The Silent Country (38 page)

‘It sounds an intriguing place. I’ll have to go there now and film it. I wonder what Topov was trying to film?’ said Veronica.

‘I don’t think you’ll ever know that. But you’ll need a permit because once you cross from the Kakadu side of the river to the other side you’re in Arnhem Land.’

‘Yes. I understand. I’m working with Jamie McIntosh, I believe he can help me there.’

‘Ah, then you’ll be all right.’ Collette flipped to the last page of the file. ‘There’s one last statement here. Apparently all Mr Topov’s personal possessions were handed over to his business partner, Olga Konstantinova.’
Collette closed the file. ‘That’s it. It was a long time ago. I don’t know that you’ll find out anymore.’

Veronica knew her friend at the archives was right, unless, of course, they could speak with Marta. But she wanted badly to see the country that had so attracted Topov and which had killed him.

Dougie went back to the television station and Veronica ate lunch in a restaurant in the middle of town, marvelling at the variety of delicious food. As she walked through the CBD afterwards she spotted an art gallery with a poster in the window for an Arnhem Art Exhibition. She went in and was immediately transported to a world unlike any other she’d ever seen. The vibrancy and energy of the colours, the sense of place, affected her quite unexpectedly. While the style was what she could only think of as Aboriginal abstract, she could see the ranges and the strange jump-up rock formations, the rivers and the billabongs. What she’d thought of as traditional Aboriginal art with its distinctive dots and patterns was nothing like this. In these paintings pinks, purples, yellows, greens and blues were used in a strong and confident manner. As she studied them further, she saw stylised interpretations of birds, crocodiles and people. Some of the other paintings were more muted, dreamy images of the landscape as if seen through mist, or soft light, or perhaps, memory.

The woman staffing the gallery came over to her. ‘Can I help you? Or are you just looking?’

‘Just looking. This is amazing work, so different. Where’s it from?’ asked Veronica.

‘Several centres in Arnhem Land, as well as Roper River, a community at Ngukurr, Yolngu and there are several small family groups who work out of their settlements. Stunning, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. I love these.’ She picked up a multicoloured, finely woven basket from a display.

‘The Yolngu are master weavers. They dye strips of pandanus leaves to weave into all kinds of practical and pretty things. Look at these bead-like necklaces – they’re made from seeds, fish vertebrae and shells.’

Veronica bought a necklace for herself and a set of beautiful placemats for Sue and a basket for her mother. She really longed to buy a painting, but was so overwhelmed by all the different styles she’d seen, she decided to ask Jamie’s advice.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked, when she rang him. His voice was warm, which made Veronica feel it was more a personal than a professional question.

‘I’ve got some very surprising news.’ She filled him in on the death of Topov.

Jamie let out a deep breath. ‘Tragic. Where was he taken?’

‘At a place called Wild Man’s Crossing.’

‘I know it. South Alligator River. It’s probably even more dangerous now than it was then because of the recent increase in crocodile numbers.’ He paused and she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘I suppose you want to go there?’

‘Of course. It sounds as though this is the end of the road, as far as the story of the filmmakers goes, so we’ll need to film it.’

‘When do you want to go out there? I’ll have to let the locals know we want to cross the river into their land and film.’

‘Thanks. Well, if I don’t have any more leads, there’s not a lot of point marking time here in Darwin – much as I’m enjoying it. Dougie is on standby, so I can go to Wild Man’s Crossing as soon as you can get away.’

‘Dougie? Not Eddie?’

‘I’ll explain later,’ said Veronica. ‘Say, I was wondering if you could help me buy a painting. I’d love to have
something to remind me of the Territory. But I’m a bit confused. Every place I see has wonderful art, or so it seems to me. But so much of it is so different and I don’t know what’s good and what’s tourist stuff.’

‘Ah, you’re right, some of the local art is wonderful and some is rubbish. The Western Desert art was the big breakthrough but not many artists work on bark anymore and now some of the contemporary art is very different from the old school. You need to talk to Mum, or better, Great Aunt Nellie in Katherine.’

‘Your mother’s aunt? Her mother’s sister?’

‘Yes. Funnily enough, when Nellie went into a nursing home in Katherine she was taken to the recreation centre. Having never been to school she didn’t want to know about knitting and playing cards but she took to drawing and colouring in. Then she wanted her own paper and crayons and she started doing some amazing stuff. Mum has since set her up with proper canvases and acrylic paints.’

‘And she’d never painted before? What does she paint?’ asked Veronica.

‘Her country and the old stories she was told, before people lived on the station or the mission came. She enjoys painting and it keeps her happy.’

‘What happens to her artworks? Are they any good?’

‘They’re different. She doesn’t have anyone to influence her. Mum gave her books on Aboriginal art and showed her around a gallery. But Auntie just does her own thing. Mum wants to take her back to Brolga Springs so that she paint her country the proper way.’

‘Gosh, Jamie, that’d be really moving.’

‘You talk to Mum about her,’ said Jamie.

Veronica smiled. ‘Okay, I will. I’m doing the interview with Doris tomorrow morning.’

‘I’ll be in touch about the trip to Wild Man’s Crossing. Hopefully we can get away Thursday morning.’

‘Thanks, Jamie. I’ll alert Dougie.’

The following day she and Dougie went to film the interview with Doris at her home. Dougie was quite spellbound by Doris’s stories and the allotted two hours sped by. Veronica already had more footage than she needed, but Dougie was finding lots of good cutaways and Doris was in the mood to talk so Veronica wanted to hear more about her childhood at Brolga Springs and how her life changed after she went to Melbourne.

Finally Doris rose and apologised, saying that she had to go to a meeting. She hugged Veronica and added, ‘Jamie mentioned you’re interested in the local art. Would you like to see a couple of Auntie’s paintings?’

Doris led them to her study and pointed to a wall hung with bold and dramatic canvases. Some were sweeping landscapes seen from an old woman’s perspective. Other paintings were crammed with animals and plants, another was a frieze of figures depicting mundane tasks. Her choice of bright, strong primary colours amazed Veronica.

‘They’re unique. A genre or category of their own. Folk art, naïve art, tribal things, just wonderful,’ said Veronica. ‘I love them. But you need hours to absorb them.’

‘Then you’ll have to come back. I like to sit with a cup of tea and lose myself in them. They take you away to another place,’ said Doris.

‘I’d love to come back, if I may.’

Doris hugged her. ‘Any time. Consider yourself part of the family.’

Andy listened as Veronica told him what she’d unearthed in the archives about Topov’s death.

‘Poor old bugger. No-one deserves to be eaten by a bloody great lizard.’

‘I’ve got a pretty good idea of where it happened so I figure we should go and film the location.’

‘Be careful. There are probably even more crocs around now.’

‘So I hear. There wasn’t much in the police report. Everyone in the group was interviewed and corroborated the story, but now that I think about it, there’s wasn’t an interview with Colin. I wonder why that was. I’ll double-check. And it seems all Topov’s personal effects were handed over to Olga.’

‘And we don’t know what became of Madame Olga?’ said Andy thoughtfully.

‘No. That’s another angle we could chase. So, I’m heading out to Wild Man’s Crossing.’

‘How do you like the outback?’ asked Andy.

‘It’s amazing. Beautiful. Intriguing. I must say it’s quite swept me up.’

‘Hmm,’ said Andy. ‘Now, do you want to hear my news?’

‘Oh, sorry. I’ve been caught up in my stuff. Marta? Did you have any luck?’

‘Sort of. We’ve found her listed with the Screen Actors’ Guild of America in 1959. Of course that address is out of date . . .’

‘That’s exciting. It would be great if we can find her. There are so many questions to ask!’ exclaimed Veronica.

Veronica felt better equipped than for her first outing with Jamie as she packed her backpack for the trip to Wild Man’s Crossing. This time she and Dougie travelled with Jamie in his National Parks four-wheel drive.

For Veronica the journey was enjoyable and companionable as she and Jamie talked while Dougie sat in the back, staring out the window, his iPod in his ear. They
turned off the main highway and were soon in the dramatic landscape of rocky red escarpments broken by splashes of vivid green palms, cycads and tawny spinifex. Veronica fell silent, trying to imagine how the vehicles in Topov’s expedition picked their way through this same country with barely a road to follow.

Jamie had warned her there’d be no hospitality like Rick and Vicki had offered at Brolga Springs this time. ‘There’s a basic roadhouse and store with a few motel rooms, unless you want to camp. But for the short time we’ll be here, camping doesn’t seem worth the trouble,’ he said. ‘Sure to meet some colourful characters, though.’

‘I’m a bit over colourful characters,’ confessed Dougie. ‘Seems I’m always filming them for one reason or another. I was told they were people who had opted out of the mainstream, who like to keep to themselves, be known by one name and yet they’re happy to be on camera and talk for an hour.’

Veronica laughed. ‘I know what you mean. The really interesting people don’t want to be filmed at all.’

Dougie wanted to stop along the way to film the landscape. He was so enthused that Veronica agreed to the breaks. Once, while Dougie set up the camera and filmed scenic shots as well as close-ups of plants and tiny marsupial footprints in the soil, Jamie led her a short distance into the scrub, away from the road.

‘Turn your back to the track. Take a deep breath, close your eyes,’ he said.

Veronica did so and then he asked. ‘What do you feel, hear?’

After a few minutes she said, ‘I hear silence. But now I can hear all kinds of things – buzzing of insects, birds a long way away, the scrunch of an animal scratching under a bush or something, wind sort of whispering.’ She stood a moment longer, then opened her eyes. ‘Amazing how
alert your senses get out here. There isn’t the bombardment of city sounds, yet it’s a busy world when initially it looks . . . empty and silent.’

Jamie smiled. ‘Yes. You’re starting to attune to the landscape.’

‘Is this how it’s done? Is this how you teach people about the country and what it means?’ she asked.

Jamie nodded. ‘It’s a starting point. I used to walk with Billy blindfolded, holding his hand, to give him a sense of what was around him. Then you have to learn to use your eyes properly, because you’ll start to see small things, details that surprise and enchant.’ He stopped and spread his arms. ‘I walk along a city street and things just pass me by. Here I walk through what looks like empty scrubby rubbish country to some, but I see beauty and layers of life that have continued for hundreds and hundreds of years.’ He looked at her. ‘It’s a learning process. Especially for those of us who grew up some place else.’

‘Yes, I can understand that. But then it begins to make sense?’

‘Yes, it’s as though somewhere there’s a switch that connects us to where we come from and belong, no matter where we’ve been. It turns on and you just know. This is the right place. I find the land seems to speak to me.’

As they drove, Veronica thought about the dichotomy of Jamie’s double inheritance. His life in Melbourne and his life out here were poles apart and yet he apparently fitted in so easily to both. She stole a look at his profile, his fine features, slim brown hands on the steering wheel, the slope of his shoulders and she tried to imagine him naked save for a loincloth and white clay paint, dancing by firelight. He caught her studying him and she looked the other way, hoping her face wasn’t flushed.

Dougie was worried. Scattered clouds had drifted
in, shading the sun, fading the brilliant colours of the landscape.

‘Will this cloud last long?’ he asked.

Jamie glanced at the sky. ‘No. It’s between seasons, so you get the odd cloudy day, but it’s not going to set in. Not like the build-up of the wet.’

A high wind was blowing as they rolled into the roadhouse at Wild Man’s Crossing. Several battered and muddy vehicles laden with swags, tents and fishing gear were parked out the front. As she got out and stretched, Veronica was dismayed to hear a jukebox playing and raucous laughter coming from the bar. Jamie turned to her and said:

‘Wait here, I’ll go get the keys. Our rooms are at the back.’

‘Jeez, this looks a bit rough,’ said Dougie.

‘We’re only here a night.’

‘Might’ve been better to pitch a tent or thrown down a swag away from here,’ said Dougie.