Tempête folle
By Abbey Marshall
The early-risen sun glistened ever so softly through the vast plains as the day unfolded. She brings down her balmy rays giving light across the boundless lands. Although she had tried to bring as much warmth as she could, the frigid wind that blasted through kept the air crisp and bitter. As both men rode on horseback, all that was in their view were blankets of white covering the somnolent grounds.
“Achoo!, curse this bloody weather!” bellowed out a short, round faced man.
“Cease that incommodious ruckus Henry.” Scorned the taller, pointy faced man.
Henry threw a deathly scowl in Charlie’s direction, as if a thunder cloud was glowering the earth below it. As the men continued on horseback, silence once again fell upon them. Although comfortable, there was still tension between the two. The horses’ hooves echoed along the dross path in peculiar harmony like the beats of a drum. The wing blasted through letting out a human wail. Whipping his head around aggressively, Henry looked behind him with unreasonable doubt. Noticing his paranoia, Charlie grinned like the devil and reached over to grab the man's attention.
“Why Henry you look frightened,” he snidely says, “you aren’t scared of a bit of wind are you?”
“Of course not ya vazey!” He shouts back with a slight pitch rise in his voice.
Once again both men fall silent.
Ensuing, Charlie opens his minuscule gob “Have you heard the tale of tempête folle?”
“No I haven’t, do tell.” He retaliates in a theatrical vexed tone.
Charlie darkens his expression, his demeanour changing into nothing but solemnity.
“Tempête folle, a cursed storm that harbingers evil to any man who dares step into her eye. Those who are unfortunate enough to peer in are said to change completely, their true inner sins revealed.
“They describe her as a twirl of perfect ballet dancers shrouded in darkness with a windswept grey. She dances to the roar of a heavy drum, as if heaven and hell itselfs are intertwining while she calls lightning to crash down upon her stage. For she was honour bound, to appear when a compass needed the music of the wind to send its needle full round.”
Tense as the atmosphere was, it shattered into millions of pieces as Henry let out the most boisterous laughter a man could fathom. Moments after the exasperating laughter died down, both men notice an abnormal stone formation in the vanguard. Each sepia stone and boulder were placed intentionally as if every one of them had a crucial significance.
“Let’s rest here,” Charlie said.
“Look,” Henry pointed, "ya notice the strange pattern those stones are in?”
Ignoring the pudgy man, the lankier one rolled his deep ocean eyes to the point they might get cemented eternally. Leaping off their mighty umber stallions, their boots crunched on the earth below them with each step they took. Holding leather reins in their grubby hands the men made their way to a deceased once stately tree; it stood naked and bare as its arms outstretched in all directions, like showing off to the world as a macabre crucified skeleton. Tying off the reins with an indestructible knot, both men haggardly trudged over to an immense boulder and plopped themselves down on the earth before them.
“Yuck, what is that smell?,” Henry grimmanced, “smells like my dead aunt.”
“Look,” Charlie nods over, “that smell is coming from whatever carcass that is.”
“Disgusting ya dead boomer!” he shrieked towards the carcass.
A low, long rumble resonated high in the sky followed by a sudden ear-splitting crack. Cranking their heads upended, both men noticed meagre clouds dyed a type of grey that can make any quarry stone illustrious.
“Seems like Beaker is nearby,” Henry mumbled out.
“Do you ever wonder what happened to the bloke when he went missing?” the other man retorted.
“Nah,” he snorted with dismissal, “That Beaker was a strange one I heard, always had this strong passion for storms.”
“Right, he was the one who became known for going out searching for that damned fable but never returned.” Charlie said.
“Serves him right!” Henry guffawed.
In due time the men cease their peaceful rest, each standing with a groan of opposition as their legs seem to want to stay rooted to the ground. Gathering their mounts, they once again set off back onto the balor path nearing a small settlement ahead of them. The small settlement slept quietly as though nothing lived there; once full of a tight-knit community now lays a snapped string ghost town. Blasting through the small settlement with astounding speed, the men holt their rampage not long after.
“Which way?” Henry asked.
“I think left,” Charlie replied dubiously, “No it’s right.”
“Are ya sure Charlie?” He asked.
Giving an assertive nod, the men raced down the path unwaveringly as if their beliefs depended on it. A continuous beat of drums played along as ashened clouds covered the skies, demanding to rule the space as its own. As the horses slowed their pace, the men glanced around at the fixture around them only to realise they had chosen wrong.
“Ya chose the wrong way drongo!,” Henry screeched with an enraged voice, “We’re lost cause ya-”
The furious pudgy man was interrupted by a flash of heavenly white that then played the anthem of hell. Heaven’s tears descended down upon the parched earth as each drop weighed an infinite amount of sorrow, forming a blanket of clear they knew all and sundry belonged together. A gust of air blasted through as if it’s in a rush to beat everything.
“I can’t see a bloody thing!,” Henry shouted, “Where are we even?”
“Don’t worry about that now, we need to take shelter,” Charlie shouted back, “follow me, hurry!”
The men continue to push through the storm supposedly playing tug of war against the storm. Suddenly ceasing all movements, the men spot a figure in motion just further ahead. The anomalous man paces in circles; joining along with a hidden rhythm that is yet to be revealed. He shouts with implausible merriment as though he finally endowed a long lived aim even though nothing seems accomplished.
“It’s it, It’s it!,” he howeld joyously towards the storm.
“She is here for I am here, join with me for she shows my breath of life!” He howls again with vigorous joy as he chants the same tune habitually.
As the men watch at a distance, they unspokenly converse with each other desperately trying to deduce who the peculiar mad man is and what he is doing. Excogitating with ultimately nothing, they plead for the strange man to seek shelter with them from the amaranthine storm.
Beaker turns and shouts with a voice that could put the gods to shame,“Never!, for I am part of her as she is part of me, we dance in an endless intertwine to the sounds of her divine melody for she shows the inner fall from grace!”
Turning, he charges deeper within the cursed rage as though he never wanted to be separated from her dangerous embrace ever and again. The other two men endeavoured the path Beaker rushed into, although having to halt for the reason of the storm enhancing her sinister dance. With lack of choice and no possibility, the men pivot on their stallions and proceed to take one’s self to the safety of a shelter from the unfaltering tempest. Finally, in the wake of the never ending Tempête folle, her enemy reposses her throne bringing back the eternal clear oceans.
“Should we try searching for that bloke again now the weather is clear?” Henry asked.
“Yeah, we’ll give it one more shot.” Charlie retorts agreeingly.
They cast around the drenched earth, numerously wandering back and forth only to find no trace of the man. Kindred to the moon, he vanished in daytime only now and forever never to be seen or heard of again. Facing each other with equally stunned expressions, both men realise that the peculiar man that stood once before them was the one and the same missing man from the myth itself.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Henry gasped, “was that really Breaker?”
“No, it can’t be-” interrupting him, Henry tugged at Charlie’s arm.
“Forget the nut, we’ve overstayed our welcome already.” he declares.
The taller man swiftly agrees, letting no ounce of doubt show that his shorter friend was wrong in anyform. In the midst of their experience, the men expressed their still state of awe and bewilderment as they came to another silenced agreement to depart from where they are. Tracing the smirched stallion’s cloven hoofs the men back tracked their mistakened path. Ensuring the other path is faultless, they ride their mounts at a nimble pace; never once looking as trepidation of the unknown rattled their very being.
Rationale (797 words.)
The purpose of my text is to provide evidence of what we have been learning throughout the semester through the use of a creative task being; a short story, short film, or a plan for an original musical. Additionally, my text showcases the Australian gothic genre by showing how the fear of unknown culture and setting were perceived through the perspective of two open minded colonists during the time of Colonial Australia. The theme conveyed in the short story discusses the message of the fear of the unknown; specifically unknown culture and unknown setting. In relation, the short story associates with the Australian gothic genre through the use of rural isolation; this is shown through the setting of my short story being the bushlands or outback in the Northern Territory. It also relates to the genre by showcasing the mystery and supernatural threat that poses the two colonial characters through their journey in the Australian setting; this being the urban mythed storm (Tempête folle) and the character himself Beaker.
The conventions I used in the short story were grotesque or an uncanny setting, home of the strange and weird, Isolation, and the Australian language. The effects of using the grotesque setting convention in my story shows how a character can be vulnerable in such an unusual environment and isolated or entrapped the world around said character is, for example the two characters travelling through desolated bushlands. In addition, the effects of the “home of the strange and weird” convention brings light to the unusual parts of the story; for instance the character Beaker disappears with the cursed storm without any trace left for the other characters to find, this does invoke uncertainty and confused emotions within them and can bring those same emotions out with the reader.
The effect of the isolation convention can cause negative events or experiences throughout the story whether that be with the setting, character, or even a culture; for example the character Beaker chases the cursed storm because of his aim to find his true identity. This is caused by Beaker being isolated from his Aboriginal culture by colonists who made a twisted version of the original ancestral being, Mamaragan the god of thunder and lightning from the Gunwinggu people. The effect of the Australian language convention gives the idea of where the characters and story take place in and who the individuals might be; for example the character Henry speaks Aussie larrikin and informs you that he is a mischievous and rowdy young person but has a good heart. The subverted convention that was used was weather, specifically summer weather, instead the short story uses winter weather which causes the effects of a gloomy and threatening atmosphere and tells the reader about an upcoming event; for example the winter weather has caused a dangerous storm to form that threatens the characters.
The other texts studied that influenced this text were The Bush Undertaker by Henry Lawson (1892) and Picnic at Hanging rock by Joan Lindsay (1967). Imagery was one of the main inspirations used throughout the text because of the descriptive language used to create and form an event, setting, character, or experience. For example, “The old man shaded his eyes and peered through the dazzling glow of that broiling Christmas day. He stood just within the door of a slab-and-bark hut situated upon the bank of a barren creek; sheep-yards lay to the right, and a low line of bare, brown ridges formed a suitable background to the scene.”-(TBU, Page 1, 1892). The imagery this gives is of an old man standing in a doorway of a hut made from wood and bark looking out into the bushlands of Australia during a hot summer day. Additionally, the symbolism in Picnic at Hanging Rock was another influence used in my text; for instance the large jagged rocks that some of the girls go exploring on and end up missing symbolises nature’s retributive properties and how it holds the power of the unknown.
The main influence of the time my story is set in was the social anxieties of Colonial Australia together with the impact this had on Aboriginal culture and people. This is represented through the character Beaker who is a half aboriginal man aiming to find his true identity within this cursed storm. Originally, the story of this cursed storm was derived from an Aboriginal ancestral being called Mamaragan who was the god of thunder and lightning among the Gunwinggu people. Although because of colonists imposing their own cultural values at the time, this led to the ancestral being being turned into a twisted tale of a cursed storm who is seen as a woman figure that harbingers evil and reveals a person's true inner self and inner sins.
References:
Aboriginal culture and history—Aboriginal cultural capability toolkit. (n.d.). VPSC. Retrieved 2 June 2022, from https://vpsc.vic.gov.au/html-resources/aboriginal-cultural-capability-toolkit/aboriginal-culture-history/
An introduction to the australian gothic—Reader’s digest. (n.d.). Retrieved 2 June 2022, from https://www.readersdigest.co.uk/culture/books/an-introduction-to-the-australian-gothic
Copy of the bush undertaker—Lessons. (n.d.). Blendspace. Retrieved 2 June 2022, from https://www.blendspace.com/lessons/yJt6U_Bgcy2pAA/copy-of-the-bush-undertaker
Fact sheet: Aboriginal stone arrangements | first peoples - state relations. (n.d.). Retrieved 2 June 2022, from http://www.firstpeoplesrelations.vic.gov.au/fact-sheet-aboriginal-stone-arrangements
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