“Then I saw another beast, coming out of the earth. He had two horns like a lamb, but he spoke like a dragon.”
John : Revelation 13 . 8
Chapter forty eight
The Snake
‘The Prisoner’
Christopher Golde
Date: 10th September 2000 Location: The Red Centre, Australia
Jason removed his Akubra hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. He had thought maybe it would be better without a hat until he felt the sun scorching his scalp.
‘Wow, it is so hot out here. I can’t believe any human could live in this.’
He put the hat back in place and looked at the enormous rocks he was approaching. They had looked so close when he had left the car but after walking for thirty minutes he still seemed no closer. Around him were nothing but the occasional scrawny tree, low lying scrub bush and an occasional man-size ant hill erupting from the red soil.
At least it appeared, from where he was, that there could be more shade closer to the rock. He stomped his booted foot into the ground causing a small cloud of fine red dust to rise like mist into the breathless air and then continued to walk. He didn’t even know for sure that he was in the right place, wherever the right place was. All he was going by were the words of an old Aboriginal woman he had met at the last roadhouse he had stopped at for fuel. The map and sign said this was Kata Tjuta, the same Aboriginal name given to him by the monks of the temple in Tibet. The old woman had become even more excited and specific when she had asked who he might be and Jason had told her his name. She had then started babbling in her own tongue repeating the name ‘Kuniya’. The only thing Jason had understood was,” Kuniya is where ya be goin, Kuniya, they are waitin dere”.
He had thanked her and then offered her outstretched hand money which she grabbed without hesitation and strutted off in the direction of the roadhouse. He wondered, as he drove off in the direction of ‘Kata Tjuta’, who could possibly be waiting there for him; more likely a way of being able to claim more money from him he suspected.
After another fifteen minutes of solid walking, he came to a sign that said ‘Kuniya Piti’. He had now reached some shade created by a huge wall of rock and decided he could go on no further without a rest. After searching about off to the side of the track and closer to the monolith, he found a smooth rock the shape of a large table under a tree and perfectly located for some respite from the heat. Taking out his drink bottle, he consumed half of it greedily, then again wiped his brow, before lying back on to the smooth surface of the natural rock formation, pulling the front of the Akubra down over his face.
A prison yard was never an easy place to exist, even at the best of times, or for the toughest of men. Melbourne’s Pentridge Prison, known affectionately by its occupants as the Bluestone College, was certainly no exception. As one of the worst in Australia, it housed some of the countries hardest criminals and because it had been built in a previous century, the conditions were hardly adequate to house animals, let alone men. The walls of bluestone were lined with curling razor wire and the yards themselves were barren, uninviting, dustbowls with small areas of concrete surrounding a few crude showers and a toilet that sat alone in the open air for those brave enough, or desperate enough, to use it.
The overcrowded yards made it difficult for men to even find a clear space to walk, yet still, hundreds of them would all day, stride or shuffle, back and forth, doing what was affectionately known to them as the ‘Pentridge quarter-mile’. It was a walk that reminded Shane Harper of how caged animals spent their long days pacing over and over the length of their confinement. There was no recreation in these yards, except to walk, or rule your turf and defend it at all cost.
The residents of these yards ranged from petty thieves to mass murderers as unfortunately this type of archaic jailhouse justice system offered little if any differentiation. Young offenders seeing the inside for the first time, would have to fend for themselves against the hardest of the hard, and even the criminally insane. The prison guards would not dare enter a yard like this unless they had armoured back up, and if a fight broke out, it could be fatal before anyone even attempted to put a stop to it.
Shane openly offered support to those that he thought could not protect themselves, especially if they seemed to be struggling to cope with the gravity of their dilemma. Many felt completely abandoned by humanity when they were cast into this hell hole, often for crimes so trivial he would just listen and shake his head in disbelief.
It was glaringly obvious to him that no judge, or respectable lawmaker, had ever set foot onto this piece of Australia, and if one ever did, half these men would not be here now. On this particular day, the yard temperature was sweltering and the aggravation level was at fever pitch. As lunch was announced, a pack converged on the gate where they would be served like dogs through a small opening called a trap.
The meals were pretty disgusting and certainly not something you would normally fight for, but the hunger and despair often caused boilovers which could make eating a very dangerous pastime. The more timid inmates usually suffered the most, as they allowed themselves to be dominated without too much resistance. Shane would tell those in his protection to just follow him and keep together as a group. He knew there was at least some safety in numbers.
This day, there had already been one serious fight and a few of the more violent crims were in the mood and throwing their considerable weight around. One, in particular, was a fellow called Chris, who obviously considered himself indestructible. He had been the instigator of the earlier fracas and had convincingly beaten to a pulp an even larger and more sinister-looking inmate.
Shane, as a rule, kept well away from this fellow, even though he carried enough influence within the prison hierarchy to be left alone. Unfortunately, this day, one in his care, an older gentleman by the name of John, had been selected by Chris as an easy mark and as John was walking away from the wire door with his meagre meal, Chris stood directly in his path. Shane, who at the time was still getting his meal, had not seen the confrontation until it was all too late.
As he turned to walk back to his piece of ground, he saw a large group standing in a bunch more to the middle of the yard. Through the spaces in their legs, he could see a familiar shape with grey hair lying on the ground. John had the only grey hair in this section of the prison and it was clearly his head he could see being stomped into the dirt. Now normally, it was yard rules that you should leave each to his own fight, and deep down in his gut, he knew this was exactly what he should do, but it just wasn’t in his blood.
Taking a deep breath, he handed his tray to one of his comrades and walked defiantly toward the group, all now yelling encouragement to the abuser of the old man. Shane pulled the first man he came to out of the way and roughly pushed the next aside, quickly clearing a path to the epicentre of the turmoil. Although indignant of being pushed aside, most of them would not take on Shane Harper. His reputation of putting some of the worst crims back in line and his close relationship with the most feared of them all, the aptly named ‘Top Dog’, were enough to deter most from even objecting.
Once the pack had parted, Shane could clearly see John lying bloodied and dirty on the ground, his tray of food splayed about and the huge monstrous form of Chris standing over him, about to continue with his next kick into John’s unprotected head. The thug stopped and looked at Shane, a smile cursing his hate engorged face immediately. Chris was not openly afraid of Shane, or his allies, and welcomed the chance to allow this fool to take the first strike in a fight that was not even his. He knew that if Shane Harper did interfere, he would be considered fair game and then even his allies would be reluctant to interfere. It was unlikely his mates would overstep yard rules; Shane Harper would have to prove himself in his own right.
Shane ignored the imposing shape of Chris and bent down helping John to his feet. He then began to walk away with him through the parting rabble.
“Where do you think you’re going fucker,” said Chris, making sure it sounded as intimidating as it was intended to be?
Shane attempted ignoring him in hope that he might just give up, but unfortunately, Chris was not intending to let this opportunity go.
“I haven’t finished with him yet, so you interfere and you get hurt too,” roared Chris, “put him down and let him fight his own battles.”
Shane knew Chris wasn’t going to go away as easily as he had hoped and quickly decided he had only one option left, and that was the element of surprise. He suddenly dropped John, allowing him to fall back to the dirt unceremoniously, and spun back towards the giant diving towards his chest fists outstretched. He hit so hard, the impact threw Chris backwards and off his feet onto his ass in a cloud of dust. Without even a pause in his momentum, he continued his forward movement and immediately stomped his boot onto Chris’s head, crushing it into the dirt.
Blood spurted from the crippled bully’s mouth and into the dust, as Shane’s foot crushed even harder into his head.
“Enough,” screamed the flattened giant, out of the side of his mouth, but Shane continued to keep his entire weight on the foot and lowered his head down to within a whisper of the ugly dust-covered jaw.
“Enough all right,” said Shane calmly, “you leave my crew alone, do you hear?”
The squirming giant half nodded and half grunted, to which Shane stood again, gave one last push with his boot into the side of his head, then took the weight off his leg, releasing him. Chris shook his head, spluttered, spat and cursed as he dragged himself back to his feet brushing the dust out of his unkempt hair.
Shane began walking back to John to help him up again when he heard a collective sigh from the rabble and knew instinctively it was not good. Simultaneously, he heard footsteps approaching from behind, closing fast. Before he had a chance to turn, he felt an echoing thud in the back of his skull that pushed him forward and off his feet. The blow catapulted him through the air and he outstretched his arms preparing for impact with the corrugated dirt surface of the prison yard.
In mid-air he began to spiral his body instinctively, preparing himself for a disadvantaged defence, but as he landed on his back, he realized the expected attack was not forthcoming. At that moment, he heard another thump and spun his head to the left only to see Chris crashing to the ground face first, blood now gushing from a completely startled eye and crushed nose.
As Shane landed on the ground arse first and Chris crashed into the turf headfirst nearby, he looked up and saw that the responsible person for Chris’s sudden demise was his cellmate, Jimmy. Jimmy the aboriginal stood over the giant’s prone body in a typical boxer stance, a look of glaring defiance daring him to get up again.
When the other didn’t get up again, Jimmy dropped his arms slowly then ambled over to his roommate, still sitting bemused in the dust, and offered him his hand. Shane could have got up perfectly well by himself, but accepted the gesture and allowed Jimmy to pull him to his feet.
“Thanks, Bro but you didn’t have to,” he said, brushing himself down as they walked away together.
“That’s alright boy,” said Jimmy, in his swaggering outback tone, “you was at an unfair disadvantage to that mother, so it’s fair that I give you a hand. Anyways, I din’t want you moanin all night keeping me’s awake.”
Shane smiled but did not answer, that was enough explanation and they walked away to a quieter place in the yard where he offered his mate a smoke. They then sat down in the dust looking about the yard, which had suddenly become somewhat more subdued. A battered, but relieved John, now sat with the group that Shane had brought together, offering him their protection from others that would be likely to give their active support to Chris. Chris had disappeared into the pack and would no doubt be getting moral support from his gang, but was unlikely to offer anymore challenges that day.
Shane Harper and Jimmy the aboriginal boxer sat quietly for a while and savoured the only freedom they knew, the inhalation exhilaration of a rollie of White Ox, as they kept a cautious eye on their domain, like a pair of lions in the wild.
As Jason opened his eyes he focused on what he thought was Jimmy standing over him holding a hat.
“What the..., Jimmy?” he put his hands to his eyes.
Slowly Jason’s eyes focused on what was Aboriginal but was not Jimmy. He then began to realize he had been dreaming and now he was back to reality. Above him stood an old Aboriginal dressed in what he could only assume was traditional hunting attire.
“Well g’day,” said Jason, as he set himself upright.
The Elder Huntsman took one calculated step backwards and threw Jason’s hat softly to the surface of the flat rock and stood proudly erect, a large hunting spear in his right hand and what looked like an unusual type of boomerang tied to his hip by a piece of a leather strap. Although his face was ornately painted with white stripes Jason could see the deep furrows of the brow either indicating great age or many extended hours in the desert. The hunter’s pure white eyes and dark pupils stared unrepentantly at Jason as a bare, dust shaded, foot shuffled the red dirt as if in anticipation of any movement Jason might make.
Jason stood, dusted himself briefly, then moved forward hand extended towards the warrior.
“Jason King,” he said, waiting expectantly for a reaction.
It seemed a minute past without any movement and Jason slowly dropped his arm to his side when the ancient-looking desert man spoke in perfectly clear English.
“Mr King, I have been waiting for you.”
For some reason, Jason had half expected someone to say that, even out here in this remote wilderness.
“Well I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” Jason quipped, in his usual understating manner.
“My people have been waiting for ten thousand years for you to come, Mr King.”
“Wow, that’s a record even for me; I’ve never been that late before.”
He could see that the Elder did not share his humour, so decided to change tack.
“And your name would be?”
“I am of the ‘Anangu’ and spiritually I am the keeper of ‘Tjukurpa’, in your world, I am known as Albert Armstrong.”
“Well it is an honour to meet you, Albert, you might be able to enlighten me as to why I am here.”
Without another word, the hunter turned on his heel and all Jason heard him say was “follow me” as he strode off towards the rock face that stood over them like a breaking ocean wave.
Jason picked up his hat and backpack quickly and proceeded to follow so as not to lose sight of the warrior, who was already slipping through the trees like a ghost. The Elder Huntsman set a cracking pace and it wasn’t long before Jason was panting and sweating profusely; he hated to think what it would be like if he was not fit. As they started to climb towards the base of the wave formation, Jason started to fall behind and as he came up to the rock face, he could no longer see the mysterious warrior.
As he continued towards the wall, looking about for the Elder, the vertical stripes of the stone seemed to bend and break, and as if by magic, an opening appeared. Of course, Jason knew that it was an optical illusion but all the same, it was impressive and it would certainly not be visible to anyone at a distance of more than one hundred yards or so.
The opening was his only option, so Jason entered and immediately found himself climbing a steep trail winding between two rock faces which were no more than a few feet apart. For another twenty minutes, he followed the winding pathway upward and just when he thought it was about to come to a dead-end, it opened through a narrow crack in the solid stone onto a broad ledge and open air. As he came through the crack in the stone wall, he could see the warrior standing on the edge of the ledge as if frozen in time and looking like a museum exhibit. Jason walked towards him and then gasped when he saw the view. A vast land of desert and bush spread out before them like some magnificent patchwork tablecloth and in the distance, Jason recognized the red gargantuan of Uluru.
“My God,” said Jason, under his breath.
“The spirits of my ancestors Mr King lie dormant here since creation, waiting for you Mr King.”
Jason turned and looked at the form of the ancient warrior silhouetted against the grandeur of the red desert scene before them. He thought he had stepped into another time when spirits did rule the Earth.
“I have heard these words spoken Albert many times of recent but I do not understand their meaning.”
The Elder looked at him squarely then turned and strode towards the solid wall of the ledge then disappeared. Jason looked in disbelief.
“I will never get used to that.”
He walked cautiously towards the same wall and as if by magic, again the vertical lines bent the light and an opening appeared.
“Talk about smoke and mirrors, these people have mastered that.”
He nodded his head in disbelief and entered. This time the crevasse opened into a dark shallow cave and he could see the Elder standing not too far away looking up at the rear wall. As Jason walked towards him and his eyes adjusted to the poor light provided by the opening to the outside world he saw a familiar scene. Painted onto the rock, although somewhat more primitive than the previous one he had seen, was a mural almost identical to the one he had seen in Tibet.
The ancient artwork depicted a large black man in tribal paint standing near the centre of the painting, surrounded by the moon, the sun, stars and most of the planets. Creatures of the desert land circumnavigated the warrior, including an ornately decorated serpent, with two heads. Its body curled up and around the sun and the moon and wrapped around the border of the entire scene. The eyes of the forward head gave the impression of staring directly at the onlooker with a cat-like stare. A brilliant red forked tongue, leapt from its gaping jaws and red ochre splashed across the whole right-hand side of the painting to symbolize fire. These flames then splashed down to the surface of the earth and surrounded a hooded man, all in black who seemed to be facing the warrior. Next to them was what looked like a pool of water and in it stood a smaller man draped in orange robes, his long blonde hair falling to his shoulders. From his face, brilliant green emerald eyes stared out from a pale white complexion. Behind them and under the serpent-like creature was the unmistakable form of Uluru. The drawing was cruder than the one he had seen in Tibet but there was no mistaking the striking similarities.
“And what makes you think this has anything to do with me,” said Jason, looking at the warrior.
“The orange priests came to us long ago asking about this painting,” said the Elder, “we brought them here and they told us a King would one day come sent by them and we were to bring you here and tell you about the prophecy.”
Jason just stared back at the mural.
‘A King, how ironic,’ he thought.
Jimmy pranced up and down, his arms waving wildly as if performing some sort of ritual dance. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, as he stared into darkness at the imaginary objects he described. His Australian aboriginal features seemed emphasized by the dull light of the room, as he explained to Shane the Dreamings of his ancestors.
"Snakes, snakes everywhere, coming up from the ground, all around, and the rain fell, it teamed down in sheets and a strange glow lit the sky and if you had no fear the snakes wouldn't bite, but I was real scared and one hit me in the leg but, but I could feel no bite, yeaheh, that's the truth, yeaheh that's the truth brother, I could feel it hit me."
Jimmy swung his arm and slapped his leg just above the ankle as to imitate the strike of the snake.
"And then, and then I looked up, and in the sky was this giant eye, like a cat's eye, or a dragon, that's what it looked like, cause then I saw this long body moving across the sky, and there were more heads, and, and more eyes, that be the 'Rainbow Serpent' brother and all the snakes on the ground, they rose up on their tails towards the serpent."
Jimmy's eyes bulged with excitement, his arms waved through the air as he recounted his vision.
"That’s what I believe, them snakes will be there when judgement day comes, and those that are rats will know their doom and be devoured by the snakes, and those that have good spirits will walk free to join the 'Rainbow Serpent’, yeahhhh, that’s what I believe, and my aunt and uncle, they said they seen it before too, at the ocean boy.”
Jimmy turned slowly and walked back to his bunk, sitting down on the edge. He sat there with hunched shoulders, nodding his head slowly up and down, his eyes still wide and wild. Then he looked up at Shane, who sat nonplussed by Jimmy's antics on the opposite bunk, then continued, in a somewhat more subdued manner.
"That’s where my people come from boy, it's a spiritual place, that's where our spirits live and that's where I go when I die, I look forward to it brother, yeah it's true, that's what I believe."
"Why not Jimmy, I believe you, it’s what you believe in that counts mate, it’s not that different to my religion, so why not," Shane replied in empathy to his mate.
"It will be boy, for me and my people anyway," Jimmy continued, "Australia's a spiritual place, and my people own the lands and we know the spirits, I can feel these things, yeah brother, that’s the truth."
His voice trailed off as he continued to stare at Shane, still slowly nodding his head. Shane didn’t mind Jimmy calling him ‘boy’ as he knew it was only a term used with rough reverence to a close mate. In actual fact, he found Jimmy's stories and beliefs fascinating; a culture almost lost to the entire human race and here he was fortunate enough to hear them directly from the source. After all, in his opinion, the beliefs of the Australian Aboriginal were not so very different from the spiritual practices he had adopted as a member of his own Christian faith.
Shane Harper settled on his bunk ready to sleep, Jimmy the aboriginal added an occasional comment but began to settle himself. Shane knew that Jimmy was a victim of cultural differences, his aboriginal upbringing on reservations, his limited education and his inherited alcohol and drug abuse. Rightfully, he believed most aboriginals did not deserve to be in mainstream prisons; victims of white Australian policies and courts that would prefer to sweep problematic situations and misunderstood cultures under the proverbial carpet. Jimmy had been born in prison thirty-six years earlier to an alcoholic mother and had been repetitively incarcerated for the best part of nineteen years of the next thirty-six.
Shane Harper, on the other hand, was an educated man, skilled in business and experienced in most social environments. He was a man who could mix and communicate with any creed or culture and at almost any level. He studied the life and the people he met throughout his, adding to his mental catalogue of humanity, as a collector might pin butterflies to a corkboard. He had always endeavoured to put life as it was presented to him into some sort of communicable perspective that he could pass on to others. It was his private experiment to see if he could lead by example and in doing so begin to understand what it was that made all humanity tick.
His belief in justice and protecting the timid and defenceless from the wrath of the bully had landed him a sentence of twelve months in prison while the bully walked free to terrorize more innocent victims. As much as it was meant to be a harsh punishment, prison to Shane Harper had been more of an opportunity. Prison was just another adventure for him and the people he had come to meet there had surprised him with their complexity and completely different take on life. Some witty, some sad, some just outright stupid, but then there were those that had provided him with an insight he had never expected.
He was quite sure this time in prison was somehow all a part of the greater plan of his mystical mentor, as just prior to the incident he had been told to create the pseudonym Shane Harper and get a job in a car yard and for some time live the pretence of the new character. It was after all the job that led to the chain of events that followed and his eventual relocation to this dust bowl hell. Toughening up he assumed, but could there be another even deeper reason?
During the term of his incarceration, he had reflected a great deal on his future and in three months, when he would be released, his direction was now certain and sure. In here of all places he had met the right people and come to realize what his destiny must surely be computers. He had listened to some very creative minds in prison, though he suspected they were planning less than legal activities, he had deducted from what they said that one-day computers would be an integral part of everyone’s lives. From what he had learned in here he could see that there would soon come a time when most trading would be almost totally controlled by the Internet. He figured now was a good time to get involved and stake some claim to its future.
As for the snakes and dragons, Jimmy looked forward to, Shane Harper had a beast of his own to contend with and maybe even a judgment day. He was a man of faith; a faith that he believed would extend through generations that would follow his own existence. The question for both of them would be, was the beast in Jimmy's heart a myth? Shane Harper suspected that all myths had an element of substance and more often than not human interpretation had failed to comprehend the true meaning. He knew that the beast he would have to contend with was powerful but he doubted it was the beast of eternal damnation for him. There was no doubt in Jimmy's mind what his beast meant and what it would eventually bring for him.
In the squalor of the outdated prison cell both Shane Harper and Jimmy, the aboriginal boxer slept and dreamed. Jimmy's 'Rainbow Serpent' appeared to them both as an icon of faith and belief, while beneath their bunks they could sense the snakes slivering across the cold, naked, concrete floor of the tiny cell, creatures that thrived on hatred and fear.
Jason felt a slight touch on his shoulder and turned from his thoughts to see the weathered face of the warrior looking back at him from the darkness of the cave.
“I see you already in Dreamtime Mr King.”
Jason smiled and looked again at Jimmy’s Serpent on the cave wall.
“I guess I am Albert, I guess I am.”
Jason had once read a book called ‘The Self Aware Universe’ which theorized how possibly we could all be creating our own existences by the thoughts we generate.
‘Just seems to make some sort of sense now doesn’t it,’ he thought, ‘is this some sort of reality I am creating for myself?’
The warrior turned and walked from the cave to the outside light and Jason followed, not looking back again at the cave wall. Once they were standing back on the ledge the Elder pointed towards Uluru.
‘I am to share with you the dreaming our ancestors tell about Uluru Mr King. You have entered ‘Kuniya Piti’ and this is the sacred place the ancients would meet to talk to the spirits of the land and the wind. It is here Mr King that they would learn about the coming of the Rainbow Serpent and it is here that I must tell you of your dreaming Mr King.”
Jason looked towards Uluru, its red ochre shining brightly in the lowering sun and for a moment he thought he heard voices. They seemed to drift lightly on the breeze, calling to him, whispering the name of the ‘Anangu’ and speaking to him in the language of the ancients.
.