The Silent Country (39 page)

‘I agree. Except that Jamie says that the river and billabongs around here are infested with crocs. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t sleep much,’ said Veronica.

‘This camping area and roadhouse wouldn’t have been here, back then when the group came through,’ said Dougie, looking around.

‘No, there would have been nothing but bush. Do you want to do a bit of a recce before dark?’

‘Yes, and hope that it’s fine in the morning. Do we know exactly the spot where the man was taken?’

‘Not really. Jamie is taking us to the Crossing in the morning.’

They drove round the back past a generator, some forty-four gallon drums overflowing with rubbish, a work shed where two blue heeler dogs were chained and a toilet block. Next to a tall eucalypt tree was a low
building – four basic bedrooms. Jamie handed them each a key.

‘Keep your rooms locked. Pilfering, drunks and wildlife are rampant.’

‘We were thinking we’d like to drive around a bit, just have a look-see about the area, is that possible?’ asked Veronica.

Jamie handed her the car keys. ‘Go for your life. I’ve got to find one of the land owners from the other side of the river and do a bit of paperwork. Just don’t get out of the car anywhere dicey and don’t get off the tracks.’

‘We’ll be an hour or so. If we’re not back in two, come and find us,’ laughed Veronica.

‘Okay. I’ll eat your share of dinner! But seriously that’s how it works out here. Always let people know where you’re going, what your plans are. There’s a log book in the shop which they get visitors to fill in.’

Veronica felt comfortable driving Jamie’s heavy-duty vehicle. She and Dougie headed along the dirt road and then took a turn off along a smaller track.

‘Bit different from city driving,’ commented Dougie as they bumped across deep dried mud ruts from the last wet season.

‘I feel like I’m on safari,’ said Veronica. ‘I love it out here.’

They drove through the scrubby bush stopping once as a large goanna crossed in front of them.

‘He’s beautiful! Look at those markings,’ exclaimed Veronica.

‘He must be a metre and a half long! I bet the minute I get out with the camera he’ll take off.’

‘Of course he will, Dougie. And probably run straight up you. Isn’t that what they do when they’re frightened, run up the nearest upright object thinking it’s a tree?’

‘Hey, look. There’s the river. And there’s the track in. Let’s take a look,’ said Dougie.

Veronica drove slowly towards the river, following the tyre marks made by other vehicles. They reached a rough clearing that held an improvised barbecue plate on a stone base and at the water’s edge they saw a cement landing, sloping into the water.

‘Boat launching spot,’ said Dougie. ‘Must be good fishing.’

‘I wouldn’t be out on the river in this weather,’ said Veronica looking at the trees whipped up by the wind and the turbulent muddy grey stretch of the river.

‘Looks like a washing machine. It’s rough for sure,’ said Dougie. He opened the car door and they realised how strong the wind was as the door was almost wrenched from his hand. ‘This must be beautiful on a calm sunny day. I might just take a shot of this.’

Veronica sat behind the wheel looking at the river and had to agree, this must look idyllic when the water was glassy smooth and the day was sunny.

Dougie tried to hold his camera steady against his shoulder as he started filming. ‘Wind’s too strong, I need the tripod. I’ll just grab a few hand-held shots from the landing.’

Veronica got out of the car and pressed the central locking button, put the keys in her pocket and followed Dougie as he headed to the landing. But as she looked at the murky churning river and heard the howling wind in the trees, she was gripped by a sudden fear. The place was deserted and looked and felt utterly sinister.

‘Dougie, no! Come back,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t go there.’

‘Just be a tick. One shot.’

‘No! Please, Dougie.’ She started to hurry after him and stopped. She simply couldn’t bring herself to take one
more step closer to the river. She glanced around quickly. ‘Dougie! Come back. There’s a crocodile here!’

‘What! Where?’ He stopped, looking around.

‘I know it’s here, quick. Come back to the car!’ Veronica turned back and started running.

Dougie laughed. ‘Come on, how do you know? I can’t see anything.’

‘Dougie, I’m ordering you,’ shouted Veronica. She’d seen pictures of crocodiles and how amazingly fast the reptiles could move on their short legs. Visions of snapping jaws, the horror of being caught in such a mouth, made her start to shake.

Dougie hesitated as Veronica dashed to the car, fumbling with the keys. ‘It won’t open!’ She kept pressing the electronic car key button. ‘Oh, God, we’re locked out!’ She glanced around. With the wind they couldn’t hear any sounds but she was sure that she could feel the presence of the crocodile.

Dougie caught up with her. ‘Why’d you lock it?’

‘I didn’t think, but now it’s jammed or the key has a flat battery.’ She kept clicking the key with no success. ‘Should we climb up on the roof?’

‘What and spend the next two hours sitting there like a pair of dummies? Here let me try.’

He fiddled with the key as Veronica kept telling him to hurry up. Finally there was a click as Dougie manually turned the key and unlocked the doors. Veronica scrambled inside slamming her door shut. ‘Get in Dougie, just hold the camera tightly, I want to get out of here.’ She started reversing quickly.

‘Why’re you so spooked? I’m sure that the river’s too rough for anything to be out there.’

Veronica didn’t answer, relieved to be heading back to the road. Within a few hundred metres they came to a narrow bridge and stopped. ‘You can take your shot from
here, looking back at that landing spot on the bank,’ she said.

Dougie shook his head still feeling bemused and leaned against the railing and lifted the camera to focus. But then he suddenly lowered the camera and pointed at the river. ‘Oh, God, look!’

Veronica peered at the river. In the water was a massive crocodile, its mottled hide the colour of the choppy river. It lifted its large head out of the water and with it’s tail flashing, it swam only a few metres from the landing where Dougie had been standing just minutes before. She caught her breath. The croc looked so evil, so cruel.

‘Man, that must be three and a half metres long!’ breathed Dougie, looking pale. ‘Glad I didn’t hang about. How did you know it was there?’

Veronica was too shaken to answer as they turned back towards the roadhouse.

It was a very different scene the following morning when they headed out after breakfast. The previous night had been noisy with music, laughter, shouting and a fight erupting in the bar. The ruckus continued till the small hours. Now the day was still, clear and sunny and Veronica was looking forward to visiting the notorious Wild Man’s Crossing.

‘Was there a wild man?’ asked Dougie as they drove through the bright warm morning, already promising a hot day.

‘Wild Man Johnson was a buffalo hunter, I’ve been told,’ said Veronica, remembering Collette’s comment.

‘Yes, he was another one of those characters from the old days. He ran some cattle but mixed more with the local tribes people than he did with white people,’ said Jamie. ‘I’m sure he was a visitor to Brolga Springs in the early days. Apparently he’d periodically get on the grog and run amok, hence the nickname.’

‘I wonder what happened to him,’ said Veronica.

‘Hard to say, don’t think he had an official family,’ said Jamie.

‘You mean he had a black wife?’ said Veronica.

‘Probably. It was quite common and another reason he didn’t mix in white society. Anyway his legacy is his name attached to a very notorious spot.’

The road they were now on was graded and seemed well used. As they turned past a ranger station they came to a bitumen parking lot where a tourist bus was parked. Beside it were public facilities, toilets, a picnic shelter and a barbecue. A bus driver in shorts, long white socks and a shirt with a company logo on it was setting out plastic glasses on a picnic table, an Esky of cold drinks beside him for a group of foreign tourists. A pathway wound a short distance to the broad river that glinted benignly in the sun. Even from where they’d stopped Veronica could see the now familiar large yellow ‘Achtung’ beware notice above the zigzag jaws of a croc’s head. These signs seemed to be everywhere in the Top End, even beside the smallest pool of water.

Jamie came over with one of the local tour guides. The girl was dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt with an NT logo.

‘This is Justine, she’s going to take you down the river, give you a bit of a talk about her country on the other side.’

‘You comin’, Jamie?’ asked Justine.

‘Oh, I guess so. See if your spiel is up to scratch.’ He smiled.

‘Spiel? I’m talking true story here, fella,’ she kidded him back.

‘Right. This is Veronica and this is Dougie, they’re making a bit of a documentary for TV.’

‘Yeah, is that so? All right, let’s go.’

‘What about the tourists over there, are they coming with us?’ asked Veronica.

‘Yeah, once I get them rounded up. Backpackers can be a bit hard to organise, sometimes.’ She pointed out her shallow, blunt-nosed aluminium boat with a canopy to shade passengers. There was a narrow portable aluminium walkway from the boat to the small wooden landing on the bank.

‘Walk smartly, don’t linger by the water,’ advised Justine as she ushered them onto the vessel.

Veronica gave Jamie a questioning look and he nodded.

‘Yes, there are a lot of crocs in here.’ He pointed at the opposite bank. ‘Keep your eyes peeled. Several of them will drift to the middle of the river. Justine knows where they are, most of the time.’

Dougie settled himself in the bow with the camera and Jamie sat beside Veronica, waiting for Justine to organise the tourists.

‘This is a great initiative, these indigenous tours,’ said Jamie. ‘You can’t beat the local people talking about their own country. They’ve all come back here from various places and work with the tourists.’

‘There wasn’t work here for them before this?’ asked Veronica.

‘No. Tourism is the way of the future, that’s for sure,’ said Jamie. ‘What the hell?’ He stood up as he heard raised voices.

Veronica swung around. Some of the tourists were at the landing and Veronica watched in horror as they peeled off tops to reveal swimsuits. Two or three had snorkels and one was putting on flippers. Justine was remonstrating with a large red-faced man who was gesticulating and shaking his head.

‘We pay. We come to see everything. We good swimming people.’

‘Swim! Are you nuts!’ snapped Justine with a raised voice. ‘See that sign? No swimming! Danger. Crocodiles. Yum yum. Eat people.’ She made wild gestures but the visitors continued to prepare themselves for a swim.

Veronica looked at the river framed by cabbage tree palms, pandanus and reeds while its crystal clear water flowed gently past. The air was balmy, the water bathtub warm. It all looked very inviting. Jamie scrambled to the stern of the boat where Justine was standing, holding the rope and arguing with the apparent leader of the group.

Jamie stepped ashore and went up to the man, speaking calmly to him. But the man remained adamant and shook his head.

Jamie turned back to Justine. ‘Bring the bus driver down here, please.’

The driver hurried to Jamie, relieved to see someone with some authority dealing with the situation. ‘They won’t listen, I’ve told them …’

‘Why do they think they can do this?’ asked Jamie. ‘Surely you’ve explained the danger.’

The driver wrung his hands. ‘Mate, they have all the info. But they’ve had a few let downs, these things happen, so now they don’t believe a thing anyone tells ’em. I’ve tried to tell them they could get killed, but they’ve laughed it off. They tell me that I don’t want them to enjoy themselves. I think they’ve mixed up their crocs, you know, freshies with salties. I’m not responsible for any of this. I’ve told them. They understand enough English.’

‘Okay, calm down. Go back to the ranger station and make a report, tell them these people are ignoring your warnings.’ Jamie turned back to the tourists and spoke in a soothing voice. ‘Sir, there seems to be some misunderstanding. I’d like to ask you and your friends to join the rest of us on the boat. Come for a short trip down the river. Let us show you what it’s like before you go for a swim.’

‘We swim later?’ asked the man.

‘If you still want to. I’d like you to learn a little about this area first. Justine, our tour guide, knows this river very well. Just a short trip downstream. I think you might find it instructive,’ he added.

The man turned to the rest of his group and as one woman began to head to the water Jamie spoke firmly, ‘Everyone must come or no-one comes.’

After more discussion the group agreed to board the boat. Jamie smiled and helped them all to settle into the rows of seats.

It was not just Dougie filming the scenery. All the tourists had cameras and they took photographs as the boat nosed into the river and chugged slowly along. Jamie glanced at Justine and she slowed the engine when a break in the vegetation along the bank revealed a small sandy patch of red soil while at the water’s edge it was grey-brown mud. The bank was marked by two smooth slides and at the bottom, with the tip of its snout in the water, basked a very large crocodile. Jamie tapped one of the women on the shoulder and pointed to it with a smile.