Kurdaitcha

Kurdaitcha

by
Eugene Alexander Donnini

© Kurdaitcha Man 2 by Cynthia Farr BARUNGGUM

Kurdaitcha

© 2022 Eugene Alexander Donnini
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 (for example, a fair dealing
for the purposes of study, research, criticism or review), no part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, communicated or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written
permission. All inquiries made to the author. FreePress Publications: [email protected].

Books by Eugene Alexander Donnini

Bluestone (poetry 1975 - 2019)
The Sound of Skin (poetry 1995-2018)
Outré (poetry 2017 -2020)
Exposé (essays 2000 - 2021)
Solus (poetry 2019)
Selected Poetry (2021)
Dissident Streets
(anthology of short stories) (2022)

This story is from an anthology of short stories entitled Dissident Streets.

Reviews:

I thoroughly recommend this book, and believe
it is as deserving of recognition as Patterson, Laurence,
Lawson, and Hardy."

Ray Mooney (award winning novelist, and screenwriter)
If you have an idea, the chances are extremely high
someone else has already had it. But in relation to
your wonderful stories, Eugene: the way you have
written most, to my knowledge, has definitely not
been done before."

Chester Eagle (Australian novelist and literary critic).

( Full reviews are in the anthology)

There are more things in heaven
and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt
of in your philosophy.

--- HAMLET ACT 1, SCENE 5

Mystics have believed for centuries that the human soul is in fact "light." In

the past there have been thousands of cases of people turning into literal
"light bodies". One of the first documented was an Indian saint called
Padmasambhava. As a light body, he could fly through the air as well as
transform into forms that would frighten and destroy evil spirits and demons.
When he landed, he again manifest in his physical body. This capability was
reached through highly advanced yogic and meditative practices, which are
said to be tens of thousands of years old. When in his light body the Indian
saint was able to travel vast distances in a blink of an eye, including into other
dimensions, and was often seen in two places at once.

It seems that science is now offering some proof as to the existence of light
bodies which is still far from definitive, but the co-relations are interesting.
For example, Einstein's relativity theory proved the speed of light to be
300,000 kilometres a second. Now the Earth's circumference is 40,075.017
kilometres. Which in practical terms would mean, a person's light body could
travel - even through solid objects - to the farthest point on the earth and back
to where they started six times in a second. In fact, if you were standing
beside them when they left, when they returned, it would seem as if they had
not gone anywhere. Add to this the latest discoveries in quantum physics
(entanglement) that link particles in a way they instantly affect each other,
even over vast distances, and it may not be too far fetched to conclude that the
spirit of the Kurdaitcha, is a real phenomenon.

Most Aboriginal people believe if another person is found to be the unjust
cause of a person’s death, the Kurdaitcha can be "summoned" to exact
vengeance, so the victim's soul would be released from Bralgu (a place of evil
spirits and demons) and enter the Eternal Dreaming where their gods and
ancestors reside. The Kurdaitcha may be a disembodied spirit, an inter-
dimensional light being - or an angel.

According to Aboriginal tradition the Kurdaitcha spirit when summoned
enters the body of the Kurdaitcha man. The shoes worn on his mission by this
man are slippers constructed of Emu feathers, human hair and blood, and are
made by female relatives of the victim, who used their own blood. The
Kurdaitcha man (or executioner) was often a male elder. Once he put on the
slippers they endowered him with inexplicable powers and the ability to
impose a ritual vengeance as just punishment.

And this, basically, is where our story begins...

***
Bobby Cullanulla lived in Gore Street Fitzroy, with his mother Elsie, his two
half-sisters, and his uncle Davo. His mother's side were descendants of the
local Wathaurung clan. His father's linage was uncertain. Some say he came
from the Diyrai clans in Central Australia, others from the Torres Strait
Islands. He was one of many Aboriginal drifters who ended up in Fitzroy
before the slum clearance projects of the 50s and early 60s. Bobby never knew
his father, who after having a brief affair with his mother, moved on. His
sisters had a different father, who was killed during a brawl at the Builders
Arms Hotel in Fitzroy. Bobby's uncle Davo was a Ngangkari, a cross between
a tribal seer, a lawyer, and a doctor. In Elsie's tumultuous early life she was an
alcoholic, who after several failed relationships, and a jail term, found Jesus,
and had grown into a caring mother, devoted to her children.

Bobby's girlfriend Trish was part Aboriginal and part Irish. They had been
friends since both attended George Street Primary School as children and
later became sweethearts and lovers. Trish was 13 at the time and Bobby was
15. That was three years ago. Bobby adored Trish and when they discovered
she was pregnant, according to Elsie, it was the happiest she'd ever seen him.

On the Saturday afternoon that changed everything, Bobby, Trish, Elsie,
Davo, and my girlfriend Ana and I, were sitting in the lounge of the Bendigo
Hotel, discussing plans for the wedding.

"It's only right they marry," said Elsie, "and have a proper Christian
ceremony. We'll set a date with Father Kelly."

"Have you decided on a name yet?" asked Ana.

"If it's a boy, I'd like to call him Rodney, after my dad," Trish replied, as she
turned to Bobby. "How do you feel about that, sweetheart?"

"Sounds good to me," Bobby replied.

"You could give the kid your dad's name as well, mate," I said. "A middle
name."

"I wouldn't do that to my kid. My dad was a fucking arsehole," Bobby replied.

Elsie looking a little uncomfortable, tactfully changed the subject. "What if it's
a girl?"

"Then we'll name her after you, mum," said Bobby.

"That's a lovely idea sweetheart," said Trish, as she put her hand on her
stomach, then took Bobby's hand and placed it on top of hers. "Did you feel
that?"

"Feels like the little bugger can't wait to get out," Bobby replied, as he kissed
her affectionately on the forehead.

"The marriage ceremony should have an Aboriginal part too," suggested
Davo.

"We wouldn't have it any other way," Elsie replied. "Father O'Brian could do
the Christian bit and you could do the - "

Suddenly the sound of men and women shouting in the front bar shattered
the serenity of the conversation.

"What the fuck?!" Bobby said as he looked up with a start. "I'm gonna see
what's going on out there. "

"Need a hand, mate?" I asked.

"Nah, it's probably just a couple of Koorie pisspots."

"Be careful sweetie," said Trish.

***

Every story has a beginning, and this one was steeped in violence and revenge
that started months earlier, precipitated by a war between the Rebel Angels
motorcycle gang and the Collingwood Boys. It began when Bobby Cullanulla
and the Boys found out that the Angels were supplying the Gamboli brothers -
Mario and Angelo - who operated the Hamburger Haven Cafe - with an
assortment of hard drugs, which the brothers then sold to regular customers,
including a few school children, one of whom happened to be Bobby's
younger cousin, who died from a cocaine overdose. He was 15 years old.
When word got back to Bobby and the Boys, they confronted the dealers
outside the Haven before they could make their next delivery. From that day
on, the dealers were never seen again around Collingwood and Fitzroy. A
short time after, Bobby and a few of the Boys dropped in on the Gamboli
brothers.

It was about two weeks later, that a couple of Rebel Angels and their leader,
"Pixie" McFarland, raped one of the Collingwood Girls in a lane near the Luna
Park amusement complex, badly beating her boyfriend when he attempted to
stop them. After the rape, McFarland gave the girl a message to pass on to the
Boys: to keep out of St Kilda, and out of their business, or next time their
families would be targeted.

But the Angels underestimated the resolve of the Boys, who, one night, a week
or so later, visited their clubhouse, wrecked most of the Harley motorbikes
outside, after exiting the premises, where they ran amok, putting three of the
Angels in hospital. One of the victims was McFarland himself, who was
slashed several times across the face with a cut-throat razor, wielded by the
girl he and his mates had recently raped, which had left his face permanently
scarred.

***

McFarland had revenge on his mind that Saturday afternoon a month or so
later, when he and a large contingent of his gang walked into the Bendigo
Hotel, looking for Bobby and the Boys. However, all sides were to get more
than they bargained for, when, after a few beers, McFarland and his leather-
jacketed gang started to threaten the patrons, touch up the women, and pour
derision on the Collingwood Boys, which was something you didn't do around
here, particularly in this pub. Some of the patrons who took offence at the
intrusion, attempted to stop them, but came out second-best when set upon
by the gang.

When Bobby walked into the bar through the door from the lounge,
McFarland walked over to him and said: "well, well, well, if it ain't Mr Culla-
fuckin'-nulla. When I'm finished with you, you black cunt, my scars are gonna
look like beauty spots compared to yours. Get him!" He exclaimed, as several
Angels grabbed Bobby, who struggled violently against them and managed to
break free; a move that encouraged most of the other hotel patrons to again
join the fray, as they showered the Angels with beer glasses and bar stools.
Then, suddenly, McFarland produced a flick-knife, wielding it like a sword as
he moved towards Bobby.

The sight of McFarland with crazy eyes and a knife, unnerved most of the
patrons, putting an end to their intervention, the bar suddenly becoming still
and quiet, except for the two figures that stood circling each other amidst
broken glass and other debris.

Then, unexpectedly, the door to the lounge swung open and Trish appeared
behind McFarland, facing Bobby: "Bobby, what?" She asked, breaking the
silence as she glanced at Bobby. But before she could utter another word,
McFarland, startled by her voice, swung around and plunged his knife into
her stomach. Trish fell to her knees, her hands clutching her wound. Looking
briefly at Bobby with a terrified and puzzled expression, she moved her lips to
speak, then fell to the floor.

"Trish! No! Nooo!!" Bobby exclaimed, as he rushed towards her limp body,
and weeping out loud, cradled her in his arms.

McFarland and his gang, seeing an opportunity to escape, backed quickly
towards the front door, scrambled out onto the footpath, jumped on their
motorbikes, and sped off.

***

About a week after Trish's murder, many in the local Aboriginal community
turned up at Bobby's house. Most of the women had smeared their faces with
ochre body paint and carried small gum tree branches. Outside in the
backyard, a bonfire was burning. A few Aboriginal men were playing
digeridoos and clapsticks. Bobby, his mother, Trish's parents, and Uncle Davo
were sitting together by the fire, when the playing suddenly stopped, and
everyone's attention focused on them.

Uncle Davo – who was dressed in a traditional costume - stood up and began
to dance and chant:“ Interlinia turlaa attipa! Interlinia attipa!” (to him hold
fast, hold fast!) as he raised what looked like a carved human bone above his
head, his ochre smeared body flickering in the firelight like a phantom from
the Dreamtime. One end of the bone was rounded and the other pointed like a
needle. At the round end, a hole had been drilled. Those present looked on
with a sense of awe and reverence.

An old Aboriginal man, whose hair and long beard was the colour of snow,
stepped from the gathering, walked up to Davo, produced a broken shell, cut
off a lock of his hair, and handed it to him. Davo then threaded the old man's
hair through the hole in the bone. When he finished, he motioned Bobby to
stand, approached him, and handed him the bone.

“You gotta aim the pointy end at that evil spirit fella...then, Kurdaitcha will
come.”

Bobby didn't look too convinced.

***
After Louie the Chow's parents arrived in Australia, Louie's dad started a
small business: a little fish & chip shop in Smith Street (the border between
the almost inseparable suburbs of Collingwood and Fitzroy). Louie reckoned
that it was the first shop to sell dim sims and chicken rolls in Melbourne. His
dad used to make them in a large kitchen at the rear, along with a variety of
Aussie meat pies and sausage rolls. On weekends the kitchen was closed and,
at Louie's suggestion, the Boys decided to use it as a meeting place to plan
their revenge against McFarland and his gang.

The meeting was held at eight o'clock Sunday night, three weeks after the
incident at the Bendigo. We arrived via the lane at the back, which had an
entrance that led directly into the kitchen. I came with Garry, Hans and

Paddy. When we entered, there were at least thirty Collingwood Boys
sprawled on the floor, sitting on flour bags and tins of cooking oil. Louie and
Bobby were sitting on the stove, which gave them a commanding view.

"He's a fucking dog!" Hans exclaimed.

"Yeah, we should bury the cunt!" someone else added, as the room erupted
with vengeful and angry retorts, then, fell silent, as Bobby stood up.

"Thanks for coming fellas. I know youse all loved Trish. I loved her too...more
than anything." The room again erupted, and fell silent, as Bobby, now close
to tears, continued. "Father Kelly reckons I should turn the other cheek and
let justice take its fucking course. I don't believe that Christian bullshit, or any
of that crazy Abo stuff me uncle Davo keeps harpin' on about. Youse are all
me brothers, dead set - and I believe in you....And I believe in this!" he
exclaimed, as he produced a sawn-off shotgun and held it above his head. The
room again erupted.

Unexpectedly, the next day, it was reported in The Herald, that McFarland
had been arrested and charged with Trish's murder. Later that week the
police interviewed Bobby and subpoenaed him as a Crown witness, along with
the bar attendant, and several regular patrons who were in the bar on the
afternoon Trish was killed.

***
The news came as a shock to Bobby and the Boys, who felt they had been
deprived of their chance to get even, particularly Bobby. But they weren't
going to give up so easily. Bobby wanted McFarland out, so he and the Boys
could personally take their revenge on him and his gang.

When the day of the trial arrived, the Crown presented their case first with an
examination of the forensic evidence, stating, in conclusion, that they would
prove, beyond all reasonable doubt, that the deceased was murdered in cold
blood. On the face of it, it seemed like an open and shut case, until the
prosecutor began questioning the witnesses.

"Your name is Michael John Hobson?" He asked the first witness.

"Yes, sir."

"Mr Hobson, you're a retired waterside worker - is that correct?"

"I prefer to call meself a Painter and Docker, sir."

"As you wish...Well then, Mr Hobson, will you please tell the court what you
witnessed on the day Patricia Myaree O'Brien was killed?"

"There was a bit of a punch up, you know, in the bar."

"Punch up?"

"Yeah, there were two blokes, you know, going at it."

"I take it by 'going at it' you mean they were brawling?" the prosecutor asked.
"Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir. Brawling."

"And during the time they were 'going at it', did you see what Mr McFarland
was doing?"

"Not exactly, sir."

"Did Mr McFarland produce a knife?"

There was a pause before Hobson answered.

"I...er...don't rightly know."

"Come now Mr Hobson, it's a simple enough question, isn't it? Did Mr
McFarland produce a knife?"

"Like I said, I don't know."

The court was suddenly in an uproar, the judge calling for order after banging
his hammer on the bench several times. When order returned, the
prosecution continued.

"You don't know?"

'It's just that, well, there was so much stuff goin' on."

"But you said in a sworn statement to the police that you witnessed the whole
thing," the prosecutor continued, looking rather bemused as he held up the
statement. "I have it here. And it states very clearly, that you saw the accused
wielding a knife before the deceased was killed."

"The cops said they knew the whole story, anyway. When they asked me if I
knew Trish had been killed, I said, yeah. When they told me that McFarland
had done it, I said, yeah, why not, if you say so, it must be true. Then they
asked me to sign a statement."

"I have no further questions, your honor," the prosecutor concluded with a
sigh, before slumping into his chair.

"Your witness Mr Jacobs," the judge said, as he turned his gaze towards the
defense council, who slowly rose to his feet and approached the witness.

"Mr. Hobson, you're no doubt aware that my client's life may very well
depend on the accuracy of your testimony?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then will you please tell the court, unequivocally, if my client, Mr McFarland
was indeed the person you saw wielding the knife prior to Miss Stewart's
death?"

"Un-a-what, sir?"

"Beyond a reasonable doubt."

"Probably not."

"Did you in fact see Mr McFarland in the bar at all that day?"

"I...I can't be sure."

"Thank you, Mr Hobson. I have no further questions, Your Honor."

It was the same with every other witness the Crown presented, none of whom
would positively identify McFarland as the murderer, nor admit they even
saw him in the hotel at the time of the murder. But if anyone could identify
him, it was Bobby, who was now the key witness for the Crown. With his
testimony, it would be possible to convince the jury that McFarland was
guilty.

"Your full name is Bobby Cullanulla, is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"And you were in a relationship with the deceased?"

"I loved her."

"You were in fact in the bar at the time of her death - is that correct?"

"Yes, sir, I was standing closer to the killer than you're standing to me," Bobby
said, as he sneered across the courtroom at McFarland, who sneered back.

"And is it also true, at the time, that you and the accused were engaged in
quite a violent confrontation?"

"Yes, sir, I was definitely involved in a confrontation."

"And did the person you were confronting have a knife in his hand?"

"He sure did."

"And did that person turn around during the confrontation and deliberately
inflict a mortal wound on your girlfriend, the deceased, Patricia Myaree
O'Brien?"

"Fucken oath he did!" Bobby replied, as he turned again and looked
venomously at McFarland.

"And is that person present in this courtroom today?"

"Not unless he's hiding behind His Honor's throne up there."

The court again erupted, as Bobby locked eyes with McFarland, who seemed
as confused as everyone. Then, Bobby suddenly stood up in the witness box,
pulled a bone from beneath his coat, and pointed it at McFarland. Bobby had
agreed to do the bone pointing thing to please his uncle Davo. He had also
spoken to the Crown witnesses - most of whom were Koories - before the trial.
He knew them personally and had told them not to give evidence against
McFarland.

Mcfarland, along with most who were present in court were startled for a
moment, thinking it may have been a weapon. But when Mcfarland saw it was
just a piece of old bone, he chuckled.

"Mr Cullanulla - please resume your seat!" the judge ordered as he banged his
hammer several times on the bench, turned to an officer of the court and said:
"Remove that – that object from the witness."

In a few minutes order was restored, following which the defense council
paraded witness after witness, who swore that McFarland was drinking with
them at the Esplanade Hotel in St Kilda at the time of Trish's death.

During the judge's summary, he indicated to the jury that it would be very
dangerous, on the face of the evidence presented, to convict McFarland, given
the fact that they must be satisfied, beyond all reasonable doubt, he was the
murderer. The jury took less than five minutes to reach a verdict of not guilty.
When the announcement was made, a dozen or so Angels, who were sitting at
the back of the court, stood up, cheered and clapped.

***
Two days after Mcfarland was acquitted, his head was spotted by a jogger on
the Merri path, floating down the Creek, with two bracken shafts shoved up
its nostrils, its tongue cut out, its eyes gouged from their sockets, and its
mouth stuffed with dirt and gum leaves. Bobby and the Boys were as
surprised as anyone when they heard the news.

The police had uncovered enough evidence to pinpoint the time and place of
McFarland's murder. Soon after, they arrested an old white-haired Aboriginal
bloke who was found close by wearing McFarland's watch. He later confessed
to the whole thing before being locked up. But the next morning when the
police came to open his cell and take him to court, he wasn't there. There was

no indication as to how he escaped. The only items they found was a pair of
strange looking moccasins made with what appeared to be bird feathers,
woven with human hair and bonded with blood.

FIN

About the Writer

Eugene has been feature poet at many readings over the years and has
helped to organize poetry venues which have featured a variety of Australian
and overseas poets. He also performs regularly around Melbourne as a
musician. His poetry and essays have been published in Overland, Quadrant,
N-Scribe, Tirra Lirra, The Southern Echo and several other local and
overseas journals. He has written five volumes of poetry: Solus, Bluestone,
The Sound of Skin, Outre and Selected Poetry. Also Expose, a book of essays,
many of which have been published.