NIGHT RUN TO CHRISTMAS

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

By Carmel Rowley

Drawing Robyne Matthews

Part 4 – Time to Fly

Yatimah’s hooves touched solid ground beneath her. The weight of the man almost made her fall as she fought for a foothold. She floundered step by step out of the water and onto the rain-drenched riverbank.

Standing with her legs splayed, Yatimah tried to balance her shaking body. Water streamed from her long flowing mane and muddy tail. Her sides heaved with exhaustion. The man was lying on the bank with his eyes closed, the lead still attached to his waist. She nudged him with her muzzle, causing him to open his eyes and sit up, coughing, and shaking the water from his hair.

All around them, the land appeared to resemble a great inland lake. The floodwaters had snatched up the small animals, the wallabies, snakes and lizards, from the safety of their homes, only to abandon them, waterlogged and bewildered, scattered over the countryside. Yatimah and the man watched and waited, gathering strength to continue their journey. Finally, the sun began breaking through the clouds. The man looked at his watch and noted time was getting short.

Danika was once again out on the windmill. The rain had been torrential and she knew there was no way her father could make it home for Christmas Day.

Where are they? She thought he was now a day late. No one could search because the roads were now impassable from the rain. She knew her mother was bitterly disappointed. The neighbours and her best friend Jasmin were all at Dalry to celebrate Christmas and the long-awaited arrival of Yatimah.

Over the years, Danika listened intently to the discussions about Egyptian Arabian horses. Her bedtime tales were wonderful Arabian legends read by her mother from books by great ancient Arabian poets. Her favourite legend was how God created the Arabian horse, and she had practised it to recite welcoming Yatimah to her new home. Her mother dreamed of the mare who would be the beginning of a grand family line. Year after year, Grace and Danika raised and sold cattle. They saved and saved for years, until finally, they counted enough money to buy Yatimah.

Yatimah’s journey had started at the Egyptian Agricultural Organisation Stud Farm in Cairo, Egypt, but after many months of travel, on the last leg of her journey, it seemed she was lost. The thought of her father also being lost made tears well in Danika’s eyes and slip down her face. Her throat constricted and a sob escaped from her lips. ‘Daddy, Yatimah, where are you?’

The man swung onto the mare’s back and they set off. The sun had gone down, but silhouetted on the horizon, a couple of bedraggled emus stopped and stared with their dark, popping eyes. Yatimah slowed her step, and with her tail held high, snorted, which set their feathered pompom bodies bouncing out of sight. The man laughed at the vision of these big flightless birds trotting off into the distance.

His gaze turned to the sparkling Evening Star, the first star of the night, and he made a wish. They must be home for Christmas morning. Buoyed by the beauty of a large moon, he called to Yatimah, ‘C’mon, Arab. Let’s get to it.’

Checking their direction by the Southern Cross, they set off at a brisk canter. The ground was soft and spongy from the rain and the night was coming in crisp and clear. Like shadows, they galloped and galloped. The outback was vast and silent but the mare caught the man’s urgency as they sped along. The effort kept them warm in the chill night air. Many animals were brought out of their homes by the flash flood. The dingos slunk back into the shadows and hares scurried into the scrub as they galloped by.

Burning bright as a beacon, the Southern Cross was a guiding light, just as the breeze on their faces whispered encouragement. They slowed to a walk. Yatimah’s sides were heaving and the man’s arms and knees were aching from the strain. In the dark, quiet hours of the early morning, they slipped along like ghosts, past the now familiar termite mounds and the never-ending saltbush and past the clumps of gnarled and stunted gum trees.

They began to climb a range of hills and the man cried excitedly, ‘I know this range, Arab, we’re going to make it!’ The shining moon glowed in the night sky as they leapt up the last few metres to the top.

Below sat a magical valley filled with moonlight, and for a moment they stood tremulous with anticipation. The mare’s beautiful grey coat, streaked dark with sweat, twitched as she pawed the ground. She knew the flinty hardness of her hooves and the sinewy strength of her legs and muscles. She knew she was a ‘Drinker of the Wind’ and they would succeed in this desperate race for home.

Down the rocky outcrop they charged. Hard-pressed for time, they clattered on. Yatimah leapt perilously over rotting fallen logs, her lithe, light movements taking every obstacle in her stride. Landing on the squelching rain-sodden soil of the plain below, they ventured onto the safer path of the wide valley. The man leaned forward and once again the mare surged ahead at an easy gallop while the hazy light of daybreak emerged behind them.

In the dawn sky, a chorus of parrots and galahs flew low with wings beating in time to the mare’s galloping hooves. Once again, from the flat plain rose a line of small hills and they followed a kangaroo track to the top. They now looked down upon the homestead block, only a few kilometres away. The morning sun warmed their backs, and in the dazzling morning light the mysteries of thousands of years spread before them like an Aboriginal painting, in the unique ochre-coloured countryside of the outback.

The man said, ‘Now Arab, it’s time to fly.’