dear me, Doreen. What have we heard. Well...that Gay was run over and died, right outside the hospital, right in front of you, and you....were so shocked, that you tripped and broke your arm. That's what we heard...oh, and that Jimmy is better, poor little orphan lamb!' Sandra was a pretty plain-spoken and tough girl, so her simple recitation didn't surprise Doreen.

'Yes, that's bloody well it. She actually died in theatre, under surgery....not on the spot...otherwise...Now, tell Ruby to calm down, and put her back on, but...she's not to speak...just listen...do you understand? If she starts squawking again, I'm hanging up on her. Tell her that!' Doreen did not need others transferring their anguish and emotional incontinence onto her. She had enough of her own to cope with.

Sandra agreed, and the muffled sounds of the mobile being handed over to shaking, arthritic, hands were followed by the heavy breathing of barely suppressed distress.

'OK, Ruby. Did you get the message. Only say one thing, 'Yes', until I tell you to. Do you understand?' Doreen felt harsh in speaking so bluntly, but that was her decision, and she was practised at sticking to decisions. But her heart was aching, and her stomach was knotted again. Her mouth was dry, and her eyes sore and itchy. Doreen's being was revolting against reality, against grim reality. Death is the Boss, try as we may to ignore it. It brings order, finality and certainty to existence, there was no doubt about that. It is that ultimate reality that hears no argument and brooks no impediment.

'Yes', came the muffled, squeaky reply.

'Good. Now listen', and Doreen outlined the tragic events. Once or twice Ruby tried to interject, but Doris quieted her with sharp 'Not yets' and 'Not now, Ruby', until she was finished. Her last words were a sharp command not to mention the dream, the now horribly realised dream, not to her or to anyone else, and to not discuss it with any of the other dreamers.

'It's come true, that's for sure. I always knew, somewhere inside my head, that it would. It was too, too big a deal, really...but I kidded myself, even after Jimmy come along...like a fool, but also because I knew that it couldn't be changed. So, listen to me here, Ruby, I never want to discuss it ever, with anyone. You tell the others, and make it plain. Never. Ever. You got that?' Doreen spoke as harshly as she had ever uttered words to Ruby.

'Yes, Doreen. I understand. Now, can I speak?'. Ruby was sniffling a good deal, but otherwise, thankfully, composed.

'Yes. I'm all ears'. Doreen regretted the flippancy, while she approved the change in her tone. It had just popped out, quite spontaneously.

And the two old friends discussed things, for a good while. Plans for Jimmy, ways and means to get a decent income, as Doreen's pension and superannuation were not exactly generous, but Olga had hinted that there was a creche position coming up soon, so a silver lining to that particular grey cloud was perhaps on the cards. Plans for the funeral were more confounding. Gay had always said that she would like to be cremated, and Doreen had always hushed her when she made such declarations, thinking it inappropriate in one so young. But there it was. They talked on and on, until Ruby started repeating herself, and Doreen decided that they both needed a break, so she abruptly ended the conversation.

'That's enough, now, Ruby. I'm tired and I need some pain-killers. Give us a ring tomorrow. I won't be home until the funeral, OK. We'd better go to the old parlour in Goolwa...they've always looked after a lot of blackfellas. I've gotta stay near the hospital, and I need Mel's help with Jimmy, so I'll see you later. Remember...no talking about that bloody dream!' and she 'hung up, at least metaphorically in her mind. Doreen pushed the 'End' button, and the word 'End' seemed terribly apt. Her life had ended when that car hit Gay, her old life as a grandmother. Now she had a new life to lead, a short life it would be, no seventy years in it, just twenty, if the powers spared her, perhaps a little more, and all for that little fella. Doreen sat and watched the boys playing. Jimmy was more active still, running around like mad, but sometimes still relatively quiet and withdrawn. He and Sammy even wrestled good naturedly, like big cat cubs, over a little toy train. In the end, Jimmy having unbalanced Sammy and wrenched the train loose from his grip, simply laughed out loud, and handed it back with a smile. Sammy chuckled, too, and Doreen could not help the recurrent thought that the two were like twins, separated at birth, but reunited later. They seemed to be able to anticipate one another's actions, although Doreen decided that she was probably reading too much into it, and, needing adult company, she withdrew to the kitchen.

'How was Aunty Ruby, Doreen?' Helen inquired. 'Over the top, as ever, I dare say', she chuckled good-naturedly.

'Don't be too hard on her, Helen. But, yes...she was on board the express train to Hysteriaville, no doubt about that...but I calmed her down...and that's that. Now, let's eat! I'm famished.' Doreen had suddenly gotten her appetite back, for which she felt slightly ashamed. But she needed to eat before taking her pain-killers, and her arm was aching.

The rest of the day passed quickly, then Helen had to head home. Mel gave her a lift to the city, where she caught a bus to Goolwa. A long trip, but her car was not exactly road-worthy, and her husband was away working up north, repairing storm damage at a big mine. It was good money, but required long absences. Mel waved her off, and Helen promised to be back for the party, on Saturday. Mel also offered to have her stay over that night, if necessary, there being 'plenty of room', and Helen cheerfully agreed. It was lonely at home.

While the others were absent, Doreen plucked up the courage to enter Gay's room. She had not had the gumption to do it over the previous few hours, but now, perhaps as her senses were somewhat dulled by the pain-killers, which were strong, she overcame her trepidation.

Almost as soon as she entered, she saw an envelope poking out from Gay's Diary, which was usually kept under lock and key, in that true teen-aged fashion, that Gay had never outgrown. Extracting it, Doreen saw that it had the one word, 'Mum' written in a bold hand right in the middle. It was not sealed, and Doreen quickly pulled out the single page of plain writing-pad paper, from lecture notes or some such. Doreen saw the 'Dearest Mum', which started the letter, and which unnerved her. Gay never said nor wrote 'Dearest'. She fumbled about in her bag, in search of her reading-glasses, and having found them in the very bottom, perched them on her nose. Doreen began to read, slowly and deliberately at first, then rapidly to the bitter end.

'Dearest Mum. Here's hoping you never read this. I've been having this dream, on and off, but recently it comes almost every night. It's Jimmy's party, and everyone is there, everyone but me. The whole mob, like at his two other parties. I'm not there because I'm dead. This letter is just for you, and only if it comes true. I feel really stupid writing it, but there's nothing for it. Maybe we'll have a laugh about it, one day. But, I keep thinking that you know something, about Jimmy and me, and you're keeping it from me. Sorry to be so suspicious. If I am gone, look after Jimmy for me, and for C.J.

All my love, Gaia.

Doreen felt as if the letter should drop from her hand, like in some Hollywood melodrama. But all she could do was grip it ferociously tight, as if in the throes of some electric shock. Her head spun, and she turned to the door, where Jimmy was standing, holding onto the door-frame, his face placid and composed. 'Mum is dead. I know Gran. I can talk now, but it hurts a lot' he said, frowning wearily.

Doreen brushed past Jimmy, stooping to kiss him on the cheek, and, in the kitchen, she lit the paper over the sink, holding it up and turning it so that it burned away entirely. Then she turned on the taps, and washed the ashes down the drain. Just then, Mel materialised behind her, having returned home rather quietly.

'What's cooking Doreen? It smells like you've burned some paper, or something like it.' Mel was not too interested, and Doreen was not of a mind to get her too involved in the matter. In fact, Doreen had already decided that no-one, ever, would know of that note. That was her very firm decision.

'Burning old letters, dear. Well, just the one, really, from the water company. Bloody pirates.' Doreen was pleased to see that the ruse appeared to have been carried out successfully, but in truth, Mel just wasn't that interested. Then Doreen rushed back to Jimmy and picked him up and hugged him ferociously. Jimmy hugged her right back, as hard as a three year old can.

The evening passed quietly, and Doreen retired early, but lay awake a long while, wracked by anguish over Gay's letter. It really seemed like life was now not just a cavalcade of ongoing events, random, chaotic, unknowable, but some dreadful pantomime worked out beforehand, by something or other, some power, probably, given the turn of events, malevolent, and designed to drive her mad. Doreen's state of mind was not helped by the narcotic effect of the pain-killers, but at least she'd declined a wine offered by Mel. She was torn, between keeping all these mysteries secret, or confiding them to someone so at least to be able to have some other party judge whether she had gone stark, raving, bonkers. But who?

Jimmy was asleep by nine o'clock, rather too late really, and Mel stayed up a while, watching TV. In the end they all slept very soundly, and woke much refreshed. Indeed Doreen felt a little guilty over sleeping so soundly, just so soon after so great a tragedy. She felt almost callous.

The week that unfolded from that awakening seemed to go very quickly. Doreen was contacted by Social Work at the Hospital, and they promised to send her some documentation to regularise her role as Jimmy's new chief care-giver, as his next of kin. The orthopaedic team rang to remind her of her appointment, in a week, and to check on her progress. Jimmy went to the creche every day, for increasing periods, and fell straight back into the routine. By Friday, as Doreen and Mel picked him up, Olga Wade was able to report that he was as 'good as new' and talking 'twenty to the dozen'. He was picking up new expressions every day, and chatting interminably. Jimmy was, as she affirmed once again, 'remarkable'. At home, he never again mentioned his Mum's death, but now and then could be seen gazing wistfully at nothing in particular-nothing visible. He simply concentrated, in his seemingly inexhaustible prattle on childish twaddle, the sort of stuff that excites three year olds, when the world is new and vast and infinitely mysterious..

Then there were the police, who arrived on morning, solicitous and sympathetic, to take Doreen to formally identify Gay, and make a statement about the accident. Gay was free of the tubes and drips, now, very dead, very beautiful, very serene. The Coroner had received the post-mortem report the sergeant told her, and she would receive a copy, 'in due course'. Realising it a little unsympathetic, he added, 'Soon, I'm sure Mrs Kartyin-garra', stumbling a little over her name. And that was that. Doreen arranged for the Funeral Home (funny word for its purpose)in Goolwa to pick Gay up, and that was that. Doreen decided, to everybody's consternation, to have no funeral service at all. Ruby, for one was fit to spit chips as they say, but Doreen quietly asserted her authority. 'We'll remember her at Jimmy's party, and that will be all. I could not survive a funeral'. An insidious fear rooted in the debacle of CJ's funeral, had insidiously crept into Doreen's mind, she was, definitely, determined not to invite the wrath of Nature, again. Doreen had also decided to keep Gay's ashes until Jimmy could help her decide where best to scatter them, in a few years, she supposed. Then they could give her a little family funeral.

Quite quickly enough, Saturday rolled around, and the party preparations were in full swing. Helen and Sammy travelled down on the bus on the Friday, taking advantage of Mel's offer of accommodation. The two 'brothers' got straight back to playing together, as always, adding a good deal of new silly chatter to the mixture. Helen once again swore blind that Sammy had gone from the slowest, well almost the slowest, at her Child-Minding Centre, to the quickest by some margin, now a real staple of her conversation in any setting, all since he met Jimmy. Doreen shyly inquired whether Helen thought, like her, that they were so much alike, and Helen nodded vigorously in agreement, even wincing as her too vigorous assent hurt her neck.

'Like twins..well not identical, of course, but like twins separated at birth. What do you think, Doreen? Am I onto something', Helen pleaded.

' As I've said often enough, they were separated before birth, dear. I'd say that. Hatched out of one egg, like Castor and Pollux (misremembering her love of Greek myths)then placed in two different mothers, then, after a while, they met up, at last. Sammy must have suffered that division more than Jimmy, for some reason, but, once they were re-united, like, you know....they were destined to...' Doreen wasn't allowed to finish, which was good, as she had already begun to regret her slightly lurid fantasy. She had been about to utter 'Psychic Siamese Twins' or something like that, but drew back, alarmed at her own repetitive nuttiness.

'Destined! That's so true, Doreen' Helen interjected, cutting off Doreen's flow, thankfully.'It's fate. You've gotta get back home as soon as you can, so they can be together. Sammy pines for Jimmy, now, when they are apart. It's 'Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy' all the time. Or 'Where's Jimmy', this week, and 'I love Jimmy, blah, blah, blah, yabbering on....and the singing, always singing away.', just about every day. Thank God he sys 'I love you', Mum, even better than Jimmy, first!', at which recollection she chuckled good-naturedly.

One by one, by dribs and drabs, the other kids arrived. The creche children were nearly all there, and a few cousins and second cousins from up at home, and Olga Wade, and the parents and the creche workers. A big gang, eating and laughing, one or two tantrums, more from the parents really, and Jimmy enjoying himself immensely. He went around all the kids, even the ones he hardly knew, kissing and hugging, and giggling. Then, as if to prove that he really had fully recovered, he began one of his songs. It rose and fell, and some of the children joined in, as best they could, although Sammy, naturally, was rather the best at it. A few of the singers rambled off into their own ditties, but Jimmy led the refrain, for quite a good while, then he slowly petered out, growing ever more quiet, until the singing evaporated like a morning mist. The assembled, those who hadn't seen one of Jimmy's song-fests before, were rather impressed, although the others who had previously experienced them, assured them that it was just 'Jimmy's thing', whatever that meant. Helen whispered to Doreen that Sammy sat out the back at home, singing to the birds, just as 'Jimmy taught me', as he said. The honey-eaters, wrens and silver-eyes came down close to join in, and the currawongs and magpies chortled from the branches.

The cake, with its three big red candles, was eventually brought out. Jimmy was implored to blow it out, which he playfully achieved, with a good deal of theatrical huffing and puffing. All and sundry sang Happy Birthday, whereupon one wag cried 'Speech'. Jimmy looked about, and, as the crowd grew expectantly quiet, he blurted out, 'Mummy's gone away, but don't be sad. She visited me, just last night, in my dream.', then sat down with the other kids, and began playing with some blocks.

Doreen was not as shocked as she might have been, say, when he was recuperating slowly, so she quickly laughed it off as childish innocence, and started handing out cake. One or two adults cast odd looks at Jimmy, whereupon Olga Wade defused the tension by diversion, intoning, 'There's not much that Mr Jimmy misses, is there. As sharp as a pin and bright as a button. A very, very, special little lad'.

In reality Olga felt slightly ambivalent about Jimmy. He was, so her intellect told her, the most unusually gifted child of his age that she'd ever seen. Not just intellectually, in fact his gifts there were slightly less outstanding, but temperamentally and psychologically. She hesitated to say 'spiritually', as well, that seeming merely extravagant in a three year old, but she unmistakeably felt better and happier whenever Jimmy was around. It was all rather too astounding, but she was now more determined than ever, if Doreen was willing, to work on pushing him along. Olga wasn't a great fan of pushing children but she felt that he would gobble up whatever intellectual victuals they offered him. She felt a certain unease, however, lest she be manipulating Jimmy so that she could bathe in the reflection of his aura, but she dismissed that thought as self-conscious preciousness. He was, after all, just three years old.

The party turned out a great success, and every child got a parting hug and kiss from Jimmy. The parents were admiring, some a little envious, but the good vibes were undeniable. One Dad wanted whatever Jimmy had, bottled, so he could have a swig. Finally, by seven, they were all gone. Doreen, Helen, Mel and Olga remained, to clean up, and chat. Jimmy and Sammy were drawing pictures with crayons, stretched out on the lounge-room floor.

'Well, Doreen...that grandson of yours is a real prodigy. His little speech, today-his diction is so fine, it's amazing, really amazing. And what three year old remembers his dream, of his...departed...mother? What do you want to do about it?' Olga thought it best to be blunt. She appreciated Doreen to be of like inclination.

'For now, Olga, I think it's best to just keep shoving stuff in front of him...let him try different things, and see how it goes. I'm not for nudging, you know, too hard, in any particular direction...but give him every opportunity. What you reckon?' Doreen felt confident that Olga would agree, and, well, tough luck if she didn't.

But she did agree. The two women sat down and mapped out a scheme, relying on Olga's wealth of experience and Doreen's uncommon common-sense, and they decided to give it a go for a few months. Doreen asked Mel if she could stay at her place for a while, as the plan was put into action. They could drive up home on weekends, to keep in touch, see 'brother' Sammy and not neglect Jimmy's roots, and generally take it as it comes. After all, as Olga observed, he might only burn brightly for a while, then settle down to a normal course of development. None of them really believed it, but Olga said it just to dampen down expectations a little.

Chapter  Fourteen: Jimmy in his Dad's Country.

And that was pretty much how it transpired. Jimmy went back to child-care then to the pre-school, and Olga read to him, plied him with books, and let him draw and paint, and muck about with the other kids. He got along famously, in 'leaps and bounds' as they say. Olga mapped his progress against the usual stages of childhood development, and he leap-frogged the usual milestones. What was more, he began to spend a lot of time leading the other kids to new learning experiences, and was always on hand to calm a crying comrade, or defuse a fight. He lead the way in sharing and doing things together. In all ways he was a real marvel. Olga even felt a furtive twinge of jealousy from time to time, of Doreen, but she dismissed it by imagining herself Jimmy's 'third Gran'.

Doreen had reported to the fracture clinic, after one then two, then four, weeks, where they changed her cast, declared themselves most impressed by her healing powers, the bone fragments having begun knitting together rather well. The orthopaedic registrar expressed delight at the outcome. On looking at the first x-rays he had thought surgery inevitable, but not now. Doreen had beaten the odds. What's more, Doreen felt a strange sensation that Jimmy had something to do with this, but she immediately felt that she was drifting into a type of superstitious mambo-jamboism. The healed wrist meant she was able to start work, too, at the creche, on a trial basis, as the creche and pre-school required initially, where she was the oldest, by far, but Olga Wade liked that spread of ages. Doreen was to be the 'honorary Gran' to all the kids, which suited her fine.

A couple of weeks later, the social work department requested an interview, with Jimmy, which went swimmingly well. The social worker, a formidable 'dragon' of the 'Old School' entered the talk in inquisitorial mood, but Jimmy put her mind at ease. He was doing so well, and Doreen presented a letter from Olga Wade to that effect, and Doreen was his closest living relative, and accommodation was guaranteed, rent-free, by Melanie, so that there could be no quibbles there. Jimmy sealed the deal by giving the Dragon Lady a big hug and kiss, as was plainly his pleasure to do, and her gruff exterior melted into a motherly smile.

'He's a bonnie boy, that's for sure. Good luck to you both, and God Bless his mammy for bringing such a boy into the world'. The latter affected Doreen so much that she blubbered out her thanks, and scurried off, now able to push the pram with two hands. She was beginning to suffer more and more grief as the reality of Gay's death grew harsher and harsher, by the day. Her only succour was Jimmy, and friendly companionship from Mel, 'Aunty' Mel, now to Jimmy. Doreen really enjoyed being at the creche, and, to her surprise and delight, Olga, the very next day, offered her four mornings a week, perfect for dropping Jimmy off, and then taking him home.

'If you take it, Doreen, you'll be the oldest here, bar me...but I like an age spectrum...I mean, you'll be like a Gran to these children, an extra Gran, and Jimmy's Gran, too. That'll make you pretty popular, I dare say. It'll help take your mind off Gay, just a little, too, I expect. You've got to keep living, for Jimmy, and for Gay, too'. Olga smiled with a certain resigned warmth, as if slightly embarrassed to be counselling a woman of her own age about the realities of life and loss.

'Olga, I'm your old girl! This is pretty flamin''fantastic, if you ask me. What a chance. I know, that, the...erhh....'pay'.. is pretty poor..

'Not so bad as it used to be, Doreen'. Olga interjected.'Things are getting better'.

'Whatever...I'd work with these little 'uns for nothing...I surely would...but the money will buy stuff for Jimmy, and fix my old place...and pay dear Mel some rent. It's a God-send!' Doreen felt quite rejuvenated.

The two friends parted company, with Doreen to start work permanently on Thursday, two days away. Mel was excited by the news, and tried to refuse rent, which Doris sternly insisted on paying, being determined to reward Mel for her generosity. The two quibbled for a little while, before Doreen prevailed, whereupon Mel began listing the improvements she would make about the place, with her new cash flow. As the two chatted Jimmy scribbled away on one of his pads, filling it with drawings. At length he presented the results to Doreen, with a smiling, 'How's this, Gran. I'm copying those paintings from Mel's book. You know, that fat, blue book'. He pointed at Mel's 'Desert Paintings' which she treasured.

Sure enough, Jimmy had copied several dot paintings from central Australian desert communities, where the painting tradition was quite well-established. His dexterity, for a lefty, was amazing. He'd followed the patterns of the traditional artists quite faithfully, but, after a few pages, he had begun to experiment a little, on his own. He'd added swirls of colour, and rubbed pastel fields of blue and green, and, in his latest effort, had painted an opalescent rainbow snake, over-arching the world, with tiny little stick creature people running beneath.

'I was thinking of my snake necklace, there, Gran. You know, I had a dream 'bout that snake, the other night, Gran. It was really good, that dream. There was lots of lightning. It was very exciting!' Doreen smiled back at the beaming boy. She'd need money for art lessons, too, she could see, when he started school, in a couple of years. Until then, best and cheapest to just let him experiment on his own. Already he loved nothing more than going to libraries, and had begun reading voraciously. Doreen read to him every night, and had him read back to her. Little by little, but quickly, he was picking up words and phrases, often with those childish, comic, malapropisms that so entertain generation after generation of adults. She was particularly fond of 'barrelina' for a female dancer, which put her in mind of the dancing hippos in the cartoons. But Jimmy never made the same mistake twice. He understood quickly, and did not forget.

Doreen proved very adept at child-care. She was a preferred reader, probably for her slow delivery and the old-fashioned reading-glasses perched on her nose. The other carers were all under forty, most in their twenties, but they accepted Doreen readily. She was a celebrity as Jimmy's Gran, because Jimmy still ruled the roost as the leader of all childish activities, even with the oldest kids present. He had soon stopped asking about Gay, and Doreen suspected that he well knew she wouldn't be back. Jimmy's drawings were filling numerous drawing-pads, and he was adding more naturalistic scenes to the abstractions and symbolism of the indigenous paintings that he imitated. What's more he really loved helping the other kids with their, usually, but not always, rather more primitive efforts. He was always full of praise for the others, and modest about his own achievements. Doreen basked in the reflected glow of his progress, and had to often declare that it was all his own work, she not needing to discipline or rebuke him, ever, and any praise being smiled away with a bashful grin.

Olga Wade, too, began to experience a warm sense of self-satisfaction at being adopted as an extra Gran by Jimmy. Jimmy called her 'Olga Brolga' and drew a lovely picture of that noble bird as a present. On a trip to the zoo, he excitedly pointed out the brolgas in their enclosure, then proposed releasing them so they could fly off to live with Miss Olga, but he was soon dissuaded from that course. It left him a little reflective, even despondent, to think of the poor birds confined so narrowly, but, as ever, he soon cheered up as the trained macaws entertained the children.

And so, as it inevitably will, time rolled on. Jimmy was soon reading and writing, painting, drawing and mucking-about, non-stop, all day. He did still have a nap occasionally, but less frequently. Sammy visited often, and Mel and Doreen took Jimmy up to the Coorong to stay at Doris' old place every other week-end, and trips to Sammy's were quite easy from there. Sometimes Doreen drove herself, Gay's old Morris, which she could not part with, it being such a precious memento of Gay.

During her first two annual holidays from the creche, which she took in winter and spring, so as to avoid the heat, Doreen took Jimmy, then three and a half, and as arithmetically expected, four and a half the next year, up to his Dad's old place, to see his other relatives. His Gran and Aunties were bowled over by the little orphan boy, and Malcolm, too, dropped in for a day or two, from his endless, restless, wanderings across the North. He had been devastated to learn of Gay's death, and he and Doreen kept in touch by letter. Jimmy soon provided drawings and little written, appended, messages to these communications. He even drew Mal from memory after his first meeting where he had claimed to remember Mal, although they had not met since his birth.

'Yes' he'd said, 'I remember you, Mr Mal, from a long ago time.' Whereupon he'd smiled away any further interrogation. Mal dismissed it as childish confusion, although, later, he would change his mind, or, rather, have it changed for him.

The trips to the Territory excited Jimmy, as the vast, empty, land was so very different from the inner-city. He would spend hours getting Thelma to tell him all the Dreaming stories she knew, and his Aunties added others. Jimmy seemed to know when they were embroidering their tales, but loved that, too. He also was becoming a grand story-teller himself, weaving all sorts of threads together-trips to the zoo, to the beach, to Museums, the Botanic Gardens, kids' shows etc, all into fantastic fabulations with Jimmy and his mates as the heroes of the tale. Questions like, 'Did that really happen, Jimmy...like that?', from one Aunt or his Gran, were met with a sly grin and declarations of 'That's how I remember it!', followed by fits of giggles, which gave the game away, or stern nodding of the head, where contrivance was absent- or was it?

Jimmy even made the acquaintance, more than once, of Old Browny, often near his Dad's grave. The old fella seemed to be guarding the site, where the old church lay in ruins, still. On their first trip up, just a few months after Gay's accident, Jimmy and Doreen buried half Gay's ashes in CJ's grave mound. The other half had been scattered along the beach near Doreen's place, just where Gay had played as a child. That seemed, to Doreen and Jimmy, who recommended the two places, after Doreen listed a few possibilities, to be the best disposition. Doreen had no intention of keeping urns lying about, on mantel-pieces or the like.

Jimmy was quite friendly, from a respectful distance, of course, with the old snake, and all the other local creatures. He knew not to entrance the tiny minds of the meat-ants and tarantulas not to bite or sting him, while he avidly watched them going about their business. If he found a dead insect, he'd deliver it to the ants' nest, to spare them the trouble of finding it themselves. He started collecting interesting flowers, leaves, chrysalids, sloughed off skins, shiny beetles, fabulous, magical, stones, keeping them all in glass jars, shoe-boxes or pressed between the pages of books. Each holiday was an adventure, and he regretted the necessity to inevitably return south. However, his Grans let him know that, one day, he would be able to stay as long as he liked, which cheered him up.

'He's definitely his father's son, don't you think, Thelma', Doreen observed one day.

Thelma nodded. 'When I see him, muckin' about....collectin' stuff, getting' all grubby and muddy...why it's just like CJ, all over again. Exactly the same, but CJ never drew or waffled such good yarns. But, mostly...it just takes me back, all those years'' Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and she sniffled, just a bit.

Trips 'up north' had to change when Jimmy started school, which he did after he turned five. Holidays were now in summer, and things were, of course, hotter and, often, wetter. Mal would co-ordinate his activities so as to be free, which wasn't that hard, and would take Jimmy and Doreen for two and three day camps, around the local country. Jimmy was very fond of his 'Uncle' Mal', who grew ever more eccentric as the years passed. At various places where Mal was welcome (there were some where he had outstayed his approval) among outstations and the like, Jimmy proved typically adept at being liked by the local kids, even the teenagers. He had this simple way of making people like him, and, at the same time, like themselves more, too, at least while he was around.

'That kid has something....something worthwhile.' one old fella said to Doreen one night, as they watched a fat, full, moon, rise over the desert ranges. 'He's goin' do somethin'...don't you think, missus...that boy of yours...somethin' bloody big'. At which declaration the old bloke took a long, contemplative, drag on his pipe. Doreen, sitting upwind of the cheap pipe tobacco, nodded in agreement. And the moon rose, higher and higher, until the whole land was bathed in its brilliant glow. Away over by a twisted and gnarled old desert tree, Jimmy was entertaining the kids with a tale, of his fresh invention, of the rainbow serpent, and the earth-tree that held up the sky. He'd sort of borrowed that from a book of legends and myths that he's been reading at the local library some weeks before, back in Adelaide. The story went on and on, with the snake swallowing various magical fruit, then regurgitating dozens more for all the people gathered under the tree. He was re-writing the Garden of Eden, somewhat, with the snake reconfigured as a force for good, as suited his own experience and preferences. Jimmy would much rather have people being re-admitted to Paradise than cruelly expelled. He, of course, meant no heresy, not being particularly impressed yet, one way or the other, by religious sentiments. Jimmy carried on, weaving and embroidering his story, until the little ones were asleep, whereupon he alerted their parents, who carried them back to the little bush-houses, and they all slept, and dreamed of snakes, promised fruits and a life in Paradise.

Chapter Fifteen:  Jimmy Joins the Toffs.

Back in Adelaide Jimmy had started school just over two years after his mother's death. By then he often spoke of her to Doreen, wanting to learn more about his Mum, and Doreen told him as much as she dared. Jimmy was hardly insatiable, just gently and intermittently inquisitive, and would sometimes not mention Gay for weeks at a time. The dreaded dream, that foreshadowed his birth and Gay's death, remained secret, and perhaps it was better that it did. Olga and Doreen decided on the local primary school, near the creche and pre-school, that is, close by the College, for Jimmy. The pupils were a nice multi-cultural mish-mash, of Ockers, citified blackfellas, some Africans, some East Asians, some Indians etc. One of the most diverse in the state, according to the head-mistress, Judith Stone, an old acquaintance of Olga's.

Jimmy quickly made his by now familiar impact. Within days he could have had his kindergarten teacher eating out of his hand, but he already knew that discretion was the better part of endeavour, so he hid his light, somewhat, under a bushel. Ms Colfax, usually quite stern, was soon transformed into a rather happy oldish girl, as were all her class similarly jollified. Jimmy's conciliatory skills worked a treat with a couple of proto-bullies, taking after their Dads, who were soon well mellowed out. One even tried to smack Jimmy across the mouth, but, after Jimmy deftly ducked out the way, then returned the aggro with a big hug, he laid off the fisticuffs for good. In fact, this particular little chap was soon also having a beneficial effect on his own Dad, at home, pacifying him quite effectively, by slow degrees.

Doreen had Jimmy enrolled in music classes and drawing. Musically he started with group singing, and various instrument bashing, then, after a few months, he chose the piano to concentrate on. Mel had an electronic keyboard, on which he practised at home. Drawing was his great love, however, and his talents were soon apparent. Being a lefty, his art teacher soon made hyperbolic comparisons to Leonardo, which Jimmy laughed off after he found out who Leonardo was. His reading was, by now, self-directed, and he waded through Harry Potter, and back in time to RL Stevenson and, garnered from mustier corners of the local library, RM Ballantyne. Then it was Haggard, Arthur Ransome and apologies to his Gran for reading all this 'old stuff', but he found it pleasant to read about the old world, when Nature was not so downtrodden as today. Science fiction didn't grab his attention, save for Jules Verne, who was suitably far distant in the past, and his speculations more innocent and frankly outdated. Robots, computers etc, visions of the future, rather left him cold. He made an exception for Dr Who, however, particularly John Pertwee, who reminded him of an English Malcolm Hill.

As far as learning went, Jimmy, as I said, paced himself. He instinctively feared being pushed too hard by ambitious elders. He did just enough to be near the top, and spent lots of effort on helping others. Ms Colfax soon appointed him class helper-in-chief, if only notionally, and he never let her down. If he couldn't quite rise to her expectation, he'd say so. If things were too busy, he'd ask to put some task off for a while. Ms Colfax often reflected that few adults that she knew had the self-possession and cool appreciation of their strengths and limitations of this young chap.

One particular incident left her very impressed, and not a little bemused. Jimmy gave her a drawing, neatly coloured, of a desert scene. It was taken from a book of descriptions of various desert regions. It was, so Jimmy said, 'Where my great-grandmother was born'. How did he know such a thing, she asked? Had his Gran taken him there, on one of his trips to the outback? 'No. Miss' he replied, smiling. 'It's from a dream. My old great-gran, she comes to my dreams, a lot, and she tells me lots of stuff, like where she came from, and where she travelled...she went all over, Miss, walked and walked for years and years. And she was the one who knew that I was coming, before anyone. And, when I saw the picture, I knew it was her country, her birth-country. I just knew, so I copied it, and here it is...a present for you, my teacher'. Which, pretty much, reduced Ms Colfax to tears of astonishment and gratitude.

'It's true, though, Miss. You are a good teacher, and we all love you a lot. The kids all tell me, you know, just how much. So you deserved a present. From each of us, and this is mine, and here are the other kids with theirs.' Sure enough, the other children were shyly approaching, each carrying their own offering, paintings, drawings, woollen thingamajigs, cardboard creations, shiny stones painted with electric stripes etc.

Later, as she showed her treasures to Ms Stone, in the headmistress' office, after school, Ms Colfax blurted out, 'Whatever are we to do with him?', almost as if Jimmy represented some problem.

'Why nothing, dear...Nothing at all. Either he is some sort of genius, who will go on to dazzle the world, and we will all bathe in reflected glory....or he's just precocious and will return, more or less, to the field. I've spoken to his Grandmother and Olga Wade, my old friend, who had him in pre-school, and they want him left to his own devices. Not pushing, no knowing what's best for him. That sounds eminently reasonable to me. I've seen too many children pushed too hard, by ambitious parents wanting to live vicariously through their offspring...you must know that scenario....let him cut his own path'. Ms Stone's tone was quietly determined, as befit the Headmistress.

'Yes, Head...I have to agree, but...well, he's a once in a career child, don't you think?'. Ms Colfax really didn't have a clue as to what was best in these strange circumstances.

'Every child is a once in a lifetime gift...once in their lifetime, and our duty is to them, first, last and forever, don't you think?' The Head's tone invited discussion, but Ms Colfax knew that she was right, even when it was couched in perhaps rather trite platitudes. The women nodded in agreement, and Jimmy, thereafter and evermore, ran his own race, and helped many others run theirs, as well.

The ensuing years passed without drama, tragedy or distress. Quickly, so it seemed for Doreen, although her work at the creche was very fulfilling. More slowly for Jimmy, as everything was still new and exciting, and his active mind was always seeking new challenges and new opportunities. From one class to the next, Jimmy excelled. His friends were numerous, his enemies none. He steadfastly refused to hate anyone, even the biggest pains in the backside. Ms Stone was soon, carefully, boasting of her school's happy atmosphere, the general pleasantness that percolated, up and down, from Jimmy and his fellows. She didn't mention Jimmy, lest he become the centre of undue attention, or some other school seek to poach him, like a champion athlete, but his repute soon spread. Jimmy joined in competitive sports, after a while, but freely admitted that he lacked the 'killer instinct'. He just liked running free and kicking, but, tackling didn't enthuse him so much. Cricket was better, and he proved a wily spinner, as of yarns, and an uninhibited if only randomly successful batsmen. He was a good 'slogger', hitting some memorable blows, but usually getting carried away and 'holing out' on the boundary. Jimmy soon gained a reputation for effusive praise for the opposition's batting or bowling prowess, which led one coach to accuse him of playing 'mind games'. Jimmy cheerfully replied that playing games with your mind was far preferable to using it for most other purposes, and, besides, he really did think it a good idea to praise the opposition. After all, he observed, to the adult's consternation, it was only a game, and games were meant to be fun. This lesson in humility and self-restraint delivered, as always, with an infectious grin.

Jimmy's music studies went well, too. After a year or two, Mel and Doreen bought an old upright piano, where Jimmy practised, a bit, but not a lot. He loved music, and learned to read it quickly, and was the music-teacher's delight, but one day, when just eight, and after a couple of years rapid progress, he astounded his teacher by declaring, after the lesson was done, that...

'I'm sorry, but I can't give music the attention it needs to become really good. I have other things to do, and music is.....too demanding. I'll just have to do enough to love it and appreciate it, but I'm going to be an appreciator of music, not a producer- well, for now. You need the lot, don't you, for music to work. Composer, performer, teacher, audience. That's me, tagging along as audience. It's not my calling to be a musician. I'm afraid'. Needless to say Jimmy's teacher was disappointed, and tried to change his mind, but soon gave up, but continued teaching him, hoping that he would, one day, come to his senses.

Jimmy began bringing home CDs from the library, to play on Mel's player. His tastes were notably eclectic, ranging from jazz, blues and soul to classical and singing. He very much loved Paul Robeson and his deep, booming voice, a recommendation from his Gran, and Van Morrison, David Bowie, both suggested by Mel, and piano music. The piano was dear to him, although he knew that it could not become his demanding master. He soon became a devotee of Sviatoslav Richter, after happening upon his Pictures at an Exhibition, attracted by the strange Slavic name as much as anything else. Doreen noted this addiction when she heard him putting the CD back to the beginning, for the third time in a row, one fine, sunny, day.

'What are you doing, Jimmy? Ain't it bad enough wasting this lovely day, but, to sit there, listening to that ...plonky....music, over and over...it's just crazy'. Doreen was a little surprised at her attitude, but she had to speak her mind, at the third playing, at somewhat elevated volume.

'Oh, Gran' Jimmy replied, 'Don't be so hard. I'm over the moon, can't you see me up there...spinning out of control. This is amazing...just one man, at a piano...the audience coughing and spluttering. Imagine the concentration, the memory, the musical understanding....He used to practise ten hours a day, so the least I can do is listen ten hours a day!' With which threat or promise, he leapt up with a giggle, and turned the CD player off, and they both went down the road to buy some fish and chips.

Jimmy's drawing was intermittently all-consuming, and he just drew and drew when the fancy took him, and even had periods when he would visit the gallery, or the museum, and take sketches of those things he found interesting or beautiful. He always packed a few sketch-books for trips to his Dad's place, and sketched some days from dawn to dusk. Jimmy never entered any competitions, however, being against them, or so he told his teachers. He wasn't interested in notoriety, indeed he preferred quietly working just on his own, or with others.

His school art teacher, Ms Higgins, tried to prevail upon him to enter one sketch in the State Primary Schools Art Competition, when he was ten. He rather surprised her with his grown-up explanation of his motives. Jimmy spoke quietly, but as ever with conviction, as if he'd long pondered the question, turning the pros and cons over and over in his mind. As happened now and then, when Jimmy replied seriously to her questions, she was just shocked by his deliberate and carefully thought-out opinions.

'I'm not into competition, Ms Higgins. I'd rather just do my best, and see if I like it, and then if my friends here like it. I'd not like sticking it out in public, where anybody can see it. You never know what sort of person might....you know...pick on it...not like something for some...well, unreasonable....reason. I'd never know what's in their heart, and I'd rather just my friends...I know them, and if they say its no good..or OK...well I can understand that.' Jimmy was looking at Ms Higgins with that intense mask of concentration that he sometimes wore, when trying to express his mind. He appeared to be suffering from too much imagination with only a ten-year old's very partial experience of the world to guide him. Jimmy was trying to express something that he still found nearly inexpressible.

'But, as we all know...I could change my mind, one day. I keep all these things, so...maybe when I'm older and trust strangers more, maybe, then...maybe I'll look forward to it. I'm afraid that cruel words these days would be...you know...discouraging. I'm always frightened of getting down in the dumps...'.Jimmy's voice lost its usual vibrancy, and for once the confident little man looked rather lost.

'Now, don't worry, Jimmy' Ms Higgins replied. 'You can do as you jolly well like. You're just a kid, and children should aim to enjoy themselves, first and last, shouldn't they'.

'But only if everybody is happy' Jimmy replied, instantly cheering up.

'A lovely sentiment, young man, but not everybody can be happy all the time. It's just not possible'.

'Well, Miss, we still have to try, don't you agree? I try very hard to cheer up kids when they're down. It is pretty good fun when you get them smiling again. It's mostly fights that get them down'. Jimmy ended there, very matter-of-factly, and nodded in agreement with himself. Then he went straight back to painting, a dot painting, with swirls of colour, copying a painting hanging on the wall. He imagined all sorts of stories to go with the dreaming images and song-lines, if that's what they were. Doreen had mentioned them occasionally, and Thelma, too, and while he still didn't quite grasp their importance, he was intrigued at how singing was so important to his ancestors, and to him. Jimmy read lots of blackfella stories, although he still thought of himself primarily as just a kid like all the others. He liked the Dreamings as much as the myths and legends in the library's Encyclopaedia of Mythology, which he made a bee-line for, skipping with enthusiasm, every time the class had a library period.

Home life was pretty settled, too. Doreen worked on in the creche, accumulating savings for trips and for the education costs for Jimmy that were to come. She planned to take him overseas, too, and visit exotic places, when he reached high school. High school loomed nearer and nearer. Various local schools made discreet approaches, after Ms Stone and the other teachers blurted out news of the extraordinary little boy. Doreen sent them all back, through the mail, not wanting Jimmy to become an object of contestation. However, Mel did suggest, cheekily, that Doreen should inquire concerning 'transfer fees', that might be on offer. Doreen even thought about getting a computer, and letting him teach himself at home, but Jimmy liked school too much for that.

Then, one particularly lovely spring day, with his twelfth birthday approaching, with high school a few months away, he really surprised his Gran by telling her, as he dried her washing-up, after a nice lunch taken with Mel, and Helen and Sammy, who had dropped in after going to an early session at the movies in town, that he wanted to go to a posh school, which had advertised its scholarship exams in the weekend papers.

'But, really, Jimmy...our kind of people....you know ….strike me lucky....well we don't go to those places. It just isn't done'. Doreen could sense that she had no hope of killing off the conversation so easily.

'That's just the problem, Gran. Those kids need people like me, and Sammy, too'. Jimmy nodded to Sammy who grinned in return. The friends had talked it over, already.

Helen laughed. The idea of her Sammy going to 'St Barnabas' College' was too funny for words. But, within a few minutes she, and Doreen, had been persuaded to let the boys have a go. Truth was, young Sammy was top boy at his school, up at Goolwa. He'd done every bit as well as Jimmy, if being less charismatic and outgoing. And when Helen broached the topic with Sammy's headmistress, the response was pretty strong. It was, according to the Head, a bloody good idea. Those Establishment types needed an infusion of new blood, and Sammy was easily up to a selective State High School, so why not a College?

With that it was settled. Two weeks later, just before the end of school for the primary years, Sammy and Jimmy sat down for the scholarship exam, with two hundred other hopefuls. Jimmy was serenely indifferent to the pressure, seemingly either confident or just not giving a damn. Sammy, over the other side of the Hall, erected at great cost for the College's centenary, and separated by serried ranks of aged invigilators, was rather more tense.

At 'half-time' the two friends chatted outside, while the second paper was prepared and the tables and chairs tidied. The contenders were to sit in different places this time, for some obscure reason, and Sammy now sat two rows behind, and one to the left of Jimmy. As the time dragged on, he would look up now and then, to check on his mate. Jimmy's left hand was furiously scribbling most of the time, or he was stretching like a cat, movement that drew the eye of those invigilators still awake. A few seemed to be taking nanny-naps. Then it was over, and two hundred young hopefuls took their leave, some encouraged, most not so much.

Outside, in the bright spring sunshine, Doris and Helen waited, with Chinese dinner and a movie planned as a reward for the boys' efforts. A noisy 3D CGI extravaganza was chosen, after a repast of yum cha, which Jimmy had long wanted to try. Budgets had always been tight, so this was a real treat. Afterwards Jimmy declared his intent to get a part-time job, just so he could have yum cha every week. The waiter declared him welcome, any time, perhaps starting with washing the dishes, in a 'work for food' scheme.

The two friends were quite happy about how they had gone. Both expressed satisfaction with their efforts, and Jimmy followed Sammy in declaring himself just pleased to have given it a try. And that's how it was for the next three weeks, until November 24, when the fateful envelope, with the school's name and crest stamped on the upper corner arrived, by registered mail.

'Good God, Doreen! Registered mail! You know what that means! He's got it...as if there was ever any doubt. The boy's a legend! Quick, open it up, now!' Mel exclaimed, all in a breathless flurry of flying syllables.

'Nope. We have to get Jimmy. In fact, let's go to the school, and open it with his teacher. She deserves recognition, too. And what if it's just a polite rejection, you know- he did good, but we decided we didn't want any blackfellas, after all...' Doreen had a good chuckle at her impudence. The school, in fact, had a good few indigenous students, and quite a few other multi-culturals, mostly drawn by their religion if the truth be known. Maybe they've discovered that I'm an atheist, thank God!, Doreen thought. All in all, however, she was as happy as a lark, or, adjusting for local reality, a kookaburra.

Mel agreed quickly enough, so they hot-footed it for the school, which was at recess. They saw Ms Colfax, who dragged Jimmy out of the library, and they handed the envelope to him, to do the honours.

'Honestly, Gran...I know its OK...and, if it isn't, well...who really cares. Not me!',he giggled.

The letter was opened carefully, so as not to tear it, and Jimmy pulled out the stiff writing paper. Doreen was addressed as 'The Guardian, and it began 'Dear Mrs Kartinyangarra ' and ended with the signature of Owen Dudley, Deputy Head-master. Jimmy read it quickly and fluently, not slowing at the 'It gives me great pleasure...'or the 'I'm sure that James will make a valued member...' pieces. He had rather expected a hoot of joy or two from his over-excitable Gran, but had to make do with floods of tears and boa constrictor hugs.

'Now, let's see if Sammy's in, too. Gran', was his first observation.

'Sure, sure, Jimmy.....I mean 'James'.. ' Doreen kidded him, 'But what about you....aren't you over the moon'?' Doreen was very slightly irked by Jimmy's placidity.

'No, Gran. I knew I'd made it. I just knew it. I'm going to show those rich kids, and the more ordinary ones, a thing or two. I mean, I could feel just how uptight they were....just how much they feared missing out...it's not good, kids being so stressed out'. Jimmy was, as ever, the very picture of relaxation himself.

But before anything else could transpire, even before a celebratory cup of tea, the 'phone rang. It was, as one might have expected, Helen, and she was well excited. Jimmy smiled as he heard Doreen attempt to calm her down. Sammy had made it, too, and the two friends had grabbed two of the six scholarships for all of high school, saving many thousands of dollars that neither Helen nor Doreen had, or would likely ever have.

After a few minutes Jimmy spoke to Sammy, Jimmy reminded Sam of his promise that they would be successful. Sammy trusted Jimmy's insights, but had not been that confident himself. It just seemed too far fetched, and, in reality, he wasn't quite as keen as Jimmy on making the trip up the social ladder.

'Don't worry Sammy. You can live with us during the week, if your Mum likes the idea, and go home every weekend. If she wants you under her feet, well, you'll just have to catch the bus to Goolwa every day, which is pretty mad, really. Let's not worry. We should just be happy. We'll help one another, and those other kids....they need us too, you know. There's stuff we can teach them, I know it'. Jimmy was quite excited at the prospect, and really hoped that Sammy might stay with them.

Doreen, who had had no idea of Jimmy's plans for Sammy to live in town, was pretty certain that Helen wouldn't like the idea, but she was wrong. Helen agreed, straight away. She had two other, smaller children now, and Sammy was too busy with study, reading, games, martial arts etc, to be much help around home. Helen had even given the thought of boarding him at school some weight when she first read the letter, but staying with Doreen, Jimmy and Mel was even better, and the scholarship did not appear to cover boarding fees. Mel didn't require much convincing, either, so it was all decided pretty quickly. Sammy and Jimmy would live like brothers, at last, there being no other bed-room, for a start.

A week later the two met up, at the College, in the Deputy Head's office. Mr Dudley saw Sammy first, and congratulated him on his effort, and predicted a brilliant career. Then he saw Jimmy and Doreen, and was rather surprised by the obvious friendship between the two boys, and parents. When he heard of their long acquaintance, he was quite intrigued, and Doreen gave him a brief run-down on the boys' history of friendship, which he rather fancied sounded a little embroidered. Still, it was a lovely tale, and he confidently expected that these young men would make quite an impression. Then he got down to the nitty-gritty.

'Well, Mrs Kartinyangarra, Jimmy...I'm happy to offer the College's best wishes, and, I must inform you that you have rather a burden of expectations to carry. You see, you got a score that has never been bettered in these tests, over many years. I take it that you found the test challenging, young man'. He awaited Jimmy's reply with interest.

'Not at all, Mr Dudley. I don't particularly like challenges, unless they are unavoidable. I really enjoyed it, and I do prefer enjoyment to challenge. That's why I'm not a great sportsman, I regret to say, although I do like cricket. That's real fun, and being too good would almost spoil it. Expectations are even worse than challenges!'. Jimmy added the last with emphasis.

Dudley was somewhat befuddled by the confident tone, and firm and unorthodox opinions so freely expressed, by a not quite twelve year-old. From long experience he knew that it was best to leave things to find their own steady-state. He watched the young fellow, with his dark eyes, thick wavy hair, finely chiselled features and almost preternatural self-assurance with something akin to consternation, and not a little envy. Mind you, the distance between twelve and eighteen was long, and the journey hard, but he somehow doubted that this young chap would find it daunting. Dudley then chatted, at length, with Doreen, discovering that Jimmy was an orphan, that he had been gravely ill as a three year old, that he and Sammy had a rather mysterious relationship going back to infancy, and that Sammy would board with them. All very unusual for scholarship winners. He imagined that these two would prove to be a breath of fresh air down some musty corridors. And so the interview ended, and he took the two friends and their parents (Sammy's father had arrived a little late, having stopped off for a celebratory drink or three with his cronies. He was, however, on his very best behaviour, and was never, in any case, more than an occasionally mildly embarrassing larrikin)for a tour of the school. The College was a world apart for Jimmy, unlike anything he had ever seen. The library had him enthralled, the computers in particular, so much more modern than those in his current school, and every first-former got their own lap-top, as well. And the art-rooms were like real artists' studios, or so he thought.

'Now, you seem at home, here, Jimmy. Are you a keen artist?' Owen Dudley inquired as Jimmy turned the pages of a great tome on Turner, with evident enthusiasm.

'Yes Mr Dudley. It's my favourite past-time. Music I've given up a little on, because I wouldn't be happy unless I was really good, and I'm pretty satisfied just being a good listener. Mind you, if there's a choir, or orchestra, perhaps... maybe I could have a go..'. Jimmy was being transported to all manner of possible worlds. But he also had something not insubstantial to offer in return, as he hoped the grand-fatherly Mr Dudley would learn.

Pretty soon the tour was over, and after a little coaxing, Sammy's Dad also agreed to the week-day boarding with Jimmy idea. He was pretty amazed still, that he, a truck-driver and handy-man of no great educational attainment, had a son about to attend a top school, and 'go places'. They all adjourned to the Botanic Gardens for afternoon tea, then parted company, with the vow to meet again, to plan Sammy's boarding, when Doreen and Jimmy returned from a few weeks holiday up at CJ's place, just before and over Christmas and New Year. They were leaving in two weeks, flying up to save time, and finding a driver. Ritchie had moved to the west coast, so they were hard up for reliable bush drivers, although Mel had a couple of mates with urban 4WDs, fit for going on picnics, mostly. No, there was nothing for it but to fly to Alice, and get a lift from Mal, or one of Thelma's friends, relatives or neighbours.

Meanwhile, back at the College, Mr Dudley was sipping afternoon tea in the Teachers' Common Room. He was rather more excited than was his custom, and the Year Seven Science Master, Milton Ward, ('Jerk' to the boys) inquired as to the cause of his high jollity.

'Well, Milton...we've hit the jack-pot, I think...with those two indigenous boys. It'll do wonders for our image...worth its weight in publicity...and they are both quite extraordinary. How that milieu could throw up two such....fellows....it's quite amazing. The grandmother of James, the one who topped the exam....he is an orphan...she's quite intelligent, although thoroughly uneducated, but sharp and no nonsense. Samuel's mother is quite an ordinary young woman, as far as one can see...but he's no slouch...and the two have been friends for years...quite an opportunity, I'd say, for us all'. Dudley rested from his enthusiastic declarations, with a contented smirk, rather unlike his usual taciturn demeanour.

'Well, that's well and good Owen'. interjected Robert Turnbull, the plethoric and ruddy-faced Year Ten English master, just back from a cigarette break in the Master's garden, 'But remember young Shiva Vishwalingam...the 'genius' from Madras. He burned out spectacularly, poor blighter. I hear he's still pretty fragile, psychologically speaking'.

'Yes, indeed. We let Shiva down. Pushed him too hard, as did his parents. God grant that he gets his mental equanimity back, because he could still achieve wonders. But, little Jimmy, as everyone calls him....he's nobody's fool. Shiva was so shy. Not this lad. He'll do well, and there will be no point in pushing him, one way or the other. Wait until you meet him-he's quite the young man, already. He likes cricket, too'. After that Dudley reached for a Monte Carlo biscuit, amiably passing the biscuit tray around. Days like these made teaching a real joy.

Soon thereafter, back at Mel's place, which was about to host another youngster, Doreen had decided that Mal Hill it had to be, as chauffeur, as he was conveniently within mobile phone reach, and cheerfully agreed to drive over, from Western Australia, to meet them. He was rather excited by the scholarship news. He observed, laconically, 'That boy has always been going places. High Court judge, I'd say, or Prime Minister. Just so long as he ain't a bookie! Imagine that...a lovable bookmaker'! At which, he sniggered at his own incorrigible irreverence.

Chapter  Sixteen:  Mad Uncle Max.

Two weeks on, after school had finished, and Jimmy made his good-byes to Ms Stone and the other teachers at his Primary, with promises to visit in the private school holidays, which did not precisely over-lap with the State Primary system, to see his mates in the lower forms, the appointed rendezvous with Mal Hill in Alice Springs was duly kept. The flight up to the Alice was wonderfully clear and placid. The weather had been remarkably benign, as it had been for the last ten or so years, in southern Australia at least, although gradually, almost imperceptibly, drying out. Rainfall was falling off, slowly, but unremittingly. Tempests and hurricanos, however, had been blessedly few and far between, unlike the peak around the time of Jimmy's birth. Elsewhere, around the world, the climate disasters still occurred, but with lesser frequency and intensity. Global concern over climate destabilisation had lessened, more than a little, with help from the media, who mostly had returned to a robust 'scepticism' or the soft denialism of the 'adaptation' school.The lull, this was, before the storms to come.

Fortunately no such gloomy thoughts disturbed Doreen's peace of mind that warm, early summer's day. The Alice was not its usual high summer inferno, yet. The drive to CJ's home was easy and smooth. The roads were repaired, for once, and even the dirt tracks had been recently graded. The country was green, from early wet season rain, and the undergrowth swarmed with insects, birds, little creatures and feral cats and dogs. The great mobs of wild camels had been reduced by culling, because the 'noble' beasts were a flaming destructive pest. They ended up as 'wild meat', or exported to the Middle East for the races, and breeding. Jimmy vividly related the description he had read of the Arabian wedding feast, with a camel stuffed with goats, stuffed with lambs, stuffed with chickens etc. By the time he was finished Mal was feeling rather peckish, so they stopped for a break beside a little creek, where a steady stream of water was running. Jimmy declined a ham sandwich, blurting out, to Doreen's surprise, that he was now a vegetarian.

'When did this happen?' Doreen asked, remembering Jimmy's fondness for hamburgers.

'Oh, yesterday, Gran. I've been thinking about it, for a while, and I read a book, down at the library, with people like Gandhi talking about it....and it just makes sense. So, pass us a sandwich without the ham, please, Gran. You know....I won't change my mind', and he looked, as ever, quietly determined.

'No, No, honey. You make up your mind. You've got a very good mind, and a conscience. Don't ever lose that' Doreen was both proud, and, as always, rather astonished by her grandson's maturity. And, not for the first time, she felt a shiver as a dark shadow of apprehension clouded her mind. Someone this smart, this blessed, will be a target, one way or another, for the jealous, the nasty, the.....but she closed off the gloomy thoughts, and renewed her promise to herself to protect him, always, as long as she had breath.

After a short break, some billy brewed tea, and a little exploration of the creek-bed, they were off again, the weather looking a little threatening to the north. The Wet was just beginning down that middle, and eastwards, side of the Territory, and Mal had no intention of getting bogged in a downpour. Luckily it held off long after they reached the little settlement, and Thelma's place. Mal had phoned ahead, while they drank their tea, so Thelma, Sandy, Mabel and a motley crew of other kids (Jimmy had quite a few friends up here from his previous annual holidays, and wrote to them regularly)and various relatives were on hand. Jimmy and Doreen's visits were, these days, considered a good time for various relatives and neighbours and friends to congregate, particularly as it was holiday time for the kids.

In all, about twenty kids, from toddlers to teenagers were there. Jimmy was in his element, and pretty soon the mob of young 'uns was dispersing in all directions, to collect wild-flowers for decoration in the out-stations' houses. Jimmy got the kids on-side with the promise of a game of hide and seek later, and he took a small sub-mob of kids younger than himself to collect tadpoles in the dam. They caught a good many, and decided that none looked like cane-toads, although nobody really knew the differences between one tadpole and any other, although one boy gravely stated that cane-toad tadpoles were cannibals. A little girl shrieked at that, and again, and louder, when someone explained what a cannibal actually was. The adults were in this way granted a rest period by the children self-organising their own fun, although indigenous kids were always pretty independent and resourceful at finding play.

Doreen reported more fully on Jimmy's scholarship success to Thelma, who was suitably thrilled by it all. The two Grans congratulated themselves on their success in creating such a grandson, through their very much missed children. Thelma, a sort of half-hearted Christian, occasionally, observed that, if they were somewhere or another, watching over their son, that CJ and Gay would surely be pleased.

'Lovely thought, Thelma....but that's rubbish, ain't it' Doreen snorted, and regretted her too brusque manner immediately. To her relief Thelma giggled and nodded.

'Yes, Doreen...it's just wishful thinking, but it's a sort of comfort, you know how it is...he, and your Gay...they're still alive in my head...and in Jimmy. Does Jimmy remember his Mum, at all?' Thelma knew, of course, that CJ, on the other hand, would never be more than a product of Jimmy's imagination.

'I don't ever ask...but, now and then, he says stuff, you know, imagination, maybe...about remembering things, and one or two...like going to the beach one day, and a bloody hound barked at him, and Gay had to chase it off...he half remembers that. He likes looking at pictures of himself and Gay, too. And, well Jimmy often speaks of having dreams of Gay...that sometimes seems a little spooky....and CJ, too, occasionally, but he never speaks....he's got no memory, of course, of CJ, to weave a dream from...but he takes his dreams very serious, like a proper blackfella, eh? He's drawn some real nice pictures of Gay, from the photos...he's a proper talented artist, that boy. Now where's he get that?' Doreen wondered aloud, remembering that Gay, like her, had had little interest in arty stuff

'I dunno, Doreen. CJ, well he was just into reading and study. He never liked that artistic hullabaloo, at all, really. He just wanted to leave it to those who knew best, which weren't him. But the girls like to paint and draw, from time to time, so maybe from there. And there's my old Mum, and her Mum. They used to draw in the dust, and on rocks and stuff, old Dreaming stuff, but I never got into it. We were too domesticated by the 'authorities' by my time. Maybe he's in contact with those old girls, somewhere 'along the line''. Thelma liked the thought of her Mum somehow influencing affairs, although long dead (they assumed, as her body had never been found after she wandered off into the scrub that last time)

The two grandmothers chatted amiably, then, with help from Thelma's girls, they started getting dinner ready, still, of course, conversing amiably. The storm clouds had gathered, and then moved west, but the distant rumble of thunder told them that it wasn't so far off as not to be on them quickly if the winds changed direction.

Mal and some of the other men were starting a camp-fire, and preparing to grill some fish and various meats. A big old goanna had been despatched, for some authentic bush tucker, but the rest came from a nearby, that is, forty kilometres off to the north, outstation, where they specialised in roo and camel meat, shot under licence and usually sold in Alice or shipped to Adelaide. Mal had a supply of beer, nothing stronger being allowed in the settlement, and the drinkers sipped nonchalantly, while exchanging news and yarns. Drunkenness was frowned on, and half the men were, in any case, teetotallers, so no-one needed to be kept in line. The drinking was generally done out of sight of the kids, who were all dispersed about, hiding and seeking, and exploring.

A couple of tables were set up, and a few crates and boxes for solo sitting, and the meat was deposited on the sturdiest table. The salads and cakes followed, from various dwellings, and the children were called in from their escapades.It took a while to collect them all, but eventually the gathering was complete, and a great communal feast commenced. The solar PV system had charged up the station's batteries nicely, on such a fine day, so they had good lighting, and a number of lanterns of different types. As the sun set, the atmosphere grew more and more warm and inclusive, and the children played games in the dirt, or dragged out the old card games and board games that they travelled with for diversion in the absence of TV. The adults chatted in little groups around the tables, and all was peaceful and contented. A nice camp-fire was lit, for the night-time cold, and the age-old camaraderie of open flames.

The storms had, however, made a turn to the south-east, and bore down on the settlement. The thunder grew louder, and the flashes of lightning more vivid. Soon it was decided that retreat inside was the order of the hour, so the leftovers were packed up, and the tables, chairs and boxes moved indoors. The various parties said their good nights, and prepared to sit out the coming storm. When it came it was fairly tempestuous, but not, fortunately, too much so. The rain and lightning were vigorous, but the wind less than might have been feared. Thelma hated lightning-who could blame her- but expressed anger at it, rather than fear of it. The storm lasted about an hour, half heavy downpour, then soaking, steady rain. After it was over, the frogs and crickets put up quite a chorus, which lasted all night. The ants cleared out their nests, and built higher ramparts to protect their homes from the further downpours that they knew were coming. They didn't mind a bit of night duty, for no extra pay. And by midnight the little settlement was asleep and Jimmy dreamed of his Mum and his Dad, his dream father as he imagined him to have been and his Mum as he imagined that he remembered her. Or so he imagined.

The following days were quite idyllic. It tended to rain in the evening, but not too violently. The days were warm and humid, but not yet too much so. Christmas was a week away, and Thelma had dragged out the old, golden, metallic tree that had served her family well ever since she found it thrown out during a garbage collection in Roma, while visiting relatives, many moons ago. Her kids had thought it tacky, but cute, and it was sturdily made, holding together nicely over the years. Jimmy helped decorate, making paper origami animals from memory of art classes, and gathering seed pods, insect skins and discarded chrysalids and shiny stones that he collected as 'bush decorations' as he called them. Jimmy was 'interested in everything', and anything could make a nice decoration given some wire and a little inspiration, as he told his bush Gran Thelma. And he was never going to let himself become bored.

One day, the hottest so far in that summer there, Jimmy asked Thelma about initiation. It took Thelma by surprise, because, really, Jimmy had never expressed any particular interest in blackfellas' business. He just wondered, so he said, if his Dad had been initiated, and whether it was expected of him.

'Goodness gracious, love' Thelma exclaimed, surprised by the question, which had never entered her mind.'Your Dad got a couple of talkings to, from my Uncle Clifford, you know, about men's business and Dreaming stuff, but all the old stuff, the scars and ...other things....well that's been done for a long while. He did paint up for a corroboree once, when some of Clifford's mates came to visit...he loved that...I think he was about your age...but never again, although he used to dance and sing by himself a lot, for years, but...it sort of died away, you know..he lost interest.Your Dad was three-quarters blackfella, but a pretty mixed up lot, twelve sixteenths, really, as far as I recollect, because the old tribal taboos, about marrying certain people, and not marrying them...that's been gone hereabouts for seventy, eighty years now. He always said that he felt like an indigenous man, but wanted to live as a human being...that was your Dad, my boy. He was an idealist, like you, I'd say'. Thelma paused, intrigued to hear Jimmy's response to that information.

'Dad sounds like the sort of man I want to be, but I want to be a kid as long as possible. But, Gran, can your Uncle Clifford tell me the same stories as Dad heard?' Jimmy's dark eyes were keenly hoping for the answer to be 'Yes'.

''fraid not, love. Clifford's gone over, years ago. But I'll see who's around that knows that sort of stuff. I reckon there's a couple of old fellas who'd love to make your 'quaintance, my word they would. You leave it to me'. Thelma nodded furiously in agreement, with herself.

After a few days of asking about, Thelma decided that Clifford's brother, Max, was the best bet. Max had been a boxer in Jimmy Sharman's travelling troupe, and was a bit of a larrikin, wiry, tough, a reformed, long-reformed, drinker who had settled down and taken a great interest in his people's legends and customs. In fact, he'd corresponded with anthropologists in Adelaide and Sydney, and had worked on dictionaries of disappearing languages, tape-recording old-timers before they passed away. He'd taken to advising youngsters who wanted to get back to their roots, as the jargon calls it, and he saw educating young men as his calling. He particularly liked showing white and migrant youngsters around his country, when high schools and University anthropology departments sent students up country. Max was still in touch with quite a few, and it restored a little of his faith in mainstream society.

To no-one's surprise, Max and Jimmy hit if off just fine. Max was taken with Jimmy's quite purposefulness and the mature way he treated the knowledge that was being bestowed upon him. And Jimmy quickly announced, but just to Doreen and Thelma, so as not to embarrass Max, that he felt like he had a grandfather, at last. Unfortunately, the time before Jimmy and Doreen had to leave for Adelaide was short. Christmas came and New Years, and they were due to return on the 7th January, after having his birthday party. Jimmy had alternated parties over the years, between Adelaide and Plenty Creek, although they had generally grown smaller affairs over recent years. Now, having met Max, Jimmy implored Doreen to let them stay, because Max had more and more stories, secrets, songs and dances to impart. So they decided to remain until the end of January, the last date really possible before Jimmy started at his new school.

Max was mightily pleased. Although Jimmy was 'just a kid' as he told his old mates, he felt that he was going to become a really notable man. None of Max's own sons and grandsons, or any of the other boys that he'd taught had picked up the spirit of his knowledge like Jimmy. In fact, at times, he even seemed to anticipate the next step, the new twists and turns of the teaching, and to comprehend them all at once.

'It makes sense, Uncle Max', Jimmy said one afternoon, as they sheltered under a tree from the blazing heat. 'This is stuff we, our people, worked out over thousands of years, without paper, pens, books...just with our minds, our memories and our voices. I reckon everyone else had a good go at it, too, don't you think. Americans, natives I mean, Africans, Chinese, everyone has the same brain, the same needs...I'd love to travel and see how they all did it'. His face was ablaze, with optimism and idealism and from the wretched heat.

Old Max felt quite lucky to have met such a boy. That he was off to school with the elite intrigued him. Maybe, he could be some sort of bridge between rich, white, people, and the 'Abos' that they usually reviled. Jimmy said as much, more than once. He was going to show them, show them how wise his people were, and how their knowledge was buried inside white folk, too, just covered over by layers and layers of 'civilization'. Then finally, Max started getting around to the some secret business, the real heart and soul of what he knew, about life, life in the desert, life right here and now, and everywhere and everywhen else, how time and place, past and future, near and far, were all interconnected and all exactly alike in their essence. How knowledge, sacred knowledge, was embedded in everything, and was just there for any creature, who knew how, to access. However, that knowledge was necessarily kept secret, and Jimmy never breathed a word to anyone about it. It wasn't there for boastfulness, or personal conceit. It was a trust, handed down, and to be handed on, itself, in its turn. In fact Max was soon telling Jimmy stuff that he'd never told anyone else, and which he hardly fully understood himself. He had a growing feeling that Jimmy would be able to go much further in understanding than he ever had.

But then Jimmy began to fear, just a little, where he was going, particularly how rapidly, and so he asked Max to slow down a bit. Next summer, after he'd spent a year digesting what he'd heard and seen and felt, that was close enough, and the years after. Jimmy was only just turned twelve, after all. Max agreed, saying that he'd bring a couple of old mates the next year, who knew other secrets, other insights. 'Have a year of whitefella learnin', then a summer school in blackfella knowledge. The best of both worlds, eh? And next year, I'll teach you how to box, so you can look after yourself when you run into idiots, 'cause there's plenty of them, out there!' Max had begun to outline the necessity of physical as well as intellectual strength, vital in the desert, and essential to physical existence anywhere, to Jimmy, who, while active, was not as fighting fit as he might be. Once in a while Max caught himself projecting his unrealised ambitions on Jimmy, (although definitely not in tent-boxing), but he had already realised that Jimmy would go along just so far, and no further, being, already, his own man. Max, however, recommended that Jimmy run a few laps of his school oval as often as possible, and some sprinting, because next year they would go hunting, and he'd need to be fit, because he, certainly not Max, would be doing the chasing.

One day, after a few weeks of Max's instruction, Jimmy woke early, and sought out Max in his little camp down by the dam. Max preferred living in tents more than in houses, and a nice brisk morning dip was also much to his liking. In fact he was already awake, and watching the dawn come up and the full moon sink below the horizon.

'What's up, little mate?', he drawled as Jimmy sat down next to him.

'Uncle Max...it's...well it's just....I'll start at the beginning...I think....When I was little, I used to sing to the birds and to nothing much, in particular...I taught Sammy, my brother, you know...I told you about him..'

' 'Yes', Max interrupted.'You make sure to bring him up with ya, next year. He sounds a good lad, like you, too'. Max was looking forward to having two star pupils.

'Yes, I promise', Jimmy recommenced.'Well I never knew where I got it from...Gran never told me...I don't know why not...but, last night, I dreamed about my Mum, and she was singing me a song...that she got from an old whale...just as it died...and that song was like instructions how to sing, to animals and other things...to trees, flowers, babies...and to everything...including the whales. There were no instructions, so much...but it was like a key that opened up the singing ability that was already in me'. Jimmy ran out of puff right about there, and Max jumped back in.

'Cripes, Jimmy...you're a goer, ain't you. I've heard of this stuff, from real old-timers...they reckon that the bush-people knew all about whales, they knew, from coast people, they'd come up inland sometimes, to fight or visit, or trade...you know...and they knew the whales weren't fish...they were like us, they had living babies and milk and all...and they could understand their singing...but that's real old stuff, from before the whitefellas killed most of them...I mean the whales, not just the blackfellas. Tell me...can you still sing to 'em...birds and animals, I mean?'. Max was fascinated by this turn of events, because it echoed stories that he's heard from many old-timers throughout the bush.

'Uncle Max, I haven't done it for years...not since I was about six, I think. It seems to have dried up, sort of'. Jimmy really hadn't given it too much thought, but he was doing so now.

'Don't worry, son', Max answered.'You never really lose that stuff that gets magicked into you. Next year...next summer, we'll dig it out again...you watch...boy oh boy, I'm looking forward to that....and keep an eye on all your dreams...they're messages...but they ain't usually easy to figure out. Write 'em down, and we'll go through them. Now let's go and have some breakfast. All this kinda stuff gets me hungry'.

Not to forget Jimmy's twelfth birthday party, but, to be honest, this year it was just a little subdued. Jimmy had already begun concentrating all his energy on learning from Max, and it was exhausting, physically and mentally, and he was sleeping ten or more hours a night. So the party was kept low key, just Jimmy and the kids and a cake, of course. Jimmy asked that no money be spent on presents, so he instead collected a few drawings, sculptures made out of bush 'found objects' and other creations from his friends.

Finally, with two days to go before they had to return to Adelaide, Max, believing that the best farewells were the briefest, hugged Jimmy tight and whispered one last secret in his ear. Jimmy smiled broadly, and shook his head, in amazement. Then Max jumped on his old motor-bike, and headed for his country, fifty miles north. He disappeared in a cloud of dust, the Wet having stalled the last few weeks, while the heat had built and built.

'What did he tell you, sweetie?' Doreen cooed. 'Secret stuff, that you can't tell your old Gran, I bet' She snickered, but was overjoyed by Jimmy's luck in meeting Max.

'No, Gran. He just said that I was protected by the rainbow snake, that he was my guardian, and my destiny-whatever that means. But I will know, one day. How's that for luck?!' Jimmy's laughter was quick and loud, and he seemed, to Doreen's eyes, astoundingly, almost to resemble a man, already. Doreen sincerely hoped not, because she had enjoyed his childhood so very much. Happily, Jimmy got straight back to childish things, rustling up the remaining kids, those who hadn't left for home and the new school year, for a game of kicking the football. Kicking was about all Jimmy enjoyed of Aussie Rules, which the other kids worshipped. And he could kick the ball a mile.

 Chapter Seventeen:  The Fiery Transformation.

The kids were soon happily punting the ball back and forth, down by the dam in a cleared area that opened out onto the flat plain that ran away, for miles, up to a distant line of grey-blue hills, with the Plenty Creek a few hundred metres away, flowing sluggishly, awaiting rain. The kids were now reduced to six, so three per side took turns to belt the football back and forth. Jimmy was furiously determined to master the 'torpedo' kick where the ball spun around its axis as it sailed away. He was getting better, and even entertained the thought of having a go at Aussie Rules at High School, which now meant, drat it all, next week. Jimmy loved holidays-what kid doesn't? But he was also really excited at the thought of mixing with children from other social backgrounds than his own, which might sound an odd ambition, but he was, as he often told his Gran, 'Interested in everything', particularly people.

, As the kids kicked and shouted, ran and wrestled, away on the far horizon, just above the hills which shimmered in the heat haze, a tiny, puffy, slightly off-white cloud popped into existence. Over all the rest of the sky, from horizon to horizon, the pale blue uniformity held not a single other such cloudy apparition. This little interloper, however, was not satisfied with its minuscule insignificance. It was hungry to grow, and so it did, with great rapidity. It was, in fact, a sort of terminus, and dropping-off point for two great atmospheric rivers of water vapour, that were pouring in from the tropical seas to the north, and which were steaming with heat. And with such vast resources to call on, our lonely, little, cloud, was soon growing like topsy, spreading quickly from north to south and east to west, and boiling up into the upper atmosphere.

It had increased one hundred-fold in a few minutes, when Jimmy first noticed it. Luckily they were only a few minutes from home and shelter, so he played on, unconcerned at the prospect of a hot drenching. As it was, he was bathed in perspiration, so a good drenching might not be so hard to bear, after all.

Within thirty minutes the entire northern sky was filled with huge thunder-heads, flat at the top, which were so very high up as to be far beyond anything Jimmy had ever seen before. By now a few adults had wandered down to watch the approaching storm, and after a few minutes, one mum called her kids to come in, because the first distant rumblings of thunder could be heard, and the innards of the storm clouds were being rent and illuminated by tremendous lightning flashes. Just about then, Doreen, who had been having an afternoon nap, woke with a start, in a cold sweat, with a tremendous sensation of foreboding. The next minute, when she heard the distant rumble, she struggled up from the bed, and set out to find Jimmy. She felt something bad was about to happen. Something that she must prevent, somehow.

The clouds were now bearing down on the settlement, and Jimmy was about to head for home, when his last kick went spiralling off into the undergrowth near the old creek-bed that ran down from the dam. The ball appeared to have speared into a mass of flood debris, left over from a flash-flood some years before, a twisted, knotty heap of gnarled old roots, stumps and branches, long overgrown with weeds. Jimmy made a fateful decision to rescue the ball before taking shelter. As he approached the thicket, he took one last look away to the north, and saw what looked like a wave, a long, dark, dark, grey line of clouds, running ahead, right under the storm-front. Better be quick, he thought, and he crawled in, brushing the dried weeds and branches out of his way.

Within seconds he saw the ball, just a few feet away. He crawled under a big trunk, and reached for it, and, just as he grabbed the footy, he heard his Gran crying out, as she searched for him. Tucking the ball under his arm, he scrambled sideways to turn around, wanting to see just exactly where he was going, and ran straight into Old Brownie, the brown snake.

To say that Jimmy almost died of fright there and then may, possibly, be an understatement. He froze in terror, and could only stare straight ahead. The world was lit up by the flash of lightning, and the thunder-clap that followed shook the branches around him, as if to make them fall in on him. The old snake held him firmly in his gaze, and his immense body stretched away until it disappeared amongst the thicket. Then he raised his head up, as if to strike, and Jimmy felt that he was not long for this world. The creature's head was enormous, his gimlet eyes fierce and penetrating. His gaze seemed to bore into Jimmy's soul, as if to steal it out, but he did not strike. Instead he lowered his great head until it touched Jimmy on the forehead, at which Jimmy gasped out a low moan of terror. The lightning flashed, Doris could be heard yelling, the sound of approaching hurricanes of wind was steadily growing, and the great serpent flicked out his tongue, and licked Jimmy all over the face. This for about thirty seconds, during which brief space, all the fear and terror mysteriously drained out of the boy, and instead, rather bizarrely, an intense calm, then a grave elation gripped his fevered mind. Then the snake turned in the blink of an eye, and slithered off, his huge body taking what seemed like an eternity to disappear from sight.

Jimmy lay there, as if mesmerised, unable to move, until a giant raindrop, intensely cold, hit him on top of his head. And all around the steady pittering of drops rapidly swelled to a steady drone, then a roar. He wriggled quickly backwards, the ball abandoned as an obstacle to flight. He was out in seconds, and the sky above him was black and contorted. The rain was falling in sheets, and a glance over his shoulder showed the wave-cloud was mounting like a giant breaker, about to crash down on them all. He could see his Gran, now, shouting out for him, between the trees near the dam, so he ran towards her, yelling. Doris heard his calls, and gestured him frantically to run. And run he did, as fast as he ever had, all the way across their kicking-field, and, soon, he thought, he'd be safely with his grandmother, although they were both getting a proper soaking.

Jimmy was within a hundred metres of Doris, pushed along by the roaring wind, almost sailing across the ground, when the world suddenly went white, a brightness so intense that he lost track of up and down, right and left. His hearing was smashed by an instant thunder-clap like a bomb explosion, his body was surrounded by intense, but somehow not destructive, heat, and then, he fell into an inky blackness so deep that he instantly imagined himself dead. But, somehow, as his mind closed down, he kept a tiny glimmer of consciousness alight, and felt, rather than knew, that he wasn't done for yet. Jimmy felt an immense relief, of the body more than the mind, and nothing else.

Doreen had been temporarily blinded by the lightning strike, and totally disoriented by the thunder. But burned on her mind's eye was the image of Jimmy, a tiny stick figure trapped inside a bolt of lightning, an electrical discharge so intense that its heat warmed and almost burned her face and arms. As her eyes readjusted, Doreen saw Jimmy lying face down on the ground. She screamed out in despair, then again and again for help. A number of the other outstation dwellers had witnessed the scene, as they rounded up kids and furniture, and two men rushed past her as she struggled down the little hill. The sandy red soil all around Jimmy had been vitrified, turned to glass, and was immensely slippery. The first bloke to reach Jimmy turned him over, and, noticing his breathing, weak and rapid, yelled out, 'He's alive. Bloody miracle!'

Doreen struggled over, and saw too that, by some miracle, Jimmy had not been blown to pieces. He was unconscious, however, so the larger man picked him up gingerly, and slipping and sliding, carried him up to the first house near the dam. Jimmy was laid down on a bed, and Doris felt for his pulse. It was weak and thready. His eyes were closed, but, on prying open one lid, Doris saw it to be dilated and reacting sluggishly, not, as she knew, good signs.

The outstation paramedic, Wendy, was quickly on the scene, and she immediately got in touch with Alice Springs. The rain, hail, thunder and lightning were intense, and the mobile phone coverage was out, so she used the CB radio, which, barely got through to Alice Springs Emergency Services. Luckily the Alice had been spared, so the rescue helicopter was available, and the medicos at the other end agreed that Jimmy had to be moved to hospital, pronto. Wendy placed Jimmy on his side in the 'recovery' position, and she closely watched his blood pressure, which was low. He breathed away, more peacefully now, and his tachycardia slowly settled down. But he remained deeply unconscious. Wendy checked him for burns, and entry and exit points for the lightning discharge, but she could find none. What she did discover, however, was a strange, coloured, scar on Jimmy's chest. Doreen immediately recognised the Rainbow Snake that had been Gay's, then Jimmy's, but which he wore only infrequently. Why he had it on today, she had no idea. It seemed fused into his skin, and they didn't dare try to extract it. It was best left for the hospital.

Needless to mention, Doreen was in a mess. She had thought Jimmy was gone, so certain of it that her mind had been swamped with thoughts of living out her days utterly alone. The thought that Jimmy's amazing promise might have come to nothing, in the same place and by the same means as his Dad's had also been, only deepened her anguish, But, at least Jimmy was alive, which were her very words when Thelma rushed in. Thelma was distraught, the diabolical coincidence with CJ's death being very much too much to bear. She and Doreen held hands and comforted each other, as the storm passed overhead and moved its deluges to the south.

What they didn't realise was that Jimmy had been struck by positive lightning, that more dangerous type that can strike even from a cloudless sky, the proverbial 'bolt from the blue', and the very culprit in CJ's death. In fact the electric discharge that had fused the ground into glass and buried a ring of fulgurites in a nearly perfect circle around the epicentre where Jimmy had been hit, like a Druidic stone circle, but underground, buried from sight and mysteriously inverted, had originated far, far above the thunder-heads, in that stratospheric zone where the electrical 'sprites' dance. Indeed, as would be noted in scientific journals, some months later, after the data were examined and with brief media attention,  a 'Red Sprite' of hitherto unimagined size had spread its jellyfish halo right around the north of Australia, (and was seen and photographed from the Space Station), and the accompanying 'Q-burst perturbation of the ionosphere and the Schumann resonance', as the scientific jargon would have it, was orders of magnitude higher than any ever seen before, startling, and even frightening, the scientists in that particular field, who had barely even conceived of such an energetic event being possible. All jargon and gobbledegook to the two bereft grandmothers, but of deep significance in the future.

After about an hour, although it seemed like eternity to the grandmothers, the distant whirr of helicopter blades could be heard, drawing near. Soon the paramedics had arrived, and they examined Jimmy, got an intravenous drip going, monitored his heart, inspected his neurological status, and carried him gingerly to the chopper. There was no room for passengers on this machine, so Mabel and Doreen watched as the helicopter took off and disappeared north, then grabbed a lift from Ronny, the settlement jack-of-all trades, in his ute. They crammed in the front, and set off for Alice, post haste.

It was a longer trip than normal, so much debris was lying over the track from downed trees and the like, and a lot of careful driving around was required. They nearly got bogged twice, but, eventually, reached the sealed highway, and drove quickly for town. All the time Doreen and Thelma clutched hands and remained absolutely quiet, neither braving the task of speaking first.

Doreen made all sorts of promises to a God she hadn't had much to do with for years, to do this, that and the other, if only Jimmy was spared. Thelma was normally intermittently devout, in a non-descript fashion, and agnostic, so she too made a silent each-way bet. Ronny drove quickly, but carefully, and maintained a respectful silence, all the way to the Hospital. The helicopter could be seen on the lawn next to the Emergency Department, with no activity apparent.

Ronny stopped at the drop-off point, and the two women struggled out, then strode briskly through the entrance, while Ronny parked the ute. Once inside they headed for triage, which, thankfully, was momentarily clear. Jimmy was in the Resuscitation Bay, and being attended to, so they just had to wait.They sat down, as far from the blaring TV as possible, and fretted.

Fortunately, the triage sister was able to rustle up one of the registrars who had seen Jimmy on arrival. He gave the old ladies precisely one minute of his time, all that he could spare, as he said, and explained that Jimmy was deeply unconscious, so deep in fact, that he had been intubated and placed on a respirator. Jimmy was to be transferred to the Intensive Therapy Unit, so he suggested that they wait there. The registrar asked an orderly to show them the way, he being a callow but pleasant youth in need of a shave to dispense with the silliness of his vapid goatee, of which you could just about count the individual hairs.

Thelma and Doreen announced their presence by intercom, and were told that Jimmy would be settled within thirty minutes, having just arrived from the ED. Ronny wandered in after a while, with a pizza, but the two ladies weren't at all hungry. Stomach-knotting fear gnawed at their gizzards, and the thought of food was almost nauseating. Ronny apologised for not sharing their aversion to food, and discretely tucked in. The thirty minutes seemed like hours, but, finally, a nurse emerged, and, while Ronny waited, the two women were ushered in.

Jimmy was hooked up to quite a few machines, monitors and infusions. His nurse introduced herself, observed that Jimmy was stable, and had the Unit Registrar outline matters. Apparently he had suffered no apparent trauma, no burns, no fractures, no internal injury. Jimmy's head scan had shown slight cerebral swelling, for which he was receiving intravenous medication. His vital signs, blood pressure, temperature, reflexes etc were stable and intact. It was just a matter of waiting and seeing. His nurse, Brian, could not see why Jimmy would not simply wake up, even tonight, but there was also the remote chance of deterioration, after so shocking an insult to his entire body. As Doreen outlined how she had seen Jimmy, immersed in blinding brilliance, how the ground had been vitrified, and how the thunder had cracked windows, the ITU Registrar shook his head, then smiled.

'He must be a miracle boy..that's all I can say...to survive that...it's a miracle'. He looked genuinely astounded, with a certain hint of disbelief at the sheer incredibility of Jimmy's escape. Perhaps his grandmother was slightly exaggerating, having experienced such a shock. He got up to attend another patient, whose booze-soaked innards were giving out on him, and Doreen and Thelma finally accepted the offer of tea from the supernumerary nurse, the general 'dog's-body' for the shift.

'I'm the 'gofer'', she explained. 'He's a handsome boy, your grandson. Where are his Mum and Dad?' An innocent question, but also necessary so that the paperwork might be finalised.

'He's an orphan, dearie' Thelma replied. 'We're his next of kin, while we're above ground, that is'. She answered brusquely, resenting the reminder of CJ's similar fate. The little girl grimaced with sympathy, and mumbled her commiserations, while departing to fetch the tea.

In her stead she sent the tea-lady, a formidable old indigenous woman, Sarah, who had worked in the Hospital for, as she said, 'Yonks of years, love'. Sarah sat down, too, being near the end of her shift, and began to expertly interrogate Doreen and Thelma. She was very expert at extracting information, with her friendly, down-to-earth manner, and 'bucket-loads' of empathy, and particularly saw it as her duty to look after the older indigenous, not that too many got to be that old, so shocking was the mortality and morbidity that they suffered.

'The little nurse, ..she says...he'll be OK...what's his name...they weren't so sure, all they knew was 'Jimmy' from Arandjiri Outstation', she drawled, as she sipped her tea, and using the semi-official name for the settlement.

'James Cecil Kartinyangarra', known to us as 'Jimmy', dear' Doreen replied, with a glance to Thelma, who she had always suspected harboured a certain resentment that Gay had insisted on him taking the Kartinyangarra name (out of superstition, if the truth be known, after CJ's death). Thelma showed not a hint, not a twinge, of interest, simply staring off into the distance, which was the wall, five or so metres away. She was well lost in thought.

'Lovely name, for a lovely fella. My he's a looker, if you don't mind me saying so. A trail of broken hearts will be left. Now I'm getting too familiar. What...what's he doin' at school...in High School, yet?' Sarah felt that she had overstepped the mark, as she sometimes did, so she steered things to mundane topics.

'Well, dear....just next week...next bloody week, really, would you believe it...next week he was starting at a posh school in Adelaide...he won a scholarship, can you believe it? Thelma had woken from her reverie, and answered for Doreen.

Doreen filled in the details.'Well, thank God, wherever she is...thank Gaia, thank the Easter Bunny and Rudolph the reindeer....thank 'em all...he's going to be right, because he did better than anyone...ever...in the school's exam...fancy that...a little blackfella, showing the whiteys and Chinese and Indians...and flamin' Eskimos, for all I know...showing them all how to do it. How is that!' Doreen exhausted herself with that little excitation, then, realising that she had been verging on the rant, settled down, to listen.

'Good on him, I say' exclaimed Sarah. 'Lovely and smart, too. Flamin' heck..maybe he'll be Prime Minister one day...in fact, can he start as soon as he's better? The present pack of galahs need ...well they need replacing, to be polite'. Sarah beamed, and felt rather pleased to have met these women, and in such trying but seemingly hopeful circumstances, too.

The conversation flowed freely, with Thelma loosening up a lot. It appeared that Sarah had relatives quite close, by Territory standards, only 200 kilometres, from 'Arandjiri', (in reality a name no-one ever used, but still on official records from 1900 or thereabouts)and, after a while, she and Thelma established a couple of mutual, if distant, acquaintances. One Thelma proffered as a possibility, it turned out was dead, which was a little shock, but common news amongst the indigenous. There was lots of 'Sorry Business' all the time. At change of shift to night duty it was arranged that one of the old ladies could sleep in the corner, if they liked, but, after being assured that Jimmy was going to be quite alright, accommodation was arranged for them both at the hostel for country visitors, across the road.

Ronny decided to head home, and return the next day, in the afternoon, to see how things were panning out. He drove off with a cheery, 'Hooroo', and a wave, and Doreen and Thelma retired to their little room, to crash out from exhaustion. They slept soundly, through another ferocious rain-storm, and the jabbering and screeching of the drunks thrown out of the pubs at midnight under new drinking laws. Doreen dreamed of being a kid again, a fond dream that she sometimes believed in so much that she imagined it to be more than a dream, but from which she always, unfortunately, awoke. This time, however, she and Jimmy were both kids, about seven years old, the age at which Jimmy had seemed the most deliciously lovable, to her at least. And, without a note of poignancy or regret or even surprise, they were joined by Gay, as she had been as a seven year old, too. Of course they didn't acknowledge that two of them were the children of two of the others, and just played like friends do, this being 'dream time', which is infinitely plastic and elastic.

After a while, just as they were building a dam on a little creek, piling up sticks and stones and shovelling mud between them, they suddenly became aware of an old lady, watching them from the bank, on the far side of the creek. She was very, very, old, her hair white, and it was pretty hard to say if she was white or Aboriginal, or even Asian. Her features were strangely unspecific, as if she was an amalgam of all humanity's so-called 'races', or perhaps she was a throw-back to some very ancient type, from the fabled 'dawn of time'. Doreen was just working through the contradiction that such an ancient ought to be a lot darker, having come 'out of Africa' so obviously only recently, when the old lady began to speak. Softly, of course, but as if whispering in their ears, they heard her every word, her every intake of breath, as if it came from within, rather than by the mere vibration of the atmosphere transmitted through the ear-drum and all the other, ridiculously complex, apparatus of hearing.

Her message, for it was a message, was simple. Jimmy was fated to be a 'Changer of Things' whatever that meant. He and 'his friends', the 'Children of Our Dreams', as the old dear called them, would lead the world's children to save mankind and heal the world, the children, generation after generation all working for 'one hundred years'. Now, normally, of course, Doreen would have laughed this all off as silliness, and crazy talk, but, this being, after all, a dream, and, hence, inherently magical, she not only heard every word and believed every word, but wanted to simply go out into the world and make it happen. What's more, she was very, very, happy, a happiness coming from somewhere deep within her, and from outside her at the same time, as if she was bathed in, and completely saturated in, happiness. Then, as we all inevitably must, Doreen woke, this time with a start. The dawn light was creeping through the venetian blinds, and upon heaving herself upright and shuffling to the window, Doreen, by peeping around the corner of the blinds, saw that it was clear and bright, but that it had rained a great deal overnight, judging by the pools of water sparkling everywhere.

Thelma was still snoring, so Doreen sneaked out and had a quick shower. Then she went downstairs, where breakfast was just starting. Doreen enjoyed a couple of nice chats with women from across the Territory, down to stay with sick kids, or dying elders. She was struck, yet again, by how stoic her people were, how stalwart and unbreakable. Doreen received much heartfelt sympathy when she mentioned Jimmy and his plight, the miracle of his survival amazing one and all.

After a good hour, and several cups of coffee, Thelma joined them, having showered and changed as well. The two grandmothers waited until nine o'clock before making their way to the Intensive Therapy Unit, and resumed their vigil. And so it went, day after day, for ten long days, Jimmy not stirring, his vital parameters staying stubbornly unchanged. He grew neither worse, nor measurably better. Slowly, the two old ladies began, bit by bit, to lose hope.

Then, on the tenth day, the head of the Unit came to see them. It had been decided that, if they agreed, Jimmy must go to Adelaide, for particular MRI and SPECT scans (whatever they were) that weren't available in the Alice. And, if the worst came to the worst, there were better places for his long-term 'placement' down in the 'Big Smoke.' Thelma and Doreen agreed, Doreen without qualms, but Thelma more than a little reluctantly. She would have to stay at home, she told Doreen, having no love of cities, and she would entrust Jimmy entirely to Doreen's care.

'You've been like his Mum since Gay passed over, dear...you're the one, but I'm worn out, I'm afraid. The nurses tell me I'm too stressed and my blood pressure is...well, it ain't good.. it's looking down from the top of Mount bloody Everest, if you must know...so I'm going home, and I'll pray for him. Pray to who, God knows!'. Thelma chuckled a little, but bleakly, at that. Doreen gave her a warm hug, as she deserved. Thelma did look ground down by it all. With luck, when, not if, not if by a long shot, but when, Jimmy woke up and got his condition back, then they would see Thelma again. There would be no going out in any storm, however, not ever again.

The arrangements took a few days. Jimmy would go back to the Women and Childrens' Hospital, where he had been a patient that once before. Prior to leaving Alice Springs he required a tracheostomy, so that he could be taken of the ventilator safely, which his grandmothers agreed to. He looked terribly frail and vulnerable with the trache sticking out of his skinny, boy's, throat.

The College in Adelaide had finally contacted Doreen, having learned of Jimmy's misadventure through Mel. Sammy had started on time, but, as Mr Dudley said, in a very kind and considerate letter that he sent Doreen, he missed his mate very deeply, and was worried sick about his condition. Doreen rang the College, courtesy of the Hospital, to outline the transfer to Adelaide, and was assured, by the Headmaster no less, that, whenever Jimmy recovered, he would be welcomed warmly, 'like the Prodigal Son'. 'It'll be more like Lazarus', Doreen replied.

Around this time Mal wandered in one day, having missed the excitement by being in Indonesia for three months, working for some UN charity. He loped in, his grey hair cut short, beard trimmed, and wearing a loud batik shirt. He got a run-down from the Unit director, while posing as Jimmy's 'Godfather'.

'You- his 'Godfather!?' Doreen sniggered.'God help us!' But, of course, Mal was a deeply trusted friend, and he was sorely missed when not around. He could translate the medical jargon into normal concepts.

The three friends chatted for hours. Mal assured the women that Jimmy would wake up, sometime. There was no gross cerebral swelling, no sign of raised intra-cranial pressure, no threat of 'herniation', which was the worst possible outcome. He didn't even have any broken bones or burns.

'That's the thing, Mal. I saw it for a split second, before my eyes whited out....it was so flaming bright...like you cannot imagine how bright. I couldn't see properly for ages...everything was burned in, like when you look at a real bright light, and it stays, when you close your eyes...like a shadow. And that shadow was Jimmy, like he was suspended in the air, like a rag-doll, and the lightning was all around him, like he was caught in a spotlight..'. Doreen had not recounted that memory to anyone, until now, possibly because it had, only now, come back fully to her mind.

'Well, it is a certified, bloody, miracle that he's here, then.' Mal retorted. He wouldn't have believed anyone else, not Thelma for a start. But Doreen was solid, sensible and forthright. Therefore the question must be- how had he escaped? That was a complete mystery. One he pondered more and more as the hours went by. He had a peep at Jimmy's eyes when the nurses cleaned them and instilled liquid tears to keep them from turning dry. Pupils dilated, but reacting to light. Limb reflexes were decreased, but improving, but the GCS stubbornly remained at three. All in all, rather like an upwardly socially mobile telephone book, about to attend a posh school. Mal was not overly confident, but certainly didn't let it show.

Jimmy's flight had been arranged for the next day after Mal materialised. Doreen was to fly courtesy of some obscure Government welfare program for blackfellas. Mal was going to drive Thelma home, then, a little later, drive down to Adelaide himself, to see if he could be of any help. Doreen hugged them goodbye at the airport, in the blazing heat and drenching humidity.

As the plane ascended, Doreen saw another wave of huge storm-clouds approaching. The atmospheric rivers were pouring water vapour south again, and another pyro-electrical display was on its way. Doreen had wished her friends a quick trip back to Thelma's home, and no more lightning! A forlorn hope as she herself knew. The lightning chimney to the skies would be busy again today, setting the ionosphere ringing, again, but never so loud as the day Jimmy was bathed in all its power and blazing white intensity.

By ten o'clock in the evening Jimmy was settled in the High Dependency ward, slightly less intense than Intensive Therapy, at the Children's Hospital. Doreen saw the specialist neurologist who was to look after Jimmy, a surprisingly young woman called Rosanna something or other. She was both non-condescending and kind, and sat and explained things to Doreen for a good while. Mel had made the short trip across the inner suburbs to the Hospital, and had to take a sharp intake of breath when she saw Jimmy, skinny and tracheotomised. Mel and Doreen left together around eleven, and promised to return early the next day.

'You can make it after lunch...if you feel like a good sleep, Mrs Kartinyangarra' Rosanna advised. 'We're going to do a few scans tomorrow, and a full work-up, and...well, that'll be away in radiology and Nuclear Medicine...but we should have some news...preliminary ideas, you know...by the afternoon. Come in then, and, if I haven't any emergencies... well, we can have a good chat, again. Agreed?' Well, naturally, it was agreed, and that was that.

Chapter Eighteen: Prodigy upon Prodigy.

'Come and look at this!'. The on-duty radiographer seemed to be calling for assistance. In fact he was actually wanting to show off something extraordinary, like a ten-legged spider or a six-legged horse, to someone else, so he could check that his eyes were not deceiving him.

The radiologist nearest to beck and call, a Fellow on secondment from the Department of Radiological Sciences at Sydney University (not much loving Adelaide's febrile summer, now made humid in a new twist of the climatic knife)wandered over to have a geek, as some old fossils still say.

'What's up', he ventured, with studied disinterest. These provincials were prone to over-excitement.

'It's that kid...from Alice Springs...the one supposedly hit by lightning, but mysteriously uninjured. It's his MRI scan.' The radiographer pointed at the display on the computer screen.

'And what will I see, pray tell?' ventured the Fellow.

The radiographer (shall we call him Peter, as that was, after all, his name) had to suppress the temptation to bemoan his supposed senior colleague's inability to see the plainly visible, or 'bleedin' obvious' for those of less 'couth' predisposition.

'Well, the number and density of the gyri, and the thickness of the frontal cortex, and, what about the corpus callosum? Have you ever seen such a depth and extent of connections between the hemispheres? I mean, the structures all seem hypertrophied, and denser than normal, like some ….some....well something peculiar, to put it mildly'. Peter had begun to think through the possible explanations and implications of the scan, and was just a little perturbed.

' Perhaps its just the appearance of a tight brain in a child. He's pretty well stuffed...isn't that the case? I hear he's deeply comatose. His brain is probably just swelling, poor little bugger. He's for a craniectomy, I suppose. Give him the proper Australopithecine look,....so fashionable these days, don't you know'. Our Fellow smiled smugly at his witty barb.

Peter shot him a reproachful glare, but left it at that. He was just another Sydney snob, pissed off at being banished to the boon-docks. And a callous one at that-he'll go far..

Instead of arguing over the Fellow's lack of empathy, Peter gave Nuclear Medicine a ring. They had been the next stop for young whatisname, James Kartinyangarra, after Radiology. The phone rang for a while, then was picked up by a somewhat breathless technician, as it turned out. Peter first politely inquired as to why his interlocutor sounded so excited.

'Well, it's this kid we have up here. The fellow that had the MRI, James thingy. What was his MRI like?' The voice was almost pleading for more information.

'Steady on, love (for it was a young woman)'.Peter cooed down the line. 'With whom am I speaking?' He didn't want to disseminate confidential and remarkable information where it was not proper to do so. You never know, this could be the tea-lady, for all he knew. They pick up a lot, hanging around places.

'Oh, fair enough. I'll put the Registrar on. She's just got here'. There was a brief pause as the 'phone was put on Hold, then a deliciously girly voice announced,

'Rosanna Hunt, here. I'm the senior paediatrics neurological Registrar. Who's this?', Ms Hunt demanded peremptorily.

Bloody doctors-pompous asses, one and all, well most, thought Peter, but the good paediatrician was the woman on the spot, so to speak, so politeness was in order.

'It s Peter Eden from Radiology, Dr Hunt. We've just sent James, the boy from Alice Springs up to that Department, and...well, you see...his MRI is pretty interesting....in my opinion, of course'. He waited for a reaction.

It was some little time in coming. Dr Hunt was trying to make sense of the SPECT scan results that she could see on the screen in font of her. They were, for a start, radically different from any she'd ever seen. The areas of high uptake of contrast were more diffuse and wide-ranging, and the degree of uptake so very marked, that she could only put it down to a brain in some sort of overdrive, or hyper-activity. The boy was still quite obtunded, and such feverish activity seemed totally inexplicable. Time to call in the neurological team. The nuclear medicine technicians were no use-they all refused to believe it, and put it down to another software malfunction. Perhaps the MRI would provide a few clues.

'I'll be down there right away', came her eventual reply, with which the 'phone was hung up, abruptly. Peter Eden was a little confused. No discussion, just a vague promise to materialise, 'right away'. He knew the quacks' 'right away' to be infinitely flexible. So he went back to his other patients, of whom there were quite a few. Everybody gets an MRI these days.

It was half an hour before Dr Hunt appeared, attending Felix Sutton, the Senior Neurological Specialist, with a coterie of junior doctors in tow. They were brusque, which he despised, so he went slow, just to annoy them, in finding the relevant scan. Petty, of course, but doctors with ego display problems were his least loved life form. Finally, as he judged the quacks to be seconds from imploding with frustration, then, like a supernova, exploding with a rebounding rage, he 'found' the scan, and the doctors pushed him out the way to examine it.

Lots of mumbling, muttering, chin stroking and head movements ensued. Various opinions were proffered, then rejected. Lines of thought were unrolled, then, once snagged on some imponderable obstacle, were cut off without regret. The MRIs from Alice Springs were compared, and it was agreed that the boy's brain had, indeed, changed since the last scan taken there, one week ago. Finally they agreed-it was a mystery. On one point, however, there was agreement. The boy, if indeed his problem was 'tight brain' induced, which they all agreed was a little unlikely with the SPECT results, was in need of intra-cranial pressure monitoring. A lumbar puncture seemed risky, if the pressure was, indeed high, so it was agreed that an ICP monitor would have to be inserted, which meant dragging in a neurosurgeon, if, in fact, he or she would consent to performing the procedure at the Children's Hospital. Some will, and others preferred their home territories at the General Teaching Hospitals. The gang left without a word to Peter Eden, who wished them all an attack of gastro-enteritis, inside his head, of course, and they made tracks to the High Dependency Unit.

Doreen had just arrived, almost coincident with Jimmy returning from the Nuclear Medicine unit. His nurse escort spent a good while chatting to the Head Nurse on duty, who was not the Nurse Unit Manager, who was off sick with 'stress leave'. A lot of head shaking, page turning and slightly affected gesticulation went on, until the travelling troupe of doctors arrived, whereupon the gesturing and head-wagging grew more pronounced. Finally, Dr Hunt broke away from the group, and joined Doreen, whose presence had finally been noticed.

'Good morning, Doctor. All that fuss wasn't over my Jimmy, was it?' Doreen had that bottomlessly empty feeling in her gut, the dread of bad news.

'Yes, Mrs Kartinyangarra. It's good news, and not so good, possibly. You see, Jimmy's scans were...interesting....remarkable....probably good....but just maybe, they show something bad....and, so, he has to go to theatre, and..and have a small device inserted into his brain...it's very safe, believe me....a device to measure the pressure inside his brain. We'll probably get him there first thing tomorrow. And I'm ordering some steroids to reduce any swelling. Now...I'm sorry to startle you like this, but....we'll need your consent, your permission as next of kin...for this to go ahead. Do you want to think it over?' The good doctor was solicitous, and by sitting down to explain things, rather than standing and looming over Doreen, she'd put her more at ease.

'No, dear girl..dear doctor...your word is good enough..I trust you, you're a straight shooter...terrible expression, ain't it...too many Hopalong Cassidy movies as a kid. But they told me at Alice that there was no swelling, so they had stopped the steroids'. Doreen was frightened lest Jimmy was deteriorating.

'Yes, Mrs Kartinyangarra, it does look 'different' from the Alice scans...but rather unlike anything that we have seen before. No sign of major disasters, however, but we'd better get that pressure reading'. Dr. Hunt didn't want to frighten Doreen.

'OK, OK' Doreen replied, grabbing Rosanna Hunt's hand and squeezing hard. 'I'm trying to say...just, if you say so.....where do I sign?' Doreen was suddenly quite relaxed about everything, for some reason that she couldn't at all put her finger on. She seemed to know, from somewhere, that Jimmy was on the road to recovery.

Dr Hunt gave Doreen's hand a friendly, firm, squeeze, in return, and went back to the doctors' office and fetched a 'Consent Form'. As Doreen signed, the nurses were injecting Jimmy with his first dose of steroids, and things were set for the following day.

The afternoon arrived, then proceeded at its familiar hospital waiting pace, that is dragging, particularly whenever some dreaded day was tomorrow. It 'concentrated' Doreen's mind more, much more, than a little severely. Fortunately, a good few friends popped in to visit. Mel brought Doreen some lunch, then left for her afternoon lectures. She was still completing a number of courses, proceeding at leisurely pace, while working a few part-times jobs-keeping busy, as she called it. Then Helen and Sammy arrived, and both cried a bit. Sammy gave Doreen the run-down on the College, and Doreen promised him that Jimmy would soon join him there. Somehow she felt quietly confident of that outcome. Helen and Sammy stayed only briefly, having school engagements, but Sammy left declaring that he 'knew' Jimmy would be up and about next time they met.

Then, a real surprise, Judith Stone and Olga Wade arrived together. Mel had phoned Olga, with the bad news, but she had been remarkable blasé' about it all. However, Ms Stone was very upset on hearing of the accident, if that's what it was best to call it. She was terrified, but Olga calmed her down.

'That boy is not finished yet, you mark my words. I knew he was going to do big things for himself, his people and everybody, from the first days that I knew him, and, God knows....nothing can change that feeling'. Olga's confidence impressed Ms Stone, even if she didn't share it.

The two teachers inspected the comatose boy. The trache was daunting., although the nurses assured them that it would come out soon after he woke, if all went well. Judith Stone interrogated the Head Nurse, as Jimmy's 'Godmother' the excuse being suggested by Doreen. If it worked for Mal...well why not give it a go? She returned, smiling, with the information that Jimmy was a 'peculiar case', which she laughingly said wasn't news to her. Apparently his brain was too big for his age, and just possibly for his head. Ms Stone left out the possibility of craniectomy, which the nurse had mentioned, and explained. Judith thought that prospect altogether too depressing for Doreen, so she, instead, insisted that the steroids would fix everything. Jimmy would, however, being going to the ITU while the intra-cranial monitor was in.

The hours passed in conversation, cups of coffee and short leg-stretching walks. Doreen related the events of that dreadful day, and the fearful storm, and Jimmy's miracle escape from obliteration. Olga Wade mentioned, in passing, and for reasons she couldn't actually put her finger on at the time, that she had read newspaper reports of strange upper atmospheric phenomena photographed from the space station that very day, or so she thought, associated with lightning and electrical 'sprites'. She suddenly just felt that she had to mention it, as if it was connected to that day's sad events. Ms Wade made a mental note to check the stories, and the date, when she next got on her computer. Finally it was visitor hours finish time, eight of the PM, or 2000 in hospital usage. Doreen was staying, which the nurses agreed to, if a little reluctantly. Jimmy's teachers went home, stopping to kiss Jimmy on the cheek and forehead respectively, and hugging Doreen half to death.

Doreen attempted to get comfortable in a 'cloud chair' recliner, and dozed, while holding Jimmy's hand. It was warm and limp. She woke once or twice, when the nurses turned Jimmy a little, and when they emptied his urinary catheter. Then there was the midnight dose of steroids, after which Doreen dropped into a deep sleep.

Doreen dreamed, just a little, of walking along the beach, with Jimmy. He was very talkative, but she didn't hear a word. His mouth moved, but no sound came out, or none audible to her. After a while, Jimmy came closer, and grabbed her by the hand, while stroking it with the other. His mouth noiselessly voiced, 'Gran, wake up!', and so Doreen did.

As she emerged from that slumber, she suddenly became aware that the stroking was not just in her dreaming, but here in the real world. Through bleary eyes she saw Jimmy's other, his good, left, hand, stroking her's, as she held his right hand. His eyes were wide open, and he was silently mouthing 'Wake up, Gran', while smiling broadly.

After a few second's reflection, to ensure that this was not, still, some dream, Doreen called for the nurse, who was in the office, making coffee. Doreen leant over Jimmy, and gingerly kissed him on the forehead. The nurse arrived, turned on the overhead light, and chuckled, 'Well, there's a turn-up for the books. I guess he didn't fancy going …..you know'. She thought better of blabbing too much to a little boy, so recently vegetating, or so it had seemed.

Various doctors were summoned, of the few that were present at night, and not too busy elsewhere, who all examined Jimmy, checking his vital signs. They told him that he couldn't speak because of the tracheostomy tube. After an hour or so of consultation it was decided to chance removing the trache and catheter in the morning. Jimmy had cheerfully communicated in writing all through the excitement, and after the doctors had left, he passed on messages to Doreen.

Jimmy confided that he remembered little from the time of running through the storm, to waking up that very night. He told his Gran that he felt different, however, and he couldn't quite say how. He asked how long had he been 'asleep' and when Doreen answered, he wrote, a little frantically, 'What about school?'. Doreen told him not to worry, that they were saving his place. She promised to get in touch with the school the very next day, well, later that day as it now was, and Jimmy was relieved. Then he wrote that he was tired, and needed to sleep, so Doreen kissed him good-night, at two in the morning, and they both dozed off. Doreen was, needless to detail, excited and overjoyed. Jimmy seemed so well, after it all, that it all had to be accorded the hallowed status of 'miracle'. Doreen's sleep was deep, no doubt as a relief from all the previous tension, and she woke remarkably refreshed, at six o'clock. The nurses were busy doing the morning duties, and, as Jimmy was still sleeping, Doreen sneaked out for a quick shower in the theatre change rooms. The night duty sisters happily agreed, after Doreen explained her circumstances, and by the time she returned, refreshed, to Jimmy's room, he was awake.

They recommenced communicating through written messages from Jimmy, then Doreen's answers, and vice versa. Later the paediatrics teamed traipsed in, and seeing Jimmy so remarkably well, had his catheter removed, then his tracheostomy tube. With the tube gone, Jimmy could talk, and his voice, although husky, was remarkably strong, and confident.

'I am getting my memory back, Gran...of the time I was....unconscious. It is coming back in little pieces...it is not all black, but shades of grey, dark, light, blueish...you know. I think I will be out in a couple of days. I feel so ….strong...my it is an interesting feeling!' Doreen was a little bemused by his behaviour, but just glad to have him back.

The physiotherapists were summoned to see how much condition Jimmy had lost. Remarkably it appeared to be little. Indeed, by lunch-time Jimmy was walking around the ward, going to the toilet himself, much to his relief, and chatting to all and sundry. Some light lunch was provided, which he wolfed down without trouble. Dr Hunt laughingly observed that he seemed to be a boy in a hurry.

'Too right', Dr Hunt', Jimmy answered, 'There is no time to waste, any more, now is there? There is work to be done!'. The doctor was puzzled by his answer, which she assumed meant getting to school, and catching up the weeks he had missed, but even more was she beguiled by his steady, friendly and, in a way, confiding gaze. It was like a dear, old, friend telling one a home truth of some sort. And this was a twelve year old boy who she had only really met this very day. It made her feel both elated, and vaguely wary, at the same time. She turned to Doreen, who arched her eye-brows in acknowledgement, and the two women left to talk in private, in the Doctors room, while Jimmy ate his custard with slow-motion relish.

'Well, Doctor' Doreen began, not waiting for Rosanna Hunt even to get seated.'What's up with Jimmy? He's different, you know...I can't quite put my finger on it....but he seems changed'. Doreen could have waffled on for quite a while, but she left it at that.

'Mrs Kartinyangarra, I have no idea. I've only just made his acquaintance, and he seems a rather intelligent and gentle boy. But, as I said, his brain scans were...well, not ordinary.....that'll have to do. We'd like to do some more tests, before he goes home...if that's OK....just to assess his cognitive state....and I'd like permission to contact the College to obtain his exams results, from the scholarship tests...to compare the results. I mean, I doubt he's been badly affected, and, well there's no known mechanism by which he could have been rendered more intelligent, you understand..by being struck by lightning....only the opposite, surely....but there's always something new under the Sun, don't they say'. Dr Hunt gave Doreen a rather grave smile, which hardly set Doreen's mind at ease.

However, Doreen readily agreed to the testing, to reassure herself, and so, that afternoon, the enthusiastic young man was put through his paces with a set of cognitive, memory and various mathematical assessments. The hospital Behavioural Science Department provided the material, and a room, where Jimmy went cheerfully at it. He finished quite quickly, then asked if the Hospital had a library. Only a Medical one, came the reply. However Jimmy was after a computer, having picked up a few skills while at Mel's (although hardly being an enthusiast). While the papers were marked, Jimmy was taken down the hall to the computer room, where an old PC was rustled up for his use. In no time he was scanning web-pages devoted to climate change, ecology and comparative religion. An eclectic choice, and one that he consumed with a startling rapidity. Indeed, after a few minutes, Jimmy stopped, somewhat startled at his own pace, which seemed so natural, and tried to recall what he had read.

To his consternation, Jimmy found that he could recall every word, the detail of the pictures, even the squashed remains of a bug in a photograph on page 23 of one article. For a second or two he was nearly frightened by this new ability, but then, in an instant, he accepted it, happily and gratefully, and, a weird sensation, as if it was his due, his destiny. Something strange, but, intriguingly so, yet seemingly not unexpected, was happening to him, and he was going to just go along with it, and that made him almost deliriously happy. Happy, but without egotism. Not for himself, at all, but for...everything. After which delicious sensation, Jimmy just kept reading, devouring page after page, ideas popping into his mind, growing and transforming themselves, sending out feelers to one another, making organic connections and rapidly weaving a tapestry of concepts and imaginings, small and grand, inside his mind. And, all the time, growing from a tiny initial sensation, no more pronounced than the vibration of a gnat's wings flapping, he began to feel himself connected in some way, not just to these ideas, so new and intoxicating, but to other minds, as well, great and small, living and those that had departed, leaving behind just the echoes of their insights and understandings. It was a quite intriguing sensation, as if his mind was no longer his alone, but linked to others, and, perhaps even more oddly, it worried him not at all. In fact, precisely the opposite. Jimmy felt even more elated, indeed blessed.

Jimmy would have sat there all day and night, but Doreen and Dr Hunt, summoned by the Behavioural Science worker, found him, and tore him away. Jimmy kept quiet, for the time being, about his new abilities, already sensing that this light might best be hidden under quite a few bushels, and shine not too brightly, lest it attract undue attention or devotion.

Returning to the little study where he'd performed his tests, Jimmy sat quietly and contentedly while the examiner outlined his results. Jimmy was day-dreaming, but, almost incidentally, picked up the essence of the outcome. The words 'exceptional', 'extremely high capacity', 'astounding' etc, struck him as merely embarrassing. He had realised, immediately, as he had taken the tests, that they were ridiculously easy, now, for him, far more undemanding than the scholarship exams had seemed. Then he suddenly felt the dread of being seen as some sort of prodigy, a specimen of something or other, the object of morbid curiosity, and, probably, envy and disdain. Time to hide away. No more tests, he decided.

'So you see', the examiner summarised, 'The results were off the scale. I suspected something pretty significant when he finished so quickly, and his writing was so very neat and precise..he has a lovely hand-writing style, doesn't he.... but...I hope I'm not embarrassing you, young man.....well it's a miracle, really. The question must be...what next?' The examiner, a middle-aged woman of ample proportions and deep human sympathy, looked at Doreen for an answer, but all Doreen could do was look stunned in return, and offer a barely noticeable shrug of the shoulders.

'What is next is that I go to school, and just be a kid. No matter how many exams I do, I have much more important things to consider than performing magic tricks in exams. Thanks for the kind words, but no more investigations, please.' Jimmy's tone was definite and brooked no argument, and his little declaration was delivered with self-assurance and smiles all round, and with.

The little group chatted amiably after that intervention. Things were quickly settled, according to Jimmy's wishes, and none of the women were interested in testing his resolve. Later the College faxed through Jimmy's scholarship exam results, whereupon it became plain that something or other had vastly expanded his capabilities in the ensuing months. He had gone from the very high end of normal, through 'exceptional', and out to the very end of the distribution curve, like some sort of intellectual Don Bradman, standing alone and unmatchable.

Back in the ITU, it had been decided to transfer Jimmy to the older kid's surgical ward, the better to recuperate away from the noise and lights of ITU. And it had been also agreed that Jimmy could leave for home tomorrow. Dr. Hunt wished to see him in a month, just to check his progress, but otherwise his 'miracle' recovery was confirmed. He would need to see a nurse for daily trache wound dressing changes, for a few days, but otherwise everything was 100%. School the very next week was considered most likely, while Jimmy silently decided on Thursday, two days away. Then Jimmy asked for fish and chips, always a favourite, and Doreen, thankful for the excuse to grab some fresh air, headed outside and around the corner, to the fish and chip shop, 'Frying Nemo'. She entered and exited through the Emergency Department back-door, so as to avoid seeing the scene of Gaye's dreadful accident, now nine years past. Doreen was back at Jimmy's new bedside, around the corner from ITU, within half an hour. Jimmy greeted her with a cheery but still croaky 'Hello', but was so immersed in a magazine, rifling through the pages, that he hardly noticed his Gran, or the precious meal. Doreen opened the tightly rolled up paper, 'butchers' paper' as they had once called it, whereupon Jimmy remarked, nonchalantly, 'I could smell it when you got out of the lift, Gran. How do you like the new room?', which Doreen mistook for a jest. In a second Jimmy had dropped the magazine, and was greedily consuming chip after chip after chip.

'What were you reading about, dear fella?' Doreen inquired, after a while, when Jimmy's pace of chip ingestion slowed a bit.

'Well, you see...(munch, munch)...Gran....it was about climate change...a whole edition.....you will not believe how fast I can read, now....honestly.....I am finding a lot of stuff hard to believe....and, all the time....I am remembering more stuff from when I was asleep...my memorylessness is fading, quickly.....I can remember voices and conversations, bit by bit...it is becoming less of a mystery'. At which Jimmy went back to more concerted eating. A short while later, after a little prodding from Doreen, Jimmy began to recount just exactly what it was that he had been reading. In fact, he related it all, virtually word for word in places, but stopped occasionally to point out where the arguments were inconsistent or contradictory. He'd been speaking almost non-stop for five minutes when Dr Hunt re-appeared, to see how he was going. She soon joined in the conversation, and the two nattered away like old friends, for ten, fifteen minutes. Then, quite abruptly, Dr Hunt begged her pardon, as she had to leave, and gestured to Doreen to follow her, as Jimmy combined eating the last chips, the spiky, crunchy, little ones, his favourites, with more reading.

The two women sat, a little nervously, out in the corridor, near the lifts. Dr Hunt seemed quite nervous and edgy. After a brief, and strained, silence she turned to Doreen and exclaimed, 'How are you going to protect him! I mean, when he's at school he's going to be an object of ..of attention...I know...I went to a 'top school'...they don't like you being too much out of the ordinary...' Her face was now rather pale, the colour having drained out, and her brows was knotted with tension.

Doreen was taken aback, for an instant, but quickly regained her composure.

'Thanks for your concern, Doctor....but I'll look after him....and him..himself...he's no push-over, let me tell you. If things,... well if they got bad, well then I'd just take him away, and send him to the local school.' Doreen waited for the reply with a vague unease that it was, really, none of the good doctor's business.

'Oh, I am sorry, Mrs Kartinyangarra. It is not really my place, but he's so unlike all the others....I just suddenly felt worried for him. Of course, I can see how level-headed and, well, tough, you have been, but, if you ever need any help....in any way....please contact me. I'd be delighted. You are usually advised not to get emotionally involved....but..well, that's enough, I think, for now'. Dr. Hunt smiled a twisted, little, half-grimace, her embarrassment etched plainly on her features. She really felt that she had overstepped the mark, but couldn't help herself. Jimmy was exerting a strange fascination upon her.

The two women left their seats, returned to Jimmy's bed, and Dr Hunt returned to her rounds. Jimmy bade her a fond farewell, and gave her a drawing, as a keep-sake. It was a rainbow serpent, arching over the world, with lightning flaring beneath. It was, he said, an image that he remembered dreaming while unconscious, and one that he had, in fact, drawn often before. Jimmy then got up, to play with a couple of younger kids, who were building towers out of plastic blocks. Then he began reading a story-book to the youngsters, with much face-pulling and mummery.

Eventually it came time to leave. Doreen had decided to go home and fix Jimmy's room for his return on the morrow. Mel arrived to provide the necessary lift, and Jimmy asked her if he could use her computer from time to time. Mel agreed, and asked if it was going to be for homework. No, he answered, something a lot more interesting. On that intriguing note, he saw his two guardians to the lift, and kissed them good-night, before returning to the ward, and an early night.

'He's changed, isn't he, Doreen'. Mel stated, as the lift jerked into life.

'Yes...something strange is happening to him...it seems all for the good, so far...so, fingers crossed. Let's just get him to school, and see what happens. No need to panic...yet'. Doreen said, giving Mel a stern but friendly look.

 Chapter Nineteen: Gaia's Children.

The transfer home the following morning went smoothly. Jimmy said good-bye to every nurse, cleaner, doctor, other kid etc, in sight, then after a short ride by taxi, Mel being at school, they were home. Jimmy re-arranged his room, a little, to re-orient the bed, for obscure reasons that he simply murmured they 'would see', but they never did. Then he hurried out to the vege garden, and set to, weeding, digging, mulching and planting. He sang a good deal as he worked, but not words as Doreen could understand them, rather strange and animated utterances, whistles,clicks, snorts, just as he had done as a little child, but had abandoned some years before. As Uncle Max had predicted, the ability to sing magically had mysteriously returned. As Jimmy told Doreen, when she interrogated him as to whether he was singing just like he used to, the sounds just '...come into my head-like before, when Sammy and I used to sing together'.

'You know that it was a gift from Mum, from the whale', he continued, his face betraying some strange exultation. 'The only difference is, now it really seems like it is coming from outside me, too, rather than just from within. The singing means something, but I do not understand exactly what, yet...but I will. Pleasantly spooky, shall we call it?'. Doreen nodded gravely, remembering Gay's 'ordinary miracle', in all its manifestations, as if it had happened yesterday.

All in all, Jimmy returned home was a dynamo of activity, even politely requesting a trip to the garden centre to buy some more seedlings and other garden requirements. Time was a-wasting, apparently.

That evening, at dinner-time, Jimmy helped peel and slice the veges. He declined meat, chicken in fact, and wolfed down a bowl of zucchinis, egg-plant, potatoes and cabbage. And he washed the dishes and put them away after Doreen dried them. Finally, he ever so politely asked if he could use the computer for a while. Mel agreed, as she was trying to wean herself off it, and preferred to watch TV on Tuesdays, in any case. 'The only night that it's not all garbage', she asserted, accurately. So she and Doreen sat down to vegetate in front of the box, and two hours passed quickly.

When Mel ventured into her little study, to see how Jimmy was going, she was quite befuddled to find that, as he carefully explained, Jimmy had prepared a folder of articles concerning environmental and social issues, and was writing an essay, concerning them. Then, he asked if it might be OK with Mel if he set up an e-mail account and a blog of his own.

'My, you have been busy, young man. Of course you can. And what are you going to call your blog?' Doreen had arrived to see what Jimmy was up to, and suggest that it was bed-time, too.

Jimmy turned around in the chair, and, looking straight at Doreen with a smile that begged for understanding, quietly said, 'I want to call it 'Gaia's Children', if that is O.K, Gran, with you?'. He waited expectantly for the reply.

It was quickly forthcoming.'Anything that you want, my dear boy, is absolutely fine by me. And it is your mother's name, too'. Doreen was intrigued to discover what Jimmy had in mind.

'Not just hers, either, Gran. The Earth-Mother, too. Our Mother, all of us...you, me, Mel,...everybody. We are all her children'. This reply was forthright, almost defiant, as if Jimmy was addressing some-one in need of being convinced, or converted, and Doreen was quite surprised by his tone. But then Jimmy smiled, his most winning grin, and added, 'But my favourite Gaia will always be Mum'. At which he jumped up and gave Doreen a huge hug. Tears all around, a hug for Mel, as well, then off to bed.

'I will fix things in the morning. I have got to sleep. I am starting a dream journal although I am not sure that I will need it, my memory seems....infallible. Uncle Max wanted me to, for next time we meet. Can you ring the College tomorrow, Gran- I would like to see Mr Dudley before I start'. Upon which he hopped into bed, and was asleep in a trice.

Doreen and Mel ruminated together over the strange goings on. Mel remarked on Jimmy's strange speech habits, where he spoke deliberately, and avoided contractions like 'I'm' in favour of 'I am'. And when he lapsed, he went right back and corrected himself in his new fashion.'It makes him sound sort of posh, and...well, a little robotic, don't you think, Dorrie?' Mel observed.

Doreen had noticed this new mode of speech, too, so she nodded her agreement, but said nothing. She, instead, talked about computers. Mel hardly used her computer, and Doreen said that she had planned to buy one for Jimmy for a while, before the accident, as a reward for winning his scholarship, and she had enough for a nice, relatively cheap, machine. She found the prospect of the new, 'super-charged' Jimmy with a computer and access to the Internet exciting, and vaguely unsettling, a little like 'Genghis Khan with a telephone', but far more loveable. Then Doreen hit the hay, too, no less tired than Jimmy by the furious pace of events. As she drifted off she was suddenly accosted by the stray thought that deciding on Gay's name, Gaia, may not have been serendipity after all. Perhaps it was meant to be.

In the morning Doreen awoke to find Jimmy already hard at work, designing his blog and registering it, and he simply smiled and yelled, 'Good morning, Gran' before returning to work. Doreen ate breakfast alone, Mel having gone to work, or college, Doreen wasn't sure which. Then Doreen rang the College, and spoke with Owen Dudley, who was very happy to hear of Jimmy's recovery, and quite enthusiastic about a meeting that afternoon, at three o'clock, which suited their convenience well. It was agreed that, everything going well, Jimmy would start school on the following Monday, just a few weeks behind.

'I'm sure that he'll catch up, Mrs Kartinyangarra', Dudley declared. 'Oh, you don't know the half of it, Mr Dudley. I will see you at three. Goodbye'. Doreen was brusque in ending, not wishing to let too much out over the 'phone. Dudley will see, she thought, but see what, really. She experienced an uneasy sensation, again, that Jimmy might become a curiosity, a strangeling. He was now just too out of the ordinary. But, just then, she heard his odd, lilting, singing increasing in volume, so she went to see what was up.

Jimmy was singing again, his trade-mark melange of humming, whistling, clicking, oohing and aahing, with various other noises thrown in. He heard Doreen approach and stopped.

'It is coming back to me, Gran. This singing is what I heard when I was unconscious. I think its some sort of signal from my brain, as it rearranged itself. That is the idea that keeps coming to me, more and more. I think it is coming from outside my brain, too, increasingly, from somewhere else. Spooky. I must just learn how to control it, then I will really be getting somewhere'. At which thought Jimmy laughed, quite innocently.

Doreen wasn't so sure. It sounded like some mental illness, hearing stuff from outside your head and inside, like a radio picking up signals. Some of her friend's kids had succumbed to schizoid psychoses like this. She found herself frowning rather too obviously.

'Don't worry, Gran...I'm not going silly. It's just part of the reconstruction of my mind. Memorylessness will become memoriousness, bit by bit. It is not going to stop, either, I am pretty sure...so we will just have to get used to it. By the way...I love you Gran, very much'. Jimmy jumped up and kissed his Gran on the cheek.

'Thanks for looking out for me, and being there when I was sick. It is you and me, now, but, soon, there will be lots of others. That is the whole idea, why all this is happening like this. You will see. Just wait until the others find the blog. They will, any day now, then we will really get to work'. As had become truly marked since his recovery, Jimmy sounded like twelve going on thirty-and a decidedly unusual thirty, at that. Yet he was still just a little boy, as far as Doreen was concerned, no matter what.

Jimmy worked away happily on his blog, writing a Humanifesto, as he called it, not an original name, but 'One worth 'borrowing'', as he said. At noon Doreen suggested a break, to which Jimmy happily acquiesced. Let's walk through the Botanic Gardens, he proposed, so they quickly dressed, Jimmy having a shower as well, then left home and caught the bus to the Gardens. Jimmy set to memorising all the plant names, then insisted they visit the Botanic Museum, where he continued the assimilation process.

'Knowing what plants to grow, for food, clothing and that. And which are the most beautiful, and the shadiest. That's one of my jobs...I've got to learn a lot, and quickly.' His boyish face was a picture of earnest concentration and sheer joy at the prospect. Doreen insisted on a trip to the Gardens cafe, with an hour to go until their appointment with Mr Dudley, and Jimmy tore himself away, after getting a list of useful web-sites from a curator.

'Do you want to write those down, young man?' the curator ventured.

'No thank-you. I will remember them'. replied Jimmy, and the curator wiggled her nose in consternation, and shrugged her shoulders in resignation. Silly boy!

Grandmother and grandson enjoyed some tea and scones, then a nice walk by the lake, and the brief transit across the busy road to the College. Mr Dudley was expecting them, seeming even a little excited at seeing Jimmy again.

'I hear we're lucky to have you, young man. You seem to have had a miraculous escape', he began, while inviting Doreen and Jimmy to take seats in his office.

'Thank-you, Mr Dudley. It is all coming back to me. I think that the snake kissing me saved the day', whereupon Jimmy outlined the story of Old Brownie and his flickering tongue. He did so with a real knack for story-telling, and Doreen, who had not heard this tale before, was just as amazed as Dudley.

'So, you see, as Uncle Max told me, the rainbow serpent is my protector, just like the little brooch that was melted into my chest. It is like a tattoo, Mr Dudley, but an accidental one. I hope you will let me keep it, because it came from my Mum, and connects me to her, always. In fact, I do not think it can be removed, except perhaps, by laser, or surgery'. Jimmy looked squarely at Dudley, with a gaze that was polite but wouldn't countenance refusal.

Dudley answered, 'We'll make an exception to the rule for such an accident. How strange it all is. And your demeanour, James, well it's even more self-assured than before. I have a gift for you, too, to get on with things'. He shuffled about on his desk, and produced a docket. It was a gift voucher, for the purchase of a lap-top computer.

'All the new students get one. It's part a Government thing..you know...subsidy...topped up by College funds and a special bonus for Scholarship winners. We let everyone buy their own, so there is a wide range of laptops being used in the school. They're essential these days. I hope it will prove useful'. Dudley scrutinised Jimmy intently, looking for any sign of gratitude, or otherwise, as, regrettably, was the case with a good many other boys.

'Mr Dudley', Jimmy replied, 'this is all too much. Too much kindness, and too much, too much, to contemplate. I will make good use of it, I promise. When can I start lessons?' Jimmy was very keen to meet his new classmates, and get stuck in to studying. His ambitions were great, and not entirely his own, nor just for himself alone.

'Come along now, and I'll introduce you to your form, before end of school for the day. Your form teacher is Mr Stone...your former Headmistress's brother, would you believe, so he's heard all about you. He's a sturdy chap, been at the teaching business for years. He'll enjoy having you in his class, I'll bet. Your friend Sammy is in another class, as the First Form is pretty big this year. This way, Jimmy, Mrs Kartinyangarra....down the hallway to the end, then left'. And they left as quickly as Doreen could shuffle, on this, a bad arthritis day, while Jimmy felt a slight unease that Ms. Stone had never mentioned her brother. In truth, with all the fuss, then Jimmy's accident, she had simply forgotten to mention it to Doreen.

The little party was soon outside Form 1C's Home Room, and Jimmy's heart began to beat a little faster, with expectation and conviction. Now it would begin, the adventure that had been nascent, but slowly taking form, in his heart and his mind ever since he awoke to find his Gran holding his hand. Owen Dudley knocked firmly, and entered, followed by Jimmy and Doreen.

Having reached the middle of the room and cheerily greeted his old colleague, John Stone, Dudley turned to the class. 'Boys' he began, 'and Mr Stone', and he nodded to his fellow, 'I am happy to introduce James Kartinyangarra, who is a scholarship winner, and has just recovered..can you believe it...from being struck by lightning'.

Jimmy smiled broadly, and sought eye contact with as many of the boys as possible in a brief scan of the class. Most returned his gaze cheerfully, a few were busy doing other stuff, one or two seemed paralysingly shy, and a few, say six, returned his gaze with somewhat negative vibrations. A couple of these seemed mostly diffident, one or two looked annoyed to be in danger of being held up at end of day, and one, a beady eyed red head, stared back with undisguised antipathy. Jimmy noted that look, and determined to quickly find out what lay behind it.

'I'll ask Jimmy to say a few words of hello, then you can all make tracks' Dudley drawled. 'Over to you, Jimmy'.

Jimmy had actually hoped that he would be allowed to speak. He wanted to plant a seed, and see if it germinated anywhere. So he began, after a theatrical pause of twenty seconds or so, as if composing himself.

'Mr Stone, boys...I am just pleased to be here, because I nearly was not anywhere. I am going to work hard, and work hard at helping everyone else, and...well I have got some interesting ideas about ecology, and Nature, and I hope..', he looked to Mr Stone for a shadow of approval, ' that I might start a Nature Club, if such things are allowed. And I will really look forward to becoming friends with everyone', at which declaration he locked eyes, briefly, with the red-head, who reacted with renewed scorn.

Jimmy walked over to Mr. Stone, and shook his hand, which was answered with a friendly pat on the shoulder. Then Jimmy went desk to desk, and introduced himself to everybody, one by one. The red-head snorted in derision as Jimmy said, 'Hello, I am pleased to meet you', so Jimmy simply smiled and moved on.

'That's our pleasant young Mr Downing, Alex by name, Jimmy. He's our class curmudgeon.' Mr Stone laconically observed. Jimmy turned back, and said 'Pleased to meet you, Alex. You may not believe it, but we will be mates, too. Wait and see'. Alex mumbled something grumpy, and all the other kids laughed, whereupon Alex blushed mightily, and gritted his teeth (and clenched his fists under the desk). The little round of introductions, over, the class was dismissed., and it was agreed that Jimmy could start on the next Monday. He had decided that he needed a few more days to set up his web-site, and now needed to get his lap-top, as soon as possible, preferably that afternoon.

Jimmy broached that subject with Doreen just as they left Owen Dudley, and were walking towards the side gate. Doreen could see that he was very keen, to put it mildly, and she thought that it would be better if she accompanied him. Not that she could imagine anyone 'putting one over' on her Jimmy. He was too sharp for that, but, well perhaps she could help curb his enthusiasm. So they decided to visit the big electronic discount store on the bus route home, and two hours later Jimmy was firmly ensconced at his desk, transferring everything from Mel's computer to his own lap-top, a powerful brute that had consumed his gift voucher entirely, with two speakers thrown in, to listen to music. He worked away busily for hours, broken only by Doreen's call to dinner, and Doreen soon could hear piano music emanating from the study.

Jimmy was listening to, so he explained, some Bach, played by some fellow with a Russian-sounding name.

'It is wonderful, Gran. Perfect for concentration, perfect for clear thinking. Maybe I will get back into piano playing some day, when the work is finished, when things are running smoothly themselves, when the other kids do it all themselves'. Jimmy looked rather wistfully into the distance, as if imagining a time of pure self-indulgence and self-expression, unburdened by worries and responsibilities.

Doreen regarded this as strange and inappropriate in one so young, a little boy, after all, who had childish things to do, not tedious, grown-up stuff.

'What kids would that be, darl', Doreen asked. 'The ones at your school. I mean....some of the older boys....well they mightn't like a little fella....you know...leading them around'. Doreen was trying to be diplomatic and not pop the bubble of his naïve enthusiasm.

'Oh, that will be OK, Gran....It is only for the kids who understand...but that will be enough...and, wait and see....the numbers will grow. And older kids will be in it...and we will need parents, too...to give us help. It is, in the end, for everybody'. Jimmy looked straight at Doreen with that steady, assured, gaze of his.

'Lovely, sweet-heart...but what is it all about? A Nature Club...to do what?'. Doreen had been itching to get some straight facts from Jimmy, ever since he had made his project known to her. It seemed an awful lot bigger than the run-of-the-mill childish projects that most kids entertained from time to time.

'Well, Gran, it is an idea, and.. you see, I really think that I cannot honestly say that it is mine...I mean, I think that it was implanted in my mind....from somewhere outside the ordinary world....yes, I know, it sounds silly and superstitious, but it is the best explanation that I have got, so far....well, this idea is all about organising children to save the natural living world...before it is too late....to do things, like growing food, planting trees, sharing stuff....toys, books, games, you know....and growing up to act like happy children all through our lives. To give up things, and concentrate on becoming....protectors...custodians and guardians of life. To take care of others, not exploit them or out-compete them or ignore them, but love them, like I love you, Gran. I know it sounds hopelessly ambitious....that it will all fall apart at the first Christmas, or the first row over who gets the last slice of cake....but I believe that it will not. In fact I know that it will not'. At this determined and confident declaration Jimmy seemed to have exhausted his bank of ideas and explanations, it being plainly still a project in its infancy.

'Well, good luck to you, sweetheart. Old Mother Nature needs all the help she can get. Just look at the Murray and the Coorong, back home. Your Mum would be proud of you'. Doreen finished with that sentimental flourish.

'Oh, she is Gran. I know that. Mum is like a guide, in my dreams...I have seen her a few times now, sometimes talking, sometimes not...but, unfortunately, Dad hasn't visited yet....but Mum said that he will, some day, soon.' Jimmy recounted this remarkable information with a steady assurance, so Doreen dared not query it, although she felt, once again, a little concerned for the balance of his mind. Perhaps his brain had grown too far, too fast.

'Yes, Gran...I know....it sounds loony. If somebody else told me this stuff, well before my 'electrocution lesson',...that is what I call the accident...I would have thought them crazy...you know...but...well, I will show you my dream diary one day...if I am going mad, it is in the nicest way. It is great to see Mum, again. It happened while I was unconscious, but I only began to recall it after I woke up, slowly, but quicker now. When the memories come back, I write them in the Diary, really just as proof for others to read, one day. I expect that she will visit me tonight...in fact I am certain that she will'. Jimmy held Doreen's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, and Doreen hugged him, kissed him on the forehead, and told him that he had one more hour before bedtime.

As Jimmy worked away, singing along to the intricate interplay of sound and imagination emanating from Bach's  long departed mind, passed on and kept alive through recently living fingers and feet on complicated structures of wood and metal, Doreen sat quietly and pondered what on earth to do, if anything. She well knew already that she would not be able, even if she wished it, to turn Jimmy from this task. But she had a responsibility to protect him, from curiosity seekers, admirers and those whose interests would plainly be affected by some sort of anti-materialistic, environmental Childrens' Crusade. More than once, as she contemplated the possible complications, she devoutly hoped that it would all be just some stage that he would go through, to be replaced by hard school-work and normal socialising. Or, alternatively, that things would go well, and the 'Club' outgrow him, and go on its merry way. Doreen did, however, have no doubt that keeping quiet about it all was plainly her best bet. And so, after about an hour of such reflection, she called to Jimmy that it was bed-time.

'Two more minutes, Gran'. he replied, and indeed, two minutes and twenty seconds later he was finished, and, after brushing his teeth and kissing his gran, he was in bed, and thirty seconds later asleep. Jimmy had some particularly important dreaming to do.

Chapter Twenty: Gaia's Children Find Each Other.

The next few days were very busy for young Jimmy. He worked away on his 'Humanifesto', and, on the Saturday morning, excitedly informed Doreen that the first of the 'other kids' had accessed his blog. When Doreen asked exactly what it was called, her memory having failed her, he replied, rather proudly, as he had foreshadowed, that it was the 'Children of Gaia'. And, he told his gran breathlessly, the first of 'the others' had contacted him, and exchanged e-mail addresses.

As this sounded rather spooky, like some sort of sci-fi palaver, Doreen began to fret again over this project.

'Who the blazes are these 'others'? It sounds like some loony mystery story, some science-fiction nonsense'. She tried to look amused, rather than shocked.

'Oh, Gran...it's stranger than fiction...it really is.' Jimmy paused for a few seconds, as if summoning up the courage to be frank with his Gran, and not make it sound too whacky. 'It was in one of my first dreams, that I had when I was unconscious...it came back to me as we were in the Gardens, before we saw Mr. Dudley...you know...well...there was this old lady, an old indigenous lady...and she told me that she is my Dad's grand-mother'.

At this Doreen sat bolt upright, with a start, but she decided to let Jimmy carry on and get out the whole story before she started getting all flustered.

'Yes, Gran...I knew it would surprise you, because you met her, and, as she said, she was the first one to know that I was going to be born...it is strange, but I'm getting used to strange, weird things now, so do not get afraid for me...I will definitely be OK...anyway, Dad's gran told me lots of things, and one of the first....the very first few remembrances...was that I was not alone, that there were twelve other kids, like me, all born in the same week or so, around the world, when the time was exactly right, as she said....yes, it is crazy, but, you will see....born together, and all now orphans, like me. And all nearly died, just like me,...OK, now it gets really unbelievable, but....all had dreadful accidents in the same week or two, like the birth days, 'When the time was right'. Then they all recovered after being unconscious for days or weeks, and have all ended up like me. You know, 'super-heroes'....OK..that is the joke Alex and I made up...he is from Canada and he is a First Nations boy, as they say over there....and he nearly drowned....and I got his e-mail yesterday. He had the same dreams, and his messenger is his great-grandmother, too, but his Mum's gran. Alex had just the same sort of dreams. He knew to look out for my blog...he knew what it would be called, too, more or less. Now that is absolutely crazy...but it has happened. Alex is helping me with The Humanifesto, too. And the others will find us too, the other 'others'.And the very best, most strange thing about it all, is that it seems absolutely ordinary. Not stupefying, at all. Now that is definitely 'weird'. Whereupon Jimmy had a good laugh, happy and relieved to have gotten that 'off his chest'.

After these revelations, delivered almost without an intake of breath, Doreen was seriously non-plussed. First she asked if she could see 'Alex's' e-mail, to make sure that it wasn't just a figment of Jimmy's imagination, but there they were, three already, as from an old friend, the first frankly and directly revealing Alex's dream world, and more or less identical life story. An attachment on the second included a photo, of Alex, a tall, blue-eyed, ginger-haired chap, with a friendly, compassionate expression on his face, which was rounded at the edges, indicating his indigenous blood-lines, on his mother's side, that had intersected with the Celtic blood of his father, born and bred in Ireland, but relocated as a youth to Canada's frozen north. His father had died, before Alex was born, fighting a wildfire, and his mother when he was two, of septicaemia. The new friends' life-stories were strikingly similar, and both boys had sensed, courtesy of their dream messengers, that they would so prove, as would those of the eleven others. By their third e-mail Alex was suggesting amendments and additions to the Gaian Humanifesto, and Jimmy had been digesting them that afternoon.

'We are on the same wave-length, Gran...more or less...but we do not think exactly alike...Alex has some great ideas that I had not thought of, so the total effort will be greater than the individual sum of the parts...it is like we have a collective mind on this stuff...and our thoughts are not just our own, and they tell us just where we are going wrong...or right...it is very, very, odd, but, for us, totally believable...and it is happening...and we are partly in charge, and partly just going along for the ride. Alex is already organising the kids at his school. It is a big school in Vancouver, with lots of different nationalities...he has heaps of great ideas that the school-kids have come up with, already....and he is getting the teachers on his side, too...he seems very persuasive. He convinced me, but he has been recovered for about two weeks, already, so he has had a head start, so to speak. But it is certainly not a competition'. Jimmy chuckled a little at that thought, then continued.

'You can imagine how relieved I was, to get the e-mail....I mean, it proved...it proved that I was not crazy....that is such a relief...and it is so very troubling, too...because this whole thing seems so ridiculously big....thirteen kids, if they all materialise... and however many come with us, to save humanity....it is ridiculous, but we are going to have a go'. Jimmy, who said the 'are' with emphasis, looked at Doreen, plainly wanting some encouragement. Doreen didn't let him down. How could she?

'Don't you worry Jimmy. One way or the other...you'll have fun, and get new friends...just be careful of weirdo adults posing as kids, but I guess you've thought of that. Better try and get your new school onside', she added, as an afterthought, not being too sure if such ambitious activity would not be frowned on by what was, after all, a pretty conservative institution.

Jimmy nodded his agreement, then went back to his lap-top. He worked away at it for another few hours, until Doreen made him break for lunch, which he wolfed down. At least his appetite was healthy enough. Then Jimmy decided to take a break and asked if they could go for a walk to the local Community Garden, which was only one kilometre away.

They walked slowly, at Doreen's pace, and Jimmy noted various plants growing in certain front-yards, making indelible mental notes of the location, so that he could return later and ask for cuttings. The Community Garden was in a corner of the local Primary School, and the kids had their own plots as well as those for the enthusiasts from around the suburb. Jimmy was pretty excited to run into a couple of old blokes who were tending their vegie patches. Carlo was Italian and Eric an Irishman, both long transplanted in this country. Before long Jimmy had made friends with them, and was eagerly asking one question after another to get clues on growing tomatoes, pumpkins, fruit and herbs,

Eric eventually stopped and asked Jimmy, almost exasperatedly, 'But, sonny...you're asking all these questions...how are you goin' to remember me answers....let alone Carlo's, which never make much sense in any case...'.Carlo snorted good naturedly, and agreed.

'Lotsa stuff you've heard, boy...and you no take any notes, nothing...what'll you remember tomorrow...not much, I reckon'. Carlo looked sternly but cheerily at Jimmy, and Doreen, so Jimmy, smiling, repeated most of what he had said about tomatoes, word for word, without the accent and strange syntax.

After three or so minutes the old blokes had had enough.'OK, OK, Jimmy...you've got a flamin 'photographic memory'. How'd he get that, dear?' Eric asked, addressing Doreen. Doreen giggled and said, 'You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Just say it was an act of God, or rather, I'd say, a Goddess, and leave it at that'. The two gentlemen of the soil nodded bemusedly, and went back to pouring their knowledge into Jimmy's head. Later they invited them over to Carlo's place, across the road, where Jimmy proceeded to extract as much information as possible from Gianna, Carlo's wife, on preserving fruit and vegies and cooking Italian food. The little gathering was getting along like a house on fire, when Jimmy sat up, and, looking straight at Doreen, exclaimed, 'There's another one just e-mailed me. Number three, including me'. Getting up quickly, Jimmy made his apologies for leaving so precipitously, Doreen added her own, Gianna asked them to pop over next Sunday for a family get-together, and the new friends parted, on very amicable terms.

As Jimmy and Doreen walked away, Jimmy skipping and jumping, and Doreen slowly shuffling along, Carlo put his arm around Eric's shoulder and spoke in his mock comic Italian accent, 'Thatsa very strange younga man, donna you thing, my old amigo?' Eric agreed. 'A flaming one-off, I'd say. Bet he grows great tomaters, too', and then the friends set about finishing off a bottle of Carlo's home-made grappa.

Back at home, Mel had returned, having gone up to Clare for a week away. Jimmy found time to show off his lap-top, and thank Mel for the use of her computer. Then he disappeared into his room, returning in a few minutes, with the cryptic exclamation, 'She is a girl', and promptly disappeared again.

'What's that all about Doreen. Someone had a baby?' Mel was only vaguely interested but Jimmy's announcement had been unusual, so to say.

'Oh, he's in some sort of club....pen-pals...e-mail pals, I mean, and....he's got one in Canada, and now, another. He wants twelve, so he says', Doreen thought that white lies might avoid a too rapid revelation of the Gaia stuff, which she feared might become a bit of a nuisance. Mel looked happy enough, and she and Doreen set about cooking a roast dinner. They worked happily, chatting away, making vague plans, and relating the events of their individual days apart. At last everything was safely stowed away in the oven, and Doreen knocked on Jimmy's door to see how he was faring.

'How's it going, dear. Who's your new friend?' Doreen inquired.

'Well, Gran....she is Mtenzi, from Botswana. She had a Zulu Dad and a Bantu Mum, although she does not prefer to talk about 'race' like that. She likes talking of one, human, race, with different families. You see, she is very morally advanced, our Mtenzi. They are dead, of course, her parents....that sounds callous, I am afraid...' Jimmy looked perplexed, as if trying to reconcile truth, candour and proper respect.

'Well, if it's the truth...well you'd better blurt it out, I suppose...'. Doris attempted to reassure him that he wasn't hard-hearted. Quite the opposite.

'Oh, well...her Dad died years ago, in a car accident and her Mum only last year, then she had the same brush with death as me and Alex....only hers was an illness....some sort of brain inflammation, so she says...and then she started getting the dreams back, remembered, like me, from when she was in a coma..' Jimmy outlined the history that Mtenzi had included in her long e-mail. Jimmy had just finished his reply, so he was expectantly awaiting Mtenzi's next e-mail.

'Mtenzi's messenger is not from her close family....she is her great-aunt, and she has been gone from this world since before Mtenzi was born, but she recognised her from her Aunty's pictures. She is not even that old, because she died middle-aged, but she has given Mtenzi the same information that Alex and I have had....It is sooooo exciting, Gran....It is like the best secret society for kids...but we ...we are serious, you know...there is work to do....' Jimmy's voice deflated slowly as he began to ponder the imponderable and daunting craziness of it all. Then he laughed, and excused himself for a rather long postponed trip to the 'necessary office'.

In due time the roast dinner was ready. Lamb it was, with the usual baked vegetables accompaniment. Jimmy had mostly kept working away on his Humanifesto, awaiting Mtenzi's reply to his reply, and had stopped only to help pick a few leaves of spinach and dig up some sweet potatoes as his contribution to dinner. In the kitchen he formally and firmly informed Mel and Doreen once again that his days of eating meat were over. Vegies only, from now on. Meat, it appeared, was too much of a drain on the planet's resources, and, in any case, carnivores were too aggressive. Doreen was familiar with this logic, Jimmy having repeated it three times now, and there was definitely no plan to have any portion of dead sheep adorning his plate, just dead plants. Moreover, Doreen thought that she detected a certain youthful excess of zeal. After all, she loved her lamb, and while being troubled, occasionally, when she saw them gambolling in the fields every spring, she certainly was not aggressive. However, Jimmy was becoming more and more completely the master of his own destiny and beliefs, which pleased her no end, principally because he seemed nearly immune to mistakes, and quick to see them and correct them when they were made, unlike most adults. Or was that just the doting Gran gilding his lily?.

Furthermore, by dinner time, Jimmy had finished his Humanifesto, so there was cause to celebrate, with a nice roasted carrot, perhaps. Jimmy asked Doreen to read it, and make some suggestions for improvement.

'Alex rather liked the way it was coming along, but he had to go to bed a while ago, around lunch, and I think he was up pretty late...so he hasn't seen this version. Go on..have a look'. Jimmy exuded youthful enthusiasm.

So Doreen put on her reading glasses, and read. The Humanifesto was short, and to the point.

'Children of the world, of every age and in every place, we are entrusted to protect our world, even in the face of ridicule, scorn, fear and violence. Our children, and theirs and theirs after them, on down to the end of human time, must be born into a world made whole, healthy and fruitful, again, and we are fortunate enough to be those who will begin the great task of repairing and revitalising our earthly home. Humanity has lost its way, it has strayed from the path of respect for and wonder at Life, in all its magnificent and complex beauty. We are the Earth's children, the Children of Gaia, She of a Thousand Names, and she is our second mother, who we all share, making us all brothers and sisters, everywhere and forever. We undertake to devote our lives, energies and talents to nurturing, healing and loving our earthly home, and one another and all others. This is the work for which we were born, and to which we dedicate ourselves, as long as we draw breath'.

Doreen rather liked it. It was straightforward and childishly sincere. She could imagine how cynics might laugh at it, but she reckoned that those of good faith would find it inspiring, or at least, an impressive effort by ones so young.

'Well, Gran....what do you reckon? Is it up to scratch?' Jimmy was mildly anxious for approval, because there had been numerous drafts, revisions, excisions and fudged, too saccharine, rhetoric discarded for him not to be afraid that it was not yet quite right in tone and content.

'It's a bloody good effort, young man. You and your friends are pretty full on, aren't you? Not....not that I ever doubted you....but it's a big effort....saving people from themselves...I wish you luck. Adults can join in too, I suppose'. Doreen knew the answer, but wanted to hear Jimmy say it himself.

Jimmy laughed, playfully, evidently pleased by his Gran's approval. He felt mischievous, however, so answered, with a grin.

'No, Gran...nobody over thirty is allowed...no, make that nobody over thirteen......ha, ha, ha...sorry, Gran, just kidding...everybody from nought to ninety-nine is welcome....we had better let the 100 year olds have a break....yes, everybody who reckons it is a good idea. We think it will spread like a virus, a plague of good intentions, and, hopefully, good deeds. We are hopeless optimists....I think it's part of the brain re-wiring...'. Jimmy was grinning from ear to ear. And Mel was calling them to the table.

After dinner, where Jimmy ate a plateful of vegies, followed by bread and butter pudding, his Gran's speciality, he rang Sammy, his old friend, at home. Jimmy informed him of the Gaia plan, and gave him the web address. Sammy was looking forward to seeing him at school on Monday, and Jimmy quickly enlisted him as a partner in setting up their 'Nature Club' at the College. The plan was to get this type of kid's club going at as many schools as possible, and at neighbourhood centres, like libraries, sports clubs etc, and see how it all went. Sammy was very enthusiastic, and had his own school and scholarship lap-top, so he logged into the 'Children of Gaia' pronto, as they say, somewhere or other. He liked The Humanifesto, and got Alex and Mtenzi's e-mail addresses from Jimmy. Jimmy told him a little of the stranger manifestations of the group, but spared him some of the more outlandish details, for later. Jimmy vaguely regretted that his old friend was not one of the 'Chosen', as he currently thought of his new, and still undiscovered, comrades, but knew that Sammy would be an invaluable ally and collaborator. And, now that Jimmy was home, Sammy would soon be moving in, too, as had been arranged before Jimmy's 'accident'. The two friends parted telephonic communications after an hour or so, whereupon both composed e-mails to one another, still having much to say.

Jimmy then joined Mel and Doreen in watching a movie, Harry Potter at the OK Corral or something similar, and Jimmy found himself wishing for magical powers, only to realise, with a shock, that he was, in fact, a living miracle, and Harry, no matter how beguiling, was a fiction played by an actor. Furthermore, he found himself day-dreaming all the way through the movie, of all the magical possibilities to come. He even imagined himself  'Hotter than Potter', in the real-world magical stakes, at which thought he diagnosed an excess of enthusiasm, and took himself to bed, worn out, and slept like a log. Doreen sat up late, writing copiously in her diary, to record all her feelings just as they happened, lest she went doo-lally and forgot all the wonder and weirdness of it all. If only Gay had been there, but, as Jimmy had reassured her, in fact, or in inspiration, she really was.

Monday was Jimmy's first day at College. Doreen got him there, bright and early, neatly dressed and with his school-bag crammed with books, pens, pencils and his lap-top. Jimmy kissed her goodbye at the gate, and disappeared into the ruck of school-boys. He went straight to the class-room where Dudley had introduced him, and found his desk, and placed his bag in his named locker. But, before classes, there was Assembly. He followed the others to the Centenary Hall, and sat near the back.

The proceedings went at a glacial pace. Various announcements, exhortations to turn up to support the First XV on the weekend, Rugby being promoted in this school over the 'ruffian' sport of AFL, or the 'unmanly' soccer (Jimmy was instructed in these private school verities later).

Then, at the end, Owen Dudley sprung, surprisingly spryly, to his feet, and announced that, after a hiatus caused by a nearly tragic accident (here Jimmy's ears really began itching) that the new Scholarship holder, James Kartinyangarra, had commenced studies, and, would he please rise and the Assembly make him welcome.

Jimmy flushed red at the embarrassment, as 800 other boys, from twelve to nearly twenty (the dimmer types, not yet fit to be unleashed on the world) turned to gawk at the apparition, the brown skinned, black-haired, dark-eyed interloper. The faces were mostly disinterested, a few welcoming, and one or two, scornful and worse. The red-haired lad from the other day was nowhere to be espied, which was a relief. Dudley clapped, and about half the teachers and boys joined in, whereupon Jimmy resumed his seat, overcome with mortification. He was, in fact, reassured by his embarrassment, happy that he was not, after all, free of all human foibles.

After Assembly, as the boys walked to class, a few of the lads approached Jimmy with greetings and handshakes. A tall, senior boy, curly-haired and fierce of demeanour rapidly strode up, and put an arm around Jimmy's shoulder, while furiously pumping his hand. He was Carruthers (senior boys only possessed surnames) the College Vice-Captain, and he greeted Jimmy effusively (on orders from Dudley, although he was, in fact, a genuinely warm person). Jimmy stumbled a little in reply, then got his act together and declared,

'I'm going to do my very best to make everybody here proud of me. It's as simple as that', to which Carruthers replied.

'Well said, James. Mr Dudley said that you would shake this place up, and I can see what he was on about. 'Bravo, you!', and a furious hand-pumping greeting followed, then Carruthers ran off towards the Prefects' Room. Jimmy was nonplussed, but grateful for the senior boy's welcome, despite it's air of 'Tom Brown's School-days'. Carruthers? Bravo?

In class, the other boys all welcomed him, as did Mr Stone. His red-haired 'friend' was still a surly exception, and Jimmy didn't push things, discretion seeming the better part of valour. In no time they got down to Mathematics, and Jimmy was quickly in the swing of things. He found, to his surprise, that, although Stone was perhaps not an ideal Maths teacher, that he was able to grasp concepts immediately. In primary he'd been fair at Maths, his weakest subject, but now it seemed easy, and the principles and axioms and theorems, all seemed like self-evident truths. He even had a spooky gift for rapid calculation that had never been there before, multiplying, dividing, squaring etc, inside his head, with ease. But he stuck to his policy of not broadcasting his new and growing talents to the world, lest he attract morbid curiosity, hero worship or envious spite, that unholy Trinity.

The class, or properly, the 'Form', remained in the room for the next lesson, English, which was more Stone's forté. Jimmy relaxed as Stone read some Keats, which he immediately loved, if it remained just a little flowery for his tastes. He somehow intuitively felt that Keats had died too young, for his art to have matured, a sad reflection that simply popped into his head, from somewhere or other. The pathos of that thought increased his appreciation, so by the end of the lesson he had committed several Odes to memory, his photographic recollection serving him well.

That first day passed easily enough, until Jimmy approached Mr Stone, after lunch. He asked if he could discuss something with his teacher, who replied approvingly, still curious to take the measure of the new boy.

'How did you enjoy the poetry, earlier, James?'Stone intoned, smiling broadly.

For some inexplicable reason, Jimmy's firm resolve to not show off dissolved, and, smiling, he said that he particularly liked the Ode to Autumn, which he then recited perfectly.

Stone looked quite befuddled, then laughed, and exclaimed, 'Oh, I see. You've been acquainted with Keats before. At home, was it?' He seemed almost relieved, and Jimmy would have escaped, but the strange impulse to show off his talents pushed him to speak truth to teacherly power.

'No, Mr Stone. It was a new discovery, a new world..but...well, you see, I have developed this....memory power...since my accident...it is amazing just what I can remember, straight off...'. Jimmy let his revelation peter out there, frightened a little by Stone's look of consternation.Luckily Stone then smiled broadly, and, a little confidentially, whispered, 'That is a rare gift, James, but I'd keep it under my hat, you know. Use it wisely, but don't go bragging. No need to be seen as a freak of nature, or as some sort of smarty-pants'. He laid a fatherly arm on Jimmy's shoulder, and there Jimmy saw his opportunity.

'Thanks, Mr Stone. I will take your advice to heart. But, I wanted to ask...do you think that the school would let me set up a sort of...nature...club, for gardening and ecological study. And for getting in contact with other children interested in the same sort of thing'. Jimmy decided not to outline all his ambitions, just now.

Stone smiled at the thought. 'A bloody good idea, James...if you'll pardon my French. I've wanted to get something like this going for a long while....and have a vegetable garden, and chickens, and fruit trees. We don't do enough hands on environmental study, in my opinion. I'll raise it with the Head at tomorrow's Staff Meeting. You're on a winner, James, young fella.....that you are...'. Stone suddenly felt a really odd sensation, which he couldn't quite put words to. Jimmy could, he was beginning to think, turn out to be the most interesting child he'd ever taught, just as his sister had promised. In fact it had been Judith's rather enthusiastic recommendation that had driven Stone to request that Jimmy be placed in his Form. That said, Stone knew that he must wait until tomorrow, and see how the rest of the Common Room feels about a 'nature club'.

The two parted with Stone joking that Jimmy might like Wordsworth, too, but suggesting that he not learn it all by heart, just yet. Best savour the pleasures slowly. He felt a sudden fear that Jimmy might burn himself out, trying to live up to his possibilities. Perhaps a bit of gardening and green thumbery and immersion in the slow rhythms of the vegetable kingdom might slow him down a little, to his benefit.

The rest of Jimmy's day passed uneventfully. After school he met his Gran at the school-gate, it being a rostered day off from her work at the creche. They caught the bus home, and Jimmy recited an Ode or two from Keats, to his Gran's surprise. On the bus, he dragged out a little note-book, and began scribbling some notes. Doreen asked him what he was up to.

'Planning for the club, Gran....the kid's nature, Green, environmental, plant something....that sort of club. My dreams are getting to be more and more about it.....it is what the accident was all about. You know, Gran...they say that people spend their whole lives looking for something important to do...something that means everything to them....and some people never find it....but, here I am, just a boy, and I know exactly what I am going to do....what I have to do....for the rest of my life....it is sort of scary, almost'. Jimmy gave his Gran a strained, theatrically saccharine smile, then laughed. 'It is going to be great!

Once home, Jimmy hit the computer as soon as he entered his room. After an hour, he emerged with a big grin plastered to his face.

'Well, Gran...they are all here....all twelve..they all found the web-site, and all sent e-mails. I have just read them all...eight are English speakers, born or have already learned it....and the other four are learning, learning quickly, and their message was auto-translated. We are all pretty much identical, what do you always say, Gran, 'Peas out of the same pod', ha, ha...all the same age, within a week or two, all orphans, all living with Grans or aunties, and all ….transformed, by some accident, and all dreaming of one another, and...you know, our dead parents and the Earth Mother coming to us in our dreams, as some elderly female relative. Gaia appears under some different names....after all she has hundreds... but it is the same old girl, telling us to get on with saving her world, our home. Well, it sure beats Harry Potter...I no longer even fancy getting a wand ...a flying broom, however, still appeals...' Jimmy was really excited, and Doreen couldn't help wondering just what, if anything, she ought to do.

Well, for a start, she asked to see the e-mails. They were there, the kids comprising a mixed batch from India, China, Brazil, Mexico, Greece, Sicily, Cuba, Japan, Romania and Siberia. With Mtenzi from Botswana, Alex from Canada and Jimmy it made thirteen-a baker's dozen, thought Doreen, dismissing any superstitious inclinations. Not all had computers of their own, and were using a library's, or a family friends. One, Sophia, from Greece, was a computer whizz already, so Jimmy said, brought up on them from an early age, and she had agreed to write all the code for the Web-site, to make it more 'interactive' for the expected, or anticipated, or, frankly, hoped for, influx of members. Jimmy was not, yet, up to speed with writing computer coding, but he was working on it. However, he realised straight away that Sophia was up to the task, as she certainly soon proved.

The new comrades all complimented Jimmy on his 'Humanifesto', with a couple making suggestions for additions, and all seemed quite spookily bright and confident, as Jimmy had anticipated. Doreen was mightily impressed, but had to ask, 'But what are just thirteen of you going to do in this big, crazy, world, Jimmy?' She was frightened lest their youthful optimism be dashed cruelly.

'Now, Gran...you must not worry. We are just the beginning. We are going to set this thing rolling, then all the other children who can read about our ideas, or hear about them from others, will do the rest. This thing is going to grow and evolve, and develop....but there is just one big idea underneath it all. We are going to fix this planet, and look after one another, and the next generation of children, and the next and the next...forever. Life conquers all'. Jimmy spoke with an almost feverish optimism.

Doreen probably would have doubted the sanity of anyone else proclaiming such a grandiose scheme, but coming from her Jimmy, after all he'd been through, and all she'd seen, and all the portents and wonders she had experienced...well, she was not really a doubter. Well, not much, any more.

Jimmy didn't resume his inter-continental communication that night(some of his new friends were, of course, asleep, so he sent e-mails to be answered later)although he made a note to download Skype or something similar, so that they could talk together, but he concentrated instead on home-work. That didn't take long, so he went back to planning. Then, remembering Mr Stone's suggestion, he looked Wordsworth up on the web. He decided that 'Composed on Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802', was just about as beautiful a collection of words and thoughts as he had, so far, encountered. He memorised it for later recitation, and then the poem that begins 'It is a Beauteous evening, calm and free', where he discovered the words, 'God being with thee, when we know it not', and found them particularly moving. Jimmy was suddenly filled with a profound intimation, one that he felt emanated from deep in his soul, that all the Gods invented by humanity were, in their own way, true, and all the religions were revealing a common understanding, one that applied equally to every living soul, and all those who had gone before and would do so in the future, until the end of mankind. And that end, he was certain, was a long way off yet. Mankind was just in its infancy, which, unfortunately, showed only too readily.

In fact Jimmy was experiencing a truly transcendent moment. He had felt it stirring for quite a while, its immanence growing stronger and more urgent as he was borne along by events. And, so, just as this wave of feeling, this oceanic swell of recognition and realisation bore him upwards, so, suddenly, it dashed him against the hidden rocks of doubt. How could he, a mere boy, be so important, so crucial to human events, as his unquestioned progress through all his adventures and travails had convinced him that he, and his fellows, really were? Was he just fooling himself, or was he, perhaps, just a little mad? Would people just fall about laughing when they heard his childish prattle? His epiphany was running out of control, turning back on itself and spawning doubt, within minutes of being born in an effusion of optimism and elation.

Jimmy left his room in a rather confused state. He found his Gran in the lounge-room, watching TV with practised disinterest. It was the News, or, as she called it, the Lies of Our Days, making a joke about a TV soap opera that Jimmy had never seen.

Jimmy sat down beside his Gran, and began speaking, rapidly, but fluently. Even as he started, hot tears began to pour down his cheeks, which shocked his Gran, who could hardly remember him crying since he was a baby, and only then when he'd jammed his fingers somewhere, or taken a tumble.

'Gran, I know it is silly, but could I have gone mad? I mean, all this stuff, the dreams, the messages that I get, all that, could it be simple craziness? I mean, are we all, all the children that have e-mailed me, are we all just going hysterical? And, if it is all real and  true, I mean, what can we do to change things? We are just kids. If we did something really effective, they would stop us, you know, lock us up, in a loony asylum for mad kids.' Jimmy appeared quite scared to death, a transfiguration of his features and body language that Doreen had never seen before, and one that she hoped never to see again.

'Now, now, Jimmy..pull yourself together, son. This is all real...it's more than real. You've gotta go for it....we all get scared, all the time...but the people who make things better, they just grit their teeth and go ahead, scared to death or not. You're special, darlin'...you know that...you've always known that...'. Doreen smiled bravely but she, too, was frightened. Her little boy was biting off a lot to chew.

'You know, Gran...I had another dream...well a special one...and Mum was there, and Dad, too...at last, but as usual he didn't talk....maybe it is because I never met him, and have no memory to hang a dream on, that he never talks to me.....he just smiled and nodded as Mum spoke...she told me that you had a dream. Before I was born...and that twelve of the women back down by the Coorong, in your little settlement, your old mates...you all had the same dream....I mean, it was so crazy,  I felt as if I don't belong to myself...like I am something being manipulated by some power...and, I was not excited by that thought...who would be... but scared....scared that I may be like some dummy, or a puppet, having my strings pulled'. He stopped abruptly, and looked pleadingly to his Gran for reassurance.

Doreen was pretty shocked, but she was used to that feeling by now. She had never told Gay of the dream, or Jimmy, so here was proof, proof of so very much, so much that she was left trembling with excitement and fear. Gay was really coming to Jimmy in his dreams, from beyond the.....blue horizon? No, it was too much to take in. She decided that it was better to concentrate on the living and leave the transcendental stuff to look after itself, or she would just go barmy.

'Now, Jimmy...be realistic. Yes, I had that dream, we all had it, but, what does it mean? Nobody knows. You're no puppet, unless you let yourself be one. Look at everything you've done, already. We're all puppets in a way, having our lives pulled back and forth...by family, friends, the Government...by our minds, our hopes and regrets. Your mind is pure and strong...and I've never seen you act cruelly, or selfishly...so, if you are being tugged along...well, it's certainly in the right direction...wouldn't you say? So my advice, Jimmy...is go with it. We all end up on the rocks...from time to time...and you've just got to learn to love your lumps'. That last sounded so silly that Jimmy burst out laughing.

'Thanks, Gran. You have broken the spell. I will be OK. Tomorrow I will see what Mr Dudley and Mr Stone bring back from the teachers' room...about the club....I know the answer, already, actually....and then it will be full steam ahead'. With that triumphant exclamation, he gave his Gran a good, strong hug and a kiss, and headed for bed. Doreen too, felt a wave of optimism, if somewhat burdened by a little fearfulness.

Chapter Twenty-One : Secret Kids' Business.

Four months later, on a beautiful winter's day in far-away Sydney, David Moir, the Education Editor for a no-longer-so-great metropolitan newspaper (are there any great ones left?), was sipping a long black coffee, surreptitiously infused with a dash of Scotch, in his corner of the 'open form' offices that had just been re-designed, at great expense, in an effort to give the impression that some money was being expended to arrest the downward spiral of the paper's fortunes.

Moir was turning over in his mind the idea of turning freelance, the inevitable next wave of redundancies being not far off. He could specialise in reporting the latest 'advances' in education, ho, ho, and starve genteelly. At least his partner Sue earned enough as a public servant to keep them and their ten year-old twins, a boy, Tristram,and a girl, Natalia, in Vegemite...just. His mild imaginings were suddenly rudely interrupted by the lumbering approach of police rounds-man, the bibulous but dependable Morris Slowman, a monicker well-merited and daily observed.

As Morris slowly lowered himself into, and filled to over-brimming, David's spare chair, he was chuckling to himself. His ruddy face and bulbous nose shone with mischievous delight. His nicotine-stained fingers rumpled his thick, greasy locks, from which a little shower of dead skin, dandruff and other detritus fell upon his shoulders. Morrie's sharp, incisive gaze, the brightest it would be all day, so early in the afternoon, fell on David, and he sniggered.

'Heard about the kid's 'riot' at the Showground?' Slowman leant back, his belly sagging sideways to counter-balance and he beamed a yellow-toothed grin.

'No, no...Morrie...what's up? Did they run out of greasy chips or.... hang on...the Show finished weeks ago.....what were they doing there?' Moir felt a certain frisson of interest slowly bubbling up from the morass of boredom, like swamp gas.

'Nah, nah...it was the 'Organic Garden Show'....you know...all the 'Green Thumbs' and vegie-hugging hippies and that lot. The cops got a call that there were hundreds of kids jamming the entrance to one of the Pavilions. They weren't 'rioting' but some Twitter twit put out a message that they were...probably scared of anybody under sixty-five..still, you don't expect them to Twitter...well, who cares. I rush over, wanting to get some sort of inter-generational anxiety story going...you know how much our 'readership' loves those...if the kids could be poor, or...' Hit the Jackpot'....immigrants or blackfellas or something....'. Morrie was thoroughly enjoying his recollection of recent events.

'Spare us those faux racist hallucinations Morrie. You're not Editor yet. And you haven't got a racist bone in your body, and you love kids, so...it's too early in the day for one of your raves....what the Hell, precisely....OK..approximately... was going on?' Moir was interested in looking beyond the usual 'comic' 'Shock! Horror! guff that Slowman so loved.

'Sorry, Dave...I just needed to ventilate...back to reality. The kids were all about ten to thirteen I'd say, and they were there to give presents to Bill Cowper, the old TV garden guru...he's retiring to his place in Victoria...well he's eighty bloody something....the kids were organised by some sort of kids' club on the computer, to show their respect for the old codger. It's school holidays...well you know that, I suppose...and they arranged their transport, and convinced the Show organisers to let them in for free...well kids are meant to be free, but only with an adult....and they just had a few teachers and parents..oh and a couple of Grans, so it seemed....well, and they surprised him as he was finishing a talk on some gardening thing. God knows, I'm the original brown-thumb...I just have to look at a plant, and it turns up its roots'. Morrie paused for breath, and David offered him a swig of Scotch, to lubricate his memorious faculties.

'Thanks, son..I needed that. Well, the little blighters had cards, posters, pictures, plants in pots, pressed flowers...the old bloke was overcome. He was blubbering like a baby. The kids all kissed him, or shook his hand, or hugged him. It was quite a show, and they had music, and singing. It had been going on for twenty minutes when I got there, and they had to cancel the next talk, but that old girl got mobbed, too...hugs and kisses, and little fellas with note-books getting tips from the old chook. It was really something. I've got a few pics on the old 'phone, here...take a geek'. Morrie liked preserving dying Ocker lingo.

Moir quickly scrutinised the pictures. Lots of beaming kids, lots of adults, mostly gerontological specimens, starting out startled and bemused, but, picture by picture, turning to smiles and undisguised delight. The old guru swarmed by children, kids standing behind him, obviously singing...like no 'riot' he'd ever seen.

'It's like one of those revivalist, fundamentalist, jamborees...but this looks so authentic, so spontaneous. Who did you say organised it?'. Moir was growing more fascinated by the minute.

'Well, one of the old geezers who was escorting the kids...he said he was there with four of his grand-kids....he said that they all belong to some Internet club, like a junior school for Greenies, or something. They spend all their spare time blogging....and they've dug up his back-yard to plant vegies...and they've got some sort of 'leader' called Jimmy K.....Kafkaesque, wouldn't you say...you're an educated man....and this Jimmy just sends out little messages of encouragement, you know....like our Lord Above and His representatives here on Earth'. Slowman stopped the flow to snigger a little, and touched his nose and winked slyly.

'If you are referring to Robert Masters and our beloved Editor-in-Chief....well....the walls have ears. Even the ears have ears, so watch it! Too much seditious chatter and we'll all be free-lancing'. Moir was not entirely kidding.

'Freelancing! Freelancing! My God man, what century are you in? There's no 'free-lancers' left. You call 'em 'citizen journalists' now, and they are mostly barkin' mad. But, back to the feral ankle-biters. The old fella says that his grand-kids keep their computer business sort of 'hush hush' but rabbit on about 'climate change', 'materialism'....imagine that...ten year old Commos, criticising how many Christmas presents they get. His grand-kids have asked him to spend his money on poor kids, instead of them. He reckons it's a bit like some sort of cult, but they spend so much time around at his place, looking after his garden, cleaning and just chatting with him, that he's over the moon. When they asked him to come with them to the show, he was pretty chuffed...but he only expected a handful of kids...and there were hundreds.' Slowman paused and looked content, as if these children were his own, of whom he was inordinately proud. Actually, as Moir well recollected, Morrie's kids were all over the place, fully grown and he rarely saw them at all.

'So...is there a story in it Morrie? Do you reckon His Benevolence will fancy it? Good kids doing good things is not our usual fare, but.....you say that they are on the web, eh? Let's see if we can find them, and see what they're up to'. Moir knew that a quick Google trawl would reveal much. The rest could be 'creatively reconstructed', in accordance with the secret exegeses on The Nation's 'Mission Statement', a document much derided by insiders at the rag, and outsiders, too.

There followed a few good hours hard slog in the salt-mines of the virtual universe. Both men were convinced cyber-sceptics, preferring a good book, a well-lubricated yarn and plausibly deniable scuttlebutt to web-sites and..horror of horrors!--blogs. However, both were equipped with lively, if somewhat time-worn and pickled intelligences, and eventually tracked down the childrens' Greenie club.

'Well, there it is, Morrie...pretty portentous for ten year olds....'The Children of Gaia'....designed to send our Editor into apoplexy. How will we play this?' Moir was no Greenie-basher, but his Editor, and their proprietor, 'He Who Must be Obeyed', (or else you won't get paid, as Morrie always replied to the original invocation) far off in London, were very much so, in trumps.

'Dave, old boy....you know the answer to that, don't you. I can see the headline now 'Kids brainwashed by Green midgets, posing as children', plus the obligatory 'cartoon' by one of our menagerie of trained dawbers. Cripes...he'll go ape-shit, as the Pope said....didn't he?' Morrie was cheerfully agnostic, or panda-theistic as he often insisted,true believer in the virtues of pandemonium..

'But, just look at this stuff. I mean, it looks like it's only a few months old, but there are hundreds of clubs, all over the country...and, look....in Canada, South Africa, Bolivia....how come it's been kept so secret?' Moir was beginning to wonder just who was organising this effort. The putative leader, who declared himself just another kid, was some lad called Jimmy K, very Kafkaesque as Morrie had noted, but the effort involved in the web-site seemed prodigious. There were sections dedicated to gardening, to cooking, to sharing toys and books and others for taking food to old duffers, for sharing experience, for getting parents to help with heavier and dirtier jobs etc. 'Jimmy' seemed to do nothing much but write a little 'Message' three or four times a week, and set conversations going. The kids were first name and age, only, and there were rules to keep them under sixteen years old, with a separate section for those 'Rich in Years and Experience'. Some of the youngest contributors were barely literate, but heart-felt, and negative comments were simply given a dunce's hat, but no abuse was allowed. The general air was of earnest naivety, or so he thought as a cynical adult, although he was more than once stung by a bitter-sweet nostalgia at seeing opinions that he once held dear himself, when green in years and hopeful in disposition, proposed by 'Ned, 10' of Victoria, or 'Marthe', 11 of Hamburg'. And then there was their 'Humanifesto',( a not entirely original appellation, or so he felt) which had started out as 'Jimmy K's' and 'Alex' from Canada's, idea, but which had spawned dozens of variants, all encouraged and all praised, or politely and constructively criticised, by club members.

As Moir read on he began to wish that he hadn't ever come across these kids. After all nothing was more certain than that the media reaction to such a network of youthful, child Greenies would not be kind. His own paper had run a visceral anti-environmental line for years, over the silent objections of many of the journalists, but, good jobs in the media were hard to find, so there had been the usual silent, and, let's face it, cowardly, acquiescence.

'Morrie....look, mate....how about we just sit on this for a while. Let's say we investigate....get an idea of whether anybody else is interested...you know, get a full story...not a 'scoop' of pre-digested shite fit for Ayckroyd's pet hates. He's Editor, but...well...what he doesn't know can't hurt us, can it? We get a story together, keep quiet until it begins to be a public issue...because you know that it will...then we can go with it and...maybe...tone down the fuss...a little..perhaps'. Moir grimaced as he imagined the moral panic that Ayckroyd would conjure up.

Slowman chuckled, and rubbed his nose in his habitual manner. 'Right with you there, comrade. These kids are having great fun, and looking after one another and old farts...in fact...if I can find a local branch....I'll get 'em to come and tidy up me and Lucy's old place. It's a bleedin' jungle. And a vegie patch sounds inviting...we used to all have 'em when I was a nipper, Dave...and chooks...they do chooks, too....did you see that place...where was it...in South Oz...two hundred chooks, free eggs for the old people's home ….where was it...'. Morrie got back to the computer, and his notes, lost in a virtual egg-hunt.

The two hacks worked away all afternoon, making one or two 'phone calls to colleagues, testing the air to see if the story was bubbling out of obscurity yet. A couple of leads looked intriguing, and one old former colleague noted that he had seen a story, just days before, about some fuss in the West Bank, where Israeli settlers had tried to dig up a garden on some disputed land, only to have their own children stop them, and admit that they had built it, secretly, with Palestinian kids. When Moir found the incident described in an Israeli paper, it turned out to be just about as ridiculously hopeful a story as he had seen from the West Bank in years, with the children said to have all been members of a 'children's environmental association' with members 'across the world'. How about that! The comments of some of the more hard-core settlers were, unfortunately, not altogether encouraging, but the main leaders on both sides had, apparently, decided to let the children 'do their thing'. Wonders will never cease.

Yes, indeed, he thought. This is a big story. He decided that the secret to a great, big, story was to find the mysterious 'Jimmy K', who seemed to be the inspiration behind the whole project. One or two of his weekly messages hinted at his role, and mentioned dreams, which added a certain spooky mystery to things. He, naturally, being a journalistic cynic, feared that Jimmy K might be some manipulative adult, pulling strings, although the little enterprises that the children were into were so many and varied, and so constructive, that he thought that these ends certainly justified the means.

A lot of the activities were based around schools, which made good recruiting grounds, no doubt, particularly in countries without many computers. So Dave Moir made a few calls to the Education Department, to see if they were aware of this movement in their schools. The bureaucrats were notably unhelpful as ever, so Moir began ringing a few primary schools, just on spec, as we used to say, and, at the fourth call- Bingo!

It was the Emmaville Primary in the inner west, a poor area, with lots of migrants and oodles of bad press from time to time. Moir asked to speak with the Headmaster, and after repeating his bona fides, found himself speaking to a Ms Dixon, who sounded a jolly soul.

'Oh, dear, yes...Mr...Moir...was it....yes the children have all gone green mad, I'm happy to say....it's quite amazing....how did you hear about it...from one of the disaffected parents...?' Ms Dixon's voice trailed off into the wastelands of suspicion.

'No, no, Ms Dixon. There was a big gathering of children at the Showground today, you see...

'Ah, yes, Mr Moir...I believe that quite a few of our pupils were planning to attend, to give Mr Cowper a good send-off into retirement, so they decided....apparently it was one of their guru, Jimmy's, ideas....strange mysterious Master K....have you heard of him?' Ms Dixon was breathing rather heavily, as if a little distracted.

'Yes, Ms Dixon...We've found the website and the enigmatic young fellow. Do you know anything about him...and what's the situation with the 'disaffected' parents, if you don't mind my asking?' Moir was trying not to get too pushy.

'We know nothing about Jimmy, save what you can see on the web-site. He's somewhere in Adelaide, so he said once, and he's twelve...fancy that...he writes like a dream...have you read the 'Humanifesto' and its multitudinous offspring, so to say? You get an awful feeling that he can't be what he claims to be...I think that's behind the opposition of some parents...that and anti-Greenie prejudice. Apparently he is the 'primus inter pares' of thirteen children, scattered around the world, who hit on this idea, just a few months ago....quite amazing, don't you think? And the children at this school, and there are some other clubs nearby, they just get on with their projects...and they keep children forbidden by their parents to join in up to date....but they never encourage those children to question their parents. They are very understanding. It's the strangest and most positive thing I've seen in thirty years' teaching, and it has just burst out spontaneously.' Ms Dixon finished quite abruptly, but with a noticeably upbeat lilt in her voice.

'Ms. Dixon, does the Education Department approve of this club?' Moir immediately regretted not phrasing the question differently.

'Well, they let us have a free rein on clubs and the like, more or less...but I do know that a few parents complained just last week, and yesterday I got an e-mail asking for an explanation. What I said is, naturally, confidential...but let's just say that I defended the club as very positive. Do you want to hear what they've been up to? It is quite remarkable. May I ask that this be 'off the record', please. I don't want the Department thinking that I'm using the media...you know..to garner public sympathy'. Ms Dixon was quite hardened in Education Department in-fighting.

'Of course, Ms Dixon. I'm not interested in writing anything yet, well...if I can go 'off record', too....because my paper, as you probably know..hates Greenies, no matter what their age. And I'm not inclined, so far, at all, to write a hatchet job'. Moir realised that he was drawing a line in the sand, and perhaps might soon have to burn his bridges, too. God, how he loved cliche's, the hardened journo's stock-in-trade.!

'Well, first of all,' Ms Dixon resumed, suitably mollified, 'they had a sort of garage sale of unwanted toys and books. They spent the money on garden tools and a little shade-house. Then they asked if they could plant some trees, to shade the playground, and they have planted two hundred, so far. They rang an aborist to select the best trees for the school, and bought them mail order from a native nursery. They cleared everything with me, and I with the School Council. Then they asked if we could let them have vegie patches and chickens, and when that was approved, they organised their parents to help dig up a corner of the old asphalt playground, dig out the rocks, tip in top-soil, set up compost bins and worm farms, and build a chook-run. All in one week-end.' Ms Dixon sounded quite exhausted just relating the story of feverish activity.

'They sound very determined, ma'am', Moir stuttered, becoming more and more intrigued.

'Quite amazingly so. They meet and plan what to do next, and they discuss it all. They always get one or two teachers to join in, the more sympathetic ones...our Grade Five teacher has a collection of permaculture magazines, and they've gone through them all. That's where they got the idea for the frog pond, which they just finished. Now they are growing trees from seed to plant out in their own backyards. They take eggs to the local nursing homes, and stay to chat with the old folk...and they sing a lot...they've all joined the school choirs....we have four, now, too many for our music teachers, really....and many have taken up musical instruments. And they have worked out an anti-bullying scheme.....they diffuse aggression before it gets too, well too entrenched, so to say... which works wonderfully....and a welcoming process for new students, to help them settle in and make friends. Then they have rosters where the best students help out the laggards...my teachers can't believe it. All in three months. The inmates have taken over the asylum, and turned it into ...well, forgive my hyperbole...but into a rapidly evolving Eden. Please, Mr Moir, let's just allow them to get on with it...what do you say?' Ms Dixon sounded rather wary.

'I say...can I come and visit?' Moir answered.'Of course I'll keep quiet....it's really impressive. But it will come out, and soon. I dare say the kids will be on TV tonight, after the Showground kerfuffle'. Moir almost dreaded turning the set on tonight, but he was inexorably being drawn into what looked more and more like a bloody big story. A 'Big Story'.

'Well, how about tomorrow?', came the quick reply.'It's holidays until next Monday, but they are coming in every day, to work in the gardens, and water the trees, because of the drought. We've applied for a grant to buy rain-water tanks...another kids' idea.. I'll be here from ten. Can I expect to see you?' Ms Dixon now sounded rather cheerfully animated again.

'You can. I'll see you then. Thank-you, and you can count on my discretion. Goodbye'. The journalist and the teacher exchanged farewells and Ms Dixon hung up. Tomorrow would be quite a day, Dave Moir surmised. The first stage of understanding the 'Gaians' accomplished, Dave made his good-byes to Morrie, who was still trawling the Internet for clubs in Europe, and had a look of almost boyish enthusiasm plastered across his ruddy toss-pot's visage. Dave hadn't seen him so enlivened since the Arch-bishop and the dominatrix story of fond, if fading, memory, some years past.

In accordance with his agreement with Ms Dixon, the next day, around ten, Dave Moir parked his somewhat battered chariot outside Emmaville Primary. He could tell that he was in the correct location because the verges outside the school were planted with young trees, all neatly guarded by plastic plant protectors, all staked, all mulched. A young fellow of about ten was watering them with a hose.

Moir was not, however, alone. His two children, Tristram and Natalia (or Natasha, as Moir preferred) were with him. The previous evening, when he had casually mentioned the 'Gaia Club' over dinner, the two had exchanged knowing grins, then broken out laughing. There was, so it seemed, a branch of the club, not at their school, but set up amongst the neighbourhood children. In fact, the whole thing seemed to consist of inter-locking clubs, at schools, churches, community gardens etc, and Tristram and Natasha's school didn't have one, yet. The twins were summoning up the courage to try and organise one, but they were just a little shy. When Dave mentioned that he was going to visit a school-based club, the next day, they begged to come along. Dave decided that it would probably be OK, so he agreed. After which he had the kids show him around the Gaia web-site.

What he saw, as his children navigated the byways and back-waters of the site, and others set up to complement 'home base' and elaborate certain activities, rather amazed, then alarmed him. That which he had ascertained with his cursory examination at work was but a fraction of the total effort. The ferment of ideas and projects was bewildering. That it was coming from children aged mostly from ten to fifteen, with younger and slightly older kids contributing enthusiasm rather more than ideas, was unlike anything he'd ever seen. However, despite there being no 'in your face' ideology, the emphasis, over and over, was on self-sufficiency, sharing, group activities, caring for each other and opposition to materialism. There was even a 'No Presents for Birthdays or Christmas' campaign, where the children were discussing whether to just get one present, or none, for these occasions, and whether a present-sharing library was a good idea to set up, to prevent lots of unwanted toys just lying about. One group, in Canada, had established a library of toys and books, and computer games, and that idea was catching on. However, nothing was prescriptive, everything could be varied to suit local conditions, or traditions, or the size of the club, its relative affluence etc. Flexibility was crucial, as mysterious Master Jimmy K. emphasised. Democracy works best face to face, he declared, amongst friends and acquaintances.

The more long established, which meant five months or so, groups, particularly, at present, those in their warm, growing, season or sub-tropical and tropical, were working on supplying vegetables and fruit to poorer children, to old peoples' homes and to food banks. Parents and grand-parents were being enlisted to help preserve surplus edibles, and gardening tips were freely exchanged in one club forum. Anti-bullying schemes and mutual aid in the classroom were spreading, too as Ms Dixon had said. So were plans to identify wasteland for gardening and tree planting, and ways to approach owners and authorities for permission. Nesting-box construction for birds was being popularised by an English group, one of whose fathers was an expert at the craft.

There was a roster of groups, arranged chronologically, the first in Vancouver, Canada, which was five months old. Forty something countries were involved already, with hundreds of groups, many with shared memberships, spreading as a network. Moir began to feel uneasy. He somehow doubted that the powers-that-be would be happy about such spontaneous self-organisation. There were too many total control freaks in power, everywhere, he was certain of that. But Moir also felt enormously encouraged by it all. Something was bubbling up from the depths, and his own children were completely sold on it all.

The latest messages from the mysterious Jimmy K. were intriguing. Moir couldn't really see them as the product of a twelve year-old, but couldn't bring himself to believe that the whole thing was some scam to get children involved in seriously good deeds. Sinister manipulation to unambiguously good ends seemed incomprehensible.

That week's message was about the climate, seemingly a club obsession.

'Brothers and sisters, this world is our only home. Like our family home, we must respect it, and its inhabitants, and nurture them and it. We must make it as beautiful, as fruitful, as resilient as we can. We will only succeed if we all work together to that common end, and only then will we be free to fulfil our own ambitions and dreams. We will only be children for a while, but in that period we must learn to respect and nourish life on this planet, for our children, and theirs, and to honour all those who came before us. Every good act is another step along the road to happiness for us all. We must tread lightly, help each other and never wantonly destroy life. It is that simple, really. Let us keep on the path, because this journey is our destiny, our duty and our happiness.'

He looked, with his hack's cynical eye, for the tell-tale signs of cant or banality. But somehow, no matter how hard he tried, he could not see it. Such words, if uttered by any current politician or any of the last forty years, would have had his hackles rising, and the conviction that they had been penned by a cynical PR flack after the votes of the easily fooled would have gripped him. But everything Jimmy wrote was stamped with childish conviction, an unaffected naivety that was the antithesis of the world-weary and cynical politician. Dave Moir had, after a couple of hours with his kids, retired for the night, after tucking his children into bed, and kissing his partner, Sue, who was sitting up to watch another detective show about hunting down the omnipresent 'serial killers' who infested the airwaves and the 'popular imagination'.Moir had then slept without dreaming, and awoken marvellously refreshed.

After 'phoning in sick, he had gotten his kids dressed, waved Sue off to work, and listened to the morning news. He had forgotten to watch the TV news the night before, so was a little surprised and disturbed to hear the 'kids' riot' feature fairly prominently. A lot of hot air was blown by a 'Values Party' member of state parliament, a notorious climate change denialist and Green-basher, with quaintly predictable jargon about 'feral hippy children' and 'Gaia-worshipping tree-hugger parents', and Dave feared that the cat was now definitely out of the bag, and the reaction and the reactionaries were getting warmed up. Fortunately the segment was, uncharacteristically, balanced by old Cowper being given five minutes, in which he sang the children's praises and ended up blubbering nicely. Very effective and affecting. Then, his kids being ready and breakfasted, it was time to hit the road.

And now they were there, at Emmaville. Dave Moir's children jumped out happily, and in a trice were laughing along with the young tree waterer, a lad called...it could only be from a family of inner-city hippies-Jimi, as he carefully spelled it out. And he was left-handed, too. Moir dragged his kids away, and they all walked briskly around the side of the main building, an old monolith from the 1930s, to the playground. It was, as expected a monument to asphalt and scraped knees, just like the one that he had run up and down, playing 'Cockie Laura', thirty years before. And, sure enough, there in a back corner, a little swarm of children was busy, hacking away with hoes, bending and scraping, pulling out weeds and singing laughingly.

As they grew closer, Moir saw a tall, rather skinny woman, deep in conversation with a middle-aged chap with red curly hair, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a wig. She had about her the air of a school-mistress, and, indeed, she was Ms. Dixon. After greeting Moir, Ms Dixon introduced the man as Jim Carter, father of two dedicated gardeners. Whipping off the wig, to reveal sparse black locks, Jim apologised.

'Sorry about the disguise, but I'm teaching them some Harpo Marx tricks. Without the harp, alas.They like to laugh, this lot. And who are these two?', he enquired, and Moir introduced Tristram and Natasha to both adults. His kids quickly begged permission to join the gardeners, which was just as swiftly granted with a nod and a grunt of approval, and Moir proceeded to interrogate Ms. Dixon.

They made it a peripatetic interview, leaving Jim 'Harpo' Carter to his merry pranks, although, as Ms. Dixon insisted, it was all still 'not for attribution'. They walked around the veggie garden, the chook shed, and the new orchard, all ripped from the asphalt.

'We had to get Department permission, and that took an effort. It was so tedious that we had the bob-cat rip up twice as much as we asked for. All the services come in from the street, thank the Lord, and the soil is surprisingly good. An old chap next door...over there....Ray ….he tells us it was an orchard years ago...and he bought us these apple trees from Tasmania...Cat's Head, Orange Pippin...and the children know the rest'. Ms Dixon recounted it all very happily, with a definite air, in this case, of being no longer fully in charge, and not caring in the least.

'The children seem remarkably...organised and....self-sufficient....for primary children....' Moir observed, still suspecting some adult input, somewhere.

Ms. Dixon stopped, and, not facing Morris but, rather, gazing at the children, who were now planting seedlings, she spoke, softly and seriously.

'Mr. Moir, I've taught for thirty-five years. And I have never seen children change so quickly...become so ...capable and...wise...wise beyond their years... let alone do so as fast...in just a few weeks...Sometimes it almost scares me...but', and she turned to face him, her face wreathed in a smile,'.. it is the greatest experience of my life. I am not a parent, but I feel like these children are....well, they are both my children, and....strangely...I feel that they are teaching me, too'. Ms Dixon had a strange look, almost ecstatic, and Morris rushed in lest she levitated, or hugged and kissed him in joy.

'But, Ms. Dixon, that all sounds...it sounds like some sort of religious experience...you can, believe me...trust me...but, for pity's sake, don't talk to any of my colleagues like that. They'll paint you as a loonie, you know that'. Moir hoped that he hadn't savaged his colleagues too badly, only 50% or so of whom were total Rightwing ratbags.

'Oh, I know, Mr. Moir...I come into contact with the trash from time to time...I know what...Peter Andrews (a notorious radio 'shock-jock')would make of it...and those other...words, polite words, fail me..', and she chuckled happily. They proceeded to inspect the chook run, which was immense. The children had thirty hens and a gaudy rooster, and a number of chicks ran about.

'They throw in scraps, and cuttings, and lawn clippings, and the fowls turn it into compost. Some goes into those worm farms..', and she pointed to some do-it-yourself structures made of polystyrene boxes, next to the vegies, '..and the rest will go on the trees as mulch. The worm castings and worm juice are for the vegetable garden'. Once again a beatific smile crossed her face. The old darling is in love, Moir thought, in love with her kids. Wasn't that just grand.

They walked over to the headmistress' office, only pausing for Moir to inquire as to how his kids were going. Very, very, well, apparently, planting peas. In the office Ms. Dixon opened her 'Diary of Miracles' as she called it. It was a journal, of each day's adventures, each new idea that the children had floated her way. It was their self-confidence that she most admired and envied. The children were teaching the teachers, and although one or two of the staff rather suspected and resented the role reversal, the absolutely excellent results academically, and in class behaviour, had been universally popular. Nearly all the school bullies were as happy and well adjusted as one could hope for, and the hard nuts were being worked on. The perennial victims were protected and the unpopular, the unlovely and timid, the grumpy, the ones from breaking or broken homes, they all received particular attention and support. All organised by the children, with one or two teachers happily assisting.

'Look, here, Mr. Moir...this boy', and she pointed to a picture of a large, grumpy, lout, defiance and anger painted across his scowling features,' ..that is Bobby, who was the biggest bully of them all, like his loutish father, as was. Two months of the anti-bullying campaign, and...', she turned the page, and there he was, smiling like a cherub, ten kilos lighter, too.

'He's a new boy, one of the best runners, a real trier academically, and...his father, who used to be a real...pardon my French...pain in the derriere...well, he built the chook-house...that's a new one, you see...the Chicken Taj Mahal, the kids call it..' and off she went into beatitude again.

Ms. Dixon and Dave Moir looked through the compendious journal for some time, and Moir, ever the cynical journo, began to wonder how she found the time, then worry that, when the backlash came, as he knew that it must, no good deed ever going unpunished, not in this world, how she would explain it, if the hardcore disinformers and misrepresenters ever got to work their 'tragic magic' on it. He began to feel the necessity to warn her, to put her on her guard, but feared seeming too paranoid. Moir need not have worried. The old dear read his mind.

'Don't fret, Mr. Moir. I can tell what you're thinking. You're a good chap, but you know the ways of the world. So do I. This journal stays under lock and key. You're only the third person to see it...and the others...friends and colleagues...well they'll keep mum.' Morris had expected a stern look of determination, but there was that beatitude again, with a touch of the happy martyr, if needs be, thrown in.

The morning passed quickly. From time to time the sound of children singing replaced that of children laughing from outside. Children came and went, Ms. Dixon reminding all of school commencement next week. A scattering of parents, too, all quite enthusiastic about the 'Kids' Crusade' as one mother called it. The reference made Moir, who knew a little medieval history, somewhat uneasy.

Lunch materialised, the product of vegie garden bounty and a few helpful mothers, and the children ate their sandwiches amidst a lot of chatter and running about. They were, apparently, very active, having prevailed on the teachers to allow a minute's jumping about every twenty minutes of class-time, to keep themselves aware and receptive. Their level of determination to do well, and the dedication to helping the laggards keep up, was a teacher's dream of dying and going to Heaven, as Ms. Dixon observed with a laugh.

All too soon, Moir decided to head home, as he had rather too much to do to prevaricate. Rather than finding it hard to drag his kids away, they came happily, and spent the entire trip home, then the next few hours, planning their own club at their school.

As they walked into their house, Moir could hear his mobile 'phone jingling with a message. Finding it underneath the bedclothes took a few seconds, and, upon child-assisted inspection (he hated the things, but Sue had bought him a new model, to keep in touch, as she said)he found that he had twenty messages since eleven o'clock. Most were from Morrie Slowman, but one, mysteriously, was from Lane Crosby, the resident ideological attack-dog. Well, the biggest and nastiest attack-dog, of several. Ominous thoughts filled Dave Moir's mind, so he rang Morrie post-haste.

Chapter Twenty-Two:  The Empire Lurches Forth.

'You picked a great day to skive off, mate. The dung has hit the fan, and big-time. Our little tree-hugging friends have been sprung, and the smell of blood is in the water-or should that be 'the taste'?'.. The lurid imagery was Slowman's forte, but it seemed quite jarring, not merrily ludicrous, when applied, as Moir knew it was, to children.

Morrie raved on. 'The Scoop' (Morrie's personal nickname for 'The Blast' a night-time 'newsietainment' show)has a story on the, get this...they're leaking all over the shop...'Feral Hippy tree-hugging children running amok' etc. Seems they've been looking into it for a while...some anti-Greenie parent denounced the clubs...and they were at the 'riot' would you believe, at the Showground, for the, get this 'former Communist garden guru'. Subtle, eh?' Morrie was not wrong.

Well it was as bad as Moir had imagined it would be, Another chance for some Greenie-bashing. The Blast was a nasty melange of Rightwing rabble-rousing and prurient 'celebrity' gossip. The kids were going to get a right royal bollocking.

'So, have you got anything useful, yet, old boy?' Morrie enquired. 'Ayckroyd has set Crosby on the job, so its hatchets at close quarters. He's on to you, somehow..I didn't squeal, so help me...even under torture...locked up with Grace Alderton, in the executive loo....God, I need a drink. Thank God I've got one. What have you got, so far?' Morrie was waxing histrionic, so the 'white infuriator' was plainly having its habitual tragical magical effect.

Moir gave his old friend a quick run-down. They both agreed that a group like this would b red meat in the water to a hungry white pointer as far as their paper was concerned. Greenies, in any shape or form, were 'The Enemy', even if merely children. Moir hit on an audacious plan.

'I'll ring Crosby, and find out what he knows. Then I'll set him up to make a fool of himself with some lurid, but false, accusation. He's as thick as a brick, poor sweet-heart, and his rat cunning is fading with age. I reckon Ayckroyd fancies that mad man at 'The Rear View', you know Bruce Bristow, to replace him. Younger, more rabid, better looking, ambitious, unscrupulous...God, he sounds too bad to be true. They'd better watch their backs if 'He Who Must be Obeyed' ever meets him', referring irreverently to the Boss of Bosses in London. Moir suddenly felt ill, as he remembered that his 'phone could be hacked.

'So, how do you suck him in, then' Morrie drawled.

'Well it will have to be believable and ideologically correct...and I'll need an alibi when the shit-rain begins falling. Let's see...' and Moir thought very, very, hard, approximating the rat thoughts, those murine maunderings, of his dear colleagues.

'How about this', Morrie drawled after a few seconds.'He'll know about Jimmy K, and if not, if he hasn't seen the web-site, yet...well, we put him onto it...then we say, 'We can get you in touch with him...he's the son of some water-melons...or, maybe...a lesbian couple...no, that's over-egging the pudding...make 'em ex-Commo hippies...that'll get him drooling...then he speaks to 'Jimmy' and he spouts some red-Green stuff...not too blatant, mind you...but enough, you know, to get Crosby hooked...then the real Jimmy denounces it all as faked...what d'ya think?

' 'So, who'll be the fake Jimmy, then?' Moir was only mildly interested, and had a strange feeling that they might worsen matters. It might be better to let the clubs be exposed, and see who backs them up. Perhaps it would strengthen the whole movement to have the Establishment come crashing down on their heads. It might look like bullying of decent, caring kids. Maybe it would be better to just give Crosby enough rope to hang himself with.

'I'm coming in Morrie. I'll drop the kids off with their Gran and see you soon. OK...just keep working on things. I'll be there as quick as I can manage'. The colleagues mumbled farewells, and Moir gathered up his kids, drove to their Gran's, dropped them off, rang Sue, and got to work in thirty minutes. A lot had happened in that brief half hour.

Morrie greeted him with a scowl. 'Aykroyd and Crosby want to see you in Ake's office. Something's up. The jig, I think'.

Moir made his way briskly to the Editor's office, which befitting his status and personality, still had walls and a door. The two aforementioned bovver-boys were cackling and laughing, and the Scotch had begun flowing.

'Pull up a pew, matey', Aykroyd bellowed in his most panic-inducing, jovial, voice. It usually preceded a right head-kicking, as if the transition from phony bonhomie to aggro was more psychologically rewarding. Not for the first, or twentieth, time, Moir found himself wondering why he put up with it. Probably for the money.

'Well, Comrade', this being Crosby's mocking term for everyone to his Left, which included Genghis Khan, 'I know you know that I know that you know all about these feral Green brats. Their head tree-hugger rang me this morning..'

' 'What', Moir interjected, 'do you mean Jimmy K? Have you seen the web-site? How did you find him so quick?' Moir blathered rather intemperately.

'Hang on Comrade...don't get your dialectic in a knot. He contacted me'. Crosby beamed a crooked, externally and internally, smile.

'Why did he do that? Moir mumbled, rather confused by this turn of events.

'Don't ask me. He sounded about twelve, but he's as sharp as a cut-throat razor. He just said that he knew that we were interested in his little communes, and wanted to 'set the record straight'. Here...it's all here...just listen for yourself..' At which invitation Crosby pressed the play button on an old cassette tape-recorder aka 'dictaphone' that was sitting amongst the mess on the desk.

'Fancy a Scotch?' Aykroyd bellowed. Moir nodded in the affirmative, and the tape commenced, hissing and crackling, then a rather young, but very well-spoken, calm, and as it turned out, erudite voice began to speak, interspersed with questions from Crosby's coarse, cigarette induced, croaking.

He was, so he immediately stated, Jimmy Kartinyangarra, of Adelaide (no more precise) and he was, so he calmly asserted, one of the first thirteen of 'Gaia's Children' as he called his brethren. Crosby observed that the poor kid was probably high on drugs and suffering from delusions of grandeur, at which Aykroyd snorted in derisory agreement.

The conversation went on for some time, with Jimmy answering every question candidly and without hesitation. His voice was wonderfully mellifluous, and he used words with the precision of a linguist. He seemed not to use abbreviations or elisions or contractions at all while speaking. Moir found himself sinking into a sort of reverie as Jimmy calmly and wisely expounded on materialism, ecological integrity, compassion and the Gaia clubs' ambitions to start a movement 'from beneath' amongst the children, to change society. Moir felt himself agreeing more and more completely, then even wishing that he was twelve again, so he could join up. More mysteriously, however, after about fifteen minutes, while Aykroyd continued guzzling Scotch and snorting in derision at every homily that passed Jimmy's eloquent lips, Moir noticed that Crosby was sitting quite stony-faced and pale, as if he had seen a ghost, and then, surreptitiously, a furtive tear ran down his cheek. As if waking from a day-dream, he wiped it off with a violent sweep of his arm, and scowled at Moir, but not angrily. More as if embarrassed to have been seen...what?...weakening, perhaps.

When it was all finished, and Jimmy had encouraged Crosby to visit the web-site and read the 'Humanifesto' and see just what they were up to, he said goodbye and wished Crosby every happiness with such a tone of sincere concern that it set two and more hot tears rushing down Crosby's cheeks. And Moir got rather teary at the sight, too. It was as if some sort of field of compassion had emanated from the tape, and embraced the two of them.

Not Aykroyd, however. He was hewn from sterner stuff.

'What the Hell is going on?!' he bellowed.'Are you two nancy-boys blubbering away for any particular reason? Moir, I know you're a bloody bleeding-heart, do-gooder...but, you..you, Crosby...no wonder HW (short for He Who Must be Obeyed, in London)wants to get rid of you! Look, hear, and listen well...you're going to do a proper hatchet-job on these little Pinkos, or I'll have Bristow in your job by tomorrow evening. Now get the blazes out of my office!!' Aykroyd's face had turned an unpleasant purplish colour, and Moir allowed a rather too lengthy mental intrusion to occupy his mind, imagining his valiant, but, regrettably, unsuccessful attempt to resuscitate Ake after a brain explosion brought on by stratospheric blood pressure.

On the way out Moir turned to Crosby. The old hatchet-man was smiling broadly. Moir felt confused.

'Gawd, Crozz...what's come over you...I haven't seen you cry since you won that chook raffle down at the 'Evil Star' (a local hostelry, much frequented by bibulous hacks)last Easter.' Moir had laid his hands on his shoulders, and stared straight at Crosby, from inches away, as if -Heaven Help Us!-they were friends..

Crosby smiled, not wickedly or maliciously as was his want, but ..will miracles never cease!..happily. He began burbling excitedly, then, taking a deep breath, he recovered his composure.

'Look, Comrade (he said it differently, affectionately not mockingly, now)...you know how the Yanks are always rabbiting on about 'epiphanies', as if God has nothing better to do that attend to their self-obsessions.Well...don't laugh or I'll garrotte you...OK....don't laugh ...but...the little blighter's got inside my head...you know...once, a long time ago....I was like that, idealistic I mean....and I'm bloody well goin' to be like it again. Aykroyd is in for a rude shock...let me tell you..' Crosby voice rose to a high pitch, but he looked...well...almost 'healthy'....as if decades of boozing, smoking, back-stabbing, front-stabbing and endless character assassination to order had been shucked off like a snake moulting. Not in the sense of the old and laconic blackfella laugh, when faced by some 'reformed' Rightwinger professing undying love for his black brothers and sisters,' New skin-same old snake', but more like 'New skin, new, improved, old snake'.

'But, hang on Crozz, you old fascist....you've never met a Greenie you didn't want to attack....how come...it's too quick, you know...hard to believe...are you going bonkers, or something?' Moir was certainly perplexed, not ever having seen Crosby act remotely like this.

'Look, Moir...I've just suddenly seen exactly where I've gone wrong. It's been building for years...I detest what I do for Aykroyd...what I've become....I've got a few years left to put it right....I can get my soul back....thanks for not laughing....but it's …..' Crosby's declaration ran out of puff there, as he found himself lost for words, possibly overcome with emotion again.

'OK, Crozz. I believe you. It's...it's a shock, you must admit...the archetypal head-kicker turned...I won't say 'do-gooder' yet.....but how do you get around Aykroyd? You'll have to quit.' Moir could think of no easy way out for a man clearly undergoing the rigours of metamorphosis. Like the caterpillar turning into the butterfly, Crosby was being forced to first liquify his old self. It must be torment.

'I've seen it all already, Comrade...I meant it that time.....easy peasey, but a suicide mission, no doubt about it...but with trust in the resurrection, if you'll forgive the blasphemy. Oh, it'll be fun, too. The look on Aykroyd when he finds out...priceless.I can see it now'. Crosby was babbling a bit now, but happily. He continued.

'So...I write a good old head-kicking smear-job, like a hundred times before...Aykroyd signs off on it...usually about nine, for the early edition...and I substitute a puff-piece, contrary to the diktat...then..this is the best bit...I appear on morning TV and reveal that I was leaned on to do a character assassin job...but had a change of heart. How's that sound?' Crosby leered hopefully, awaiting approval.

'Yeah, but when Aykroyd sees it he'll have a contract taken out on you. You'll need a one -way ticket out of the country, won't you? And plastic surgery' Moir was starting to worry about guilt by association, always a risk at 'The Nation', that self-effacing and not at all bombastic title Masters had invented for his propaganda rag many moons before.

'No, no, no.' Crosby yelped.'I've been cowering before these bastards for too long. I've gotta stand up or I might as well be dead. Let 'em do their worst. I'll take some flack off the kids, too. You know, it's as if I'm getting some inner strength and belief from somewhere outside of me...maybe those kids are sending out 'good vibrations'. He had begun to sound like a Cathar martyr, a parfait, about to leap joyfully into the flames, and a Beach Boys tragic, all mixed up together.

The new comrades repaired to Moir's 'office' nook, then to the nearby 'Fiddler's Elbow' for a restorative ale, or several, picking Morrie up (not literally-that would come later, on the balance of probabilities) on the way. The twin reports were nutted out. The first, the denunciatory one, was easy. Crosby had the required verbiage well impressed into his sub-conscious. 'Tree-huggers', 'do-gooders', 'water-melons' etc, 'Hippies' for the nostalgics, etc. Morrie suggested 'Goddess-worshippers' for the Christian fundamentalists, a 'core constituency' of 'The Nation'(The Heart of Australia) as Masters had decreed its modest self-description to be, some months back (the 'Mission Statement' was even more self-aggrandising and deluded, but provided copious material for many, often prurient, jests). The conspirators received a copy of 'The Blast's' coming expose' from a friendly mole, and filled in the gaps with distorted details from Jimmy's 'phone conversation. In the end it was a professional hit-job, par for the course, ticking all the boxes- dog-whistles to racists, nods and winks to intractable misanthropes and open denunciation of the Great Enemy, those evil Greens who were after The Nation's readership's Jetskis and four car garages. Moir recommended not over-egging the pudding, but Crosby assured him that taking down these 'effing Hippy brats' was a real priority for Aykroyd. 'Ayk's family motto is, 'Nothing succeeds like Excess', Crosby slurred.

The alternative version was, to say the least, more favourable. In fact it read a little like a cross between Huckleberry Finn and the Communist Manifesto, or so Moir ventured, so Crosby 'toned it down'. 'I'll go to town on TV. They expect me to be a red-baiter, Greenie hating reactionary, so...when I change my spots...they might forget who pays their wages for a while....until it's too late. Then onto the net...I might go viral...I've been pathological for a long time....now's the time to change...are you with me? Crosby was elated, like a man possessed.

'What about the subs?' Moir inquired 'Won't they smell a rat...and there's the retribution that will follow....how do you get past them?'

'No worries. They all hate Aykroyd after he screwed them in the last contract negotiations. I'll go through Bill Close...he'll do it...he hates Aykroyd like there's no tomorrow'. Crosby was satisfied by that retort.

'But Aykroyd always reads the first edition...how do you stop him killing it there and then?' Moir was frightened that this obstacle was insurmountable.

'I'll get him pissed, then slip him a Mickey Finn...you know, rhino tranquiliser or Mogadon...you remember 'Mogadon' Smith, 'the slow-acting dope'. What a choice of 'Economics Editor!'? Ayk'll sleep for twelve hours. I'll watch him so that he doesn't choke on his own 'aspirational' bile. Let's get cracking!' Crosby was quite elated, probably overly so.

' On the way back to the office they parted ways for tactical purposes, so as not to share the job-terminating fall-out. Moir rang his wife and announced that he would be late. He returned to his office to check the Gaia's Children website. Jimmy K. was announcing, in a post but two hours old, that the clubs were about to 'hit the news' as he called it. Jimmy urged caution, and to not be down-hearted if wild men called them all 'silly names'. The clubs were only doing good, and plenty of other adults supported them. And it was best to 'turn the other cheek', as returning fire with fire was impossible for children, and would only lose them support. It was time to tune out and just let the whirlwind blow itself out. Then he turned to discussing an idea for courses in compassion for Nature, that was being tried out in Guatemala, and which he thought sounded like a very good idea. Reconnecting with Nature was a central goal of the Gaia Clubs, and a quasi-formal inculcation in the love of trees, other plants, flowers, animals, other people, even the grumpy ones (especially the grumpy ones) was a central concern and ambition.

After a couple of hours, Crosby rang.

'I'm on my way up to Aykroyd's office. I've a little flask of doctored whiskey...his favourite tipple...so wish me luck... Bill Close is on board....'It's a far, far, crazier thing I do now.....Geronimo!'.At which war-cry he hung up. A few seconds later he waved from across the floor, as he knocked on Aykroyd's office door, a copy of the, fake, first edition, version of his story, in his hand. He made a sly, throat-slitting gesture before he entered.

The next hour was torment. Moir fully expected Aykroyd to come crashing out and across the floor at any moment, holding Crosby's severed head aloft, but enough with the wild imaginings. He at least envisaged Aykroyd shouting the odds and handing out the peremptory sackings, accompanied by the security guards frog-marching him off the premises, but no shouting or other brouhaha was audible. Finally, right on eight, and after another call home to assure Sue that all was well and good (he knew that she disbelieved him), the office door opened, and out skipped Crosby while Morrie, and Bill Close, both smiling broadly, and holding a copy of that day's actual early edition of 'The Nation' aloft, emerged from the lift. They sauntered across to Moir's nook, sniggering conspiratorily, like naughty school-boys.

'We did it, Comrade', Crosby slurred, thoroughly shickered. 'Ayk's sleeping like a baby serial killer....and I'm on two shows in the morning. I've got a big 'Do Not Disturb' sign on his door, and ….well, have a read'. He waved to Morrie who handed over the paper.

'Page Three....you see...there it is....'Gaia's Children Work to Save Us From Ourselves'....not too condescending, do you think...I mean...I was going to be didactic, but I mellowed out a bit. The Blast wasn't as loathsome as usual..I watched it with Ayk, pouring Scotch like there was no tomorrow, and slipping the mickey finn in towards the end...did you catch it? No. Lazy beggars...they put some girlie barely older than the kids onto it...but they had nothing on Jimmy...'mystery boy'....but the kid...she was obviously sympathetic, you know....they must have decided it's time to do some product differentiation with the other 'news shows'. I suppose. Yeah, the kids....in schools here in Sydney, of course, came across really well....happy, relaxed, friendly....school-teachers on board....no grumpy adults. A regular puff piece. Aykroyd hated it...ha, bloody, ha! He even...My God, the memory!...hugged me, for 'getting stuck in' where The Blast had 'dogged it'.' Crosby faded out a bit at the last, his verbosity seemingly beginning to confuse even himself, and he looked desperately tired. Moir read on, having paid polite attention to the veritable Daniel's escapades in the lion's den.

'Quiet revolution (red rag, that)... precocious children with consciences (unlike the adults)... enthusiastic teachers... vegetables, chooks, trees.... visits to pensioners.... international links.... mysterious gurus spread around the world..... a charismatic twelve year old 'leader'..... hundreds of clubs.... twenty new ones per day opening everywhere from Nepal to Sao Paolo'. Yes indeed, Crosby had laid it on with a trowel. Dyne-oh-mite. Time to head home, and batten down the hatches.

'Where are you sleeping, Crozz?' Moir enquired.'You better be fresh for the morning. It might not be friendly, you know, if Aykroyd gets wind of it first'. Things, Dave surmised, could yet fall apart, and they'd lose their jobs for nothing.

'I'm going to stay with Morrie. He lives near Channel Ten, so I'll get a good seven hours...but I'll be a little hung over...Ayk drinks like a fish...I do hope he hasn't taken on too much tranquilizer. I've asked security to check on him every hour, but 'Do Not Disturb'. Crosby let out a little nervous giggle. 'Christ-he's going to be right royally pissed off. I'm going to enjoy seeing his face turn muddy blue as I confess my Thought Crime. God, he might have a stroke (the very thought that had previously crossed Moir's mind)...do you reckon..' He looked guiltily at Morrie.

'Come on Kammy Karzie...time for some shut eye...and some nervous dreams'. Morrie mumbled in reply.

The two bibulous conspirators left for the lifts. Crosby was giggling incontinently, and Morrie felt the need to steady him as they lurched forward. Moir hoped that Crosby would have sobered up by the morning, then, before leaving for home, he poked his head in to check on Aykroyd. The old fossil was snoring loudly, stretched out on his executive sofa, that often served as emergency night-time accommodation, but was a good colour, for him, not turning blue or grey, so Moir checked with security, and they assured him that they could check on Aykroyd with the two security cameras in his office, and during their rounds would keep a closer eye on him. They had a good deal of experience with inebriated executives crashing out, and had just had their yearly Basic Life Support practical. Moir was satisfied that Ayk would live to lead the witch-hunt, and he headed for home.

At home he spilled the beans with Sue right away. She was shocked that he had put his job at risk for a bunch of precocious children, but she had been well indoctrinated by her own offspring since she picked them up from her Mum's place. Tris and Nat had convinced their Gran, too, and the old girl had been more vivacious and merry than Sue had seen her for some time. She had been impressed at how the children's clubs made such an effort to visit old people, and tend their gardens, bring them fresh food and other little considerations. It was all there on the web-site, on the kids' lap-top, with lots of photos from all manner of exotic places.

'Well, let's hit the hay,' Dave Moir recommended.'...and set the clock for seven, so we can catch Crosby on the box....he's on Ten first...so he said...I'm not sure if he goes anywhere else...after that...I'm beat'. So off to bed they went.

Moir dreamed a little, not of work, or children or Aykroyd chasing him with a machete, but of whales. They were singing, too, and somehow, he understood not precisely what they were 'saying', but what they meant him to feel, by listening to them. The only problem was that, although the feeling of understanding was intense, putting it into words, or thoughts, was impossible. He felt like the whales had introduced some understanding into his mind, but what precisely, would have to wait, for another time, to germinate. Like a coded message, he would get it at the appropriate time, when he received the code-breaking key, or perhaps just when time was ready. All this strange potential knowledge just came to him, as naturally as standing in the rain and getting wet, but that's the dream-world for you.

Dave woke from this dream feeling deliciously refreshed and happy, and, seeing that it was 6.45, turned off the alarm and, after making a cuppa, sat down to watch the morning news show.

At five to seven, a promo was aired. There was a series of celebrity gossip non-stories, a missing child emotional exploitation, and an interview with Crosby, hopefully not towards the end. Two hours of this pap would severely rot his brain, he was certain. The intro was low-key but positive. Green kids, clubs, trees, vegies, old geezers...it sounded pretty anodyne.

Watching the TV, Moir rang the paper. The morning shift were starting, and he had himself put through to security. Aykroyd had slept like a baby elephant seal, all night. No need to turn up the volume on the security camera in his office. The snoring was audible across the entire floor, as they did their rounds. So long as he slept another few hours, all would be well. Then Moir rang Crosby, at the TV station. He was safely ensconced in the Green Room, eating bacon and eggs, and 'feeling fit as a fiddler's dog'. Moir wished him luck, and settled down to watch the proceedings.

Crosby was finally on at 7.50. The segment began quietly, with a run-down of that morning's newspaper article by Crosby. Crozz played it straight, answering the mostly trite questions. Then he was asked if it was not rather different from The Nation's usual anti-Green position for these 'Green' kids to be treated so kindly.

'Well, Bruce,' Crosby replied, looking the host, Bruce Longford, a total nonentity picked for his banality, straight in between the eyes, a narrow target, 'you see, I've had a change of heart since meeting these children. Well, I've only met them on the phone and on-line, but...well, there is something going on here, and it's something good...I mean, as a journalistic hit-man....which, honestly, is what I have become...don't look so shocked...confession is good for the soul...I'll hear yours' after....blessing optional...and at no added expense...where was I...yes, I've been used to bringing things down, but here is something uplifting and...well, I'm on the up and up, too. In fact, I will be resigning today...this is my last story...because I'm going to see what I can do to help these children, and...well, I want to regress, and be a kid again. A happy one, this time...'. He finished quietly, looking half glum, half ecstatic, which amalgam suited his features rather badly.

Longford looked dumbfounded, then crestfallen, then, his reptilian instinct for self-preservation kicking in, a sly grin crossed his lips. He could ingratiate himself with powerful people, who he knew, instinctively, wouldn't like Greeny kids in any way, shape or form. He intuitively knew where to attack.

'But, these are just children. Well-meaning, immature, children, but not old enough, surely, to understand just what the realities of society really are. Surely some-one is manipulating them, pulling strings. What did you discover about these shady figures', thereby turning conjecture into fact with a practised grasp of the dark art of manipulation.

Crosby was up for the fight, however. He knew his interlocutor well, and regarded his perch as one step down from blue-green algae on the evolutionary ladder. He had been promised Julia Dixon, rather less tricky and duplicitous, so the last minute substitution had him on guard. Time to attack.

'Oh, Bruce, don't go inventing stuff. Come on, now...you can get into trouble doing that...maybe not...still, let me tell you, in good faith...I saw nothing of any adult manipulation...

'But, Mr Crosby', Bruce interjected 'You've not really done that much work, have you. I have it on good advice that the Green Party is behind these 'clubs', and the so-called 'Jimmy K' is a thirty year old tree-hugger from Tasmania'. Bruce looked both triumphant and mischievous, and Crosby had to admire his chutzpah, producing total bull-dust like that, at the drop of a hat.

Crosby laughed, loudly, and, in the end, sneeringly. 'Bravo, Bruce, mate..you're earning your keep today. Complete balderdash, if you'll pardon my French'. Crosby was elated. Here was the chance to go out with a bang, not a whimper. ' These children are scattered around the world already. I've seen a number of stories', Crosby was having his turn at confabulating now, '..from various places, all attesting to the fact that this is a 7,;.l little taken aback by his vehemence.

Sensing that he had the upper hand, Crosby smiled broadly, and leant slowly back into his chair. As he did, he recommenced his lecture, but more calmly and condescendingly.

'Bruce, let me tell you, if you have the ears to hear it and the spirit to understand it...these children are the future. In fact, without these children and the adults helping them, there is no future. We cannot go on destroying the planet in return for useless things that bring us no happiness. These kids are overflowing with joy and it is infectious. I only had to speak to Jimmy Kartinyangarra, the local kid who was one of the original creators of this movement, for about one hour, on the phone, to be changed utterly and for good. Now, I know that sounds Messianic,or like some guru of some cult, but that's the way it is. Try it yourself. You've got nothing to lose but yourself. And then you'll be free.' Crosby was finished, he suddenly realised, and he was shocked by what had come flowing out of his mouth, almost by itself. But he was not ashamed or embarrassed, and Longford was quiet, his flabber well and truly gasted by the short, sharp outburst. Crosby rose to leave, without invitation, and, on Longford mumbling some thank-yous and rising awkwardly to offer his hand, Crosby grasped him in a bear-hug, and left, his microphone abruptly wrenched loose. It wasn't good production values, but an awful lot of people watching were suitably impressed.

One was Moir, sitting at home, marvelling at Crosby's elan. He'd burned his bridges, alright. Time to give him a ring, to check on his state of mind. But, as he reached for the phone, it rang. Must be Crozz, Moir thought. But it wasn't.

'Hello, Mr. Moir. It's Jimmy Kartinyangarra. I believe you'd like to speak with me'. The voice was young, fresh, plainly untired by decades of inspiration, respiration and desperation.

'Well, yes...but how did you get my number?' Moir thought that he might be dreaming.

'I dreamed it last night. My mother told me the number, and said that you were a friend of Mr Crosby, who I just saw on television...well on the computer....the time difference, you know.... becoming rather emotional, but that is all for the best. It will do him the world of good. He wants his second childhood, so we will just have to help him get there, do you not agree?' The boy spoke very precisely, and seemed definitely to disdain elisions and contractions, as Moir had noted on the tape-recording that had so affected Crosby. But it did not sound robotic, despite his homiletic delivery, just strangely impressive.

'Well, Jimmy, I'd like to meet face to face...if that's possible', Moir exclaimed, just as Sue emerged, red-eyed from the bathroom. 'Can we meet soon?' Moir held his hand over the telephone, a retro model in black bakelite, and nodded to Sue to sit.

'There is no problem involved in that. I am on holidays, for another week. You are in Sydney, of course, and I in Adelaide, so I am afraid that you had better make the trip, if that is acceptable to you. I am kept very busy with the clubs these days, but, fortunately, school is no longer a problem...no, no, I have not left', Jimmy said, somehow seeming to have intercepted a fleeting thought of Moir's, 'I just find the curriculum rather unchallenging since my...transformation. So, can you come to Adelaide?'

'Yes, indeed. I'll be there tomorrow, if you like'. Moir was quite excited. He would have to skive off work, however, which might be the safest course, all things considered.

'Very good. My address is on an e-mail I sent earlier. I knew that you would accept. We were destined to meet, Mr. Moir, and your editor has just woken up, and, I believe he has a rather bad headache. Events are moving ever quicker. Your days as a journalist are almost over. But that is for the good, believe me. Mother says it is so, and she is never wrong. Now I have to ring Mr. Cowper, and wish him well, and sign him up as an honoured elder, a patron'. Jimmy laughed a childish giggle, and bid Moir a good-bye and hung up.

Sue fixed her husband with a beady eye, and demanded, 'What's bloody well going on?' Moir gave her a brief run-down, as she brewed a couple of teas. The children announced their waking by running into the kitchen, giggling.

'Jimmy sent us an e-mail, Dad' Natalia piped up, 'He says that you are a good 'fellow' and you're going to help him a lot. How's that, Dad? ' Nat's still childish face was alight with excitement.

'Blowed if I know, darling'. Moir retorted, and went on explaining everything to Sue. When the children returned to their room, he whispered, ' That boy rang me, just before you got up. He's invited me to Adelaide to meet him. Should I go?' He was suddenly a little perplexed to be being led about by a twelve year old. It seemed vaguely inappropriate.

'Yes, yes... and take the kids. Let them meet him, too. Jimmy's their idol. Make it a little holiday. I've got to go to work, but you can be off sick for a week. Emotional stress. Trouble at home. Wife's gone troppo. You know'. Sue giggled a little, pleasantly surprised by her naughtiness.

Moir immediately liked the idea. The kids would love it, they having an extra week's holidays more than the public schools, and meeting such a character might have a really beneficial effect on them. He agreed and rang Morrie to let him know.

Morrie was at work and flustered. Aykroyd had just woken, like the Kraken, and groggily read the actual first, and second editions, and was, as Groucho used to say, 'waxing Roth'. He was demanding that Crosby be brought to him, dead or alive, and Moir and Morrie's names were being mentioned, unfavourably, in despatches. Close the subby was reported to have rung Aykroyd to laugh at him, not a happy development. He was an untouchable due to going way back with the Boss in London, so, short of his setting fire to the joint, there was nothing Aykroyd could do. Word was he knew stuff that must never reach the ears of the authorities. Any authorities.Therefore Aykroyd needed other scapegoats. And he was swearing vengeance on the 'feral children'.

Moir decided to bite the bullet, and left for work and went straight to see Aykroyd. He was actually quite settled, and furiously punching out an editorial for the next day's edition. Looking up he saw Moir, and smiled a crooked grin, and said, 'Sit down, Moir. I won't be long', and returned to furious typing. After five minutes he was finished.

'So, you've come to gloat, have you', Aykroyd laughed, in seemingly inappropriately high spirits.'Don't bother, I'm onto you and Slowmotion Morrie and Crosby...Crosby, for God's sake...gone native...who would have thought? Well they're out, and you're hanging by a thread, matey. Get on board and help fix these Commo kids, or sling yer hook. What's it to be?' More manic grinning. He did like a good stoush, did Aykroyd.

'Well, Boss, if that's the requirement, I'm out. My own kids wouldn't forgive me. So that's that, then. Have you seen Crosby on the box this morning?' Moir was growing a little concerned that Aykroyd was a mite too manic.

'Yes, ex-employee, I have seen it. I've already made Tim Bristow an offer he won't refuse. Crosby will get swimming lessons...you know, swimming with an Early Kooka tied to his ankles, off the Gap, lessons. This is war. You idiots thought that making a fool of me would ...what? Win some time for your little Commo mates to dig in?' The grin was gone now, and a grimace was spreading, with practised familiarity, over his features. All the deep-etched lines of a life of scowling at the effrontery of others were appearing from chin to forehead. An explosion was brewing. Moir decided to avoid the detonation, made an excuse, and left.

He rang Crosby from his desk. Morrie arrived, bemoaning his fate as 'collateral damage', but Moir ignored him. Crosby, of course, was down the Evil Star, imbibing, and, according to his reports, getting more than a few slaps on the back. Aykroyd was not a universally loved Boss, to put it in a nice understatement.

Morrie and Moir decamped in the general direction of the hostelry, and soon were knocking the odd medicinal brew back with their fellow reptiles. One anonymous twit from the subbies' desk rang Aykroyd after a while and invited him to come down, so that he could hear how much he was loved and admired. Like poking a bull-ant nest with a stick, it was. Sure enough, fifteen minutes or so later, Aykroyd stuck his head in the door, to raucous guffawing. He looked around at his rebellious troops, and declared 'I'm takin' all your names, and shouting the bar'. Then he threw a wad of green $100 notes on the bar, and the fickle reptiles cheered him to the rafters.

Aykroyd sidled over to where Crosby was holding up a wall in his accustomed spot, watching the door lest one of his nastier enemies made a surprise visit.

'Hello, Crozz', Aykroyd hissed.'I signed Bristow half an hour ago. You can have the greyhound round, if you like...if the dogs approve. Or maybe we could use you to 'blood' the little beggars.' He sniggered to himself, and had a reviving slurp of his ale.

'Thanks, Boss, but I resigned at midnight last night. Didn't you get my e-mail. Oh, that's right-you were comatose. Ah, well, 'Sic transit in pluribus unum', as me old Gran used to say. Sorry to double-cross you, but those kids are better than you and I, and I realised it, so...well, I'm on their side, now'. Crosby grinned nervously. He needed a bit more liquid courage.

'Oh, dear, Crozz. Don't you know how that looks. Old hack hangs around kids, trying to get a second childhood, or....something less savoury perhaps..' Aykroyd grinned with malice and contempt.

Crosby was transfixed. He felt a rush of blood to his head. He put his beer down, and cogitated. Aykroyd was still grinning malevolently, swaying backwards and forwards as if inviting a swing. But Crosby noted that two beefy security guards, in civvies, had entered and were standing not far behind Aykroyd. He smelled a set-up. Aykroyd saw Crosby's glances over his shoulders, so he upped the ante. He pushed Crosby in the chest, and sneered, 'A right scungy kiddy-fiddler you've become, you bastard'. Aykroyd had an encyclopaedic repertoire of old world abuse.

But before Crosby could beat a hasty and humiliating retreat, Bob Close loomed up from the right, where he had been watching Aykroyd with undisguised, but unnoticed, contempt. He hit Aykroyd very hard in the chest, and Aykroyd crumbled to the floor. As the two security heavies approached, Close struck a puglistic stance, and bellowed, 'Come on you thugs.I'll have ya!' He was a thoroughly practised brawler, semi-retired, but his blood was up. Aykroyd was half groaning, half fighting for breath, on one knee, and not happy at all. Crosby stared at Close, who mumbled, 'Get out', advice which he followed, with Moir in hot pursuit. Behind them Close was now standing on Aykroyd's right hand, and that set off the security boys, who saw their job prospects evaporating. By the time that Crosby and Moir hailed a cab and fell in, about thirty seconds after their hurried exit, the front bar was a maelstrom of flailing arms and shouted abuse.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Jimmy Messes With the Reptiles' Minds.

After dropping Crosby off at his sister's place, for safety reasons, Moir proceeded home. He apprised Sue of his new, unemployed condition, and she noted that she had booked a flight for Adelaide at midday the next day, for him and the children. So it was all fixed. Sue seemed quite philosophical about work, as if she too had been infected with the Jimmy K. virus. It makes you go mad and forget your mortgage, she laughed. They sat and watched an old movie on TV, and, after an hour spent working out finances and job prospects, took the kids to a movie, then a Chinese feed to celebrate 'Daddy losing his job', then home and to bed rather late.

In the morning the children were very upbeat. Flying was a rare treat and meeting Jimmy K. was rather too much to take in. They chatted raucously all the way to the airport, then hunched over Nat's lap-top designing their school vegetable garden and chook-run, and wondered if pigs were too much trouble. Perhaps some cows for milk. Or goats. They were very, almost relentlessly, cheerful.

The plane trip was rocky with lots of turbulence, and the landing bumpy, and the airport hotel unprepossessing, but the good humour flowed untrammelled. At four o'clock, about and hour after they had arrived, Moir's phone rang. It was Jimmy K.,who was downstairs in the lobby, with his Gran. .

'How did you know where we were?', Moir asked, a little off put by this revelation.

'Inside information, Mr. Moir. I will see you soon, I hope', and the mysterious Jimmy K. hung up, abruptly.

Despite being a little miffed at Jimmy's seeming brusqueness, Moir gathered his children, and they all left immediately for the foyer. As they exited the lift, a tall, lean, dark-haired boy beckoned with a carefree wave of his arm. Sitting beside him on a comfortable chair was an oldish Aboriginal lady, grey-haired, with a relaxed expression on her face. She smiled broadly as Moir and his children approached.

'Mr. Moir, Natalia, Tristan...welcome to Adelaide. I am Jimmy Kartinyangarra..James Cecil to be precise, but everybody knows me as Jimmy, which suits me just fine'.Jimmy smiled broadly, flashing dazzlingly white teeth. His eyes were singularly impressive, large, very dark, set just far enough apart and intensely lively and sympathetic. His manner was relaxed, and as he hugged the children, one after the other, then Moir, he seemed to radiate an almost mesmeric presence.

'This is my Grandmother, Mr. Moir. Doreen. My parents are dead, so she is my guardian and my guide.' Jimmy offered his gran a hand as she rose, and shook Moir's hand.

'Pleased to meet you, Mr. Moir. Jimmy says that you are going to be very important in his work, you know, his blessed 'clubs''. Doreen glanced over her shoulder at Jimmy, who nodded silently, but Moir detected a shadow of concern in her demeanour, but only the faintest penumbra. The old girl gave him a hug, then the kids, who got kisses on top of their heads as well.

They all sat down around a coffee-table, and, after an awkward few seconds, Jimmy spoke.

'I am going to tell you all about me, Mr. Moir, as far as I know it. Gran might fill in a few details from when I was little and before I was born, and it is an interesting story, if I say so, myself. To be blunt, Mr. Moir, I would like you to chronicle what is going on, for 'the record' as they say, for posterity. Because, you see, posterity, human posterity, is what this is all about.' Jimmy fixed Moir with a gentle gaze, but Moir could feel the strength that lay within. A shiver ran up his spine.

'Don't be startled, Mr. Moir, but I can feel your emotional responses. It is one of the new gifts that I received, thanks to our Earth Mother. She blessed me in the most uncompromising fashion, let me assure you, but, it is time that I let you know all about it'. At that he looked across at his Grandmother, who smiled in return, and struggling to her feet said,

'Come with me, kiddies. I think that your Dad and Jimmy have secret business to discuss. Not for kids. There's a TV lounge, and we can get a DVD to watch. Is that OK, Mr. Moir?'

Moir nodded and the children went happily enough.

'Wonderful children, those two'. Jimmy stated, matter-of-factly. 'They have some very good ideas for their club, already. You seem to have imbued them with a love of and respect for life. That is, I believe, the greatest gift a parent can give their child'. Jimmy smiled benevolently, but Moir blurted out,

'Not me, Jimmy. I'm no great example. Their Mum, and their grand-parents...now they are better people than me'. He felt a little guilty at being praised so highly.

'Do not underestimate yourself, Mr. Moir. Mother says that you are perfectly equipped, spiritually and intellectually, for your task, and she knows us better than we know ourselves'. Jimmy spoke quite softly, but forcefully.

'But, young man...this is all too mysterious and I feel...rather abashed to have a young boy telling me what level of moral development I've reached...I mean, I see already that you are some sort of prodigy, but...but it feels like the world has been turned upside down'. Moir found himself not so much annoyed as exasperated.

'Ah, you see, Mr. Moir that is precisely the point. Adults having comprehensively failed to protect life on this planet, it has been left, by some greater force, of which Mother, Gaia-call her what you will, she has a thousand names- is but one manifestation, to inspire the children to do the job. Children are less conflicted by experiences and by desires that are by their nature unsatisfactory and insatiable. Children are more trusting and they see plainer what must be done. And they have the great power of their potential to grow into enlightened adults, and to bring the present adults, their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and neighbours, into the task. It is really quite simple. We must undo everything we have done for the last couple of hundred years and more, and do those things that foster and protect life. That is why we were chosen, and why we work through other children, by enlightening and empowering them, then letting them get on with it, with complete autonomy.' Jimmy paused, inviting some obvious questions.

Moir obliged.'So who are the 'we' that you speak of?' Moir thought that that was a good start, although he was more than a little bemused by it all. The young boy spoke like an old man, ripe with understanding, but he was just a stripling. Wonders never cease, and this was truly a wonder beyond wonderment.

'Yes, indeed, 'Who are we?'. That is the question. We know each other because we dreamed that we existed, then we communicated by computer, and we discovered, to our consternation, that we were all orphans and all had had experiences where our being was turned inside out, where we nearly died, where we lingered at the boundary between life and death, and when we were spared, we found that we were no longer our old selves. For one example, if you will permit my immodesty, we are all now at an intellectual level that is so great that we need to hide it at school. I can read a book like Huckleberry Finn in an afternoon, with total recall. I can do mathematics at far higher levels than mere high-school 'maths', although I do not, yet, because at this stage it is unnecessary. I learned French in a week, although I only use it to communicate with French club-members, who practise their English on me. Intellectual tasks have become 'child-play', quite literally'. Jimmy paused, to let that sink in.

Moir was non-plussed. He suspected, somewhere in the reptilian journo corner of his mind, that this must be some scam, or that the kid was bonkers. This stuff just doesn't happen, But the clubs existed, and he felt Jimmy's formidable charisma, even as they sat opposite each other, separated by thirty years.

'I can feel your scepticism, Mr. Moir. It is understandable. This does sound like some delusion, but it is not. You see, long before I was born, various of my female ancestors dreamed that I was coming, and that I had a 'big job' to do. My people still put great store in dreams, as they should, and as your people once did. Dreams are, I assure you, not just the wringing out of wrinkles in your psyche alone. They are influenced by others, living and dead, and by forces that our conscious minds rarely appreciate. We, the 'Pathbreakers' as we sometimes call ourselves, amongst other self-conferred titles, many not to be taken seriously, are connected to each other by shared experience, and we often communicate by dream, but mediated by our Earth Mother, who controls our actions, and sets us in the rightful direction. I sometimes fall asleep at the oddest hours because we are about to share a dream, although it can be as brief as a few minutes. Time can be compressed or expanded in these dreams, you see.' Jimmy left off, giving Moir another break to pose a question.

'So your 'Mother', is the Earth, is she. Hence 'Gaia'. It does sound rather..you know, Hippy, peacenik...these are all swear-words where I work, you know. If Ayk could hear you..'

'Do not fret for Mr. Aykroyd, his epiphany is at hand. He is going to be re-made. There is a sort of field of understanding being built up between individuals, all the time, and it has existed since consciousness arose on this planet. It is going to break down the force-fields of the habits of avarice, fear, hatred and egotism, that humanity has erected around itself since falling prey to egotism and greed. You wait and see. There will be some spectacular transformations. Each salvaged human soul makes all the others stronger. Each tree we plant fortifies all the others, and us. The web of life is frayed, but it has been frayed before, and it will repair itself, when given the opportunity, and for a long while yet. We are just here to make sure that mankind will enjoy that posterity, for as long as it takes to fulfil its destiny'. Jimmy was sitting forward in his chair, rather more invigorated than he had been. His eyes glowed darkly, and he smiled like an enlightened monk.

'Takes...takes to do what? What are you talking about, young man?' Moir suddenly felt more than a little exasperated, as if he had suddenly feared that Jimmy was taking the piss.

Jimmy laughed. 'That's the old field holding you back Mr. Moir. All your bad old habits and cynical friends, all the destructive behaviour that you have seen. It is your refusal to surrender, to let go of your old habits. It will rise up and rear its ugly head from time to time, but it will fade away, you wait and see. The 'What' is to transcend. To outgrow our humanness and become something greater, something so great that I cannot yet comprehend it. But we must not perish now, when we have not even really begun the journey. You see, we sit at the end of billions of years of evolution, of lucky chance and brutal necessity, yet we are about to end it all almost casually, simply because we are too lazy, too set in our materialist ways, to save ourselves. But that is ending, that is what we children are doing, and it is wonderful, is it not?'. And at that, homily apparently ended, or suspended, Jimmy jumped up with a laugh and ran out to the movie room, where Natalia and Tristan were watching an animated science fiction movie. The three were soon engaged in vivid conversation, whereupon Doreen, seeing her chance, left and joined Moir, who had grabbed a coffee from the 'concierge'.

'How's that boy of mine been treating you, Mr. Moir?' Doreen intoned, smiling broadly.

'It's David, Mrs Kartinyangarra.' Moir replied.

'And it's Doreen to you, my dear', she replied.

'Well Doreen, your grandson is a ...words fail me...he's a miracle, a comet, a prodigy...let's go through the dictionary.' Moir smiled broadly.

'Yes, he scares the bejeesus out of me...let me tell you, David'. Doreen frowned as she sat heavily on the sofa. Moir sat opposite, gingerly cupping his disgusting coffee in its styro-foam mug.

'What do you mean, Doreen? Do you think that he's ...you know, gone mad? I mean it's a fine kind of madness if that's all it is'. Moir was concerned, having come to admire Jimmy quickly, although he mystified Moir even more than impressed.

'Well, David...he's all I've got left...of his Mum and Dad...lovely they were...taken so...well, that's not the problem...you see...he's so different now, that it frightens me...he's still lovely..and he treats me so well...but he's not my little Jimmy any more..you can see that he's not 'normal'...everyone does...his teachers..they seem in awe of him...you can see it, can't you?' Doreen looked imploringly at Moir, as if hoping for some assistance in understanding her predicament.

Moir gazed at her old, battered face. The lines etched by tragedy and by struggle were deeply hewn, but she had those laughing eyes of the old indigenous women, and her chin and jaw were remarkably eloquent, moving this way and that as she expressed her emotions.

'Look, Doreen, what happened to Jimmy? When did this change happen?' Moir thought best to start at the beginning, and perhaps Mrs K. would be able to ventilate some of her fears.

Doreen smiled very profoundly, as if recalling a very happy event, but the corners of her mouth and eyes and a sort of brooding clouding of her brow betrayed an inner unease.

'Well, David...we were up country..at his Dad's old place, visiting his other Nan...you know, in the eastern Territory, getting near Queensland...and, well, ….he was hit by lightning...which, God bless me, is exactly how and where his Dad died....I thought he was gone, as God's my witness...we all thought the worst....but...he was in hospital for days and days...then he just woke up....and he was someone else...still Jimmy on the outside, but....the doctors and teachers, in the hospital...they did scans and stuff, and his brain was different, you know, changed, more complex, they said...and the social workers and teachers...well, to begin with they didn't believe what they were seein'...then they got sort of excited, like he was a prize specimen or something...then some of them seemed to almost get scared of him. Jimmy knew it...I mean he sort of 'reads' people now..like he understands them better than they do themselves...I guess you can imagine how people react to that...some are amazed, others get frightened. Oh...he hides it well, now..but he's not normal, not by a long shot, any more'. Doreen ran out of steam thereabouts, so Moir fetched her a black tea, and a biscuit.

As she sipped her tea, Moir sought for the correct question to further encourage her disclosures. He felt that Doreen would protect Jimmy from too close scrutiny, wisely he surmised.

'Do you trust me, Doreen, to learn all about Jimmy?' Moir bit the bullet.

'Oh, dear me, yes, David. Jimmy told me all about you, just the other day, and you are just like he said you were. He dreamed about you, can you believe it?' Doreen chuckled a little at the thought. 'He reckons that you are goin' to help the kids get various adults on side, what...what with your...your journalism...forgive me, but your paper...well it hasn't been the blackfellas' best friend, now has it?' Doreen fixed him with a friendly, if rather accusatory gaze.

'Cripes, Doreen...you've got me there. I hate our paper's attitudes on most things, but, since we were partially taken over by that mob in London, although Masters is still Boss, the money-men, you know......well they're 'wrong-uns' as the Pommies say. Banksters!'. Moir was feeling relaxed enough to ventilate his inner disgruntlement.

'Oh, yes, David. They're called 'wrong-uns' here, too. Jimmy told me that, if you look into your family history, you will see how you got..how you became the one he needed. You'll have to ask him just what he means, but he's pretty set on you, and your kids, too. They're getting on pretty good, wouldn't you say..' With that assertion she beckoned to the TV room from where faint gusts of childish laughter were emanating.

'Yes. They're besotted with your Jimmy. They're going to dig up our backyard...you know, for a vegie patch...but, Doreen, what does Jimmy say that he's all about? What's the purpose of these 'miracles'?' Moir thought of the Humanifesto, but he wanted and needed to know more.

'Well, you ask him yourself''. Doreen laughed, as Jimmy strode back into the room. How she had known that he was coming back... Moir felt another jolt of weirdness, but then remembered the full-length mirrors behind him, where Doreen had, indeed, seen Jimmy approaching.

'Well, Mr. Moir'. Jimmy began as he leaped into a comfortable arm-chair, smiling broadly. 'Well, your children are delightful. So intelligent, kind and determined. They will do really well. As for me, and us, and Mother, well it is a mercy mission, as they say. It is five minutes to midnight, perhaps even after midnight, what with mankind destroying their home, so Mother has decided that she does not want humanity to wipe itself out, because it does have a purpose far beyond self-destruction through greed, so she decided that now is the time to stop the destruction, and reverse the process. And she has decided that children will do it best, because they are less sullied by greed and fear of others, and because they have longer to live to do things, and because they will bring their parents and relatives along with them. Forgive me where I repeat myself.' Jimmy fixed Moir with a friendly but almost magisterial gaze, as if instructing a pupil. He went on.

'Apparently Mother has always had children like us in reserve, as it were, to act like guardians of life, if it had been necessary, but she did not think it so until a few decades ago. The other children that lived before simply lived good and fruitful lives. I believe some were great poets, musicians, dreamers, some just stalwarts of their community. But now, in this time, Mother decided to intervene directly, thus our transformations The hour is late, and humanity did not properly 'self-regulate' if you can forgive that usage. We need external intervention, not from outside our world, but from beyond our human endeavours.Like a Mother protecting her children from harm, self-inflicted harm'. Here there was another pause, to allow the message to sink in by degrees. Moir was now sitting forward in his chair, rapt in attention.

'So, I was visited by the big, brown snake, an old friend of my father's, but he was really a Rainbow Serpent, a bridge between the Earth and the Sky, between life and death and between the past and the future. He kissed me, that old snake, and it was my guardian blessing and anointment, and a few minutes later, it protected me when the transforming lightning hit. It was no ordinary lightning, either, because it came from the Sun, through the plasma that surrounds the Earth, and it contained the essence of life here in this little corner of the cold, old cosmos, but too dangerously concentrated, hence the need for protection, but also hence its furious power to reconstruct, reconfigure and transform. You know that we were all squeezed together at the singularity, as they call it, the Big Bang, all time and matter in the entire universe of ours, and that's why everything is still connected, today, every grain of dust, every ray of light, every cell in every living thing, here and on the other side of this universe, but by now infinitesimally tenuously. However, not reduced to a nullity, not by any means. Tapping into that connectivity is where Mother gets her power, why past, present and future are all within her understanding, but she is of life, not outside it, and she, too, will die, die in her present form, that is, when the Sun swallows the Earth, or when some other cosmic catastrophe occurs. But the connections, they never die. They just grow more attenuated and spun out, as the cosmos expands forever. Mother's being will simply return to the flux, and pop up somewhere, somewhen, else, in some new form.' This excursion into cosmology and eschatology seemed to have drained the boy a little, and he slumped back into his chair.

Moir waited a few seconds, then asked, 'The lightning...I mean what did it do? Did the other children suffer the same transformation. Just don't ever call yourselves 'transformers', whatever you do!' Moir's leap into humour surprised him.

Jimmy laughed out loud. 'We made that joke, too, you know. But I was the most transformed. The electrification of Jimmy, 'electrocution lessons', Alex, my friend in Canada got that from the Goon Show, would you believe...now, that is 'divine lunacy',...well that is another of our jokes. The others were not transformed quite so dramatically. Drowning, suffocation, horrible illnesses, but I was chosen to be the most changed, the most empowered, because my people have been in this place for longer than anyone else, absorbing the life energy, learning Mother's ways, creating stories, refining them, communicating with other life forms, singing time and space together and, above all else, dreaming. The Dream Time is just my people tapping into the eternally omnipresent, and becoming one with it. My dear mother here on Earth, who I hardly remember, is just one mother, of millions, going right back through monkeys in Africa, tree shrews, all the way to tiny creatures that reproduced with two parents, the first Mothers and Fathers. But the Mothers are more important, which often makes me wonder why Mother did not choose a girl to fulfil this role. She has not yet told me why that is so. Perhaps she never will. It is rather mystifying'. Jimmy paused again, just as Natalia and Tristram wandered in.

Natalia exclaimed happily, 'Isn't Jimmy wonderful, Daddy? Can we move to Adelaide, to be near him? I so want to stay here now'. Tristram joined in, and the two began hugging their father and kissing him in eager childish anticipation.

'Now, Tristram and Natalia, that is not necessary' Jimmy piped out. 'You need to be with your father, in Sydney, because you and he have very important work to do there. We all have our place in Mother's scheme of things, and mine is here, and yours is there'. He looked rather determined, in a friendly way, and, to Moir's surprise, used as he was to his kids' rather demanding natures, Natalia simply nodded and said, 'Will you come and visit us?', to which Jimmy replied, 'Once in a while, I hope'. No flagrant declarations there, but the children were happily mollified.

Moir was increasingly suffering from barely repressed nervous agitation. He was communicating with a boy who believed that he had a semi-divine mission to save humanity from itself, who believed that he had been transformed by 'cosmic lightning' into a super-genius, and that his Mother was the planet. Old Lovelock would be gobsmacked, he chuckled to himself, to see that his Gaia hypothesis was hardly the half of it. And, despite it all being, on the face of it, the ravings of a child touched pathetically early by some schizoid disorder, he knew that he actually believed it all, easily and as if with some sort of familiarity, and that was so simply and unarguably 'mind-blowing' that he felt something, or perhaps several things, all at once, all jumbled together, all feeding-off and reinforcing the others, for none of which he had any words suitable to express their nature or meaning. All in all a thoroughly disturbing, disorienting, yet oddly pleasant, experience.

Jimmy suddenly jumped up and declared that he had to return home. He had some dreaming then some writing to do. He had seen and felt that he was over-burdening Dave Moir, if not his kids, with his presence, so he needed to give the poor chap a break. Jimmy checked with his Gran that it was OK, then invited them all over to his Gran's place the next day. He would check with Mel to see if it was fine with her, of course, which he knew that it would be, and they could meet his best old friend, Sammy, too. After the planning it was hugs all round, and Jimmy and Doreen were gone. Moir and his kids had a quick feed in the bistro, and then it was upstairs to rest.

The current affairs program that Moir watched a little later, as his children played on their computer, was quite interesting. There was a sort of 'media insight' report, introduced by a failed journo who specialised in sneering at the reptiles still selling-out every day in order to pay their mortgages. It was usually scuttlebutt, and tonight it was all about the 'ructions' at The Nation, the axing of Crosby after he 'double-crossed' Aykroyd, who was in hospital with a bruised sternum, after a 'mysterious assailant' attacked him in a 'notorious journos' watering-hole'. The mysterious 'children's Green Cult' got a mention in passing, along with the ominous warning that it was to be the subject of a 'Special Investigation' by the nightly 'Current Affairs' program, in other words, some sort of inquisition. The channel in question was run by the local reptilian version of he Nation's Boss of Bosses in London, a sweetheart called Norris, rather to the Right of Fu Manchu, as they say when allusions to Genghis Khan are considered tedious, so Greenies were as deeply despised by his flunkies as anywhere else in 'the meeja', where, naturally, 'freedom of opinion' and 'diversity' reigned. Really.

The revelations were pretty spot on, so Moir 'phoned Morrie Slowman to see if he had spilled the beans. Morrie was, predictably, pickled, but he slurred out an interesting tale. He hadn't blabbed, needing his meal ticket too much (and Dave Moir thought that Morrie had been sacked!).No, it had been Crosby, who was sniping from enforced retirement. Bristow, his replacement, had led his first article with a rant against Crosby, his predecessor, barely not libellous, and the 'junior Green Gestapo' 'terrorising' other children and teachers.

'Well, you know what a snake Bristow is. He's as low as they go, but he can smell which way the wind blows, with his forked tongue! Apparently the kids are 'boycotting' Christmas and birthdays, or some such thing, in order to introduce...get this, I'm quoting from the oily rag...'in order to replace Christian celebrations, with their exchange of gifts, and the joy of childrens' birthdays, with some Communistic...capital C Communistic....collectivist charade. What's next- the Nationalisation...capital N, there....of parents?' I don't quite get that last bit, but you know Bristow. Well how's it down there?' Moir filled Morrie in, without any details.

'But get set for a real shock, brother. Are you sitting down?' Morrie continued, after Moir had finished.'I visited Aykroyd at St. Vinnies' Private today. Propped up in bed, chest a sort of plummy blue colour, gasping for air...not a healthy or happy sight, but....hold onto something...he was smiling like a Happy Buddha. I mean, beaming. I figured that they'd doped him up on happy gas or Morphine or something, but, get this, he greets me like a long lost brother. Starts blubbering and apologising for being such a bastard. But that's you Ayk, says I. We wouldn't know you otherwise. Too old to change. Blah, blah, you know, trying to help him get a grip back on reality. Not any more says he. I've changed. When I woke up in Emergency I looked around at all the puking, tattooed freaks, the speed addicts being tasered, the screaming, drunken, girls, and I....you'd better have a drink now...only kidding...and, as God's my witness, he says ..'and I knew that I loved them all'. Are you still with me Dave? ' Morrie bellowed down the 'phone.

'I sure am, Morrie. Don't worry, it's just his epiphany. It's been coming, so I've been told'. Moir felt that this must be proof that another strand in the cosmic web had been forged, another unit of energy for the life field added. Aykroyd? Amazing!

'Who told you what? Come on, this is the greatest transformation since the Hulk, or come to think of it...Aykroyd shouting the bar...Crikey, I'm glad I didn't miss that-it must have been the first inkling. He's gone troppo! D'ya think its Alzheimers? Maybe...God's truth, I nearly passed out myself and then he said that I was unsacked, which is a relief. He even apologised for being,...'Too quick to judge'. Slowman was sounding rather agitated, in a furry round the edges sort of fashion.

'No, Morrie' Moir replied ' it was the kid, Jimmy. He told me, today, that Aykroyd was ...changing. Keep it under your wig, promise me. This stuff will all come out, possibly, but...look I'm not going mad, but...the kid is..well he's bloody psychic!'. Moir was not satisfied with his choice of words, but it would have to do.

'Well, you sound like you've lost it, too, but...well things are definitely wandering up Queer Street, and I mean as in weird, not the other type. When are you guys getting back? I don't know...but they'll not be re-appointing Ayk, I'd say...once they see that he's gone native.' Morrie's voice was slurring more than a little, but it sounded more like tiredness than just his habitual inebriation.

Moir pondered for a second, as to exactly how it would be best to address Morrie's question. He was torn between spilling the beans entirely, and protecting Jimmy, but the coming Current Affairs expose' had him decide that the more Morrie knew, the better. Best to not let the forces of darkness monopolise the information flow.

So he spilled his guts, as they say, letting Morrie know everything that had transpired. Occasional snorts of amazement, groans of 'Jesus!' and slurps of liquid intake showed that Morrie had not let his attention waver. At the end Moir simply asked, 'What do you think is going on?'

'Well, Dave..you've either got the greatest story of all time, too big to really be believed...I'm not much convinced myself...far too fantastical, really, but, who knows?...or you've got a really crazy kid who better not go into politics..if you know what I mean. Come on...he must be mad. That stuff doesn't happen, only in fairy stories..', and his voice trailed off into a bemused whisper.

'OK, Morrie. We'll see. I'm bloody convinced so I must have gone mad, too. Maybe it's contagious. Hope is catching. I'll ring you tomorrow night. We'll be home in a few days. The kids have to go back to school next week. Keep strong, and don't fall under any buses-again'. Moir sniggered, recalling an unfortunate accident where Morrie had been dragged twenty metres by a bus, only to emerge unscathed thanks to his advanced state of 'relaxation'. They exchanged farewells and Moir hung up.

After putting the kids to an early bed, Moir logged on to the Children of Gaia site. There was the usual ferment of news, of plans and executions of plans, of vegetable deliveries to old people, tree planting, anti-bullying programs, toy sharing, and that relatively old project, that is, a few months, hatched in Canada, to restrict presents at birthdays and Christmas. To only ask for and receive one present, and something useful, something that could be shared around. This was the latest version, but, as was their practise, each club and each member was free to follow their individual preference. Perhaps this was the basis of the 'Communistic' end of Christmas meme that Bristow had hit on. Then Moir read Bristow's hit-piece, which was typically hysterical. Then he googled a few combinations of 'Christmas', 'Communistic', 'Green Gestapo', and soon hit on a recent article in a Rightwing rag in Canada. My Goodness, he thought- Bristow has plagiarised a lot of this. Better dob him into the Press Council and 'Media Matters' for a start. It might take the wind out of his black sails. So the children were beginning to draw attention to themselves in many places.

Some more trawling found a number of articles, from several different countries, discussing the children's groups. Half were supportive, from Greenies of different types, although a few of them were curious as to how children could have come up with this project themselves, and proposed that they be given some adult 'supervision'. The other half were notably antipathetic. There seemed to be a degree of that 'spooky synchronicity' of opinion that characterised 'conservative' diatribes. The terms 'Gestapo' and 'Communistic' and 'manipulators' were prevalent, the curse of the small lexicon, rather attenuated in efficacy from chronic over-use, and the tone was often rather threatening. Errant children stirring hornets' nest, a good old fashioned moral panic.

Around ten, as he contemplated sleep, Moir received a text message. It was from Jimmy, inviting him to see the new message on his web-site. It was a simple, manifesto-like declaration.

'Brothers and sisters and friends. We need to intensify our efforts. Things are running out of control in our precious world, and we need to reverse that course. Therefore we believe that we must re-double our efforts not just to do good and constructive things, to ameliorate the damage done and repair it, but also to actively lessen the harm we do through over-consumption. So we are opening up all channels to any good ideas on radical reductions in the bad habits of possessiveness. The 'One Present' plan is working well in places, and the schemes for sharing everything possible, so that we make sure that our possessions are always in use and not idly possessing us in tangles of materialism, are also proceeding well. Now, let us all get thinking hard about this. And we must bring all sympathetic adults into this movement, too. Of course, as always, anyone who cannot go along with this course of action is welcome to do just as much as they see fit. We will never try to make anyone do anything that they do not agree with. Let us all get thinking. Love always, Jimmy K.'

Oh, dear, thought Moir. The retailers will not be happy, or the economists. Somehow he felt certain that the Children of Gaia were about to get 'the full treatment'. He rang Jimmy's house, Doreen having given him the address and phone number at the hotel, but Jimmy was 'dreamin'' according to Doreen. He sleeps ten hours a night, she affirmed, so he'll be up at seven, and then there's an hour or so filling out his 'Dream Diary', so why not ring at eight?

Moir preferred to come over in person. Was nine OK? Yes, said Doreen, although she had an afternoon shift at the creche. It was agreed. Moir checked his kids, who were sleeping quietly, and he hit the hay.

And he dreamed very many, vivid, dreams. Even the intriguing type where he imagined himself awake, and that the dream was reality. Moir dreamed of an old Aboriginal women, chanting something in her ancient tongue, which he understood without comprehending the language. He 'got the vibe', as the comics alone said these days. Then the old girl was painting, a great green thing, splashes of other colours, twisting and turning forms, but he understood that it was a picture of the cosmos, through space and time. At that point he woke to find Tristram and Natalia standing in the dark, like wraiths, at the foot of the bed. It was 2.30.

'Dad', Natalia began, 'Dad, me and Tristy, we've had a dream, a lovely dream. We just had to tell you about it. We had it together, sort of..you know the same one...it is strange, isn't it? Nat smiled happily at her father, while Tristram sat on the foot of the bed.

'So, tell me, darling, what was the dream'. Moir half-guessed the answer.

'It was this old Aborigine lady, and she was telling us a story, that was in her picture...a great big green picture, but coloured everywhere..and she said that it was the story of everything, that ever was and ever would be one day'. Natalia paused for breath.

Moir was stunned, to say the least, but, oddly, not surprised.'Did you understand what she was saying'. All this was frighteningly strange and interesting, at the same time, yet not unexpected.

'Well, it was weird, Daddy. The old lady was talking in another language, but we knew what it all meant. It's hard to explain, but we understood her in the dream. It was the same for you, hey Tristy?' Tristram nodded gravely, but broke into a broad smile.'I reckon it was one of Jimmy's Grans, Dad. He told us about them, how they helped dream him up'.

Moir did not tell his children that he had dreamed the same dream, too. He thought that he had better not, for now. He bundled them back to bed, and they were asleep as soon almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Moir quickly retired again after a glass of water, and was soon dreaming once more.

He saw the Sun and the Earth, bathed in a plasma, or so he thought it, pouring out of the Sun and bathing the world in energy. He saw the flashes of lightning all across the planet, and they turned into writhing snakes, rainbow snakes. Then one great snake emerged from the Sun and wrapping itself around the Earth, buried its head in a flash of burning intensity, into the red sand of the Outback. And there was a boy, Jimmy, of course, transfixed by the light, held aloft between the Earth and the Sky, by the snake, then lowered gently to the ground, which was vitrified into a great sheet of glass, and the snake disappeared up Jimmy's nostrils, as if being breathed into the boy's brain, and Moir awoke. That, plainly, was a phantastic recreation of Jimmy's 'transformation' courtesy of Moir's unconscious mind, and not, he suspected, his mind alone, which was a thought that surely would once have disturbed him, but now, instead filled him with something akin to joy. Until he'd met Jimmy, Moir would have considered such thoughts prime facie evidence of incipient psychosis, but not now, not any more.

It was broad daylight, eight o'clock and they had to be at Jimmy's in an hour. The kids were still sleeping, so he shook their feet, gently, and they woke in a trice. Tristram leapt into the shower first, while Moir helped Nat with the breakfast. They were all ready in forty minutes, and headed downstairs and hopped into a hire-car.

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Media in Hot Pursuit.

It took thirty minutes to get to Mel, Doreen, Sammy and Jimmy's place. It was easily spotted, the front-yard a great tangle of vegetation, with a box affixed to the front wall and a sign, 'Free Food' attached to the top. Moir could not help thinking that all this self-sufficiency and 'Free Food' might not go down well with farmers or grocers, and he recollected something from Machiavelli, about how reformers faced the greatest opposition from those whose lives would be turned upside down, while only enjoying half-hearted support from unconvinced beneficiaries.

As they knocked on the front-door, an old lady took some corn from the Food box.

'Have you come to see that little wizard, Jimbo?' she croaked. Moir nodded and the kids answered, 'Yes' excitedly.

'He's King of the Kids, and the oldies, too. Scares me half to death...but he's a sweetie...no doubt about it. His mates cleaned up my yard....front and back...fixed the fence....cooked me dinner...lovely fellows...had their Dads helping, of course, with the tricky stuff...but...bloody marvelous, that's all I know... 'the old girl cackled happily.

As she paused, perhaps for breath, the door opened, and it was Doreen. She leaned over Moir's shoulder and yelled,

'G'day, Betty. Friends of Jimmy's...from Sydney...Dave...and Tristram and Nat...lovely folks...how's your back?' The two friends nattered for a minute, with Moir moving out of the way, then Doreen wished Betty a good day, and ushered them in.

'Jimmy's just up. He's writing his diary, but he asked if the kids would like to go in, and, he'll show 'em what he does. Sammy, our 'boarder' is still sleeping. He's an old friend of Jimmy's, and he got a scholarship, too, so he stays here during the week. Sammy's from up near our old place, on the Coorong.' Dave Moir's kids nodded eagerly and they disappeared into Jimmy's room.

'You and I can sit out back and chat, Dave', said Doreen and she showed him the way to the back verandah. The backyard was filled with plants, with fruit trees wreathed in vines, with pumpkins trailing everywhere, with tomatoes, capsicums, egg-plants scattered randomly, and with flowers and herbs.

'Its a flamin' jungle, eh'. Doreen croaked, before lubricating her old throat with black tea poured from the pot. She offered Moir some cake. 'Sammy cooked it'. It was, of course, delicious.

'Sammy and Jimmy just got into cooking. It helps them relax. Most relaxed kids you'll ever meet.'. Doreen beamed, and Moir munched happily.

When he had finished his slice of cake, Moir began interrogating Doreen about Jimmy's past, and she happily obliged. As she recounted the tragedies of CJ and Gay's death. Moir was very intrigued by Gaia's name, to which Doreen smiled and shrugged and mumbled, 'That's probably why I chose that book of mythology. It was ordained', then she chuckled, then she grew a tiny bit teary, but pulled herself together and went on. Jimmy's story contained many mysteries, any one of which would be remarkable in a child's life, but one after the other, the church burning to ash, the lightning from a clear sky taking CJ, and all the dreams, always dreaming mysteries, particularly the group dreams, upon hearing of which Moir sat bolt upright as a shock of recognition hit him.

'You couldn't make this stuff up, could ya, Dave?'. Doreen muttered after a good quarter hour, a little tired out by her monologue. Moir had nodded for the whole fifteen minutes, at first vigorously, later much more slowly as his neck began to seize up, and more than a little gob-smacked by it all. Then, right on cue, the children emerged laughing from inside the house, including Sammy, who had woken.

'Has Gran been reciting the list of miracles and wonders?' Jimmy asked.'There are plenty more to come, and I think that you have had one of your own already....am I not correct?' Moir knew instantly that he was referring to their group dream of the old lady and the green painting. He felt like an actor in a play, or even, just a little sinisterly, a puppet in a marionette performance.

'No, no, Mr. Moir...don't worry. You are in control of your life, as much as anybody else. A bit less than I, but I follow a higher compulsion, which is not my own, but which I cannot now evade. Who can escape fate and inevitability? No-one'. Jimmy was quite emphatic.

'Your children told me of your dream. I did not tell them that (here he lowered his voice so that Nat and Tris would not over-hear him).. you shared it, too, but I think it would be good if you told them. I have the same dream, often. The old lady is, or was, if you wish to speak of the mundanity of this world, a famous painter, you probably know her name, but I will not repeat it. The painting exists, in a gallery, and it has travelled to places like Japan. Certain people there understood its meaning, intuitively, which I have heard reduced them to tears. Painting is a sacred path, you know, to knowledge, but, I believe, music is even higher, which is why we sing so much. Some of my brothers and sisters overseas are already great musicians, but I am not ready for that yet, and may never be. I try to be a good audience, that is enough for now. How we have group dreams was another great mystery to me, but now I think that I understand it. It is the life field, the cloud of knowingfulness, enshrouding us, and selecting a happy few, but later it will encompass all mankind. Of that I am certain'. Jimmy smiled his broadest grin at that.

Then, abruptly, as if to avoid the one hundred and four questions crowding Moir's mind, Jimmy jumped up and disappeared into the garden with Sammy, to show Tristram and Natalia the 'food forest'. Moir and Doreen got back to conversation.

'So, Doreen...where does it all go? I mean...will he become Prime Minister, one day?' Moir was not really being provocative, just musing.

'Gawd, I hope so! With Sammy, he's a dear boy, as Treasurer.' Doreen hooted loudly, but not too much so.

'Look, Dave...Jimmy's a genius', Doreen continued,'... I don't know many intellectuals or university types...but I know a few sharp customers, and....Jimmy's not really...like us, any more...that's why I'm scared...people don't like those that are even just a little cleverer than them...Jimmy knows it, so he hides it from nearly everybody, like he just does enough at school to keep the teachers happy, but...like last week. He's on the computer. Talking to one of his 'friends', in some weird lingo...when he's finished I say, 'What was that language, darlin'?', and he smiles and says, 'Greek. I can get by pretty well now. Sophia lives in Greece. She is one of us, you know. Her English is quite good, now. She speaks English and I answer in Greek. It helps us learn more quickly'.

'Well I'm standing there, like a stunned mullet so I mumble, 'When did you learn Greek?''Oh, last week, Gran. It is not so hard, not now, not for me. It helps a lot', and he just smiled, and went back to his latest 'project'. What are people gonna do when they discover all this? I'm bloody frightened, let me tell you!' Doreen finished emphatically, concern written in a tracery of lines across her brow.

'Don't worry, Doreen. You're here, and so are all the kids- in the clubs, I mean. How's his school treating him? Do they know about the clubs?' Moir had almost forgotten that Jimmy was just a school-kid, with lessons that could not be skived off.

'Oh, Mr Dudley, the deputy, he's great. He's been good, all along. I don't know if he knows everything, but Jimmy loves him. Reckons he's a 'wufnik'...some sort of Jewish idea...Jimmy's into every religion, reads about them all, non-stop,...and he says that he believes them all....he prefers that to just believing one....Dudley's C of E, of course, but Jimmy reckons 'wufnik' is a good description...sort of 'blessed', you know, but not a saint. Not dead, for a start!! Yeah, he's a good egg alright. But Jimmy says it's gotta be kept secret, because if Dudley ever realised it, then he'd die'. Doreen paused, to imbibe some rapidly cooling black tea.

They chatted amiably for a few more minutes, as the children crashed about through the forest. After a few minutes they leaped up the back stairs, all four kids at once, with a basket full of green things and numerous fruit, some quite strange in appearance. One looked awfully like a mango. In Adelaide?

'How do you like our bounty, Mr. Moir? I know, the mango is pretty mad, but there was an old tree here, and we just created a micro-climate around it, with a few quick-growing shelter plants, and there you are. Mind you, last summer was hot and winter warm, but that is the future, is it not, unless we do something. That is the clubs' prime purpose. To stop the destruction of our Mother's world. Mangoes must not grow in Tasmania! Which is why you are so important to us, Mr. Moir'. Jimmy stared politely at Moir, as if expecting some reply. Moir struggled for words, then croaked, 'Why me? Why a middle-aged hack on a rather fly-blown, rapidly crumbling, newspaper?' It was the best rejoinder that he could muster.

'Why, indeed, Mr. Moir. Because Mother said so, that is why. Another dream, I am very much afraid. I saw your ancestor many greats great grandmother, very many generations back. How many mothers do you have one hundred generations back? Innumerable, well I know the answer, but this is no time for showing off. But this particular one was in Wales, at the time of the Druids, before the Romans. When the forests were sacred, when trees were worshipped...in other words, 'The Good Old Days'. At which he laughed .

'Bring back the good old days!' That is our ambition. 'Progress is vastly overrated'. How is that for a slogan to win popular approval?' Jimmy's eyes were lit up mischievously.

'That's your problem, Jimmy. The powers that be will not tolerate...but, wait, what about my Druid ancestor?' Moir had almost lost the plot, for a second or two,

'Yes, your ancestor. She was the Guardian of a sacred tree, an ancient ash. Our Mother was very fond of her, and chose her line to carry sacred knowledge. You will dream it up soon, now that we have met. Everyone has secret, sacred, knowledge hidden deep inside the vast space of their minds, and in the almost infinite collective consciousness of life on earth. It is encoded rather like DNA, and sits dormant, for generations. I suspect that it is inserted, or perhaps activated, when required or by happy accident,  by some process akin to epigenetics, but not yet detected by science. Perhaps it never will be. Maybe it must remain 'a mystery'. Life must have its mysteries, do you not agree, Mr. Moir?' Jimmy grinned like a Cheshire monk, if such a creature exists.

Before Moir could get a word in edgeways, Jimmy went on, 'That is part of the purpose of the life field that we are reconfiguring, restrengthening and tapping into. It empowers those in the field, and it progressively awakens the love of life and the joy of existence that exists inside us all. Even the angriest, saddest, most dangerous people who have suffered the greatest damage, can be saved, and their souls resurrected, re-vitalised or reconstructed from the fragments. You will see the process in action when you see your old boss, Mr. Aykroyd, next. He has woken. He is in the 'vale of soul remaking', if dear John Keats will forgive my 'borrowing'. Jimmy smiled a particularly beneficent smile, as if Aykroyd was the 'veritable Prodigal Son, returned.

'So, I was always going to help you out, I was pre-destined to this end? Moir was intrigued, to say the very least.

'No, not necessarily. It might have been someone else suitable, but your discovery of our work, and your situation at the heart of an effort to smear us, made it inescapable. Chance and necessity came together, and here we are, talking, and, believe me, your life will never be the same again. Now, shall we go to my school and see my friend, Mr. Dudley?'Jimmy's swift change of tack caught Moir off-guard, but the prospect was immediately intriguing.

Doreen made the necessary 'phone-call, and Dudley was very happy to see Jimmy. He lived at the school, so it was arranged to see him at his little house. The children stayed with Doreen and Sammy, who had homework to do, which meant that Jimmy and Moir had to be back by two, as Doreen was doing an afternoon shift at the creche, where she was the grandmother figure for twenty-five little ones.

Within twenty minutes Jimmy was politely knocking at Owen Dudley's stone cottage's front door. Dudley lived alone, his wife having died very young, many years ago. The school was his family. Retirement was out of the question.

Dudley opened the door with a smile and hugged Jimmy who hugged him back, Hands were shaken with Moir, pleasantries exchanged, and they retired to the back verandah, over-looking a little garden, with a big vegetable patch.

'Jimmy and the boys' handiwork' he proclaimed, with a sweeping gesture.'Far more than I could ever eat, so much goes to the boarders'. Dudley beamed and looked at Jimmy with grand-fatherly affection.

'Mr. Dudley' Jimmy began, respectfully, 'Mr. Moir, here, is going to help us, in the clubs, with media advice. You know, he was a journalist at 'The Nation', and, well Mother recommended him'. Jimmy laughed gaily at his little joke, and Dudley joined in.

'You see, Mr. Dudley' Moir began, 'When my ..former..newspaper learned about these clubs, which they despise because they are 'Green'...you know The Nation's position on environmentalism, I assume..?

'Yes Mr. Moir...by the way, please call me Owen...as malevolent as any other position it holds. You're better off out, I would say. But, please, carry on'. Dudley leaned forward, intently.

Moir continued. 'Well, once they were aware of a bunch of green children celebrating an old Commo like Cowper...a prime example of their favourite hate-figure, the 'water-melon', 'Red on the inside and green on the outside'...well, they couldn't help themselves. They were preparing a real hatchet-job, but...well, it is strange, but Jimmy contacted the chief hatchet-man, and ...well, he converted him. A real Damascene conversion complete with tears and regression to childhood. And now I hear that Aykroyd, the Editor, has gone feral, too.. which is...well it's unbelievable, really. Something very odd is going on'. And he looked over at Jimmy, who smiled sheepishly.

'You don't have to tell me, Mr. Moir. It's happened here, in a few months since Jimmy came back from his 'accident'. When he asked me about starting a children's 'Green Club', with all that Gaia baggage...sorry Jimmy, but you know, I was a little bit of a sceptic...for five minutes. He talked me into it, he already had his Form Master Mr. Stone on board....First Mate Stone, Jimmy calls him...he loves it...and then, one by one, he got the other teachers on-side, too...and the change is amazing. I mean, he's only in the junior year, but he commands respect from everyone, even the school captain. And a few parents were a little bemused and antagonistic, but we had our Open Day, and the boys showed off their progress, the vegetable garden, the tree-planting, the anti-bullying program that has worked where nothing else succeeded much over many years, the visits to old people, the network of friends they have...all round the world, already Jimmy, in what...nearly five months...just over...yes ...just over? It is the most amazing thing that I've seen in all my years as a teacher.' Dudley paused for breath.

'Pretty much my experience...by the by...call me Dave, please...where does it go from here? At this rate, they'll take over the world in a couple of years, and I can think of quite a few people who won't like that'. Moir realised that statement was rather inane, but he was lost for sensible words.

Dudley indicated to Jimmy that he had better speak now, so he did.

'Gentlemen, thank-you for looking out for me. I am so very happy to know two such fine people who have been good enough to be my friends and counsellors. I am still a child, but, well you know, I am not a mere child, any more, as well. I am still getting used to the reality that my life is no longer mine alone...that I cannot run away from my responsibilities and gifts. I will need older, more experienced heads, to advise me. But, you see, my purpose now, that of all my friends around the world too, is simply to turn the world upside-down. To stop the march to self-destruction, to reconnect with life and nature. How do you like that for Messianism? I almost laugh out loud when I hear myself say it, but it is true. And we will succeed, because the alternative is unacceptable, that is plain. And you gentlemen and other adults will have to help us on the way. Above all we will need protection from the dead souls who are quite happy to destroy life...at least until they come around-until their souls are resurrected, so to say. We are very careful to avoid any confrontations with power, until that power comes over to our side. They all will, eventually, you know. Many will be led by their children and grand-children, nieces, nephews and so on, and others by the 'spooky action at a distance'. I borrowed that from a science book that I am reading.  Only the power is not distant, really. It surrounds and suffuses everything'. Jimmy paused to let that all sink in.

The three chatted for a while, Moir outlining the shenanigans at The Nation, Dudley the nature of the successes of the kids' club at the school, and its failures, which were real, if few, and all now resolved. After a while Jimmy asked if he could put on some music, because he needed to nap, in other words, commune with his comrades while dreaming. Dudley, naturally, agreed, so Jimmy left their company. After a brief interval the sound of Bach, the Goldbergs to be precise, on the piano floated through the house. Jimmy returned, smiling gravely.

'We cannot let the world die, the human world. It would be a second and definitive death for Bach and Beethoven and all the adornments of our species. Perhaps our radio waves will be picked up, somewhere, far in the future, but what would they make of it? You need human beings to understand and appreciate human accomplishments. My dream-time is not quite yet'. Jimmy sat quietly, as Moir and Dudley chatted amiably. Moir felt a quick comradeship with Dudley. Perhaps it was 'the field' in action. He really had to visit Aykroyd, and see the great 'conversion' for himself. That would be a real sight.

Then, very abruptly and noisily, there came a loud banging on the front-door. Dudley grumbled about boarders knocking too loudly, and went to answer the door. Moir heard a little low conversation, then raised voices, then shouting, and finally after less than a minute, the door slammed loudly shut. Dudley returned, red-faced and plainly angry, and blurted out, 'Better come inside. There are some goons from Channel Five outside, demanding to interview Jimmy. I'll have to ring our security company to have them ejected'. Sure enough, as Jimmy rushed inside, Moir heard the rattle of the side-gate, and a young fellow with a mike leaped over the fence, into Dudley's backyard.

'I'm calling our security company and the police. Having been warned off, I will see you arrested for trespass'. Dudley, used to barking commands to riotous children, had some presence when issuing orders.

The young TV reporter was made of presumptuous stuff, and advanced towards the back porch. Moir intercepted him, and spied the camera-man, filming over the top of the gate. Dudley was speaking on the phone, and standing in the doorway as a second line of defence.

'Stop there, mate. Far enough. The boy's not talking. Who are you, in any case?' Moir almost admired his pushiness.

' Today Alright!' he grunted, the worst muck-raking 'current events' show of them all. Jimmy would get as fair a go from these scandal-mongers as a black man at a KKK meeting. God, he thought, Jimmy is a young black man! The synchronicity of that thought worried him even more. 'We're here to interview the 'Child Wonder' the 'Green Guru of the Toddler Set', he smirked, the gibberish falling from his lips with practised inanity.

'Well, they're not 'toddlers', but he is a child, so you'll have to contact his Gran, and ask permission. I'd say that the cops are on their way. The bloke you offended is the Deputy Head you know. He will get you arrested. This is a posh school. I'd hate your chances if the beak is an Old Boy'. Moir laughed at his threat.

So, too, did the boy reporter. 'OK, OK, we'll do it by the book. We'll wait outside until you leave, then we'll get the interview, one way or the other', he snarled.

'Forget it, mate. Jimmy's a boarder. You'll be waiting till the end of term'. Moir hoped that a bit of bulldust would hasten the reptiles' retreat.

'How do I contact his Gran', the scooper without his scoop groaned as he heaved himself back over the gate.

'Find out yourself. You're the bloody journo', Moir bellowed back.

Moir ran up the stairs and inside, and saw that Jimmy was now fast asleep on the lounge-room sofa, as if nothing had happened. Dudley was at the front door, inviting the crew from 'Today Alright!' to, as he put it, 'piss off' and get ready for a rocket from the School Council, heavy with politicians, captains of industry and lawyers. The reptiles sped off, just ahead of the security van. Dudley asked them to check the grounds for hidden journos, and to leave a man out the front, guarding the only driveway, at least until evening.

Back inside, Dudley saw Jimmy sleeping, and gave Moir a quizzical look. 'He's unpredictable, wouldn't you say?' Moir smiled in agreement. The Bach flowed on mellifluously, and Dudley went into his study to report the fracas to the Headmaster. Moir sat and watched the sleeping boy. Jimmy was a quiet sleeper, because very deep, deeper than Moir could know, and, after a few minutes, Moir took down a book from the shelves, 'Parrots of the World', to peruse the magnificent illustrations.

He was lost in admiration of the audacious colour of the creatures, when, quite suddenly, Jimmy piped out, 'The eclectus is most magnificent. Two more pages. They have a pair at the Zoo, poor darlings. All locked up'. Sure enough, two pages on, the Eclectus Parrot, male and female, simply glowed.

'That's a scary trick, Jimmy' Moir muttered. 'You have a future in magic, if nothing else'. He instantly regretted the vacuity of his utterance.

'Yes. It is growing, with time. I can tap into the field, so that I see through other eyes, hear through other ears. It is quite frightening, and I have made no effort to consolidate the power. It seems a step too far, away from 'normal', and rather too dangerous. But sometimes, as when I am awakening, it just asserts itself'. Jimmy smiled a wan smile, looking both embarrassed and a little frightened by his untamed powers.

'Well, Owen...Mr. Dudley...saw the idiots off. I'm afraid they've gone looking for your Gran...which reminds me...we'd better go home so she can go to work. Do you want to come?' Moir wondered if the school might not be the best place for Jimmy to hide out, for the time being.

'Oh, I will come, Mr. Moir' Jimmy answered, more happily.'There is stuff to do at home, on the computer. I had better say hello to Gran, too. We had best hurry'. At which he jumped up, quite effortlessly, from the couch.

Jimmy knocked sheepishly on Dudley's study door, and it opened to reveal a glowering Deputy Head. 'The Head is most annoyed. Schools like this abhor scandal or publicity. He's going to ring Channel Five to see if the dogs can be called off, but, he's suddenly not happy about the club. He never was that keen...a control freak, I'm afraid...if he doesn't think of it...well, he doesn't like it...as simple as that'. Dudley was quite flustered.

'Do not fret, Mr. Dudley', Jimmy chirped.'He will come around. Andy...he is the Head-master's son, Mr. Moir, in Year Five, he is a big help for the club-he will talk him around. Andy's mother likes us, too'. Jimmy sounded quite confident.

They made their good-byes, and hopped in Moir's car. The drive back to Jimmy's Gran's place was circuitous, as Moir made sure that they weren't being followed by a bunch of reptiles from the press. The 'Today Alright' crew had disappeared, contrary to promises. Moir parked about half a kilometre away, and he and Jimmy walked home down a few lane-ways, giving them long views to ensure their footsteps were not being dogged. Eventually Jimmy's place was there, dead ahead, and the coast was clear.

Doreen ushered them in quickly, and Moir gave her a run-down on events at the school.

'Jimmy' Doreen muttered, 'I think you oughta spend some time at the school as a boarder, don't you? You'll be safe there...from those media.... types...I almost called them something nasty'.

'Yes, Gran, I know. And you are right. I will have a quieter life there, for sure. Could you ring Mr. Dudley and see if it is alright with him? Before you go to work, please.' Jimmy smiled angelically at his Gran, who quickly made the call.

It was quickly agreed. Dudley offered to suspend any charge for boarding, in 'these exceptional circumstances'. Sammy declined a similar offer, rather liking Mel's place too much. Jimmy could come back to the school later today, to settle in. The boarders were a motley crew of country bumpkins, but they had joined in enthusiastically in the club activities, particularly the gardens and chook runs. Jimmy could lie low, and run his clubs, as usual, via his lap-top. Not that the settled clubbers needed much more than the occasional pep talk these days. The novices, of which there was a rapidly growing number, generally networked with other clubs in their own country, to begin, then spread their interests more widely. Nodes based, understandably, on language, were setting up independent networks, but there was till the international interdependency that Jimmy knew was vital for the clubs to fulfil their global ambitions, and mission, to unite humanity. Inevitably, the clubs were increasingly, and unavoidably, and necessarily, growing ever more autonomous and self-directing while remaining mutually supportive.

Doreen soon left for work, kissing the children good-bye and hugging Moir. She walked to the bus-stop, firmly refusing a lift, in order to get 'some exercise'. Her mob, she declared, were great walkers, having trodden every inch of the continent for tens of thousands of years, so she felt better when moving. It was the best warm-up for an afternoon and evening of 'toddler-wrangling'.

Jimmy had soon packed, and they loaded the gear into Moir's car, and set off, just about half-way through the afternoon. By the time they reached the school, and unloaded Jimmy's stuff in a tiny but comfortable senior boy's room, Dudley having decided that Jimmy merited a little more privacy than the junior boy's bunk-beds and dormitory existence, the sky to the east was darkening with brooding, heavy, clouds.

'There is a big storm coming, Mr. Moir. Could you stay at Gran's place to keep an eye on it, until she comes home after work?' Jimmy asked politely.

'If you like, Jimmy. We are supposed to fly home the day after tomorrow. Do you want to see us again, before we leave?' Moir still needed to hear what Jimmy had in mind for him, and consider whether he thought it was feasible. He didn't want to lead the boy on.

'Yes, Mr. Moir. Please come over again tomorrow. And do not worry. You will know soon what you must do, and you will find it easy, believe me'. The mind-reading seemed almost matter-of-fact now, but Moir only accepted it warily. He made a mental note to impress on Jimmy just how much many people would fear and resent such a gift.

Moir and his kids said their good-byes to Jimmy, and to Dudley, and, as Jimmy set up his lap-top and his various journals and note-books, the little party set out for the return trip to Doreen's place. The sky was rapidly darkening and the atmosphere was heavy with humidity. By the time they turned into Jimmy's street, the sound of distant thunder was rumbling ominously.

To Moir's intense annoyance, and not a little surprise, a Channel Five van was parked across the road from Jimmy's place. As he parked in the street, and sent the children to go inside, using Jimmy's front-door key to let themselves in, Moir ambled over to the van, to remonstrate with the reptiles.

The van's left side front-door opened, and the lone occupant, the same bloke who had leaped Dudley's side fence emerged.

'G'day...Dave Moir, am I right? From 'The Nation', or should I say, 'Formerly of 'The Nation'. Have you seen the fabulous Jimmy K. or his Gran? We're just after a story...you should understand that..'. He grinned a wan and crooked smile, not looking too untrustworthy at all. Appearances can be deceptive, Moir, thought, almost reflexively.

'What's your name, son?' Moir began, wishing to get things onto a more amiable level.

'Cam Cochrane, at your service', the young welp replied, rather too full of himself. The name meant nothing to Moir, but he avoided 'Today Alright' and its ilk with religious dedication.

'Well, Cam', he began, but stopped abruptly as a huge, cold, raindrop hit him fair on top of the head. Regaining his composure, Moir continued.

'Well, Cam, we'll have to get out of this rain. Inside your van looks dry enough. Not full of secret surveillance equipment, is it?' Moir chuckled.

'I wish!' Cochrane replied. 'After you' and he slid the side-door open, and they bundled inside, just as the rain began bucketing down.

Moir quickly rang Doreen's place, and when Sammy finally answered, he told Sammy to get his kids to sit tight and wait for him, as he was sheltering in the van, which they could see from the front window. Moir finished as the hideous pelting on the van's roof made conversation impossible, so did not hear Nat as Sammy passed the phone to her.

As Dave turned to face Cochrane, the van window smashed, blasted to fragment by a massive hail-stone, of formidable size. The roof was being peppered with these projectiles, which were also shredding the vegetation in the surrounding gardens, and pummelling Doreen's roof, which, thankfully, was corrugated iron, hence impervious, if getting thoroughly dented. The hailstones hitting the road shattered into shards, with potentially lethal force. God help anyone caught outside in this, Moir thought.

Then there came a brilliant flash of light, as a bolt of lightning struck, very nearby, as the explosive thunder-clap showed. Moir almost leapt out of his skin, and Cochrane guffawed.

'Christ...you should see your face...white as...you look like how I feel'. He tittered a little, then cut to the chase.

'We've got to get to your little mate, first, Dave. All the media are after him, and we might be the most sympathetic. The Government...in Canberra, not here in Adelaide..they're already interested, and not in a sympathetic way...as you'd expect from die-hard anti-Greenies like them. The rumblings are not nice...and your old employer Masters...a name like a title, straight out of Dr. Who....it's central to his terrifying charisma, so my EP says.... is in it with 'em, as in all things. They're going to be attacked in Parliament, tonight, I think...in a 'Grievance' debate, where they get to character assassinate with glee...you know the ropes...one of the hard Right hatchet men, Barnstaple...yeah, that effing light-weight mucilaginous appendage...so your boy will need all the good publicity he can get'. Cochrane finished his rant, yelled as it had been in order to be audible, just as the barrage reached a crescendo, then abruptly stopped.

Moir looked out the driver's window and saw Nat furiously waving at the front-window of Doreen's place.

'OK, Cam...I'll talk to him and see if he wants to speak. Give us your mobile number'. Moir was very keen to check his kids and the house.

Cochrane handed Moir a business card and Moir leaped out the van, just as the rest of Cochrane's crew drew up in an old Mercedes, its beautiful bonnet pitted with indentations suffered in the brief but ferocious storm. Moir waved good-bye and ran across the flooded street, through the still teeming rain, and up the steps to the verandah. Tristram greeted him with a hug, and 'Dad, Dad...there's a big leak on the kitchen floor. Nat and Sammy are trying to mop it up. Come quick!' His boyish enthusiasm for disaster reminded Moir of himself as a child.

The kitchen was awash, from a conspicuous leak in the back-yard side of the ceiling. Moir and the children mopped it up, then Moir went outside, and, using a long ladder, scrambled onto the roof. The roof was dented in numerous places. Huge hailstones had clogged the gutters, and water, ice-cold water, was flowing over their edges. The garden beneath was shredded, most of the soft foliage ripped off the trees, fruit sent crashing to the ground, vegetables macerated. Moir noted a section of the corrugated iron had come loose, so he descended the ladder, and searching about, found a hammer and some iron-nails, clambered back up, and hammered the loose sheet back down, then quickly descended as another storm approached.

This one lacked the thunder, lightning and hail of the former, but the rain was simply tremendous. It poured down for five minutes, then ten, and Moir, satisfied that the roof was not leaking this time, ventured to the front verandah, and watched the street flooding. No doubt the storm-water drains were blocked by the debris of the first deluge, because they were not coping with the flood at all well. The street was quickly inundated, passing cars sending geysers of water gushing up as they drove through. The water then began flowing into various front yards. Luckily the houses were mostly built up, above the ground, so flooding was being delayed. Then, after a solid twenty minutes of Noachite drenching, the storm eased off, the clouds ran away to the east, and the sun broke through, hot and bright.

Moir took the reprieve as the opportunity to ring Doreen. The phone rang long and remain unanswered, at the creche, then went to a message bank. So Moir rang her on her mobile, which answered after a while.

'Doreen here' came the reply.

'Doreen, it's Dave Moir. How are you?'

'Cleaning up the bloody...the mess...from that flamin' hurricane. How's it over there.? Are you at home?' Doreen sounded pretty flustered. In the background a few babies and other little one's wailed away, so Moir decided to be brief.

'OK, Doreen. Your garden's mashed up, and the street flooded. Oh, and the ceiling leaked in the kitchen, but I fixed the roof, which was smashed up a lot. Did you get hail there?'

'Did we get flamin' hail? Are you kiddin? We got icy meteors....they smashed right through the slippery-dip...bloody plastic....if any kid had been caught outside...Gawd knows'. Yes Doreen was very flustered. Moir decided not to beat round the bush.

'Doreen, the media have been here. They want to interview Jimmy....because the ...well the Government, can you believe it...they're going to have a go at the clubs...in Parliament, and they reckon Jimmy deserves a chance to defend himself. What do you think?' Moir had no idea how Doreen would react.

'Which show, is it?'she snapped back.

'Today Alright' Moir replied.

Doreen laughed out loud. 'Those...blimey...too many kids in ear-shot. Those 'swine'...sorry pigs...those boof-heads. You do remember what they did to my mob over the sacred women's business, don't you?'. Doreen was not happy, and her tone accusatory.

'Yes, of course I do...but they weren't the worst and...well there is one woman there....Shirley Brown...she's not on often...too old...over 30.....but she's completely trustworthy...a throw-back to the Stone Age when 'journalistic ethics' wasn't a sad, sick joke. If I insist on her, well he'll get a fair shake'. Moir was pretty sure that Doreen would say no, but he was wrong.

'OK. OK, Dave...I was just kidding. The boy'll make mince-meat of them, but...how do you stop 'em 'editing' it to put words in his mouth' Doreen was of course, correct, having been a victim of media bad faith over the sacred women's business fiasco.

'I'll get them to allow us a final say in the broadcast material. I'll get them to draw up a contract, for you to sign, which will give us the final say. How's that?' Moir was getting excited.

'Right. You're the expert, the reformed reptile, after all. When will they see us'. Doreen didn't see the need for urgency.

'Today, this afternoon, Doreen. The speech in Parliament is tonight'. Moir waited expectantly.

'OK, then, I'm here all afternoon. What's the time now? Three thirty. They'll never make it'. Doreen stated, pretty confidently.

'Don't worry..they'll do it. I'll see you soon, so we can go through the legal stuff together. See you'. At which Moir hit the OFF button abruptly. The hour was, indeed, very late. Later than he thought.

Moir quickly rang Jimmy, on his new phone, (a special prize for excellence in Maths in the scholarship exams), who just as rapidly agreed. Time to go onto the front-foot, he said, laughing at his cricket analogy. Moir advised him to consult with Dudley, but Jimmy demurred. He and his comrades had made up their mind, their group and individual minds, that afternoon, while dreaming, that they should now take any and every such opportunity to 'connect' with the public.

Moir was no longer as amazed by these feats of prescience and really existing Group Think, as he would have been a few days before, so he mumbled his agreement, and promised Jimmy to pick him up when the interview had been arranged. Jimmy told him not to worry, because he was on his way to inspect a garden, between school and home, built in an old people's home, with local kids, residents and parents all contributing, so he'd wander over himself, within an hour or so. It was agreed that Moir could pick him up if needed earlier.

Then Moir contacted 'Today Alright'. He spoke to Brompton, the Executive Producer, outlined the contract required, short and to the point, the impossibility of editing save to reduce repetitiveness, and the demands for a copy of the raw footage, and for Shirley Brown to be the interviewer. It was all too easy. Moir had to investigate further.

'You're very keen, Bromp? What's going on? Do you see it as a scoop or something?'Moir thought it was, but it wasn't 'Today Alright's' usual fare.

'Look, Dave...this is going to be a monster story. These kids are everywhere. Two of my grand-kids are in on it. They want to dig up my back-yard ..they want to cover their school with trees...they don't want any Christmas or birthday presents...just money to buy more Green stuff for the school...and to send other things to poor schools. It's got certain 'business leaders' ropeable, which...thank God this phone is scrambled (he laughed) is OK by me'. Brompton chuckled some more.

'Cripes, Bromp. You gone Commo or something?' Moir giggled. He thought yet again how weird everything was becoming. May you live in interesting times, he thought, and the old curse was coming true, no doubt about it.

Everything was arranged for a meeting in one hour at the creche, then a fifteen minutes interview with Jimmy, at home. Moir assured Brompton that Jimmy wouldn't be nervous, and that it would all go swimmingly. It was arranged that a second copy be created back at the studio, for Jimmy's own 'records' and they wished each other luck. Moir hung up, and made himself a strong, back coffee.

After a few minutes, Moir rang Morrie, back in Sydney, to see how things were going. Strangely, it seemed.

'Well, Davo', Morrie slurred, the Sun, as ever, being over the yard-arm, somewhere on Earth, 'Aykroyd come in yesterday, he discharged himself from hospital, 'against Doctors' orders'....still the worse for wear.. bruise on his chest now more black than blue....so he said, puffing a bit, but...strangely happy. Even a little....Christ, this is strange...even a little charming. Nice to everyone. Told Bristow to tone it down a bit, generally, but..well, mostly to do with the kids and Jimmy K. Bristow sneered a lot...according to reports, but agreed...only he went and rang Masters in London to complain....the girls at the technology section hacked his phone...somehow, don't ask me...and they replayed it to Aykroyd who...he had Bristow in...and...strike me lucky...he forgave him. Then he rang Masters and resigned. So I'm the editor now...only kidding Dave....but it seems Masters is sending Butcher back, from New York...to kick a few heads. It'll be on for young and old.' Morrie paused for breath, and a revivifying slurp of nectar.

'Frank Butcher....God I thought he was retired. Man, Masters must be pissed off. Butcher...better take extended sick-leave Morrie...try 'pre-traumatic stress syndrome', or anticipated personal risk aversion, or something. Dr. Rubenstein's always good for a week or two, to 'restore the animal vitality' as he says'. Moir did not envy Morrie's situation, but he was big, bibulous, boy, so he could look after himself. He'd shout back at Butcher, at least. Others would turn to water at the first glare.

Moir gave Morrie a run-down on events, without the news of tonight's interview. Best not say too much while 'phones are being hacked, he thought. Morrie mumbled and snorted in assent, and Moir received Aykroyd's private number from Morrie. He rather felt like giving the old fellow a call, to converse with the convert. . After ten minutes further inane chat Moir made an excuse, and promised to visit Morrie as soon as they got home. He hung up, and rang Aykroyd's number, straight away.

The 'phone was answered almost immediately.

'I had a funny feeling that it would be you, Dave'. The 'Dave' was unusually friendly. 'I've been a little changed by recent events. Did Morrie give you the low-down? I do suppose you rang him first. Of course you did. How is he? Taking my resignation well, is he? I hear he'll have Butcher to worry about, now. Dear old 'Basil'(Aykroyd's own nick-name for Butcher, a melange of cricket nostalgia and an unkind allusion to 'Mr. Fawlty')...you know his bite is definitely worse than his bark, don't you. Like a Komodo dragon. Bad teeth, toxic diet, poisonous drool. My God I'm glad I'm out'. Aykroyd was definitely enjoying the freedom to bitch aloud.

''I've heard strange tales of your...I won't say 'epiphany', because it's such a bloody cliché in the lovey-dovey set, Ayk, but your ..let's say...transmutation...

 Aykroyd cut him off, bellowing, in a friendly way 'Trans-substantiation, Dave, nothing less. Your little mate turned my water into wine, my wine into blood, my bread into flesh. I am resurrected...no, no, born again....so I've got forty days before I ascend to Heaven...' Aykroyd's rant trailed off in tittering to himself.

'Are they strong pain killers, you're on, Ayk? You know you mustn't mix them with alcohol. You're raving a bit'. Moir felt no need for diplomatic equivocation.

'Fair enough, Dave...but I am very happy to be out of that vipers' nest, and looking forward to a new life, what I've got left of it, as soon as the pain goes. Me and Mrs Ayk are going to visit Vietnam, for a start. Then we'll see, but newspaper days are over for me...and you, I suppose. Joined the Green Delinquents, have you?'. More sniggering.

'Well, yes, now you mention it. Seems a worthy cause'. Moir felt that he was equivocating, still, as if remaining in awe of Aykroyd's displeasure. But it was not there, any more.

'Good on you, Dave. The kids are right. We've got to clean up our act, now, or else. I'll be pitching in, something...money or...I can organise contacts for them...you know the drum...I've just got to have the break, that's all'. Look, I've got to go. Give us a ring when you're back in town. I rang your missus a while a go, for a yarn with you, and she told me you were in Adelaide. How are the kids? Tell us next time...must go. See ya'. That was that..

The conversation had ended abruptly, with Moir rather taken by the new Aykroyd, if that's who it really was, and now, as Dave was contemplating leaving for the creche, he heard animated chatter erupting on the front verandah. It was Jimmy, arrived from the school, and Tristram and Natalia, exchanging greetings. Sammy was in his and Jimmy's room, studying.

Moir ambled out on to the verandah, greeted Jimmy with a hug, and asked if the others wanted to come to the creche, too. They all agreed, while Sammy kept working, and within fifteen minutes they were walking through the front door of Doreen's 'place of employment'. It was still rather chaotic after the storms, with puddles everywhere and much destruction of equipment in the playground, particularly hard plastic shattered by the bombardment. Doreen greeted them all with a hug, introduced her co-workers and the children sat down to play with the pre-schoolers. Moir sat in the front-office, to await the Channel Five crew, all being OK with the creche Boss, that being Doreen's mate Pam that afternoon.

He didn't have long to wait. Ten minutes later a car drove up, and Shirley Brown, a fiftyish survivor of decades of TV industry infighting and the usual reluctance to employ women over thirty, and a lean and hungry looking fellow in a shiny suit alighted. They entered, and Moir introduced himself. He knew Shirley, vaguely, from journalistic piss-ups and 'awards' ceremonies, and she introduced her companion.

'This is Amos Hart, Dave..one of our army of corporate lawyers. As flash as a rat with a gold tooth, as they say, isn't that so, Amos?, she added, cheerily.

'You may very well say that, Ms. Brown, but I couldn't possibly comment' Amos purred in theatrical reply. The shyster seemed inordinately proud of his unoriginal riposte.

They got down to business, in the staff tea-room, next to the toddlers' room, checking the details of the one page agreement. It was quite simple, and putting Doris' signature to it was no trouble.

'I'll be fair to your grandson, Mrs Kartinyangarra, I promise', Shirley Brown vowed.

Doreen laughed abruptly, then smiled, 'Mrs Brown, I'm certain that you will be, but my Jimmy....he's nobody's fool, as you will see'.

'So, where is the boy of the hour', Shirley Brown enquired.

'Right here Ma'am', came Jimmy's voice, from across the room, as he rose from playing with a little group of two year olds.

'My, you're a beautiful young fellow, aren't you, Jimmy. I'm Shirley Brown...I'm here to interview you. Well at your home, shortly. You're quite a cause celebre at the moment. Are you happy to speak with me? I promise it will be …', and she hesitated for a second.

'Sympathetic?' Jimmy ventured.

'Yes' Ms Brown nodded.

'Excellent. We do not approve of antagonism or rancour, Ms Brown. We are, above all else, for ....amity and acceptance, never strife and discord. We turn the other cheek, as Jesus recommended'. Jimmy smiled his most winning smile.

'Dear me...what an effect'. Shirley was almost lost for words.'You are a charming young, boy...still....but, ', and she looked to Doreen for advice.

'I'm afraid that it's charisma, Shirley', Doreen snorted. 'And the real kind, like a ...God knows, but it's frightening, up close, specially when you're not used to it. He's Mr. Level-Headed, 'though, thank God, or I'd be worried sick for him'.

'Gran, gran', Jimmy interjected, 'Do not speak so gloomily. Nothing bad is going to happen. We are going to change things, and everybody will come on board, eventually. You only have to believe, then relax. Things will take care of themselves'. Jimmy smiled lovingly at his old Gran.

'You see, Shirley...brilliant but naïve'' Doreen retorted.'Let's get goin' and get this over with'. And she led them all out, stopping briefly to check with Pam that the other staff could cover for her for an hour or so.

By the time the little convoy made it over to Doreen and Jimmy's home, the sky was darkening again, and the air hung heavy with humidity and sombre menace. Outside the little cottage, the TV van was parked, and it disgorged three somewhat dishevelled occupants as Brown and Hart approached. Equipment was quickly disgorged, and set up in the lounge-room. Doreen made tea, and cut some cake, while Shirley chatted with Jimmy. After ten minutes all was well. Shirley had a little make-up applied, and her auburn, wavy hair, flecked with grey, brushed back, and after enquiring if Jimmy needed any, and being told that he did not, they began.

As Doreen, Moir, Sammy and his kids watched from the other side of the room, Shirley Brown, introduced herself to the camera, and outlined a brief history of the school-kids' clubs. Then she introduced Jimmy, as the leader of the movement.

'I am sorry, Ma'am', Jimmy replied 'but our movement does not have 'leaders', great or small. I, and there are others like me, are simply guides. What is more, if you feel like going off in some other direction, we have no problem with that. Ours is a purely voluntary movement, and it is evolving rapidly already, in this country and everywhere else it has sprung up. We are all for local autonomy, and 'bottom-up' growth and development'. Jimmy awaited the next question, calmly and quietly.

'So, Jimmy...How did this movement begin?' Shirley asked, still getting into her stride.

'Well, Ms. Brown...it was some months ago. I was visiting my Dad's family in the Northern Territory, and, to cut a very long story short, the rainbow serpent blessed me just before I was hit by lightning. By that I mean that an old brown snake flicked his tongue over my face, but I learned later what that really meant, and it was not that it was a lucky escape from death. I was in a coma for some weeks, and when I recovered I was changed, utterly. And I very soon began dreaming of other children like myself, in other countries, and they dreamed of me, and one another, and, once I had a computer, we contacted each other, and began founding these clubs'. Jimmy paused to allow that information sink in, and Shirley Brown, slightly bemused but smelling a Walkley Award, followed up with another question.

'So, what is the purpose of these clubs, Jimmy?' Shirley was tossing up easy long-hops, as they say.

'Well, Ma-am', Jimmy began, 'We all had dreams where we realised just how precarious matters were, concerning life on the planet. We were not all that well-informed, then, but the apprehension that things were very bad and that we did not have much time to lose, was quickly impressed on us all. Then, as the clubs got going, beginning in schools and churches and other gathering places for children, we set out to repair the ecology of first our schools and homes, then waste-lands and idle patches of ground, and we also worked on social relationships. We protect kids from bullies, and help the bullies, too, we visit old people to keep them company, and make gardens for them. We visit homes where a parent is sick, we do lots of things, and we are always sharing our experiences on our web pages. What worked for one group, what did not and so on. We also get the teachers on side, which sometimes takes a while, but is nearly always successful, and parents, particularly for heavy work and activities like carpentry, metal-work and so on-and watch over and protect us'. Once again satisfied that he had gone on long enough, Jimmy paused, smiling genially.

Shirley Brown was beginning to fell strangely elated. She was wishing to be ten or twelve again, that familiar effect of being in close contact with Jimmy K. But before she could ask another question, Jimmy laughed softly and said, quite considerately.

'You cannot go back to twelve, I regret to say, Ms. Brown, but everybody on Earth is welcome to help us. We are just the path-finders, and the ones to come will be even better at it than us.'

Shirley felt, for an instant, most uncomfortable. Jimmy had read her mind, hadn't he? But, instantly, the dread that thought inspired, evaporated and the elation grew even stronger.

'Now, then, Jimmy..no mind-reading, please', she tittered. Her producer looked askance, and was going to cut the scene, but she ploughed on.

'Of course, Jimmy, you'd better explain 'being blessed by the Rainbow Serpent' and your surviving being hit by lightning. It sounds very intriguing'. Shirley Brown was not at all happy with her choice of words.

'It is partly mythology, whatever that means , but he is a very real snake, and actually one known to my father when he was a boy. Then some miracle of nature, surviving being struck by very strong lightning, like my father, who was killed, before I was born. Followed by long unconsciousness, all of which left me...when I awoke, in a new condition for which  'blessed', might be the appropriate word. All totally unbelievable, I know, but, what can I say-it happened, and here I am. A lot of our understandings and novel ideas come in our dreams, and others we piece together. My dear, and slightly mad, old Uncle Max, he opened my eyes and ears and other senses, too. He is my blackfella spiritual adviser and teacher. I will be back in 'bush college' with him this summer and I am taking my old friend, Sammy, with me. The rest of my life is busy with the work, the clubs and all that, which is why I am here, explaining myself. So that people will understand that we are a positive phenomenon'.  Jimmy left it there, as a full explanation would take far too long.

'So, tell me some of the things you scamps get up to'. Shirley was bemused as to where 'scamp' came from. It wasn't a word that she ever uttered. She determined to keep things taut and business-like from now on.

'Well, you see', Jimmy replied, also intrigued by 'scamps', 'we do anything that supports life, first and foremost. So we grow things, like trees. We have planted lots of trees. Some of our schools or parks will be entirely tree-covered in a few years. We grow trees that are useful, too, with fruit, nuts, feed for animals and pretty flowers to attract bees and cheer the soul. Then we grow food, mostly vegetables, and some schools are pretty amazing food sources. My school feeds its boarders from the vegie patch, and others feed families who can't afford decent nutrition, or old people at home or in nursing homes. A lot of places have chickens, for eggs and to make compost, and others have pigs, sheep, even cattle in Canada and Vietnam. And we make bio-char, to sequester carbon and enrich the soil, which is one place where we need adult help and supervision. Some of the clubs have begun selling trees cheaply, to raise money for solar power for their schools, or rainwater tanks, and others have been given permission to plant trees on waste lands, beside train tracks, along canals, in public parks and on it goes.' Another pause for breath, and then, on Shirley's prompt to 'Go on', Jimmy did just that.

'And then we look after each other. rehabilitate bullies, 90% of whom just need some friendship. We help one another out in class and with home-work, we set up toy and game libraries so we can share things, we write to kids overseas, we do a lot of musical work, learning instruments, listening to different types of music, singing....we do seem to like singing a lot, as we work outside. Everything, of course, is voluntary. If you like it, we will share it with you. If not, that's your own decision. Most children come around to some of these activities, eventually. We emphasise freedom of the individual, but equally for all the individuals-not just a few'. Jimmy had finished for now.

Jimmy watched Shirley Brown, who seemed lost in thought. He smiled quickly, and that broke the spell. Shirley blurted out her next question, the first mildly negative one so far.

'Do any adults control your group?' Shirley knew that she had to ask it, as it was rumoured to figure heavily in the Parliamentary hit-job of later that evening.

'Well, a few have tried, in places, but generally we keep it in our own hands. The adults are welcome to help us, but not to control us. And, if someone's parents object, we recommend listening to them, because strife in the family is bad for everybody. A lot of those situations are resolved over time, but the bitterest enemies of  'Greenie nonsense' are often intractable.Their kids we just keep informed, and they will  have to wait until they are old enough to make up their own minds. Mind you, there have been a good many conversions already, of parents, to our way of thinking and acting. It is quite contagious, really.' Jimmy could see the allotted time running out, so he paused for one last question.

'So, what of the future. Your movement is attracting enemies, you know. There is a lot of antipathy to 'Greens' in politics and the media. How do you see yourself coping'. Shirley looked quite worried for the lad.

'Do not worry. We will just go on doing the same things. We do not think that there is any alternative to working together for the common good and for mutual support. That is all there is to it. And kids everywhere seem to agree. We have very, very many clubs in scores of countries and thousands, even tens of thousands of members, already, just in five nearly six months, and two or three more every day. This is grass-roots mutual support in action. What is there to fear from that?'. And he smiled a knowing smile, keenly aware just how truly the powers that be do not like or appreciate independent agitation and organisation. Coming from children it also affronted their paternalistic and hierarchical instincts.

'Well, thank-you Jimmy. I'm sure there'll be lots of comments on this amazing topic. Just contact us on our Facebook page, or Twitter. Thank-you again'

'Thank-you and God and Gaia bless you, Ms. Brown', Jimmy replied, the reference to Gaia a cheeky last-minute incitement. Let's see who that rouses to dyspepsia, he thought mischievously. Shirley Brown signed off with a preview of the next segment, a report on a psychic chook  from Broken Hill.

Doreen and the kids moved in to congratulate Jimmy. He had his mike detached and they raced outside, where all was Stygian gloom as the latest storm of the day prepared to unload on all and sundry. Moir and Doreen joined Shirley Brown.

'How do you reckon it went, Ms. Brown', Doreen ventured.

'Please, Doreen....call me Shirley...well, your boy's very amazing, isn't he...and scary...did you see how he read my thoughts, over the twelve years old again thing?' Shirley now looked elated rather than scared in any manner.

'Gawd, luv us, dear' Doreen chuckled, 'He's getting quite good at that nowadays. Please keep it secret. He doesn't really like it, or know what to do with it. It scares him, quite a bit, you see.' Doreen tilted her head to one side, as if weighed down with concern for her 'little boy'.

'Mum's the word'. Shirley mumbled. 'How'd it go Dave?' She looked to Moir for support.

Before he could speak, the producer brought over his lap-top, and they watched a run through of the interview. It looked pretty OK, so Dave had a copy down-loaded onto a memory stick, for future reference. He still wanted that studio copy, however. The producer sidled over to Moir, and whispered, as Shirley and Doreen munched on cake, 'Is he real? I mean, is he really thirty-something, and a trained actor. That voice. They way he talks. I mean, listening to him, I was wanting to go Green myself...I mean, 'Good-bye career'. Hypnotic'. He frowned quizzically, the deep lines besides the corners of his eyes making him look totally bemused.

'Do you have kids?', Moir asked.

'Oh yeah. Five. The wife's a Catholic. Aged twelve down. Three are in the Gaia club at the local parish school. The fathers, the priests, are very much in favour, as are the teachers. When my kids hear I've met the famous Jimmy K., well there'll be no limit to the admiration, let me tell you'.

'So, this will get a fair run, will it?' Moir was still anxious.

The producer rubbed one side of his nose in a gesture of something or other, winked, pretty poorly and said, 'God knows. The show is riven with in-fighting at present. Shirley's on her way out. Too old. Once you hit 35, as a woman. And our Shirl is closer to 60 than 35. How she's lasted this long, God only knows. She'll die in the ditch for this one, however. You can just tell. We'd better get going if this is going to air in two hours. See you around, Dave'. With practised efficiency the equipment was quickly packed away.

Jimmy dropped back in to say good-bye to everyone. Shirley regarded him with an unabashed admiration, like an Aunt at a Graduation Ceremony. Jimmy shook her hand solemnly, while she planted a big kiss on his cheek. Soon the crew were gone, just as the thunder and lightning broke forth again.

This storm went on and on for forty amazing minutes. Moir kept dreading the thought that the TV van had been washed off a road somewhere, but after half an hour he got a call from Shirley that all was well, and they'd be on air at seven, as normal. Moir heaved a sigh of relief, and Doreen, -who had rung the creche to report that she would not be back, and that the other girls had better cope without her- and Dave settled down to watch the telly, as the kids played Scrabble, and the thunder boomed, the lightning blinded and the rain pelted down.

Just before the show began, Jimmy rang Owen Dudley at the school to report in, as it were, and receive permission to stay at his Gran's for the night. Dudley assured him that he could stay there whenever he liked, so long as the school knew where he was. Then Jimmy informed him of the show, which rather unnerved Dudley.

'Do you think it's time to go public, Jimmy?' he asked, frightened that there might be some reaction that would upset the school board, not a notable collection of 'Greenies'.

'Do not worry, Mr. Dudley' Jimmy assured him.'I have weighed all the pros and cons and consulted with my...my peers, if you like....and we are all going to ...come in from the dark, if you like. It is time to accelerate our efforts and confront the opposition, if I might use such a loaded term. In any case, they are on to us, and we will soon face real resistance, as you would expect. We are, after all, challenging the status quo...of the last few thousand years, really'. Jimmy didn't like talking or thinking in adversarial terms, far preferring consensus and compromise, but he well knew that the 'other side' were not that way inclined.

Their conversation was brief, and when the discourse was over, both sat down before the TV to watch proceedings in their separate lodgings. Jimmy was relaxed, the other kids were effervescent, and Doreen and Dave were as nervous as kittens. The show began, after the usual fifty or so ads, with an agitated story on shonky removalists, then one on politicians' perks and finally, ' An expose of a 'Green cult' spreading like 'wild-fire' through 'our' schools'. The psychic chicken was still unmentioned. Always the possessive tense, 'our' this, 'our' that, thought Moir. Why not just 'schools'? He was grumpy, nervously so. The tone of the intro didn't sound overwhelmingly friendly.

However, the interview was exactly as it had been recorded. Moir sat transfixed, as Jimmy came across more powerfully and honestly than any politician or 'celebrity' he had seen for years. Shirley Brown was transparently sympathetic and the general atmosphere was so far removed from the aggression and confrontation of the previous segments that it shone in comparison. Then Shirley introduced the chicken, which turned out to be an 'Exclusive!', 'The psychic chook from the Silver City who picks winners at the races!!'

Jimmy smiled and exclaimed, 'Well, that went well. In my opinion at least. Mrs. Brown was so generous and sympathetic'. Moir nodded in agreement, while secretly dreading the reaction he knew was comin.

'You must not worry about the unsympathetic, Mr. Moir. Nothing anyone ever does, and surely not something that will shake everything to the core goes unopposed. But they will come over, slowly but surely. Mankind does not end now. I can assure you of that. We will not let it happen'. He smiled brilliantly, as if inspired by the very idea of fighting the good fight-and winnin

One more brief segment, and a preview of the next night's 'exclusive expose', some dozen or so more ads, and the show ended. But, just as it was ending, the host observed, with a wry smile, that the Twitter and Facebook feed-back concerning 'Jimmy K. 'the Green Messiah' (Moir cringed and Jimmy giggled at that)was running so hot that they recommended people ease off for a while, lest the system crash.

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Noosphere.

'There you go, love', Doreen sniffed, 'You'll never have a moment's peace after this. Can't be helped, I expect. It's been like a runaway train ever since you got out of hospital. Where's it all gonna end, I don't know'. Doreen looked, for a moment, rather as if she regretted the whole thing, but Jimmy gave her a big hug and a kiss, and she perked up.

'I'll fix us all a cuppa. You'll be wanting something stronger, I suppose Dave. Help yourself to a beer'. The kids left to help Doreen in the kitchen, Dave got his beer, and sat down across from Jimmy.

'Where does it all go from here, Jimmy? When do you take over the world?' Dave was only half-kidding.

'When it is ready to be freed, Mr. Moir. The time is ripening, however. I can feel it. Do you want to know just why I am so supremely confident?'Jimmy had a look of quiet determination and sublime assurance that almost shocked Moir, who had thought himself becoming shock-proof. Moir had often felt over-awed with the boy, to the edge of unease, in the brief time that he'd known him, but on this occasion he seemed to have suddenly become imbued with Jimmy's quiet self-assurance. He nodded his wish to be enlightened. .

'Do you know why humans are 'clever', Mr. Moir? It is not just our 'big brains' , you know. Well not just their cognitive powers. It is not just our 'culture' either. No, it is something more'. Jimmy paused, as if to let those preliminary words sink in.

Moir felt rather uneasy and slightly apprehensive yet intensely curious as to what would come next. He felt like a student at the feet of a Master, a twelve year old Master. It was preposterous, although not unknown from history. That thought sent shivers up his spine.

'You see', Jimmy went on, 'our brains are also antennae. They pick up information from a field of knowledge that encompasses the world like the atmosphere. I have spoken of it to you, Mr. Moir, and my studies are enlightening me as to the nature of this field, for want of a better word. Perhaps we will invent one. The concept of the 'noosphere' is the closest theory, that I have seen, so far,  to just how it has been revealed to me. It is one of those insights that our Earth Mother, who is both a manifestation of this field, drawing her strength from it, and somewhat outside it, too, while always in communication with it, has revealed to us in our dreams. The Mother and the noosphere exist in a sort of symbiosis. Those insights were clues as to where to find further information, which is now so easy with the Internet. This concept must, I imagine, be somewhat analogous to 'morphic fields' and other similar theories. Intelligence, understanding, comprehension, all flowing from the mental processes of living creatures from the dawn of time, have built up over the aeons, and we, and all other creatures, can partake of it. Very often while dreaming, when external stimuli and distractions are absent or diminished, or while meditating and clearing the mind of mundane thoughts, or while intoxicated chemically, the truth may come to us, although not always in a manner that we can readily understand. Everything, past and present, from every corner of the world, is there for our instruction, if only we could tap into it. Naturally, we are only allowed to do it partially and gradually. Full immersion would be literally 'mind-blowing', I am sure you can see. Too great, accidental, contact may explain the madnesses of certain great artists, performers and thinkers, or even of ordinary people, suddenly afflicted by hallucinations and psychosis. It contains every thought, every reaction, every hope, every dread, ever experienced by every organism from amoeba to whale, all piling up nearly limitless complexities, each linked with every other. And why not? Every particle of this Universe was crammed together in an infinitely tiny space once, and they are still linked today, if almost infinitely tenuously. Where life and consciousness arise, these links can be strengthened and made more durable, but one day, when the Sun swallows us up, they will be destroyed. I do suspect, however, that a cosmic noosphere also exists, but Mother has not yet deigned to enlighten me concerning it. Perhaps she will later. Perhaps not, it being too much for my purposes, or for my mind to bear. So you see, it is not so much that we are Homo sapiens, but that the planet itself is itself sapient, almost unimaginably so, and we are just an epiphenomenon'. Jimmy paused, to judge Moir's reaction.

David Moir was a little gob-smacked, although he had heard of the noosphere from reading Teilhard de Chardin, and had always found it a fascinating and inviting conjecture. 'Epiphenomenon' he vaguely understood-he thought.

'You see, Mr. Moir', Jimmy went on, 'the great whales, the dolphins, and the other large-brained animals, simply have more perfectly formed antennae for picking up these emanations, if I can call them that, than even ourselves. Their evolution has not been outward, and materialistic, like ours, building up 'civilizations', cities, industries and the like. They have concentrated on inner, intellectual and spiritual growth. I speak with them, sometimes, in my dreams, and my birth mother passed on that key to communicating with them, that she had transmitted to her by a dying whale. They know more about life and its significance, of the history of this Earth, of its fate, than we will be able to comprehend for many million years, unless, of course, they help us along the path. They fear neither death or their extinction as a species. They see their place in time and space, and they know and accept its limitations. Nothing can, or should, last forever. They will, when we have succeeded in creating a new human civilization, be our elder brothers and our guides.'

Moir did not feel his usual bemusement at Jimmy's precocious and outrageous insights. Accepting this scenario was immensely reassuring, almost like finding a transcendent meaning for life, a much derided notion in the circles that he frequented.

'And, you see, Mr. Moir, not only do my comrades and I tap in to this field of understanding, which strengthens them spiritually, making them generous rather than greedy, amiable rather than angry, happy rather than sad, but, as we grow in understanding, we strengthen the field ourselves, making it stronger and more likely to reach others, like our club members and like your erstwhile colleagues who have undergone miraculous 'Conversions on the road to Damascus'. That is why, no matter what any opposition tries to do to shut us up, we will win, and soon. The process is almost exponential in its growth, like an avalanche growing stronger as it sweeps up more and more people. First it was me and my fellows, thirteen seeds, sown by the great spiritual power who we see in our dreams as the Earth Mother, sometimes called Gaia, and a hundred other names as well. She waited patiently until the time was ripe, then she sent us out and later forged us into new creatures, to be such seeds as grow and sprout other seeds and we will certainly harvest a rich bounty, for everyone, even the direst cynic'.

As Jimmy finished, his voice rising a little at the end in a rather emotional state, so unlike his habitual cool thoughtfulness, and as Dave Moir attempted to consider the wonderful, crazy, homily that Jimmy had just delivered, Doreen and the kids returned, with coffee and cake. The comestibles were consumed merrily and quickly, then Moir's phone rang.

It was Mrs Moir, Sue, inquiring as to how things were going, and when she could expect them home, as school was going back in a few days. Moir asked, guiltily, if she had seen Jimmy on the TV.

'Yes. No thanks to you, Dave. Forgot you have a wife and your kids a Mum, did you?' She was pulling his leg with practised expertise.

'Sorry, darls. How did you think it went?' Dave was keen to change the topic, quickly.

'Too busy with your little guru. Quite a ….what is he, exactly? He's too handsome for words....forgive me, but as a mother.....he's an orphan isn't he. His poor Mum, missing out on seeing him grow up...but what a little man he is. I just visited the station's Facebook site, and he's gone over a bomb. One or two old farts grumbled about 'Greenies' and 'Commos', but they were roundly shouted down. Very convincing, wasn't he?'. Sue had had enough of the sound of her own voice, for now.

'Yes love. He's even more amazing in person'. Moir rejoined, having moved out of ear-shot, so as not to embarrass Jimmy.'He's like nobody else I've ever met, and I've met 'charismatic' people from time to time. In fact, the more I get to know him, the more scared for him I become. It's the same with his Gran...she's a sweetie and a tough old coot...like lots of old lady blackfellas. Seen so much grief...but they just carry on. Do you want to speak to the kids?'

'Later, but now I want to speak to his Gran, if you don't mind'. The reply was quite forceful, so Moir asked Doreen if she'd like to speak to his wife.

'Certainly would. I've got to congratulate her on her two kids...such little darlins they are'. Doreen chuckled as she took the phone and walked out onto the verandah.

Moir tried not to eavesdrop, but the occasional cackle from Doreen indicated that the women were hitting it off. He munched on his cake for a while, then Jimmy looked up and spoke.

'Mr. Moir...I think we need to listen to the radio. I have a little one in my room'. Jimmy stood up and walked to his room and fetched the wireless, as his Gran called the devices. They sat in the kitchen, and Jimmy tuned it to the Parliamentary broadcast.

'The Grievance Debate. One of our present enemies, but future allies is going to attack us. I am pretty certain what he will say, but I would like you to hear him too.' Jimmy settled down, as the parliamentary procedure rumbled on, while Moir dashed to his room and fetched a little tape-recorder he used for interviews. His 'dictaphone' as he said with nostalgic inclination.

After a few minutes huffing, puffing and shouting, the Member for Somewhere or Other, no doubt 'remote', the 'Hon-orrible' Bruce Barnstaple, a rural reactionary of unsubtle inclination, rose, groaningly, to deliver his diatribe.

It was, as they say, a doozie. Jimmy and his 'alien accomplices' were a threat and menace to 'our democratic capitalist' values. At that one Moir was sure that he saw the very shadow of a wry smile flit across Jimmy's face for an instant, but it was gone so quickly, to be replaced by a calm, enigmatic, repose that he instantly doubted that it had been real.

'Water-melons' was delivered with undisguised self-satisfaction at his wit. 'Manipulation' of children, as if that wasn't the meat and milk of advertising.'Sabotage' of industry, 'Green alarmism' of course, Mr. Barnstaple being the very embodiment of calm reflection himself, 'hatred of 'our' coal industry', a big contributor to his coffers at all times, children 'wasting their time growing vegetables, putting hard-working farmers out of business' ….and on and on it went, for ten delirious minutes. He seemed to have gathered a right coteries of like minds, too, because his every assertion was met by vigorous 'Hear, hears' and noisy clapping from the peanut...pardon... public gallery, usually not tolerated.

When it was over Moir reflected that it was good that he had not been at home, else the transistor would have ended up smashed against a wall. Jimmy, however, was quite happy with events, and didn't disguise it.

'That was excellent, was it not?' he exclaimed.

'Why so? He's a powerful enemy....you don't want to antagonise the rural lobby. They can mobilise the press to give you a very hard time'. Moir was again concerned just where things were moving. After all, the chances of a group of school-kids changing the very nature of society away from the system that suited the interests of the most powerful, and which system the public had been brainwashed to believe was inevitable and good, were, in truth, zero. Moir really only wanted to see how things turned out, how the movement was inevitably crushed, or co-opted, and do his bit to protect Jimmy, who was a truly unforgettable character.

'Now, Mr. Moir. No defeatism, please' Jimmy said.'We will win, it is written in the stars and in the grains of sand on a beach, in a flower's colour, in a butterfly's breath, and in your heart. This fellow, Mr. Barnstaple....sure he is a yokel at the moment....but he is still sleeping his way through life. He will wake soon, and outdo the leopard, and change his spots.' Jimmy looked pretty calmly confident, so Moir hesitated to object that no agrarian tin-pot buffoon he'd ever met had done anything but grow ever madder as time went by and their synapses clogged up with metabolic debris.

Just then Doreen walked in, having handed the 'phone to the kids so that they could talk to their Mum.

'That missus of yours, Dave....she'd talk the leg off a bullock. Lovely girl...too good for the likes of you...'. And she guffawed merrily.

Moir was only a little annoyed at the thought, which he rather suspected was correct. Jimmy looked up and smiled, then joined the kids in the lounge.

'Well, Doreen...the Government just took aim at Jimmy and the clubs, in Parliament. I dare say the papers and the shock-jocks will be joining in soon. It's just got a little tropical for your boy. You can't stop him, 'though...can you'. It was a statement of fact, not a question.

'No, Dave. This has been comin' for generations. This is truly, deeply, spooky. The boy is my blood, my grand-son, my pride and joy....but..I've known for quite a while that he's here for something really, really, important. It is scary, particularly when they piss off powerful, nasty, bastards...no shortage of them, is there....but I can't...and shouldn't even try...to stop him. It's bigger than all of us. The world's sick, alright...and someone's goin' to fix it, or we're stuffed...and it looks like it'll be Jimmy and his little mates. Fancy that'. Doreen smiled sadly.

Before he could reply, Moir's phone rang again. Natalia ran in with it for her Dad. Moir grabbed it just as the message bank was kicking in.

'Yes. Hello' he answered, imagining it was the missus phoning back with some last-minute instructions.

'Dave, Dave...hello...it's Morrie, your erstwhile companion in news fabrication. Greetings from the Babylon of the North to the Athens of the South. You're needed. I'm playing Emma Peel, 'Steed, we're needed'.' Morrie was in a jolly mood, as ever.

'You sound well-lubricated, Morrie'. Moir replied.'What's the fuss'.

'It's your young amanuensis, dear boy. Or is it the other way about? The little guru of the Green enfants terribles...you know, the chap who appeared on TV a couple of hours ago and melted down the Interwebby thingamajig (Morrie loved feigning total ignorance and hatred of the Net). The 'Public Enemy No. 1 to 100 down here, right now. You've been summoned to join the lynch-mob. No more Misters Nice-Guy here, anymore. Direct from Masters in London. If you know where the kid is, tell him to duck. They'll be hacking his computer now. And that's just the beginning'. Morrie paused for breath, and a therapeutic sip of the 'Great White Infuriator', ssp 'Chateau Rotsguts', dispensed only on Doctor's prescription, to settle his nerves.

'But, Morrie. I can't get involved in that. I thought I quit in any case. Doesn't Masters accept resignations any more. The kid's here right now, cool as a cucumber, but he doesn't realise....he's the most amazing person...I suppose you saw that...'

'Of course, Dave. Look the 'phone is probably being hacked. Yes, I'm paranoid, but you've never seen anything like this...the place is crawling with the scabbiest 'private investigators' already. Someone at Channel Five blabbed...looking for a job, I suspect...that it was going to be a puff-piece on the kid, not a hatchet-job....so they were all watching...even Masters in London, so they say....over his brekkie of eye of newt and bats' blood, slightly congealed, the black sausage of the hidden reptilians.....testing! Testing! Did you pick that up?....I'm just trying to get sacked, Dave, ...again...and, well, you know. Where was I? Where am I?....Ahem... Where normal people see a sweet, intelligent and charismatic child, the Devil sees a Devil. The universe is a mirror, and they only see evil, danger, a threat to their 'precious', their money. It's just projection, our dear old friend, boon companion and faithful retainer...come around again. Look, Dave, they reckon you'll have dirt on the kid, and they'll make you an offer you can't refuse. And...God I hope they are listening already...bloody Masters....Our Reptilian Overlord!!... could get the NSA onto the job, that's how powerful the bastard is...we can sabotage them from the inside. Get back tomorrow. Bristow and Butcher...he's here already... are livid, but that'll make 'em careless'. A veritable tour de farce of manic babbling, vintage Morrie Slowman.

Morrie drawled on, but not even he was listening any more. His proposal was preposterous, but Moir thought, on reflection, that being in the belly of the beast might be useful. A suicide mission, possibly, but beguiling. He did hate Bristow with relish, and Butcher on recommendation and reputation.

'OK, Morrie. I'll see you tomorrow. Keep safe. Get a food taster...someone who likes liquids of course'. Dave thought that standing next to Morrie might draw fire, but then again it might be good camouflage, nobody taking him seriously any longer.

'Ho, ho...very funny. See ya, mate. Look after that kid. And yours. Cheers'. Morrie hung up.

Moir was contemplating his next step when Jimmy walked in. He was smiling broadly, as at most times, and looked very relaxed.

'I'd better get back to the school, Mr. Moir. I think that I will be safer there, under school protection. Do you agree?' Moir saw the request for advice as purely polite, with Jimmy, as ever, pretty determined, to put it mildly. He felt a naughty impulse to answer in the negative, to see Jimmy's reaction, but put it aside as silly.

'Good idea. My old friend Morrie just told me that the media, well my old mob at least, are going to go after you. It won't be pretty. You're only a kid, after all'. Moir was worried, but he needn't have been.

'Excellent. Let us be a little 'Machiavellian' here. I prefer straight-talking and candour, but this will let me play the victim, the poor child set upon by the bully-boys. They will be doing us a great favour. As I said the more opposition the stronger we will grow. Action and reaction, tempering in the fire. I have been collecting cliches from my reading. We have no power in the sense of force or violence on our side, no desire for them and no need. The more mud they throw, the greater we will grow. You will see.' Jimmy excused himself to ring Dudley and arrange his return.

Moir told Doreen of Jimmy's decision, which she approved. Then he booked a flight home for the morning, changing the previous arrangement, while Jimmy collected his things, and within fifteen minutes all was ready for the move back to college. Jimmy kissed his Gran good-bye, hugged the kids, gave Sammy some secret advice concerning his Maths homework, and off he and Dave Moir went.

It was a short trip, in Mel's car (Mel was up country at Burra visiting old friends) but at the end Moir noticed a car or two mysteriously parked near the rear entrance, one with a couple of burly gents ensconced, as if with nothing better to do. He drove around to the grand front entrance, and spoke to the intercom, reaching Dudley, (via a suspicious security guard), who opened the great iron gates for their arrival. They drove down the main drive, under the plane trees, right up to Dudley's residence, once a Manse. Dudley was waiting out the front, and they all repaired to his lounge-room.

'Do you want a cup of tea?', Dudley asked. They both nodded, and a few minutes passed as Dudley finished preparations. He returned with a pot, three cups, milk, no sugar and some plain biscuits. He smiled paternally at Jimmy who returned it with a grin, as if of a favourite son (which he was, of all Dudley's hundreds of students over the years. The 'genius pupil', at last). Moir noted the grand-fatherly attention, and knew that Jimmy was in safe hands.

'So, Mr. Dudley....sorry, Owen....what thought you of Jimmy's appearance on the box?' Moir was intrigued as to whether Dudley saw it as a good idea, or not.

'Madness' Dudley exclaimed. 'Sheer, divine, madness'. Hyperbole perhaps, but positive, I suppose, thought Moir.

'Best to beard the lion in his den, let the public decide what they believe. Who is going to choose the media and politicians over Jimmy? My only fear is that they will make you an offer that you can't refuse. Go on Jimmy, name your price'. Dudley was teasing, but rather extravagantly.

'Do not worry, Mr. Moir' Jimmy piped up. 'Mr. Dudley is a somewhat flamboyant character at times. He is just like a father, grand-father or uncle to us all, and he does like a good jest. My price, Mr. Dudley, is nothing. I would sell out for nothing, if I thought it would help make us succeed. But I will not need to, because it is inevitable that we will win. You are correct, of course, as ever. It was a provocation, and it has borne fruit already. There will be trouble here at the school, I am afraid. But all grist to the mill'.

'Well, Mr. Moir...yes, I'm sorry...Dave...what of you? Where to for you?' Dudley gazed quizzically and intently. His aquiline nose was almost twitching with excitement. His grey-green eyes were burning and his whispy white hair was standing almost on end, as if excited by static electricity but not strongly enough for prolonged display. You could almost feel his tension, and the little lines around his mouth almost hummed like electricity power-lines. Moir needed a drink.

'Do you keep intoxicants handy, Owen? I am in need of a calmative, of some sort'. Moir was a little surprised at his audacity in not waiting to be offered a drink. And perhaps Dudley was teetotal.

'Would a nice malt steady your nerves, Dave? Or a brandy, perhaps. We senior teachers...close your ears Jimmy...are pretty notorious toss-pots, I fear. Here you go....a nice cognac I fancy. The drink of heroes'. Dudley had simply leaned back and to one side, and slid out a bottle of cognac from a dresser drawer.

'There's booze scattered all over the place, but we hide it from the boys for hypocrisy and appearances' sake, don't you know.' Dudley sneezed violently, releasing that nasal tension that Moir had detected. He rubbed his nose violently and sneezed again, less forcefully.

'Well, bless me and the Devil miss me!' he blurted out. He poured them both rather generous drinks, handed one to Moir, and gently swilled his around the glass watching the thick, unctuous liquid drip down the side, in keen anticipation.

'Thanks, Owen. Lovely stuff. Me, I'm going back to the rag I wasted several ages of my life at, and I'm going to pretend....for as long as I can keep up the pretense...which reminds me...you couldn't have been bugged yet, could you....you can never be too paranoid in this racket, let me tell you.....where was I...yes...Moira Hari, that'll be me...I'll need a black pill, in case they try to interrogate me....don't pay any attention, Jimmy...oh, you won't...that's a reliably bright lad...I'm just over-excited..'. And Dave Moir certainly was.

'They can't kill you for it, can they, Dave? I mean, they, your media empire, it's utterly perfidious and distasteful, but they won't make you disappear, will they?' Dudley chuckled at his outrageous suggestion.

'Not totally impossible...but, hopefully, unlikely. Who knows...they may never tumble me. They are not the intellectual cream, let me assure you. But rat cunning...there's the strength-the hideous strength.' Moir was quite emphatic on that point.

Jimmy spoke up. 'Do not do anything reckless, Mr. Moir. Things will sort themselves out. But I suppose the money will come in handy, too. I had just better go and do some work on my computer. The others will need to know how things are going here. I will have to say something to the clubs, too.' Jimmy K. left for the dormitory wing with a cheery smile, and Dudley and Moir chatted on.

“I suppose that you've never had a pupil like Jimmy, Owen. He's not the usual type of twelve year old, now is he?' Moir sniffed at his banal observation.

' Something's afoot, Dave' Dudley replied. 'I was never a great believer in the transcendent, the unknowable, the world of revealed wisdom...a bit embarrassing at a Church school, but...believe me....there aren't many true, convinced, believers here. But Jimmy....he's a gift of a God that I can now happily believe in. His mother, his cosmic mother...seems as real to me now....if only I could have one of those dreams. Jimmy has recommended lucid dreaming as a technique to unlock that stuff...but...it's difficult. I'll persist, however. Too much to gain, and nothing to lose'. Said with a wry smile.

They exchanged ideas for a good while, concerning what Jimmy would do next, and did he still need any adult guidance while acknowledging the impossibility of getting Jimmy to do anything against his better judgment, which they both agreed seemed rather better than theirs. Then Jimmy returned, unexpectedly, entering by the kitchen door, and flushed with excitement.

'Most of my comrades were all listening on their computers to Mr. Barnstaple. The others can do so later. They were very pleased at how it went. His language was so lurid, was it not. A few constructs baffled the new English speakers, but they consulted a psychological dictionary....alright...a poor joke...I must not belittle poor Mr. Barnstaple...perhaps your journalistic irreverence is rubbing off on me, Mr. Moir...forgive me. When Mr Barnstaple turns Green, it will make quite an impact. Like the Pope joining a rock band...there is that silly irreverence again. It will be a rather stressful experience for the poor fellow, I am sure...but he will be all the better for it. Most of my friends have similar forces mobilising in their countries, to attack us. Battle is being joined!' The dear boy seemed beside himself with excitement. Moir felt worried for him, his customary cool having seemingly evaporated, to be replaced by an almost- Good God!-juvenile silliness.

'Did they see you on TV?', Dudley asked. He too was a little concerned for Jimmy and his boyish ebullience, if only because it was such a sudden turn from high seriousness.

'Oh, yes. I alerted them to it. They all thought it went nicely, but it is all out of our hands, now. Alex recommended we video a reality show, you know 'Big Sister Gaia' where we lock ourselves up with one hundred assorted politicians, and kick them out, one by one, as they....he was only joking. We did have quite a few laughs, I must say. Some perturbation of the field, emphasising silliness, I suppose. We are really just puppets in a grand performance, and even marionettes like a good belly laugh, from time to time.'Jimmy began, visibly to calm himself down a few notches. It had been a new experience for Moir and Dudley to see Jimmy in the throes of buffoonery.

'We know what to do' Jimmy continued, self-control restored. 'but even if we get it wrong, powers greater than we can imagine will set things right. If we fail, new children will take up the flame. I know that people value personal autonomy very highly, but being a creature through whom great good is being achieved seems like a real privilege to me. The world seems always to admire those who 'die for a noble cause'. How much better to live for a noble cause? Do you see my point?' Jimmy waited for Moir to answer.

Dudley interrupted. 'So you're a slave to a higher purpose, are you Jimmy. It certainly beats nihilism, doesn't it. And narcissistic self-obsession. But don't you ever feel like breaking free and just being yourself', Dudley rubbed his nose briskly in anticipation of Jimmy's answer.

'Not at all, my dear teacher', Jimmy answered.'We are all vessels through which other forces operate in the world. I carry my ancestor's DNA all the way back to that first protoplasm. I am an indigenous Australian, with all that entails. I have been educated by others to read, write and think, then was re-made by another power, greater than any other on Earth. What have I done or do I do 'by myself'? Not much. Eat, drink, go to the toilet. Even my dreams I share with others. No, I am not just James Cecil Kartinyangarra, whoever he is. I am part of others and they are part of me. You, my Gran, my friends, my school-mates and, the truth be understood, everyone else on Earth, and every creature, living and dead who ever lived or will ever live. I am nothing and everything, and, forgive me gentlemen, but I must sleep, perforce to dream. Goodnight'. With which, having delivered a stirring peroration, he hugged Dudley, then Moir, and was off, skipping out of the room, then across the quadrangle to the Boarders Hall, again. Dudley watching him safely go, to be admitted by the Night Porter. As he reached the entrance, he turned and waved, then was gone.

Dudley and Moir were, once again, bemused and enthused in near equal measure. Moir made his goodbyes, and promised to e-mail or ring Dudley with news of the media machinations to come. They both agreed that Jimmy would probably know or intuit what was coming himself, and Dudley didn't want to unnecessarily hassle him. School was back tomorrow and, although Jimmy far excelled all his peers (and his teachers, too) he still needed to turn up and encourage the others, which he thoroughly enjoyed and accomplished effortlessly. Moir called a cab, and, as they drove out, the two goons were still there out the back. Moir suddenly felt a little concerned for Jimmy's safety. He stopped at Doreen's to collect his children, wish Doreen the best, shake hands with Sammy (who his kids had swiftly come to like nearly as much as his 'Big Brother', as Sammy jocularly called Jimmy), and promise to return as soon as possible, while offering his place in Sydney as a refuge if required, then he and the kids returned to the airport motel and relative peace and quiet.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Masters Re-Made.

The next day Moir rose early, attended to his children, who were a little sad to be going home a day or so earlier than expected, thereby not seeing Jimmy as much as they had  wished, cooked breakfast and rang and said good-bye, again, to Doreen, who was off for an early shift at the creche. After which he and his children proceeded to the air-port. There they caught their plane and flew back to Sydney. Just as they were landing, the air-port was struck by a ferocious storm, with gales, torrential rain, prodigious lightning and thunder and hail-stones the size of which caused consternation and fright. The new terminal leaked copiously, the roof later to provoke a major-minor corruption scandal, the latest in New South Wales' unbroken history of dodgy dealings, then the mobile coverage got spotty, as the nearest relay mast was hit by a gigantic bolt of wickedly forked lightning. Moir gazed in wonder and not a little unease at the chaos. The storm blew out in twenty minutes and the little family waited patiently in the flooded bus shelter for the transit bus. The queue displayed remarkably little fortitude and patient acceptance of Nature's extravaganzas. In fact, the other 'clients' were uniformly wet, pissed off, annoyed and disgruntled. Moir made a mental note to popularise 'gruntled' as a term for happy stoicism. The journey to town revealed a lot of damage. A very great deal of it, in fact. Trees were shredded of vegetation, and branches snapped. Cars had been smashed by hailstones. Roofs were already being wrapped in tarpaulins. Flash flooding blocked several roads, or made aquaplaning and pedestrian-drenching tsunami propagation very likely. Traffic lights were out, everywhere, or flashing pointlessly. Alarms sounded eerily and persistently. The weather had, to put it mildly, cried havoc and unleashed the hounds of flood and deluge. Moir contemplated Jimmy's gloomy environmental prognoses, without a trace of the hoped for 'gruntle'.

A good deal later, back home, in their once leafy suburb, the destruction was even worse. That old staple, the 'storm like a tornado', had snapped off numerous trees twenty or thirty feet up, and shredded their vegetation like green confetti. Dead birds lay everywhere, a weird happenstance that chilled Moir's blood as if it was an augury. Mrs Moir was at work, and he couldn't get through to her, so Dave Moir rang Morrie, a poor substitute, instead.

The bibulous old duffer answered after a while. He greeted Moir cheerily, then recommended that he come in, if possible, immediately, just to see Bristow and Butchers' faces.

'It was so funny...but bloody scary. Bristow was raving about 'water-melons' and 'Green scares'...blah, bloody, blah...in the editorial meeting...you know the Party Line....when everything outside went pitch black like night...and suddenly this bloody great bolt of lightning hit the old Tech Building across the road. The thunder was instantaneous...like a bomb going off....and, Gawd I nearly wet myself...out of fear, as well as my  incontinence....I blame the A-bomb tests!.....ahem...but Bristow, he had some sort of seizure. He threw himself down and started writhing and shouting...gibberish, like one of those loony Yanks who talk in tongues and dare snakes to bite them, then the snake, sensibly, bites them. Everyone was gob-smacked, then...Christ it was the scariest thirty seconds of my life...then the lights went out, plunging us into infernal darkness...very appropriate, really and the window was smashed in by a hailstone the size of....ha, ha...you can quote me on this....'A hailstone the size of a water-melon'. Morrie laughed so hard that it ended in a coughing fit. He sounded in danger of aspirating on his schadenfreude.

'Calm down, Morrie', Moir implored.'How is Bristow?' He felt concerned for him, a generous sentiment that somewhat befuddled him, as, after all, he cordially loathed the beggar.

'Oh, Bristow. Butcher dragged him out by his, feet, still yelling and screeching, and they sat him in a chair, poured some Scotch down his throat and he, slowly, calmed down...then, suddenly, he seemed to realise just how badly he'd lost it, so he ran off to his office and locked himself in. Butcher is apopleptic, a delightful if scary sight. He's been on the phone to Masters....woke him up....that's dangerous....it's a crisis...just when they are getting stuck into your little blackfella guru mate. Did you see our 'paper of record' today?' Morrie paused for breath.

'No, no' replied Moir. 'The airport was in chaos. We just wanted to get home. The garden's wrecked, but the house is intact...and dry. What did I miss?' Moir could pretty much guess the answer.

'Well, they regurgitated Barnstaple's gibberish from last night. Blimey, I just wondered...forgive me if it's weird or insulting...you know me...not an offensive bone in my body...but, your little mate, Jimmy....he didn't 'point the bone' at Bristow..do you reckon'. There was a pregnant pause, then Morrie guffawed long and loud.

'Sorry, Dave. I couldn't help myself. Wishful thinking. I could tell from his appearance on TV that he's a sweet kid. Where was I? Yes, the rag...well it went overboard alright, just as Masters ordered. Butcher wrote the editorial. Quite a smear job. Your little fella is a cross between Che Guevara and Ted Bundy, if you believe Butcher. Look it up on the difference machine'. Morrie loved his anachronistic, technophobic, and accidentally neologistic jokes.

Moir promised to try and get in, if he could off-load the kids with a neighbour. He hung up and walked the street until Meg Myer, two doors down, mother of three of the kids' school-mates, accepted the charge, until six, only, as they were going out to see her mother.

'The kids are all crazy about that Green club, Dave. Check out the back-yard' Meg announced, and, sure enough, the back-yard was planted out with vegies, vines and fruit-trees. They were a good deal the worse for the storm, but Chris, the oldest kid, about thirteen, give or take, confidently assured Moir that they would 'grow back'. He continued, 'Did you see Jimmy K on TV, last night, Mr. Moir? He's the inspiration for all this stuff...you know, growing things, looking after one another...giving up toys....we only want one toy each, remember Mum', he cried out to Meg.

'Oh, you'll change your minds', she replied.'Once the Christmas advertising starts, it'll be the 'pester factor', ain't that so, Dave'. She looked imploringly to Dave for support, obviously enjoying Christmas shopping and indulging her children, so Dave was about to answer affirmatively, when Brodie, the middle child, piped up, 'No, Mum. It's important. One present each...and the rest into the bank....for our education, later. Everyone's going to do it.' She was a precocious little creature Moir thought, unlike his memory of her from only a few months before. Jimmy's little, but burgeoning, band of followers were growing in confidence quickly.

Moir went home, grabbed the kids and delivered them to Meg's place, whereupon they all retreated to Chris's room to check out Jimmy K's web-site and follow the various ideas clubsters were coming up with. When Natalia told the Myer kids that they had just met Jimmy K himself, in Adelaide, they became instant and great celebrities. Moir waved a cheery good-bye and texted his wife to say where the kids were, then set off for work.

It was slow going, what with crews lopping fallen trees, traffic-lights blinking orange and the occasional crash and ambulance congestion. He finally drove into the paper's car-park, where the lower level was being pumped dry of flood-water, and, having parked higher up, caught the lift down to the third floor office. The scene was pretty chaotic. There had been some leakage, diverse electrical problems, a power surge of some sort when the lightning struck, and there were lots of other reports of sundry damage to be attended to.

Morrie was at his desk, yapping on the 'phone like a lunatic. Across the office Bristow's office door was closed, and outside a knot of anxious and annoyed apparatchiki were furiously discussing something plainly grave. One was unknown to Moir and from reports and photos must be 'Basil' Butcher, the head-kicker-in-chief. Moir decided that confrontation was the better part of valour, having reconciled himself to soon be looking for a new job, so walked up boldly and announced himself.

'As I live and breathe. Surely this must be the legendary 'Basil' Butcher....You thought I was going to say 'Fawlty', didn't you? Dave Moir, Mr. Butcher', and he held out his hand to shake.

Butcher gave him a withering glance, and looked every inch like some sort of reincarnation of Stalin, an impression that the stunned looks on the faces of his entourage only reinforced. As Dave felt his stomach contents turn to molten lead, and tossed up whether to run for his life, Butcher's features softened in a trice and he bellowed...with laughter.

'Christ...I love the Basil Fawlty thing. No-one's had the guts to use it for years. So, Moir...I've been told that you were actually in Adelaide meeting young Mr. Kafkangarra or whatever, just yesterday. I feel a scoop coming on. Follow me....I want to hear all you know'. Then turning to the acolytes he hissed, 'Not you lot. Try and get Bristow out, or kick the door in. I don't want him topping himself in there. Then get him seen to by some quack...preferably a shrink...or, come to think of it...a priest...that'll be cheaper too'.

Butcher wheeled around, a smug look of self-satisfaction on his face, put there by his favourite activity-intimidating others. Moir saw it all in a flash, even seeing through the years and under the puffy jowls, the droopy moustache, sagginging eye-lids and greying thatch, to the child buried beneath the weight of the years. The school-yard bully, to the manner born, and he again felt his resolve quickly evaporating.

Still as they sat down in Butcher's office and 'Basil' offered him a Scotch, Moir's relaxation mysteriously returned. Butcher spoke first.

'This kid's a monster, you know that, don't you?'he began.'The French call these people 'sacred monsters', you know. They can't do any wrong...even when they are wrecking the economy. Have you seen the latest consumption figures. Shopping down 5% in one month, mostly childrens' toys and stuff. The 'One Present-No Present' madness. It'll cause a bloody recession. Who does he think he is? Who's behind him? The kid is going down, let me tell you'. Butcher sounded tired, as if his heart wasn't in it, really, but that was mostly jet-lag.

Moir felt the spirit of the kamikaze grip him. To die while 'speaking Truth to Power' seemed intoxicatingly inviting.

'He's sort of clairvoyant, you know.' Moir began,'He knows of you', Moir wasn't sure that this was true, as his memory was faulty, but he figured that stirring the possum might be entertaining and revealing. He went on, 'He reckons that you'll come around, when the noosphere takes over your mind, and you see the light'. Moir figured that would be enough to confound and amaze Butcher.

Butcher gazed him the Stalin look again, only slightly less malevolent. 'No-one takes over my mind, but certain ladies (here he leered in the most unpleasant fashion)...including my mother (the leer had disappeared) and Lord God Almighty, alias 'He Who Must be Obeyed' in London'. Butcher appeared to be enjoying himself. This was, after all, a Big Story. 'What in the name of all that is fungible is the 'noosphere'? Somewhere where know-it-alls congregate?' He smiled at his joke.

So too did Moir, as it wasn't a bad jest after all, and spontaneous, and then he explained the idea. Butcher sniggered, but said, 'I've heard weirder stuff. Pity it's bulldust, though...don't you think. But the kid...is there somewhere to get dirt on him? Who's controlling him? Can he be bought off?' Butcher looked a little desperate.

So Moir told him the entire story, from go to whoa, and Butcher listened intently, only asking an occasional question. After ten minutes, when Moir had finished, Butcher leaned back, ordered Moir to get two more Scotches, and held the back of his head in his knotted, interlaced, fingers,

'It's a crazy story, Dave. It's a very crazy story. The blackfellas are different, aren't they. But there's too much spooky stuff here. Who's gonna believe it...and, if they did...they'd make the kid PM, and Masters and his mob would hate that. They don't own him'. Butcher sat upright again, looking more than a little perplexed.

'And, you know, he is marked for destruction....and all his mates overseas and all the silly kids who've been sucked in. Masters told me that in the US they've been discussed at National Security meetings...they think that the Russians or Chinese are controlling them...only, of course I suppose you know this....there's hundreds of these 'clubs' over there, too. It's like...did you ever see this one...the film with George Sanders, my Doppelganger, only I'm more suave.... don't laugh....The Village of the Damned? Is he an alien, do you reckon?' Butcher sniggered, then looked sternly for a straight answer.

'Maybe so' Moir replied.'He talks to whales in his sleep, after all, and they tell him stuff. Sounds whacky, but when you're with him, you bloody well believe it, let me tell you'. Moir could see Butcher visibly growing more intrigued and just possibly a little less determined on crushing Jimmy. Well, not right away. Milk him for some new readers, for a while.

'Perhaps', Moir went on, 'Perhaps he's one of those spiritual teachers that the world gets when it needs them. Like the Buddha or Jesus...I mean the kids look up to him with a very strong admiration. They'll not go quietly, and it looks like they are convincing a lot of parents, too.' Moir hadn't quite grasped the political implications, the power equations that were being called into question. That, unavoidably, made him feel that much more uneasy. Power never goes quietly, or shares itself about.

'Too bloody right' Butcher exclaimed. 'The Yanks have done polling, they are always doing polling, and there's been a 10% move away from the proper parties over there to the Greens and other loonies already, in a few months. And the young, the 18 year olds, they're defecting en masse...which doesn't matter there, because they don't vote in any case. They're all moving back to school to plant flaming vegetables with the little kids, and planting trees everywhere...not buying stuff...just like here...it has the retail industry crying for blood. They've kept it out of the mainstream media over there, hoping it will die out, but they're getting worried. Like I said, the hardcore reckon its the Russkies, and I wouldn't be surprised if your Jimmy K gets renditioned. I hope he likes the tropics!' Butcher paused, grinned, then bellowed with mirth. 'Only kidding-I think'.

Moir's heart had sunk, but strangely, despite his despond, he also felt enthused. The kids were creating a tumult, around the world, in the seats of power. Something that the polite, mainstream, environmental groups had never achieved.

'Basil....you like it, you say....OK...Bazz, the ecological situation...I mean, are you a denialist like everybody else at this place who dares open their mouth?' Moir was one of a secret cabal of 'realists' who kept their heads down.

Butcher surprised him. 'No, Dave, I'm not any more. Christ knows, but it'll get me terminated with extreme prejudice when I tell Masters...did I tell you that he's on his way, to oversee the hit on your little mate...oh, yes, he certainly is. There's a funny story there...but, until about a week ago my mind was made up. The usual thing. It's all Greenie bulldust, 'warmistas' that sort of crap. Masters runs his empire like a cult...you know how it goes...been keeping your head down, eh? There's heaps like you in the UK, but the media is dying, and mortgages over there are astro-bloody-nomical, so there aren't many heroes. But, here's that story...last week Masters sent me to see trophy wife number three...not the latest but two back...you know, Theresa the Filipino princess...a lovely girl....he dumped her ten years ago, I think...Well, Masters had gotten word that his two boys, Felipe and Oswald...yeah, I know...poor kid....well they were running the bloody Green club at their exclusive school in Surrey'. Here Butcher paused for breath, and to pour himself a fresh libation. Moir joined him, happily. Butcher was not at all the monster that he had feared.

'Well', Butcher re-commenced, 'you see Masters wanted the boys controlled. They're his only two sons, what with three girls, which is why the latest trophy wife...he's after more boys...I kid you not, and he hardly ever sees Theresa's lads. He doesn't...you know...want any Greenies taking over his Empire when he dies and kicks God off his throne. So, I'm supposed to read the riot act to Theresa and the boys, and get 'em back in line'. Butcher swallowed a lively shot and smiled, no longer Stalin but perhaps Che if he'd lived long...and hard.

'I'm there five minutes, and the boys flounce in...with a laptop. Ossie sits down and runs me through the Gaia Club stuff. That's where I got a potted history, and Jimmy might be the founder emeritus or whatever....but every club is autonomous, self-governing...they all do their own thing, but the common stuff was very interesting. The sharing of toys, the helping other kids in class, the anti-bullying stuff, the plants, the visiting old people, giving food to food-banks....it goes on and on. Theresa was beaming, and...God help me...in half an hour, I was hooked, too. It's bloody infectious-in your mind. And I pride myself on my bloody bloody-mindedness, too. So I apologised to Theresa, told her that I'd lie to her ex, and she understood why...and I gave the boys a bloody good hug....and flew back to London. Masters was sniffing around me like a Zulu witch-doctor, but I kept calm and lied like a trooper. The boys had promised to cool it for a while, to protect me....which was nice...and I think I got away with it. But who cares. I'm thinking of fronting Masters when he arrives...then I've got a little place in Ireland to retire to. I'm getting too old for this stuff, I'm happy to say'. Butcher ended with a look of real relief enlivening his features, like a prisoner set free from the Bastille or some other Hell-hole.

Moir couldn't help but think of Jimmy's noosphere. It looked like Butcher had hooked into it, too, or been hooked, like some great shark, hungry for...what? Enlightenment? Salvation? Meaning? Love? Surely it must be growing stronger if it can drag in such beasts as this. Dave felt a surge of happiness, but suppressed the urge to hug Butcher like a long-lost brother and exclaimed, 'So, what next? Are you coming over to the Kids' Crusade, like me?' Moir felt really elated, in a way that he hadn't felt for years.

Butcher smiled, sadly it seemed, and nodded, and a loud rapping came at the door. Butcher bellowed, 'Who the bloody Hell is it?', back to intimidatory mode in a trice, and he smiled at his regression.

'It's Morrie, Boss. Come quick. It's Bristow. We've winkled him out and called for the ambulance....he really needs a rubber truck, 'though, poor beggar'. Morrie's voice did not evince great sympathy, but it was urgent.

Moir and Butcher left his corner office and crossed to the other side of the now, suddenly unfashionable, 'open-plan' floor, to outside the other old-fashioned 'office', where Bristow had hidden. Bristow was sitting on a chair, bolt upright, white as a sheet and gibbering quietly to himself. For a quite young chap, he looked bloody awful. Morrie and a couple of others were keeping an eye on him.

Butcher bellowed, 'What's gone wrong with you, Bristow? Frightened of storms, are you?', but then, having made the customary dominance display, he sat besides him and spoke more softly. 'Snap out of it, mate. We've sent for an ambulance. We'll get you checked out. It has been stressful lately, hasn't it. You need a good, long, holiday son, and we'll arrange it for you'. As the words flowed, Bristow turned his head to face Butcher, and, thinly smiling, murmured, 'Thanks. I've got to get away, for a while.' He stopped there, as if exhausted. Then, looking up at the ceiling, the colour began returning to his face and he leaned towards Butcher, as if sharing a confidence. But, suddenly, he stood up, and shivered, as if struck by a cold blast, and, swaying a little as if slightly tipsy, he spoke

' 'You've got no idea what it was like. Everything going dark then,...out of the gloom....there was this great...thing...didn't you see it....Christ I must be going potty....a bloody great mouth opened up...I think it was a whale....like it was flying across the street....and just as I was being swallowed...that explosion...I thought I was dead....like Jonah, swallowed up....and I can't remember anything else. Didn't you blokes see it too?'. Bristow gazed about at the various faces, with a 'no longer wild surmise', as if defeated and in need of being quickly removed from the field, and softly burbled a little, to himself, rather hopelessly, knowing the answer to that question.

'No, mate. Must've been an acid flash-back. I did hear that you were a bit of a raver, years ago'. This was Butcher's version of 'care and concern'. Bristow laughed, hollow and brittle, with an edge of hysteria. Then he sat and smiled. He asked, shyly, for a drink, and Butcher sent Morrie back to his office to fetch a Scotch-just one, he reminded Morrie.

By the time Morrie returned, suspiciously tardy, the para-medics had arrived, and after checking Bristow for shock and finding blood pressure and blood sugar low ('The Scotch'll fix that', said Morrie the amateur first-aider)they bundled him onto their trolley, and off he went. Butcher nominated a posh, local, private hospital, and Bristow smiled wanly. Off he went, and Butcher returned to business, after waving the others away.

'So, you see, Dave' Butcher continued,'....I'm off to the airport at eleven thirty. Masters is arriving in his private jet, no less....quite the billionaires' folly these days...all on his gigantic credit card, too....and then it'll be on for young and old. These kids have made a real nuisance of themselves and it's all hands on deck. He'll be seeing Mortlock, the Attorney-General, tomorrow, here in Sydney...for a Council of War, then the local Dear Leader himself when he gets back from New Zealand tomorrow night. So, we'd better start making plans, to throw a spanner in the works. And get our escape plans fixed for when Masters finds out. I'll have to shave my mo, shave my head...wear a saffron robe...no...make that a burqa...and just disappear, quick-smart....because this is a biggie....the secret squirrels are in on it, too, you know....your little mate has enemies in all the 'High Places'...poor little blighter....but he's the future, they're all the future...Christ, we can't go on stuffing everything up...not for the likes of Masters! Stuff him! Let's go eat. How's about the old Malaya? I could murder a curry!' Butcher in full spate was an exhilarating, if frightening sight. Moir agreed, and got Morrie invited too. Butcher went back to his office to ring the hospital to fix things for Bristow ('Lots of ECT, ultra-high voltage, and a private, single, padded cell', he joked maliciously), and Moir rang his wife. Sue was just picking the kids up, and all was well. Moir promised not to get too schickered, but let his missus know that big things were afoot, so he couldn't beg off. Sue forgave him like a good, long-suffering, journo's wife, and wished him luck, which she didn't normally do. Before she rang off, Nat wanted to speak to her Dad.

'Dad, Dad...we just looked up Jimmy's site, and he says something very important is about to happen, in Sydney....and it'll be more evidence that we are going to win...you know, change everything, everywhere...us and all the other children. And all the other leaders, you know Jimmy's twelve 'brothers and sisters', in all the other parts of the world are saying the same thing. They've been dreaming together, again, like they can...well you know...Jimmy told you all about it, didn't he. We're very excited. Just thought you should know. Love you, Dad. Tris too. See ya later, alligator', and she was gone, giggling on her way. Sue took over the phone.

'They're very excited, Dave. Your little guru has them in a tizzy. They're going to take over the world....tomorrow, at ten o'clock'. She laughed warmly at the thought. Anybody but the current crop of eejits.

'Don't be surprised if they do, sweet-heart. See you soon', and Moir departed with a sloppy telephonic kiss.

Butcher who had glided up as best 120 kilos of bombast could, snickered. 'Don't slobber over your 'phone, Dave...it's unseemly. Your wife...I hope', he arched his left eye-brow and leered grotesquely, a look with which Moir was already becoming familiar.

'No. It was my bookie. Let's go!' Moir felt like a kid at camp, setting out on a great adventure. Beef curry, methinks, he thought to himself, and called Morrie to hurry up. The Three 'Worse for Wear' Men as Morrie dubbed them, scuttled off.

The Malaya was just a short walk away, through the underground pedestrian walkway under Railway Square, but it was flooded, so they dodged the traffic above, instead. Butcher bellowed at a few cars, as if exercising his lungs as much as his right to jay-walk as he damned well pleased, and they finally reached the venerable restaurant, and got a table near the front window.

The food was as tasty as ever, the waiters suitably 'nonchalant', although not as intriguingly rude as in the distant past. Moir could remember skiving off school to visit the Malaya years before and being told by the old head waiter what to eat. When he was a few cents short, the old fella would shout him the difference, fiendishly planting the seeds of life-long addiction to their incomparable beef curry.

Once Butcher was satisfied that Morrie was 'on board', and not some species of 'hairy mole rat', reporting secretly to Masters or the CIA, they began hatching a plot. Moir repeated his understanding of Jimmy's noosphere theory and the assured way he had predicted a great change coming. Morrie snorted approval. 'You can't tell me that people are the smartest organisms on this planet, mate. Look at the flamin' parliament...any of 'em, or, those bozos...no insult intended Bazz...but our 'management'...what a bunch of poltroons.... couldn't lead ants to sugar...couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery...', and he trailed off into a snuffling, snorting, ingestion of chicken curry.

They ate, plotted and drank, long and hard, then retired to the next door hostelry, to imbibe some more. Before they knew it it was ten of the clock, and Butcher had to head off to the airport to await the arrival of 'The Boss'.

'I'll catch a few winks after, Dave....then I'll get in touch and we'll see how the land lies. You'd best get some kip. It'll be a long day's journey into fright tomorrow'. He snorted appreciation of his own witticism.

'And you, Morrie. Bed down at the office, will you? I might need to ring you sometime tonight. Go on..don't look so put upon. I know you only sleep once a month, for a week. It's the secret to your metabolic survival, so I've heard.. That's a good chap'. Morrie agreed, reluctantly, but thought of Butcher's apparent transformation, which seemed too strange to be true, so he decided to be close to the action if some double-cross was in the works, to reduce the risk of becoming 'collateral damage' if Masters terminated Moir and Butcher with 'extreme prejudice', as they say.. Butcher and Morrie caught one cab, Moir another, and off they sped, into a good night, if only they had known it.

When he got home, rather late, Moir was greeted by the stern visage of his good lady wife, apparently not too happy at his tardiness, and state of intoxication. But what was really to the point, she had a message from Owen Dudley in Adelaide, telling Dave to ring as soon as possible. Moir checked his mobile, and sure enough, Dudley had rung him thrice, while he was snoozing in the cab, the phone switched off.

Moir quickly contacted Dudley, who was sitting up, waiting for his call.

'What's up, Owen?' Moir asked, not a little concerned. So late at night was not a propitious time to be so roused.

'It's Jimmy, Dave' Dudley began. 'He's gone off with his Gran, back to her home down on the coast. In the middle of the night, but he said that he had to be there by dawn. He was very excited about something, but he wouldn't tell me what, exactly. He seemed almost mesmerised....and you know, that's not our Jimmy is it. I don't have a 'phone number for Mrs Kartinyangarra's mobile if she has one. Do you know whether she has a phone?'. Dudley sounded quite agitated.

Moir did have the number, but he feigned having lost it. He preferred that he contact Jimmy or Doreen, rather than Dudley, who was plainly in a state. He told the deputy head that he would get back to him once he'd found it, and quickly rang Doreen. The 'phone rang for a good while, then Jimmy answered.

'What's up Jimmy? Owen Dudley is having a hissy fit. Are you with your Gran?' Moir was keeping cool, but he felt curiously elated, as usual these days, for no concrete reason that he could comprehend.

'Yes, she is driving. Gran does not do much driving these days, so we are going very slowly. We 'borrowed' Mel's car, you see, but we will be back at Gran's old place soon. We must be there at dawn, in a few hours, you see.' And he giggled a little, for no apparent reason..

'Why are you going back home, Jimmy? Why at dawn, for crying out loud'. Moir was a little bit 'enebrioexasperated', as Morrie used to say of himself, quite often.

'The nooetic field is strongest at dawn and dusk, Mr. Moir, and we are all, all we comrades, gathering to receive a message from the field, relayed by our cetacean friends, they of the giant antennae, if you recall our previous conversation. I am the one who will receive the message most directly, so it must be our dawn, down here'. Jimmy was pretty matter-of-fact about quite unbelievable things, as ever.

'What? Dolphins?', Moir blurted.

'No, no....much bigger than that. But I am afraid that I must go. We are home, and our guests will be here in a couple of hours. I have to have a little nap. Gran too. You will see it all on the blog in a few hours. And everywhere else, as well. In fact, you will see it yourself. Cheerio'. And he hung up, leaving no room for debate.

Moir was perplexed, his habitual mode these, strange, days, so he went to bed. It was 2.30, 2.00 AM in Adelaide. Dawn was in four hours or so. What would he 'see, himself'. Best to sleep through world-changing events, he reasoned.

Meanwhile, Butcher had arrived at the airport. He was directed to a VIP section connected to a portion of the tarmac reserved for private jets. Masters' usual security detail was present, and after Butcher proved his bona fides, he was hustled across the tarmac to Master's jet, a converted 737. Apparently he had ambitions for his own airbus, but needed a few billion more to justify it. He had just arrived and Customs were making a cursory inspection of his jet, for appearances sake.

Butcher was hustled up the steps, and admitted to the august presence. On the way down the back he noticed Theresa and her boys sleeping on bunks.

Masters greeted him with an affectionate 'Hello', which bemused Butcher. Perhaps because the wife and boys were aboard, Masters was somewhat mellowed.

'How come you brought the family, Boss?' Butcher began.

'Their idea, in fact the boys insisted. We're off to Adelaide. You'd better sit and fasten a seat-belt, old son. We can have a natter, then'. A 'natter'? Butcher was beginning to wonder if the Body-Snatchers had substituted his Boss for a new, alien, mellow version. And, sure enough, the doors were being closed, and soon the plane was taxiing across the tarmac.

'Why Adelaide, Boss?, Butcher began.

'Because I'm from there, and...well, it's rather odd...but I'm being drawn back there. I've been dreaming of the old place, down by the Coorong, where me and Mum lived after Dad passed away. He was a pastor at the blackfellas' Mission down there. Have I ever told you?' Masters smiled like a child, which shocked Butcher to the core.

'You've never told me a thing about your life, Boss. You're not that sort of person. Giving orders...now that's your strength....and we respect you for it...no bulldust, straight up and down...but no sentiment'. Butcher added the last on impulse.

'Yeah...the old me...the life-long me. I...I began being a bastard...yes, that's what I've been and it worked alright...it helped me make a fortune...but, you see, Bazz...I can call you that, can I...thanks...well my kids, the young ones, they're not like my other kids from my first marriage...who are grown-up and work for me, and are girls, a big difference, that...no the boys are different, and they've changed me...for the better..I haven't lost my temper for a week...they had me weeding the garden before we left. Coming to Adelaide is their idea. Their idol...young Jimmy, wants them to bring me, back to my old home...it's his home, too...a funny coincidence... don't you find coincidences spooky, but somehow reassuring, Bazz?' Masters leaned back and beamed, and snaffled a chocolate.

Butcher was intrigued. He had been frightened at first, so ill at ease from his Boss's weird and sudden transformation that he felt it in the pit of his stomach. But as Masters had spoken, Butcher, too, had calmed right down. He really believed his Boss was 'on the turn', a real change of heart for a man who had been as steadfast and, frankly, immune to mellowing as a boulder. Strange days indeed.

'Coincidences, Boss? Maybe...Moir, you know Dave Moir from...yeah that Dave Moir...he knows the kid, he's met him in Adelaide... and his Gran. He can tell you all about him. You've come over to work on some sort of plan...to short-circuit these kids, haven't you? That's what we heard, and expected'. Butcher expected a stern 'Yes' in reply. He didn't get it.

'No, Bazz. The kids and Theresa..they've turned my head around. Don't for Gawdssake ask me how. I still don't know, but they boys had me checking out that 'Children of Gaia' blog, and reading the letters...OK 'e-mails'...listening to the songs, reading Jimmy's 'Humanifesto' and stuff...and, well I was feeling like a kid again...only a happy one this time...you know I went to a private school? The same one as our little guru Jimmy, to be precise...but as a boarder, and...well things have improved over the years. But, to cut a long story short...my papers are going to get on board with the kids, and my money will be going to help them out'. Masters finished abruptly, as the plane accelerated and took off.

Masters got going again once the plane leveled out.

'So, I'm burning all my bridges with my class, my financiers, my Government contacts. They'll be after my guts...but, guess what...I don't give a stuff. I'm 62 years old, and I'd rather spend my last years with Theresa and the boys, growing vegies. I bought a spread down at the Coorong, just yesterday. Big place, running cattle, but we're gonna let it go bush again, and become a wildlife sanctuary. How do you like that? A, rather late, mid-life crisis, I'm staggered to admit. Every now and then I get frightened at what I'm doing, but the boys talk me through it'. Masters smiled again, like a very happy man.

Butcher couldn't yet credit the change, but, after all, he'd seen it in others, even himself, only not in such a very 'tough nut' as Masters. He felt like he was on some sort of strange journey, like a Marco Polo tramping into new worlds, full of wonderful and wondrous things.

'But, Boss, only yesterday, you were breathing fire and brimstone'. Butcher was seriously non-plussed.

'All subterfuge, Bazz. When you reported back about the boys...well, I knew you were lying....I can pick a liar, it's the body language, and you were happy...not like you at all Bazz, I'm afraid...so I went down to Theresa's place, near the school, to read the riot act, one week ago today. But...the boys tell me you were drawn in the same way...once I sat down with them, and they went through that blog, and young James' airy-fairy agit-prop...well, normally I'd have spat the dummy and told 'em off for being 'weak', my Dad's favourite term of abuse. But I found I couldn't, that I didn't even want to. As sudden as that. Within hours I'd turned into a 'honeydew-melon', as I prefer to be known, Green on the inside and a 'honey''dew' for a change...I know, it is tortured...on the outside'. The transformation had, possibly, gone just a wee bit too far, Butcher feared.

The two chatted for an hour or so, quaffing a cognac of the type that Butcher rarely encountered. Masters waxed eloquent about his plans, and Butcher let him know the details of Bristow's 'collapse' and the other travails at the office. Masters asked if many of the journos would find it hard adjusting to the new regime, to which Butcher replied, frankly but uncharitably, 'You never gave a stuff before when sacking someone, Boss', to which Masters answered, for all the world actually looking abashed, 'Yes, and I regret it now. There's a few that I'll have to try and coax back. Money will do it-the 'universal lubricant'', and he chuckled, just a little darkly. The old Boss was not quite dead and buried yet.

After that hour, Masters' PA, a fetching lass called, poor girl, Calliope, entered and asked if she should wake Theresa and the boys. Masters smiled and nodded and introduced Butcher. Butcher managed a 'Lovely name, Calliope', to which the self-possessed girl replied, firmly, 'A bloody joke, and my father's idea when drunk, which state was habitual, to be frank. Still, it draws attention.' Upon which assertion she was off to stir the sleepers.

In ten minutes Theresa entered and gave her ex-husband a kiss and a hug, and Butcher a peck on the cheek. She looked tired, but the boys, who entered a few minutes later, were full of beans.

'Has Dad told you what we're up to, Mr. Butcher'. It was Felipe, the older at 14, Oswald being 13. The two were very attached to their father, despite the divorce and the trophy wife step-mother, Veronica, who was of the jealous persuasion. Theresa gave her a wide berth, but the boys were working on winning her over. She had stayed behind in the UK, however, as Masters' sudden need to visit his childhood home left her cold.

'Yes, Felipe. He's gone potty, it seems, but his boys are looking after him'. Butcher was feeling very relaxed with the brandy on board.

'Quite right, Mr. Butcher. He's lost the plot, but, seeing as the plot was rotten, he's much, much, better off for it. We're going to a big pow-wow with Jimmy. He asked us to bring our Dad, as a special guest. Jimmy says that he belongs down there, beside the sea. He knows so much stuff, it's amazing'. Felipe sounded like an awe-struck student, bedazzled by a charismatic teacher, which, in truth, he was.

'Look at the lights. We're over Adelaide, now. See Dad, its still dead of night. We'll be there by dawn, for sure'. That was Oswald, the younger boy's voice still piping in a high register.

'Yes. I've got a chopper waiting' Masters observed.'Money comes in handy, doesn't it. It'll be great fun giving it all away though, won't it boys?', and they both nodded happy agreement.

'Just keep enough for the farm, Dad, and for trips', Felipe added. Then he dragged out his tablet, to read his e-mails.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Great World Dream.

Within a few minutes the plane had landed and the little party, with Calliope and the security boys in tow, hopped on board the helicopter, a commodious old Russian relic of an earlier age, and they were off to the south. The trip was quick and within a few minutes they were disembarking on an oval a few minutes from the sea. They all boarded a mini-van, and, directed by Felipe, who had the GPS co-ordinates courtesy of Jimmy on his 'phone, they soon were driving down a rough track, and then the sea hove into view, a darker grey against the night's moonless gloom. As they bundled out, the sound of the waves hitting the shore rang in their ears.

Just then Butcher's 'phone rang. He answered, and it was Moir. Moir was somewhat flustered, and hadn't been able to sleep at all, despite his intoxication, and he described Jimmy's midnight expedition, but Butcher just laughed it off, reassuring Moir that,

'We 're all down here, on the coast...to meet him...Masters, his boys, Theresa and me...and a nice girl called Calliope...and two body-guards by the look of 'em. Masters has gone over to the kids, by all indications...yes, I'm not kidding...no, no, don't come down...we'll be coming back...I've gotta go...it looks like your little friend just materialised. See you later'. With which he hung up, just as Moir was asking him something, and switched off his 'phone.

And indeed, a cheery 'Hello' had just echoed across the dunes. It was Jimmy, Butcher supposed, a lithe, cheerful boy, accompanied by an old indigenous woman, no doubt his Gran.

The Masters boys had run across the sand to greet Jimmy with hugs, but, in the pre-dawn light, Masters held back. As Butcher caught up with Jimmy and the brothers along with Calliope and Theresa, with the guards staying back on Masters' orders, the old lady let out a whoop of delighted laughter and cried, 'Little Bobby Masters. I never thought you'd be back. The old world's not so wide for the likes of tycoons, ain't it. All roads lead to home'. Her familiarity had Butcher perplexed. What the blazes was going on?

Masters stood transfixed for a few seconds, as the old lady chuckled, then, regaining his composure strolled over and the two embraced warmly. Masters beckoned the others over and said, 'I'm blowed, but...you know I said that I grew up hereabouts, well the local blackfella kids were my playmates...and Doreen, here, you were my big sister weren't you, Doreen. My big sister'. At which he was again lost for words.

'That I was Bobby, and you...you were my little white brother...the kids loved ya...and then you went off and we never saw you again...and then, one day, you're in all the papers as the great tycoon. And now you're back, because my grandson wanted you here...your kids are lovely boys...are you their Mum?' Doreen addressed Theresa.

'Yes dear. They are my pride and joy. The old goat's gone and married again, but we love our boys. That keeps us in touch. They hero-worship your grandson'. Theresa watched the three boys chatting amiably, like old mates, standing just behind Doreen.

'My grandson is beyond description, love. I have no idea where he'll end up, but he's a born leader. I was scared by it all for so long..I mean, how does a twelve year old mystify so many people. Gawd knows, but I do know that it's all for the good'. Doreen was quite exhausted from lack of sleep, but animated at seeing 'Bobby' Masters again after so very long.

The three boys walked over to Masters and Jimmy introduced himself. He confidently declared that they were in for a once in many life-times experience, and having shaken hands with Masters, Calliope, Theresa and Butcher, declared,

'We must go down to the little headland over yonder', he indicated a walk of about 200 metres to the left, 'before the sun is up...in about ten minutes. We had better get going. The dawn light is gathering', and he set out with Felipe and Oswald, leading the way.

'The two gentlemen should come, too, Mr. Masters', Jimmy called over his shoulder, so Masters called the guards over. After five minutes tramping through the sands and scrambling forty or so feet up onto the rocky outcrop, just out of reach of the spray, the little party gathered together, as the clouds overhead began turning blood red. 'Jimmy beckoned to the glowing clouds, and yelled, 'They are not turning red, they are truly 'Turnering' crimson', a spontaneous homage to one of his favourite artists. At which the wind picked up and whistled and moaned through the she-oaks, where a mob of black cockatoos screeched their hearts out.

Suddenly, Jimmy, who had been scanning the sea, turned and exclaimed, 'They have arrived!', and pointed out to the sea, due south, where nothing but rolling ocean lay between them and the frozen desert of Antarctica.

They, it was soon apparent, from the enormous plumes of exhaled air, were whales. Even at this distance, and they were a couple of kilometres off-shore, they appeared gigantic, and as they headed towards the shore, Jimmy exclaimed excitedly, 'Blue whales, everyone. The greatest animal with the biggest brain ever to have evolved, on this planet, here to teach us a grand lesson'. Jimmy's dark, dark brown eyes were blazing with enthusiasm.

'Now, everyone...we must hold hands and close our eyes...yes, all of us, gentlemen', and he indicated the guards, who joined either end of the line. Jimmy and the boys were in the middle, Masters between Theresa and Doreen, and Calliope and Butcher on the other side.

'Now, everyone...look east, to where the sun is rising, close your eyes and...forgive the cliché'...empty your minds', Jimmy giggled a little at the image.

So they all did as best they could to follow instructions, shuffling a little to gain a better foot-hold, feeling the breeze and the salty spray on their faces, and gazing towards the rising sun.

Soon, within a few tens of seconds, they all became aware of a humming, that turned to something like a rumbling whistle. It rose and fell rhythmically, like a song, and first Jimmy, then the boys, joined in. Jimmy led the ways, humming, then producing rather strange but melodic ululations, rising and falling in synchrony with the outer sounds. Within a minute or so the sounds grew more inwards, as if experienced not by the ears alone, but by the whole body resonating like a bell. Butcher felt, momentarily, rather uneasy, as if some alien force was taking over his body as an instrument to play upon, but then he was irresistibly drawn to hum, then drone, surprisingly melodically, along with the others, all of whom were joining the boys in emitting oddly beautiful sounds.

Then, just as the first rays of the rising sun hit Butcher's eye-lids, illuminating his closed eyes with a golden glow, he began to see images, scenes as if in a very real, lucid, dream, or, even as from a movie being projected onto his closed lids. He was, by now, very relaxed, hardly feeling Calliope's hand, let alone that of the guard on his outside, and made no attempt to interfere with the imagery appearing before his 'mind's eye'.

. The images he beheld were Arcadian, with forests, streams, clouds, birds flocking, a gentle breeze rippling a pond. Butcher felt at once both in and of the scene, which evoked a memory, but one from beyond his life, from some ancestral past, and he suddenly intuited that this was the Scotland of centuries past, from where his family had arisen. Butcher felt quite blissful in these surroundings, in fact in a way that he had only ever felt on very few occasions in his life, but not as egotistically as he had done then, but in a wholly self-forgetful way.

But then, in a flash, as Jimmy's singing turned darker, almost groaning and mournful, the scene changed. The forests vanished and the land was bare. A bitter wind blew dust and sand that stung Butcher's eyes. The clouds above were yellow and lightning flashed in a strangely green and sickly sky. No bird, no reptile, insect or other living thing showed itself, and the ground beneath his feets was barren and bare and crumbled at the touch into lifeless dust. He was filled with a sense of disgust and horror, because, just as surely as the first scene evoked an Edenic past, this was just as plainly the future. The future that Man was bringing about. Butcher experienced dread, horror and guilt in equal measure, and felt almost as if he would die of shame, when Theresa let out a blood-curdling shriek, and everyone opened their eyes in fear and consternation, breaking the spell.

Out in the bay, no plumes appeared. The great whales had vanished, like a hologram that had been turned off. How that could be, when visibility was unimpeded and the horizon many miles away, troubled Butcher. Was this all just a dream? Would he wake in a fevered sweat, on Masters' plane or at home in bed?

The others were standing about silently, while Theresa hugged her boys. Jimmy stood, quietly, to one side, still humming quietly. Doreen spoke first.

'Well, there you go. That's what you get for sing-songing with whales. You get the tripe scared out of you', and she laughed, which broke the ice. They were all soon furiously comparing experiences, and generally they were just as Butcher's had been. Idyllic scenes from some region where their people had lived in days long gone, transformed to a lifeless Hell under a green sky. They all pretty much got the message, but Jimmy spoke up to put it in words.

'We have been blessed today, by our great older brothers and sisters, the whales...do not worry, Mr. Butcher...they have simply sounded and will not surface for a very long time...far out to sea...they have given us a vision of the world as it was, for each person's ancestors, and as it can, and will be, again...and the alternative, the dead, desolate world that we will create if we do not change our ways. This vision is even now, and will be, today, as the sun rises, seen by everybody around the world, as they sleep. Just as the dawn rises, and the power of the nooetic field reaches a peak along each meridian, it will be dreamed by everybody on the planet, who is then asleep. Those not asleep will dream whenever next they slumber. That is the noosphere's boon to humanity, our mother Gaia's gift to mankind-a prophetic vision, not just for one or two, but for everyone. And now we must go to Gran's place, through the trees down the other end of the beach, and have breakfast. Man does not live by visions alone.'

Jimmy led the way, with his two fervent disciples Oswald and Felipe, followed by the others, straggling along. Butcher caught up with Masters, who seemed, not surprisingly, deep in thought.

'How you feeling, Boss? Shocks all round'. Butcher couldn't find anything sensible to say, really, still being in a state of elation, mixed with dread, leavened by confusion and disbelief. 'Was it a dream, Boss, is what I'm trying to say'. Butcher mumbled on.

'No, Bazz...no way....the boys have had dreams like this, and, me....me, too....last week-end....before I decided to come out here...not so vivid...no whales in Fulham...Christ, Bazz...this is the biggest thing....well, ever....don't you reckon....if everyone has the dream.....how many of the powerful will even admit their own experience.....that's what scares me...they're all mad...I guess you know that...us 'Masters of the Universe'...all bloody insane.'. He sounded strangely resigned, but exhilarated, too, around the edges. Butcher left him to his thoughts, and trudged on alone.

The three women were chatting animatedly, Doreen cackling with mirth quite often. The guards held back, in earnest conversation, unsurprisingly not having encountered any happenstance this strange. One suspected an aerosol hallucinogen, as one former employer had sworn was being used on him by 'them', just before his final descent into lunacy. 'Even paranoiacs have real enemies', was the poor, mad, beggar's watch-word. His colleague recalled a casual conversation about mind control by micro-waves, but then the two had a good belly-laugh. Masters, after a few minutes, as they neared the end of the beach and Doreen's little food forest, cultivated for man and, mostly flying, beast alike, turned to Butcher and said, 'I'm turning the paper Green from today, Bazz. Give Moir and whoever you've left in charge a ring, and tell 'em to wait for me to be there...this arvo....and tell them to get their 'Lincoln Green' ready. Robin Hood is riding into town. Go on, ring 'im now'. The authoritative tone was back, but not so brusque as usual, and in a good cause.

As they all crowded onto Doreen's verandah, and the steps and ricketty old chairs in the garden, Butcher rang Moir. Moir sounded sleepy, having not slept all night from a mix of fear and over-excitement, neither before or after he had rung Butcher to report Jimmy's mysterious peregrination. Butcher advised him to catch a few hours, then come to work, in the after-noon, because big changes were afoot.

'And make a note of any dreams you have, will you Dave?' Butcher added.

'So there's another magical dream coming my way, is there? I had one already...I'll tell you later... And Jimmy told us all about his dreaming. OK, OK...I will do', and there ended the conversation.

Fortunately Doreen had a stash of eggs, vegies and bacon in the fridge. Her trips home had been infrequent lately, but her old friends in the little settlement had kept the garden going and the chooks fed and watered, and Doreen had allowed various visitors to stay in her place. Everyone had to replace the bacon before leaving. Pretty soon there was a big spread being prepared.

Doreen took a cup of tea to Masters. They sat on an old log in the garden, and chatted.

'Your old place is still just around the corner. Not much changed, Bobby. Rose lives there, now...you remember Rose...of course you do...little Rose...not so little any more....but still a sweety....are you really coming back, to live, here?' Doreen was intrigued by the thought.

'Oh, yes, Doreen. My new wife, well she'll stay in London, I'm sure....but me, and the boys, and Theresa...if she'll have me back....I bought a spread over near Meningie, right on the Coorong....two hundred acres....we are going to let it go wild and grow bush food...that's the boys' idea, but I reckon they got it from your Jimmy. Cripes, Dorrie...if everyone does have that dream...they're gonna make your boy...what, King? President? Of the world....or...but I'm going to help stop that...you can rely on me to do my best to protect him. Your grandson...God strike me lucky!' Masters hadn't used that expression since he played hereabouts as a child, and he had not liked the way that his thoughts had been proceeding into paranoia and negativity.

'Thanks, Bobby. I worry about that, too. Jimmy's treading on so many toes, important toes, and he's only a baby...but, you can see it, can't you....he doesn't even need to go to school any more. His teacher, Mr. Dudley...lovely fellow....he tells me that Jimmy just absorbs knowledge like a sponge....the teachers love him, the kids love him...but I think that he scares some of them, too...in a way...you know how people react to wonders of Nature. Sometimes not so friendly'. Doreen was  expressing fears and dreads that had been building up for quite a while. She didn't really know if she wanted a genius or just a little boy as grandson.

'Don't worry, Dorrie. I'll look after him. Money's good for some things, and personal protection is one of them. If he doesn't need school any more, perhaps he should just work on this Gaia stuff, full-time. Whatever you and he want to do...well I'll support you, if you like'. Masters was looking for useful ways to give away his, he could now admit, ill-gotten wealth.

Doreen smiled warmly, about to accept, when Calliope came out, rather excited, with Doreen's transistor radio 'wireless'.

'Have a listen to this, you two. It's on the Breakfast Show. It's 6.30 here, and seven in Sydney...just listen..' And she sat beside them, with the tranny turned up, loud, between them.

The broadcaster was speaking rather excitedly. Reports, so she breathlessly announced, were coming in of people posting on Facebook, twittering on Twitter and communicating with one another in 'face space', and in the 'meeja', about the strange dream that they had had, this very morning, just before rising. And, spookily enough, the dream seemed to have been more or less the same for everyone. Then she described the details of the dream, just as Jimmy's little coterie had experienced it, awake, standing silently, filled with a 'wild surmise at sunrise' one might almost say, on a little rocky outcrop. The ABC hackette had to go to a report from some dreadful war-zone somewhere, but they would return with Professor X, an expert in mass hysteria and popular delusions.

'Do you think they'll try and play it down?' Calliope asked, looking rather concerned lest she suddenly find herself labelled, 'Deluded'.

'Of course they will, dear', Masters retorted.'Anything they don't control, they either deny or destroy. The rules of the game, written long ago. This'll get their notice...count on it. Cripes, you gotta admit, young lady...but this is exciting...in all your life I doubt that you'll ever meet anyone half as mysterious, half as....as everything, as that little brown-eyed black boy over there'. And he nodded in the direction of Doreen's Moreton Bay Fig tree, that the three boys were happily climbing.

Butcher rang the office in Sydney, where they were dealing with the dreams story, which was dominating the TV breakfast shows. Some were downplaying it, but most were giving it a big run. Butcher left instructions that they should run with it, on the web-site and tomorrow in the newspaper, and from now on it would simply be 'The Dream'. He warned them that Masters was coming in to take charge, but calmed some frazzled nerves by simply stating, mysteriously but reassuringly, that 'The Boss is changed. Stay calm and relax. He's Mr. Nice-guy, suddenly. No, it looks real. You'll see, this afternoon'. With that he hung up, abruptly, and reported to Masters.

Inside the house, Doreen was struggling with her old TV's reception. After a few adjustments to the ancient 'rabbits-ears' aerial, a good picture of the commercial channels 'Breakfast Show' came through. Now, usually, Doreen would rather have dentistry without anaesthetic than watch the rubbish, but the banner head-line, 'Strange Dreams Indeed-Mass Hysteria or Sign of the Times?' caught her attention immediately. The adults congregated around the all-seeing eye of 'the Box' as Doreen still called it, nostalgically. The boys played outside, now a sort of tag.

Blah, blah, blah went the talking head, but the watchers had figured out, already, that they, the 'personalities' and the crew, waking early for work, had not had the dream, or not yet as Jimmy had promised. The Dream appeared only to have begun at about 6.30, half an hour after dawn. 'That's dawn here', Doreen piped up, 'give or take a few minutes'. So many early risers in the east, and in 'that strange land where no human eye ever set foot', (as Jimmy described it, borrowing from The Goons, who Alex had recommended for their 'Divine lunacy')New Zealand, had no idea of it whatsoever.

People had by now been rung in Ceduna and Kalgoolie, where dawn was just breaking, to be interrogated by relatives, and increasingly by frenetic media reptiles. Those awake early had all had the dream, but some had slept on, although their memory would prove just as intense when they woke, and unlike most dreams, it would not fade quickly, or at all. Some had been woken from their sleep by it, and gone back to slumber, or found that the others in their household had also dreamed it. Others had 'phoned around to find it, mysteriously, universal, and social media was humming with it. It had begun to percolate overseas, too, with dreams reported along the meridian of the rising sun.

A guest was trundled on, a 'professional sceptic' ('Septic more like' Doreen grumbled as he got going)poo-pooing it as 'mass hysteria', and 'now everyone will claim to have had it', then conceding that he had been up since four o'clock, his habitual hour of waking. The commonality of detail, he declared, was just because the story had been  spread by social media ('A pernicious tool of mass hysteria', he drawled, repeating himself for effect) so that everyone now 'imagined' that they had had the dream. As soon as he was finished the telegenic presenter appeared and begged the Twitterati keep their contributions polite.

Owen Dudley rang, to check on Jimmy. He hadn't slept well from the worry, and was not needed in school that morning, so was about to get a few more winks. He didn't mention the dream, having spent the pre-dawn hours of the early morning marking essays, so Doreen said, 'You'll enjoy your nap, believe me. Ring us when you wake later, Mr. Dudley, and I'll get Jimmy on the 'phone. You'll want to speak to him', and they wished each other a cheery good-bye.

At about 8.30, the hysteria building on the news stations, Masters announced that he needed to get back to Sydney. His boys immediately announced that they wanted to stay with Jimmy for a few days, so after a little cogitation Masters decided to get Calliope to stay in Adelaide and hire a mobile home, to be parked at Doreen's place. Theresa opted to stay with her boys, and Calliope volunteered to join Masters in Sydney. Masters would need a secretary and PA, he knew. Large matters were in train. Calliope made a few calls, and a gigantic mobile home was hired in no time, to be delivered by two PM that afternoon.

'The girl's a bloody marvel', Butcher exclaimed.

Masters chuckled, 'Boadicea with a telephone'. Calliope, who was from Norfolk (a 'Norfolk broad' as she would joke with clueless American business types) was, as chance would have it, (although she had simply no idea of it)descended from that very woman, and the knowledge had been surreptitiously inserted into Masters' mind, hence his imagery. Many a true word is said, inadvertently, in jest.By nine, the Sydney party, Masters, Calliope, Butcher and Trevor, the junior security bruiser were on their way back to Sydney, after a flurry of hugs and last minute instructions to all and sundry.

Doreen had given Roger, the more senior guard, instruction on how to bring the van around to her place, by a somewhat circuitous route, for 'security reasons', from Goolwa. Roger was to meet the driver there, and take over driving, basically to keep their whereabouts 'secret', as Masters was paranoid about kidnapping. The boys went back to play, while Theresa and Doreen set about cooking. Roger cat-napped on the verandah, keeping one eye on the boys, now digging in the vegie patch. Peace fell gently from the skies, from the leaves of the trees, from the fluttering of the wings of the myriad birds and from the drone of the cicadas, like a cooling rain after a burning hot day.

By the time Masters had flown back to Sydney, Dave Moir was awake, and slightly the worse for wear. His kids were at home, it being a 'teacher-free' day or some such jollop, and Sue had left a note on the bed-side table. 'Ask the kids about the dream'. The dream? Moir woke up fully with a start. The dream-it must be that dream. He hadn't woken from it, but now, lying back to recollect, it leaped out of his sub-conscious again like a tiger. He lay there and the whole scene unfolded, and in fact, enfolded him, and he stirred at the end, covered in sweat and, yes, in tears, and rushed out to see his children.

They were sitting watching TV, quietly. The News station, although the story was the same on every channel. The mysterious 'Dream'. Was it a premonition? Was the world calling us to action? Was it some new weapon, mass hysteria, drug-induced psychosis? No-one had any answers.

The kids greeted him with hugs and kisses. They were Twittering away, letting everybody know that 'Our Dream' was Gaia making a call to we sleepers to awake and cultivate our awareness and life consciousness. In other words they were quoting Jimmy from his latest missive. There were lots of nay-sayers, but they were slowly being overwhelmed by children and their parents, Jimmy's True Believers.

'Did you get the dream, Dad? Jimmy's dream-look, here', and Tristram showed him the web-site, the Children of Gaia, with its 'Humanifesto' still evolving and-the crucial bit- Jimmy declaring that Our Dream would 'Awaken the Sleepers', and all they had to do was sleep and dream. It was time-stamped 0500 that morning, Central Time, of course, as Jimmy worked away at his Gran's house, and she cat-napped.

'Yes, yes. I did. I'm still recovering. I've got to go to work. Can I leave you here, safely....OK, OK...but be good. I'll ring your Mum'. Moir left them to it.

After a brief call to Sue, where they agreed that the kids were, in fact, OK to be left for a while, and where they compared dreams (their pasts were different in the exact nature of the topography and vegetation, both vividly recalled, as if tailor-made for each, but the futures were starkly alike) Moir high-tailed it for work. He got through to Morrie at the office, who assured him that the place was a bedlam, everyone confused and or frightened by Masters' arrival and with their ' 'flabber profoundly gasted' (in one of Morries' favourite turns of phrase) by the strange nocturnal goings-on.

' That dunce masquerading as our PM is making a statement at eleven o'clock, apparently. They've woken up with the dream in India, China...so far...where the dawn's coming up....your little mate's behind this, isn't he. We're all looking at his website. It's there in black and white. Look, don't get me wrong....but he'd better lie low, I think... I don't imagine that the current mob in power can cope with this sort of thing. Christ...who could? Oh yeah, Christ...maybe he could...but he's otherwise engaged. See you soon, Dave...Yeah, yeah....I had it too... snoozing here on Bazz's orders....God, my back....only my favourite hostelry was in the before and after...no, I'm not kidding....the 'after' looked like it does on New Year's morning. They get at you by showing your favourite places destroyed....ain't that the angle? OK, OK...see you soon, Ciao'. Morrie hung up abruptly, as usual.

The taxi delivered Moir safely, and expensively, at the office. It was another hot, humid day, more like Singapore than Sydney, or the Sydney that Moir knew. Particularly in August. Water continued to run off from the previous days' deluges, and last night's steady drizzle. 'More Storms on Way' one banner read, out the front. It was being replaced by ' Night Terror-Dreaming the Apocalypse', rather too arty-farty and pretentious for Moir's liking. Little did he know that Masters had dictated it himself, via mobile.

And speaking of the Devil, who should appear but the Devil incarnate, himself, plus minions, as the lift opened at the ground floor and Moir entered to find Butcher, Masters, a comely lass and a tough-nut who gave him the once over, already on board. The look of surprise on Moir's face provoked a laughing response from Masters.

'New age of egalitarianism, Dave' (God, thought Moir-he remembers my name) 'No more executive lifts or any other trappings. I met your little blackfella mate, Jimmy, today...and his Gran....I knew her as a kid....small world, eh...or predestination'. Masters uttered the last with a faraway look on his face. Moir stood transfixed until the lift opened on the fifth floor, whereupon he quickly alighted, just ahead of the little gang, of four, curiously enough.

The office was crowded with various flunkys, journalists of no fixed reliability, hangers-on, 'celebrities' and various gurus of assorted faiths. Like a thieves' market, mumbled Butcher. Masters strode over to the editor's office, turned around and bellowed, in rather friendly tone.

'Who the blazes are you lot?? All employees of The Nation over here. All other employees, over by the coffee-machine. All and sundry, near the lifts. Quick, quick....and we'll discuss the sackings later....only kidding, only kidding....it's a great big, bloody BIG news day today....let's get organised.' Masters beamed, thoroughly enjoying himself, as in the days when he worked as an editor...a rather good one, he recollected happily.

The various groups separated as instructed. Masters instructed the 'sundries' to cool their heels, while he sorted things out. Those too important to wait could happily 'get lost' as he intoned, but still in friendly voice. The miscellaneous employees of web-sites and other spin-offs, he asked to be patient while he spoke to the newspaper's people. He wouldn't be long.

Then Masters beckoned the newspaper functionaries into the Editor's office. It just fitted them all, and the doors were left open. No more secrets, Masters boomed, and no-one quite knew what he meant.

Sitting himself comfortably in what had recently been Aykroyd's, then Butcher's office, and which had once, long ago, been his, when his career was but a pup, Masters began,

'This my dears, is a pep-talk. Your Lord and Masters, me, has gone over to the enemy. This newspaper has been, I suppose you could say 'proudly Rightwing'-well, not any more. In accordance with the right conferred to me by my money, I've gone Bolshie, or, even worse-Green. We've kicked the stuffing out of Greenies for years, but now we are going to be greener than grass, greener than spinach, greener than Greer...OK, that was a joke. Germs is a Greenie, however, so she'll write for us, if she likes, and is appropriately inexpensive. You get my drift. Those of you who can't make the change, well you can work elsewhere, and you'll get references and decent severance, I promise, but, for the rest of us...let's start with this hellish weather, and this 'dream', that's got everyone talking, now to be known as 'The Dream'. Are people still waking up having had the dream?' Masters stopped to sip a Scotch that Calliope had prepared for him.

'Yes, Boss', piped up a voice.'Its got as far as India, in the last few minutes. In the States people are panicking about going to sleep and being brainwashed by some 'Greenie secret weapon'. Fox News says...' He was cut off, by Masters, right there.

'Thanks lad. Once you get to Fox, I'm outta there. OK, OK...comrades...don't laugh you...steady on...I still sign the pay cheques...now, listen up. I, your cherished owner, and my saintly, grotesquely misunderstood minion...Bazz over there...no resemblance to Basil Fawlty....Bazz and I and some others were in South Australia, this morning, at dawn....with that wunderkind Jimmy K....and, to cut a long story off at the knees, we were the first to have 'The Dream'...only we were awake and...nobody better laugh....singing the blues....with blue whales'.

Masters let that sink in, then outlined the whole experience to his troops. He was a little surprised by their patience and good humour, and by the occasional tear and some sniffling he noted amongst a few, and only one, maybe two, looks of disbelief and, perhaps, a hint of pity and concern at his madness. When he was finished, the solitary voice that had piped up earlier, spoke up again.

'Mr. Masters...we all had the dream, but you obviously experienced something else. You've got to write it down for tomorrow's edition, and for the web-site. It's the scoop of the century, don't you think?' There was a lot of muttered agreement.

'And who are you, lad?' Masters inquired.

' Will Wagstaff, Mr. Masters. Bert's grandson'. The speaker was a cherubic lad, fresh from University. Bert was Albert Edward Godfrey Wagstaff, Editor-in-Chief when Masters first worked at the paper, many moons ago.

'Good God!' Masters bellowed. 'Who hired you?' He was mightily surprised not to have been told.

'Mr. Aykroyd, a couple of weeks ago...before his 'break-down''. Will was a pretty confident lad.

'Well good on him. I must find out how the old blackguard is going. Another metamorphosis, I hear. Your Grandfather, Will, was my first journalistic hero...and you look cut from the same cloth. Keep up the good work...and good, very good, suggestion. OK, minions...scatter! And come up with good stuff. I'd better get down to writing!' Masters was elated by the joy of action and the thrill of the chase. Or was it more of a 'hunt'. He hadn't felt so alive for a long time.

'Boss', whispered Butcher, as the troops dispersed, 'The web-site staff...you've got them...you know..to speak to, as well'.

Masters nodded, and hurried across to address the geeks and nerds assembled. 'Do your own thing', was the gist of it but Masters added, with some finality. 'I expect you lot to be pretty Green, but if not, just learn how to be. This outfit is now 100% fully biodegradable, recyclable and.... organic. I think that just about covers all bases. Go to it children'. Masters tittered at his own attempts at humour and 'pep-talking' the 'virtual' crowd, whose universe was way beyond his ken.

It became apparent soon that 'The Dream' was quite universal, save for those who had not yet slept. The PM was about to speak, and Masters could not get through to him. He spoke to the Treasurer, Hannigan, a dedicated  'economic rationalist' and a long-term mole inside the Government for 'The Nation'. Masters began as ever, assertively. These were, after all, servants only, addicted to and dependant on his Empire's good graces and favours.

'So, Hanners....did you have this flamin' 'Dream' yourself....it seems that I'm the only one here who hasn't gone stark, raving, bonkers'. It was a half-lie, Masters being only somewhat crazy, and a lure.

'Well, I did...or I think I did....maybe it was a hallucination.....Fox News reckons it's the Chinese with some sort of mind-hacking device that works through computers. Have you heard that theory? You're actually the first person who I've met that denies dreaming it. Too bloody-minded for Greenie agit-prop, eh'. Hannigan was clutching at straws. Masters decided to put him out of their misery.

'Bill, mate....listen up. That dream is kosher, and the jig is up for stuffing up the planet'. Masters could hear Hannigan sucking in his breath, summoning the courage for a riposte, so he cut him short.

'Get on board, Bill, or you'll get crushed in the stampede. The times are a-changing. Now I'll just put on my head-band and flairs, and check out Duffer (his private nick-name for PM Duffy)on the box. Remember, Bill....your magnificent career hangs in the balance. If Duffy squibs it, we'll start braying for his head. Make that 'politely suggesting' he be decapitated. Time to get on the 'love-train', Hanners. Peace! Baby!'. He hung up on Hannigan as he began blurting incoherently, too shocked to make sense. Stuff him. An unpleasant creep, probably about to become road-kill, Masters thought, ungenerously. No flexibility. Mind like a rock. A backward rock. Enough of that.

The staff were gathered about a large TV usually reserved for cricket broadcasts, football and other sportive festivities. The lugubrious features of Thomas William Beauchamp Duffy, the hand-picked (by Masters amongst others) Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of Australia, glowered from the screen. Never over-endowed with either charisma or intellect, he was the perfect cipher, the tabula rasa on which the rich could write their favourite policies. He was, as expected by his owners, ferociously anti-Greenie, often pontificating that he was a 'true conservative conservationist' in comparison to the dreaded 'tree-huggers' and 'Hippies', a flash-back to his student days upholding Western moral values against the Godless pantheists-particularly those Bacchantes, uppity women, always threatening to emasculate him and laugh at his patriarchal accoutrements. His brief sojourn in a seminary had hardened his reactionary instincts, in a quaint reaction to his teachers all being that now near extinct species, 'Liberation Theologists'.

It was instantly plain, that as Masters had anticipated, 'Duffer' was going to 'tough it out'. He claimed that The Dream had not been universal, an audacious lie, then went the whole Fox News hog and insinuated that it was some sort of new 'psychic weapon', from those opposed to 'our Judeo-Christian Western moral values'.

'Someone get me a vomit bowl-no, make it a bucket', Masters yelled at that particular assertion, to general delight. Duffer droned on and on, pretty well having nothing to say, as usual, plainly hoping that it would 'blow over'.

'What about China?' Masters bellowed.

'Pretty much the same as here. No word from the Party, yet, however'. It was young Wagstaff. Masters put a fatherly hand on his shoulder and said, 'Good work, son. Keep an eye on developments. Let me know if anything weird happens-no make that '..if anything weird doesn't happen'. Strange is the new normal. I've got to write my piece.' Masters glided towards the Editor's office his heart light and his footsteps skimming the ground. He felt glad to be alive more fully than he had for years.

On the way he grabbed Dave Moir, and instructed him to write a full run-down on Jimmy for the web-site. 'I'd say no hagiography, but the truth is stranger than fiction, isn't that so. What did they say, 'Not just stranger than you imagine, but stranger than you can imagine'.'Who said that? I like it! Use it!' Dave nodded loyal obedience, no great problem now, as Masters oozed authority, bonhomie and gaiety, a quite beguiling combination. Charisma, but different from Jimmy's-more 'out there' and raucous. Moir snorted, 'When are we going to wake up, Boss? This is way, way, too strange. The world turned upside down'. Moir was still pleasantly bemused by being able to freely converse with the once unapproachable Masters.

'Just tell it like it is, son', Masters retorted.'You may have the biggest scoop in the history of journalism in this country....give it your best shot. Don't do any 'even-handed' crap either. This is a positive story...end of discussion. And the world is now 'inside-out' not upside down. Can't you see it?', and he grabbed Moir by the hand, shook it hard, then grabbed him in a bear-hug. Moir almost passed out from the shock, physical and emotional, then left to fulfil his duty. 'Inside out'? He began to see the truth of that.

Masters sat at his desk, and requested a little instruction from a helpful geek, who insouciantly observed, 'You're nothing like the ogre you were made out to be', to which Masters replied, 'Yes...I'm a new man....how lucky you are, son. I was a real pain in the arse. Now get back to digging for news'. He was continuing to surprise himself, with his new-born calm and equanimity. So, logged into the paper's web-site, he sat and thought, deeply, of everything that had happened. After a minute, he paused to ring Theresa. All was well, the kids were playing happily, visiting Jimmy's web-site via their mobile phones and Jimmy's lap-top, and a couple of Doreen's old friends had dropped over, and now Doreen was out at Goolwa buying supplies. Theresa was just reading, whiling away the hours, and avoiding the news. Masters spoke to his boys, and that was that, then he checked in with Roger. Masters decided then and there to leave Butcher in charge and return to South Australia that night. He could organise a satellite link if necessary, to keep in touch, but he wanted to be near the boys.

Following which decision, and after further brief contemplation, he sat and wrote, pretty much straight down.

'As regular consumers of this media group's product, no doubt you are expecting a rabble-rousing denunciation of all this 'Green nonsense'. And, in truth, until a few days ago, that is what you would have got. Probably anonymous, in the form of a spluttering 'Editorial'. However, today I am a changed man, as I suspect many others are changed and very much, I believe, for the better.

Like many others, I am sure, I was led out of the darkness of ignorance and bad habit by my children. Our two boys have, for some time, like many, many, others, around the world, come under the influence of a remarkable boy called Jimmy, a boy who assures me that there are another dozen or so like him, also leaders by example in the 'clubs' as they call them, that have so thoroughly influenced so many children, and their parents and grand-parents, and others, around the world.

These clubs promote a lifestyle, simple, dedicated to protecting and nourishing Life, to co-operation, to care for and dedication to others, that belies their youth. My sons now grow vegetables, visit old people, cook meals for them, organise anti-bullying efforts at school, share or give away their toys and have so influenced me that I had decided to throw over my career and dedicate myself to radical simplicity, too.

Moreover, in recent days my sons indicated that I had to return to South Australia, where I spent my childhood, growing up besides the sea, with indigenous children as my playmates. I needed, they said, to meet this Jimmy, who had requested my presence. I felt no hesitation in doing so, and when I met Jimmy, to my profound surprise, I discovered that his Grandmother, who raised him as an orphan, was one of my dearest indigenous friends from that happy childhood.

Then, even more astonishing, Jimmy had us walk to a little beach near his Gran's house, and there I was granted a revelation like that described in the accounts of mystics and prophets. Suffice to say, this morning, at dawn, while awake, we all experienced just that dream that everyone seems to be dreaming, but as a shared, waking, experience. The message is plain enough, is it not, fellow dreamers? We have to change our ways, now, and forever, and utterly, or that dreadful desert we all dreamed is what we will turn this planet into. What, indeed, we are already transforming this beautiful world into. As a result, beginning today, my media organisation is going over to the forces of Life and of childish optimism. I hope that you can all join with us. And blessings on you all, of whatever kind you fancy and I am fit to bestow'.

Masters feared that it might be a tad trite in places, but, it being achingly sincere, a most pleasant pain, he decided to leave it unedited, and posted it as a signed 'Editorial' on-line. He joined Moir at his desk, where a pow-wow with Butcher was in progress.

'Boss', Moir began, 'I want to keep some details about Jimmy secret...for now. I'm afraid that he'll be swamped. Every news group in the universe wants a piece of him....you see...I've got to try and keep his details quiet, if I can. Do you agree?' Moir wasn't too concerned whether Masters would agree, but, it turned out that he did.

'Up to you, son, and good luck with that.' Masters replied.'The kid will be hot stuff, so he'd better hide away and let this thing play itself out. I mean, if it goes how I hope it will...and how I suspect you hope it will...well he'll be the most famous twelve year old on Earth, and every press reptile worth his salt will be moving Heaven and Earth to hunt him down'. Masters smiled a wry smile, struck, now perpetually, by the craziness of it all.

Thus mollified, Moir got back to his writing, but first he rang Sue, who had taken a sickie to keep an eye on the children, once Moir realised he was not getting home any time soon. He had to check on things at home, which, it transpired, were calm and collected. Everyone was talking 'The Dream' on the idiot-box and social 'meeja', while outside another violent storm was brewing. An atmospheric one, rather than a tempest of consciences. 'This is what the dream was about, wasn't it love? That we've gone too far'. Sue spoke softly, not wanting the kids to overhear.

'Yes, darl. But it means that we can get out of it, still....it's not too late...we've got something bigger than all of us...on our side. That's pretty thrilling, don't you think?' Moir was, despite himself, feeling very optimistic.

'But that creep...our Prime Miniature...he seemed to deny everything....he was lying that not everybody had the dream....everybody knows it...they're all braying for his....dismissal. I don't feel as aggro towards him as I ought to be'. Sue stopped as if struck by a sudden and regretable  thought.

'That's the field Jimmy talks about. It makes you optimistic and peaceable and loveable. So long as enough people get...infected, no influenced...better yet, inspired, by it...we'll all end up with flowers in our hair'. Moir tittered at his 1960s delusions.

After wishing Sue a happy goodbye, Moir rang Dudley, who, naturally, had now had the dream, after his morning nap, as recommended by Doreen, and who Moir informed of the dream's provenance, which surprised Dudley not very much at all. He was used to wonders by now, he murmured, but this was the grandest yet far. Dudley did venture that Jimmy might best not return to school for a while, not that they could teach him anything, any more, but because the place was besieged by the Press. The School Council was grumbling again, too, but the dream might change a few minds, or so he expected. Moir broke off, pleading the necessity of work, and Dudley wished him well.

Moir returned to his writing and wrote quickly, outlining what he knew of Jimmy's history, but keeping the details sparse. He was done in thirty minutes, and after he showed Masters, who approved, it was posted on line.

Masters took him aside a little later, and breathlessly confided, 'I rang Hannigan, the Treasurer, in Canberra. Told him to get rid of Duffer or else...but, apparently, so Bazz tells me, the moles say that Duffer is outvoted in Cabinet by at least two to one...and...get this...his kids and grand-kids are giving him Hell over it, too. He's going to fold and go with the flow. But he's waiting, of course, for the Yanks, like a good and loyal puppy'. Masters sniggered.

'I've been in touch with my contacts in Washington' he continued.'It's pretty late, and they apparently mostly think it's some sort of mass hysteria...and, get this...the FoxNews loonies are declaring that they're gonna stay awake until the madness wears off. Imagine those loons, but sleep-depraved...I mean 'deprived', and he grinned mischievously. Moir surmised that Masters' and Butcher's leers and grins and grimaces were like the muscle memory ghosts of their previous characters with their habitual facial , trying to escape from the new reality of their touchy-feely 'niceness', and reassert some good, old-fashioned, muscular 'Bossiness' again, like the good old days.

'Some other Rightwing crazies are comparing it to 'Invasion of the Body-Snatchers', you know...you go to sleep and a pod takes over your life. I do love loonies, I must say, and Mor-dor-on-the-Potomac is full of them'. Masters looked not a little 'touched' himself, his eyes blazing with a dulled fire, his hair standing on end and his fine, slightly bloated, nose flaring its nostrils, as if sniffing a very strong odour, and yet not certain whether it be fair or foul. His mind and his soul still seemed locked in a Promethean struggle with his unruly body, still in thrall to decades of endlessly repeated exertions in the hot-houses of profit and propaganda. But his soul was slowly gaining the ascendant, with help from the all-encompassing field of mercy and compassion.

The afternoon went quickly. The comments on various blogs and other 'portals' crashed 'The Nation's' system. The consensus was 90% or so in favour of The Dream being real and a warning to mankind. A doughty, mostly aged, group of holdouts poo-pooed everything, but the consensus grew and grew. Jimmy was nominated to become PM, UN Secretary-General, global President etc. Hysteria was noticeably absent, as if people grasped the gravity of the situation. Various ecologists testified that at last people seemed to have woken up, and were listening, thanks to a dream. The Churches all weighed in, claiming it for themselves as 'Divine Revelation' mostly, but a few fundamentalists, antagonistic to Green 'Nature Worship', darkly hinted at Satanic influences. Same old, same old, thought Moir.

Europe began waking, and the dream was soon wagging tongues in Spanish, Italian and every other language on the Continent. Dissenters were few and far between, mostly Free Market fanatics, but even there noted economists were soon found throwing away the intellectual baggage of a lifetime, and arguing, passionately, for down-sizing and sustainability. It was as if an intellectual revolution had been carried out overnight, which, in more ways than one, it had. The nooetic field was strengthening by the minute, and had mankind's collective consciousness moving in one direction only.

Meanwhile, outside 'The Nation's' office building, the sky was brooding, huge clouds were building, the air was hot, humid and sizzling with latent electricity. It looked as if the biggest storm yet was bearing down on the harbourside metropolis, perhaps in order to reinforce the message. So Moir thought as he peered out a window at the massive thunder-heads bearing down from south, west and north. Dame Nature was about to perform an act of demonstrative fury, an exercise in very tough, 'tough love'.

The onslaught, when it came, just after three PM, was preceded by an eerie stillness. The clouds loomed moun, dark and ominous, and the wind died right away. The Harbour was like a sheet of smoked glass, reflecting the glowering sky back on itself. Then, as if at a signal, the sky fractured into countless shards of lightning, hundreds of bolts travelling between the clouds and up from and down to earth. The cracks of thunder were like an artillery bombardment, the Bridge and numerous towers were struck by lightning and an eerie green glow played about the ships at anchor in the Quay. Then the rain began in an instant, heavy like a liquid avalanche so that you could barely see a few feet in front of you. The gutters overran, streets flooded in minutes, basements and train-stations were inundated, and people cowered inside, not daring to venture out to be instantly drenched, or even, so the fevered mind imagined, be concussed by the deluge.

Alas, that was just the beginning. Next came the hail, alternating giant, cricket-ball sized, that smashed wind-screens and windows, and shredded trees and shrubbery, and pea-sized and in such quantities that drifts soon piled up. The hail kept coming, for thirty minutes, until the timorous began to fear that it would never cease, and then it was gone, suddenly, as the rain intensified again, this time whipped along by howling gales. Trees were uprooted and sent crashing, as were cranes and aerials. Roofs were torn off, and the terrified inhabitants sent fleeing for new, sturdier shelter.

Long before the storm eased, the social media sites were full of apocalyptic ranting and ravings, and more considered, if equally dire, predictions. The storm was seen, predictably, by many as a follow-up to the dream, ramming home the message. Time to change your ways, or else. As the hurricane eased and people emerged, bemused, to see the setting sun projecting a glorious, incandescent, double rainbow, that eternal sign of hope, over the dark eastern sky, more and more people accessed the Internet and the telephone system, which both, predictably, crashed, to demand action. A whole country had been shaken awake, by dreaming.

Similar storms lashed Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth and Adelaide, an unprecedented concurrence. Meteorologists gravely intoned about 'prodigious', 'unprecedented' quantities of moisture being 'dragged in' from 'torrid seas', by 'immense low pressure troughs', but the public soon warmed more to the 'Gaia is giving us a warning' meme, that flowed from the kids' clubs and websites. From there, too, emerged the new appellation for the nocturnal visitation as 'Our Dream', not 'The Dream', a clever PR move. A petition was launched calling on the Government to act immediately to 'protect our children and their future', and it had over a million signatures by midnight.

Moir and Morrie were deputised by Butcher to pick up a load of take-away from The Malaya. It had been Masters' favourite eatery years before, too, and he was delighted to hear that it still existed. Lamb curry for him, and Hainan chicken, too, in reminiscence of fondly recollected over-indulgence. Some things never change.

But not Masters. He was, veritably, a new man. He rang his boys again, who urged him to get stuck into changing things. The storm at the Coorong had been less intense, but there had been a water-spout out to sea, a 'sea-snake' as Jimmy called it. The boys had spent a few hours together on the computer in the mobile home, which had arrived, as arranged, and that had a satellite dish, and Jimmy had introduced Masters' sons to the other 'special' children, his Gaian comrades. Alex from Canada, as usual, was very excited. He had already, of course, had the dream, during a little doze at the same time that the morning spectacle had enveloped Jimmy and the others. Alex had dreamed the whale-song very intently, being even, possibly, a little more acutely aware and susceptible to the noosphere's influence than any of them, Jimmy included. Alex had been transformed by ice, falling into a frozen river then being revived after thirty minutes. He was one of Jimmy's closest friends amongst the special children, the elect, Gaia's ambassadors. Alex and Felipe hit it off spectacularly well, and Felipe promised to visit Canada and Vancouver, where Alex lived.

Jimmy had later commenced sending messages to the clubs and their members. To those who had dreamed already, he explained that Gaia had sent the message of the two possible futures, to wake people up to the lateness of the hour. He urged all the children to work harder to not just persuade their parents to demand a new world, but to try, every day, to reduce their consumption, the waste and destruction, and build, restore, and enrich, the world about them, to love, cherish and protect one another and all living creatures, and prepare for adult-hood, because they would not be children forever. He noted that some clubs in Ethiopia had announced that they had planted 10,000 fruit trees on derelict land in Addis Ababa, another in Wales had produced plans for a simple bio-char kiln, built with help from a group of retired iron-mongers and a third had set up a food-bank using vegies they'd grown themselves in Mexico. They even had recipes, and for salads that didn't need cooking, saving fuel, saving trees. Literally thousands of other such endeavours were listed, discussed and celebrated. The site was now becoming so huge that even Jimmy with his huge capacity for ingesting and digesting information, could barely scratch the surface.

The three new friends had spent a couple of busy hours that way, then Jimmy excused himself and returned to the house, asking the boys to please keep sorting through all his messages, thousands of them, so he could reply to a few, later. Jimmy sat down next to his Gran on the porch, where she was quietly knitting, and trying hard to relax.

'Gran', Jimmy began.'I have to go back to Dad's place for a time. You must come because I will have to hide away for a while, and I will need you with me. I am going to ring Mr. Dudley and tell him. Things are going to be in a real ferment now, a sort of healing crisis, and I am going to be the object of not necessarily beneficial or friendly attention. The whole club process can proceed under its own steam, now, but the media will want to find me and interrogate me, and I am firmly against becoming a creature, a celebrity, a person of interest, you know, a 'Green Carcrashian', for that...group'. Jimmy had searched for a polite word.

'I don't blame you at all, love. I'd love to see Thelma and your Aunties again. But...what about your computer stuff...how will you keep in touch ...with your blessed clubs?' Doreen was a little perplexed.

'I am going to ask Mr. Masters if we can borrow the mobile home, when they all move to his new place. I think he will say yes. But, generally, the clubs need me less and less. Sophia, Alex, Pyotr and the others will run the show, and I will just pop up, occasionally, for a pep talk. I am inclined to go bush, and spend more time learning with Uncle Max, and, perhaps, writing'. Jimmy's grin signaled his habitual quiet confidence.

'Oh, yeah. You've got the dear old reptile eating out of your hand, alright. But who'll drive the blessed thing. I never could'. Doreen was worried that Jimmy expected her to.

'Well, Gran, I think Mr. Charles, Mr. Masters' guard will be happy to do it. Just to Alice, mind you, then we will get one of the out-station people to pick us up, just to keep our destination a little secret. Mr. Charles can catch a flight home. We can do it over a few days. Take it easy. I will just give Mr. Masters a ring now, if Theresa will let me use her phone'. With which Jimmy disappeared into the house, where Theresa was cooking up a curry for dinner.

Jimmy got through quickly to Masters in Sydney, via Calliope, a surer route than through Masters who often turned 'the damned thing', his smart phone, off. Masters agreed immediately to everything, but suggested that Charles stay with them, even at Plenty Creek, 'just in case', and Jimmy agreed, then invited Masters to bring his boys and Theresa up to visit after Jimmy had 'settled in'. Masters was enthusiastic to see the 'back of beyond', never having travelled much in the Australian bush, so that was settled, depending on the community's agreement, which Jimmy more or less guaranteed. Masters informed Jimmy of all the developments in Canberra, and those that he knew of overseas. The dream was universal, if still resisted by some obdurate 'bone-heads' a Masters called them, but the ferment was rising. Jimmy handed the phone to Theresa, and returned to the computer in the mobile home.

All the other twelve original leaders of the clubs had contacted Jimmy by now, having dreamed the dream at the same, the original, time, some of them napping at odd hours and places, but they were used to that. Mtenzi in Botswana was pretty convinced that they had all acted in tandem to pick up the noospheric signals in a sort of Earth-encompassing grid, the better to get a 'clear signal' as she said. And the whales, so she surmised, either cleverly and intuitively, or with a fine gift for romantic speculation and creative elaboration, had probably been hooked into other cetaceans around the world, all communicating with the global consciousness as their forebears had done for millions of years. The others agreed, Mtenzi being particularly richly endowed with intuitive insight after her transformation by fire, where she had been dragged from a burning house as if dead from smoke inhalation. The 'originals' all had specific strengths and abilities, as if comprising a sort of super-organism, while Jimmy possessed all their various talents to some degree, acting like the key-stone to their abilities. They all agreed that their best course of action now was to lie low, let the clubs develop with their momentum ever growing, and set out to study hard and increase their knowledge, so that they could contribute more in the coming struggle. They all agreed that the work would have to go on for generations, but the next few decades were crucial. Indeed the next few days were bound to be hectic, as the demand for change met predictable resistance. They all wished each other strength and success and love, and parted with high optimism.

Theresa brought a temporary end to proceedings later, summoning the boys to dinner. It was an unctuous vegetable curry, and they scoffed it down. Theresa informed Jimmy that Masters was going to organise a driver to accompany them, so that Charles could concentrate on keeping the media and any other malcreants at bay. They could leave tomorrow, as he was returning to Adelaide then his new place, near the Coorong, in the morning, leaving Butcher and the others with firm instructions to push for change in all his media outfits. Not a single employee had jumped ship over the new policy direction, convincing Masters that either a lot of his troops who had followed the previous anti-Green agenda were opportunists, or that the dream had turned a lot of minds.

That situation was being replicated in Canberra. Duffy was besieged by his own family, most of Cabinet and a public hungry for change. Even half the 'business community' were demanding a new policy agenda. By late in the evening he, too, had succumbed, unbeknownst to him, to the noospheric influence surreptitiously nudging his unconscious mind into synchronicity with the collective consciousness that he would have rejected as superstitious nonsense before. By nine that night he had a Cabinet resolution for a series of Royal Commissions to investigate the true state of the local and global environment, another into alternative economic systems, such as circular economies, and another into inequality and its consequences in the land. Various agencies from the Treasury down were instructed to prepare Action Plans for a conversion of the economy and society to a model of full sustainability, which, Gilroy, the Health Minister quipped would lead to mass resignations. He expressed great satisfaction in anticipation of that event, but, in fact, there were to be very few, mostly of die-hards with their noospheric antennae irreparably damaged by decades of inculcation in the 'Free Market' cult.

Finally, at two in the morning the Cabinet had finished its deliberations. By then much of the Western Hemisphere was awake, and had, naturally, dreamed, save for a few 'conservative' nut-jobs who refused to sleep. The few of this scurvy gang who had dozed off, woke up transformed, Gaia having given their brains a particularly strong jolt of reality and a good clean-out. This led to some poignantly funny scenes at FoxNews in particular, as former die-hards emerged blinking in the early morning as 'tree-huggers' in excelsis, to their erstwhile, and tired, colleagues' bemusement and chagrin. The US President was to address the nation at six in the evening, as the clamour grew. He was pre-empted by UN Secretary-General Madam Lim, who had leaped at the opportunity to proclaim a New Dawn, not waiting, as was her usual practise, for instructions from Washington.

The various news media everywhere were speaking in unison, although the message was quite new. Papers that but the previous day had excoriated 'Greenies' and preached the purest 'Free Market' religion, had turned on a six-pence to Green fervour. No Government, not even the most die-hard was holding out. As Duffy surveyed the chaos, before catching a few hours' napping, as he anticipated a hard day's descent into tumult, he opined that it looked awfully like humanity was undergoing a massive nervous break-down.

'It's a catharsis, Boss', his Chief of Staff, the aptly named Grave, noted. He also added that it would be absolutely necessary to get the Opposition on board, which, from a class warrior like him, was akin to a Catholic arguing for priestly polygamy.

'Ask Hellier if he and his leadership group will meet us at ten. We need to nut things out' Duffy was referring to the Leader of the Opposition, not his favourite personality yesterday, but today, strangely, he seemed not quite the ogre he had supposed him to be. In fact Duffy knew him not to be such a bad egg, but adversarial politics necessarily breeds antagonism, if only for public display.

While Duffy napped, Masters, who had bedded down in the office, sleeping in the tea-room, latterly converted to a store-room, awoke at 6AM, held a quick editorial meeting with Butcher, who had slept in a chair, leaving instructions for a full-scale onslaught on the Government. Masters intended using his media resources to keep the Government on the straight and narrow path outlined in the Cabinet's new policy directions, which Masters had perused before bed-time. Instructions communicated, Masters left to fly back to Adelaide. Calliope, fresh as a daisy after four hours' kip on the floor in a dark corner, had organised a driver cum guard to take Jimmy and Doreen north, with Charles staying on for further security. She joined Masters and they set off for the airport. By the time Duffy sat down to 'nut things out' with the Opposition, Masters and Calliope were landing in Adelaide, and President Bankhead was addressing the US public, and the Universe.

Bankhead's address was pretty standard boiler-plate, US Exceptionalism. 'We', of course, would 'lead the world' as ever, but the direction was certainly new. The White House was being inundated with very strongly expressed demands for action. The American public, like most of humanity, had been brainwashing itself into ignoring the wretched truth for so long, in pursuit of the materialistic consumerist dream, that when it evaporated in 'The Dream's' unflinching truthfulness, it was replaced, almost instantly, by an intense yearning for simplicity and life sustaining endeavour. The wage slaves and the consumer donkeys, had awoken, and they were keen to exhaust themselves doing something constructive and nurturing, for a change. As Bankhead observed, if the USA could turn itself around in no time after Pearl Harbor, they could do it now, because the threat was greater than any other in history. This from a President whose Administration had ignored environmentalism completely in the first six years of his rule. However, he urged a certain caution, the better to properly assess the situation and prepare for a great global Meeting of Heads of State to sign a suite of new Conventions, which, he suggested, be held at the UN in early January.

Duffy and Hellier were suitably and loyally impressed. The joint Party meeting of the Cabinet and Opposition leaderships determined on a Government of National Unity, as in war-time. They kept surprising themselves with the compromises and acceptabilities they found. Adversarial, winner-takes-all politics were out the door.

'This is strange, isn't it' Hellier quipped, after a few hours fruitful co-operation.'You're not such a bad fellow, you know, Duffy....and I'm lots less antagonistic, too....don't you think'.

' A real peach, Hellier....can I call you Jim...you can call me 'Prime Minister'...hold on...I know...let's swap jobs...every few months...to show that bi-partisanship is absolute...I'm not bloody well kidding. We need circuit-breakers like that. Business as usual is over. Let's think 'outside the cage'.' Duffy was really enjoying life, and real 'public service' after years of hard, dreary, nasty depressing slog and grind.

'Don't you mean 'outside the box', Prime Minister?' Hellier replied.'Otherwise I'm 110% with you'.

'No, Jim...this place is a cage, like an electronic zoo, and you and I and our dear colleagues are just like slavering beasts, or have been....tearing each other apart for some reason..oh, I remember...to seize and hold power, mostly for its own sake, or to please the precious 'donors and contributors'. Well stuff 'em, I say....let's work for the people, for a change, instead of bribing them, frightening them or enraging them'. Duffy could hardly believe what he was saying, or, Heavens Above, that he really believed every word of it. He'd lost the plot-thank God!

'An Agreement on Co-Operation in Government is what we need, and we'd better draw in the little Parties...or it just looks like a carve-up by the Big Boys. And signed in blood...your own blood...I'd better make that clear'. It was Nesbitt, Hellier's Deputy, a noted 'wit'.

As the political deliberations continued in Canberra, Masters arrived at Doreen's place. Doreen and Jimmy were packed, ready to go. Jimmy had contacted Owen Dudley, who wished him all the best. He reminded Jimmy that he was, in fact, the greatest student Dudley had ever taught, which embarrassed Jimmy a little (he knew it was true, but hated hearing it said)and, although the great task of healing the Earth would take up his life, that he ought not neglect his academic and musical talents. Jimmy promised not to, and assured Dudley that he would visit when things had calmed down. 'I am just a catalyst, Mr. Dudley- a spark, like my great hero, Richter. No red hair, however. We have started the fire, and it will proceed under its own steam, now. The powerful elites have been co-opted, and soon we will just be historical, possibly anthropological, curiosities. Other leaders like us will arise....we are not the last...this has to go on for a century, at least, so great is the damage. I will soon have time for other things. And thank-you Mr. Dudley...you have been like a grandfather to me. I love you very deeply, and treasure your influence and kind-heartedness'. Jimmy uttered these words in the only way he knew, with heart-felt earnestness, and left both himself, and Dudley, quite affected. Dudley was a little sad to have only had the 'genius pupil' for a mere six months.

Later Mel rang, to tell Doreen, without worrying Jimmy, that the media were besieging her place, looking for Jimmy, most claiming friendly intentions, so she had helped them out by saying that Jimmy was visiting relatives in a desert community in the Tanami in West Australia. 'That should put them off the scent for a while', she chuckled. Doreen told her to watch out for intruders after Jimmy's stuff, and made a mental note to ask Masters to provide security there, too. Sammy had a chat with Jimmy, describing his version of 'Our Dream', and lamenting, not for the first time, that he wasn't a 'comrade' of Jimmy's.

'Now, Sammy', Jimmy replied 'you are and always will be my oldest and best friend. We go right back to baby days. We healed one another, remember. And you and every other kid on Earth are the real heroes, now. It is you who will set things right, who will reverse the destructive path, and forge one that leads to peace, happiness, contentment and love for all Gaia's creatures. We were the ignition of the rebirth, but you and all the others will be the fire that destroys the old ways and from the ashes of that dying world will rise a new humanity, like the phoenix, loving, nurturing, kind, humble, satisfied, and you, Sammy, will be a leader in that process. I know that, and I will always be proud to be your friend. And make sure you get up to Dad's place in the summer holidays-my mad Uncle Max wants to meet you, and teach you what it  means to be fully alive. We'll learn together and cement our bond for good and all'.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Jimmy Escapes to His Dad's Country.

By two the driver had arrived. He was a middle-aged chap, Bob by name, an ex-SAS type, like a lot of Masters''security' boyos, and a former APC driver, so very used to heavy vehicles, and 'defensive driving'. He knew the route to Alice well, and  the best stops for a three stage, three day, leisurely drive. He and Charles, who went 'way back' in Masters' employ, were booked into motels already, and Jimmy and Doreen were going to sleep in 'the van' as they called it. Lots of hugs and kisses followed, Masters, Theresa, Calliope and the boys set off for the new place by the Coorong. Masters assured Doreen that he had his security boffins wiring Mel's place for security, and to prevent unwelcome intrusions, as she had earlier requested. Then Doreen locked up the house, feeling vaguely sad, for some reason she couldn't put her finger on, and rang Rose to get her to look after the chooks and eat the vegies that ripened, as was their practise, and off they went, at a safe, stately, legal pace.

                                The 'Journey to the Deep North' as Jimmy called it, in Japanese, while thinking of Asho, his Ainu 'brother' in Hokkaido, who had been converted to 'glorious responsibility' as he called it in his perfect, if quaintly accented English, by a fulminating infection, encephalitis to be exact, from which mere medical science had insisted to his grand-parents (why the chosen children were all orphans still perplexed Jimmy greatly)he had no hope of recovering, took four days in the end. Jimmy requested a detour to Wilpena Pound, which he told Doreen was a 'navel of the world', and where he disappeared as night fell, to Doreen's horror and Charles' alarm. He left a note saying that he would certainly be OK, NOT to worry Mr. Masters and he would be back in the morning. Doreen slept like a log, her mind at repose, and awoke to find Jimmy cooking breakfast in the kitchen with Charles and Bob the driver sitting outside.

'Morning, Gran', he said cheerily.'Sorry to disappear yesterday but I knew that you would make a fuss so I just flew the coop, so to speak. But you knew that I was safe, so you slept. So did I, in a manner of speaking. I found a song-line, a powerful direct communication with Mother Gaia, and I sat up all night under the full moon, and communed with her. Many animals came to see me, wallabies, echidna, brown snakes, my protectors, lizards...and so on....and the other children were joined up with Mother and I, and we had a little corroboree in our minds. I did some singing and dancing, too, in this world and the other, inside my head. Mother helped Charles and Bob sleep, too, although they were annoyed at my disappearance. Things are going well, Gran...things are proceeding according to the plan, a very ancient design. Now, do you want one or two eggs?' Jimmy seemed very relaxed for having experienced such a night.

He chatted amiably with Charles and Bob, too. Charles was relieved that he didn't have to report to Masters that he had 'lost' Jimmy, and after Jimmy explained that he had just wanted to 'dream under the stars', all was well. They were soon back on the road again, and three days later drove into the 'Sunset Motel-Hotel' car-park. Jimmy had 'phoned ahead on the second day, and arranged with his other Gran Thelma to be met at Alice. It was young Cyril, a cousin of his Dad, C.J, and an experienced out-back driver. He had a mate, Mike, there with a four-wheel drive ute, in case of getting bogged, which he reckoned was a risk, given the 'van's' size.

They all shared a nice lunch at the 'Sunset's' restaurant, and Jimmy and Doreen set off on the last leg of their journey. Bob and Cyril did the driving, Bob showing Cyril the ropes, and Charles travelled in the ute with Mike.

The trip to the settlement went surprisingly well, with the van navigating the culverts, wash-outs, corrugations and land-slips easily. They droved in just before dusk, and Cyril parked right outside Jimmy's Gran's place. Jimmy introduce Thelma to Bob and Charles, his 'security' as he called them, and they were polite and gracious, setting Thelma's mind at ease. Her little grand-son was pretty famous, now, after all, although the thought of paparazzi descending on Plenty Creek did not please her at all. But Jimmy assured that he had covered his tracks well, just so long as no-one at the settlement blabbed. Thelma undertook to communicate that message to the little community, and all seemed well and good.

The whole mob were there, the Aunts, Uncles, cousins and distant relatives, all excited by the famous Jimmy's arrival. Before long Jimmy had the computer and TV going inside the van, powered by solar cells and batteries. The van had its own satellite dish, as good as the settlement's, as well. Jimmy entertained his cousins and sundry other kids with some of his Gaia's Children club content, which a few of the older kids knew from their little school, where they also had computer access via satellite. And he impressed on them all that his presence was a secret, at which one little bloke piped up, 'Where you gonna hide this great big van, then, cuz?'.

At dinner-time, Thelma and the unofficial settlement catering committee laid out a big spread, with the barbecue working overtime. There was chicken, steak, sausages, and goanna, snake and kangaroo, too. On seeing the snake, Jimmy asked his Thelma, 'Does Big Brownie still hang out around here? He is my lucky charm. You have never seen my scar, have you Gran. Not since it healed. It is that snake pendant Great-Gran made, like the one buried with Dad. The lightning burned it into my flesh. It is part of me, now'. And he lifted his shirt to show the glistening snake shape burned into his chest.

Everybody was struck by the sight. The story of Jimmy's being struck by lightning, and being flown down south, then making a miraculous recovery-that they knew. That he had been burned by the lightning, that they knew, but the scar, and its miraculous appearance, that was a real shock. Jimmy let them touch it, admire it, be struck by it, then dropped his shirt.'Yes, Gran...Big Brownie...have you seen him lately'.

'No love. Not at all. Not since the day you were electrified...I mean 'cuted...whatever. The glass is still there...we'll show it to you tomorrow...it's almost a tourist attraction. But, tell me, tell your Gran....that plurry 'Dream' we all had...you had sometin to do with it...didnya?' Thelma's diction could get a little slurred when she was excited.

'Oh, yes, indeed, Gran' Jimmy replied, and he related all the details, from start to finish, interrupted only by the occasional muttering from his Gran of 'Strewth' and 'Crikey', plus a few whistled expressions of utter surprise. The rest of the community listened intently, too, until Jimmy had finished, when he asked, of his younger cousins, 'Have you got a Club here, yet'.

The community had a little school, with twelve students, taught by Rosalee, one of the graduates from a few years back, who had done a teacher's assistant course in the Alice. The children were taught bi-lingually, a course that 'the authorities' were intermittently trying to stamp out, for the usual reasons. Jimmy congratulated them, then startled everyone by speaking the local Arrentje language quite fluently. He smiled after a brief chat with old Charlie, the most eloquent elder, and nonchalantly admitted that he had been studying for a while, at least a month, in his spare time, in preparation for just this trip. Doreen leaned over and whispered to Thelma, 'He does this sort of stuff all the time, now. His teacher told me that 'genius' isn't the right word for him. Sometimes it's scary, but its never gone to his head. He talks to all those overseas kids in their own lingo. Our grandson, eh...who'd a thought it', and the two old girls nodded and smiled happily.

By the time dinner was finished it was fairly late. The night was dark, the waning moon not yet risen, but announcing its approach with a growing glow over the distant mountains. Jimmy excused himself, and asked his Grans to take him down to the place, not far away, where he had been struck by the lightning. The old ladies happily agreed, and armed with three bright torches from the van, they set out.

The old girls moved gingerly, on the lookout for snakes and hidden pot-holes. Jimmy led the way, humming to himself. Soon, following Thelma's directions, and from his strong memory of the place, they came down a little dip to the flat area near the dry creek-bed with Old Brownie had flicked his face with a reptilian benediction. As they reached that flat ground, the moon, just three-quarters whole, poked its face over the far hills, and Jimmy saw its reflection in the ground.

'That's the glass, Jimmy. Right in the middle is where you were running when you was hit. The sand all turned to glass....the uni in Darwin sent someone down to look at it...took pictures and all....walked on it, careful like, to begin with....but its pretty thick...a flamin' tourist got lost and drove right over it, and didn't crack it or nothing...but, boy, it's slippery, specially when it rains. When we told the uni bloke 'bout you...he wouldn't believe it...that anyone could survive...but we showed him the stories from the paper...and, well he thought it was a miracle....surely was'. Thelma was smiling broadly, remembering it all with pride mixed with relief, still. Her grandson was a real marvel.

Jimmy nodded and smiled, and murmured approvingly. He was lost for words because deep in recollection, the events of that fateful day flooding back, particularly Big Brownie, the rainbow serpent, who was his guardian protector, as he now knew for certain.

As they stood there, watching the light spread across the glass, reflecting back all the imperfections in the surface, the two old ladies to one side whispering quietly to each other and Jimmy deeply pondering his fate, so ridiculous, so greatly significant, so unbelievable, like waking up one day to find yourself, suddenly, a king or a saint or something equally important, Jimmy noticed a shining, glittering ribbon of reflected light crossing the edge of the glass field, where it was a little cracked and eroded. He walked towards the centre of the glassy pavement to catch a better look, and, to his inestimable joy, saw that it was Big Brownie, large as life and unchanged. The snake slithered towards him, and Thelma saw it too, shouting, ' Look out Jimmy, it's that bloody snake. He's come to see you again. He's friendly, ain't he...but what's he doing here, in the middle of the night...it's too cold for 'ím...he should be sleepin'.' She was not a little perplexed.

'He is no ordinary snake, Gran', Jimmy cried.'He is my protector and messenger, from our Earth Mother. I will have to say hello'. At which he dropped to his knees as the snaked slithered up to him. And just like before, the snake drew right up, as Doreen called out, 'Be careful pet. It's still a snake', with real worry in her voice.

Jimmy was unperturbed. He stared deep into the snake's eyes, black and bottomless. The tongue flicked back and forth, licking his forehead, eyes, mouth, cheeks, as before. Jimmy felt as if he was being anointed, again, and his head began to spin. He rolled onto his back, and the great bowl of night and the myriad stars spun around and around like a maelstrom, and he was sucked in, deep into the cosmos. He felt himself flying, sitting astride the great snake, like riding a dragon, soaring over the world, a world black, brown, grey and burning with acrid smoke, lifeless and desolate.

Then they plunged into the sea, warm as tea, the sky again a sickly green, and the snake transformed itself into a whale, a rainbow whale, multi-coloured, long and sinuous, a whale-serpent, and they sank down into the abyss, black and noisy, with mysterious glowing, luminescent creatures all about, then, with a mighty surge they flew back to the surface and flung themselves skywards. The vault of Heaven was restored to a beautiful blue, flecked with white fluffy clouds. The land was emerald green, lush, forested and peaceful. Jimmy felt an electrifying surge of joy, of relief, as if delivered from evil, or back from the land of the dead, and he woke smiling, sitting bolt upright, in his bed in the van. All around were anxious faces, his Grans, Bob and Charles, Cyril and numerous old-timers, the kids being safely tucked up in bed.

'Thank the Lord for that', Doreen exclaimed.'You had us worried sick. We thought that flamin' snake had bit you or something....you've been out of it for an hour. Cyril had to carry you up here. Thank God he's a strong boy, although you're no heavy-weight. Do you remember anything?' Doreen wanted a good explanation for being scared half to death.

Jimmy looked around at the faces, all now smiling, but for his Gran Thelma, who still was a deathly pale. He knew that she was thinking back to his earlier brush with death, and, of course, of her son C.J., Jimmy's Dad. So Jimmy leaned up and over and hugged Thelma long and hard, then his other Gran, Doreen, then he spoke.

'We are going to be OK, my beloved family and my friends. I have seen the future and it is bliss. But there is a lot of work to do, starting tomorrow, so let us all sleep on it. Sweet dreams to everyone. I love you all so very much'.With that he jumped up and hugged and kissed them all as they filed out. Last of all was old Charlie, and he and Jimmy chatted in Arrentje for a good few minutes, with Charlie laughing a few times, and throwing his arms about a good deal, all finishing with a big hug, and he set off, chuckling into the night.

'What were you two on about', demanded Thelma as Charlie giggled off. She rather considered Charlie a ne'er-do-well, although he was a long-time reformed drunk.

'Old Mr. Charlie' Jimmy began, respectful as ever, 'was telling me about a dream he had as a child, seventy years ago, all about a rainbow serpent and flying whales. The thing is, you see, he had never even heard of whales back then, but he dreamed about them, all the same. When I told him that I had just been dreaming of flying whales he thought it was very funny. I do need practise in conversation. It is much different from the examples they give on the web. Is Charlie a relative of mine, Gran', Jimmy asked his Gran Thelma.

'Oh, yes, son....he's your grand-father's uncle....what's that, your great-great-uncle, or somethin' similar. He knows all the old Dreaming stories. His Dad kept 'em all, and passed them onto Charlie. I reckon old Max has him in mind to help with teachin' you, so I believe'. Thelma figured that Jimmy was dreaming up new Dreamtime stories, right here and right now

'Well, tomorrow, I will start taking them down', Jimmy said.' Are they secret stories, Gran?'.

'Blimey, yes...some of them. He'll tell you, 'cause you're one of us Jimmy, but there's lots that women can't hear, and whitefellas, too, unless the old-timers trust 'em. Some whitefellas are just blackfellas that got lost comin' into the world, so Charlie says. He loves old Mal Hill, for a start. Charlie's a funny old coot, no denying it'. Thelma proceeded to get a little lost in whimsical thoughts.

They all had a cup of tea, to calm down a little after the excitement. While the Grans chatted, Jimmy got the computer running, and Skyped Felipe and Oswald. They were settling in well in their new home. They had spent the day digging up the back-yard with their Dad, for a vegetable garden, the necessary first step in Gaian fealty. Felipe mentioned that he and Oswald were going to follow permaculture principles, which Jimmy enthusiastically supported. He recommended watching some of old Bill Mollison's videos as inspiration. Then Jimmy asked if he could speak to their Dad, and Felipe fetched him.

'Hello, Jimmy. How's the man of the hour?' Masters sounded invincibly relaxed and happy.

'I am fine, Mr. Masters. Your boys sound happy. And you, too. How is Mrs Theresa?' Jimmy didn't think it proper to call her Mrs.Masters, as there was another-well four or five, all up.

'She's grand, too, but....how's your Gran and all your relatives up there, by the way....but, have you seen the News?' Masters sounded a little puzzled.

'No Mr. Masters. I kept the TV and radio turned off while we were travelling, and read a few books. Twelve in fact. This speed reading ability is quite useful. I really loved 'Huckleberry Finn'-for the second time. No, what has happened? Did the Dream work. I expect it did'. Jimmy was quietly confident, to the point of certainty.

'Good God, yes. All the Governments and the UN have fallen into line. The publics are clamouring. Even the biggest reactionaries...God, even fossils like me....have changed virtually overnight. Well, about 98% have. There seem to be a few real  who just can't take it....but, by God...there aren't many. Your mate Barnstaple is one, but reports are he's on the verge of some nervous collapse. No-one wants to be seen as an enemy of the future. They're falling over themselves with exotic ideas. My papers are just as biased as ever, only 180 degrees about-turned. I am such a hypocrite, but at least I'm on the right, I mean 'morally correct', side this time. You know, the UN Secretary, Madam Lim, has proposed inviting you, Jimmy, and the other leaders of the Gaian clubs to open and address an International Conference announced for January, in New York. Then an Action Plan for Global Salvation is going to be nutted out. You're a celebrity, son. A flamin' mega celebrity. What do you think of that?' Masters was just a tiny bit worried that Jimmy might be overawed and take flight.

'Well, I have my duty, Mr. Masters. Mother, by which I mean Gaia, the living Earth, she picked me, and my comrades, for this task, generations ago. You know the whole unbelievable story. I just wonder sometimes why she left it so late. We are on the brink, but, here we go. Perhaps humans act best in an emergency. I will contact my friends, and we will see what we will do. I would be happy to speak. I had my confidence re-doubled just tonight'. At which Jimmy related the reunion with Brownie and the vision that followed.

'But, Mr. Masters, why the delay until January? Things may have cooled down by then, the nay-sayers may be mobilised, the vested interests organised'. Jimmy was all in favour of striking while the ire was hot.

'It's the Yanks...they want things 'properly planned', and I'd say that they want the November Congressional election out of the way. Every time I talk to you, son, I'm left lost for words. This is an inflection point for humanity, for our entire future, and you, young man, and your friends, are the hinge about which history will move. A hinge isn't a very romantic metaphor, but it's the best this old brain can manage. Now get in touch with your friends and I'll talk to my contacts in the US and see what we can arrange. Look after yourself. I've gotta sleep...all the digging I did today has worn me to a frazzle. Give us a call in the morning. Say hello to your Grans for me. Ciao', and, thus, Masters signed off.

After a little time, while he gathered his thoughts, Jimmy got on-line to his fellow path-finders, leaders and comrades, scattered like seeds, broadcast by that cosmic gardener, Gaia, across the world. They readily agreed that to travel to the UN was essential, as they were the vanguard, after all. They had set the process in train, with Mother Gaia's assistance, and they were the first rank of intermediaries between her and humanity. They all laughed at the responsibility. Pyotr Moisky from the Urals, from a clan of traditional hunters and trappers in the taiga, thought it rich indeed that they would lecture a hall of powerful men, and a few women, as if they were the children. 'And we must make the naughty ones sit in the corner', he laughed, but suddenly recalled that no leaders had yet obviously resisted the influence of the nooetic field, nor public opinion. 'I think everyone knew this truth, somewhere in their heart, but they were forcing themselves to stay asleep, and, now that they have been shaken awake, nothing will hold us back. All that human effort will be expended, not to kill one another, or pile up loot, but to build, repair, restore and cherish. How wonderful it will be.' Pyotr had been buried in a landslip, for two hours, hauled out blue and, apparently lifeless, but after being in a coma for a week, awoke to find himself made anew. His talents were particularly rich in spatial awareness, as well as the sundry other gifts they all shared. Pyotr saw situations as a whole, as if like an eagle, flying high above, with vision beyond human faculties. He seemed able to visualise things from several angles at once, and internally in their hidden structure, as well as the external commonplace. He saw more colours, too, now, shades of blue, green, red that made the world a dazzling riot of variation. Pyotr could see a bug crawling up the trunk of a tree at fifty metres, and anticipated events with uncanny presentiment. Jimmy was already looking forward to Pyotr's UN talk-he would liven them up.

The comrades all promised to get together again in twenty-four hours, to see how things had moved on. After they parted, Jimmy set about catching up with events, and was intrigued to see how it was the poorer countries that first mentioned the Gaia clubs as models for action in the days after Our Dream, the 'common dream'. This occurred as Governments everywhere threw out decades of policy and promised a nearly total reversal of behaviour, of Business As Usual, as if fearful of revolt if they did not, even from their own children. The force of mutual co-operation and care was overpowering that of competition and self-interest. The US President, the Chinese, Russian and French Presidents and the UK, Indian, even the new twin Australian PMs were speaking with one voice. It all seemed so easy-too easy, really. Jimmy began to feel a faint sense of unease at the very rapidity of the wakening, but he dismissed that as rebound pessimism. Jimmy was rarely, if ever, pessimistic, not since his transformation. Was it, perhaps, scepticism. But that was not in his character, either. He tended to either believe or disbelieve, rather than merely suspect others' motives or words were not as honest and straight-forward as his.

After all, he believed, indeed it was plain that, despite its seeming irrationality and superstitious improbability, Gaia, whatever 'she' was, had been planning this change for some generations. His life was proof, and not even a scintilla of doubt was left in his mind over that. Jimmy could imagine, however, how some might very well resent this all too apparent interference in human affairs by an outside, non-human, force, or, more likely, greatly fear it. Even more probable, was it that some religious types might see the whole series of events as an affront to their own transcendental powers, real and imagined. For Jimmy all religions had long seemed equally correct, expressing similar human yearning and hopes, although not in their dogmatic, fundamentalist, manifestations. Those, in their intractable certainties, tragically took a less benign view of the 'competition' than he. Some, of course, actively repudiated 'goddesses', 'nature worship' and 'pantheism', but they seemed to have remained quiet, so far. Jimmy feared that the 'Common Dream', must have been an earth-shattering experience for the dogmatists, with unknowable consequences, yet to be seen.

Jimmy finally laid his head down to sleep around twelve, rather late for him, as he preferred ten hours sleep a night. Fortunately Doreen and Thelma let him sleep until noon, the next day, by keeping very quiet and keeping the kids at bay, which long sleep Jimmy needed as he was thoroughly exhausted. Then he read for an hour or two, a hundred pages of 'Moby Dick', which seemed appropriate, after which mental refreshment he contacted Masters again. Masters relayed Moir and his kids' greetings, which pleased Jimmy no end, although but a slight matter, and one that he could have taken for granted. Masters reported that invitations would be sent out in one week for the 'chosen children' to attend the great UN Earth Survival Summit, as it had been somewhat luridly, if , unfortunately, quite accurately titled, in early January. Masters guaranteed a safe and pleasant passage on his jet, which he recommended as Jimmy's fame made normal commercial flights impractical. Jimmy agreed and was working out how each one of them would best travel, when he suddenly suffered a terrible head-ache, like a blow to the head. He excused himself and broke off the conversation, settling down in the darkened bedroom to wait the headache out. Jimmy experienced a dreadful sense of foreboding, then of loss, and he quickly knew, intuitively, what was wrong. One of his comrades was gone, no longer entwined in that symbiotic relationship that joined them all together so strongly and that made them so very much greater than the sum of their parts. When he returned to the computer, he first contacted Alex in Canada. He was even sicker, vomiting and shaking, and certain that a dreadful fate had befallen them. 'I'm glad it's not you, Jimmy', he said.'But I hate it to be any one of us. I was sure that Mother would protect us'. Alex sounded utterly bereft.

Within minutes the others were checking in. Mtenzi, Sophia from Greece, Sunil from Bihar, Li Wang-wei from Gansu, Amadeo from Sicily, Carmen from Cuba, in the end, with Jimmy and Alex, twelve, all knowing that the circle was broken.In the end, everyone but Pyotr. Finally it was Alex who delivered the grim news. He had found a news report from Russia, from Perm, near Pyotr's home. A gang of religious 'hooligans' had attacked a 'witch boy' and burned him and his family in their house. They were led by a so-called 'seer' who had declared Pyotr, for that is who it was, a 'Goddess worshipper' and a 'devil'. The local police had no idea where the gang had fled.

After some more trawling of the Web, Carmen discovered a local Russian TV news with a bumpy video from a mobile phone. A house burning, various mad-men carrying banners and pictures of their 'prophet' and powerless neighbours wailing and lamenting. Jimmy was almost paralysed with grief, and, to his regret, rage. He was frightened, too, because religious lunatics are not restricted to one country alone.

The surviving twelve quickly had a counsel of, if not war, then vigilance. They decided to get to New York quickly when the time came, but for now to lie low, in fact to disappear if they could, just in case, and Jimmy said that he would use Masters' power and influence to help them 'take a low profile', and get safely to New York, whenever they desired to go. If necessary, they might need protection, which Masters, no doubt, could arrange. Jimmy couldn't help thinking that his strong desire to run away to the bush must have been some sort of presentiment of danger. He didn't tell his Grans about Pyotr, and contacted Masters again post haste.

Masters was aghast, and declared that he would be instructing Charles and Bob to make a full 'security assessment'. They could stay for the four months or whatever, or be rotated with other 'experts'. Jimmy agreed that it would be safer that way, and Masters promised to use his influence to get all the other children protected, immediately. Jimmy would send him an e-mail of all his comrades' names and addresses, after their conversation.

'There is a bit of a backlash, bubbling away....in a few places...mostly religious nutters rather than political ones, it seems. They seem a little more impervious to the miraculous than most. Who would have thought it, eh?, Masters muttered. 'I've got Moir and Butcher monitoring it, and...well it's significant enough to merit precautions, particularly with this...tragedy. Do you agree?' Masters sounded quite paternal in his concern. Jimmy of course agreed and thanked Masters for his concern.

'Ah, Jimmy, son...you're like a third son to me now....and you're bloody important to my other sons and everybody else....so I should be thanking you...which I do. So I'll see you soon. My every condolence for your lost friend, too, son. OK. Keep safe.' At that, the conversation ended in mutual regret and worry.

Masters immediately set about contacting various security firms that he trusted, to protect the children. Most, he knew, would probably work with local Governments, ensuring that the protection was complete. Nearly all had been members of national intelligence agencies before becoming privateers. After working through the details he remembered that before they could be in New York, even as guests of the UN, they would need passports, visas etc. They could all get UN Passports to begin with, and the State Department promised to grant full visas on arrival. After the arrangements were finalised, Masters e-mailed Jimmy with the details of who would arrive to bodyguard the kids and when, so that Jimmy could alert them to be ready. It was all rather 'cloak and dagger' with pass-words and secured communications, but Masters liked playing the 'intelligence' games. Jimmy received this message just as he was helping Thelma and Doreen to get dinner ready, a mundane but pleasant task that always calmed his nerves.

Jimmy could not, of course, forget the fate of Pyotr, and the awful realisation that they were not indestructible and safe from malevolence, or that Gaia might be so indifferent to their fates, after all, as to be prepared to sacrifice one or more of them, to her own, unfathomable, ends. However, he consoled himself, the truth was that it was probably just a vile accident, the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time, doing evil things for insane 'reasons'. Jimmy wasn't that scared for himself, but for the others, and most of all, for the work they still had to do. The clubs and the childrens' endeavours were forging ahead, ever more under their own impetus, growing and changing, becoming more complex and varied by the day. He estimated that there were 100,000 clubs, now, with several million children involved, drawing in millions more adults to help or benefit, in over 100 countries, all achieved in just six months. That process wasn't going to change, and political opposition to the operation was, seemingly, dying away, as it ought to. The newspapers were full of earnest, war-time, exhortations to do stuff that would have been dismissed as 'Greenie' 'moral vanity' or 'pointless' only days ago. On one hand Jimmy felt not so much vindicated, as simply elated, and on the other, a little cheated that the days of the steady underground growth, the vaguely subversive fun of organising children to take over the running of the world from their parents, was gone. He missed that. It was probably just residual egotism, and he was trying to act selflessly at all times and reduce his ego to near nothingness. It was not so easy, after all, and even harder when so gifted. No wonder that monks had to sit in a cave, chanting, for years, to conquer their egos. Unfortunately the situation was so dire that they did not have years left to act. Besides, Mr. Masters was evidence that a rampant ego was no permanent impediment to positive action.

Doreen sensed that something was awry.' OK, love', she said, blunt as ever.'What's the matter? You're as quiet as an angel's fart, as they say. What's got ya down, love'. Jimmy hesitated, but realised that his Gran would see through any bulldust, so he blurted out. 'Pyotr was killed, by religious lunatics. In Siberia. Mr. Masters will instruct Charles and Bob to stay and make a security assessment here...I hope they will be discreet.., then, in late December, I will be off to New York, with the others, to speak at the UN. We'll have to hide out here for nearly four months. That is all'. After which, he began crying.

Doreen hadn't seen Jimmy really cry as he did now in all the time since the lightning accident, but the tears were understandable. She was shaken by the news, and her instinct was to ban him from carrying on, if the opposition was capable of murder, but she well knew that that was out of the question.

'Who was he, this Pyotr', she asked, trying to lessen Jimmy's angst by getting him to talk it out, even if only a little at a time.

'He was our eagle, Gran...the far-seeing one. Pyotr was visually gifted, quite beyond imagination. That was his special talent. Not just physically, but metaphorically-he could see the connections between things and events, better and earlier than any-one else amongst us. I was so looking forward to meeting him one day, in Siberia. He has his roots deep in that ancient land, like the rest of us in our countrys. Deep, deep, roots. Had his roots, I mean'. Jimmy fell silent, as did Doreen, who could only throw a comforting arm around him.

'We must and will carry on, Gran. Pyotr would have' Jimmy declared, instantly 'pulling himself together' with a steely resolve.'But now, getting our priorities right, we must get Gran Thelma and my Aunties for dinner'. The aforementioned women were gas-bagging outside, in the shade. The late afternoon was warm and muggy. Clouds were piling up to the north and a storm was brewing.

As they ate, the heat grew and grew, implacably. This was definitely not normal weather for the first week of September in these parts. The humidity rocketed up, until beads of sweat dotted every brow and arm. The clouds were neck-rickingly high, towering up into a familiar and ominous flat-topped formation. Before long they had spread around to the west, cutting out the lowering sun. It was like an eerie false dusk, an hour early. The birds in the trees flew up squawking and headed straight south. Leaves began to fall from the gums in a blue, grey, green blizzard, as if detached by the weight of the saturated air. First distantly, then ever closer, the roll of thunder sounded, ominously. Then the lightning, at first sheet lightning, illuminating the clouds, then bolts, zig-zagging across the sky within and between the clouds, the clouds and the earth.

Jimmy watched all this spectacle from Thelma's little porch. She didn't like the look of it at all, remembering that other storm, that other day, only seven months earlier, with glum foreboding. Thelma made Jimmy promise to stay indoors. 'No risk of that, Gran. I cannot afford to get hit again', he chuckled, forgetting Pyotr for a second.

At last the storm hit, with tempestuous gales, whirling dervishes of willy-willies trying to become tornadoes, rain and hail, and lightning, bolt after bolt. One tree a half a kilometre away was struck, and burst into flames, almost instantly extinguished by the torrential rain. Then, right where Jimmy had been hit, near the dry, not so dry now, creek, a mighty blast descended from the heavens, blinding them all, cracking their ears with the thunder-clap, and, at that, the storm had peaked, as if exhausted by that one mighty, climactic, blow, then collapsed. In minutes the rain eased, the hail ceased and the clouds flew away south-east, towards Queensland.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Big Brownie Transfigured and Re-Born.

Doreen heaved a sigh of relief. No more accidents, thank God. And Gaia. Just another bloody great big storm, more heavenly intemperance, so very common these days, even at the strangest times of year. Jimmy was more eager to look outside, and rushed down to the glass-field, where the climactic bolt had hit. There Cyril and some of the kids were already inspecting the destruction. The bolt had hit the glass field left over from his accident fair in the middle, and shattered it into shards. Some were found later, buried in tree trunks or scattered around like arrow-heads on an ancient battle-field. The bigger pieces were too heavy to shift, but smaller pieces revealed that the glass was reddish, like the sand, and razor-sharp along its edges. A few cuts had Cyril rushing for some gloves, and then he more safely was able to pick up some pieces to stand up in the ground as a form of sculpture.

In the centre the lightning had blasted a glassy fulgurite deep into the ground. It poked out the top in a mass of twisted filaments that fell apart at the touch. As they did, they revealed a twisting, sinuous shape, buried beneath the glassy crown. As Cyril carefully knocked the superfluous glass aside, Jimmy saw, first unbelievingly, then immensely distressed, that it was Old Brownie, his guardian spirit-guide, vitrified.

'Can you believe that', Cyril whistled.'It's your old mate, the snake. What was he doing out here?' Jimmy had a fair idea. Brownie had returned to the spirit world from where he had arisen. He hadn't been, and wasn't now, just a snake, not as we think we know them.

Old Brownie had been curled up in a circle, his twelve or fourteen feet coiled around four times. His head rested on his body, his eyes were open, and looked as if they had been opalised. His tongue protruded, maddeningly fragile. His body was, now, truly rainbow, and sturdy. No crumbling into fragments here. Every imaginable colour glowed along his body, every different element fused into a peculiar hue. He was become almost unimaginably beautiful.

As Jimmy gazed on his old acquaintance, hot tears flushed his eyes, again. Cyril ran back to his little cottage to fetch a trolley he kept for moving car parts. Covering it with an old carpet, they, three adults and Jimmy, lifted the old snake, gingerly, for he weighed more now than in life, onto the trolley and pulled him up the hill to Gran's cabin. As they pulled the old reptile slowly up the little slope to the settlement, Jimmy was suddenly struck by an idea. Well, not so much an idea of his own. In fact he realised instantly that it was a message, probably from Old Brownie himself, wherever his spiritual essence, riding on the lightning bolt, had now migrated, if it had ever been merely residing in that old body alone.

When they finally pulled up outside Gran's place, it was growing dark, but Jimmy was fired with urgency. He grabbed Cyril by the arm, and asked if there were any old packing crates in the settlement.

'Well, yes', Cyril drawled, 'there's a few left over from the solar power set-up we installed a few months ago. They're over in my shed. Whatya want 'em for?'

'Look, Cyril, my dear friend, my cousin, somewhat removed...I have had a great idea. I want to pack Old Brownie up, in a crate, nice and snug, and take him on a trip to New York. You see, I am going there for a speech. It is odd, very odd, but they want to hear me speak, and I want to give the 'Rainbow Snake'...I mean, he is a rainbow now, just look at him....to the world, as a symbol of Hope and Earth Wisdom, if that is the best way to put it. I will wrangle some money out of them too, for you mob, here, so you can set yourself up, comfortably....even more comfortably, if that is what you want....what do you think of that idea?' Jimmy was quite enthused, and his deep brown eyes burned with that ecstatic enthusiasm which accompanied him everywhere now.

As usual it proved to be infectious excitement. Cyril liked the idea. He checked with the old-timers, who approved, as well. Old Charlie said that there was a Dreaming story of a Rainbow Serpent, turned to stone, that his Grand-dad had told him, and that was the mountain they called a secret name, which the whitefellas called, surprisingly, Snake Rock, about fifty kilometres north. It was a pretty big 'sacred site' thereabouts. Charlie had a look at Old Brownie and whistled, 'That's a plurry strange thing, that. Old Brownie...he's been herebouts for donkeys' years.... look at 'im...all flamin' shiny and smooth....like opal, I reckon...you get a good price for 'im, boy. You hear'. At which thought he chuckled as he gave Jimmy a big hug.

Both Grans approved, too, with less mercenary intent. Doreen thought it a wonderful gesture, typical of Jimmy. She suddenly felt a strong, oddly strange, urge, a need, to travel to New York with him, to see his triumph, and protect him.

The old snake was carefully stowed away in a sturdy packing-crate that had held solar panels. The fit was, as if planned, perfect. He was encased in bubble-wrap, and cotton from wild cotton bushes shoved into crevices and around his tongue, that looked so fragile. The lid was nailed down, and by nine o'clock they were finished. Old Charlie muttered a few words over the crate, from a song his Dad had taught him, a secret song, so he kept it low and mumbled. Jimmy was permitted to listen, however, and he understood it fairly well to be the story of the snake that connects the beginning of the world to its end, which is the beginning of the world again. Like the snake biting its own tail, Ouroboros, the symbol of time as circular, of end times and renewal-a rebirth of the world that was now coming about. Jimmy new his symbology rather well, now, for a twelve year old dilettante, but as he was able to read several books a week on the subject, and others, and recall it all, verbatim, a talent few others possessed, it had been quite easy. The whole episode had Jimmy very excited, as he saw it as yet more proof  of those greater powers than mere human agency that were at work, guiding his actions and ensuring their success. He experienced a tiny frisson of pride at his role, but rejected it quickly as unseemly. He was merely the messenger, not the message, after all. And he was over his sadness-Old Brownie had not died, he had transcended, or so Jimmy imagined.

As Jimmy prepared to sleep, after sending messages to his Gaian comrades outlining the miracle of Old Brownie and the details of their later passages to New York, Masters having used his network of contacts to facilitate that process, Doreen sat down on the end of his bed.

'So you want to come with me, Gran', Jimmy began. Doreen smiled, no longer surprised by his little 'psychic' tricks.'Yes, smarty-pants. Let your old Gran get her stuff out, before stealing the words out of her brain. Is that OK?' Doreen wasn't quite sure what the answer would be.

'Of course, Gran. I want you there. Gran Thelma doesn't want to come, so I would love you to be there. I have asked Mr. Masters to organise a Passport for you, and a UN one, plus a visa. Sorry to jump to conclusions, but I could feel that you wanted to come, and, somehow, needed to come. Is that OK with you?' Jimmy knew it would be.

'Yes, of course. Now get some shut-eye. A new day tomorrow. Always a new day.' With which profundity Doreen leaned over and kissed Jimmy on the forehead. Her beautiful boy, but not hers alone any more-if he ever had been. Doreen turned out the light, and closed the van's door, and joined Thelma, Mabel and Sandra on the porch. The old girls and the younger ones performed a bush tea ceremony with cake, an improvement on the Japanese ritual, and watched the shooting stars. One big one that shot across the sky sparked Thelma to exclaim, 'That's Old Brownie. His spirit's turned to fire!' She wasn't quite sure what she meant, or where the words came from, but out they blurted. 'Bloody snake! Used to scare the tripe out of me, slithering around, until you recognised him. Still, you could never trust a snake, like you can't trust a croc. Gonna miss the old bugger, though'. Thelma returned to a now quite respectful silence. It was the passing of something significant. No-one alive at the settlement, not even Old Charlie, remembered a time before Old Brownie was there. In fact, Charlies' grand-dad had told him that Old Brownie had 'always' been there. The tea quaffed, and conversation exhausted, the women, too, retired for the night.

Jimmy woke early. He slipped out, quietly, and walked down to the glass field. The sky was orange-red from the dawning sun, reflected off high clouds. Overhead a big mob of corellas were screeching, on their way to a breakfast snack of wattle-seeds, along the creek-bed to the west of the community. Jimmy looked for pieces of glass to take as mementos and gifts for those who he would soon meet. And for his fellows, and one for Pyotr's family, if any survived. He filled a box with thirty or so choice shards, with interesting shapes and patterns of cracking and colours. Then he turned to return to the van, but was instantly stopped in his tracks. Straight in front, a few metres away, at the edge of the glass field, a little brown snake was slithering towards him. Jimmy recognised 'Young' Brownie immediately and intuitively, and quickly put his box of souvenirs down and knelt on the glass.

Young Brownie slithered straight up to him, tongue flicking, and as Jimmy knelt further down, flicked his face with his forked tongue and gazed deep into Jimmy's eyes, and through them to his soul. Oh, yes, this was Old Brownie returned, no doubt about it, and to prove it the little fellow slithered off, straight for Old Brownie's haunt in the flood debris in the creek-bed.

Jimmy felt really elated. The circle of life was, and would remain, unbroken. Everything said so. He fairly skipped up the hill, and quietly entered his room, and turned on his computer.

There were numerous e-mails, but the one from Masters took his attention, first. Masters had affixed an attachment outlining the time, place and personnel involved in picking up the children. Red Cross or Red Crescent guardians, plus local national police, and UN and private security personnel would escort them. Two families members each could accompany them, (although, in the end, none but Doreen felt compelled to do so) and the Red Cross would look after any siblings or elderly left behind. Jimmy and Doreen's passports had been expedited, just requiring photos, that could be handled in Sydney, and picked up in transit in late December.

Masters left the most surprising news to last. He was arriving at ten o'clock, to stay a while...if that was OK.. He, plus party, that is the usual suspects, was coming from Alice by helicopter, and he had indicated where he wanted to land on a satellite photo of the settlement. Jimmy, after getting the OK from Thelma, saw that the landing site was right on top of the glass-field, so e-mailed Masters to land 400 metres further west, lest he add further and merely mundane destruction to the, now assuredly sacred, relic, in addition to the magical carnage wrought by the lightning.

Jimmy spent the next couple of hours checking in with his comrades, particularly relating the re-birth of Young Brownie, which was greeted with wonderment, 'phoning Mr. Dudley and Sammy to inform them of events, and also contacting Dave Moir, who was at home with his family, out of respect for his help and friendliness. Moir was suitably impressed and amazed by everything that was happening, and filled Jimmy in on some political and social consequences already in train. There had been so much progress made in just those few days since 'Our World Dream', the latest favoured nomenclature in the media, and very little resistance, so far, save from the previously noted religious fanatics of various hues. 'Their minds seem more impervious, although even there, their kids are on your side, Jimmy...as far as I can tell...which makes some old fossils quite cranky...you're 'Goddess worshippers' one freak....sorry, one 'true believer' called you...'. Moir was amused, but when Jimmy informed him of Pyotr's fate, he paused for anxious reflection.

Jimmy, of course, picked up his anxiety, without much recourse to 'psychic' insight, and reassured him, 'Mr. Moir, Mr. Masters has organised everything to keep us safe now, and, to be blunt, the work does not even need us any more...it will go on through children everywhere, like yours, and through their parents, neighbours, friends..the turning-point has been reached, and the tipping-points back to health and sanctity will soon be in view, then, hopefully, within reach...in fifty years or so. A mere blink of an eye. Do you know, I will turn thirteen the day after the UN Meeting? I am getting old'. With that Jimmy laughed out loud. 'And' he added, 'we don't worship our Earth Mother-we are her happy servants'.

Jimmy then spent a few minutes chatting to Tristram and Natasha, promising to visit after he returned from overseas, and have them as guests at the Plenty Creek settlement, and wished them well. Moir he thanked for everything, including the sympathetic and discreet portrayal in Masters' media circus and that was that. Moir asked if he had fulfilled the great task that Jimmy had predicted for him, based on his Druidic roots. 'Perhaps', Jimmy replied,'it was the work you did with Mr Masters and Mr Butcher at 'The Nation', but there may be more to come. Maybe it will be your children who do the great thing. We shall see, or we shall not'. With which slightly enigmatic reply, Jimmy begged leave to work, and farewelled Dave Moir, for now.

It was now eight o'clock, so Jimmy woke Doreen, lest she sleep too late, told her that Masters would be there at ten, and that it was OK with Thelma, whereupon they set about getting ready for the arrival of the cavalcade. Charles and Bob were up and about, preparing for their 'Masters' arrival.

Thelma was already cooking breakfast. Jimmy gave her his customary bear-hug, while confirming the approval for Masters and his gang to arrive and spend a couple of weeks at the settlement, and then he took the opportunity to broach the subject of staying here, hiding out more or less, for four more months, with security. Thelma kissed him and agreed happily, keen to have him for an extended stay, and asked if he needed one egg, or two. After breakfast Jimmy showered and dressed, and got ready for Masters' descent from the heavens by reading another hundred pages, or so, this time a book on comparative religions. Just as he was getting deeply into Sufism, right on time, the distant whirring of an approaching helicopter, a veritable mechanical 'whirling dervish' could be heard.

The capacious old Soviet chopper, that favourite of Masters', flown up to Alice the day before, landed on the new spot Alex had recommended. Masters tumbled out, as did Theresa and Felipe and Oswald and that was all. Calliope had stayed in Adelaide. Jimmy introduced them all to his relatives and friends, after which they all sat on the porch for a good strong cuppa, the bush ambrosia, and a natter.

The conversation soon turned to safety. Masters assured Jimmy that there was no intelligence that said that the children were in danger. The nutters in Perm were a group of real fanatics, and the Russian authorities hand rounded about a dozen up, which appeared to be the sum of it. 'No need to send them to Siberia, either', he chuckled, but the joke fell flat.

Theresa asked Thelma if they could stay a few days, to give her boys an outback holiday. 'No problems', was the quick answer. Masters checked in with Charles and Bob to judge their morale, check on their conditions, deliver some new 'equipment', including binoculars, a giant tent, infra-red sensors and goggles for night-time activities, and several fire-arms that were kept under lock and key in a giant metal trunk. Masters didn't believe in taking chances.

Jimmy and Masters later had a brief pow-wow, discussing matters of significance. The UN Conference was going ahead, planning was proceeding, draft Conventions, to be signed by the invited big-wigs, were circulating, and the Great Powers were actually co-operating and avoiding jostling for advantage. Global opinion was 80-95% in favour of what had become known as the 'Great Reorientation' as it had been dubbed by the Pope, various Rabbis, Imams, sadhus, High Priests, Bishops and other religious factotums in a 'Pastoral Letter to the World' issued a few days earlier. Masters asked Jimmy how he would spend his time while waiting to travel to New York.

'I think I will get my Uncle Max, the original Mad Max, so Mal Hill calls him, to come over, if he is free. He lives fifty kilometres northish from here....he is an expert on Indigenous myths, legends and Dreamings, and he was going to catch up with me in a few months, during school holidays, in any case...so, there is that, getting my 'blackfella education' as he calls it, reading and club matters. I keep a couple of diaries too...I could work on them...I think I will not be bored. It will just be fit and good to live at my father's place, where he grew up, as I prepare myself'. Jimmy was looking forward to the months flying along, in his mind.

'Well, here...take this son, I bought it for you yesterday....it's an e-reader or some such contraption. You download books and read away. Saves lugging them about. You'll get the hang of it'. The old blackguard cracked a crooked leer of self-satisfaction, and Jimmy offered back profuse thank-yous. After which they went back to planning.

Over the next few days they busied themselves doing very little. Doreen rang Mel a couple of times to see how she was going, living alone, Sammy having moved in as a boarder, Dudley having organised an extension to his scholarship in recognition of Sammy's great progress. She also rang Olga Wade at the creche in order to apologise for absenting herself so suddenly. Olga laughed it off, then interrogated her about the great 'Dream'. Doreen recounted the details, and Olga replied by telling Doreen the details of her own 'great experience'. She promised to keep Doreen's job open as long as possible, at least until March next year. The two old friends finished with best wishes.

Theresa's 'a few days' stretched out to nearly three weeks. Masters did fly down to Sydney once, for a meeting with the Government of National Unity, where Duffy was playing Menzies to Hellier's Curtin (and Hellier thought that he definitely had the better role). The news-rags were all in full wartime, mobilisation, mode. The one or two diehard dissidents at 'The Nation', unwilling to work with Greenies, either old or the new, even more enthusiastic, therefore annoying, converts, were sent on extended holidays, to dream some more. 'Come back when you've fallen asleep to yourself!', Butcher advised one recalcitrant. The media agit-prop was wall to wall, the Gaia Clubs were the toast of the country, Victory Gardens, re-named 'Eternity Gardens' by one hopeful scribe (and the silly name somehow stuck in the public mind)sprang up everywhere, many sign-posted with Arthur Stace's famous calligraphy. Farmers were recompensed by better deals from the big grocers, and by the public buying direct, another Gaia initiative that saw more and more Farmers' Markets spring up, and roadside produce sheds proliferate like mushrooms after the rain.

Eventually, Theresa's boys were required back at their new school, the local high in Goolwa, a far cry from their hyper-posh English 'Public School', for the last term of the year. The boys definitely needed to leave the next day, the equinox. Felipe and Oswald had both had a great time, mucking about with Jimmy, his cousins and the other kids. They'd gone for a few drives to local 'mountains', along water-courses for swimming and out at night to camp under the stars. Bob proved a funny bloke, full of good humour, but, as Charles told Cyril one night, he was ex-SAS and as 'tough as they come'. But, luckily, 'they' didn't come, and Bob just went out hunting a couple of times with Cyril, armed with a suspiciously high-tech 'hunting rifle', returning home with roos, even a feral bull camel, to feed the entire settlement.

The day of departure dawned, with Masters having summoned his trusty old Kamenev 'copter for two in the afternoon, so they could have a farewell lunch, of camel, (Jimmy, of course, declining)and other comestibles. Preparations were nearing their consummation, when, at high noon, just as the meat was being served along with copious salads grown in the ever expanding gardens, who should drive in, raising a fair old dust trail (the last few weeks having been seasonably dry)but Malcolm Hill.

Mal parked his latest old rattler next to the van, hopped out muttering as if possessed and grabbed Thelma in a bear-hug. Within a couple of minutes he'd greeted them all, including Masters, who he greeted with 'The bastard that runs that ….-rag The Nation?', whereupon Jimmy piped up, 'No worries, Mal ...he is one of us, now'. Mal soon discovered this to be true, and they ended up nattering over a couple of beers. It was just like he'd never been away, but he had been, circulating around the north from the Kimberley to Cape York, just how he liked it.

The farewells went smoothly. The Kamenev landed even further off than before so as not to disturb the settlement too much, and they all hopped aboard, Masters, Theresa and the boys. There were oodles of hearty good-byes, and promises to meet again, in just a few months, and then they were gone, in a cloud of red dust.

Later in the afternoon, getting on for evening, Mal asked Jimmy if they could have a chin-wag. He began by saying that 'Mad' Max (it was Mal's invention, so he always used it)would be available to teach Jimmy in a week, and was looking forward to it. Mal was going to hang around for a while, to recuperate from too much driving, celebrating, unpaid medical work and 'sorry business'. Jimmy asked him to stay until he left for the US, and Mal readily agreed, depending on circumstances, of course. Then Jimmy gave him a run-down of how life had treated him since last they met, including the plan to go to New York for the UN Convention. That really bamboozled Mal, but when he heard how the famous Dream was, in fact, transmitted from Gaia, through a pod of blue whales, then through Jimmy and his companions, into the 'noosphere' then into just about every individual human conscience on the planet, he commenced laughing, uproariously.

'Cripes, Jimmy', he drawled presently, after catching his breath, 'that is far and away the weirdest load of gobbledegook that I've ever heard ….except I know it's true, because you couldn't lie....your Gran already told me half of it...and because I had the flamin' apparition my bloody self, if you'll pardon my French.' Malcolm sucked in a therapeutic mouthful of home-brew beer, of which he had a few dozen bottles in the boot, courtesy of an old friend in Boulia.

'Now, Jimmy, in my version of the Great Apparition, I didn't see any whales. No such luck. But you were there, as a little kid. Do you remember how you drew me, one day...I've still got that drawing..look, here..', and Mal pulled an old piece of writing-pad paper from his wallet folded back and forth, which, when unfolded, revealed a drawing of Malcolm Hill, very much to the life.

'You see, Jimmy, there, on my cheek, on the left, near my mouth...the scar...I had a SCC cut out, two years back....yet you drew that scar, nine, ten years ago. How is that possible...see, a definite line, and not symmetrical...it's the scar alright. I never thought of it, until the day before my operation. And you were in my dream, which was up in the Kimberley, my favourite place in all the world that I've seen...that was the before vision... of Eden, and, like the rest, it was flamin' Hell afterwards. Like after the fires went through, three years ago...only worse. Can you guess what you did in the 'before' fantasy? You drew me again, as an old, old man. A very happy old man...happy to be old...it beats the alternative... I guess. Everywhere you go it's like some sort of mystery play, Jimbo. Where will it all end?' Mal was quite over-wrought, in a happily excited way.

'It will end in the usual, inevitable way, Mal, but not until we have got this show properly on the road. I am glad you dreamed me Mal...you are a very important person for me. But I hardly ever see you, which is a pity. You are my uncle, much madder than Max! Well I believe it is time to eat'. With which they upped sticks and retired to the camper-van to cook dinner, which was to be a vegetarian treat for the Grandmothers and Aunties, after the carnivorous excess of lunch.

Over the next few days Jimmy read and read, answered e-mails, rang Sammy, Dudley and Oswald and Felipe, but left Masters alone to do his media magnate stuff. He began thinking about the speech he assumed that he would have to give at the UN, and began planning what would have the greatest effect. Jimmy decided that it must be short and sweet, lectures from children being rather inappropriate at 'Grand Gatherings'. As preparation he read the news from numerous countries, translated or in the six or so languages he now had facility in. There the signs were still very good. People had been so affected by the eerie nocturnal vision, and so many were still experiencing actual 'flash-backs', vivid recollections, either while sleeping or even when awake, in unexpected, spontaneous, reinforcement, as the nooetic field refused to loosen its grip, that enthusiasm for change was still running as strongly as ever. It had even led to a resurgence in religiosity amongst the various faiths, all of whom, with only insignificant exceptions, had tied their colours to the world change banner. All in the name of 'protecting God's Creation'. More than a few had claimed the Earth Mother as a manifestation of the Holy Ghost, and other equivalent entities.

Mal, naturally, hit it off well with Bob and Charles. The three would, along with Cyril and a few other blokes, watch the TV, usually sport, for hours, imbibing Mal's precious store of home-brew, now safely cooled in the settlement cold-store, which was solar powered, of course. Booze wasn't entirely banned in the settlement, as everyone was too busy and too happy to get blotto, and generally drinking only occurred infrequently and after dark, and beer almost exclusively.

In this lazy way the time, and the spring, passed. The weather grew gradually warmer as the days lengthened. It was still pretty dry, the monsoon wet not yet 'due', as if weather patterns were still predictable from past experience. In the rest of the country the weather was busily reinforcing the Dream's message of human wanton destruction. The West was baking hot and dry, after the lowest winter rainfall ever. No-one was looking forward to the summer, and the Gaians were busy planting trees, mulching them, experimenting with mist-nets to collect dew, and a coalition of clubs and the 'Men's Sheds' movement in Albany was building a 'dew tower' to collect the morning condensation and trickle it into rain-water tanks. And no-one laughed at their crazy ambitions, as some would certainly have done before.

To the east the situation was reversed. Lots of flooding rains, 'once in one hundred, or one thousand, year' deluges caused floods and landslides. The clubs organised themselves to reforest hillsides, dig swales to catch water to seep slowly into the ground and slow the run-off and restore river-banks. A lot was pretty much adult work, so the kids organised parents, particularly with earth-moving, chain-sawing weed trees like willows, digging the swales with back-hoes etc. The various Governments made money available, raiding other, less important, boondoggles like express-ways to find the cash. Much less traffic was already on the road as car-pooling spread like wild-fire. Masters organised a Mogul's Fund, kicking in ten million for a start. Old ladies baked cakes and knitted jumpers for the kids. Jimmy kept abreast of matters with messages of encouragement and the usual global interchange of ideas stepped up a few notches, and the clubs were rapidly fulfilling expectations and becoming entirely self-organised, autonomous and inter-dependent, like an ever-strengthening web of connections, just as Jimmy had known would be their future. He reminded the club members of the concept of 'Seneca's Cliff', where the ancient Roman had noted that progress was made only slowly and laboriously, through great effort, while collapse was often rapid and precipitous. They were all, as Jimmy noted, just trying to avert that precipice, then the real work of restoration, and the construction of a global plateau, a' broad sunlit upland', as he borrowed from Churchill (who, no doubt, borrowed it from elsewhere),of perpetual peace, friendship and human fraternity beckoned.

Jimmy kept in regular contact with his comrades. Alex, Mtenzi, Li Wang-wei from Gansu, Diego and Sunil remained stay-at-homes, working on local projects and the clubs in their own countries in particular. Wang-wei was particularly caught up with new Government projects to restore northern Chinese forests, and Chinese clubsters were visiting monasteries, cemeteries, waste-land, high, uncultivated ridges etc, to gather seeds from native trees. Various Botanic Gardens in China and overseas were sending seeds of plants collected over the last few centuries, but now rare or extinct in the wild. Wang-wei was dubbed the 'Princess of the Forests' by the florid Chinese media, and spent a lot of time with some friends, and her guards, who were quite unnecessary, deep in the woods, with only a satellite dish to 'keep in touch'.

Sophia, Amadeo, Carmen, Elizabeta, Asho and Liliana were more adventurous, criss-crossing their countries, then even visiting clubs in neighbouring countries, guards in tow, but generally incognito, to avoid the crowds of gawking well-wishers and the curious that now attended the 'comrades' whenever they were identified. All left their Grandmothers, Aunts and other relatives behind, not wishing to drag the generally elderly guardians around. The finance for these travels came from Masters and his fellow money-bags, although the children usually stayed in simple digs like pilgrim's accommodation, or, as with Asho, Buddhist or Shinto monasteries. Nothing like a cold, hard floor to sleep on, and winter was coming to the 'snow country' of northern Japan, to get a good night's sleep, so he swore.

After three weeks, being somewhat delayed by family ructions, Mad Uncle Max, or Uncle Mad Max as Doreen now called him, finally rode into the settlement. His very old BSA motor-cycle spluttered like a sick possum, as Mal described the hacking, so the first couple of days after his arrival were spent stripping the old beast down and reconstructing it, the lads in the settlement being expert bush mechanics, as indeed was Max, with motor-bikes.

That task accomplished, Max got Jimmy involved in a regime of boxing training and bush-craft. Jimmy rather enjoyed the long runs, because he could meditate while moving gently along. In fact Max soon foresaw a career as a marathon runner. The boxing was hard because Jimmy couldn't really bring himself to whack anybody, but neither could he get hit, because he had that instant's pre-cognition of the opponents intention that Nature and Gaia, if they be separate things, had gifted him. Once he got the knack of concentrating on Max's body language and those signals of intent that flickered across his face, shoulders and legs, Jimmy was unhittable. 'He's another flamin' Young Griffo', Max declared to Malcolm one evening.'A bleeding will-o-the-wisp. Still, he's getting me fit'. Mal declined to join in, preferring more leisurely activities and always having done so.

Max took Jimmy out into the bush a few times, to camp, with Charlie, and the two old fellas introduced Jimmy to a lot of lore, Dreaming stories, secret business, but only for boys-he'd have to wait for some of the other stuff. But Charlie reckoned there wouldn't be anything that he couldn't be told, eventually. 'You've got the right mind, young fella...the way of seeing things...you'll grow the knowledge, later...you'll be fully initiated....just in your head, of course. No-one gets scarred no more...that stuff's gone, long gone....last scarred fella I saw was my Dad'. Charlie seemed happy with that tradition having died out, as things must when their time is past.

The teaching went on for three weeks, with Jimmy often away for a day or two. Bob and Charles were pretty happy, so long as Jimmy took a satellite 'phone, which Max carried, so that Jimmy wouldn't get distracted. Max gave them a vague idea of where they were going, 'Over there', or 'That way, a bit', but it was all on foot and Charlie wasn't as spry as he once was, so they were never more than twenty kilometres distant. Finally, on getting home one late night, after Max insisted on a walk in the moonless dark, the proper time for certain stories, Max gave Jimmy a great bear-hug and said, 'That's enough for this year, young fella. See you in a year. Keep your guard up, and the running...and the backwards running...and the dream diary....you had some beauts this year, eh?'. Jimmy suddenly realised that he hadn't asked Max about the Dream, so, before the old geezer hopped on his bike, he did.

'Oh, that business. I knew it was you. I saw you lot..on that beach, your Gran Doreen and the others...old Charles your 'minder'...yeah, I seen it. Seen them singin' whales too....but that's an old dream, the whale dream. The desert, well that's not just the future, but also a long time ago, just after people arrived here...its was pretty rough then...somethin' wasn't right, with the world...but things got better...and they will again, don't you worry. I'll be gone, somewhere or other, but you young ones...you'll see it...or see it coming....so long, you Dreamer. Next year!' At which he hopped on his bike and disappeared into the dark, the engine now purring like a contented, if sizeable, kitten.

'That's why I call him 'Mad' Max', Mal Hill laughed.' He just loves burning around the bush at night. He'll hit a roo, or a camel one night...kapow!'. And he laughed. 'Bike sounds good, though. That Cyril's a genius with engines'.

The lessons with Max and Charlie had begun to open Jimmy's mind to many strange, incomprehensible, things. He found his superior intellect a hindrance at times, trying too hard to dissect, comprehend and assimilate the knowledge. As Max had often said, 'Don't think boy..just do. Just accept it. Go with the feeling, the hope...not the learnin'. Don't try and bend things to your will. You do the bending. Like an old Chinaman told me, 'Be like the bamboo...bend with the storm, but don't break!' Jimmy spent a lot of time just sitting quietly, bending his mind, and his heart.

Jimmy kept up the running, sometimes accompanied by Bob, who felt that he was 'getting soft' stuck in the never-never for months. Good money, though, and nothing to spend it on. Mal and Charles declined to join them, pleading old injuries, Mal's apparently picked up as a baby.

Eventually September having passed in Max's 'blackfella learning', October in mind-bending and reading, November in writing and club business, and an insidious boredom, that began to creep in as Jimmy grew anxious to be on his way, December finally arrived, and Masters rang one morning. His boys had just finished term, and were itching to return to Jimmy's place. The three months of preparation for the UN Conference had gone very undramatically. A number of separate and novel Conventions on Ecological Repair, Greenhouse Reversal, Oceanic Rehabilitation, Economic Disparity, Steady-State and Circular Economies, and even a full program of total nuclear disarmament, were ready for signing by the potentates. There had been more human progress and co-operation in the few months since the planetary catharsis of 'Our Common Dream'(still the preferred usage) than in all history, a miracle intensively studied by a great global conference of philosophers, writers, thinkers and savants, held in Beijing in early December. Sophia represented the 'Chosen Ones' as the Chinese hosts insisted on calling them, and addressed one session in pretty fluent Mandarin, and 'knocked their socks off', as the saying goes. Her talk concerned Hope, and the means by which we could, and should, cultivate it amongst the young. How to make optimism seem realistic and success inevitable. And how to ensure that it did not descend into a welter of advertising-like Newspeak, devoid of substance, and cynically manipulated. Sophia's 'divine wisdom' was transmuted into 'celestial understanding' in one translation of the Greek meaning of her name, whereupon Jimmy and Asho, in particular, teased her by addressing her as 'Celestial', abbreviated to Celeste, for a while.

Masters was by now knackered, having done 'ten years work in a few months' as he groaned, but was no longer needed as a facilitator and fixer, so, two weeks before Christmas, he requested permission to return for a breather before the great adventure in New York. Thelma was happy to agree, indeed more than happy, being very fond of Theresa and her boys. And Jimmy asked Helen if Sammy could come, too, which was also duly agreed, after a little hesitation, it being Sammy's first Christmas away from home, but he was very keen, so Helen relented.

Bob was granted a Christmas furlough, and a new replacement arrived by road within two days. Bob left Cyril his 'roo-shooting' rifle, a hideously expensive SAS issue beast, but one he reported conveniently lost when 'run over by the van'. And one thousand rounds of ammunition. 'Christ, Bob', Cyril whistled.'What were you expecting up here? A flamin'war?' Bob merely smiled, wickedly. The new minder, 'Nifty'(what else?) Neville, knew that he was on a brief assignment, but would be coming to the US with the party, quite a perk of the job.

Masters, Theresa and the boys duly arrived, with Calliope in tow. They drove in this time, in another great camper-van, driven by Calliope. Theresa had brought a virtual banquet of food with them, in freezers (a gift for the settlement) towed behind in a trailer. Cyril reckoned it was a small miracle that they hadn't run off the road, at which perceived insult Calliope flashed her UK truck driver's licence, and Cyril retreated gracefully. Amongst the comestibles there were chickens, turkeys, geese, Christmas puddings, cakes and lots of champagne, to celebrate properly. And non-alcoholic bubbly, too, of course.

Christmas that year was a great carnival of excessive eating, moderate drinking, save for Mal and Masters who got stuck into Master's top drawer Scotch supply, and presents..but only one each, of course. Jimmy got an electric keyboard, so that he could start his piano lessons, even up at Plenty Creek. 'I thought that a piano, might be too much, even an upright', Masters chuckled.

After Christmas, and a Boxing Day spent watching the cricket and with Mal and Masters nursing hang-overs, the preparations for the trip to New York had to begin in earnest. The expeditionary force, as Mal dubbed them, were to leave on the 29th and get to New York by the 31st, or the first of January. Jimmy contacted all his comrades, who were generally champing at the bit to be on their way, not the least in order to visit the great melting-pot, the World City of New York. Their general opinion was that fame was over-rated, and that, after the coming crescendo of 'celebrity' at the UN, that they would all far prefer to disappear, study and leave it all to Fate, the club members, sundry dedicated adults and Gaia herself. Alex claimed to be contemplating plastic surgery, but only in the world of virtual ambitions, that is 'in his dreams'.

Felipe and Oswald had really enjoyed their time at Goolwa. Not having 'The Honourables', and 'Earl' this and 'Prince' that, or the offspring of various kleptocrats as school-mates was a change that they really enjoyed. In fact Felipe appeared destined for a glittering career in 'football' of the Australian variety. Their two weeks with Jimmy rounded off a special year for them both. They had re-gained a father, replacing a distant curmudgeon, and even imagined a reconciliation between him and Theresa, although both realised that they would better leave that happy prospect to Fate.

Chapter Thirty: The Great Adventure Begins.

On the 29th the Kamenev arrived early. Jimmy and Doreen were ready, packed and fidgety. The great adventure was finally beginning. Doreen and Thelma embraced, and Thelma made Doreen promise to return safe and sound, not least because she felt an odd trepidation for her. 'You're my best mate, now, you old chook. We've still got a few years left, watching over that beautiful boy. You stay safe, you hear'. Then she dissolved into tears, as did Doreen.

Jimmy kissed his Gran Thelma and his Aunties goodbye, and many more tears were shed. Old Charlie sang them off with an ancient tune for happy good-byes, wishing a sure and swift return, the packing crate with Old Brownie was carefully loaded, and the sturdy old 'copter lumbered into the air. Flying low to take in the countryside, after a circuit around the settlement so that Jimmy could see his second home from the air, they reached the Alice in 60 minutes. A quick transfer to Masters' jet, and they set off for Sydney.

Jimmy introduced his Gran to Calliope. He recounted the miracle of Old Brownie's vitrification, and rebirth, to Calliope, which had Theresa, a confirmed sentimentalist, sniffling. Masters informed Jimmy that they would need to stop overnight in Sydney, to work out passport details and for Masters to ensure that his Empire was safely in Butcher's capable hands. He also wanted to check on Aykroyd who had returned to duty, now a raging Greenie, like everyone else at The Nation, which had been, once again modestly,  renamed 'The Green Heart of the Country' on its mast-head. The old potentate warned Jimmy to beware Duffy and Hellier in New York, lest either try to gain some political advantage for the time when politics returned to 'normal'. Jimmy laughed at the thought, stating bluntly,'But it never will. It must never return to 'normal', then he added, mischievously, 'Perhaps I should run for Prime Minister, at the next election'. He well knew that he couldn't be elected until 18 years old, but liked the thought of taking the reins of power from out of ancient and aged hands....and brains.

Masters laughed, and added, 'Just don't go into the media. I'd hate to see you lower yourself....and put us all out of business'.

The flight to Sydney was uneventful, while dodging thunderstorms along the way. The violence of the weather was beyond denial these days, the ferocity of the storms around the world simply too great to ignore or deprecate.....interspersed with wrenching droughts. Even the famously 'temperate' island nations were getting smashed by ever more frequent and powerful cyclones. The denialist industry had evaporated, seemingly overnight, and its denizens were, as Masters snorted, 'Returning to their natural habitat, under rocks'. The time for action was long overdue, but not yet, hopefully, too late.

The little party was to stay overnight in a small 'boutique' hotel in the Rocks, discreet and secure. After checking-in, Jimmy disappeared, (leaving Doreen a note saying not to worry), to take a stroll through the Botanic Gardens. One or two children greeted him as if they recognised him from somewhere, which surprised Jimmy a little, because he had managed to keep pictures of himself to a minimum.Then he remembered-the television program, and You Tube! How that had 'slipped his memory', he had no idea.

One cheerful greeting was at the vegetable garden that the Botanic Gardens had set up with a school Gaia Club from Woolloomooloo. It was frequented by 'derros' who slept rough nearby and enjoyed an occasional heritage tomato or two. Jimmy smiled in return, but carried on walking, only looking over his shoulder to see the young girl in question tugging at the old lady accompanying her's sleeve, and pointing at him, as he ducked around a corner of an old stone wall, built by convicts. Jimmy, after a nice walk, with a few stops to admire particularly noble specimens, walked back through the City, the crowds not daunting him, feeling a particularly strong optimism. Hope was springing, eternal, but also internal, inside his mind, and external, in the faces of people.

However, many shops were adorned, festooned even, with signs imploring people to spend, something, anything. The 'one present only' movement and a general swing away from over-consumption was biting. Jimmy, not for the first time, was daunted by the prospect of the chaos that the new way of life would unleash, and the lives that would be upended, but he knew, with absolute certainty, that there was no other way to ensure human survival. He wished it wasn't his responsibility and he knew that some would hate him for it, probably many, but it was his fate....and his destiny. His predestination in fact.

Returned to the hotel, Doreen told him off for disappearing. Dinner was to be had across the road at a Thai restaurant, in a private room, with Masters paying, naturally. Masters was at his newspaper office, outlining a campaign to ensure the ongoing success of the new world, born after 'Our Common Dream', in case people's memories began to fade. They hadn't shown any signs of that yet, but a little more resistance was, naturally, emerging, still mostly from religious bigots, who were apparently so well brainwashed as to be impervious to the message. Sophia, in fact, had speculated that these resistant people might actually have a damaged neurological apparatus for picking up the global consciousness, perhaps even thereby explaining their devotion to very simple-minded and restrictive religious dogma. Luckily Dave Moir was able to report to his boss that the 'flash-back' phenomenon seemed, 'anecdotally', to be increasing, seemingly carefully modulated to each individual's degree of acceptance, with some die-hards dreaming the Dream, with all its very real psychic horror, every night. 'It looks like Gaia can be a bitch, if needed. She'll shake the beggars till they wake up', Butcher snorted. Even business leaders and 'Free Market' economists were suddenly talking of 'de-growth' and 'environmental sustainability', 'circular economics' and 'steady-state economics'. A few were attempting to 'square the circle' by working out how 'market mechanisms' could drive the process. 'Dopes spring eternal', was Morrie Slowman's cynical rejoinder to that exercise.

Masters was quite caught up in it all, after his brief holiday, and thoroughly inspired. He had funded a number of radical and 'non-autistic' economists (a term he immediately took to his heart, knowing very many 'mainstream' economists who were plainly, he now realised, quite spiritually autistic) to write a series of articles outlining how the transformation could happen, for distribution at the UN Meeting. They were to be published on-line, with no idea of how well they would be received or if they would be accepted academically, economics being quite a 'closed shop'. Furthermore a considerable section of the newspaper and its web-site were to be given over to stories of ecological disaster. 'Lay it on thick', was his parting order to Butcher, (who he left in charge), Moir, Slowman, various others and the palely loitering Aykroyd, a shadow of the old monster, but 'Happy as a lark', or so he claimed. 'Keep 'em scared', Masters barked, 'Concentrate their minds!', then he left, laughing at his callousness, now a mask for theatrical purposes only, not any longer, thank God, a true reflection of the inner man. 'Tough love-tough luck!' he grunted, as the lift doors closed.

At dinner, Doreen had found the Thai food very much to her liking, even if the prices sent her into a conniption, and after a fine 'pig-out' the 'expeditioneers' returned together to the hotel. They now had a couple of new minders, Masters not wishing to leave anything to chance, let alone risk Jimmy's safety, before his UN 'turn', as Doreen called it. Charles needed a break, Masters surmised, so he stayed in Sydney. Jimmy used the hotel computer system to contact his comrades overseas, all of whom were safe and on their way to New York or about to leave. Pyotr's long delayed funeral was to be held the next day, there having been a cultural need to find a male relative to oversee the ceremony, and, with Pyotr's immediate family all dead with him, an Uncle from Tula was eventually found, and sobered up, to do the needful. The UN Secretary-General Madame Lim had organised a big UN presence, with Russian Government assistance. The Russian Prime Minister was one of those who had discovered his own grand-children were enthusiastic Gaians, and they had looked up to Pyotr, and still did to Jimmy, so he was attending as well, then flying to the UN with the Russian President.

Jimmy composed a message for the clubs. He was optimistic that a great change, the one that they had been working for, was coming, and he wished everyone luck, and urged them to keep working, no matter what, and keep hopeful, even if thing seemed bleak, if only because hope was a self-fulfilling and reinforcing process. More hope, more happiness, more hope etc. And to think hard about what to do as they grew up, how best to be useful, to others and to the world, and how to love each other and themselves. To think of others first, yourself next, and the care and love of others will look after us all, in perfect reciprocal bliss. He often wondered, as he composed these missives, what it might feel like to be cynical, as still were, plainly, so many others. Jimmy had always been optimistic and hopeful-it was in his nature, and he thanked his three mothers, Doreen, his birth mother Gay and his Earth Mother Gaia for that blessing.

Later Jimmy and Theresa's boys watched a movie on the hotel in-house service. They chose the Soviet 'Solaris', because Felipe and Jimmy had both read about it as a great science-fiction movie. Jimmy didn't need the sub-titles, Russian having been added to his linguistic accomplishments months ago, to communicate better with Pyotr and help him with his English. The movie was as good as they'd been led to believe, the psychic ocean seemed a near match to the global field of consciousness, if perhaps less benevolent, and the shattering climax seemed somehow fitting to Jimmy, in his circumstances, what with the weather growing ever wetter and wetter.

They were all well asleep, when Masters returned around midnight. His security were taking turns staying awake, lounging about in the lobby and the upstairs sitting-room, and reported that all was well. The hotel was very discreet and not grand, just comfortable. Masters didn't like posh or super-luxury accommodation, thinking it ostentatious and vulgar. A comfortable bed was all he wanted. The current Mrs Masters had rung, non-plussed at last by his long absence, and the presence of Theresa and the boys. Masters pacified her as best he could at long distance. Domestic tribulations addressed, he crashed out on the lounge and slept.

The next day, bright, sunny and refreshed by the customary evening storm, a little one by recent standards, was a blur of passport applications, prioritised visas at the US Consulate and sundry preparations. Jimmy was outfitted with cold weather gear for the New York winter and Doreen too, mostly thermal under-wear and great coats, hats and gloves. Everything was ready by six in the evening, at which time they left for the airport. By seven they were on their way to Fiji, their first stop.

Jimmy and Masters had an interesting conversation, begun as the plane leveled out after take-off. Masters still couldn't quite comprehend how Jimmy, ostensibly a mere twelve years old, was plainly the wisest and most intelligent person he'd ever met. He had the wisdom, modesty and self-assurance of a sage, but the appearance of a child. Jimmy was already quite tall, and slender, and moved gracefully and effortlessly, more like a wild animal, a cheetah, perhaps, than a boy. Then there was his voice, not yet broken, but speaking with an orator's assurance. And there was that strange habit of speaking without contractions, and never raising his voice for theatrical effect, save when joking, or hamming it up. All this was exceedingly strange, as was people's ready acceptance of it. No-one seemed at all frightened or put off by Jimmy's gifts, or even jealous. With all the madcap dreaming going on, Masters felt from time to time that he must be still in a dream, and Jimmy would turn out, when he woke, to be a figment, or just an ordinary child. Jimmy understood what Masters was thinking, again displaying his seeming capacity to read minds, a gift which, once more, did not even shock or alarm Masters as it would have in any other person.

'Mr. Masters, you are no more bemused than I am. I remember when I was just a 'normal' child. Well, Gran says that I was always 'special' and all that, and she knew that big things were coming to me. Then I just felt 'normal', in myself. But, since the lightning business, and my 'turbo-charging'...there you go, a new word for it.... it does scare me sometimes. All this responsibility, and yet I never suffer from ambivalence or trepidation. At times I feel like I must be possessed, that some powerful, but benign, thank goodness, force has taken me over. That I am just a vessel carrying something extraordinary. I have been reading a lot of mythology, and this idea is quite common. Genius children, too...but they often suffer a sticky end. The strange thing is that I do not fear any bad thing happening to me. I dread it happening to others, but not to me. It seems like I have done my work setting up the clubs, and then the Dream, but that was my role as a conduit, and you and the others, Mr. Masters, you all had your roles....so now, I could just disappear, after my speech, that is, and things would heal themselves. It is quite a relief. I can get a job as a teacher, perhaps, at my school...when I am a bit older. Or as a musician. And, you know, even though they are a mightily impressive gift, with which I could do so much good, I often find myself hoping that my 'powers', begin to wear of a bit, as I grow older. Particularly that wretched pseudo-psychic ability. I do not like it at all! It feels like I am snooping, prying, into people's minds.' Jimmy grimaced at the thought.

'But, Jimmy', Masters replied, 'this work you've started, will go on for centuries. We have so much to repair. I closed my eyes to it for so long, but since the boys got me interested, I've learned so much-none of it good, I fear. I'm going to put all my money into helping your clubs, and buying grazing land, to de-stock and return to native bush. The boys want to do that sort of thing, and live on the land, watching it regenerate. They both hate cities. The further out-back, the better. That's why they loved Thelma's place so much'. Masters had a look of paternal, loving, bemusement on his face, clearly one that his facial muscles had scant previous experience of.

'Your sons make you young again, Mr. Masters', Jimmy replied.'You are getting a second chance at life. You are lucky, you know'. Jimmy was confident that Masters would accept that diagnosis, and he did.

'Yes, I'm a lucky man. My father died quite embittered that he had missed out on life by pursuing money and possessions, but his father never gave him a choice, and he never gave me one, either. I hope he's happy, in Valhalla'. Masters chuckled, a little uncomfortably. He'd been a natural atheist all his life, but recent events had left him with doubts.

'He would be very proud of you, Mr. Masters....most particularly now, you know. People, underneath the veneer of competitive, ambitious, compulsive striving, are still best suited to the simple life, a decent sufficiency, conviviality, friendship, quiet...that is the world that is returning. It is being re-born, and it will not be denied, thank goodness. Now, I must sleep because we will have honoured guests in Fiji'. Masters didn't bother enquiring why or how Jimmy knew that, and lay out on his divan, while Jimmy retired to his sleeping cubicle. The boys had turned in a while earlier, while Theresa, Calliope and Doreen were 'gas-bagging', as Doreen declared it, in the lounge-room. A flying apartment-money did have its advantages. However, Masters had promised the boys to donate it to a medical charity, after New York. He was going to miss the old bus.

The co-pilot joined him for a brief report. The flight would take nearer six than the four and a half hours normally expected because they were being forced to fly around a gigantic cyclone, heading for Queensland. And, yes, the Deputy Prime Minister was going to meet them, the Fijian PM having already left for New York. Jimmy was quite well-known in Fiji, and the clubs highly regarded already. Masters thanked the co-pilot, then they talked for a while. The co-pilot, Chalmers, had two children, aged nine and seven, and both were club-members. He enquired politely if a message to the kids was possible, and Masters agreed to ask Jimmy, later. Chalmers returned to the cockpit, well pleased.

The flight to Fiji was, as a result of the cyclone, somewhat extended, but uneventful, which, all things said and done, is what you want in any flight, unless you are an adrenaline addict. Jimmy rose five minutes before landing, then clambered down the steps to meet the Deputy PM. Felicitations were exchanged, and commiserations extended concerning Pyotr. All the Deputy PM's grandchildren were keen Gaia Little Lords and Ladies, as the kids were known in Fiji. Jimmy happily signed their club-books, a popular innovation in Fiji for keeping records of achievements, which were numerous. Tree-planting, gardens, visiting old people, group study at school, and bio-char, using a New Caledonian method using converted 44 gallon drums, not to forget the Repair Clubs where stuff was rehabilitated, by various volunteers, most retired tradesmen and craftsmen, rather than being thrown away and replaced by new things, a real necessity in poorer countries. The Deputy PM was very effusive, as if Jimmy was some VIP, and Jimmy thanked him warmly, and wished him the best. He promised to try to meet the PM in New York.

After that happy, but brief, sojourn in Fiji it was another seven hours to Hawaii. Jimmy went back to sleep quickly, as did the women and everyone but the pilots and the minders, who took watches....why, Jimmy had no idea. Far below the dark and imperturbable ocean reflected the moon and starlight back into space, and below the surface trillions of pieces of plastic drifted through its slowly acidifying waters. Our wounded world awaited the Great Healing, which was, hopefully, at hand.

Hawaii, or Kauai to be precise, Masters having decided to avoid any press scrum at all costs, was bathed in early morning light as they landed. Jimmy slept on, and Masters managed, by a strategic phone-call to Washington, to get Customs obligations deferred until San Francisco. Six more hours to go, then a night in 'Frisco, and off to New York. Everything was going swimmingly, so far. Re-fueling was quick, an extra guard came on board (Masters wanted more protection in the USA)and they were soon aloft again, with new pilots, as well. Captain Chalmers left with a hand-written note, with a few drawings illustrating Jimmy's message, for his kids. They would be over the moon.

Jimmy woke about ten, after a longish sleep. Everyone else had been awake, on and off, during the flight. Oddly enough Jimmy was nervous, slightly ill at ease, when he woke, which struck Doreen.

'Don't tell me you've got nerves, Jimmy, darling', she chuckled. 'That ain't like you, sweet-heart. Mr. Calm and Collected', Doreen was concerned for that very reason, as Jimmy never got disturbed by anything, but the occasional bout of sadness. Fear and trepidation were out of the question, but his preternatural sensitivity to vagaries of human psychology and behaviour made Doreen anxious. If Jimmy was out of sorts then the world was out of whack, somewhere, and Gaia, through the nooetic field of super-consciousness was warning him.

Fear and trepidation was precisely what Jimmy was feeling. He had slept soundly, dreaming inconsequential dreams, but had woken feeling the novel sensation of dread. Something bad was going to happen, he knew it....but, what, exactly, he had no idea. Jimmy wouldn't let on, so as not to disturb the others, but his manner alerted Doreen quickly. So he invented a story, or 'spun a yarn' as Max or Mal would have had it.

'I just had a bad dream, Gran. About that beached whale...do you remember the one....Mum's one...she was talking to me, telling me to go carefully. Odd, I would say. Is it just something from my sub-conscious, or a message from outside my mind?' Jimmy didn't sound convincing to himself, it being a sort of true lie, the feeling genuine but the 'explanation' poppycock, or to Doreen, but the others listening in were happy enough, so Doreen bit her tongue. Something was up, however, and she began to worry.

The intrepid company, as Oswald dubbed them, enjoyed an excellent breakfast after take-off, cooked in the galley by Theresa and Calliope. Following which the boys played games on their laptops, while Jimmy read a new book on myths, legends and symbols, then one on Islamic science, then did some revision, in his head, of his speech, after which light intellectual fare it was time to land in San Francisco.

'We should have picked up some flowers to wear in our hair', Jimmy laughed, and Doreen and Masters, children of the fateful 60s, understood the reference. Then, after a few seconds, and some lines sung by Jimmy, Theresa did, too. Where had he picked that one up, Doreen wondered. From Sophia, aka Celeste, if the truth were to be set free to tell all.

The plane taxied to the VIP landings section, which was lined with private jets of every size (Masters' was almost inconspicuous besides some of them) and they disembarked for Customs. While in Customs a State Department flunky introduced herself to the party, and stated, not at all regretfully, that a Press Conference had been laid on for the 'famous Jimmy Kartinyangarra', which name she pronounced beautifully, if incorrectly. The youngish woman looked quite smitten by Jimmy, murmuring to herself then eagerly requesting an autograph. Jimmy indulged her fancy, politely, of course, asking her name ('Tammy') and wishing her 'Long life and prosper in Love and Beauty, Tammy', intuiting that she was a latter-day Trekkie, as indeed she was, having inherited the affliction from her mother. Jimmy whispered in Masters' ear that he was quite happy to answer questions, but not about himself. So the two of them, plus the three guards left the others behind and entered the lions' den.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Jimmy's Reprieve.

About fifty 'reptiles' of the media, as Masters called them,(he fancied himself the Big Goanna, the title being vacant)that is, generally young, the older members of the fraternity being more correctly known as 'dinosaurs', were gathered, seated, and they began barking questions, in staccato fashion. Jimmy felt the anxiety that he had awoken with returning, but summoned up his courage and stood at a lectern. Masters held up his hands and bellowed, 'One at a time, ladies and gentlemen, at my indication. OK'. His presence and his position as a possible future employer in eight countries calmed the rabble quickly.

'Thank-you, fellow reptilians', Masters hooted.'You, over there...the red-head...you first'. He pointed an imperious digit at the lady in question.

A mature women, whose red hair owed more now to the wonders of chemical science than heredity, stood and asked, a little superciliously, 'Young man, do you see yourself as some sort of Messiah? And who are the adults behind you and your 'ecological'(she pronounced the word with undisguised disdain)cult?' The word 'cult' was delivered with a cutting emphasis. Not a sympathetic first inquisitor, and obviously not a receptive dreamer.

Jimmy smiled broadly, and waited a while. He was going to take the advice of one of his favourite musicians, and idols, Sviatoslav Richter, the Soviet pianist, who had recommended a long pause at the beginning of a recital, until the audience began to wonder if something was awry. They would begin to wonder if he had lost his nerve, the tension would build (damn the wasted ticket!) then...blast-off! Therefore Jimmy waited, scanning the audience, five, ten, fifteen seconds, until, just as his concentration was diverted for a second by the sight of a wild-eyed old man, admitted by security to the back of the room, he noticed his red-haired inquisitor about to speak again, surely to repeat her question.

'Thank-you for your....incisive....question, Madam', Jimmy exclaimed, just before she spoke. 'We do exhibit some vestigial features of a cult. All the leaders are the survivors of life-threatening accidents....I was struck by lightning, as you may know...but we all recovered to find ourselves oddly gifted....intellectually and spiritually enhanced, is the best way I know to describe it....and then we discovered one another, and found that we were all orphans, all born pretty much at the same time etc...like The Midwich Cuckoos...do you like John Wyndham?....I certainly do...but I assure you, we are much friendlier'. That reference missed the mark with most of the assembly.

'So', Jimmy went on, 'there are some cultish aspects, because our clubs are rather zealous, in the very best causes, I believe....and many members admire, even, I must admit, idolise us...but they will grow out that and learn to admire and idolise one another and themselves....Our preferred modus operandi is all about autonomy and self-direction. Each club is self-governing, each member free to do as they please, and the web-site is mostly about sharing experiences and swapping funny stories, ideas, music, essays etc. It is definitely a bottom up organisation, and self-empowering. We do not believe in prescriptive methods, and proscription must come from the club members' own good sense and moral understanding, which is ever growing stronger, broader and deeper'. Jimmy paused, here, to see if the lady wished to launch a rejoinder, and, as she did not, so he went on.

'As for the adults behind us, I can speak for myself only, actually having met my comrades only on line, and behind me are my two dead parents who made me, my two grandmothers who nurtured me, particularly Mum's mother, Doreen, who has come to the USA with me, my aunties, my teachers at school, various others including Mr. Masters, here, and other adults, long dead, from my two indigenous lineages, who knew, for a few generations, at least, that I would be born, for just this purpose. And, of course, the club members involve adults as much as they can for advice, counselling and expertise, and even protection, so lots of adults stand behind us, of every type. I hope that answers your question, Madam.' Jimmy nodded to Masters for the next question as the press murmured excitedly.

This time it was a very tall, lean and hungry looking young chap, with a strange haircut. Not your run-of-the-mill, conservative, media operative. He stood quickly, leaping to his feet like a gangly giraffe foal, when given the call by Masters.

'Jimmy', he began 'what was this 'Dream' that we all had. The recalcitrants are trying to pull themselves together, to resist the 'Our Common Dream' message and the 'do-gooders'...you're the worst 'do-gooder' by the way....they're claiming, again, that the dream is some sort of 'psychic hacking', blaming the Russians or the Chinese, of course, and you and your crew are getting a bad press in a few places, still very few, really..but, I know I dreamed it, and the memory is fresh, and all my friends and family, and everyone I meet....what was it really, and what does it mean?' The 'lanky Yank' smiled a little crookedly, but in friendly fashion, and sat down as abruptly as he had risen, but with a long-shanked grace of descent.

Jimmy wasted some time again, but not for calculated effect again. No, this time he was taken by the old crazy-looking fellow, so out of place amongst the other well-dressed people present, who had fixed him with a baleful glare. Jimmy felt the prickles on his neck rise, and he was relieved to see that one of Master's guards was watching him closely.

'Well', Jimmy began, at last 'you see, that Dream was dreamed not just by every person on Earth, or 99% or so, but by every sentient creature, as well, in those various ways that other creatures dream, as, I can assure you, they do'. Whereupon he went on, at length, to describe the scene on the beach, the whales, the planetary noosphere or global collective unconscious or whatever you care to call it, the use of brains as antennae, the wisdom of whales forged over forty million years and the dream's significance. This explanation took about five minutes, with digressions, kept brief, and was accompanied by not a few whistles of amazement, murmurings of disquiet and sundry other signs of intellectual discomfort, and rank disbelief. The majority, however, seemed almost entranced, if only by the beauty and innocence of the conception.  And then, just as he was finishing, one of the girls present, a very soberly dressed young lady, started screaming and throwing chairs about. Everyone rushed to get out of the way, and the airport security present scurried to restrain her.

The young girl was, so it transpired, a diversion. As the space opened around him, the wild-eyed old loon, her 'Minister' in a tiny Church dedicated to hastening 'The Rapture', who had paid his way in through a gullible security guard, to 'get an autograph for his grand-daughter', pulled out a pistol and began screeching about 'Devil Worship', 'Godless Goddesses' and 'Green Satanism'. The poor man seemed quite deranged so Jimmy thought, jumping not far at all to a rather obvious conclusion, and, even as the pistol was pointed at him from no more than five or six metres away, he felt no fear at all. Jimmy was quite transfixed by the performance, but felt no terror or even apprehension. The prospect of annihilation never occurred to him. Then, just as the security, including Masters' boys, who were expertly, or just unluckily, distracted, noticed that the old man had a gun, Jimmy saw him pulling the trigger.

Nothing happened. For a full two or three seconds he attempted to blast Jimmy to Kingdom Come, but the old WW2 pistol was too rusted to fire properly. If he had possessed a modern weapon then Jimmy, like Pyotr, would have been history. The guards flung themselves back and onto the old fellow and wrestled the gun away. Masters stood in front of Jimmy, to shield him, but Jimmy ducked around and confronted the old codger as the guards hauled him to his feet.

'Old man', he began, still re-living the sight of the pistol pointed at his head, but regaining his composure and manners, he continued, 'Sir, why did you mean to harm me?' Jimmy really couldn't think of anything else to say.

The wild-eyed old codger snarled, 'Goddess worshipper. Spawn of the Whore of Babylon!'. Not much hope of an exchange of views there, Jimmy thought. A religious extremist, not the type to compromise-his certainty would be obdurate and undiminishable. Jimmy smiled and, not out of a sense of irony, but genuinely, as was the only way he knew how to act, said, 'I forgive you old sir.' An almost irresistible temptation to mumble, 'Go and sin no more', was rejected as inappropriate and disrespectful, even mocking, and would possibly incite the old fellow by seeming to parody 'his', 'Saviour', one of Jimmy's most admired spiritual teachers. So Jimmy just turned, smiled wanly at Masters, who had turned white with shock, and walked calmly out of the room, as the press hurled questions at him, and the security and various airport police led the wild-eyed one and his young accomplice away. Jimmy, in the outside corridor, the braying of the disappointed press ringing in his ears, waited for Masters, and together they rejoined their party, who were blissfully unaware of the goings-on.

Jimmy hugged his Gran, and said, 'I knew you were worried, Gran, and so was I....and now I know why. A crazy old man tried....he tried to shoot me...just now, but, look...see...he missed'. Jimmy smiled, but Doreen fell back into her armchair, pallid and instantly freaked right out. Masters called for a doctor, and Calliope grabbed a cup of water. After a few sips, and while Masters bellowed up the outside corridor for medical assistance, Doreen recovered, as tough old coots do, until, one day, they don't.

'We didn't hear any shots'. she gasped.

'Well, his gun was too old, I think. It looked like an antique. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. My guardian angel, again, hey, Gran. I always assumed that you were it....thank goodness you came with us'. Jimmy was recovering his confidence quickly.

Doreen sat up and grabbed Jimmy in a titanic hug. When she ceased squeezing, Jimmy had turned quite red, partly in embarrassment. A para-medic arrived, and checked Doreen's blood pressure that, not surprisingly, was 'up a bit' at180/100. He recommended that she get a check-up in an hour, when she had calmed down. He gave Jimmy a cursory glance, declared him 'cool as a cucumber', and left, after getting Jimmy's autograph for his daughter. 'She's your biggest fan', he said. Jimmy wrote 'Keep Our Dream alive, Hayley. Love your Mum and Dad. Jimmy K.' although thinking it a little corny, and probably copy-righted, but, as she was only eight, he stuck with it.

Shortly thereafter the police arrived, and took various statements, and asked for more autographs. Jimmy answered their questions quite calmly, which impressed the police. The old sergeant had been prepared to be unimpressed by the 'Little Greenie Guru', but found Jimmy's presence remarkably soporific, after a typically stressful day, week, year and career, which was almost, praise be, over. Jimmy was pretty surprised by his own placidity, too, but didn't regret it. He surmised that Gaia had known the threat was real, perhaps tapping into the Reverend Hoyle's (for that was his name and self-bestowed title) mind, and feeling his antipathy, had forewarned Jimmy, with that unease that he had experienced. Why she just hadn't stopped him, Jimmy had no idea. Perhaps her powers were insufficient, or perhaps she intended that the incident occur, for some mysterious reason. Perhaps existence was just a gigantic lottery and Jimmy's number had come up-or not, he wasn't certain which. Why had she 'allowed' Pyotr to be horribly killed? Jimmy felt just a little uneasy at the thought of being possibly just a pawn, if in a great cause. Well, enough of that.

Masters tried to reassure him, by promising 'full security' in New York, and Jimmy just nodded his acceptance. He didn't quite believe what had happened, but certainly didn't want to go through it ever again.

After the police had finished, Masters declared that it was time to leave for his apartment. He owned several around the world, but this one, on a hill near the old Hippy district Haight-Ashbury, was one of his favourites. It was an old place, decorated in Arts and Crafts style, with furniture and fittings imported from England, not long after the Great Earthquake. They drove there in convoy, with police escort. Even before the unfortunate incident, Jimmy had been accorded full diplomatic protection and now it no longer struck him as strange and unnecessary. Surely the old geezer was just a 'lone nut', but there's 'an awful lot of nuts in Brazil', and every place else. Masters reassured him that he would be afforded the 'finest security bags of money can buy'.

'Jimmy', Masters said, as the limousine drove out of the airport and onto the freeway, 'I'm afraid that there have been quite a few threats made against you and your friends. Not everybody was impressed by the dream. Things will still be good at the UN, but there is a tiny but determined reaction out there, in Cloud Cuckoo Land. Be warned'. Masters admired Jimmy's sange froid, but he was just a boy, after all.

'Oh, yes, Mr. Masters....there must be opposition. We are declaring that turning the world almost completely upside down is absolutely essential. All those currently on top will be tempted to hate us ....with the exception of those like you, of course, but they'll come around. A lot have, already, haven't they, particularly those with children or grandchildren of the right age. We will win in the end, however. Mother assures me that it is so, because the nooetic field of understanding is strengthening, rapidly. Much unconscious human thought that only recently went into greedy dreaming, plotting for personal aggrandisement or doing some adversary down, is being diverted into emotions and feelings that only strengthen the noosphere, which further advantages the dreamers and positive thinkers. The process is past the tipping-point. We cannot lose, now, even if all of us perished in New York, if someone blew up the UN Building....they would only hasten their defeat. I think that is why I could stare at that pistol without fear. Many of these oppositionalists will be worn down slowly, and the joy that they will experience as they set their hearts and minds to preserving the beauty of life and human existence in this corner of the universe will assure their eventual complete conversion. Love of life, and of others, is highly addictive, non-fattening and rewarding. Humanity goes on for a long time yet, and we will grow better with time. We are a good vintage, if cheeky, at times. I find that simply exhilarating. This is a lovely city, Mr. Masters. Where are we off to?' Jimmy wanted to just forget the troubles, change the subject, and relax, as his little homily, that had Masters nodding in agreement, showed. The next few days would be the most important ones in his life, so far, and probably for the rest of it.

'Hippy town, son. Haight-Ashbury. All trendified now. You'll like our place. The craftsmanship is exquisite'. Masters suspected, correctly, that Jimmy had rather refined tastes.

'That will be excellent. Can we go to a big Museum in New York after the speech. I do like Museums. I go to them on-line all the time, but have never been to a really grand one. No-one will spot me, I am sure.' Masters wasn't so sure, but they could give it a try. Even an after-hours visit was possible.

When they had arrived at Master's swank apartment, Jimmy spent an hour inspecting the furniture and fittings. He was duly impressed indeed by the craftsmanship, the beauty of the timbers, the decorative flourishes and the perfection of the finish. He eventually sat down in a comfortable old chair, upholstered with a William Morris patterned fabric, and exclaimed, 'Well at least some beautiful things came from chopping down all the old trees. We will have to plant a lot more than we cut for a long time, but that will be fun. I do love trees. Some of my best friends are wooden. They are our solid, dependable, beautiful, generous cousins in life'. Jimmy seemed fully recovered from whatever shock he may have suffered, which, as we know, was virtually none.

Jimmy, Felipe and Oswald together, then further explored the apartment. Felipe and Oswald had been there only once before, their father having bought it about a year earlier. He had spent all his time during that visit attached to his 'phone, his pre-conversion preference, the boys then little more than a necessary nuisance, for dynastic purposes mainly. After a general inspection, the boys ended up on the roof, where there was a lovely little cactus and succulent garden, and a good view of San Francisco and its hills as the dusk settled over the city.

As they jumped from one side to the other, taking in the different vistas, the security guard warning them about getting too close to the five storey drop, Jimmy stopped, and gazed intently at the park across the road. The trees were suddenly spewing out great flocks of birds, not entirely, of course, types that Jimmy knew from back home, which wheeled screeching into the sky. The horizon suddenly seemed to dip and rise before his eyes, and a distant rumbling like thunder grew closer, like a great train approaching. The floor beneath Jimmy's feet began to rock gently, back and forth. He had a vague sensation of falling, but it quickly ended, after a few seconds. He looked over at the guard, who had braced himself against a pillar on the pergola.

'That's a 'quake, buddy. Just a little growler. I think she's over. There's a Big One due, too. Let's get back and see if the others are safe. Come on boys....your Dad will want to see you're OK', and so they obediently traipsed back down-stairs.

Jimmy was actually quite exhilarated by it all. What monstrous power the Earth held. So puny was mankind, but so ambitious, so busy, so reckless. Yet Mother Earth could knock it all down, all his work, all his ambition, all the product of that frenetic energy, like swatting a fly. While the rumbling and rocking had been happening, Jimmy had felt like a part of that great rolling, tumbling Earth beneath, those slowly grinding plates, ceaselessly moving across the planet, on time-scales that dwarfed human lives, even the rise and fall of civilizations or entire species. Being insignificant, yet precious, was, he thought, profoundly moving and curiously uplifting, a fit metaphor for an earthquake. A curiously uplifting earthquake-one could only say that of a tiddler. A stronger quake would surely have shaken himself out of that reassured and complacent mood.

The rest of the party were quite calm, and happy to see the boys. It was pretty much a non-event, the type of 'trembler' that California got day in day out. Nothing to get concerned about, unless it was a precursor for something bigger.

Masters had been absent when they returned from the roof, but he soon joined them from his office. He was flustered and twitchy, a little jet-lagged, no doubt.

'Alright everybody. Back to the airport. We have to get to New York today. There's a big storm brewing and we could be snowed in...I mean the airports could be snowed in..tomorrow, so let's get going. Sorry...it's your 'Mother Gaia' telling us to get a move on, isn't it Jimmy, and she gave old San Fran a tiny shove to get us going. Looks like it will be 'Happy New Year' in mid-air. Sorry. I did have some nice food laid on, but the care-taker can distribute it to the homeless tomorrow. I hope they like caviar and pate'' Masters' tone seemed very slightly mocking, or so Jimmy felt, but he, of course, ignored it. Jimmy ever refused to take offence, particularly as he well understood that Masters had made a great effort to change for the better, rather late in life. The old snake (Jimmy only thought of snakes positively, after knowing Old Brownie and imbibing his message and enjoying his protection)had sloughed off his skin, the one he had worn for over sixty years, no doubt at some effort, even if the force of events had pushed him along. That was surely a metamorphosis to be admired.

'The earthquake, Mr. Masters. What do you really make of that. Will they get something bigger?' Jimmy asked.

'You call that an earthquake? My boy, this apartment moves more than that when I break wind!' And Masters disappeared back into his office, chuckling at his little crudity.

Acting on instructions the 'Exceptional  Expeditionaries' (Oswald's latest effort at branding)all set to, re-packing what had been un-packed, not much, fortunately, downing a quick coffee in Theresa, Doreen and Calliope's case, and steeling their minds to another lengthy flight. They all bundled downstairs to the car-park in the basement, where a trio of hard nuts, the new 'Security' promised, waited with two people-movers. Jimmy introduced himself to the three, and shook their hands. They were a little older than the other security they had had, so Jimmy received no requests for autographs for children. The oldest gentleman, Clyde, did observe that Jimmy had become something of a 'celebrity' which made Jimmy groan with embarrassment. The old fellow laughed and muttered, 'Don't end up like a Carcrashian, little buddy. It's not worth it'. He grinned a crooked smile, and Jimmy replied, conspiratorily, in a whisper, 'After this business in New York, I am going to run away to the desert, and live in a burrow. The world will not need me any more, once the powerful forces for good are unleashed, because the public are empowered, now. We were just path-finders, lighting the way....that's all'. Clyde grunted approval, with a little puzzlement at the boy's flowery assertions and nodded, partly out of good manners, and laid a fatherly hand on Jimmy's shoulder. Then Masters arrived, red-faced and flustered, yelling, 'Three feet of snow coming! Let's get going!' Jimmy was excited by the thought of snow, although exactly why, he wasn't sure.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Gaia's Children Brought Together at Last.

The drive back to the airport was uneventful, and the flight almost commonplace now. Jimmy missed New Year, sleeping through, while Masters and the ladies sipped some rather nice champers. They landed in New York around six in the morning, just as the first snow flurries were beginning to descend, and drove, in a convoy of UN limousines to the UN Building itself. There was accommodation laid on for them all, and for the other 'path-finders' as Jimmy had decided now to call his fellows, at least for today. He thought 'comrades' but it sounded like a line from a 1950s spy movie, so he kept it to himself, while in the good old US of A.

Having settled into their somewhat Spartan digs, shared accommodation, two or three to a room (Masters and company had their Central Park apartment)a UN official materialised and invited them all to breakfast in the refectory. As they traipsed in, Jimmy saw a lively gaggle of children sitting at one long table, and immediately recognised his 'colleagues' of many a long e-mail and Skype conversation. He ran over and hugged Alex first, the Canadian, and, truth be known, his closest friend amongst them. Then Mtenzi of Botswana, who was crying, Li Wang-wei, a strapping lass from the desertifying plains of Gansu in China, whose transformation was rather mysterious, she, seemingly, having just woken one morning to find himself babbling about the 'Mother of All', then slowly discovering her rather grand new intellectual gifts, particularly in memory and comprehension. She had contacted the club, after the requisite dream vision apparition process, via a computer at the district High School, where she quickly rose through the grades, while organising all the semi-nomadic and scattered village children into Gaian clubs. These clubs had led the way in reforestation, the real local priority, with Government-assisted projects, the Party being in the midst of a grass-roots 'Serve the People' campaign, with nostalgic references to Lei Feng, thë hero of such mobilisations over the years, including aerial 'seed-bombing' and tree nurseries everywhere in their various districts. Wang-wei was a real permaculture enthusiast, and 'food forests' were her pride and joy.

Next was Diego, from Oaxaca in Mexico, an indigenous boy, lively and mischievous, made 'special' by being kicked in the head by a mule. He had a 'deadly' (Jimmy had introduced him to the blackfella lingo)scar to prove it, and two weeks in a coma when his family gave him up for dead, only to find him sitting up in bed one morning, singing his Gran's favourite songs, which she had sung to him while 'unconscious', all fifty or so, from memory. Diego was blessed with a tremendous musical gift, now knowing the key in which every bird sang, or tree rustled, or dog barked, and memorising scores at first sight. He was mastering the guitar, in his spare time, when not spreading the clubs through Mexico and Central America. He relied a bit less on computers than many of the others, but was an inveterate letter writer to remote communities, penning forty or fifty a day. He was concentrating on identifying edible and medicinal plants, growing them and seed collecting. Then there was Sunil from Bihar, poisoned by pesticides, now preparing to commence University next year in Delhi, special strength the organising of waste collection and repair and recycling.

Then there was the redoubtable Sophia from Piraeus, Amadeo from a village beneath Mount Etna in Sicily, Carmen, a fisher-girl from Cuba, Lilliana from Bahia state in Brazil, a peasant girl from the sertao, or, as Jimmy had discovered, 'the outback'. They had that in common. Asho, an Ainu, although he preferred 'Utari', which meant, coincidentally, 'Comrade', from Hokkaido with his thick, wavy hair and bright, deep-set eyes, was a mnemonist, remembering every detail of every conversation since his rebirth, after a fall from a tree. Asho had read Borges' tale of 'The Memorious Ireneo Funes' on Jimmy's recommendation, but he, in contrast, had not found his memory a burden at all.

Last of all to greet Jimmy was Elizabetta, a Romani from, where else, Romania, now the group's great theoriser and 'thinker outside the boxes'. Jimmy suspected that she was now the most gifted of them all, but also the most self-effacing, so she so far took no leadership role, just threw in an occasional 'googly' to make them look at things anew. She shook Jimmy's hand vigorously, rather than hugging him, and whispered 'Reverse the Polarity' in his ear, which had Jimmy smiling, he being a Dr. Who aficionado, too, and that was that. All twelve surviving 'path-finders', but Jimmy kept thinking 'Utari' for some reason. They all had roots pretty proximately in indigenous groups, fairly long settled on the land. Jimmy knew his roots were probably the oldest, but they were all joined up 70,000 years or so before and before that, well all the way back to The Beginning. The essence of their existence, their gifts and their ambitions was the knowledge that everything was joined together, that each part partook of each other, that life was eternal and that love is just the recognition of cosmic 'non-separability', as Jimmy had borrowed from quantum physics, without, yet, having much idea what it meant. However, in his borrowed usage, it just sounded perfect. We all are, all the sentient creatures, the plants, the rocks, water, sky, the stars and all the void, non-separable, forever and as ever was or would be. All that mattered now was making the final effort that would galvanise the awoken sleepers, humanity, who had, inadvertently, forgotten their unity with everything else in a fit of greedy materialism, and mistakenly imagined themselves little, isolated, transient, and ephemeral island universes, alone in the cosmos. That was the one task that really counted, to reverse that false understanding of existence.

The 'Utari', as Jimmy now called them inside his head, sat down to chat, everyone else present giving them room to themselves, while they remained the object of fascinated attention. Indeed UN staff began to filter in, not only to eat, not only to natter, but to stare in wonder at the now notorious child 'prophets' as the Pope had dubbed them. The Pontiff was a bit of a radical by recent Vatican standards, very outspoken on environmental affairs and the absolute requirement to protect 'God's Creation', and he was comfortably ensconced in the Papal Nuncio's quarters close at hand. Jimmy had already decided to seek him out for a friendlychat.

Their conversation soon turned, naturally, to the next few days' big international gab-fest. They agreed that Jimmy should speak last, being the best-known 'path-finder', and that they would all have a turn, in between the long list of global 'leaders'. Jimmy thanked them all for their support, and then they began exchanging ideas for their speeches. After a while they moved on to what would come after this conference. They  pretty much agreed that the momentum was definitely now on their side. Their few months work had planted the seeds, proving that the human soil was ripe and, thankfully, fertile, and Mother Gaia had provided the germination of 'Our Common Dream'. Now they could just concentrate on the clubs and their own lives, and hope for the best. The Utari were an optimistic bunch, a condition that came inextricably with the transformation. There was no room for defeatists, Elizabetta chuckled. Sophia observed that they had been spared egomania, too. 'I don't feel humble, or proud, either, so much as blessed. You know....to serve other people....to help everybody....that is real luck, a real joy.' They all nodded or mumbled in agreement.

'Well,' Jimmy said, 'one thing left to do, before we eat. Let us remember our dear friend Pyotr....who we lost so tragically....we have to continue on for everyone, for ourselves, but particularly for him'. With which he invited each one present to say something about Pyotr.

They were all brief and to the point. After all they only knew him from their e-mails and letters, Pyotr being another inveterate user of 'snail-mail'. Mtenzi had all his letters bound together in a folder in her travelling-bag, and reckoned that she would publish them one day. She was quite convinced that he was the human embodiment of the 'All Seeing One' as her people called the eagle-owls of her homeland.

When they had finished they traipsed unenthusiastically, being more than a little dejected after remembering Pyotr, to the meal-line. The crowd was thin, mostly now various minor functionaries plus the children's security detachment. Only Doreen of all their relatives had made the journey, a fact that Jimmy had found odd. But no-one else had wished to travel with these still young children, being mostly elderly grand-parents or aunts and uncles, preferring to stay at home. That was, momentarily, a little puzzling, after all, a free VIP trip to New York doesn't come every day, but Jimmy decided not to be too obsessed by it, and indeed, he more or less forgot it promptly.

After breakfast the little gang gathered on the UN Building's roof. The storm was by now sending down huge quantities of snow, the product of a twisted jet-stream channeling buckets of cold air out of the Arctic, which was colliding with warm, moist, air from a bubbling hot, if you'll pardon the hyperbole, north Atlantic, which was already piling up in great drifts. The UN liaison officer assigned to guide them about, Abu Manis from Tunisia, counselled against staying out too long, as the storm was intensifying quickly. They followed his advice, and retreated to a common room near their sleeping quarters, and watched the TV for a while. The snowfall was exceeding all known records in Canada and Vermont already, and gave every indication of just intensifying. As Jimmy observed, looking up from a laptop that Abu Manis had lent him, 'And its twenty degrees above normal in Alaska'. Perhaps yet another weather disaster would help concentrate minds over the next few days.

Thereafter it seemed a very long day. Using computers in the Library, Jimmy, (who had passed the lap-top onto Elizabetta) Alex and Sophia sent out progress reports to their acolytes spread around the world. They received a good deal of encouragement in return, and some interesting suggestions for their speeches. One wit in Australia, recommended adding 'Tell them, they've been dreamin'', into the script, which Jimmy thought a tad too parochial. A few abusive, even threatening e-mails they left up, as was their custom, for the members and camp-followers to practise critiques on, and to hone their skills in calmly ignoring attempts to provoke annoyance and anger.

After reading one particularly outrageous rant aloud, Alex laughed darkly and asked Sophia and Jimmy, 'Do you think he's genuine...you know Jimmy, 'fair dinkum' as the Chinese taught you Aussies to say?'

'Who knows, Alex.' Jimmy replied. 'But he is going down a real cul-de-sac, blaming us so violently for his own fearfulness. I am convinced that a lot of the most resistant deniers, apart from needing some 'Dream' reinforcement, are just so scared of reality that they over-react violently the other way, in a sort of psychic defense. Fortunately the collective wisdom of humanity, the spiritual growth that is occurring...it will get through to almost everybody, eventually. We live in hope and joy, even though the night is dark and the path long and dangerous, because we lean on each other. The leaners will save one another. No man is an island, or a continent or a universe.' Alex giggled a little at Jimmy's shamelessly optimistic bravado.

Sophia added her 'tuppence-worth'. 'I have seen it already at home. People began by being frightened by the dream, frightened by what it said...frightened by the fact that some power existed that could get inside everybody's head...like God, but not God. But then I was surprised that many of even the most reactionary priests were happy about it, but...they're only human, too, after all. The Dream, the spiritual understanding...the collective mind-power of life...it is irresistible'.

Meeting at last was like a reunion, or even a reunification, a coming together of the parts of a greater whole. It was apparent, indeed it had been since they first contacted each other, that their gifts were complementary, going together to create a super-organism stronger than the sum of its parts. Pyotr being gone had weakened them, there was not doubt about that, but already they were compensating by strengthening their own talents in those spheres where he had excelled . It wouldn't be the same, but Jimmy was pretty confident that any lacunae would be filled by new talents that either arose spontaneously, or would be forged by Gaia as they all had been, in the furnace of adversity. In any case their work was now being done by millions of followers. Their enthusiasm and talents would ensure that the job was realised, humanity saved from its own excesses, and a permanent spiritual leap upwards, outwards, inwards and forward achieved. The great inflexion point in human history. where humanity took the Path of Hope, Love and Life, and turned away from the one that led to destruction and despair.

After lunch, which Jimmy absented himself from, the Secretary-General, Madam Lim and entourage descended en masse, to greet the famous 'Children of the Dream' as they had been dubbed by a mildly over-wrought UN PR flack, and wish them a Happy New Year, a formality that they had all forgotten, more or less. Jimmy rather liked their new title, however, and hoped that it might stick.

Madam Lim explained the format of the great Meeting. Over 100 Heads of State or Government were going to speak for no more than ten minutes, outlining their ambitions, reactions, hopes and proposals, while their staffs would work on a final communique' and several expert working groups, that had been consulting for the months since the Meeting was scheduled, would present their outlines for the new global Conventions to bind countries to collective action. Jimmy asked if he could see these proposals, and the Secretary-General gave him the pass-word to access the lot on-line, where they were still securely kept 'confidential'.

When she had completed her welcoming speech, and the 'Sec-Gen' always spoke as if speechifying, and more pleasantries had been exchanged, it was agreed that all twelve 'Children of the Dream' would speak, at regular intervals during the speeches, with Sophia granted an extra five minutes to pay tribute to Pyotr. Then Jimmy inquired of the Sec-Gen as to how her experience of the dream had unfolded.

'Well, young sir', she began, looking about with a nervous smile, 'I dreamed of my home in Java, only it was long ago, and the forests were untouched, the sky un-polluted and the people few but immensely happy. I suppose it was idealised, a little, but it was tremendously pleasant. Then it was as everyone else has reported. Brown, black, like after a volcano...we have so many volcanoes, and I have seen the land after an eruption. That was it, as if all the volcanoes had exploded at once, and I was filled with terror and dread, because I understood that this was our future, unless....then I awoke, and, somehow I felt very optimistic, which only grew as I heard that so many others, in fact everybody else, had had the same dream...it is unprecedented in history, of course and totally unbelievable...yet it happened...and you were the...not the source...but the intermediaries....amazing'. Madam Lim spoke haltingly at the end as if mentally exhausted by contemplating the inexplicable once again, which was simply too tiring.

Jimmy jumped in. 'We were not the first intermediaries, Madam Lim. The whales transmitted the dream to us, from the noosphere, the field of consciousness that envelops the planet because sentient life exists here, and of which our Mother Gaia is a manifestation. The whales' gigantic brains connect more easily and comprehensively to the field of collective consciousness, of which we are generally blissfully unaware....but through that dream everybody was saturated in it. It will prove the most fateful night in human history, and it will decide its destiny'. Jimmy felt that his last declaration verged on hyperbole, but that was exactly what was required to describe such an event, of such grandeur and awesomeness.

One by one the others spoke, introducing themselves to the Secretary-General, and telling her their history. Madam Lim was plainly impressed greatly by their individual and group talents, and their spiritual understanding. For such accomplishments to have been attained by twelve year olds was yet another marvel in these days of mysteries and miracles. Finally one of her aides reminded the Sec Gen that she had a meeting with the Islamic Conference delegation, so she begged leave of the children's company, and, rather reluctantly, attended to her diplomatic duties.

Dinner came and went, Doreen, who had been sleeping off her jet-lag, arrived, as did Theresa and Felipe and Oswald. They had battled across town from Master's sumptuous apartment over-looking Central Park, through the record blizzard. The subway was now closed and the streets impassable, so they were  marooned at the UN for the night. Emergency accommodation was being prepared for them and scores of others trapped by the Snowpocalypse as the unbridled media loons were calling it, when not using the easy alternative, Snowmaggeddon, instead.

Theresa and Doreen wandered out to the front of the UN Building, dangling their placard-sized IDs. They didn't dare risk the wind-chill. It was Arctic outside, with the snow piling up menacingly. It was absolutely unlike anything Doreen had ever seen, of course, and pretty extreme for Theresa, too, despite twenty years of life on both sides of the north Atlantic. They returned to the Refectory, flashing their IDs, prepared in advance, at the numerous Security check-points, and went to see how the kids were faring. Boredom was being combated with TV, and FoxNews drew shrieks of derisory laughter and amazed grimacing. Reality TV was only tolerable in small doses, the weather reports were, frankly frightening and, finally, they found the Christmas favourite, still running nearly a week later on one of the 200 available stations, 'It's A Wonderful Life'. The heavy doses of Yankee Doodle Schmaltz was just what they needed. Halfway through Alex sleepily enquired when the giant, invisible, rabbit was going to make his, unseen, entrance, which drew a few derisory hoots from the cinephiles.

The gang began wandering off, one by one, to bed. In the end Jimmy and Alex were left alone. It was twelve midnight, sixty something hours before Jimmy was due to speak late in the afternoon on Sunday, three days hence, after all the various leaders had had their five to ten minute allotments, as a final speaker before Madam Lim brought proceedings to an end. He was pretty happy about what he would say, and Alex, who was kicking the childrens' speeches off tomorrow, just after Argentina, probably around noon, was also well prepared, and was going to speak without notes.'I'll get the ball running, don't you worry Jimmy. They won't know what hit them. Ha, ha, ha. I say, it is your birthday in a few days, isn't it. I asked your Gran. I'm 13 already, and you didn't wish me a 'Happy Birthday'. You're the second-last to get there. Mtenzi is next Wednesday. We're all very close together, just two weeks and a bit, like a multiple birth, only scattered about geographically. I really miss being a child, sometimes. My mind only thinks like an adult, an exceptional adult, nowadays...well since...the 'incident'. It took a while to get used to. I have to pretend to be childish when I play with other kids...you know...but they sense it. It makes them wary. I'll need to see you others more, I'm afraid, just for companionship. You see, don't you...my...our predicament.' Alex was plainly a little troubled by the loneliness of it all.

'Yes, Alex...I understand only too well. We are all only children, physically, and chronologically of course. Why that was necessary...but it plainly was, we had to be born to this responsibility.....adults are too....sullied, even the best...people trust children, I imagine, more...so, you are right. We will have to stick closer together. And we are all orphans. We are pretty alone. Do you know why no-one but I brought any relatives to New York. I mean we all have Grans, Aunties, Uncles who are bringing us up. Why are none here?' Jimmy was suddenly more concerned by that fact, although he didn't comprehend why, exactly.

'Don't you know, Jimmy?'Alex said, bluntly. 'It's because your Mr. Masters said that we must come alone. I thought you knew, and I was surprised to see your Gran here, I must say.' Alex was more than a little nonplussed to see that Jimmy was unaware of Masters' intervention.

'No, I did not know, Alex. I wonder what he is thinking. He is used to getting his way, you know, but he treats me with very careful respect. Felipe, Oswald and Theresa, his family, vouch that he is very much improved. He is obsessed by security. I suppose that you heard about the San Francisco 'incident'. Nearly history, I was, like dear, never met,  Pyotr'. Alex nodded affirmation that he did, indeed, know of the near calamity, but said nothing. He did look very discomfitted, however.

Jimmy continued. 'I cannot quibble over Mr Masters' actions. He will have his reasons, not necessarily that reason cannot know. I will ask him in the morning. He is bereft of his family now, as they are stuck here. In his great apartment, and I suspect he might find it hard to travel across town tomorrow. He will probably own some snow-mobile or other. He likes flaunting his wealth. But it is time to sleep, I think'. Jimmy's power of conversation temporarily exhausted, he jumped up and gave his friend a hug and found his bedroom, that he shared with Diego and Sunil, who were already fast asleep, no doubt communing with the sheep.

The Utari all slept soundly. The accommodation, plebeian by some standards, suited these children well. Two or three in a room, toilet and showers down the corridor, it was just fine. A security guards sat at each end of the long corridor, the better to protect the children after the incident at San Francisco Airport. Mind you, security at the UN was always extreme, but the extra was ordered by Madame Lim herself.

By the time they began to stir in the morning, and Doreen, who had slept in the room with Mtenzi and Sophia, was the first, the snow-storm outside had pulverised all records for a January snow-fall in the city. The drifts were tremendous, the wind bitter and relentless, and power outages from frozen lines collapsing were spreading. The great meeting seemed in danger of being thwarted, by that same Mother Nature who had been the very object of the get together.

The children eventually all gathered in the Refectory again, eager for a great big breakfast. Half the gang were vegetarians, the other half happy omnivores. There was quite a choice, but Jimmy decided on porridge and fruit. Halfway through, there was a small kerfuffle as Secretary-General Lim arrived, accompanied by her habitual retinue. She was a short, intense, woman, fidgety and insistent, and she went straight up to the children and greeted them all, one by one. Jimmy was last, and she immediately separated him from the rest and his half-finished breakfast, and ushered him to a corner table.

'Well, Mr. Jimmy...you are very young, aren't you..come, tell me...what is it that makes you children so...gifted...is that the correct term, do you think? Following such official orders Jimmy began, from the beginning. First the various dreamings of his ancestors, then his birth after that first group dream, and after his father's death, the mysterious fire at his funeral, then through his childhood, his loss of his mother, her gift of knowledge transmitted from the old, dying, whale, his transformation by and in lightning, the long coma, the new intellectual powers he had been granted, the awareness of his fellow path-finders' existence and the growth of the Gaian clubs right up to the mysterious events on the headland, the universal dream transmitted by the great whales. The Secretary-General's demeanour, once confident, almost stern, certainly matter-of-fact, began to visibly soften as Jimmy spoke, exhibiting a not inconsiderable flair for histrionic effect. No droning monologue this, Jimmy loved reciting it. His life was a saga, already, a universal and specifically blackfella saga, both at once, and still barely thirteen. Towards the end the Sec-Gen began to look bemused, then sympathetic, finally exalted and tearful. Seeing her seeming distress, Jimmy took her hand, and squeezed it.

'Madame Lim, do not be frightened. It is just an ordinary miracle, after all-well a sequence of miracles, but you do get used to them, I assure you. Miracles were once quite common, until we banished them in the name of triumphant rationality and arrogant certainty. There are more things in heaven and Earth, as the poet said....or in a grain of sand, as another declared...and this, my life, so far, is just one of them. I will make a nice speech on Sunday, then you adults must do the rest. You have seen the alternative futures. Who could choose the waste-land? Not you, dear Madame Lim. Now, come and meet my Grandmother. You will like her, I am sure'. With that Jimmy rose and led the Secretary -General, red-eyed and embarrassed, to meet Doreen.

The Secretary-General and Doreen did indeed get on like a house on fire, that curious expression. Doreen filled in a few details, and mentioned the vitrified snake, and that they awaited his arrival with Mr. Masters.

'Such a wonder, Mrs Katinyangarra', the Secretary-General exclaimed. 'Such a thing. In my country we are told many stories as children of serpents, magical serpents. It is common, around the world, is that not so?'

'Yes, Madame Lim', Doreen replied.'So I believe. And we in Australia have more than enough snakes to go around....but no cobras, thank-you very much'. Doreen rather imagined that a cobra was worse than a brown snake, from various childhood stories.

Madame Lim, sighed and then laughed. Later, their chat finished, she and Doreen joined the other children, while Jimmy sat alone and went through his speech, in his head. After a while Alex and Sophia joined him, and they chatted away, quite relaxed and happy.

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Great Gathering to Save Humanity.

Outside the distinguished guests were trickling in. The storm was abating somewhat, and the various convoys of limousines were arriving along roads cleared by snow-ploughs. The police were concentrating on getting the luminaries safely delivered. The Presidents of Russia, China, France, the USA etc all arrived and were greeted by various flunkies, then hustled to a grand Reception Hall, for canapes and drinks. Madame Lim recalled her responsibilities, and hastened to greet them. There were a few hours left before the speeches were to commence, and the delegates were to interact in the hope of making some common ground appear, mysteriously, from the usual cacophony of self-interest. As she made to leave, Jimmy rose, and beckoning the other 'children of the dream' to join him, stated, quite matter-of-factly, 'We will come with you, Madame...to stiffen their resolve. We possess a deal of uncommon sense, uncanny understanding and unsullied optimism within us'. Jimmy quite enjoyed this impromptu and confident affirmation.

The Secretary-General had one look at Jimmy, and his calm self-assurance and his smiling sincerity, and understood that he was correct. These children were the catalyst, after all, for this unprecedented global movement, that had grown, virtually unnoticed, through the real grass-roots of schools and communities, and then burst forth in the strangest, most unimaginable global shared experience, transcending geography, race, religion, wealth and status while binding humanity together as no religion or ideology had ever done before. They had not just the right to join the political and religious leaders present, but the undoubted duty and responsibility to do so.

'Come on then, children', she exclaimed. 'Time to persuade the other old fossils. You've got me convinced', and she wheeled laughing away.

The little party, plus security, travelled down a few corridors and up one floor in a lift, then entered the grand Reception Hall. The walls were festooned with art-works from around the world. The Hall was crowded with mostly aged, mostly male, dignitaries. The children, with their facility for observation, memory and insight, recognised most of the grandees at once. They scattered across the Hall, pausing to introduce themselves to the mostly bemused leaders, who usually ignored children as a nuisance or grabbed them as props, to illustrate their 'humanity'. However, within minutes each 'Utari' was surrounded by a gaggle of intrigued big-wigs, firing questions. They fact that the children all spoke several languages fluently, and seemed possessed of encyclopaedic knowledge of the ecological crises, and the actions that needed to be taken to cure them, quickly had the leaders suitably impressed, often dumbfounded.

The Mexican President, no Green by any measure, offered to resign in favour of Diego, who charmingly declined, citing the need to concentrate on the practicalities of club activities. He assured the President that, if he surrendered to the growing spiritual power of the global 'field of understanding' as he preferred to call it, not only would he become a better, happier, person, but people would respect him the more, but only, he added cheekily, if he didn't use it for political advantage. The President smiled, with a trace of grimace, rather annoyed at the little fellow's self-assurance and presumption.

Sophia found herself gently chiding the German PM and others for 'worshipping growth', merely quantitatively, but neglecting qualitative improvement. The PM a formidable woman, at first found it preposterous to be lectured, however politely, by a twelve year old, but soon was conquered by Sophia's charm, although the uneasy feeling of dealing with a prodigy of Nature, and not really knowing how to react, continued to trouble her. Sophia intuitively comprehended that unease, so moved on to other nabobs, lest she increase the Prime Minister's discomfort.

Alex had a small retinue of northern states attending him. He was relishing the hors d'oeuvres, too, being beset by a preternatural hunger, not really like him. His language skills, skipping from Russian, accepting the Russian President's condolences over Pyotr, to Swedish, Korean and Japanese deeply impressed his circle of new acquaintances. As did his clear understanding of matters, and his insights into how to square various circles of international contestation and struggles for dominance. When he noted that dominance had to join the dodo as an extinct species, or humanity would, a number of heads nodded vigorously, while others shrugged in consideration of the difficulty of reaching that ideal.

The children soon had the Hall clumped into eleven aggregations, Akira and Elizabeta sharing duties in one corner. Jimmy concentrated on the men in frocks, funny hats and flowing beards, the various religious leaders, including the Pope, who he greeted in Latin (he had studied up for it over the last few weeks)then moved forward in Italian and English. Jimmy knew that religious sanctification would necessarily be required for success, and knew that this Pope was a sympathiser. He quoted a few passages from the Pontiff's recent Encyclical, 'On Human Perpetuity', almost all with praise and agreement, but quibbled over one or two matters of detail.

'You know, Your Eminence', Jimmy stated, as if chatting intimately and as an equal with a Pope was as natural as nattering with his Gran, 'the secret to success will be to get the current top dogs to relinquish their power and privilege, and redistribute it amongst the disenfranchised billions. I need hardly say that to achieve that will require a miracle'. He fixed the old man with a steady, yet sympathetic gaze.

The Pope was quietly admiring Jimmy's intellect, and lively, expressive, face. He felt that he was in the presence of a miracle. It reinforced his faith as nothing had done for some time. He even entertained a vague intimation that Jimmy might be a Messiah, or perhaps a new Baptist, heralding the true Return. He determined to investigate that possibility.

'And you, young man....how do you see religious belief. Are you a Believer'. He meant a theist, the type not mattering so much.

'Not really, Eminence', Jimmy replied.'My experience, all my life but very strongly in the last year or so, has been of supra-natural forces outside the realm of everyday life. My ancestors dreamed of my coming, you know, two and three and possibly more generations ago. That is the stuff of mystery, probably beyond 'explanation', but real enough. If I have any belief it might be called panentheistic, rather than pantheistic.I sense the numinous presence in things, unlike many other human individuals where the Divine spark has not yet ignited, or has been extinguished by Fate. This numinous reality I find not at all overbearing or cajoling, but inviting and consoling, you see, so I do embrace it happily. Surrender to the all-encompassing is like being a great whale flying through the deep, do you not agree? However the most direct experience of the super-natural or super-normal that I have experienced has been in dreams, which was true of my ancestors, was true of my Grandmother and her community of friends, and now has been experienced by the whole world. Tell me, Eminence, what do you and the Church make of the noosphere? I believe that Teilhard de Chardin has recently been, shall we say...'rehabilitated'...by the Church. You know, in my reading, I was most struck by his observation that, 'For the observers of the Future, the greatest event will be the sudden appearance of a collective human conscience ...'. You see, Eminence...that is us, your...thank-you for the kind words....'prophets', and the whole Dream miracle. The 'collective human conscience' connected to the noosphere, which represents all sentient creatures' psychic and spiritual energies, not just those of the upstart ape, not just now, but built up over millions of years, is impelling mankind to avert disaster, then go on to achieve its potential. That, Holy Father, is what I believe is happening, with this wonderful, wondrous, dream of ours'. Jimmy quite liked the sound and meaning of those words, they featuring many of the concepts he was thinking of broaching in his speech.

The Pope was quite light-headed after hearing this verbal disquisition from one so young. And delivered with such cogency and force. Teilhard de Chardin, to be sure was one of the Pope's favourite authors, he loved his outrageous speculations, and had been amongst those arguing for his rebirth as an acceptable Catholic voice. Indeed it had been the fight over Teilhard de Chardin that, the Pontiff was convinced, had begun the drift of liberal votes towards his side before the previous Pope's untimely skiing accident. As a consequence he was more than normally affected by Jimmy's reference to the French Jesuit.

The Holy Father was about to speak, when Jimmy interposed. 'I see, well I mean I sense...that Teilhard is a favourite of yours, Eminence. Forgive me...I do seem to have been gifted a certain talent for recognising...no perhaps...seeing is better...what goes on in people's minds. Regretably I sometimes cannot ignore the temptation to show off. Please forgive me'. Jimmy was concerned that he might confound, perhaps even frighten the Pontiff.

The Pope found his voice.'Young man, young Prophet to be sure. Your gifts are uncanny, but they pale before your understanding. Here I...stand, sixty years your senior, yet I feel like a student at his Teacher's feet. This is a marvellous day, marvellous. Teilhard is a favourite of mine, but I seem to have not understood him half as well as you. Can you visit the Vatican on your way home, and instruct me further. After you give these old relics like me a good talking to'. The old man's eyes sparkled, and he kissed Jimmy on the forehead.

Jimmy beamed with satisfaction. 'I would like nothing better. And may I visit all the museums. I study them on-line...but it is not the same, is it. The Laocoon...I must see that one day. And the Moses. And you and your Church doctors can teach me, too. How do we reconcile what is occurring with the various religious doctrines, now that might be harder than finding a modus vivendi with the various, contradictory, political ideologies'. Jimmy began to tally up the obstacles to success in his head, but still, as naturally as breathing, he felt sublimely confident.

The two chatted amiably on, with other religious eminences joining in, Orthodox patriarchs, Rabbis, Imams, all, fortunately, 'liberal' broad-minded types, with nary a fundamentalist or reactionary in sight. However Jimmy felt various 'bad vibes' emanating from a couple of the Pontiff's companions. One in fact hardly disguised his antipathy, and not just discernible with super-normal antennae like Jimmy's, but rather plainly written in his facial expressions. However, Jimmy still had a positive expectation that they would all, eventually, fall into the web of belief, if only by way of suspended disbelief as a first step.

After an hour or so, not long before eleven, the Secretary-General mounted a podium, at the north end of the Hall, and begged the luminaries' attention. Speeches were to commence in ten minutes, in alphabetical order, ten minutes each, maximum, she said, staring pointedly at the Cuban President, who had inherited a certain loquacity from Fidel. In total 125 countries had requested to speak, 106 Heads of State, the rest Heads of Government and a few UN delegations from small island states and the like. Therefore it would take three days for all the speeches, including the twelve 'honoured children'. Madam Lim was happy too to announce that outside the weather had cleared, and a weak sun was shining in a frigid sky. The special guests, the 'path-finder children' now, would speak at regular intervals, four a day, thought to be the most likely distribution for their speeches to have effect. She invited the representatives of countries beginning with A, B, and C to gather in the ante-room to the General Assembly.

Jimmy bade farewell to the religious leaders and began collecting his colleagues. Doreen was quite excited at having met so many famous people, and she decided to return to her room for a rest. The other Utari were determined to listen to the speeches for a while at least, in a gesture of solidarity with the speakers, then decide what to do next, over dinner, in a few hours.

Jimmy was a little bemused not to have seen Masters yet, but imagined he had simply been delayed by the weather. Now, just as he was inquiring where they should sit, the Under-Secretary for Administration, an ingratiating fellow from Bolivia, Senor Cartagena, asked the children to follow him, as the Secretary-General was about to unveil a new addition to the UN's collection of art works, in commemoration of this historic meeting. They wound their way through the usual corridors, then through double-doors, into a foyer, roped off to keep the press at bay, and lit by the glare of broadcast lighting. Jimmy blinked a little as scores of flashes went off, but saw that Masters was there, Theresa with her boys, and Calliope and Madame Lim, all stood around a glass box topped plinth in which lay....so he saw as he approached, beckoned on by Madame Lim, ...in which lay the remains of Old Brownie, like some glossy, opalescent ammonite, only with a serpent's head and tongue. He certainly looked magnificent, like a fabulous work of inlaid sculpture, and Jimmy almost felt as if the old serpent could slither away, just as he had done after 'kissing' him in blessing, before the lightning strike, and later at their last re-union. Jimmy felt an urge to raise his shirt, to sow off his scar, but rejected it as brash and vulgar.

The children all gathered around, cooing and whistling in delight. Jimmy had told them all about his Rainbow Serpent guide, and they all had similar stories of animal companions and familiars, but none so marvellous as Brownie. Jimmy wished that the old snake had had a grander name, befitting such a mythopoetic creature. But, of course, he would have had a Arrentje name, and, probably, a secret name, not for public disclosure. Jimmy made a mental note to ask Charlie or Max if they knew it, when he returned to Plenty Creek, soon, he trusted.

Madame Lim made a short speech, welcoming this '..wonder of nature's artistic genius', as she called him, and indicated that Jimmy should speak. Stepping forward, as the lights blazed again, Jimmy was brief.

'This creature was my friend and my companion, occasionally, but unforgettably, in life and ever-present in spirit. He would normally be seen as a potentially dangerous, even deadly, menace, but from the first occasion that our paths crossed, as had been, believe me, pre-ordained, we understood each other well, and this old, old, serpent, brought me an understanding that is still revealing itself and a blessing both ancient and for all the future time in which snakes and humanity will dwell together on this Earth. The snake is a potent symbol and totem around the world, a being that unites past, present and future in myth and legend, who creates a circle with its body that reminds us of the cyclical nature of life, of the seasons and of human existence. My people see a Rainbow Serpent in the sky after a storm, 'the rainbow sign' of the old spiritual, and this old fella was my rainbow, a portent and a bridge between this world and another I do not yet have the words to properly describe. A world where all time, past, present, future is inextricable entwined in the 'everywhen' of my people's Dreamings. I will always miss him, although we met only rarely,  and, to my delight, but not surprise, I have already seen him once more, a new avatar, born again in exactly the same spot where this incarnation, transfigured by the power of our planet's electric life force, transcended mere mundane existence and became, for all intents and purposes, immortal'. Jimmy spoke slowly and with dramatic effect, so much so that the 'reptiles' of the press were left unusually quiet, even respectful, as he finished. Jimmy turned to leave with his companions, and they quickly exited, the press still rather stunned.

Masters ambled over to Jimmy's side.'That was a nice, pithy, little speech, son. Don't go into politics, for God's sake'. He chuckled at the recurrent thought.

'Nice to see you Mr. Masters. I wondered where you were. Did you get snowed in? Now, before the speeches....come, meet my friends. They're a motley crew, but exceptional, one and all.' And Jimmy called all his fellow 'prophets' together, they having reached the Reception Hall again. He quickly introduced them one at a time to Masters, Theresa and their boys, who were clearly thrilled to meet the entire leadership of the Gaian Clubs. Jimmy apologised for not being able to catch Albania and Algeria (he intended taking notes of all the speeches' memorable bits, as did most of the others)but he wished to check on Doreen, and see how she was, first. He hurried to her room, with Sophia, and knocked lightly on the door.

Doreen answered, looking a little wan, and declared that she had a 'nasty headache'. Something about her appearance and lack of her habitual energy worried Jimmy, which she sensed, so she reassured him. 'I'm just jet-lagged love. I've asked the guard to call for a doctor, to get some headache pills and sleepers. These girls snore too much'. She giggled at her cheeky inversion of reality.

Sophia smiled at that, and gave Doreen a big hug. Just then there was another rap on the door, and the medical officer, one of many the UN had for its dignitaries and workers, Dr. Cissoko from Mali, entered, with a cheery 'Hello'. Doreen sent Jimmy on his way, but asked Sophia to stay behind for a while, so Jimmy kissed his Gran, and left for the General Assembly.

By the time he reached his allotted seat, inconspicuous to the delegates, off to one side, but with a good view of the speakers, and took out his note-book and pen, the delegate from Argentina, the Vice-President, the President being 'indisposed', was just beginning his speech. After he had used only four minutes of his allotted five to ten to commit his country, and the Opposition parties, to finding a way out of the 'nightmarish' reality of the future of environmental destruction that loomed, Jimmy noted. 'Argentina excellent. Vice-President Albion, sturdy, honest, committed and brief. Bi-partisan support, too. That is key. Adversarialism is the greatest danger'. He had not, needless to say, required the UN 's excellent translation services, Spanish having been an early project for his prodigious facility for languages-after all, so many people spoke it.

Next speaker to the lectern was Alex, introduced by Secretary-General Lim herself. Alex looked very relaxed and comfortable, as if lecturing world leaders was second nature. He was brief and forthright. What the movers and shakers thought of being admonished, as they were, for their failure to defend life on Earth and continued, mad, preference for growth and money over all else, could be easily ascertained from the nervous shuffling of papers and wriggling in their seats of numerous delegates.

Alex could not fail to detect this unease, so he capitalised on it.

'Ladies and gentlemen, well might you wriggle about with annoyance at my admonishment. So far you, and the other powerful have, for centuries, comprehensively failed the one test of judgment and character that really matters, Despite your pretensions, your mock gravitas, your imagined insight, intelligence and strength of character, you have not just failed to protect the habitability of this planet, our only home, for our species, from degradation and, now, impending destruction, but you have actively aided and assisted this suicidal process. This Meeting is your last chance to realise the error of your ways, reverse course and protect your and everyone else's descendants from extinction. That is in truth the reality of business as usual. I am certain that you will do your duty to human posterity. Thank-you'. Alex had given them a mighty 'dressing-down', and the delegates replied with desultory applause that then slowly rose, after a little while, to a considerable ovation.

Alex, sitting back down next to Jimmy, looked at him, a little bemused and asked, 'What went on there? They seemed unenthusiastic, to say the least...then they went mad. What gives?'

Jimmy smiled, a little enigmatically, and replied, 'I think it was the field, Alex. They began like power-brokers, up above the concerns of mere children, mere citizens, then the power of the collective consciousness that has been implanted and empowered in their minds since the Dream, took over. I bet, if you ask them, that they will not even remember the unenthusiastic response at first, and just the rising crescendo later. All our minds are no longer just our private, personal, property any more. We are all beginning to think together, more or less, like a planetary super-mind. There is the makings of a good science fiction story in this'. The last was uttered with a sly grin, Alex adding 'I will write it!', then they settled back to listen to the next speaker.

As the minutes whiled away into hours, Jimmy jotted and scribbled. Australia was, alas verbose, the Prime Minister Duffer...oops, Duffy...as big a self-promoter as Masters and Butcher had described him. However, after all the 'My Government' this and 'My Government thats', he actually spoke for a minute on the mood of general agreement that had gripped the Australian polity and population that action was long overdue. Indeed, as Jimmy had had but a vague inkling, an unfolding bushfire emergency in the Blue Mountains outside Sydney, and the destruction of the scenic hamlet of Blackheath, with hundreds of homes and scores of lives, lost, had, Duffy declared, 'concentrated our minds'. Jimmy noted, 'Bushfires, both disaster and opportunity. Sentiments unclear. Empathy, after a fashion (or an attempt to imitate it?) and self-aggrandisement mixed in unpleasant fashion. What happened to the Government of National Unity? Need to talk it out with others'. Jimmy's own mixed feelings, and the intrusions of unpleasant thoughts pertaining to the ghastly bush-fire tragedy, troubled him. I am no saint, after all, he thought, bemused at his own unconscious presumption that he might have ever been one. Perhaps that was why he had been spared martyrdom at San Francisco Airport.

After Bangladesh, impassioned and frankly desperate, considering the encroaching sea and the inevitability of inundation, Sophia down beside him. 'Your Gran is OK', she began, 'but the Doctor has had her moved to the Infirmary, because her blood pressure is quite high, and her blood sugar a little elevated. She says that...I mean your Gran says, that you must not visit until there is a break. She will be OK, and you must keep an eye on things. She has told the nurses not to let you in until dinner, which will be at sixish, after the first instalment. How has it been?' Sophia looked pretty relaxed, and not concerned about Doreen, so Jimmy too relaxed, although not entirely.

'Well, the best, so far, have been Argentina and Bangladesh. You know, of course, that we have 350 clubs in Bangladesh already. It caught on like wildfire...which is a poor expression at present, because there are terrible fires burning back home, in Sydney, in the mountains. The Australian PM was pretty bad, but not as bad as I had feared, either. Mr. Masters has a dim opinion of him, but this crisis, like the Chinese sages say, is an opportunity. Perhaps he will rise to the occasion, although the signs are mixed. Are you going to take notes too?' Jimmy valued Sophia's opinion very highly.

'In my head, Jimmy', Sophia chuckled.'I didn't get granted this amazing memory not to use it. We'll have a chat afterwards, with the others. Most of them will do it by memory, I bet. You could, too, you know'. She smiled benevolently.

'No need to show off', Jimmy replied. 'I can see if my right-handed writing is as good as my left, my natural sidedness. It is supposed to be a good brain exercise'. In fact his right-handed writing was as scribbly as his left.

Glacially, mixing boredom with bemusement, with the occasional pleasant surprise, the afternoon passed. The quality of global leadership was not unambiguously awe-inspiring. At one point, about 3.30, Felipe and Oswald joined them and recommended a walk outside, later, to see the tremendous snow-drifts, before they melted, as the temperature was now rapidly rising, and heavy rain was expected next, tonight or, certainly, tomorrow.

Jimmy agreed, if the media attention would allow it. Felipe smiled, as if he knew something Jimmy did not. Jimmy saw a shadow of a grin flit across Oswald's face too, but returned to listening without investigating. He needed the translation services now and then, although a few delegates spoke in the linguas franca of English and French. By dinner Jimmy had an average score of seven out of ten, the best in his opinion Bangladesh, the least good, Canada, which was not, realistically, a surprise. Sophia said not to worry too much, as Alex had told her that the madly pro-oil Prime Minister was now on shaky ground, and public opinion was turning harshly against him.

'It might not be nice to hope for someone's career to be rendered null, Jimmy, but he could find greater happiness planting trees, don't you think', Sophia observed with a wicked grin.'It's my favourite thing, you know. That and playing the violin. You know, I do hope the adults take over, because I would love a musical career'. Sophia was a formidable talent, and did dream of a globe-trotting career, spreading the message while serenading audiences.

Before dinner, Jimmy visited Doreen in the Infirmary. 'I've always had an ambition to end up in an asylum or an 'infirmary', darlin'', she kidded Jimmy. She looked much better, having had a bag of IV fluids with added potassium, and some strong pain relief, while her blood sugar and pressure had settled.

'Your grandmother has had a rough few days', Dr.Cissoko stated bluntly, having ushered Jimmy into the Doctors' Office, out of hearing. 'And from the sounds of it, a stressful few weeks, months and years, bringing up a child prodigy with no parents to help her. Still she thinks that you are a 'gift from God', and she is your biggest fan, I would say....but after this business, I recommend a good, long, holiday, away from all stress. She's not that young, either, and her people, like mine, alas, don't often enjoy a long old age. I can be blunt with you, young man, because you can understand what I'm saying. Your Gran assures me of that.' Dr. Cissoko, a young, tall, slender woman, with a keen and searching gaze, was reassuringly direct.

'Thank-you, Doctor', Jimmy answered.'If, as I expect, the powers in charge, around the world, take over the work of averting environmental ruin...we have 200 clubs in Mali, you know ...I am going to retire to the computer and write books and study on-line. I have left school behind...my favourite teacher, Owen Dudley, a very fine man...says that they have nothing left to teach me so...I will have spare time to look after her. That suits me very well'. Jimmy was looking forward to leaving the lime-light and following the advice of Epicurus to 'cultivate his garden'.

'Yes, Mr. Jimmy...I know of your clubs...all my siblings...I am the oldest,....and my cousins, too, they are all in the clubs. It is making a big, big, difference, if only in morale. Let me shake your hand...and get a few autographs for my little brothers and sisters'.

As Jimmy signed away, with little messages for Claire, and Chloe, and Bernard (Dr. Cissoko's parents were diplomats and Francophiles) Dr. Cissoko explained that, in her professional opinion, Doreen would benefit from a full medical examination at a private hospital where the UN would meet all the bills. Then a slow trip home, back across the USA, and the Pacific, with some sight-seeing, too. Doreen had never seen much of the world, so it would be silly to miss this opportunity. Jimmy nodded and agreed with it all, and having finished his 'autographs', thanked Dr. Cissoko, and returned to Doreen's room.

'I've gotta stay the night love. That lovely girl, Abigail, (Dr. Cissoko)what a sweety...she talked me into it. Did ya have a good chin-wag with her? Tell that darlin'  Sophie and dear 'tenzi, my two lovely girls, that'll I'll miss chatting with them, but I'll see 'em tomorrow. Now you go and get some dinner, and see me again, last thing tonight'. They hugged and kissed and Jimmy left, having not got a word in, edge-wise or in any other direction.

Back in the Refectory, over dinner, the gang decided that Mtenzi and Sophia would speak tonight, after every tenth or so speaker, as before. They were both well prepared. Of course their speeches were well rehearsed in their heads, and neither was a 'shrinking violet'. The next day and the last, Sunday, the others would speak, in the afternoon and evening sessions, too, finishing with Jimmy, just before the Secretary-General called the meeting to an end, and the parties would commence negotiating over the work of the various sub-committees and expert groups that had been working on various propositions for the last few months. Jimmy, Alex and Amadeo had read some of the proposed Agreements on-line, as Jimmy had told Madam Lim that they would, and had found them quite encouraging. There seemed a universal acceptance, at last, that constant growth on a finite planet was madness, which surely was the bedrock on which a Planetary Rescue (or should it be 'Salvation' he wondered, to emphasise the essential spiritual dimension of the whole effort) Plan could be effective. These Agreements, when finally amended and perfected, Jimmy wished to study much further, too, before he and Doreen wound a slow path home, as recommended by Dr. Cissoko.

After dinner Sophia and Mtenzi went to see Doreen. Mtenzi returned after twenty minutes, to prepare for her speech, while Sophia pledged to stay with Jimmy's Gran until she went to sleep, or her turn to speak arrived. The delegates were droning on again, although 'droning' didn't do some of them justice, and others it flattered. There was a good deal of impassioned talk, particularly from the poor countries, who saw the chance, not unreasonably, to do something about economic inequality and injustice. The richer countries, somewhat surprisingly given past practises, were talking a good talk about just that, once again reinforcing Jimmy's belief that the noosphere was subtly influencing the thinking and behaviour of the global elect. But the proof of this magic pudding would surely be in the eating.

Mtenzi spoke very forcefully, but subtly. She emphasised the need for the adults in power to finally take the steps necessary to avert the ecological catastrophe, because there was not enough time to wait for the young generation to grow up and take power. The adults owed it to their children and grand-children and to themselves, as the disasters were here and now. In addition, if humanity did get together to co-operate, then huge military budgets would no longer be required, and hundreds of billions be released for the new restorative and rehabilitating, rather than destructive, industries needed to avert the ecological cataclysm. The numerous military types, resplendent in their be-ribboned uniforms, medals for gallantry in service to the political masters and foreign arms salesmen, dangling, spread through the delegations, reacted intriguingly positively to the prospect of redundancy. If that mob could make the leap of faith, all would be well. Mtenzi's remarks were brief, with no messing about, and she received very warm applause, as was her due.

One by one the delegates took their turns, like clock-work, and with the general tenor of the powerful being that they were prepared at last to finally take the crisis seriously ( undoubtedly encouraged by the overwhelming tide of public opinion in all countries, without exception)the overall atmosphere was immensely encouraging, or 'Jolly good', as Oswald remarked. While Jimmy sat and listened, still taking notes, he began to appreciate the historical nature of the process under-way. He would be, he already was, a globally significant figure, as were they all, but that was something that left him uneasy. Jimmy had really wanted, up to a year ago or so, to just live his childhood as a child, but, somehow, he had been selected by a not at all disinterested fate, to do great things. Jimmy was, after all was said and done, a freak not 'of Nature', but created by Nature, by Gaia, an entity once universally derided as 'hippy fantasy', now a word on billions of lips and no longer the butt of jokes. Jimmy felt a little scared, particularly recollecting the religious lunatic at San Francisco Airport. However, somewhere deep in his psyche, influenced by that collective unconscious understanding that he now enjoyed and that almost everyone was being affected by, he rather knew that he would not miss out on the tremendous excitement and adventure that saving the world would bring. And so he returned to his notes, his mind at rest, at least for now.

Sophia spoke at nine PM, having sat and exchanged chit-chat with Doreen until summoned by Mtenzi, who took over granny-sitting duties. Sophia spoke after Ecuador, whose President was highly impressive, and before Egypt, who were greatly exercised by sea-level rises inundating the Nile Delta. Sophia, when she spoke, in clipped tones, rather like a stern teacher, surely a prime example of cognitive dissonance as they emerged from a skinny school-girl dressed in a checkered shirt and faded jeans, emphasised the spiritual dimension of the enterprise, rather than the practical, as befit a girl named after Divine Wisdom. 'Celeste is doing an excellent job', Jimmy thought mischievously, just before Alex leaned over and whispered 'Celeste has a halo, an aureole'.

True enough, seen from Alex's seat, the reflected lights from above and behind Sophia had somehow cast a glowing aura about her head, so long as she looked up and forward, and didn't veer to either side. 'I got a picture on Felipe's 'phone', Alex said.'We'll be able to get her canonised, after this. But maybe they'll need a couple of miracles, first'. He sat back, grinning broadly, just as Sophia reached a rousing final exhortation, where she described a coming world where greedy materialism had been defeated, and a selfless humanism ruled in its stead, where the human race would concentrate its talents on spiritual growth, where children would be taught how to tap into the noosphere, to grow in understanding and compassion, and empower the global unconscious through their efforts. It was a bravura performance, the young girl speaking like a child Prophetess, confident and convincing in her dedication to humanity outgrowing mere egotism and transcending its wretched self-destructive ways. And, she added, in a poignant note, the assembled worthies would be working for the future happiness of people that they would never know, having been allotted by Fate with the grim responsibility to live their lives out in a degraded and wounded world, which, one hoped, would be but a short interval of a few centuries before the glory and beauty of the world's diversity and richness was restored. Their high reward would be the gratitude and veneration of all future human generations. This was her peroration (she had been studying classical oratory) and it brought the house down, having stroked the delegates' egos expertly. The worthies were on their feet, yelling, applauding and, in many cases, crying openly.

'You seem to have gone over pretty well' Alex grinned as Sophia sat down, weeping a little herself. Sophia simply nodded and smiled, and held hands with Elizabetta, who whispered congratulations in her ear..

Finally, at ten PM the last of the day's speakers finished proceedings. None had been antagonistic. One or two were mildly, defensively, dismissive, but Jimmy quickly looked up public opinion at home in those countries, and rather expected these positions would be short-lived, as would be the speakers' political careers. As he sat quietly, admiring the vault of the ceiling and the workmanship therein, and the great hall slowly emptied, he was joined by Masters and the Prime Minister Duffy. The Another Prime Minister in the vaunted 'National Unity Government', Hellier, had stayed in Canberra to oversee the work of the grandiosely titled 'National Salvation Agency'. 'He's better at the bureaucratic stuff', Duffy declared, but Jimmy suspected his motives. He gave off a regretable 'vibe' of expediency and untrustworthiness.

Jimmy smiled, and, looking to Masters for moral support, he declared that he was certain that the days of adversarial politics were over. He would, if anyone asked, be in favour of the bi-partisan Government of national unity, only permanently. 'It seems to me that class and economic contestation has only ever been destructive of morality and that solidarity that we must have to win this battle' Masters snorted approval, of that which, six months ago, would have had him apoplectic with indignation and, to Jimmy's pleasant surprise, Duffy agreed, and gave every indication in expression, body language and accent of being genuine.

'I've spoken to the Leader of the Opposition already, Jimmy', Duffy replied.' I'm sorry I mean, the 'Joint Prime Minister'-we'd better change that title, on second thought. Where was I? Yes! We are going to do just that, but we need a democratic mandate. The Greens will be in on it, too, so that's 95% or so, but the democratic niceties and necessities must come first. Working together, so far, has been a very surprisingly pleasant, and productive, experience. After that Dream of yours...I mean 'ours'...my members, and Hellier's, have been much less inclined to abuse one another, and there is far more common ground than any of us ever imagined existed. We publish everything we decide in the joint Cabinet Meetings, on-line, straight away. Why hide what we are doing? The public gets to criticise, suggest improvements and take possession, as they say, of the agenda. It's direct democracy, as far, I imagine, as it can be taken-for now.', Duffy drawled.

'That's immensely encouraging, Mr. Duffy. We in the clubs will just work away, but I assume we will be given more resources and more adult assistance, and I rather think that school curricula could do with some tweeking to improve ecological understanding. I dare say it will take a few centuries to fix the mess and ensure a long posterity for humanity, although the first one hundred years and the first decade particularly, will be crucial, but you will have the privilege of kicking it off. You should be quite proud.' Jimmy was not deliberately appealing to Duffy's vanity, which was rather pronounced, but it helped.

The conversation had lasted but a few minutes when a friendly flunky arrived to remind Duffy of a meeting with other leaders of 'middle powers', just kicking off in a distant corner of UN HQ. Duffy shook Jimmy's hand and hurried off, while Masters stayed behind.

'You had him eating out of your hand, son' Masters chuckled.' He's as thick as a brick, but lately, like us all, much improved. The cosmic mind at work, is it, Jimmy?' Masters was fishing.

'Well, yes, it is. The noosphere grows deeper and more complex all the time. It certainly has been boosted by the dream, the dream that woke the sleepers. Sleepers awake! It is quite glorious, is it not, that the field contains the thoughts of Bach and Beethoven and Shakespeare, and all the thoughts upon their thoughts ever since. Even the less than inspired ones. The veritable 'be all and end all' of all planetary experience. Nothing ever perishes entirely, it just returns to the 'non-separable' bedrock of reality. The planetary consciousness, this collective unconscious of the world, would survive a catastrophe, like it has the others in the past, but no doubt with greatly diminished power and complexity. It would take a long while, and the rise of new sapient beings, for it ever to approach the richness it displays now. That is why we had better save it, now. Tomorrow will be too late!' Jimmy hoped that Masters would appreciate what he said, overcoming the thought processes of his rather single-minded, one-dimensional, life, always in hot pursuit of money and power.

'It's pretty interesting, don't you think, Jimmy...,that the best way to engage in this is by self-sacrifice. The old 'Throw away your goods and chattels' stuff. Live simple and throw yourself on the tender mercies of the...unknown. And 'other people'. I know some frog said 'Hell is other people'. Cripes I had it carved into red gum and embossed, and hung it in my office in London. 'L'enfer, c'est les autres'....it used to scare the minions, but, let's get real. We have to make it 'Heaven is other people', don't we. A few months ago, you know...if I'd heard myself mumbling such cobblers, well I would have rung for the rubber-truck myself. But today, I really mean it. You have to be brave, but your salvation awaits you. You just have to let go of your ego and your greed for 'More'. It sounds quite religious'. Masters was not a very religious person himself, but felt a sly, disturbing, impulse to set about creating one, or finding one to believe in. Heaven help us all!

'Yes it is religious, you know.' Jimmy replied, much enjoying his conversations with the 're-mastered Mr. Masters', as he thought of him.'It proves to me, once more, why all religions are basically correct, all are saying the same truths in different ways...and they should all be allies and friends, never enemies. Excepting, of course, the religion of greed. That has got to go. Otherwise be as religious as you like, but accepting of others. It is the final chance mankind has to put their common humanity first, otherwise....it is good-night, and not a 'good night'. Jimmy was feeling the dreadful excitement of it all, more and more intensely. He really feared that he might even begin to 'enjoy' it all.

'Well, Jimmy....I'm heading home soon, by which I mean back to England. My current wife is missing me..but I'll be over to see to the transformation at our Coorong place for Theresa and our sons. They do love it there...they'll be supervising the process of letting it revert to bush and all that...replanting, landcare, while I dispose of all extraneous assets and plough them into supporting your clubs. You must visit some time, when you're home. And my papers will be pushing the bi-partisan, 'National Unity Government', hard. Funny to be playing the old bully-boy games in a good cause, for a change. The election is in six weeks, Duffer tells me, to ratify the new arrangements and get a new type of Member elected. That will require a couple of referendums, but the polls look good...we made sure of that! OK, OK, I'm only kidding...for the record. They've gotta cut out the dead wood... there's quite a bit of that, over half of both parties are sub-median, any way you measure it.....will you be involved?' Masters wasn't sure what Jimmy's politics were, if any.

'I will just tell the club members that I support bi-partisanship, and leave it at that. We must not get involved politically, I am sure you agree. And I am taking Gran home slowly and quietly. She has been unwell, you see'. Jimmy assumed that Masters didn't know.

But he did. 'Yes, I heard and I visited her an hour ago. Dr. Cissoko has arranged for her to be admitted to the private hospital that caters to UN leaders. Madam Lim approved and your Gran is quite happy. And she has agreed to stay at our apartment on Central Park...it's pretty posh, and we have maids and a butler....I just doubled their pay, too, so they are in jovial mood, dontcha know....so she'll have a little rest. After this palaver is over, you can join her for a while, before you set off for home. I can organise visits to all the museums, galleries and music, too...if you like. And you'll need a birthday party on Monday, ….it'll be a big treat after Sunday, your big speechifying day....your Gran asked me to organise one, for all your 'comrades', or whatever they're called today, and my boys will be the hosts, too, of course. Whadya say?' Masters was unhappy to suddenly spring all this on Jimmy, although he expected a calm reaction, as usual, but he was a little surprised.

Jimmy was quite excited. 'Thank-you, Mr.Masters. You are so kind. You know, I am actually the second youngest, by a few days, of us all. We were all born in the same ten days and I am a Sunday child, 'Bonny and blithe and good and gay'. I am a happy person, you know, Mr. Masters. Happy to be blessed to live to see humanity turn back from the brink of self-destruction, and go on to become something wondrous-who would not be happy at that prospect? What a privilege we share. Can we make it a group birthday party? For us all.' Jimmy had planned just such a celebration, but privately at a posh apartment sounded even better. They could get to see how the 'other 0.01% live'.

'Yes, of course, Jimmy. I haven't yet given my millions, my considerable millions away...so we'll put on a good party, you'll see. But I think you should go and see your Gran now, then get some shut-eye. Your big speech is only two days away. By the way, little Sophia was astounding, wasn't she? She had 'em blubbering over one another. Feeding their self-regard, the clever girl. Are you ready for your star turn, as if I need to ask'. Masters knew the answer, which was an emphatic 'Yes!'.

Having said all they needed to say, for now, they parted until the next time. Jimmy hastened to see Doreen, who was still awake, sitting and chatting with Sophia and Mtenzi, who was running through their speeches, for Doreen, with mnemonistic ease.

'Hello, Jimmy' Doreen crowed.'These little girls are real tonic. 'tenzi, here, she remembers every bloomin' thing, so I've heard every talk...from beginning to end...more or less. You left out the boring half didn't ya, sweetie'. And she gave Mtenzi a big bear-hug.

'Miss Doreen, you are just like my third Gran, don't you know. How did you end up in Australia? You must come visit me, one day, you hear?' Mtenzi was quite smitten with Doreen.

'Are you coming to hear the rest of us, tomorrow and Sunday, Gran?' Jimmy ventured, not sure if Doreen was up to it.

'You must be joking, love. Try and stop me....and my darling Sophie and 'tenzi...I'm just gutted that I missed them both, but I'll watch them on video, so that's OK. But, Jimmy...you speaking in front of all those big-wigs...', Doreen commenced sniffling, followed by sobbing. 'If only your Mum, dear Gay...if only she could be here....oh dear, I'm blubbering away...oh dear...' Doreen dissolved entirely into tears from that point on. It was partly the over-burden of various stresses seeking a catharsis, and with some inexpressible pride thrown in, too.

Jimmy jumped over to her bed to give her a therapeutic hug.'Now, Gran, you know how it all happened. Somewhere or other Mum is still there, part of the great Unknown, the cosmic Dreaming. I hope that she will know what is happening, and she will be standing right beside me, and Dad will be on my other side, as far as I am concerned. You know that. You never doubted it. I know'. Jimmy was crying now, quite overcome emotionally, as were Sophia and Mtenzi, as Dr. Cissoko walked in.

'My goodness', she exclaimed. 'What has happened. Something dreadful...no, I see it....something pulling at your heart-strings, as they say. A very sad memory. Oh dear, I feel like crying just watching you all'. Dr. Cissoko felt a little knot in her stomach, but kept the tears at bay.

'Yes, dear', Doreen stuttered.'Just thinking about Jimmy's Mum and Dad, and....you know, all these kids are orphans...so little Sophie and 'tenzi here....well they can't help it, now can they?' Doreen crushed the two girls in yet another hug, good exercise after all, and quietened her sniffles.

'Dear me....how very sad' Dr Cissoko ventured '...but you are so famous children...your speeches were on the TV News and they are on the Internet...the most famous children in the world....my mother will not believe me....she's joined you club, you know...she helps drive the children in her suburb around with food for old people and the poor...but that's enough. Time to be a physician. Children, leave now. I must examine Mrs Kartinyangarra. Come back in ten minutes, or, better still, in the morning'. She was suddenly quite stern, like a matriarch-in-training, so the children obeyed meekly but happily, kissing Doreen on the way out.

After they were gone, Dr. Cissoko got down to tin tacks, as they say somewhere or other, but mostly in books.

'So, Mrs K. you will want to see Jimmy, I'm sure, but you must be very careful and not to get too excited or agitated, because your blood pressure is quite labile, or, in layman's language, quite unstable, shooting up far too high at times. So I may prescribe a small sedative, if you wish, for half an hour before, to keep you calm. Do you agree?' Dr. Cissoko had her best stern yet concerned (consterned?) expression, a necessary tool for the physician, on her face.

'Yes, yes, luv...you're the flamin' quack, after all...I trust you...by the way, 'quack' is a compliment in our circles....I trust you, but I have to see the other kids, too. Are sedatives risky...but I'm not going to get too emotional over Jimmy...maybe a bit....oh, well, but I have to be there, for my daughter, you see'. Doreen felt a great wave of emotion flowing over her again, just as Dr. Cissoko checked her BP.

' 'Up again, I'm afraid. You relax for a while. I'll send the children to bed, and I'll check it again later. You are happy to go to the Clinic after Jimmy's speech, for a full check-up? You'll be staying at Mr. Master's apartment, I believe. I hear it's a palace in the sky. Lucky you'. Dr. Cissoko had a yearning to enjoy the luxury life, if only once.

'I'll invite you for dinner, darlin'. Masters is goin' back to England, Theresa, her sons and Jimmy and I will have it to ourselves and the servants. What a hoot!' .

Shortly thereafter, Doreen settled for the night, Dr. Cissoko allowed the kids a goodnight kiss, and then they rushed off to sleep before the next big day, tomorrow. Before sleeping, Jimmy visited the other 'Utari', who were mostly still awake, and told them of Masters' offer of a big, group, birthday party.

'What is it like', Jimmy asked Alex, for a hoot, 'being a teen-ager?' Alex had passed the fateful date four days before.

'It's dreadful, James', Alex teasingly replied.'I'm expecting my voice to break at any second, and I've bought a razor...just in case, you know....fear of five o'clock shadow. They say it brought Nixon undone. Funny how he seems so 'progressive' on environmental matters, nowadays...or, should I say, in recent days'. Alex was a student of environmental history and rather approved of Nixon's simple common-sense, all those years ago, although he had latterly encountered dissenting opinions. Jimmy wished them all good-night, and retired to his room, and slept, very quietly and soundly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Chapter Seventeen XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As he slept, like we all do, unless neurologically damaged, Jimmy dreamed. In fact Jimmy was, in many ways, a boy dreamed into existence, by many dreamers, and dreams still played a crucial role in his life. His dreams, moreover, as was so often the case, and would surely have to have been on such a portentous night, were vivid and meaningful. At first they were just the common or garden dreams of ordinary boys, not making much sense, but eventually Jimmy began to feel slightly unsettled, as if something were about to happen. There was an immanence in the dream, and an 'about to be' feeling that he really only ever experienced in dreams, and quite often, too, his dreams being inordinately powerful.

And, sure enough, he suddenly felt the presence of someone behind him. In the distance a great storm raged, with a sinister tornado off at a far remove, seemingly radiating malevolent intimations. But Jimmy was too frightened to turn and see what was there at his back. Indeed his fear grew and grew, and the tornado seemed to be racing towards him. Then the clouds were illuminated by a dazzling light shining from behind him and he slowly turned, fighting the paralysis in his muscles that had him as tightly gripped as if by the 'Old Hag', that hypnogogic petrification that he had at times experienced.

As he finally managed to turn fully about, his head bowed by the effort, the light had become all encompassing. It was bright but not dazzling. His eyes were not burned or even irritated by it, and he was able to slowly raise his head, and saw three figures a few feet away, bathed in light, in fact composed of light. Gradually, as his eyes miraculously adjusted as they can only in dreams where light possesses unusual qualities, metaphorical and spiritual, that reflect the laws of dreaming and the dreamer, not mere physics, he saw that the three were an aged blackfella woman, white-haired and very, very, old, and his parents, his mother and father, Gaia and CJ, who had not visited his dreams for some time.

Jimmy felt an elation so great that he imagined himself flying, but flying on the spot. Flying within, as if his soul had soared to heaven while moored to his body, still rooted to the spot, far below, by a gossamer tether of light. Then, just as his elation seemed fit to break that tether and send his soul flying off into the cosmos, the old lady spoke, stern but loving, like a grandmother admonishing a child to attend to their chores.

'Jimmy', she began, 'soon you will have the eyes of the world, the eyes of all the worlds, upon you. You were born for this day, just as all your little mates too were born for their days of power and influence. You children will again teach the adults a lesson that they once knew, but forgot, or were denied them as they grew, by cruelty, neglect or bad luck. You will re-awaken in them what it is to be fully human, to be part of the great thread of life that entwines every living thing, and all those that once lived and ever yet will live on this good Earth, our Mother, throughout time, until its end, and which thread joins them together in brotherhood, sisterhood, motherhood and fatherhood. Now, you will receive your parents' blessing, which will strengthen you as you perform your pre-destined task'. The old woman ended almost tearfully, seemingly overcome with emotion herself.

The old girl glided aside and Jimmy's parents moved forward, as if also gliding across the ground and the three embraced. Jimmy felt that he was almost swooning with happiness, and, as these dreams often are, it all seemed very real, even a sort of hyper-reality that far surpassed the mundane reality of everyday existence. His parents didn't speak, and just held him close then seemed to merge with him as if to make him stronger. Jimmy felt no fear, only elation, then he sensed his new expanded, familial, self expanding like a bubble until he gazed down on the Earth from high, high above, whereupon the bubble burst and fell to Earth like rain, but a rain of tears, hot tears, shining like pearls and falling thick like hail, until the whole world, as far as the horizon was bathed in a warm, reflective pearl glow. Then, abruptly, he was being shaken awake.

'Come on, Jimmy. Let's go outside before it's too late. It's going to rain and melt what's left of the snow!'. It was Alex, awake and excitable. 'It's eight o'clock, already. You'd better see your Gran, too. The doctor came down earlier, but said to let you sleep. Your Gran's much better today, thank goodness. She's quite well enough to take the excitement of our speeches. But, come on. Have a wash, get dressed...hurry up!!'. Alex leaped across the room, swung on the door, and was gone, hooting madly.

Jimmy took a while to get his bearings. To be woken from such a dream, so abruptly was not to be recommended. He was quite breathless, from his dream and Alex's assault, but in a moment he gathered his thoughts, so carelessly strewn about inside his head, sorted through them, and left for the showers. Jimmy finished with a long cold shower, as he often enjoyed on hot, steamy days back home, to clear his head, and left, re-invigorated, to visit his Gran.

Doreen was sitting up in bed, looking much better. Dr. Cissoko was not on duty until tomorrow, but had informed her replacement, Dr. Karpoff from Russia, that she would be in later to escort Doreen to the speeches and, naturally, tomorrow she would be there for Jimmy's big moment. Jimmy began to feel, not nervous, but something akin to embarrassment to be the centre of attention. Dr. Karpoff made it worse by asking for the obligatory autographs, one in his son Tolya's drawing book. Still Tolya was a formidable artist for an eight-year old, so Jimmy drew a rainbow-snake and appended a little message in his still not yet perfected Russian, as well as an English greeting. Dr. Karpoff was quite pleased, and although he pointed out a couple of errors in Jimmy syntax, when Jimmy explained, in Russian, that he had only been studying Russian for three months, on and off, Karpoff simply whistled in amazement.

Jimmy told Doreen about his dream, and, she did not surprise him at all by saying that she too had dreamed of a storm that had broken and rained tears that turned to opals, rather than pearls. She had not dreamed of Gay or CJ, however, but she expected that was for Jimmy only, so that was no worry at all. Doreen declared forthrightly that she was well enough to join them all for breakfast, and sent Jimmy away while she showered and dressed.'Come back for us in half an hour, love. Dr. K. here, he wants me to use a wheelchair, for longer trips...just so I don't get puffed. He's the head wallah at the Clinic where they're goin' to suss me out, love...he reckons I'm not too bad, for a 'late middle age' as he says...just worn out by all the excitement, and travel. He reckons I've got a good twenty years left in me.' She chuckled at that prospect.

'At least twenty, Mrs. K'. Dr. Karpoff replied. 'And you two must visit us in Tula, in the summer, however. The cold of autumn, winter and much of spring might be too much for you. It takes a lifetime of getting used to.'

'We will do that, Doctor', Jimmy replied.'I am going to travel a lot, after this business, to visit the clubs and learn from them and encourage them, and I will drag Gran along, when she feels like it. I would like to study music, too, and perhaps one of the great Russian piano schools might find room, for a part-time student of...notoriety, I suppose. The Russian pianists...well, you know, the Soviets, Richter, Gilels, Yudina...I listen to them all the time. Do you think I have a chance? I have a formidable memory, you know.' Jimmy was day-dreaming his latest ambition, to be a globe-trotting pianist.

“If anybody can do it 'part-time', it will be you, young man. I saw Richter once, when I was twenty, in 1986. He was touring Siberia and I was in Novosibirsk, studying. My Professor said that he was not as great as in the 50s and 60s, but nobody was that good. Still, he had us all quite delirious. Six encores. You have a great ambition, but it is all-consuming'. Karpoff was drifting into reverie, remembering that night nearly thirty years before.

'I thought I might do as he wanted to...do you know the story' Jimmy went on. 'Hire a hall or ask permission to use a church, or just set the piano down in a little square, play and have a hat out the front for donations of appreciation. Like busking. It would be easier for a violinist, I suppose. You know, the great musicians create added depth and strength in the noosphere...you Russians are such mystics...you understand...music connects us to deep and profound truths, that we cannot see in our mundane lives because we are inundated with extraneous intrusions...but sit listening to great music, played by a great musician, and you become the third dimension of the Holy Musical Trinity, the great...well, as good as you can be, and you do grow, over time, with experience...the 'good as you can be' audience'. Jimmy realised that he was rambling a bit, but he enjoyed it, thoroughly, and had forgotten, if only for a few seconds, his present heavy responsibilities. For all that he was definitely contemplating, if not changing ambitions, but rather, perhaps inspired by Sophia, adding another.

Following Doreen's instructions, Jimmy left his Gran in the capable hands of one of the two nurses, Ada, from the Philippines, who helped Doreen shower and dress, after which she wheeled Doreen down to the refectory. Doreen arrived ten minutes early, and she jumped out of the chair pretty sprightly, and sat down next to Sophia, one of her two new darlings, and they began chatting, ignoring Jimmy almost completely. Jimmy was happy enough to keep nattering to Alex, Diego and Asho, as he discussed his speech, and Monday's party.

'Look out, you blokes', he said, 'but if I know Mr. Masters, he will have arranged for some pretty serious presents for us all. I asked for just one at Christmas, and he gave me a great key-board arrangement, and had been thinking of helicoptering in a piano. Just an upright-I think!He used to be a notorious curmudgeon, sacking people right and left, but the 'New Mood of the Times'...do you like that?...I thought of it in the shower....No, it is certainly not original, I fear...what is?..'The New Mood' has him entranced. His boys infected him with it, and...you know, it is true of a lot of these powerful adults, that they were never really children, you see...they lost their childhood through accident, necessity, bad luck, poor parents..blah, blah...and now they are getting their chance to be young and generous and optimistic and sharing, for the first time...and they are just enthralled. Sometimes, I really feel like the adult, and they are the children. Silly me'. Alex nodded enthusiastically, while Diego and Asho seemed a wee bit more sceptical.

'You know, Jimmee', Diego replied in his thickly accented English, 'Masters owns newspapers in Mexico, and a television network... and, well, you know...they are very 'retrograde' ...that's the right word, isn't it...very backward. Still it looks like The Force is with him', he observed, chuckling.

'Please, Diego...none of that 'Force' stuff', Alex interjected.'I know it's a joke, but if they play it up, we'll look silly, or in league with Hollywood'. Alex rather enjoyed science fiction, but was not at all interested in playing a role as a cosmic hero or adventure.

'It cannot be called a 'force', can it', replied Jimmy.'It is all pervasive, alright, but it certainly does not 'force' anyone. It is pervasive but persuasive, too. People come along happily. It makes people joyous, optimistic...not frightened or compelled. That is why we cannot lose. It is simply impossible, thank goodness'. Jimmy most decidedly had the power of positive thinking on his side.

'Thank-you, Goodness', Diego exclaimed, theatrically addressing the heavens.

Breakfast was a leisurely affair. It was a Saturday, so some residual sense of a 'day of rest' clung to events. The speeches were to recommence at 1 PM, and finish at 8PM, with Asho, Diego, Sunil, Li Wang-wei and Carmen speaking at intervals. And then, tomorrow, the rest of them, Amadeo, Elizabeta, Liliana and Jimmy last, just before Madam Lim rang down the curtain.Then, starting Monday, the various 'expert groups' would meet to address concrete proposals regarding their draft Conventions, reporting in one month. Now, normally, the UN process would produce various worthless compromises after a year, which would be ignored, but, this time, Jimmy sensed that the scales were falling off numerous eyes, and the absolute need for concerted, rapid, sustained action had finally penetrated all but the most obdurate skulls.

After breakfast Doreen asked Jimmy to take her for a 'walk', in her wheel-chair, so 'a push' was more exact. Alex, Sophia and Mtenzi joined them, as did a couple of minders, and they left via a side entrance. The streets were slushy, and the snow-drifts rapidly melting, the sky was grey and threatened rain, but Doreen was keen to see even only a tiny part of the 'great city'. The little party walked along a boulevard then turned up 42nd Street, which set Jimmy off singing, '42nd Street', which he had once seen on the TV. The expedition stopped after a while on a street corner where there were some chairs outside a little cafe, surrounded by banks of dirty, melting, snow, where Doreen asked for a coffee. One of the minders bought it for her, and they sat and watched as a 'lady of the streets' fed a milling mob of pigeons and sparrows with scraps of bread.

Presently she simply dumped the contents out, whereupon another fifty or so birds descended from the trees across the road. The old lady proceeded to sit down next to Jimmy, uninvited, and grasped his hand firmly in hers. Jimmy was, as ever, remarkably relaxed, while the minders kept a wary eye on the old girl.

'I saw you on the TV, last night, little Prince', she began.'Down at the homeless shelter, all the street-people saw you...and your frozen snake. You just popped out for a walk, did you?' She looked right into Jimmy's eyes, with a steady gaze, her ancient face dark and swarthy, etched with a thousand lines, eyes bright and sparkling, deep-set in chubby cheeks, her nose Roman and nostrils wide, her demeanour familiar, as if they were old, old, friends. Like a slightly crazy great-aunt, once removed-by the 'Mental Health' authorities..

'Yes, Ma'am', Jimmy replied, quite relaxed.'What did you think of Old Brownie? Did they get a good shot of him?' Jimmy squeezed her hand firmly, and smiled at Doreen, who was sipping her coffee slowly, while keeping an eye on things. Sophia and Mtenzi were chatting away together, seemingly oblivious to the old lady's presence.

'You see, young sir', the old girl went on, 'you see how those sparrows dart in and out...grabbing scraps. They're our little brothers and sisters...oh, yes, they are. I know that you know that, princeling. I've watched them, I've fed them, I've buried them, in the rose garden, usually....they turn into lovely flowers...I've been on the streets of New York for forty years....and more....I do love it....I'm a wanderer, nowhere but here, this island...Brooklyn for holidays....up and down, across town, out and about on the subway now and then....just blowing with the wind...and those sparrows...those little guys, they've taught me a lot, you know....about life....and now I've haven't got much time left....but the birds...look into their eyes, my prince...you can see, can't you...when you throw away all the superfluous stuff...when you get down to it, just being alive is all there is, sparrow or human, 'roach or ….tiger. I like the tigers at the Zoo. I get in free once or twice a year, and I stay all day. Makes me sad, you know, seeing 'em in cages,...., it's so sad seeing 'em locked up, and going extinct...'I watered Heaven with my tears'...that I did.' The mysterious ancient ran out of puff here, and she squeezed Jimmy's hand all the harder, as if to draw some strength from him.

Jimmy felt a strange calm listening to the old lady. He even had a vague feeling, right in the back of his mind, that he was dreaming, again, or that this old woman was some sort of apparition. Perhaps the noosphere can conjure up phantoms from out of thin air. There was something uncanny about her sudden appearance, her familiarity, her little sermon. Jimmy had an odd feeling that he knew this woman, in this life or some other, but had forgotten where, when and how. All things are mysteries to all men, all of the time. We understand nothing, which is a blessing. The more knowledge, the greater the pain. Now where did such a thought spring? Jimmy concentrated on watching the sparrows, now, just as the old girl had seemed to imply would teach him some lesson in life.

The little creatures jumped and leapt about, intent on avoiding the pigeons, and fought over tiny scraps with a certain intermittent deference to each other. They gave a wide berth to the pigeons, with their squeaky wings, so very nervous and prone to abrupt flights from the feeding-ground. A gull did appear, but the old woman threw a big crust at it, which it greedily grabbed, then flew far off, no doubt to devour it in peace lest its greedy brethren see the tasty morsel.

As he watched the little birds capering about, Jimmy began to see what the old girl had meant. She was now chatting away amiably with the girls and Doreen, and Jimmy fell into a sort of trance. He felt that he was turning into a sparrow, or perhaps, more accurately, entering the body of one. Jimmy could feel his beak, feathers, the taste of stale bread crumbs, oddly delicious to his birdy palate. He even believed that he gazed up, into the tree branches, as he dodged the foot-steps of the swelling morning crowd, and saw himself, Jimmy, staring down, back at himself, Jimmy in the sparrow, on the foot-path. The circular observer and observed relationship seemed in danger of falling into an infinite regression of sparrows spying on sparrows, but Jimmy Sparrow broke the spell by flying up into the giant plane tree shading the foot-path, avoiding the approaching dogs out for a morning stroll. The sensation of flight was ecstatic, proving he was, in reality, Jimmy, not a sparrow, for whom such a flight would be mundanity itself. The old lady was right-we were all just one life, but in various little bundles, here for a while, then gone, but Life itself was everywhere. It permeated the air, the ground, the water, from the tiniest protoplasm to Jimmy's friends, the mighty whales.

'You do get it, don't you Prince?' the old lady cooed, separating herself from the others.'I can see it in your eyes.You've been flying, up into the trees, with the little ones. I do it myself, too, all the time. It's easy, after you let go, the first time...after that it's child's play. Here, princeling....I've got something for you'.

The old girl scrabbled about in her bag, an ancient carpet-bag, by the look of it. All sorts of stuff flew out, newspapers, plastic bottles, bits of coloured string, old tickets, a rotten banana (thrown to the birds, who inspected it gingerly, before falling on it like ravening wolves)and, finally, a ring. A simple ring with a milky white-grey stone set in a mounting shaped like a snake.

“When I found this, thirteen years ago, nearly exactly, in a garden-bed at the Zoo, I wore it for years. It was my good luck charm. Then, one night, well.....it was a few years ago, ....I had a dream, a weird fantastical dream. I used to drink in those days, so....so I dreamed weirdly, sometimes....but this was different. It was you, in the dream, and you were my Prince, like my son that I never had, but my...guide, too. I just called you 'Prince' in the dream and I promised you the ring...when you became a man. Then, I saw you on TV last night, with your stone snake, and I recognised you straight away, but something told me that you would find me, so I just schlepped around, until you sat down, right here. It is very emotional, you know....of course I dreamed the famous Dream, too, like everyone. Didn't see you then, but I sort of knew...well, here you are...this is for you'. The old lady held out the ring for Jimmy to take.

Jimmy didn't hesitate. He took the ring, which he knew instantly that he was meant to have, and could not refuse, even if he wanted to, and put it on the ring-finger of his left hand. The old girl had kept it for him, all these years, so he was fated to have it. As he twisted the ring to find its most comfortable spot that uncanny sensation grew in an instant to an acute unease, and the weight of all the coincidences and predestinations that had crowded his life suddenly fell on him like a landslide, and he cried like a baby, while hugging the old lady in gratitude.

Doreen had watched the little scene quietly, and suddenly felt the need to take Jimmy away from the mysterious old girl, so now she, too, hugged the old woman, and begged her forgiveness in taking Jimmy back to the UN, to rest. The old girl nodded and smiled, and Jimmy clasped her hands fiercely, whereupon the little sparrow that had flown into the tree, flew down and landed right next to them, nodding its little head from side to side, its eyes sparkling, as if inspecting them.

They departed quickly, shortest farewells being the best. Reaching the corner, Jimmy turned to wave a final cheerio, but the old lady and her carpet-bag, and all the sparrows, had disappeared mysteriously. Within a few minutes more they were back at the UN, homeward journeys being always quicker than outbound ones, as we all know. Jimmy saw Doreen back to her room in the Infirmary, and promised to visit again when the lunchtime interval came in the speeches. He trundled down to the General Assembly Hall where the speeches were just starting again. Sitting down with Alex and Sophia, he again set to taking notes. The ring seemed no longer to be imparting any great sensation, one way or the other, so he took it off and placed it in his shirt pocket. He discerned quickly that the poor countries were still offering greater sacrifices, despite their having less, materially,  to lose. Jimmy surmised that still being a bit closer to the natural world might also explain their attitude. The rich countries, as if through force of habit, were prevaricating, but not a lot. After one particularly laboured effort from an OECD member, Masters emerged from nowhere, and sat next to Jimmy. As the polite, but unenthusiastic, applause, rippled faintly around the chamber, Masters snorted in derision.

'Like pulling teeth with these critters', he snorted. 'But, believe me.....a gigantic improvement. Ordinarily...well up until our 'Dreamtime' ….they would have just laughed, or sent the Third Deputy Under-Secretary, or the cleaning lady, to speak. We are getting there....but a lot depends on you, Jimmy. You've got to hit 'em hard tomorrow. If you can outdo Sophie....my God... what an impact....it's on Youtube, of course...outdoing all the cat videos....that's fame, these crazy days. I know you can do it...in fact I'd be gobsmacked if you're less than....I don't know....Napoleonic...you know, rallying the troops, blah, blah ...you're a bit pensive son'. Masters halted his stream of consciousness before it became a 'scream of consciousness', puzzled by Jimmy's introspection.

'Well, you see, Mr. Masters, I've had another strange encounter...just around the corner, on 42nd Street, can you believe it. A street-lady, and, well...she gave me this ring, that she said she found, here, in New York, that is...thirteen years ago today...you know, so close to my birth-day, and...'. Jimmy stopped abruptly, because he had gazed at his new ring, resting on his right palm, having just extracted it from his pocket to show Masters the object in question.

As Masters inspected it, so too did Jimmy. The milky grey stone was flecked with tiny shards of colour, red, blue, green, that he could not recall, for the life of him, having seen just minutes before. This was intriguing. The stone now looked like a pretty unremarkable, wannabe, opal.

'A pretty wild story, son. Sorry, I mean 'another' wild story. Yet another...you seem to attract them. Almost exactly thirteen years ago, eh...old Mother Nature don't feel the need for exact precision...I like that...Whatever, we'll have a bloody good party for you lot on Monday. I just saw your Gran. She says that you two are going to take it easy getting home, and have a holiday. I can arrange it all for you, if you like. Grand Canyon, redwoods...you name it....but ...yeah..getting back to street people....did she know who you were, because she could find out your birthday, you know...it could be a con'. Masters' habitual paranoia was asserting itself.

Jimmy just laughed. 'What if she did? Good on her for a nice story and a lovely present. She taught me a good lesson, too. All about sparrows. No, I do think she was genuine. 'Fair dinkum' as Alex reminds me that the Chinese taught us to say. She kept calling me 'Prince' and 'Princeling'. I hate to admit it, but I liked it. Are there any suitable 'royal' Princesses I can marry?' Jimmy cackled at that little joke, but the Prince stuff was intriguing. He wondered at why he hadn't asked the old girl about it, but had just accepted it as if it was his right. Delusions of grandeur, perhaps. Not really-he had never seen hereditary privilege as any sort of good, in all the years, that is four or five, since he first became distantly acquainted with the practice.

The next speaker, Princess So-and -So, as luck would have it, mounted the rostrum, so they ceased nattering, and Jimmy started taking notes again. The Princess a young woman of striking beauty, spoke mellifluously in a wondrously accented English, of her happiness at seeing how, finally, the world had woken to its peril. Then she began speaking of her own involvement in the Gaia Clubs in her country, where Royal patronage was still seen as a great attraction, and of her own delight at getting her fingers dirty, and planting, or organising the planting, of several thousand fruit-trees in the Royal Parklands. She ended with a salutation to Jimmy, and her declaration that she was very much looking forward to hearing him speak, all the other Club leaders having been so impressive. Jimmy felt himself blushing, an odd sensation, and Masters, seeing the reaction guffawed. 'I think you've found your Princess, son, even if you don't quite realise it yet'.

Jimmy felt an exquisite embarrassment, not a sensation that he was very familiar with or enjoyed. But he regained his composure quickly, and even smiled vaguely at Masters, who knew well enough not to tease newly formed teen-agers.

The morning session dragged on a bit, enlivened only, in Jimmy's estimation, by incisive contributions from Wang-wei and Asho. Masters, after chatting animatedly with Alex and Sophia, left to attend a meeting of newly awoken business plutocrats, all intent on giving away all or most of their money, to 'the cause'. One old codger, a recent total environmental recalcitrant, was swearing blind that he was going to retire to his ranch, all 10,000 acres of it, and turn it back into woodland, while giving 99% of his substantial fortune to any 'green' project that came knocking. Masters was worried that he might get scammed, but then recalled just what a ruthless operator the old beggar was, and rather doubted that anyone would get the better of him.

At the lunch break, Jimmy excused himself and, with Sophia, went back to see Doreen. Dr. Cissoko was there, on her day off, to take Doreen to see the afternoon speeches, still nearly two hours away, the UN functionaries greatly enjoying long lunches 'for discussion'. Doreen being rather peckish, they all left post haste for the Refectory. On the way, Dr. Cissoko called out cheerily, 'Happy birthday, Jimmy. Your Gran tells me you are a teen-ager, on Monday. You'll have to look out for the girls soon, a lovely boy like you'. She was just gently kidding, but Jimmy again blushed deeply, a situation somewhat hidden by his dark brown skin, but which he certainly felt. He raised his hand in a dismissive, defensive, gesture, and felt another little jolt of confusion.

The ring, -which he had begun to wear again, on his left ring finger- or, to be precise, the stone embedded in it, seemed, surely, to have grown even more flecks of colour. It now looked about a quarter opalised, with some white and yellow flashes, too. Jimmy looked at it for an instant, and then shoved his hand in his pocket, and pushed it off his finger, then out of his mind, quickly. It seemed the sensible thing to do.

Lunch was a noisy business, with much excitation all round. It really was a great adventure for children, even 'unusual' ones. The Utari (Jimmy was now in love with the term) swapped observations regarding the speeches so far, and the various plutocrats, bureaucrats, aristocrats and idiocrats (Sunil's invention) that they had met so far and Sunil, Diego and Carmen discussed the reports they had posted on the 'Children of Gaia' website. Chat, chat, chat. They would need a holiday from talking afterwards, Mtenzi declared. They had answered quite a few inquiries, too, about how the conference was going. The club-members, and the world, were holding their breaths.

'People seem even more positive now about the Clubs, and the work', Sunil observed. 'There's a real enthusiasm, now, not just with our kids, but older teenagers, Mums and Dads and grand-parents...other organisations...we'll have to look out that they don't try and take over'.

'No need to worry', Jimmy answered. 'If they have something positive to add, like experience, money, time, influence with others, well and good. And if they become a nuisance, for whatever reason, we should just ignore them, and continue doing our stuff. If a club gets taken over by nong-nongs, then just move on and start a new one. It is that easy. The big changes now must come from the powerful, and they are getting the message, there is no doubt about it. That is why we are here.You could say that everyone with any intelligence knows that we have to change everything quickly, and for good, but many are still trapped by mad institutions, habits and ways of thinking. Now the noosphere has begun invading their consciousness, reaching out from their subconscious, where it normally resides, quiescent, until summoned by intensive practise, by clever people and Holy Fools-like us! They are brainwashing themselves, in a positive way, washing out all the accumulated rubbish, and replacing it with 100% shiny new ideas and instincts. You could almost base a laundry detergent ad on the process. And seeing so many of their peers changing. I mean, there has not been a single wholly negative speech yet. One or two less than enthusiastic, maybe a few clinging to the old 'leave it to The Market' stuff, but most have been very clear-sighted and determined. But, after this, we must go back to working with the Clubs, and preparing the next generations, in case the adults, the powerful ones here, fail. Let them get on with the big deals, and we will ensure the mass movement.' Jimmy felt quite exhausted after that, particularly as he had almost shouted his declaration that they were Holy Fool. The odd reference to laundry powder, however-  where had that come from? Gaia as prankster, perhaps? Perhaps the old dear likes a silly laugh from time to time, too.

Jimmy didn't have any reason to worry about his comrades. As always they thought pretty alike concerning strategy, and rapidly accommodated any differences around the edges. They were, as they all understood and were remarkably comfortable with, like a group organism in many ways. They possessed different strengths and talents, but were in synchrony about the ends to which they were striving. That's how Gaia had made them, whatever 'she' really was.

Pep talk over, Jimmy left to compose a message for the Club and the children. He accessed the web-site, 'Children of Gaia', now so very familiar, if only less than one year old, and there was the usual cavalcade of nifty ideas, shared experience, pictures of gardens, trees planted, grateful Grans being fed and entertained, clips of singing, dancing and other musical treats. The Club roster had now reached 2,135,678, approximately, in well over 100 countries and territories. Only a few clubs had ceased activities, usually after natural disasters or conflicts, but the surviving members had simply joined other clubs or even set up new ones, even in refugee camps. The biggest, in Harbin in northern China, had a staggering 5800 members, 'green fairies' as they called themselves. It sounded much better in Chinese. The club leadership there was very active, and, and taking a lead from Wang-wei, had concentrated on tree-planting, reforesting, with adult and Government assistance, 5,000 hectares-so far, as they boasted in the nicest way. They were propagating rare and endangered trees, and planting lots of edible fruit and nut trees. The Chinese Premier had assured Jimmy, when they bumped into each other during the speeches, that the Central Government was all in favour of such grass-roots activities, and the Clubs were being officially endorsed as a 'National Model'. He'd also been rather impressed, but not seemingly surprised,  by Jimmy's fluency in 'Mandarin' and love of late T'ang poetry.

The smallest Club, as far as Jimmy could tell, was thirteen kids at a remote outstation in the Kimberley, back home in Australia. They were concentrating on self-sufficiency and fencing areas to protect native animals from feral dogs and cats. The parents were helping them there, of course. Jimmy had sent them a special greeting, not wanting to play favourites, but touched by their enthusiasm. They were recording old-timers from the region, too, collecting stories and legends, to save them for our better posterity that was being born.

After a brief look at how things were going, Jimmy composed a short message to the troops. Well, 'troops' was perhaps not the best analogy, but 'followers' robbed them of the autonomy and agency that was vital to the success of the whole Clubs idea. Even if the adult power-brokers squibbed it yet again, the children would start taking over themselves in fifteen, twenty years, which was hopefully not too late. However the radical local lowering of demand and consumption in some places was already making its mark. Where the clubs were strong, they were already having a marked effect on reducing consumption, particularly of useless junk. Unfortunately, useless junk was bread and butter for many basically innocent businessmen and their employees, suppliers etc. Some obstinate elements in the press and politics were already beginning to bemoan the 'recessionary' pressures, which was what they were paid to do, but, generally, support for voluntary retrenchment and simplification of life was remarkably high, the Dream having had a salutary effect. It had opened a lot of minds in mysterious ways. But, come the inevitable 'recession' while the entire economy was turned over and about, people's determination would be sorely tested. It did, often, seem simply impossible, but remained by far the lesser evil in comparison to 'Business As Usual'.

As he tapped out his message, Jimmy felt a twinge of sadness. At first he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but then he realised that it grew out of the knowledge that, marvellous and beautiful as the world would once again be when the next couple of centuries of repair had been accomplished, he and all the children, and their children, and theirs would not live to see it. With luck, by the time he was old he would see the beginnings of a new world, perhaps even more, but not the finished product. Living your life for others not yet born of those not yet born, was a difficult burden to carry. But the alternative, to do nothing was beyond imagining. After all, he'd hardly chosen this path for himself, but had been chosen by some power that he still scarcely comprehended, and perhaps never would.

When he was finished, he sent all the children and their helpers his love and best wishes, and returned to the refectory. He had missed a couple of the first afternoon speeches, so he and the gang quickly departed en bloc for the General Assembly chamber, for another three and a half hours of speechifying.

Doreen and Dr. Cissoko were already there, Doreen ensconced in a VIP viewing area, her wheel-chair parked discreetly out of sight, but she averred that she wouldn't miss 'her children' for the world. 'I'm here for your Mum and Dad, Jimmy....remember that.', she declared forthrightly. Jimmy, of course, was delighted by her typically feisty attitude. It showed she was definitely on the mend and Jimmy once again looked forward to that leisurely trip home, taking in the sights and wonders on the way.

.The speeches droned on, the little countries, as before, most enthusiastic, seeing a chance to overturn hundreds of years of exploitation and insignificance. The islands facing certain inundation and relocation were particularly poignant and convincing. The previous pattern of attitudes was unchanged. After three hours that session was finished and it was time for dinner. Once again, for Jimmy, the best speeches were those of the 'Utari' which he had decided to propose be their secret description for themselves. Asho would be chuffed. Sunil was particularly effective, listing a few of the disasters already befalling the most vulnerable around the planet, in India and in his state and district. Diego, in contrast, had the delegates laughing at his self-mocking, deprecatory humour, before making his point with a demand, not an appeal, to imagine themselves ten years old again and facing a dreadful future. Diego declared his speech, 'brilliant' but the least wonderful of the Utari so far. Bombastic modesty, he declared, is all the rage, somewhere or other, so he had heard.

The evening session followed, inevitably.  Jimmy was now pretty worn out by listening to speeches that contained little original thought. The spirit was most often correct, but the inspiration was lacking. Carmen was the high-light he thought, but then again, he was biased. She was becoming a favourite of Madam Lim, which would prove a useful intermediary role. She and Alex and Jimmy actually felt that she might do well to stay in New York, to fill just that role. Being Cuban she could liaise with Hispanic people, and the clubs, across the USA, where there was lots of work to be done. What's more, she was still very highly motivated and the clubs in Cuba had melded with urban garden and vegetable growing groups, with full State support, so she wasn't really needed so much back home.

After the final speech, Jimmy promptly exited to see his Gran, who had given in to fatigue about nine, then he too, hit the hay, needing to be fresh as a daisy for his big day out at the General Assembly. He slept without a solitary dream, which, given the intensity of yesterday's vision, was a relief. Gaia was, so he imagined, letting him re-charge his batteries, lest he burn out from over-stimulation.

Jimmy woke early and made a bee-line, after his shower, for the Refectory. He was famished. None of the Utari were up yet, just night-shift workers getting their breakfasts and there was also, in a rather great surprise,  the old bag-lady, the sparrow whisperer from yesterday. Jimmy couldn't believe his eyes, but sat down next to her with a cheery 'Hello'. She ignored him for a few seconds as she greedily wolfed down bacon and eggs, then turned and smiled, and spoke.

'I bet you're surprised to see me. I get let in sometimes...because I don't make trouble...the cooks feed me and I mind my own business, Princeling. I just say that I'm the Permanent Under-Secretary for Potential and Anticipated Difficulties and Disappointments, one of this place's chief products, and they laugh and go away. So much for Security, eh. How's the ring goin'?'

Jimmy removed it from his pocket, and showed it to her. The stone now was brilliantly opalescent, glowing with fiery colours.

'I see that it's changed. Pretty ain't it. Now, listen...it's not really for you, it's for your Gran, for her journey. You make sure that she gets it'. The old girl smiled warmly and got back to stuffing her face.

'Ma'am', Jimmy blurted, 'Ma'am, I never asked your name. What is it?' Ma'am was the only contraction of a word that Jimmy ever used, and God knows why he made an exception for it. Perhaps Madam sounded too curt or impatient. Perhaps not. The old girl grinned and answered, through lips thick with fried egg and hash brown remains, 'Well that's a moveable feast, Prince. Today I'm Princess Mardis Gras. Tomorrow...who knows? I've had many names over the years. If you don't like this one...I have others'. At this declaration, she slurped a mouthful of coffee, rather sloppily.

'Why do you all me Prince and Princeling?'Jimmy sounded quite plaintive.

'You'll find out Prince Jimmy. You'll soon find out', and more coffee slurping. Then she looked up and fixed Jimmy with a steely, yet somehow friendly, gaze. 'My favourite name because it's the oldest is the same as your Mum's, the darlin'...Gaia. Now, don't go all fainty on me..and you're a Prince and always was one. You've turned out just how we wanted...you're quite a beaut...and you'll get the job done that you was born for, Prince Sparrow. By the way, that little sparrow who gave you that lift up into the tree...he passed over... a feral cat got him. He'll be back, later, I expect. He's just hopped onto another bus, as they say. Who knows what the destination is. Look, Prince...you and I've met many times before...you can't remember when, but you know it's true...that's why you feel the uncanniness of this all..you just can't put your finger on it... maybe you'll dream it up...but probably not...it might even send you 'round the bend! Life can be unfair like that'. At that she cackled, so loudly that Jimmy almost took fright, yet no other diner or any of the cooks so much as looked up.

Jimmy could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Uncanny was not the half of it. The entire atmosphere was growing oppressive and he felt in danger of making a panicked flight from the room. The old girl finished her coffee and said, 'Prince Sparrow, you look hungry. Get yourself some breakfast and get me another coffee, would you, there's a darlin''.Jimmy nodded silent acquiescence and joined the short breakfast queue. By the time he reached the cook and asked for porridge, and looked up to see what the old girl was doing, she had vanished. She must have gone to the toilet, he assumed.

Just at that instant, Sophia joined him in the queue. She was in a jolly mood, but quickly noticed Jimmy's ill ease.

'What's up, Boss?' she asked, gently teasing.

'The old lady from yesterday was here...the bag-lady...she ...said some weird things, and now she has vanished. Could you check the toilet, make sure she is OK. I have to talk some more with her'. Jimmy sounded so plaintive that Sophia quickly did as she had been begged.

Jimmy took his porridge and Lady Mardis Gras or whatever's coffee across to their table. The table was bare, no plate, cutlery or cup in sight. The system was self-return of implements, so the uncanny reached out of the pit of his stomach, again, and gave him a good, hard, squeeze. He quite lost his appetite in an instant.

Sophia ambled over, bright and smiling as ever. 'No sign of her in the toilet, Jimmy. Every cubicle empty. Where's her stuff?'

'Vanished, into thin air. Am I dreaming? Wake me up, give me a slap, quick'. Jimmy sounded quite plaintive.

'Snap out of it, Jimmy. You've just had another visitation, I'd say. You do seem to attract strange...manifestations. Calm down and relax. Chant a mantra. Maybe one of your whale songs. You're on this afternoon. You're the closing act. This is no time for nerves'. Sophia grabbed Jimmy's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Jimmy needed confirmation, however. He went back to the queue and, no-one else being waiting, he asked the cook, an Indian fellow, 'Excuse me, but did you see what happened to the old lady that was sitting with me? She was eating bacon and eggs.'

The cook looked bemused, 'Mr. Jimmy..thanks for the autograph, by the way...the grand-kids are over the moon...Mr. Jimmy. You were sitting there all alone, until you came and got your porridge and cup of coffee'. He stared at Jimmy, rather concerned.

'Oh, thanks. I must be going mad. Rather young for it, I suppose. It is the stress. Thank-you, and say hello to the kids, and any other kids you meet, from me'. Jimmy smiled warmly, but it was a facade. Inside he felt very cold indeed.

Back with Sophia, who was greedily eating his porridge, Jimmy groaned, 'He said that I was sitting alone. I cannot go mad now, can I?' Jimmy did not enjoy the sound of his own moaning, at all.

'Come on Jimmy. I saw the old girl yesterday. So did your gran and Mtenzi. She talked to your gran about you a lot. She was real, she was here, alright, this morning, but you were the only one meant to see her. Don't you get it? It was her...I thought so yesterday...it was Gaia, well it was a manifestation, don't you see, she was just here to charge you up or something...you're not mad. You're blessed, silly boy, silly Prince Jimmy'. Sophia was a real tonic, always super-optimistic.

'Enough of the Prince stuff, Sophia, or you will become Princess Sophia, or Princess Celestial, I warn you. Besides I would prefer 'Lord', Lord Jimmy, the not grown-up version of Lord Jim (one of Jimmy's favourite books)'. Just then Alex joined them, and Jimmy and Sophia clammed up, in a tiny conspiracy of silence.

After breakfast Jimmy dutifully visited Doreen, who had only stayed in the Infirmary again because the bed was so much more comfortable than the cot in Sophia and Mtenzi's digs. She was awake, washed and dressed, looking bright, and full of beans for Jimmy's big occasion. Before Jimmy escorted her to breakfast, he sat her down and asked her, 'Gran, that old lady we met yesterday, what did you two talk about?'.

Doreen giggled and answered, 'Why you. Who else? She was something spooky, wasn't she. What did you talk about with her. She knew a lot about you. Either she's a stalker or..something else entirely. I've given up being amazed, you know that. Tell me that she's an alien ambassador and I wouldn't bat an eye-lid'. Doreen grinned madly.

'Oh, we talked about life as a sparrow, what it is like to fly, eat bread, dodge, or not, mangy cats. That sort of stuff'. I saw her again this morning, in the Dining Hall, but no-one else did. Either I was hallucinating or something very odd happened, again. I am getting sick of signs and wonders. I will be glad when this is over and I can go back to...oh, God. I will never be ordinary, ever again. Oh well. Let us go to breakfast'. At least he'd gotten that off his chest.

After breakfast they attended the morning session of 'the droning', as Elizabetta had dubbed it. Jimmy was quite over it all, but he had to hear Amadeo, Elizabetta and Lilliana out of loyalty and respect for 'the Utari'. Jimmy liked that expression more and more, as did Asho, from whose Ainu culture it came. It had a real ring to it. The morning session worked through later letters of the alphabet, with Amadeo, naturally, the stand-out, in Jimmy's thoroughly biased opinion. He was volcanic, like the fire-mountain Etna that he was born under. That had been the leit-motif, so he observed afterwards, that he had chosen. Volcanic destruction, bringing forth richness and plenty from the fertility of the volcanic soil. The Icelandic and Indonesian delegates seemed particularly impressed with the imagery. 'The fraternity of the Tectonic', Amadeo declared it, with more poetry that geological correctness.

The afternoon was Elizabeta and Liliana's turn, both emphasising the growth of spiritual connectedness, so much more hopeful than the great divisions of religion, race and class. All in all they were getting away with preaching socialism, anarchism, pantheism, radical egalitarianism, Utopianism and mordant optimism all at once. And the gathered worthies lapped it up. The girls were cheered to the rafters, possibly as the delegates sensed that the hour of their deliverance from the seeming interminability of good intentions was nearing. The Utari still exercised a spooky hold over their affections, however, and now only Jimmy was left.

The evening session was confined to the heavy-weights, the Security Council Five, who had decided, as ever, that their self-importance required special treatment. Their leaders had a full fifteen minutes, inciting some grumbling amongst the minnows. Of the global big-wigs, the UK went first, after some gnashings about with the French, who asserted fourth place on the basis of Francophony and EU status. The British PM was typically, indeed congenitally, bombastic, as was his preference, but through the self-congratulatory fog you could see the outlines of an understanding of the need for real change. The clubs were quite popular in the UK, and their role in supplying food banks with fresh produce, in league with various 'celebrity' chefs, was swinging votes, all the good Prime Minister really cared about. Jimmy gave him six out of ten, for effort.

France was rather better, if somewhat supercilious, exuding that certain condescension that it habitually felt impelled to display. The current French President was not of the highest calibre intellectually, but very telegenic and self-assured. However, he did have two children from his third marriage, both club members, and they had become very enthusiastic, encouraged by their mother, who had, to the President's consternation, proved to be very much a woman with her own very firm opinions. So the President made some very forthright observations, and even mentioned 'the circular economy' involving the complete recycling of everything. Moreover, quite startlingly, he approved of the idea of a falling population, previously, of course, anathema in global political and economic circles. Thirty million for France, four billion for the planet. There was a slight murmur of disbelief at this, but the Gaians started the applause, which quickly swelled. The President looked well pleased with his efforts. Seven and a half out of ten, thought Jimmy.

Russia was a real surprise. Dr. Cissoko, who was accompanying Doreen, and keeping an eye on her lest she get too nervous or enthused, had asked Jimmy why he wasn't wearing the translation head-phones, and Jimmy's reply that he didn't need them really impressed her. Doreen began extolling Jimmy's various virtues, but had to hush for the President. He was a tall fellow, from Siberia somewhere, notorious for various 'Russian' high-jinks while abroad, with women and vodka featuring heavily, but, from the moment he began with a sincere tribute to Pyotr and an apology for the tragedy of his 'foul murder' by 'religious zealots', his was a very impassioned speech. He acknowledged that climate destabilisation was very pronounced in Russia already, and spoke of great methane craters erupting in the permafrost, then, somewhat light-heartedly, of 'drunken trees', leaning over as the ground melted beneath them, and his personal sympathy for the trees' plight, gained through various personal 'accidents of gravity'. That raised a few chuckles, then he went on to assert that Russia would cease further exploration for oil and gas, and seek to end all exports in ten years. That was greeted with shock, disbelief and pretty wild applause. President Beroff finished, with apologies to the German PM, with the declaration that the Nazis had not bested Russia, and neither would climate destabilisation. Furthermore, he announced that he had agreed to be the patron of the Gaian Clubs in Russia, one of Pyotr's ideas, that had come to fruition. Jimmy, overall, gave him nine out of ten, for the audacity of his undertakings.

In between Russia and China, there was a brief hiatus, so Jimmy had a chat with Doreen. She was mightily impressed by everything, and was collecting 'selfies' with every potentate who wandered past to wish the children well. She had quite a collection already, most with people she had no idea of whom they were, but all were keen to be photographed with the 'famous Jimmy's' Grandmother. Doreen asked Jimmy if he was nervous, and when he replied, 'Yes, a little' she roared with laughter. She knew that he would be just fine, but a little nervousness was always a fine dampener on excessive confidence.

The Chinese Premier was pretty anodyne, but promised to totally decarbonise by 2050 (too late, thought Jimmy, but they would probably over-achieve)and begin restoring all China's diverse ecosystems 'immediately', by adopting 'steady-state economy' measures. And he, too, promised to make the Gaia Clubs officially recognised groups, to be assisted in all ways possibly by local and central Government. The tried and true 'Announce an old policy, again' tactic so beloved of Australian politicians. All in all, not too bad, and not over-promising, thus it was seven and a half, and a koala stamp.

Jimmy decided that it was time to leave for the antechamber where the speakers gathered before their speeches. He asked Sophia to come with him, for moral support. Jimmy hugged all the others, and Doreen, just as US President Bankhead mounted the rostrum. It took a couple of minutes to reach and enter the closely guarded waiting-room, flashing his nifty personal ID placard. Sophia and he watched Bankhead with Madam Lim, the other speakers all having joined their delegations in the body of the auditorium. Bankhead waffled a good deal, with lots of 'America will lead', as required, but Madam Lim observed that US Presidents always have to act the Boss, for domestic consumption. Still he promised a good deal, and did seem to 'get it', so Jimmy was quite happy. Seven out of ten. Then Bankhead finished by introducing that 'famous boy, Jimmy, from Down Under', whereupon Sophia groaned, and Jimmy snickered. Madam Lim asked him if he was ready, and Jimmy replied cheerily, 'Of course, dear Secretary-General. I was, don't you know, born and predestined ready'. Madam Lim tittered at his mock over-confidence.

She led him through the great ornate door, onto the platform. The applause was very warm, and one or two less restrained spectators hooted a little. Jimmy felt impelled to acknowledge the reception, so he bowed deeply, then mounted the speakers' podium. He adjusted the microphone, which he did not need to do too much, as he was quite tall for his age, and Bankheadshort for a President. He looked up, gazed at his one page of scribbled talking points, and began.

'Ladies and gentlemen, fellow beings, men and women of the planet, I have the very great honour to speak now, after the global leaders, on behalf of a very large fraction of global youth, one that grows daily, working in the Gaian Clubs that I and my friends, who you have already heard, founded only one year ago. We represent the future of humanity, as you do the present, and we all are the heirs of the past. Our clubs were founded after a direct intervention, that would normally be dismissed as childish madness and imagination, by our Mother, the Earth, herself. The very idea of a Gaian life force uniting the living beings of the planet, throughout time, and working ceaselessly to perpetuate and protect life on this planet, has been both widely derided, and widely accepted, but we are living proof of its actual veracity. As was that strange phenomenon, the global Dream, that has so galvanised human society across the planet. It is now difficult to disbelieve the previously seemingly preposterous proposition that our living planet has taken control of the future of life, but it is true, as I believe many of you now realise. Our Mother Earth, acting through we children, and now through you, can tap into that global field of knowledge and experience that was entitled the noosphere, many years ago. This noosphere seems to be much like concepts such as the collective unconscious, but is an entity which we share with all sentient creatures, living and once living, not just our fellow, currently living, human beings. It is akin to the soul of the planet. That soul will persist, if often damaged by catastrophe, only to repair and re-strengthen itself over the aeons, until the planet is consumed by a billowing Sun, gone Red Giant, billions of years into the future. We humans are able to tap into this field of knowledge, understanding and experience, after a life-time of concerted study and training, in various mystical traditions, or, more mundanely and freely, through our dreams. These dreams have guided us in the Gaian clubs, and we have drawn insight from them. They tell us, as did the great Global Dream, the greatest blessing of collective experience ever bestowed on humanity, that humanity must change, change entirely, or we are going to destroy our human civilization and possibly our species as well. That is the message from our Mother Earth, that Good Earth which is our only home, from which we sprang, to which we return, and which is the source of all Life, which is the highest value and greatest good in all morality, religious and philosophical. You, ladies and gentlemen, must listen to the insistent message that Gaia has blessed us with, and do your duty to all past generations, those now living, and all those to come, and work as you never have before, to save us from our own self-destructiveness. Thank-you for your kind attention'.

When Jimmy stepped down from the lectern, the auditorium expressed its enthusiasm with a thunderous applause, which grew into a standing ovation. Jimmy thought, distractedly, that this must be like the end of a successful recital, and, impelled by an insidious egotism, redoubled his determination to work on a musical career. He was intrigued by his ready surrender to the fervour of the crowd, and felt no embarrassment or false modesty at the reception. After all, he was just the messenger-it was the message that they were saluting.

The applause went on and on, until Jimmy decided to end it, lest it reach too frenzied a pitch. He strode to the centre of the podium, bowed deeply, and walked off the stage. Madam Lim, sensing a certain hysterical note in the reception, mounted the podium with her gavel, and whacked it down twice, calling for order. The mob quickly calmed down, whereupon she delivered her closing address.

Back in the waiting-room, Sophia gave Jimmy a big hug, and congratulated him. 'Did it go OK?', Jimmy asked, flustered a good deal by the reception.' Oh, yes, Jimmy....it was terrific', Sophia answered. 'You'll be famous...I mean, more famous', she chortled, mischievously.

'No, No, No' Jimmy protested. 'I am going to hide out somewhere, probably with my other Gran, Thelma, deep in the bush. Oh, dear, I just want to have a quiet life. How is Madam Lim going?' They turned to the close-circuit TV coverage on a wide-screen TV. Madam Lim was thanking the delegates, the 'greatest gathering of world leaders, ever', then she thanked the organising committee, and outlined the expert groups that would keep working on twenty or so technical areas, to finalise the various Conventions for the nations of the world to sign and ratify post haste. Then she thanked the children for their speeches, and for the Gaia Clubs. Madam Lim left it at that, to Jimmy's immense relief, not over-egging the pudding with excessive praise. Then she closed proceedings, there was generous applause, and the delegates began filing out.

“Can you see if Gran is alright, please Sophie', Jimmy asked.'I am just going to sit here for a while, until the coast is clear. I am not keen to talk, because I put my heart and soul into that little speech. I am getting nervous now, can you believe it? Calm then, anxious now. Pretty silly I think.' He smiled tiredly, and Sophie nodded, then left quickly.

Jimmy wasn't alone for long. Madam Lim entered from the stage-door, smiling broadly. 'Well, young sir', she began, 'You'll be in demand now. I sense that you don't relish the prospect'. She was motherly and concerned, putting Jimmy at ease. Her five children were all grown up, but several of her grand-children were about Jimmy's age.

'Madam Lim, I am going to disappear from public life now, I can promise you that. I want to enjoy the rest of my childhood, and leave the work to all the others. I will study music, properly, too. I have decided that will be my career, because music is bliss for the soul. You know, if we succeed, I mean humanity, we will need the balm of music to help us through the inevitably difficult times ahead. But I am only thirteen years old, and I am tired out. I need a holiday. No-one as young as I should feel so wrung out'. Jimmy meant it very sincerely, feeling it in every fibre of his being. .

The Secretary-General gave him a hug and a grand-motherly kiss on the forehead, just as the door swung open and Doreen, quite glowing with pride and excitement, Dr. Cissoko, keeping a close eye on Doreen, and a beaming Masters entered close behind.

'Jimmy, darling', exclaimed Doreen,'what a marvel you are. Your Mum and Dad....my God...so proud of you...what can I say....I'm lost for words...dear boy', and she enveloped him in a real bear-hug. Dr. Cissoko smiled beneficently and Masters mumbled some slurred praise, having entertained rather too lavishly before the speech. He had actually missed President Bankhead and only just caught Jimmy, but he had been deeply impressed.

'Don't forget, tomorrow, Jimmy. You lot at my place, for your party. My boys have been organising it with their Mum. God I'm tired. I'm going to lie down. Oh, by the way-you were bloody good!'  At which he slumped into on one of the plush sofas.

Jimmy walked over and thanked him, and promised to be there tomorrow. By the time he finished, but a few seconds, Masters was snoring. The rest of the little party ignored the sputtering noise, and left, heading back to the Refectory, where the other children had gathered for supper. The delegates were being fed and provided with expensive liquid refreshment in the Grand Reception area, but the children were all of a mind to leave the adults to adult things, like falling asleep in a drunken haze on convenient sofas, after toasting their success and foresightedness. Diplomats truly appeared to be a bibulous lot.

Back in the Refectory the Utari were soon all gathered. Sophia, Mtenzi, Sunil and Elizabeta were holding forth on how exciting it had all been, from day one, and Jimmy reminded them of the next day's party. 'We are teen-agers, now, so it will all be down-hill from here', he joked. 'Thirteen's the new ten', Sunil joked.

'I'm for retiring, myself', declared Alex.'I'm going back home and concentrate on writing, and club stuff. And fishing with my Uncles. I'm worn out'. That declaration elicited  a good deal of head nodding and murmurs of agreement from all the others.

' We'll be able to do less and less', Sunil observed.'The clubs are self-replicating, and autonomous and evolving nicely. They can do what they like, while following the obvious necessities, but the growth of self-awareness amongst the young...well, it is unstoppable. We were just the catalyst, but it was worth it. I am so optimistic, and I never got to be pessimistic, like all the other social activists I've met. They are very generous...I get embarrassed, sometimes. Being thanked from saving them from misery and despair, I mean, its great, but I was just a means to an end...but such a glorious, happy,  end...', Sunil allowed his words to drift off and hang in the air, like little bubbles of hope and optimism.

'Hooray for you all', yelled Doreen, seemingly quite entirely recovered from her unwellness. 'Now, you'd better get stuck in. The chicken wings look scrumptious, and there's quiche for you vegies'. At her command, tuck in they did, interrupted occasionally by well-wishers and autograph hunters. Jimmy was sought after most, but the others had their admirers, too, Alex in particular a favourite with fellow Canadians, many of whom seemed to be at the UN on that famous day.

Just as they were tucking into the sweets, Madame Lim arrived with her train of camp followers. She apologised for not coming earlier, but the grand reception was still raging, and shortly she had a meeting with the heads of the various working groups to attend. She told Alex and Jimmy that groups investigating energy, the circular economy, population control, reforestation, pollution reduction etc were all about to commence their final revisions, after input from the delegates.

Jimmy replied immediately. 'Dear Madam Lim, we are, after all is said and done,  just children, if uniquely gifted, and we are all pretty determined to just concentrate on the clubs and raising awareness amongst the public, across the world, now. But, if I was to be so bold as to raise one parameter that is plainly crucial, upon which we are agreed, and which you have not mentioned, I would say that the distribution of wealth is it. I know it will be difficult to get off the ground, but until wealth is more evenly distributed, the poor will still have too many children, they will still destroy the forests to subsist, and the wealthy will still have too much power. We will not get to the Promised Land without 'equality and fraternity''. Jimmy uttered all this with a faint smile on his face, knowing that it would surely set the cats amongst the pigeons.

Madam Lim grinned, half a grimace, and nodded. 'You're right, Jimmy, but it will be difficult. The rich like their wealth. A few billionaires are handing their money over, like Mr. Masters, but, generally...not so much. Perhaps if you make an appeal it will carry some weight with them. You are quite famous-which is understating it, really- now, of course'.

'Yes, of course I will. It will get me some enemies, I suppose, but the power of our movement is growing. I will be exquisitely diplomatic, Madam Lim...I will plead, I will implore, I will appeal to their better selves and to their narcissistic self-regard..alright, I will drop that approach....but I will need you at my side, and perhaps a few generous plutocrats, standing behind me, nodding approval...not too much, however, we do not want them to crick their necks, do we, but, after that, I will be retiring from politicking. We are all going to concentrate on studying and promoting the clubs. The mass, grass-roots, movement is what will work, in the end.' Jimmy grabbed the Secretary-General's hand and squeezed it, whereupon she jumped up, a little red-eyed from emotion, and mumbled that she would arrange a press conference.

'In a couple of days, please, Madam, when I am rested a little', Jimmy said. 'Then I am keen to take Gran home, after a leisurely tour of this country's cultural and natural wonders. I want to go underground, as much as possible, as soon as possible.' Jimmy smiled at the Secretary-General, who nodded in acknowledgement, and departed, her minions trailing in her wake.

The rest of the late evening was spent relaxing, watching TV, laughing at the News of their appearance at the talk-fest, booing and hissing some additional reactionary fossils who had begun to agitate in somewhat desultory, reflex, fashion against the 'Gaians'. Elizabetta surmised that a few resistant types, with damaged neural antennae, were being cloned, somewhere, by mad scientists working for 'Them'. Alex shrieked in mock terror of the giant ants from one of his favourite films, and proffered an alternative theory of deliberate neuronal damage self-inflicted by ideological zealots who refused to go 'Green'. However, joking aside, (and Sophia noted that the tone was rather too unsympathetic to the laggards, who might better be enticed by appeals to their better selves, than by derision)the general tenor of public opinion was still heavily, in fact overwhelmingly, in their favour. One guest on a talk-show even claimed to be having the dream almost every night.'I was frightened, at first., of course', the guest, a minor 'celebrity' said, 'but now it just makes me optimistic. I dug up my back-yard in Brooklyn just yesterday. And I visit their web-site....you know...those amazing kids...and just spend hours reading the e-mails from children around the world. It's amazing. So much energy, so much childish confidence-it makes me feel ten again'.

' 'Do you think they are just naïve?', the host, a much bigger 'celebrity' asked, with the traces of world-weary cynicism (so becoming in a multi-millionaire)on her face and in her tone.

'No, no, I don't. They are just so....unburdened by cynicism, and failed hopes. They spend so much effort looking after each other...I mean there are anti-bullying campaigns that focus on helping the bullies, not punishing them..couldn't we use that in Washington... class-room 'convoys' where the best students help the slow ones to catch up and keep up, group music-making....teachers love them. And they grow vegies then take them to food-banks, or to old people....it's real grass-roots stuff. They swap ideas all the time, and improve their practises constantly. No hierarchy, either. Autonomy. Freedom. Isn't that what we ceaselessly proclaim? Real freedom. The concepts they deal with...it's pretty amazing...' and she droned on for a fair while, until the bigger celebrity cut her off. She was taking too much of her time, too much of her limelight.

'Well, that was quite a positive story', Sophia observed after the interminable advertisements began. 'But what will they think of our more 'radical' ideas?' She addressed that directly to Jimmy.

'Oh, they will get it, eventually. The ideas are just common-sense after all, and everyone is free to change them as they wish, just sticking to the first principles, defend life, heal the Earth, love one another...leave us alone. Hang on to your money if it is so precious to you. Hopefully it will not mutate into any destructive forms. I mean, it will have to be a permanent effort, I would say...a completely new orientation for human life. Should be easy, really', Jimmy said, grinning widely.

'So you say', Sophia giggled. 'Oh, look..it's your friend Mr. Masters and party'.

Sure enough it was Masters and Felipe and Oswald, who leaped on Jimmy very excitedly. There's was still a very physical, boyish, friendship. They had watched his speech on TV, on the UN's own cable channel, and were quite enthusiastic. They had all the details about tomorrow's group birthday party, too.

'Happy birthday, Jimmy' Felipe began. 'Your talk was really gay'. The Gaians had run a campaign to turn 'gay' into a positive term of approval, and the boys we enthusiasts for all club efforts.

'Yes, thank-you. I hope it went well. I tried to be short. Nothing worse than a long-winded child, lecturing his elders, is there?' Jimmy was only kidding.

'They jolly well need lecturing, Jimmy', Oswald blurted out. 'Mind you, our Dad is getting quite radical, lately. Giving our inheritance away...the tragedy. We will sue him!!' The boys were in very high spirits.

Masters, still a little inebriated, but revitalised by his short nap, extended greetings and felicitations to Doreen and Dr. Cissoko, a process that took a while as he and Doreen reminisced a little about their brief, but intriguing, renewed acquaintance. He then addressed Jimmy, in avuncular mood,  'Doreen...your Gran, of course, , tells me that you are wanting to travel around the country, Jimmy. Would you like me to arrange things, and a friendly minder or two? After that incident...well you know, there be nutters here, I'm afraid'.

'Yes, thank-you, Mr. Masters. A good idea. Tell me, have you heard anything from your papers back in Australia? Mr. Moir, I must send him an e-mail, and all the others..' Jimmy ran out of steam there, suddenly quite home-sick.

'Oh, they're all following orders, of course. Only joking. They're all good little Greenies, now. Politics are moving, too. A couple of Premiers are promising to fund your clubs. I'd look out for a take-over, if I was you'. Masters' habitual cynicism was well-merited in this instance.

'Do not worry. We are totally anti-political, so we will not accept any gifts from political Greeks-sorry Celeste. All other Greeks bearing gifts are most welcome. Now tell me, are you going back to Australia soon, yourself? I just wondered if Oswald and Felipe would like to join me and Gran on our trip, if only for a while'. Jimmy didn't want to travel with adults alone.

Felipe and Oswald were highly enthusiastic. Theresa, too, was free, and would enjoy Doreen's company, the two being firm friends already. They agreed to discuss details the next day, at the party, and Jimmy excused himself, and left for his room, quite exhausted by the day's endeavours. He seemed to be the first to leave, which didn't surprise him. Jimmy's comrades, sturdy youngsters all, probably by design, were still full of energy. There was a lifetime of leadership still in front of them, no matter how self-organising the clubs became.

Back in his room Jimmy opened the lap-top that he had borrowed from the library, and sent a message to the club-members. Then he e-mailed Nat and Tristram, Sammy, and Mr. Dudley, telling him that the fact that his school-days were over, was his greatest regret, and finally, a few Gaians with interesting questions. It took him an hour or so, then he spent another hour reading some of the experiences of groups, including re-planting mangroves in Bengal and Louisiana, and techniques for propagation from seeds and cuttings, and making chocolate zucchini cake when faced with a glut of zucchini. Then he turned the lap-top off, and went to bed, falling dreamlessly asleep almost immediately. Gaia was again sparing him any nocturnal visitations and excitations, for now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Chapter Eighteen XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jimmy woke more relaxed, the next morning, his star turn finally done. He could see the sense in it all, now, including the weird bag-lady, Princess Mardis Gras or whoever. Gaia wanted to let him know that he and the gang were on the right track, so she had manifested as an old woman, the 'lowest of the low', a derelict, transient, indigent street person. The grandees around the corner in the UN were just human beings, like her, only better dressed, and with much more power in the world-or so they thought. But, after all, for forty years, in the face of growing ecological crisis, these 'great and good' had done nothing, while the world crumbled around them. Well, that was going to change, and the children of the world were going to lead the adults and show them the way. Children hadn't been worn down by years of sadness, regret, compromise, betrayal and simple mistakes, let alone more malign influences. Children were a blank slate, and they were going to paint the most beautiful pictures on themselves. Like face-painting at a party. For the little ones, of course.

Today was party day, as well, after which the Utari would probably start trickling home. They would possibly never be together like this again, or not for a long time. Jimmy began to conceive of annual get-togethers to keep properly in touch. Or perhaps when he visited the Pope, he could request sanctuary in the Vatican for them. Just not in the cellars. He'd bring it up tomorrow, with the powers that persist. Today was for relaxation.

Showered, dressed and relaxed, and wearing his special ring, which made him feel 'dressed-up' for the party, Jimmy checked Mtenzi and Sophia's room first. The girls were already at breakfast, so Jimmy hurried downstairs to the dining hall. One by one the other kids trickled in, as the refectory filled with UN staff. It was a Monday, so pretty soon it was quite lively, with people coming over from time to time to wish them well or ask for autographs. Quite a few had children in Gaian Clubs, and Jimmy chatted with them the most, taking mental notes about actions their kids had gotten up to. He urged the parents to help their children, and get their experience posted on the club website. And, as one father suggested, it wouldn't be a bad idea to get more grandparents involved, as they had time on their hands, and many were very skilled and could pass on valuable experience. Jimmy was really enthused by the good vibrations that emanated from people, although he was pretty sure that anyone not so positively inclined would hesitate to ventilate them here. The atmosphere was almost electric, the noosphere strengthening and self reinforcing. It was a virtuous circle.

Not having seen Doreen, yet, Jimmy made his way back to her room in the Infirmary. Dr. Cissoko was back on duty today, and Doreen was dressed and about to come down to breakfast. She greeted Jimmy happily, and he sat right down next her.

'Gran', he began 'yesterday, we talked about that old bag lady...you know she called me 'Prince Sparrow'..I rather like it. Did you tell me everything you talked about. I just have this vaguely uneasy feeling, the uncanniness of it all seems so strong. I am missing something, and it is annoying me a great deal.'

Doreen laughed. 'Did the old girl come to you in your dreams?', she asked, mischievously, yawning and stretching.

'No, Gran, she came to breakfast, only, nobody saw her but me!' Jimmy almost laughed, the whole conversation suddenly seeming ridiculous.

'Yeah, that's what you said. I remember. It was only yesterday. I haven't gone troppo, yet.. She and I had a good chin-wag. She told me all about you, Prince...ha, ha...don't worry I'll not tell anyone...but she..well, she's a spirit person...she told me so...but not in words, you know, so the girls wouldn't overhear her...she spoke directly into my head, my mind...she made sure I wouldn't be scared...she told me all about our ancestors', you know, 'secret business' that I'd only half heard about before, but it...well it was all about you, about who you really are...it's no surprise, really, now, after everything...but she 'joined the dots' a bit...that's all...some of it is secret, even from you, darl. You'll find out, but it's all good, in the end. I didn't tell you everything yesterday because you still had your great speech to make. I didn't want to worry you with little things like spirit people walking the streets.' Doreen had exhausted herself, partly from the emotional strain of all these never-ending wonders, but she managed a question in return. 'What did she say to you, Jimmy, exactly? None of that sparrow malarkey. The important stuff'.

'Well, not much. She just said that we, she and I, knew each other, for a long time. She said that she was Gaia, but that sounds ridiculous. The Earth Mother cannot be a real, flesh and blood person, can she?' Jimmy was quite bemused.

'No, you silly', Doreen answered.'That was a spirit person...that's how she can just appear, then vanish. The old stories talk about 'em all the time. The ancient people took it pretty serious, let me tell you. I never, ever, thought I'd meet one...but never doubted 'em....but you, my dear boy...you are something very special...always were, always will be. Give your Gran a hug' Doreen jumped up from her chair, plainly quite well again, now. She and Jimmy had a good, long, hug, and then Doreen suggested some breakfast.

They checked with Dr. Cissoko, who asked Doreen to just check in later, for a brief chat about her 'condition'. 'What 'condition' would that be dear?' Doreen blurted out. ' Nothing serious, no nothing to get concerned about. Just old age coming on. Time to take care, look after yourself...watch that blood pressure, for sure. Not much more, really...just don't run yourself ragged. Leave it up to young Mr. Jimmy here', and Dr. Cissoko gave Jimmy a hug, too, which made him blush.

Jimmy and Doreen walked pretty briskly, for Doreen, along the corridors. Various workers met them with friendly greetings, or nods and winks, even one 'high-five' from a young Chinese girl. Jimmy enjoyed the good vibes a lot. It was like the life-field reaching out and embracing them all, like a great big, friendly, human family.

Radiating happiness and optimism, Jimmy sat at the head of the table where the Utari were gathered, borrowing a chair from the table next-door. Looking down the table, at his friends all seated together Jimmy was overcome with emotion. But he kept it inside, and blurted out, 'Well, we are all ready for our big party, I suppose'. He thought that a pretty banal statement, but it was the best he could manage at the moment.

There was a general hub-bub of agreement, even excitement. Sophia called out, 'Jimmy, you're all over the TV news, you know. I was watching the thing next door...I usually hate it so much...you know, but I made myself, and it's very positive. Even the really crazy Rightwing stations are pretty OK, so far, I suppose. It would be like being against...Christmas...they don't know we are against Christmas..too many presents at Christmas I mean..don't want to upset the Christians, do we.' Sophia suddenly felt that she'd said too much, so she sat down.

'I'm a Christian, Sophie', Alex piped up. 'A Christian, Moslem, Buddhist, Jewish humanist. I like covering all bases. Every religion is right, after all. We decided that a while ago, didn't we?' Alex was quite correct. All religions were correct, except a few tiny, obviously nutty, cults.

'Just not the extremists', Sunil added.'Religion ought to be peaceable, or it's not religion. Back home the clubs bring Hindus and Moslems together. And it bubbles up to the adults, too. The fundamentalists don't like it, but their kids do. The life-field grows ever stronger. Every day.' Sunil was very pleased by how things were going back home where communal strife had lasted centuries, on and off.

In their accustomed manner, they nattered on for quite a while, until Jimmy decided to find out exactly when they were to leave for Masters' apartment, for the party. It was all still a bit mysterious, as to time and place. Then afterwards, Jimmy and Doreen were to stay on at the apartment, for her check-up, then for their holiday, with Theresa and her boys.

Jimmy had Masters' private phone number written down in one of his note-books. Finding it, he borrowed a phone from a neighbouring table, and rang him. It took a while for Masters to answer, and he sounded quite tired and wasted. He was, he apologised, very hung-over, the wheeling and dealing and entertaining having gone on long into the night.

'Your speech was well received, Jimmy. They particularly liked its brevity, after all the verbiage from the professionals. And the content. I'm just perusing the papers..they still have a few here in the 'Big Smoke'...mine's very enthusiastic, of course, but the big 'papers of record', well, they love you, too. They're projecting some stuff onto your message, but, generally, they are taking it all on board, holus-bolus. You're a 'celebrity' I fear'. Masters paused for breath and a slurp of what appeared, on inspection, to be coffee-possibly. His taste-buds were somewhat frazzled, so it tasted, well, unusual. He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

'That sounds good, Mr. Masters. What about your, sorry, our, party. When do you want us to come over, and how do we get there? We are getting rather excited about it all.' Jimmy was particularly looking forward to disappearing from the public view. He was mulling over various disguises he might adopt. Shaved head, or wig. Hats, face-masks. Plastic surgery- now his musings were getting silly and he seemed to be wandering close to Michael Jackson territory. And how to join a Conservatorium, to study the piano? Some country, more remote from the publicity machine. Russia? Germany, perhaps. Italy? Private lessons in the Vatican?

'Yes, son. Theresa is taking care of that, thank God. The chaps will be over, soon, to pick you up. Are you ready?' Masters was audibly wilting.

'Yes. Ready, willing and champing at the bit. We are all a bit tired and looking to get home, but we need a party to celebrate. You are so very kind to organise this for us. And Theresa is such a dear woman. I am looking forward to our trip, together. We will have to discuss it today.' Jimmy had a lot of ideas as to where he wanted to go, but he wanted to hear what the adults thought.

Jimmy let Masters go, to shave, shower and take a head-ache pill or two. He reported the plans to the others, who were relieved that things were, indeed, going ahead as hoped. At which they all jumped up to get ready, leaving Doreen, Sophia and Jimmy behind.

'So, you're ready, are you love?', Doreen asked Sophia.'As ready as I'll ever be', said Sophia, in her nearly perfect English. She was, in fact, dressed very plainly, but that was her choice. Back home, in Piraeus the other girls used to tease her, a little, because she was popular amongst her school-mates for her kindness and intelligence, and for the clubs, of course, but refused to dress up. Being quite pretty, she was almost expected to flaunt it, even as a child, but she found that unsettling, inappropriate and demeaning. Sophia still felt a child, as she was chronologically, and although she had the intellect, like the Utari all possessed, of a highly intelligent adult (an understatement, really), she enjoyed being a kid. So plain, almost tom-boyish clothes were her preference, as she played Petra Pan.

'Jimmy', Sophia said, turning away from Doreen with an apologetic smile, 'do you think that I could come on your trip, too? I'm not ready to go home, and I'd love to see this country. It might be hard to get back any time soon. We are going to be busy, aren't we, for the rest of our lives. We will need a break every now and then', She smiled imploringly at Jimmy, who returned the gesture enthusiastically.

'As far as I am concerned that would be great', Jimmy answered, smiling broadly, his face alight with anticipation. 'We must ask Mr. Masters, who will, I suppose, be paying for it all, but..well let us see. I am sure it will be OK. Where do you want to go?'

Sophia rattled off a list of cities, museums, architecture, National Parks, redwood trees, the Mississippi, Appalachian walks, until she stopped and giggled. 'We haven't got a year, have we?' Jimmy shook his head, a little sadly.

'And, what, love, are you going to do with yourself?' Doreen chipped in. 'Jimmy's finished with school. I reckon there wouldn't be much they could teach you any more, either. What will you do?' Doreen actually wanted to take her home, she having come to love the Greek girl so much in just a few days, particularly her cheeky humour.

'Well, dear lady, I am going to be an artist and a musician, a violin player. I've started lessons at the Polytechnic, and with a teacher who saw my paintings at a school exhibition. She has two little girls in a club in Piraeus. There are three clubs there already, very good ones, too, if I may say so. I'll work with them, teach myself some new languages...I think I'm even better at it than Jimmy you know...he doesn't have much Russian yet...dear me..I could help him on the trip..where was I. Yes, art. That's my passion. That's why I have to go to all the galleries and museums. Absolutely must!' Sophia clapped her hands excitedly.

While the old lady and the girl prattled, Jimmy day-dreamed. He tried to meditate, to begin relaxing, but it seemed an effort. He visualised the future, when the work would be in full flight, he supposed. Flight seemed right, but the metaphor invited the danger of the crash. Crashing, of course, was a bad metaphor, because the world was crashing already. It was time to build a new aircraft, out of good intentions, noble efforts and cheerful acceptance of the hard work that Fate had deigned to make their lot.. Jimmy knew that Gaia had promised them that human life would go on, but he was too well acquainted with just how dire things really were to get too optimistic. However, he was literally born for this work, a birth long foretold and anticipated, then re-born in, if not fire, then plasma. An ionised phoenix. Icarus vitrified (well, nearly)on the runway. Or should that be 'launching-pad'?

He imagined himself, planting trees, pulling carrots, his favourites, then striding on stage to enthrall an audience with his musicianship. Perhaps he was at risk of egotism here, which he was usually immune to, but sensed that he would not fall prey to grandiosity of self. Indeed he seemed to have no discernible individual ego, just a group superego he shared with his friends. For the club members, Doreen, Sammy, his bush family and a few others he felt nothing but love. He felt a bit, at times, like some super-organismic hermit crab, attaching new creatures to his shell, not for camouflage, but for reassurance that he was, basically, still a human being, not some sort of demi-god, as he knew some were beginning to regard  him and his companions to be. Which was precisely why he wanted to disappear and hit the road. The road to somewhere else, something better, somewhere far-fetched, and, probably, flung, and somewhere where he was just Jimmy, nothing more. Jimmy was just bowing to the audience in his day-dreams when Alex shook him aware.

'Wake up, Paderewski' Alex declared, displaying incipient psychic abilities, or perhaps just extrapolating from the sight of Jimmy's fingers beating out some rhythm on the table-top.

'Make that Richter or Gilels, matey', Jimmy replied, suddenly realising that Moscow or Odessa would have to be where he trained, so that he could imbibe the ambience. The nooetic field would be musically more intense there, surely, than almost anywhere else.

The gang were gathered, and Felipe was there with a couple of Masters' militaristic minions. Oswald was helping put the finishing touches to things back in the apartment. There were three vans to carry them all, parked in the basement's VIP car-park, so, beating around the bush being out of the question, they set off.

In the car-park Jimmy clambered into a van with Alex, Sophia and Doreen. Their driver (cum body-guard)Andrew was a pleasant young chap, ex-commando, so he said. He had worked with 'Mr. Masters, a great gentleman', for five years, looking after his security in the US.

'So, you're the famous 'wonder boy', Jimmy, are you?'Andrew inquired 'Bright fellow...yes, you can tell...the eye of a hawk, as they say. Now strap up everyone. I'm fully trained in evasive driving, but you'll need to be strapped in for that. Only joking, but it's the law, now. Another loss for the suicidal 'leave me alone' brigade. OK, off we go'. The van rolled out, up the various ramps, then out past security, into a bright morning. The rain had gone, the snow was mostly melted into slush, and the beating rhythm of the city, frenetic and constant, was as loud as ever.

Driving through the great canyons, past the museums, shops, offices, among the thronging crowds, filled Jimmy with delight. No creature that could produce this much material effort could be so stupid as to poison himself to death with his own waste, and not be capable of reversing the polarity, and cleaning up its mess. Gaia, who had brought order out of chaos and uncertainty, in the 'myths', . They just needed 'direction'. In fact, all they really needed was waking from their self-induced materialistic torpor so that they could remember just where to go. In other words, enlightened self-instruction. Enlightened not just in putting down the burden of greedy materialism and endless striving, but enlightened as in lit up from within by a burning desire to do the good by oneself and all others. It was imprinted somewhere in all of us, from an amoeba to the blue whale. The survival imperative. The persistence of hope. Never give up. Struggle to the end. You just don't go killing yourself and everybody else out of senseless greed. Come to think of it, that put him in mind of whales stranding themselves, but he guessed that there was some hidden, higher, logic to that, which Jimmy promised himself to understand one day.

The drive took twenty minutes, surprisingly quick, so Andrew observed. They drove through even heavier security, under an Art Deco arch of some magnificence, down into another subterranean vault. The others were all there, already, waiting by the lift, an ornate creation, gilded and shining with mirrors and other 'surface modulation'. No 'fear of ornament' here.

'I took the scenic route, you see', chuckled Andrew. We never travel in convoy. Some policy of Mr. Andrews. The mega-rich are mega-paranoid I'm afraid, but he's a decent chap. It's better back in Blighty. New York's great for holidays, not so much for work'. Andrew delivered his observations as they hurried to join the others. Even Doreen hurried, seemingly enjoying 'stretching her legs'.

The lift was not quite big enough for them all, so Jimmy and Andrew and another guard, a very big African man (from South Africa it transpired, and rather a football tragic, having once narrowly failed to get hired by a German club, then wrecking his knees)by the name of Desmond, waited their turn.

'Any relation to Desmond Dekker?'asked Jimmy, mischievously, to kill time and break the ice.

'You a reggae fan, young man?' asked Desmond, clearly intrigued.

'Yes, indeed. I am pretty busy, but my Gran has a few Wailers records, and on-line you can listen to anything. I came across his name, and listened to 'The Israelites', 'You Can Get it'..you know. Good-hearted, fun, music. Mr. Masters would have a grand music system, I suppose..I will play it at the party. How is that?'Jimmy looked forward to some upbeat, jovial music.

'We won't be there Jimmy', Andrew replied.'We'll be back here, killing time, guarding the cars. Mr. Masters has other 'staff' for upstairs. We're definitely 'Downstairs' boyos, eh, Dezzy?'. The two were plainly good mates.

The lift having just then arrived, they went to board it. Jimmy inquired as to which floor Masters apartment occupied. 'The top three', Andrew replied 'Twelve to Fifteen. No Thirteen. Old custom. Superstitious the mega-wealthy are. Very superstitious. The next line is banned in rich company or while in their employ', he sniggered.'

'Then I won't go writing on the wall', Jimmy replied, picking up the allusion. Smart boy, thought Andrew. Will go places. I might try and tag along.

The lift opened at fifteen. Jimmy saw the others gathered around a great Christmas tree, in the middle of a grand ball-room. On the other side vast windows afforded magnificent views of Central Park and various monumental obelisks, megaliths and menhirs in the form of skyscrapers of myriad shapes and sizes. Jimmy bade farewell to Andrew and Desmond, and crossed the beautiful inlaid wood floor to the little group of party people.

'What is the idea of a Christmas tree? Still waiting to take it down?' Jimmy was impressed by the tree's size (it was artificial and artisanal, a veritable work of art)and the opulence of the baubles and other decorations. The angel on top was simply splendid, like something Michelangelo could have knocked out for Pope Julius, if popes have Christmas trees, then or now. Which musing had him recollecting his promise to see the current Pontiff in the Vatican. After their US holiday, on the way home, perhaps. Doreen would love Rome. Doesn't everyone?

'It's Dad's idea', chimed Felipe.'He's become such a big kid, that he just wants Christmas all year round'. Felipe really meant it. He couldn't wait to get back to school and get stuck into the Gaia Club at Goolwa High. The head had agreed to plant five acres of the school's grounds an an adjacent vacant block in a permaculture food forest cum aboretum, and Masters had organised for all manner of seeds to arrive from Mediterranean climate zones to be tried out for suitability in South Australia. Felipe was quite a tree enthusiast.

Under the tree was an old, and very beautiful, Chinese maple-wood table. Worth a blinking fortune thought Doreen. On it were twelve envelopes, each addressed to one of the new teen-agers. The names were written in Oswald's scrawl, and Theresa declared that they were for opening now, before the party.

'Where is Mr. Masters?', asked Elizabetta.

'Collapsed back into bed. Still sleeping off a hang-over, dear', replied Theresa.'Jimmy's speech got to him, so he guzzled even more Scotch whiskey than usual, celebrating, with various big-wigs. Fell in with a bunch of Russians....always dangerous on the drinking front', she chuckled, merrily.'He'll be down later, nursing a sore head. He's too old for it, now. OK, kids, pick up your envelopes and see what's inside'. Theresa indicate the direction to take with forceful gesture, like a traffic cop..

Jimmy grabbed his, and joined Doreen, who was sitting in a grand old rocking-chair. 'What do you think, Gran?', he muttered, feigning intrigue.'Probably twenty bucks, like last year. Let's hope it's US dollars. That'll mean twenty-five Pacific Pesos.' 'Last year', was last birthday, when Doreen had only twenty dollars to spare, and Jimmy had said that he wanted nothing more expensive than twenty dollars,

Inside was a brief note from Masters, and a cheque for 'one million dollars and zero cents'. Masters wished Jimmy a happy birthday, and said that the money was for the clubs, in any way Jimmy considered appropriate. Doreen whistled, then laughed. 'Let me look after that!' she croaked, excitedly. 'Is it made out to you, or 'the bearer'? Jimmy peered at the strange object, 'It says 'James Cecil Kartinyangarra'-sorry Gran. You get to stay genteelly poor.'Jimmy grinned, overcome by Masters' generosity, but not knowing what to feel. But then all sorts of plans began to explode in his head, and he had the money spent in no time.

They all had similar cheques, which Theresa collected and locked in a safe, behind a nice Bonnard hanging in a corner. Then they all traipsed down stairs to another rather grand room, with large windows directly over-looking the Park. A grand table, of mahogany and teak, was laden with food, and a big cake in the form of a 13. So they sat down, Oswald made a nice little speech welcoming them, just as his father, looking rather grey, lurched down the stairs.

'Happy birthdays, children. I followed your 'one present' edict, but made it useful. I know you lot will spend it wisely, and not on yourselves. How are you all?' Masters had turned quite red, from an earlier glaucous green-grey when he had first awoken, but oozed fatherly bonhomie.

One by one they answered, all pretty overcome, but none offering to hand the money back. They were all gestating plans for how to most usefully spend the loot. By the time the process reached Jimmy, he felt mischievous, so he replied, 'Very well, Mr. Masters, thank-you. As for the money-I think I will start a newspaper. Give you some competition!' He guffawed at his own impudence.

'With one paltry million? Son, that wouldn't cover the grog bill.' Masters bellowed good-naturedly. He had begun to feel better after throwing up in his Carrera marble bathroom, before making his entrance

Next, under Theresa's guidance, they filled their plates with goodies, little sweets and cakes from all their homelands, and other places besides. They were, none of them, used to such opulence, but Theresa urged them to just tuck in, and leave austerity and asceticism for tomorrow. Pretty soon she ushered in the entertainment, a couple of mad clowns, no amateurs, jugglers and tumblers as well, who had them in stitches. Then it was off to the cinema, that seated thirty, to watch some old movies, silent comedies, Keaton, Chaplin, Keystone Cops, then Jimmy's favourites, the utterly vulgar but hilarious Three Stooges. He laughed himself silly, as did Sophia, who seemed to share his love of violent pantomime nonsense, and then it was time for a swim. The roof-top pool was enclosed and heated, and Theresa had a selection of costumes for them all. Jimmy began to be slightly unsettled by this seemingly endless self-indulgence, but Theresa reassured him that, 'It's just for today, darling. Tomorrow my husband is putting it on the market. The money will go to your clubs and other environmental groups. He's liquidating everything but his media stuff, so that they can campaign for your ideas. We'll just have the home in South Australia, and the two in England-my husband loves London and the Lakes too much to give them up, I'm afraid.. The four others are going'. She smiled very happily at the thought that her sons would, hopefully, not grow into thoroughly spoiled rich brats.

After about twenty minutes foolish splashing and jumping and sliding, Jimmy noticed that Doreen was missing. Still downstairs he thought. He also figured that he'd better check on her, just to make sure she wasn't feeling left out.

Down in the party room, there was no sign of her. Heading back to the old ball-room, he caught sight of her, lounging back in the rocking-chair. He made a mental note to buy her one for home, with his new money. Wouldn't make much of a dent in it.

Jimmy sneaked up on her from the side, and almost recoiled in shock. Doreen was breathing rather heavily, eyes closed, face rather ashen, her lips blue. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Jimmy felt a shock of concern. He gently tapped her on the shoulder, and his Gran opened her eyes, and, seeing it was him, smiled weakly.

'It's you darling. I'm crook, love. It's not good. My chest is crushing me. I can't hardly catch my breath'. It was indeed serious, Jimmy could tell.

'OK, Gran. I'll get help' Jimmy rose to leave and raise the alarm.

'Wait, love. I've got something to tell you. I'm a goner...no, no, don't argue. I've known for a long while...don't ask me how, that I would never see you grow up. Not in this world at least....don't look so sad. I'm old enough for this world..I don't want to just slowly fall apart...this is fine'. Her words were coming in gasps, and she grimaced with pain.

'Dr Cissoko told me I'd need an angio, but I said, 'Wait till Jimmy's done his thing, OK. And Thelma knew that I wouldn't be back. She knew, when she said goodbye....she knew. Then that spirit woman....she told me to get ready....and she said that you had something for me.....for my voyage...' Doreen was battling to get it all out. Thank God, Jimmy thought, that I came when I did.

Something for her voyage? Of course- the ring. Jimmy pulled it off his finger. The magnificent stone still glowed brightly, the snake clasp held it firm, and he slipped it onto Doreen's ring finger. Doreen looked down at it, and smiled. 'So that's it, eh. Payment for the boat-man'. And she smiled through the pain.

Jimmy could see clearly how she had resigned herself to her fate, and for some time. He was torn between staying with her as she transcended this world, or rushing for help.

'Gran, shall I get help? Do you want the ambulance called?' Jimmy knew that Doreen would rather go out as the mistress of her own fate, than as an invalid, or with tubes inserted and some stranger pummelling her chest.

'No, no. Nothing more. This is right. Just hold my hand, sweet-heart. You're my treasure, my joy. You are so important, so you never forget your Gran, who loved you so much ...I know you won't, darling boy. Just do what you were put here to do. I can die happy knowing that I helped make you what you are...just a little...' Doreen was weakening quickly, and the pain was wracking. At each spasm, she squeezed Jimmy's hand ever tighter.

'Not a little, Gran. You were everything for me. You made me, as much as Mum and Dad and Gaia and all that power she imbued me with. Are you sure...I see that you are. Squeeze tight..' And Jimmy squeezed his Gran's hand, but the response was weak, her skin wet and clammy.

Just then Jimmy heard someone coming up the stairs behind him. It was Sophia, who approached cheerily, dripping water, a towel wrapped around her waist and one flung over her shoulder, until she saw Doreen's face. She went to scream, but Jimmy held a finger up to his lips to quieten her, so Sophia just knelt down, and held Doreen's other hand. Doreen looked up, saw Sophia, and smiled, very weakly but happily. 'Darling Sophie...my little girl...look after Jimmy for me...and his Mum and Dad...I know you will...' Her voice trailed off, and her breathing grew softer. Doreen's grip on their hands fell away completely, she gave one last sigh, and, at that instant, the room was lit up by a warm, soft, light, that seemed to flow out from Doreen's body and suffused the whole grand room. Jimmy looked at Sophia, who, through rivers of tears, murmured, 'Her soul...Jimmy, we saw it...we saw it leave her body... look!'. She was pointing up to the ceiling and the back wall of the room. It was glowing golden, with a light that seemed to shimmer warmly and comfortingly. This shimmerglow of light led back to the great windows, and from there to a tiny gap between two towers, where a slice of the glowing, setting Sun, had thrown the shaft of light onto the wall.

Jimmy leaned over his Gran, and kissed her lovingly on the forehead. Sophia followed suit. Jimmy lay his Gran's arm across her lap, and so too did Sophia. Jimmy looked at Sophia and murmured, 'Let's leave her in peace. Can you get Theresa, and we'll lie her down in a room, so that it doesn't ruin the party. Gran would never want to spoil anybody's fun. We'll tell everyone afterwards'. Sophia nodded, wiped the tears away, and gave Jimmy a big hug. 'Your Gran was an angel, all along', and she left to fetch Theresa.

Jimmy sat quietly at his Gran's feet. His mind was racing. He was torn by sadness, almost despairing, but knew that his Gran would expect him not to give up. He was alone, in the world, at thirteen, with so much work to do. Where would he live? What would he do? Well he knew exactly what he would be doing for the rest of his life. Making his Gran proud of him. That was sufficient grounds for determination. Gazing at his dear Gran's kind, prematurely old, face, he was swallowed up by memories, and, despite being so young, so prodigious was his capacity for recollection that few had faded, and he knew, somehow, as if instinctively, that, at the end of his life's labours, he would see his Gran again. That was exquisite solace. And so he sat, and the sacred quietness of his love was unbounded and it was blessed.