A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

Max, ‘archaeology’s all about ritual and symbolism. Even people we think of as primitive buried their dead with some elements of ritual, for example. We don’t always know what the symbolism means but we know that it’s there.’
    It could be Erik speaking, thinks Ruth. She looks at Cathbad, wondering if the same thought has occurred to him. Max was a fan of Erik’s, Ruth remembers (though, in some ways, she has never really forgotten). She wonders why Max, an expert on the Romans in Britain,has come to a conference on the treatment of Aboriginal relics.
    ‘Some museums in Sussex hold Indigenous Australian relics,’ he says, as they take Claudia for a quick walk before the afternoon session. ‘I’ve been asked to look into it. Personally, I don’t think there can be any argument against returning them. They’re so important in Aboriginal Australian culture.’
    ‘I agree,’ says Ruth, panting slightly (Max walks very fast). ‘But I can’t agree that human bones shouldn’t ever be excavated. We learn so much from them.’
    ‘Yes,’ says Max. ‘But what do we do with that knowledge? That’s the question.’
    The afternoon session, led by Bob Woonunga, turns out to be riveting. The autumn sun is low against the windows. Bob, wearing a cloak that is apparently made from possum skin, sits on the floor in the centre of the room. One by one the listeners abandon their chairs and sit in a circle around him. Ruth finds herself squashed up close to Max and Claudia. She is grateful to the dog for providing a barrier between them. As she strokes Claudia’s head, her hand brushes against Max’s leg. He smiles but doesn’t move away.
    ‘In the beginning is the Dreaming,’ says Bob. ‘And in the Dreaming lies the sacredness of the earth. It is the beginning of all things but it is not in the past. It is the past, present and the future. When we bury them in the earth the ancestors return to the Dreaming, and in this way the circle is complete. Every place and every creaturebelongs to the Dreaming. It is where the spirit children live before they are born and where the dead go when they leave their physical life.’
    Bob tells them about souls that are buried in the sand, marked with twigs. Anjea, the fertility goddess, picks up the twigs and arranges them in a circle. She then makes new souls from mud and places them in the wombs of barren women. He tells them how the Bagadhimbri, two brother Gods in the form of dingoes, created the first sex organs from mushrooms. He tells them about Bahloo, the man in the moon, who keeps three deadly snakes as pets. He tells them about the Mimis, fairy-like creatures who live in rock crevices. He tells them about the Nargun, who abducts children by night. He tells them about cloud and rain spirits, about the Sun Goddess, and Yurlungar, the copper snake who was awoken from sleep by the smell of a woman’s menstrual blood, ate the woman and was later forced to regurgitate her. In Australian Aboriginal rites-of-passage ceremonies, says Bob, the vomiting symbolises boys becoming men. Ruth thinks, considering the circumstances, that the transition from girl to woman would be more appropriate.
    But Bob’s greatest enthusiasm is reserved for the Rainbow Serpent, the great snake who, in the Dreaming, meandered over the land creating rivers and waterways. His body hollowed out the valleys; where he rested great lakes were formed; the stones are his droppings and his sloughed-off scales created the forests. The Snake, Bob tells them, is the totem of his tribe and he has written many poems about him. He reads some now, his wordsmeandering over the room like the snake itself, winding themselves around its dark corners, taking shape in the last rays of the afternoon sun.
    Strange, thinks Ruth dreamily, that the snake should be the big baddie in the Christian creation story. Here he seems to be both hero and villain, at once creating and destroying. One of Bob’s poems describes how the snake eats a boy because he won’t stop crying, but then the boy and his crying are absorbed into the Dreaming. Bishop Augustine, too, seems to have had rather an obsession with snakes. On one hand the snake was the demon to be destroyed, on the other the agent of his vengeance. Of course, the snake has another, more Freudian connection too, especially if Augustine’s sexuality really is in doubt. Did the snake represent Augustine’s assumed manhood? Aren’t some snakes hermaphrodites?
    Bob