The Golden Soak (28 page)

Anybody who has ever watched a drilling operation will understand the fascination. But to see this single rig operating in the immense loneliness of the Pilbara, the twin mountains of Coondewanna and Padtherung blocking our view to the west, and all to the east the country stretching out into infinity, not a sign of life, a fiat emptiness of antediluvian antiquity blistered with heat, arid as a desert – what hope had we, flying thus in the face of nature? But the drillers did not see it that way. To them it was just another job, accustomed as they were to the country and the climate. Watching the drill go down foot by foot, I could barely face the huge steak Kennie grilled for me. At this rate we'd be down to 700 feet with the prospect of the dust sample piles showing the glitter of gold in quartz inside of three days, and if we did strike the reef, then I could get a good price out of Freeman or anybody else, or we could lease on a royalty basis that would give the Garretys a stake in the mine. I could even form a company, operate it myself.

Strange how you dream in the heat. Or was it nervous exhaustion? I had finished my steak. I had had two beers, but I didn't feel sleepy. The tension in me was too great and at that moment I wasn't thinking of anybody else, how they might react, or the pitfalls that lay ahead. Even Rosalind's presence meant nothing to me any more. I had picked her up the day before on my way into Mt Newman to meet Duhamel, and having seen her on to the MMA plane to Perth, had wiped her right out of my mind. All I could think about now was the success of the operation, and I sat there, watching, my eyes on the drill.

Then Kennie's voice: ‘Alec. Sombody coming.' I turned to find him buttoning up his flies as he emerged from a patch of mallee. ‘Down in the gully. A ute by the look of it.'

It never occurred to me it would be anybody but Ed Garrety. He still hadn't returned from Port Hedland when I had picked Rosalind up at Jarra Jarra and I had asked Janet to tell him what I was doing so that he could come up and see for himself as soon as he did get back. We watched as the ute appeared on the back of the spur, bumping its way slowly along the track we had cleared. It stopped on the rim of the hollow and Chris Culpin got out. His face was brick red in the sun, the same hat pushed back on his bullet head, his stomach bulging over the broad leather belt as he came towards us.

‘Thought I'd come and see how you were getting on.' He was smiling.

‘Who told you where to come?'

‘Girl at the homestead. That'd be Garrety's daughter, eh?' His eyes shifted to the rig. ‘Looking for my son, see, so she told me where he was.' He didn't even glance at Kennie, his eyes all the time on the rig.

‘There's nothing for you here,' I said.

‘Not yet perhaps. You're still drilling.'

‘Nothing at all,' I repeated

He was standing close to me now. ‘Have you told Ferdie what you're up to?'

‘It's nothing to do With him.'

‘Suits me. But it may not suit him.' He leaned closer, the stubble on his chin dark against the sun-reddened skin. ‘An' he's got you, pal. Got you cold if ever they rumble the Blackridge deal.'

‘What the hell are you talking about?'

‘You can think that out for yourself. Meantime, I'll hang around for a bit, see how you're making out. Mebbe collect a few samples for myself.' And when I told him to get the hell out, he was on private property, he just laughed. ‘This isn't the Old Country. This is Crown land and I got a prospector's licence, see.'

‘Golden Soak belongs to Ed Garrety,' I said.

‘That's right.' He nodded. ‘He owns the mine and all the flat land below it. But not up here. Not according to Smithie. This is leasehold, and leaseholders don't own mineral rights. You got to claim.' His small eyes narrowed. ‘You registered a claim? I don't see no claim pegs.' He stood there, staring at me, waiting for me to say something. ‘You ain't even got a prospector's licence.'

‘I don't need one,' I answered angrily. ‘Not here.'

‘We'll see about that. I'll be in Nullagine this evening and I'll check just what Garrety does own. An' if Smithie's right, then I'll go on to Marble Bar and have a look at the Mining Register. I don't reckon Garrety's put in a claim, 'cause if he had he'd be required to spend money on development.' And at that moment Duhamel appeared at my elbow.

‘We're through the soft stuff. It's hard rock now.'

I thought of Balavedra, all those weeks hoping against hope, the luck gone sour on me. And now here. Only a few minutes ago I had been dreaming of a strike in two days' time. I watched Culpin go back to his ute. He drove it under the shade of a mulga and set about preparing his lunch. Nothing I could do about him. Nothing I could do about the hard rock country the drill had entered. And Rosalind in Perth, waiting. I went over to the Land-Rover, tugged the ring seal off another can of beer and stood there drinking it, watching the percussion drill, its progress imperceptible now, and Kennie clearing up on his own, white-faced and unhappy. His father hadn't said a word to him, not a single word. He had behaved as though the boy didn't exist.

I finished my beer, went over to the shelter we'd built with branches of gum brought up from the gully and lay down. Nothing to do now but wait – and hope. The noise of the drill was like the drone of a huge insect, a solid roaring hum in the heat, and I dozed off. When I woke Culpin had gone and Kennie was sitting beside me, smoking a cigarette.

‘Where's your father?' I asked.

He shrugged.

‘Gone to Nullagine, has he?'

‘He was down at the rig talking to Georges, then he loaded up and drove off. He didn't tell me where he was going.'

And from Nullagine he'd go on to Marble Bar. I knew damn well Ed Garrety hadn't pegged the area. I got to my feet, watching the drillers busy about the rig, sweating in the afternoon sun as they added another rod. ‘How far are they down?'

‘Seventy – seventy-five maybe.'

At that rate he had all the time in the world. ‘He'll be back,' I said.

‘Oh, sure. He'll be back. Pa wouldn't miss a chance like this.' Kennie looked at me. ‘What are you going to do? You can't stop him coming here, and if he thinks you're on to something …' He hesitated, and then, his voice barely audible: ‘You want to watch it, Alec. He's a real bastard when he smells money, and he doesn't give a damn about people. That's the trouble with Australia – men like my father, and that man Kadek, they don't care who they hurt, what they destroy, s'long as they get what they want. I tried to tell him – that night. But it's like I was speaking a different language. It's a free country, they say. Christ! I'd rather it was Communist.'

‘Then you'd have bureaucracy. And that's just as soulless.

‘So what's the answer?'

‘Same as it's always been,' I said. ‘You fight. To survive in this world you've got to be a fighter.'

‘And you think I'm not?' He was staring at me very directly.

‘I didn't say that.'

‘No, but you implied it.' His gaze wandered to Coondewanna, the escarpment of red rock like a battlement. ‘And you're right. I've never stood up to him. Not really. I'm not a fighter. I'm a bit of a coward, I suppose.' And he added, softly, ‘Mum, now – she's a fighter. All her life she's struggled to make a go of it. And the strange thing is she still loves him.'

I walked out into the sunshine then. The boy was very near to tears. ‘You stay and, look after the drillers,' I said. ‘I'm going to Jarra Jarra. If Ed Garrety's back I want a word with him.' And I left him and went over to the Land-Rover. ‘Anything you want out of the back?'

‘No, I got it all here.'

I had to use my handkerchief to open the door, the metal of it was so hot, and inside it was like a furnace. I started up and drove along the spur and down into the shade of the gully, thinking of that boy … an only child, his problems similar to my own. Yet not entirely, for my father had been a very different man to Chris Culpin. Then I was thinking of Ed Garrety. He'd been an only child, too. But he had worshipped his father.

I was still thinking of Garrety when the sunlight hit me at the bottom of the gully, the mine buildings blazing red and a streamer of dust coming down the track from the outcrop. It was the station ute and coming fast, and when it was near, it slithered to a halt and Janet got out, coming towards me quickly in the heat. ‘It's you, Alec. Thank God!' She spoke in a rush, her face sweaty and covered in dust. ‘I was coming up to get you. Daddy's back and I don't know what to do. He's got Tom loading the Land-Rover, petrol, water, a new set of tyres we've been hoarding, and he's sitting there alone in his den going through his papers, writing letters. He won't say what he's up to, won't tell me anything. All I know is that they're going to start repairing their fence in a few weeks. They've given us to the end of February; any of our cattle left on the Watersnake after that they'll regard as scrubbers. They'll just add them to their own stock. They're going to run a cattle station of their own to supply their township. She paused, breathless, her eyes wide, the whites brilliant in the hard light. ‘I'm scared,' she breathed. ‘Scared of what he'll do.'

‘When did he get back?'

‘'Bout three hours ago. And he's driven non-stop from Port Hedland. He's dead tired. But he won't rest. He's wound up so tight I don't think he knows what he's doing. And he looks bad. He's told Tom to load the Land-Rover, food and water for a fortnight, and just about all the fuel we have in the pump.'

‘To get the stock back on to your own land?'

‘No. He knows they'd die. It's something – something else. But he won't say. He won't tell me anything. He's so dead tired I can't get any sense out of him. And now he's locked himself in. Please. You must come and talk to him.'

She was trembling, half out of her mind with worry. ‘If you can't get him to tell you –'

‘He'll talk to you,' she said quickly. ‘I'm sure he will. I'm just a girl. Oh God! If only Henry were alive. He says you remind him of Henry. Please, Alec. Come back and try. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he'll talk to you.' She was staring at me, her eyes pleading.

‘All right,' I said. ‘I wanted to see him anyway.'

She clutched my arm. ‘Oh, thank you. I knew I could rely on you.' And she added, ‘If only I understood what was in his mind. When he drove in, I'll never forget – he looked … he looked quite crazy, his eyes staring, and so white, so short of breath. It wasn't just tiredness. It was something else. But I don't know what. I just don't know. He won't tell me.' Her grip on my arm was tight and there were tears in her eyes.

‘Okay, you lead the way,' I said. ‘I'll follow.'

She nodded slowly. Then she turned abruptly and ran back to the ute.

The sun was dropping behind the Windbreaks by the time we reached Jarra Jarra. No dogs and the Land-Rover standing under one of the poincianas, Tom squatting beside it, his wide-brimmed hat tipped over his broad nose, his back against the rear wheel. ‘Is he still there?' Janet asked him.

‘Yes, Jan. Alla time in den.'

We went through into the cool house and along the dim passage. The door to the den was shut, and not a sound. ‘Daddy, are you there?' There was no answer. She tried the handle, but the door was locked. ‘Alec's here. He wants to see you.'

There was a moment's silence, then his voice, hesitant and weary: ‘What about? What's he want?'

Janet glanced at me, her eyes just visible in the dimness. ‘Can he come in?'

‘It's about the land above the gully. I've got a drill up there …'

‘All right, I suppose so.' His voice sounded reluctant as though he were too tired to talk to anybody. A long silence, then the scrape of a chair, the sound of the key turning in the lock. ‘Come in, then.'

He was standing in the middle of the room staring at the desk, which was littered with papers. ‘Sorry to disturb you,' I said, ‘but it's important.' The Alsatian had her head lifted beside the desk, her ears pricked, her tail just moving.

He nodded absently. I don't think anything to do with Golden Soak was important to him at that moment. His mind was on something else. But I wasn't to know that. Not then. He turned, his eyes lack-lustre. ‘Hot,' he said vaguely. ‘Very hot.' And then he added as an afterthought, ‘Some tea?'

The tired blue eyes shifted to Janet as though seeing her for the first time. ‘Daughter, you get us some tea, eh? The big tin pot – full.'

She nodded, relieved. ‘Yes, of course.'

The door closed and we were alone. ‘Sit down.' He waved me to a chair stacked with papers. ‘Push that lot on to the floor. Never realized there was so much. Should have dealt with it years ago.' He sat down, with me facing him across the desk, and I was glad to see an empty plate there. At least he had had something to eat. ‘Jan told you, did she? About what was decided.'

‘The cattle, you mean?'

He nodded. ‘Can't blame them. The lease is theirs now.' He leaned back, his hand brushing across his eyes, smoothing the unruly bushiness of his eyebrows. ‘Glad you came. Something I wanted you to sign.' He searched the litter on his desk and produced a foolscap sheet, handwritten. ‘Do you mind witnessing my signature on it?'

‘No, of course not.'

He signed his name and pushed it across to me. It was his will and I hesitated, looking across at him, seeing the lines of his face, the tiredness of his eyes. ‘Why now?'

He looked out of the window at the dying sun flaring the sky, the gums all gold. ‘Suddenly realized I hadn't done anything about it since Henry's death.' His voice sounded vague. ‘Not that it'll do Jan much good. They've given us till the end of February. But with no rain …' The words trailed away, his tiredness engulfing them. ‘Still, if anything happened to me, then she'd get something out of selling Jarra Jarra.' The words were muffled, almost a whisper.