Night Run To Christmas

An excerpt from “Danika and Yatimah from Egypt to the Outback”

By Carmel Rowley

Part 2 – New Sights

As daylight crept over the countryside, Yatimah jumped up in fright as a mob of red kangaroos came bounding towards them. The kangaroos spied the mare and leapt off in all directions as Yatimah snorted a warning. She flipped her tail over her back, arched her neck and circled the campsite, calling a challenge. With red dust billowing out behind them, the kangaroos bounded past, oblivious to her annoyance.

Her performance made the man laugh. Both had a drink of water before swinging onto Yatimah’s back and heading west. The man’s whistling was lost on the breeze as they gazed at the vast land stretching before them. Flat to the horizon, the work of billions of termites dotted the landscape. Towering brown mounds spread before them like a sculpture garden, stretching as far as the eye could see. The constant buzzing of flies and an occasional screech of cockatoos broke the monotonous drum of the mare’s hooves. With a regular beat they marched hour upon hour. By midday, the hazy flat plain stretched in front of them with what appeared to be a shimmering lake. The mare’s pace quickened in anticipation of water, but the man shook his head. ‘It’s a mirage, Arab,’ he said, giving her neck a scratch as he heard her sigh.

Lapsed into a weary silence, the man watched the mirage in the distance sparkle invitingly. He wished it was a lake so he could fling himself into the cool water, but it was always just out of reach. They searched out a group of trees as the hot afternoon sun burned their skin. The man slipped from Yatimah’s back and prepared to rest. The mare picked at some tussocky grasses then moved closer to him; swishing her tail at the flies until eventually she closed her eyes and dozed.

After sleeping for hours, they woke together, stretched, and looked about. The last of the sun’s rays made the evening shadows long and narrow, while the faint evening breeze cooled the dusk to a more bearable temperature.

‘Time to start again, Arab,’ said the man. He gave Yatimah the last of their water, pouring the precious liquid into the top of his hat. She drank every drop. He left the empty water bag hooked on a tree.

‘The clouds are building,’ he muttered, and climbed onto her back.

Heading towards the afterglow of the sun, they moved down into a grassy valley. As darkness slid like a comforting blanket over the landscape, an army of giant grass trees rustled and shook their shaggy heads like an army of aliens. The man kept a constant check on the night sky – the clouds were building. The moon appeared from behind the drifting clouds to light their way, making the landscape eerie – silvery and full of shadows. He used the Southern Cross constellation of stars as a guide.

A muffled drumming became louder and louder. They halted, waiting nervously for their visitors to come into view. Yatimah began cantering on the spot, tail aloft, ears flicking. She called a shrill neigh as a herd of camels trotted into view. She called again and again. Frantic to follow, she pawed the ground. The man calmed her, holding her tightly. He understood the mare’s frustration. In the land where Yatimah came from, a camel was a highly prized possession and companion.

‘C’mon, let’s trot for a while and get your mind off those camels.’ Off they went, Yatimah’s long swinging trot making him smile and then sing at the top of his voice. Yatimah took her cue from his song and broke into an effortless canter. The man sat relaxed on her back, singing about the jolly swagman that camped by a billabong. They cantered on, drinking in the night breeze with paces as light as air. The man laughed with pleasure.

Looking to the heavens, the man checked for the Southern Cross just as he felt the mare’s gait change. Yatimah blew through her nostrils as they watched what looked like car headlights approaching. The light was so bright it picked out the silver in the mare’s white mane. It took a few minutes before they realised it wasn’t a car at all. Floating too high for headlights, the light continued to come forward, drifting like a bubble. It moved slowly, always at tree height. The mare stopped, propped her four legs wide, raised her head in alarm, and trembling with fear, watched the light pass.

The only sound was the fearful drumming of two hearts. The light moved away and became as big as a newly risen moon. Their eyes never left it for a second. Fascinated, they watched it pass and then, not far from where they stood, the light slowly faded and died away.

Yatimah shook her head and acknowledged its disappearance with another snorting whistle. Stamping the ground, she was anxious to be off. Happy to oblige, the man urged her forward. It was several moments before their nervous trembling ceased enough for the man to whisper, ‘Geez Arab, I didn’t even believe it existed, but that was the min min light.’ Yatimah picked her own way as they set off into the night. The man still had shivers running down his spine and couldn’t help looking back over his shoulder to where the light flickered out. The night was eerily quiet; the emptiness engulfed them and the man lost his desire to sing. They trudged along, thirsty, hungry and tired. Even Yatimah’s step lost its bounce.

The man’s voice broke the silence. ‘Let’s rest, Arab, we’ve had enough excitement for tonight.’ He slid off Yatimah’s back, found a spot to stretch out on the ground, and was immediately asleep.

Lightning illuminated the sky in the distance. Yatimah smelt rain on the night air. To silence her grumbling stomach, she picked at some tussocks and then moved back beside the man to sleep.