The Silent Country (17 page)

She smiled at him. ‘Me too. I am quite good you know. But I am used to performing the classics in a refined theatre . . . This is . . . nonsense.’ Quickly she added, ‘I don’t mean you. It’s Topov . . . He makes it up as he goes along. But, sometimes, surprisingly, what seems silly at the time can look quite different on the screen. Editors are the gods. Provided the cinematographer has got it right.’

‘Drago seems to know what he’s doing,’ said Colin.

‘He does. But it’s frustrating for him being relegated to second fiddle unless Topov allows him to film something.’

‘Topov is the boss – director, producer, cameraman . . .’ Colin sighed.

‘Yes, I know, but who knows what will come out of this? We haven’t even got to the Northern Territory yet.’

Colin hadn’t let go her hand. ‘Marta, whatever does happen, will we still be friends afterwards? See each other?’

She looked at him, a big smile replacing her fears. ‘I hope so. Who knows?’ Then the smile faded. ‘I’ve seen things change, when your life seemed so safe. And then . . .’ she shrugged. ‘Live for the minute is perhaps the best way, eh?’

At her words Colin flung his normal propriety to one side and leaning forward, impulsively kissed her. It was a
quick, spontaneous kiss, but he was unprepared for the effect it had on him. Marta, too, seemed surprised for she suddenly grabbed his head, pulling his face close to hers, and kissed him strongly and quickly before breathlessly moving away.

‘We must be careful. Do not fall in love with me, Colin.’

Such a thought hadn’t occurred to Colin. He hadn’t planned to kiss her and certainly didn’t consider falling in love. Marta was a fantasy, an unreachable creature. But in this moment when she’d seemed vulnerable he’d seized the chance, shocked by his daring.

‘It’s just where we are, I suppose,’ he said softly.

Marta snuggled against him. ‘It’s this country. So terrifying because it’s so big, so . . . unknown. It makes me feel like an ant. It’s beautiful but you feel you can be swallowed up.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Like that.’

There was shouting and they turned to see Topov coming over the rise, the gun over one shoulder, the camera under his arm, dragging something behind him.

He strode from the dune, singing and laughing. ‘Here is Topov! Big hunter!’

‘What is it? What’s he got?’

They all hurried towards him as he walked back to the cars dragging a large bird.

‘What is it? An emu?’

‘Looks more like a turkey of some kind.’

‘We didn’t hear the gun,’ said Johnny. ‘Did you fall over it?’

‘If it died of natural causes, I’m not eating it,’ sniffed Helen.

‘You take picture of Topov,’ he instructed Drago. ‘Still photo, for publicity.’ He struck a pose with the large gangly bird, the rifle and the camera, looking pleased with himself and breaking into self-congratulatory chuckles.
When the photo was taken, everyone asked questions and examined the scrawny long-necked bird with its mottled brown wings. At that moment there was the sound of an engine and a large truck roared into sight. Everyone cheered.

‘Thank God,’ sighed Marta.

The truck stopped and a beefy man in a torn shirt got out followed by an Aborigine in old trousers held up by a leather belt. Both were grinning broadly.

‘Hey, Topov! The great white hunter. Greetings!’ boomed the big man. The Aborigine slapped his leg and chuckled. The driver took off his battered hat and shook Topov’s hand, then grinned at the group, who were speechless. ‘G’day. I’m Fred. Found this dopey bugger wandering around out there trying to shoot anything that moved.’

‘Did you shoot that bird?’ asked Marta.

Topov handed the bird to Fred. ‘We play little joke.’

‘He wanted to raz you blokes up a bit so I loaned him my bustard.’ He looked at the Dodge. ‘Bogged, eh?’

‘Yes. We have tried everything,’ said Peter, annoyed at Topov for showing off by pretending to be the big hunter when the party was in serious difficulties. ‘We have more pressing things on our mind than jokes.’

Fred crouched down and looked at the Dodge’s wheels. ‘We should be able to yank you out.’ He snapped his fingers at the Aborigine. ‘Wally, go and get the cable. We’ll pull these bastards out of the sand with the truck, okay?’

‘Yeah, boss.’ Wally hurried to the truck.

‘That’ll do the trick. Thanks a lot, Fred,’ said Peter.

‘Very kind of you,’ added Helen. ‘Do you live around here?’

‘Ah, down the track a bit. I gather from Topov that you’re a bit low on grub. Can you hang out till Boulia?’

‘Is there a property, a farm, a station, between here and there?’ asked Helen.

‘There is,’ he said slowly.

‘Then we ask for provision, food, from them. We pay,’ said Topov.

Fred scratched his head. ‘Don’t know that Mac and his missus will have much to spare. Been a bit of a tough season. They’re heading out themselves to stock up on tucker. Help a bloke in a crisis of course, but they only get supplies every six months and it’s that time again. When the wet comes you can be stranded on your place for months.’

‘But we pay,’ insisted Topov.

Helen looked annoyed. ‘He doesn’t get it,’ she said to no-one in particular.

‘Shopping every six months! I couldn’t begin to think of managing that,’ said Marta.

‘We’re down to basic rations,’ added Johnny. ‘What’re you doing with that bustard? Are they good to eat?’

‘Stringy. But you’re welcome to it. That’s Wally’s dinner. But he can go and get himself something else. Once we have you outta this mess we’ll send him off for a goanna or something. Maybe he can find you some eggs, bit of bush tucker, eh?’

‘Yeah, boss. That right boss,’ agreed Wally.

Fred and Wally connected the cable to the Land Rover and the truck, turned on the engines of the vehicles so that the Dodge was eventually pulled out of the sand while Topov filmed the action. Everyone thanked Fred profusely.

Fred handed around his waterbag in the way of a celebration. ‘Save your water. Wally knows where to get more. Enjoy the old bustard. You know how to cook it, right?’

Johnny raised an eyebrow. ‘Stew it? Roast it on the fire?’

‘Chop it up, throw it in the pot with a couple of stones.
When the stones are soft, chuck out the bird and eat the stones!’ Roaring with laughter he gave them a wave, then shouted at Wally who swung himself onto the back of the truck and they drove away, a cloud of dust soon obliterating them.

The party drove as far as they could before dusk, trying to make up the distance, but they had to make one last camp before Boulia.

The bustard dinner was not a great success.

Topov spat bones into the campfire. ‘Johnny, this shit. You buy food at farm.’

‘He can’t,’ snapped Drago, ‘Because they can’t be giving or selling food to every lost and disorganised outfit that passes the gate.’

‘I think Johnny did the best he could with an old bird,’ said Colin.

‘At least there’s wildlife out there,’ said Marta.

‘I think you have to be an Aborigine to find it and catch it,’ said Helen.

Marta stretched languorously, causing Colin to catch his breath and look away. ‘I just hope we get to sleep in a comfortable bed soon.’

Helen didn’t say anything but scraped her plate into the fire. She was still sleeping in the caravan and neither she nor Topov ever made any mention about this arrangement. Secretly Colin was hoping they could all spend an evening in a country pub with hot water. Even a lumpy mattress would be a welcome change from the hard ground.

When they arrived in Boulia, Helen went to the bank while everyone headed straight to the pub for a cold beer. She returned looking grim and drew Topov to one side and they had a heated discussion before Helen strode back into the pub.

‘Enjoy your drink. We won’t be staying here. There’s
a bit of cleared land where we can camp, but I can’t get any money to buy provisions.’

Before she could finish there was a clamour of protest.

Helen held up her hand. ‘It seems that we forgot that it’s Saturday afternoon and the bank is shut. We can’t get any money.’

‘If we didn’t have such rubbish vehicles we wouldn’t have broken down and wasted time,’ said Peter angrily.

‘You’re the business manager, Helen,’ added Drago. ‘We need cash with us. Where’s the money?’

‘We were told it wasn’t safe to carry too much cash. But the locals won’t cash a cheque for a lot of strangers passing through.’

Colin and Marta looked at each other. ‘Very disappointing,’ said Colin.

That night there was no communal gathering around the fire as Peter, Drago and Johnny returned to the pub and Colin and Marta pooled their resources and went to the local Waitis Café. Topov and Helen were already in camp when the others returned.

In the early hours of the morning Colin felt a soft nudge on his shoulder and found Marta bending over him.

‘What is it?’ he whispered.

‘There’s something strange out there. I got up to go to the toilet and when I came back I saw, over there, a strange light.’

‘Not the moon?’

‘No. Though it was big and round. It shimmered and moved around.’

‘Not a car headlight?’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘No. It was in the sky. But low. Very weird. I am frightened.’

Colin sat up. ‘There’s nothing there now. Just a few stars.’

‘It didn’t go out, it suddenly moved very fast, away,
over there,’ pointed Marta. ‘You do believe me, Colin?’ She was shaking, her eyes wide and shocked.

‘Of course. Come on, I’ll take you back to your tent.’

‘I don’t want to be by myself. Bring your sleeping bag, put it in where Helen slept,’ insisted Marta.

‘Sleep in your tent?’ He was about to say what will people think, but threw caution to the wind. ‘All right. I’m sure it was nothing to worry about.’

‘Do you think it was a spaceship?’ Marta held his small pillow as Colin picked up his sleeping bag.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I wish you’d seen it,’ she said.

‘We’ll keep the flap open. You go to sleep and I’ll keep watch. If it comes back I’d love to see it.’

But he soon felt sleepy and after glancing over at Marta, who was now asleep, breathing evenly, her hair splayed across her pillow, he turned on his side and tried to watch the patch of empty sky through the tiny tent entrance.

Colin and Marta were first up and had the fire going and the billy boiling before Helen joined them.

Johnny emerged looking bleary eyed and Marta told him about the odd ball of light she’d seen. He looked skeptical and announced he was going to walk into town. ‘I’ll bring back some bread and eggs and stuff.’

‘How are you going to pay for it?’ asked Colin.

To his shock, Johnny pulled a wad of notes from his pocket. ‘I played cards with a couple of the lads in the bar. I did very nicely.’ He winked and downed his mug of tea and set off for town.

After their first hearty breakfast for weeks, everyone was grateful to Johnny and in a cheerful mood as they packed up, ready to head for the Stuart Highway.

‘Hey, Marta, you know what you saw last night?’ said Johnny as he stowed the kitchen pans. ‘Man in the store
said it was something called the Min Min lights. Turns up every so often.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Colin.

Johnny shrugged. ‘No-one knows . . . Could be space people, though he said the Abos reckon it’s some sort of spirit.’

‘Is it good luck?’ asked Marta.

‘We’ll find out, eh, won’t we,’ said Johnny.

V
ERONICA HAD STARTED HER
second muffin and her third cup of coffee. She knew that she was having too much caffeine, but Colin was so absorbed in telling his story that she didn’t want to break the spell. She also knew that at some stage she would have to get Colin to tell it on camera, but for now she was happy to sit and listen so that she could understand the whole extraordinary chain of events.

Cities recalled, homes in far-off countries, the stresses of urban life, all peeled away like layers of an onion the further the group journeyed. Priorities were basic. The enforced paring down of daily rituals to work and relationships suddenly made life simple in comparison to the
lives they’d left behind. What had gone before, just a few weeks previously, was on hold.