Meeting An Aborigine  I'm in a sparsely forested area with distinct New South Wales vegetation. I'm with another man. I see the trees that the aborigines have used as shelter. Ahead of me in the distance I see the outline of several aboriginal figures watching me from behind trees. An aboriginal man approaches me from behind and on my right. He is completely gray: covered in ash. I feebly try to speak in a way to which he is accustomed: my attempt to use aboriginal jargon. I say, "G'day mate, 'the native'?" This is a greeting and inquiry. He understands me and replies, speaking English. Other aborigines come forth. We're camping. Four or five of the men are white, and my age. They have joined the group. I wonder about their background and homes, but I don't think it's right to ask them about it because that would degrade their status as aborigines. One of the young men talks of a septic tank, and others comment on holes for fecal disposal. Another man talks about Chai tea. When he asks, I say there is tea where I come from. There is a large fire; it is dark out. There are several large pieces of wood in the fire, and the coals are red hot. I add more wood on top of these. I dump water out near the sleeping area, and then realize I should have dumped it away from camp. I dumped some on my sleeping mat. I kneel down and, upon opening my sleeping bag, see that there are many ants in it.