Sounds of Silence

Saturday 22^nd Sept.

Last night a few of us drove a little way out of the community in a gator. We sped through the bush as the sun was setting. With no windows on the vehicle, the warm breeze in our faces was refreshing, following the hot afternoon. We left the road and headed up a hill and across a rocky outcrop, until we reached the summit.  The minute the noisy engine ceased the silence engulfed us.

We gathered wood in the darkness, lit a fire, and spread out our blankets. There we sat under a clear starry, starry sky with an iridescent half moon hanging effortlessly between the stars.

Together we chatted, meditated, dreamed and soaked up the sounds of silence.

Next morning, Saturday, was busy and as I walked up the main street I was greeted with calls from children. Some of the ‘cool’ year six boys were hanging out together, but unlike other shopping centres where you might see ‘cool’ kids hanging out, these boys were each pushing a baby around with them in a ‘pusher’. One of the boys, white glove on one hand (channeling Michael Jackson) and baby Lawrence in the pusher, came up to me. “Where you going Miss?” I told him “to school.” “Why Miss?” “Because I need to email.” “Who you sending emails to Miss?” and so the interrogation went on.

As I walked on I noticed a woman donning a welding helmet to start work on a big metal gate with her welding torch. One of the industries at Robinson River is welding. There are two groups working in separate sheds, the women and the men. They construct all the fencing and much of the other structures seen around the community, which would otherwise be out-sourced to a ‘white man’ construction company. Word is that the women are the better welders, and by the steadfast manner in which this woman was tackling the job, I would not disagree.

 I noticed squeals of delight coming from a small plastic wading pool on the side of the road. Four of the little girls were splashing around as the hose filled the pool. “Look at us Miss, we be swimming.” Their dark wet skin glistened in the sun and their teeth shone white as they grinned their happy grins.

However, this Saturday morning was not all happiness. A big truck was unloading supplies for the shop. Parked in the main street it was a danger as little ones ran about. Our friend and neighbor was heading towards the shop with her three faithful, four legged companions following. We had become very fond of Jessie and Brown Boy but it was Marjorie the oldest of the dogs that we particularly liked. Maybe it was the unusual name for a dog, or the way she waited at our door to greet us; or even the cute way her tongue always stuck out through her lips, that drew us to her. She had become an intrinsic part of our life here at Robinson River.  Without looking, she walked straight under the huge truck wheels as it pulled away, and was run over. Little emotion was shown on the street, as unceremoniously Marjorie was dragged off the road by one leg. Later I heard that the family had buried her “near the light pole,” and that they did feel a great sadness that their pet of 10+ years had gone. Marjorie, I feel, is in a better place now. No more fleas, no more scavenging for food, no more kids climbing on her, and no more endless dog fights… it’s not a good life for a dog here at Robinson River.