Free Corroboree by Graham Masterton Page A

fall to the grass. He knelt down beside Yanluga; and quite magically Yanluga was still conscious, still alive, and staring at him out of bright red haemorrhaged eyes. His stomach gaped open, and his insides had been draped out for yards across the garden, so that he looked as if he had exploded. But he was still gasping a few last breaths; and his lips still moved.
    â€˜
Koppi unga,
’ he whispered.
    Eyre said, ‘What is it? Tell me, what do you want?’
    â€˜
Koppi unga,
’ Yanluga repeated. His eyes were like those of a demon.
    â€˜I don’t understand you,’ Eyre told him, miserably.
    â€˜Ah …’ said Yanluga. He was silent for nearly a minute, but Eyre could hear him breathing, and hear the sticky sound of his lungs expanding and contracting. ‘Water …’ he said.
    Utyana was now standing close by, and when Eyre turned around, he silently handed him a leather bottle full of warm water. Eyre shook a few drops on to his fingers, and touched Yanluga’s lips with them. Yanluga said, with great difficulty, ‘You are my
ngaitye
, my friend. You must not let them bury me here. This is important to me, sir. Do not let them bury me here, or take me to the hospital and cut me up. Please, sir. I shall never join my ancestors from the dreamtime …’
    He coughed, a huge spout of blood. Then he said, ‘Please sir, find the clever-man they called Yonguldye, he will bury me … Please. If I can call you friend.’
    Eyre said huskily. ‘I will find the man they call Yonguldye. I promise you. Do you know where he is? In Adelaide?’
    Yanluga stared at him glassily.
    â€˜I have to know where to find him,’ Eyre repeated. ‘Please, Yanluga. Is Yonguldye in Adelaide?’
    Yanluga coughed again, and then again. Lathrop had walked up to them now, and was standing watching over them with his gun crooked under his arm. ‘Chap’s gone, I should say,’ he remarked.
    Eyre said, ‘Yanluga, please. You have to tell me.’
    Yanluga’s face was grey now, like a grate of burned-out ashes. A large shining bubble of blood formed on his lips, and then burst. The smell of blood and bile and faeces was almost more than Eyre could stomach. It was the terrible odour of real death; and Eyre closed his eyes and prayed and prayed that God would take Yanluga out of his pain.
    Yanluga whispered, ‘Yonguldye is northwards, sometimes; sometimes west; Yonguldye is The Darkness; that is his name.’
    Lathrop said, ‘Chap’s raving. Think I ought to put him out of his misery?’
    Yanluga tried to lift his head. His last words were,’…
kalyan … ungune
…’ and then the blood poured from the side of his mouth like upturned treacle, and he died.
    Eyre stayed on his knees for a long time. Lathrop watched him, whistling ‘D’ye Ken John Peel’ over and over again, tunelessly. At last Eyre turned to him, and said, ‘You’ve killed a man. You understand that I’m going to have to report you.’
    Lathrop shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Mr Walker. Chap was mine, you see. My servant. My responsibility. Welfare, board and lodging; discipline too. Chap disobeyed me. You know it for yourself, for you were a party to it. Hence, chap gets punished.’
    â€˜You call this punishment?’ Eyre demanded, spreading his hands to indicate the gruesome remains which were twisted across the lawns.
    â€˜I call it justice,’ Lathrop retorted. ‘And if I were such a stickler for punishment as you believe me to be, I’d have you reported for killing my dog. Lucky for you it was a slow one, long in the tooth. But that dog was worth £30 of any man’s money; and you’ve killed it; no reason; no provocation. Whereas this chap, why, only paid him £3.2s. 6d the year; worth a damned sight less than the dog.’
    Eyre stood in the moonlight, shaking. He was too shocked and too