The shining man spoke in a voice that was nothing like human. In a language I didn’t know but could understand. He sounded ancient and weary and cruel and contemptuous. He spoke to Mad Boy and in his voice there was a hatred so real that I thought he might drop us both. But there was also a fear, so dark and so palpable that he was nearly choking on it. “Boy, you see this. All this madness and folly and cruelty and brokenness. All this beauty and potential. Every kingdom and country. All these I will give you, to do with as you like, if you will fall down and worship me.” I saw Mad Boy look down at a world full of all the mess that we’ve made. I watched him think. I watched him decide. I saw him smile. I heard him laugh, exactly as he had in my dream. A wild, happy, crazy, generous laugh that rang through the stars, making them flare and fizz until their light outshone the shining man and his thrashing wings. The Mad Boy spoke, “Away with you, Satan! For it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him’.” Then he laughed again, and as he laughed, the feathers began to fall from the shining man’s wings. We began to fall back towards the earth, towards the gorge, towards the country Grandad had been teaching me. And the country reached for us and caught us and set us down softly by the water hole. The shining man was gone, and the last feather fell into the fire that Grandad had made. It caught and shone and died. He was cooking the extra food we had gathered that day. Mad Boy collapsed to the ground. I looked at Grandad. “It’s now, isn’t it?” I asked. He smiled his secret smile and put his hand on mine. I cradled Mad Boy and dribbled some water through his parched lips. The cockatoo screeched, just once, and flew up into the night. Three days later, Mad Boy was full and fit to walk back home with us. We laughed most of the way back. Even Grandad. 33
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