The Woomera
[This is a retelling of an old story]
Poor old Gurumarra. He was just as brave as the other boys. In fact, he was a man now that he’d completed the initiation. He could throw just as accurately. He could stalk as well as anyone.
The problem was, Gurumarra was tiny.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t run as fast as the others on his short little legs, because kangaroos are stupid. They hop away a short distance then look back, giving the hunter ample opportunity to throw his spear. Also, you don’t have to run after a goanna up a tree because it’s not going anywhere. You don’t have to run after a baby crocodile on the surface of a billabong. You just need to sneak up on it. Gurumarra could do that.
The trouble was, his arms were short, too.
All the other boys could throw a spear much further than he could. They’d fell roos before he could get into range. They could knock down goannas from higher up in the trees. They could nab crocs that were far out across the water.
The other young men teased Guramarra. “Go collect yams and witchitty grubs with the women,” they taunted him, “if you can reach them with those little arms of yours.”
Guramarra fumed. If he were a coward or threw wide or anything else, he might be able to fix it, but no amount of practice or fortitude would make his arms grow longer.
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