The Silent Country (16 page)

‘I’m sleeping on the verandah,’ announced Drago, dragging his sleeping bag up the steps. ‘A roof and a floor, what luxury.’

‘I might sleep in the kitchen, stoke the fire up,’ said Johnny. ‘We’ve got porridge and powdered milk with golden syrup for breakfast.’

Colin helped Marta put up the tent for herself and Helen. Topov was having another rum and telling Peter about a filming experience in Russia. Peter sat staring into the fire holding his drink and not speaking.

‘Are you putting up your tent?’ Marta asked Colin.

‘No, I think I’ll share the verandah with Drago. It’s easier.’

Topov was the last to go to bed. He had started singing to himself, quietly at first but soon his singing grew more lusty until Drago and Johnny shouted at him to be quiet. His gait was unsteady as he headed to the caravan.

It was after midnight, the ground cold and the air still. Everyone was asleep. Suddenly there came a cry, a howl. Colin, a light sleeper, sat up. Whatever it was it could be some distance away as sound carried far in the clear night. The cry came again and Helen scrambled out of her tent.

‘What’s that? Who’s there?’

‘It’s nothing, Helen. It’s a long way away,’ whispered Colin from the verandah. ‘Probably some animal, maybe a dingo.’

‘I don’t like it. I’m not staying out here to be eaten by wild animals.’ With that she pulled a blanket and a pillow from the tent and marched to the caravan. ‘I’m sleeping in there on the other bunk. And locking the door.’

Marta scrambled out of the tent. ‘What is it?’

Colin got up and went to her. ‘It’s all right, Marta. It’s probably a wild dog. You know, a dingo. I’ve never heard one before.’

‘Get Johnny’s gun,’ she said.

‘Go to sleep. There’s nothing dangerous out here,’ mumbled Drago.

‘He’s right,’ whispered Colin. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘I don’t like being out here on my own. I’m coming on the verandah too.’ She grabbed her sleeping bag and followed Colin back onto the creaking wooden verandah, put her bag close to his and wiggled into it, pulling it up to her nose.

Colin smiled at her. ‘You look snug. I’ll bring you tea in bed in the morning.’

Colin was up early and took a bucket to the spring at the little soak hole and carried it back to the stove. Johnny had the fire stoked up and roaring.

‘I’m bathing in hot water this morning,’ said Colin cheerfully.

Helen appeared with her hat draped in a fine veil. ‘The flies drive me mad.’

Everyone was now resigned to living with the small black bush flies that glued themselves to clothes and sought the corners of eyes, mouths and nose, but they all hated them.

‘And how did you sleep, Helen?’ asked Johnny with a faint grin.

‘There is no need to smirk, thank you. I took the other bunk and felt far safer than out here on the ground with wild dogs. Apart from Topov’s snoring, I slept well.’

Topov appeared looking rumpled, complained of a headache and demanded coffee. Without consulting him, Drago took a few pictures of the deserted homestead and the graves before they left. Topov, if he noticed, made no comment. Marta and Colin travelled with Peter, as usual.

‘You’re very quiet, Peter, did you not sleep well?’ asked Marta.

‘Only when the silly old man stopped singing,’ he said dourly.

‘He was telling you some long story,’ said Colin.

‘A fairy story,’ said Peter.

‘What do you mean, Peter?’ asked Marta.

‘I don’t believe anything he says. I think he is all bullshit.’ He bit his lip and clearly didn’t want to discuss it anymore.

Their water and petrol were low. Johnny joked they might have to run the cars on rum and everyone’s water was rationed. They fervently hoped that they would have no trouble getting water when they got to Boulia.

The Land Rover was in the lead and Johnny squinted at the road ahead. ‘Dust. Hope it’s not one of those crazy dust storms, tornado things you hear about.’ He pulled over to confer with the others as they came alongside. ‘Lookit that. What do you make of that big red cloud. A storm?’ he asked.

‘Could be a willy willy. I’ve heard about them,’ said
Colin.‘But they’re normally a big pillar or column of dust whirling in the sky.’

‘What do we do?’ asked Marta. ‘Where to go? It’s a huge cloud.’

‘Let’s pull off the road,’ said Peter. ‘Maybe get out the tents and anything that we can cover ourselves with. It’s moving slowly.’

They all worked feverishly to cover the vehicles with tents and tarpaulins, anchoring them as best they could.

‘As soon as it gets closer, get inside, put handkerchiefs, cloths, shirts, hats, over your faces,’ said Drago.

‘Cover cameras,’ instructed Topov.

They waited and in a short time the great dust cloud hovering above the road was revealed to be dust churned by a large mob of cattle. The beasts plodded along, seemingly at their own pace and whim. As they drew closer two men at the head of the herd rode over to investigate the strange convoy battened down beside the track. The filmmakers swiftly flung off their dust protectors and Topov called for the small camera to capture the passing cattle.

Peter hailed the riders. ‘Hoy there, where’re you going?’

‘Moving five hundred head of fats for market. We’re taking it slow, keep up their condition. Not much water about this season,’ said one of the men.

‘Where you blokes headed?’ asked the other drover.

Both of the drovers were suddenly riveted by the sight of Marta emerging from a car in her shorts and tight blouse with a bright lipstick smile. While Topov and Drago were busy with the camera, Helen explained they were a filming expedition.

‘Not much out here to film. Where else you going?’

‘Up north,’ said Colin. ‘Darwin and the wilds.’

‘Ah, the Top End. Plenty up there. We was there in the war before shipping out with the army.’

‘Are these your cattle?’ asked Marta.

One of the men, still mounted, yanked off his battered hat as he addressed Marta. ‘Cripes, no. Me and me mate Bill, here, we’re just droving. Suits us fine.’

‘Do you go to the city much?’ she asked. ‘It’s so lonely out here.’

‘Don’t have much time for cities. We like our freedom,’ he answered.

Bill, his face shadowed by his low-brimmed hat, commented, ‘We had our share of excitement in the war, thanks. New Guinea. Now we get our fun by droving.’

‘Is there any water, wells, or anything coming up?’ asked Helen.

One waved an arm. ‘Two miles west, there’s a bore . . . It’s a hot spring. Bloody hot. So be careful. But good enough to boil up for drinking water and throw in the radiator of your cars.’

‘Thanks for that. It’s marked, is it?’ asked Peter.

‘Yeah, there’s a bit of a signpost. We’ll be pushing on then. Good luck with your trip,’ said the other drover, glancing over to where Drago was walking slowly behind some cattle holding the Bolex close to the ground, following the cattle’s feet.

As they watched, the two young veterans headed down the track with their cattle. Johnny sighed. ‘That’s a lot of beef.’

‘Such handsome young men. Imagine, they’ve been to war and now they choose this solitary, uninteresting work,’ said Marta. ‘Such a waste of their lives. Do they not have wives, children?’

‘If they have, they’re stuck at home,’ said Johnny.

Colin was thoughtful. ‘This is what appeals to Australian men . . . going bush, being your own boss, sleeping under the stars, being self-sufficient. Living with the rhythm of the seasons. Well, that’s what people in the city think, but they would never do it themselves.’

‘But now you’re doing it, Colin,’ said Marta seeing the sudden embarrassment on Colin’s face. ‘These country men, they would wilt like flowers in the city.’

‘Come on, let’s hit the road,’ said Drago as Topov headed to the Land Rover. Drago looked cheerful, pleased at the shots he’d captured. Topov had been wary of the large cattle and stayed back, happy to allow Drago to get in close.

The country was still gibber strewn, studded with coarse grey saltbush and canegrass, the track just two grooves, corrugated from the churn of tyres, horses and the tread of cattle. It meandered between ruts gouged by the rush of the wet that spread over the channel country surrounding Boulia. But the group were all feeling happier. They’d found the bore and replenished their water.

Suddenly they came to a line of sandhills. They were long, low and undulating, distorting the perspective of sky and horizon. There were no peaks and troughs and the spindly bushes keeping a toehold in the shifting sand, were stunted by the force of wind that rushed unchecked across the open land. Nothing rose between them and the horizon. There were no shadows, only bright light. The dunes in the foreground were dusty red, paling to silver. Some had patches of thick yellow and grey green herbage. There was no sense of distance, no hint of anything beyond.

At first the travellers became excited at their initial glimpse of what appeared to be cliffs rising from sparkling waters. When the elusive sight came no closer they realised it was only a mirage that glinted between sand and sky. As the light changed so did the sandhills, their contours and colours becoming soft or flint hard.

‘Beautiful, but a harsh place to be lost,’ commented Marta.

A dust storm had recently passed through and as well as burying the track in parts, it muffled all sound. There
were no birds, no trees, no semblance of anything having ever lived here. The glare of the setting sun burned into their eyes, forcing the drivers to squint.

Johnny was in the lead now driving the Dodge and whether it was a sudden lack of attention, tiredness or frustration, he ploughed too fast into a bank of sand. In seconds the vehicle was bogged, sunk in the dribbling sand that seemed intent on burying the heavy car. They all piled out of their vehicles and in dismay studied the Dodge that appeared to have settled in comfortably for an extended rest in the desert.

They tried to dig it out with their one small shovel but the sand poured in as quickly as it was dug out. When Topov insisted on getting behind the wheel to try and drive the Dodge out, the wheels dug in even more deeply.

‘We need sheets of iron, or something to put under the wheels,’ said Peter.

‘Why don’t we get some of the bushes, lay them under the tyres,’ suggested Drago.

It was hot work and though it looked like the matting of chopped spinifex and grass might do the job, the Dodge remained firmly in place.

‘Let’s try to pull her out with the Land Rover,’ said Peter. ‘We just have to be careful it doesn’t get stuck too.’

‘How far away is Boulia to go and get help?’ asked Johnny.

‘Too far for the moment. And I don’t think that they would send out a tow truck,’ said Helen sarcastically. ‘We’ll have to do the best we can.’

As the day dwindled it seemed they’d never extricate the Dodge. Over a cup of billy tea they discussed the options. Topov glared at them all, obviously fed up with the whole situation and he grabbed the Bolex and the rifle and strode away. ‘I take picture. Lost people in desert. Maybe Topov hunt food.’

There was a bit of muttering at his arrogance and unhelpfulness, but most of them were glad he’d stopped giving ineffectual directions and advice.

‘He might be the one needing to be rescued,’ muttered Peter.

The Land Rover strained, but it just didn’t have the oomph to do the job. Johnny slumped dejectedly over the wheel. Everyone had been pushing, pulling or digging and they all fell by the wayside, panting and dejected.

‘This is looking to be a bit serious,’ Johnny commented to Colin.

‘The rule is – stay by the car. Everyone knows that. Topov is crazy to set off out there. Do you think we should look for him?’ worried Colin as he sat in the shade of the caravan.

‘Sod him,’ said Johnny, stalking off to talk to Peter.

Marta slid beside Colin and slipped her hand into his. ‘I’m scared.’

‘It will be all right. If the worst comes to the worst, some of us will have to drive into Boulia in the Land Rover and get help.’

‘You told me people die out here.’

‘We’re supposed to be on a main road . . . well,’ he smiled, ‘a track between outposts. Someone must come along. People live out there somewhere.’ He swung an arm at the desolate surroundings.

‘Why would they? You mean Aborigines?’

‘I suppose so, though I think they’re nomadic. But there are far-flung cattle stations around. Those two ex-diggers we met, where were their cattle from? Who are they working for?’

Marta shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine. You would have to be desperate, crazy, running away from a crime, to live out here.’

Colin was thoughtful. ‘Yes. It’s lonely. Must be tough.
But I’m beginning to think I’ve had some of the nicest times of my life on this trip.’

Marta cocked her head and gave a coquettish smile. ‘Really? Like what?’

Colin hesitated, then grinned. ‘Swimming in the creek with you, sitting round the campfire, looking at the stars, just talking to you. It’s been nice. When I look back on all this, I’ll remember being with you. Seeing you cry at the graves, how you slogged on through all those things Topov had you do . . . I’d love to see you really act, Marta.’