The One They Call Feral: The One They Call Feral, #1

By Walu Feral

In 1975, Ricky, a fourteen-year-old Caucasian boy from suburban Melbourne, escapes years of childhood abuse and hitch-hikes over four-thousand kilometres, to the town of Marble Bar, in the far Northwest of Western Australia.

With a morbid fear of aboriginal people, after being told by his abusive, racist, father that they are cannibals, he is found living in a cave, alone, by remnant members of the Nyamal tribe, a small group, still living a nomadic existence. They forcefully remove him from the cave and take him into the desert where he is raised in their ancient ways for five years.

Whilst there, he undergoes many sacred trials and rituals, along with learning the Nyamal dialect and customs, to become an official, initiated, Nyamal man at nineteen-years-old.

Written in flashbacks and based on fact, with some enhancements and name changes, the book contains many dangerous, exciting, frightening, romantic and sometimes comical adventures out in the harsh Australian desert. Striving to become a man, Ricky stumbles his way, spear in hand, clad in a loincloth, from one coming-of-age trial to the next under the watchful guidance of Uncle Ronny, the tribal Chief, and the other tribal elders.

He learns to hunt, read signs of nature in order to find the best places to gather food and where to find and collect fresh water from beneath the scorching desert sand.

The first in a trilogy, "The one they call Feral," also contains several, rarely heard, 67,000-year-old dreamtime stories and ancient tribal practices and language.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Walu Feral
• Release date: Feb 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386550372

Walu Feral

After the remnant tribal members left the land I went back to feeling lonely again. So, I searched and searched for something, I wasn't sure what, but that searching over 30 or so years finally lead me to love. I found that love, not in Australia, but, here, in the Philippines where I now live and have done for the past seven years with my beautiful wife, Delia and our kids.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE CAVE DWELLER

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been living in my cave in Marble Bar, the outback desert town in the far Northwest of Western Australia. Was it four weeks...Or longer? Who knew? All I knew was I had travelled more than four-thousand kilometres (twenty-five-hundred miles) to get there.

I finished the snake I’d caught and killed the night before as it slithered over my legs in the darkness. I still couldn’t get used to the drippy, oily texture of the meat, but it was how I stayed alive. I ate snakes, grasshoppers, and anything else that crawled or flew into my cave.

What I did know was I had to make the trip. A young prisoner on the run, I escaped straight from school on my fourteenth birthday. It took a few weeks to hitch-hike that far. As I licked the last morsels of snake meat off my fingers, I tried, once again, to count the weeks, or was it months, since I left? I shook my head in frustration. Time appeared as out of my reach as did survival.

The birds came; they always did when I had food, big scary brown birds. They had patience, always watching as they circled above, not too high and not too low, just circling. I thought at first they were vultures, just waiting for me to die so they could devour me. I later found they were eagles, but in my mind, they were threats, just the same as the snakes that crawled on me in my sleep.

Sometimes, if two or three of the birds came, I retreated into the cave to eat. I only came out when my meal was finished. Then I’d throw the scraps, snake skin or shells from the lizard eggs I’d scrounged. They’d swoop.

Why do you guys get so excited over snake skin and lizard eggs shells? I often questioned. I figured they must have been as hungry as I was. Hunger and thirst were my only companions in this barren wasteland.

It was the same thing every day after the scraps were thrown. The giant, scary birds would swoop down and gather up the leftovers in their huge talons, screeching as they fought for the best morsels. Then they’d be gone.

With the sun rising hot in the sky, I knew I needed to sit and rest in the cave. I had to avoid getting my white skin burned and turning a painful crimson as the daytime temperatures soared into the high forty degrees Celsius.

It was cool inside by the little rock pool at the far rear wall where I shared my bed with a variety of wildlife. The spiders were massive, the likes of which I’d never seen in the city before I ran away, but the snakes were worse. I’d seen them on TV occasionally when I was home from the hospital. When the old man was sober enough to keep his hands off me, he’d sometimes allow me out of my prison to watch TV.

But in real life, they were fearsome beasts. Huge slithering monsters, sleeping through the day in the cool calm of the cave and prowling at night. I could hear them, smell them. As I curled up into a ball on the floor, the dreams came.

#

CHAPTER 2

A DEHYDRATED BABY

As my tired body rested, my discontented mind yanked experiences from the past to haunt me. It was often this way since I had run away. Even in sleep, I could not escape the torment of my childhood. A protective veil, cultivated by day, cruelly slipped away and exposed my worst memories. Eyelids fluttered and respirations increased as the dream began.

***

Ruth, the old man said as I was getting ready to sleep. I’m tired of Ricky wetting the bed. It’s time to teach the useless little bastard a lesson. He’s five years old and will be going to school soon. I’ve got friends, you know, and I don’t want them seeing my son with piss in his britches.

I’m sure he’ll grow out of it, the old lady replied in her usual offhand way. We can start cutting down on the water he drinks in the evening.

My father looked at her like she had just grown a second nose. I knew what was coming next...another drunken fight with me caught in the middle. How I wished, just for once, one of them would grab me up and hold me tight as all good parents do. Mother would tuck me in bed with a goodnight kiss, and father would read me a book. I liked books, the few I had seen. They had pretty pictures of smiling children. But this was not going to happen. It never did.

I’ve got a better idea, the old man said, slapping my mother for good measure.

He would be back later for a proper fight, but for now, he was distracted. He had devised a foolproof method for potty training, and the results would haunt the deep recesses of my mind for countless years.

His plan was to feed me one meagre meal a day and allow a small drink of water. 

That'll fix the little idiot, the old man said. 

He figured I would be pee free in a few days, and wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his important friends. Impression was of extreme importance to him. It was his excuse for beating the old lady, and for beating me. Funny thing is, he was the most embarrassing of all.

My parents promptly locked me away in my room with only a bed and an old broken armchair for comfort. There were no toys to play with, no colouring books to stimulate my imagination, no TV for entertainment, and no visitors except for the cockroaches and mice I made pets out of. I had two brothers, one who had died when he was five-years-old, and two sisters, but the survivors were all away at boarding school, leaving me at home to face the two demons alone.

The first few days of my confinement weren’t so bad. I was used to being denied food and left locked away in my room...both were common punishments for real or imagined violations, but they usually ended after a day or two. This time they did not. Days turned into weeks and my body weakened, causing me to believe I might die. My survival instincts took over.

Most five-year-old children never consider their own mortality, living as they do in safe and secure worlds; however, the idea was omnipresent to me and drove me to become clever and determined. I could do nothing about the food, so I tried biting off pieces of bed clothing or peeling paint chips off the walls, both of which I caught a beating for. I didn’t try again. I refused to eat the roaches and mice as they were my only friends. So, I focused on hunting for water, and the one window in my room seemed my best bet.

I set out to pry it open with all the desperation of the dying. Problem was, the old man had fixed the darn thing to raise only about a foot to prevent me escaping, and it was practically

beyond my ability to budge it in my weakened condition. Still, I persevered, and eventually got it open wide enough to slip my hand through, and to get a breath of fresh air.

With growing satisfaction, I breathed in the refreshing scent of spring rain. I closed my eyes and imagined myself running through mud puddles and feeling the soft caress of raindrops on my face. I stuck my hand as far out of the window as I could get it and felt a few droplets from leaves plopping on my hand. I got an idea.

There was a tin can secreted away under my bed that I used to trap cockroaches and mice. My folks didn’t know about it or they would have taken it away from me as forbidden contraband and beaten me senseless. I only took it out at night after they passed out in their beds or wherever they fell on the floor. I would use it this time to capture the dripping water. All I had to do was raise the window a bit higher.

Infused with hope, the window was no longer an immovable obstacle, and it yielded under my desperate thrusts. I was truly proud of my accomplishment. Not many little kids could have done what I did, and I had the sense to know it. I had learned to capture something important, something needed for survival, and this ability has followed me all the years of my life. However, I had to be very careful not to get caught doing it. To drink was even more forbidden than having playthings, and if the old man saw me doing it, I would surely be killed.

There, in the midst of my prison, I found a way to be happy. I could reach the outdoors, even if just partially, and I had provided for myself. During my confinement, I also learned to be content with my own company. These are tough lessons for a child, but then, what do they say?  Only the strong survive!

Day after day, the torment continued. No visitors, very little water, and almost no food. I grew weaker and weaker, until I could no longer stand at the window and capture life-sustaining droplets. I gave up and just lay in my bed waiting for death. Finally, my mother came in and took rare pity on me. She scooped me up, and they took me to the doctor who diagnosed me with dehydration and starvation. I had lost two-thirds of my body weight and was barely conscious.

What happened to this boy? The doctor asked, hoping for an easy answer. He, like so many others in Sunshine, feared my powerful, father who had come with us.

Little bloke won’t eat anything, the old man said. You know how kids are. Can’t make ‘em eat, can’t make ‘em drink. He’s always been like that. Doesn't like anything the wife cooks.

Well, Mr Burt, you did a good thing bringing him here when you did. He might have died, otherwise. I will admit him to the hospital... if that’s okay with you.

I guess so. How long’s he gonna be here?

We’ll have to put in an IV and pump nutrients into him, and as ill as he is, it might even take a month or so to build him back up. I can’t tell at this point.

That will be fine, the old man said simply, like he was dropping a car off for new tyres.

Even in my weakened state, I was devastated. I had never been away from home before...not to the grocery store, not to friend’s houses, and certainly not to the hospital. I wasn’t sure what weeks and months were, but it sounded like a long time, and my little heart ached with sadness. I watched my family walk away, and then gave up and slipped into a coma.

I don’t know how long I was on life support, but I woke up now and then and looked around through a haze, just to fall back again into dreamless sleep. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, when I had recovered enough to be aware of my surroundings, I noticed a constant visitor to my room. She was a nurse named Jasmine, who often brought me extra snacks and drinks, and took the time to play games. Needless to say, I soon fell desperately in love, as only a child can do.

Jasmine was a beautiful young woman with bright blue eyes that smiled at me when I did something she liked, and whose tender smile warmed the corners of my neglected heart. All the love and attention I had craved since my unfortunate birth flowed from this alluring Angel. She not only helped nurse me back to health, but gave me a sense of unquenchable worth.

Always on the lookout for a way to better my life, I decided on a plan to secure my continued happiness. I would ask Jasmine to marry me, and I would treat her as nicely as she did me. There would be no drunkenness and no screaming and beating. I would cherish her always. The problem was, I had no money, and I figured money was important when you wanted to marry someone.

I devised another plan. I learned from the other children in the hospital that if you pulled out your loose teeth and placed them under your pillow at night, then in the morning there would be coins from the Tooth Fairy. I didn’t realise it was the nurses providing their own money for this to happen, but it didn't matter. It was an instant source of money that I could use to save up for my wedding.

In the end, I don’t know how much money I collected, or how many teeth I yanked out to build up my stash, but in my mind, it was substantial. Just as I plucked up the courage to pop the question to sweet Jasmine, my life took another nasty turn. My parents returned for me. Mind you my mother had only visited once in the entire seven months I was hospitalised, but now she and the old man were here when I least wanted to see them.

––––––––

Jasmine, and my heart, were left behind with the bandages, needles and safety.

***

I awoke in a sweat, listening to the ever-present sound of slinking snakes and scuffling rodents. The stench of years of discarded bones and flesh infiltrated my nostrils. It was the smell of my new home, but that night it made me want to retch.

I stood up and strolled anxiously to the mouth of the cave. Taking in a few deep breaths of the cool desert air to clear the filth of the cave, I looked around. My sharp eyes were trained to see in the dark, and I peered with the attention of a feral animal. There was nothing threatening around, nothing lurking in the darkness to attack. I would have known if there had been.

I reached over to a rocky outcrop for an empty beer bottle I had pilfered from a nearby gas station trash can and headed barefooted under the cover of darkness for water. Although weeks had passed since my escape, I still feared my father would find and kill me.

#

CHAPTER 3

A REAL CAVEMAN

Running across grass with bare feet can be a comforting, almost sensual experience. The damp blades caress the pads of your feet, tickling the spaces between your toes and sending ripples of pleasure up your spine. It is Mother Nature at her best, massaging the feet of her beloved children, but, of course, I hadn’t had much luck with mothers.

The grass I sped through is called spinifex. It has tiny needle-like extensions that break off in the skin and cause localised infections that burn and ooze. I was sure it had greater purposes in this world than harassing me, but as I ran through it, I couldn’t think of any.

I didn’t let the spinifex slow me down, not then, not ever. I was on a mission, and when on a mission I was virtually impossible to dissuade. A boy might have arrived in Marble Bar weeks before, but it was a man who now ran through the wilderness in search of precious water. Rather waif-like in appearance, with tattered clothes and bare feet, I was still strong, fast, and extremely determined.

I always filled my beer bottle from the tap at the same service station around two to three in the morning to avoid being seen. Marble Bar was inhabited entirely by aborigines, of whom I was terrified. I was convinced they would either eat me or take me back to my old life in Sunshine.

The old man had always told me, Son, if you ever meet a good black man, kill him, because if you don’t, he’ll turn bad and eat you. All black men are cannibals.

I did not understand just how untrue the statement was, or how important these tribal people would become to my life. But, I was afraid and wasn't about to find out the hard way whether or not the old man was right. I approached the service station carefully.

After filling the bottle from a tap, I listened for any sounds warning me of danger. From my life in the bush, I had gained the stealth of a mulga snake, patience of a golden orb spider and hunting skills of a dingo. I belonged to the wild, and I was free.

Sensing no danger, I headed back across ground reddened with iron oxide and scattered with rocks and spinifex to take my bottle of water home. It was one of my catches for the night. I planned to place it safely inside the cave, then hunt for my night meal, which usually meant snakes. In this region, I had several choices of serpents, most of which were deadly poisonous. Just a single bite from one of the several species would have ended my caveman experience. The problem was, I didn't know which were poisonous and which weren't, so I treated them all with tempered respect.

The best catch was the mulga because it was large and meaty. Also known as the king brown snake, it appeared to have a bad temperament and would jump at me when it struck. Thankfully, I had become very agile and was quick with my stick and rock. 

There were also death adders, which had an oversized flat head that made it look uglier than some of the others. No longer than a foot or two, they weren't worth the effort to chase them.

The Inland taipan was another snake I came across a few times. They were so hostile they would chase after me, especially if there was a nest nearby, so I left them alone. These were very rare, but when I saw them, I got out of their way. I only killed and ate to survive. You learn to do what you must when you're on your own.

Once near home, I climbed the twenty-feet rise before the cave door with all the confidence of youth and familiarity. The rocks were hard on my feet and treacherous when they rolled out from under them, but I had become rather deft of late and seldom lost my balance. Tonight was an exception. A poorly secured stone turned under my foot and I slipped, jarring the precious bottle of water out of my hand. Helplessly I watched as it hit the rocks and broke.

One word escaped my mouth, Damn! I had lost my water and the bottle I used to hold it in.

The repercussion of shattering glass filled my entire senses. I smelled the water as it soaked into the arid ground, listened to the tinkling glass like so many strands of crystal on a wind chime, and tasted the bitter flavour of despair. There would be no water to quench my thirst tonight, and none tomorrow for hunting.

I gradually climbed to the top, rare emotion growing in my chest. I sat at the entrance, my head resting on arms folded over raised knees. I felt the stinging in my legs, bloodied and infected from contact with spinifex, and the rumbling of hunger in my belly. There would be no relief for at least twenty-four hours as hope lay among the broken shards of glass below.

I pouted as a boy might when a favourite toy is taken from his young hands, and anger continued to grow within. I had felt fear and pain all of my short life, but those are passive emotions. Now I felt something wholly different...rage...and it felt good. It cleansed many childhood demons in the fire of righteous indignation.

Images of my childhood flashed before my eyes in an unending kaleidoscopic display. All my life I had been concerned with the questions, how, who, what and why? There, on the edge of despair, I asked, why?

Why