It had not rained again since the previous night.   However, the village was still awash in mud.   And glancing up at the angry black clouds Garbarla hoped they would not be drenched.   He knew that by tribal law, once a corroboree had commenced it could not be stopped for something as trivial as rain.   ‘Even torrential rains!’ he thought, hoping the blue gum grove would not be reduced to a mire around them over the next few hours as lightning began to flash in the distance.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that the whole circle of squatting men was staring at him, Garbarla looked up.   And for the first time realised Weari-Wyingga was talking to the men, telling them his “solution” to the problem of Woo.

“In his visit to the Land of Dreaming, Garbarla met his father who told him we must use the didgeridoo to call the demon Woo to us.   If played correctly the melody can be irresistible to the demon.   The magic lore of our tribe tells how didgeridoos can be use to drive Woo from our village.   As was done last night.   But until now we have had no legend of calling Woo to us with the didgeridoo.   Now we have received word back from the nearby Itowro tribe…”   The old man stood slightly to one side, and for the first time Garbarla saw the young man seated near him.

“Thomas Jabir,” Weari-Wyingga introduced the young man.

Grinning broadly, Thomas stepped toward the front of the circle of men, facing them.   He seated himself cross-legged before a didgeridoo and began playing.   He played in a strange, soulful manner, which Garbarla had never heard the didgeridoo played in before.   He made the didgeridoo sing in a strangely high, almost alto style, in defiance of its usual deep bass moan.   At times the hollowed-out log sounded like a saxophone, then a trumpet, or a cornet, or all three at once.

‘What wouldn’t the Melbourne or Sydney Symphony Orchestras give to have this maestro playing for them?’ thought Garbarla.   He wondered how a man who looked barely thirty could be such a virtuoso.