The Silent Country (29 page)

‘I’m fine, thanks. See you about seven-thirty,’ she said quickly.

Jim’s home was in a residential suburb of bright green lawns without fences, scarlet bougainvillea and cyclone-proof, airy houses. The smoke from the large brick barbecue built in the back garden was curling and the smell of frying onion infused the night air. Coloured lights were strung around the outdoor deck and a group had settled themselves in comfortable cane chairs and lounges. A knot of men in a semicircle before the barbecue, beers in hand, were laughing heartily. The chatter of the women and clatter of plates came from the kitchen. The front door was open so Veronica headed towards it.

‘Hi. I’m Veronica. Can I leave this somewhere?’ She put the cakebox she was carrying on a sideboard and a bottle of wine beside it.

‘You didn’t have to bring a thing, Veronica. But how
lovely of you. Ooh, cheesecake, wonderful.’ The smiling woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Jim’s wife, Mary.’

‘This is very kind of you. It’s quite a party,’ said Veronica, hoping that Mary hadn’t gone to all this trouble especially for her.

‘Oh, just friends and neighbours, a few of Jim’s pals he wants you to meet. Oh, and your friend Eddie is here.’

‘What’s he filming?’ asked one of the other women. ‘I’m Pam, this is Alison.’

‘I hope you don’t mind. It’s just a bit of background colour and hopefully a short chat with Reg and Bonza for a story I’m doing.’

‘Short chat! Those two can talk for hours,’ said Pam.

‘And be careful, they’ll pull your leg,’ added Alison.

‘Can I help with anything?’ asked Veronica looking around at the plates of food, bowls of salad and piles of bread.

‘Of course not. You go and do what you have to do. We’ll sit down for a chat when you’re ready,’ said Mary.

‘Looking forward to it,’ said Veronica, taking an immediate liking to Jim’s friendly wife.

‘Take a wine with you,’ added Pam, handing her a glass.

Jim called Veronica over to the barbecue.

‘Come and meet my mates. Now, here she is. Veronica, this Bonza and this is Reggie.’

She shook hands with the two men. Bonza was a wiry, wizened man in his late seventies who looked as though the sun had tanned his skin to match the worn crinkled leather hat he was wearing. He was dressed in a tight T-shirt and wore a heavy gold chain with a large shark or croc tooth suspended from it. His hand was calloused and he gave Veronica a direct, but friendly, stare. Reg, probably a bit younger, was dressed in a blue cotton shirt and
jeans held up by a leather belt with a fancy silver buckle. He had smooth dark skin and a shy smile.

‘So you’re up here working on a TV story, are you?’ said Bonza. ‘What’s it about?’

‘A bit about the north in the fifties, the characters, what life on a station was like back then. If I were going to make a TV documentary back then, what do you reckon I’d put in it?’

Bonza threw back his head and roared. ‘Bloody everything. Not that a lot of us would’ve wanted to be on camera back then, eh Reg?’

‘Wasn’t TV back then was there? Just as well, eh, Bonza?’ laughed Reg.

‘Ain’t that the bloody truth eh.’ He winked at Veronica, ‘I wouldn’t want a lot of my life on TV.’

‘Were they good times, better times back then?’ asked Veronica.

‘Ah, they were bonza days, that’s for sure.’ He sighed and took a large mouthful of beer.

Eddie joined them, camera tucked under his arm. ‘G’day fellas, hi Veronica. Mind if I film you standing there chatting while you’re having a bit of a yarn?’ He lifted the camera onto his shoulder as Jim and two others turned and busied themselves at the barbecue where the sausages were cooking.

Bonza shrugged and Reg shifted his posture, uncomfortable in the presence of the camera, but they continued to smile.

‘Tell her about your job,’ prompted Reg.

‘Which one?’ asked Bonza. ‘Me proper one or me secret one?’

Eddie turned the camera light on, brightly illuminating the two men and started filming.

‘Your secret job, of course,’ said Veronica.

‘Ah, I’m sort of retired now, y’see. Officially I was
a contractor, a mechanic with a bit of engineering know how. So I moved around a lot in the sixties. Learned a few tricks from people like Reg here . . .’

Reg held up his hand. ‘Leave me out of it, I never did nothing wrong.’

‘You blokes never had to have a licence, but,’ said Bonza.

‘A licence for what?’ asked Veronica.

‘Killing crocs. It was open slather for years and I got pretty good at catching ’em and tanning the skins. Even stuffing them. Then after seventy-three, I think it was, it was illegal to kill the bastards. But I managed to knock off a few here and there. Had a nice little business going.’

‘Among other things,’ said Reg.

‘We won’t go into that,’ said Bonza.

‘What did you do with the crocodiles?’ asked Veronica as Eddie swung the camera to her.

‘People still wanted the skins and, of course, the meat was bonza eating. ’Specially when you got one with eggs in it. There was quite a business in trophy crocs, even stuffed little blokes were popular.’

‘And now?’

‘Yeah, well there’s a lot of old croc hunters calling themselves conservationists and breeding them. But I reckon we should still be able to cull the buggers. Too many of ’em. Some of those big old rogue crocs cause a lot of trouble. You be careful where you swim, sweetheart,’ warned Bonza.

Reg nodded.‘There’ve been a couple of little kids taken in some of the communities and the crocs are turning up where you wouldn’t normally expect them,’ he said. ‘Aboriginal people can hunt them as their right, but not whitefellas, unless they get a permit.’

‘But if it’s your Dreaming ancestor, totem or something, you shouldn’t take ’em out,’ said Bonza with a bit of a nod at Reg.

‘There’s talk of introducing big game hunting,’ said Reg. ‘But unless they can take the head or skin home, hunters aren’t so keen.’

‘So what are you doing, Reg?’ asked Veronica.

‘I’m a tour guide. I take people out spotting crocs on the river at night. Barra fishing, camping, that sorta thing.’

Bonza nudged Veronica. ‘He’d make a lot more money if he took tourists out shooting and marauding feral camels and crocs. Foreigners would pay up to fifty grand for the safari package if they could get a big croc to show off back home.’

‘Is there much illegal croc hunting going on now?’ asked Veronica.

In reply Bonza looked at Eddie and ran a hand across his throat. ‘That’ll do, eh mate.’

‘If I stop filming, I’ll expect a really good story from you,’ said Eddie turning off the camera.

Bonza gave a hearty laugh. ‘Jeez, that won’t be hard. I had some wild days.’ He looked at Reg. ‘Do you remember when I was sorta on the wanted list? Got caught with all those bloody crocs? Y’know where they ended up?’

Reg held his hands over his face.

Bonza downed his beer and leaned towards Veronica. ‘Listen to this. I got all these stuffed bloody crocs, little fellas, some skins, teeth, few trophy items. And the damned cops are after me. Knew a great lady who ran a station by herself. I had a few pals there who worked for her, who used to get me permission to put me boat in the river and in return I’d leave a dozen or so barra fillets inside the kitchen door. So this day I call in but nobody’s home. You bonza beaudy. So I stash my gear and the crocs in the house, for safekeeping like.’

Reg, who’s heard this story before, can’t help laughing. ‘Tell Veronica where you stashed them.’

In a stage whisper Bonza said, ‘In the bloody roof.
I got up the manhole over the bedroom. I left the lot up there and, ya know, I never did get back to get them. Far as I know they’re still there!’

‘It must have smelled,’ said Veronica.

‘Hey, don’t insult me, I know how to stuff a croc, tan a hide,’ said Bonza indignantly.

‘’Cept the eyeballs and teeth fall out,’ said Reg.

‘Well, that’s age, you can’t help a bit of wear and tear, same as you,’ said Bonza. ‘This story your doing . . . Where do you plan to go to from here, Veronica?’

‘A place called Brolga Springs. I hear it’s great for tourists and there’s an indigenous training program and some cultural exchange, as well,’ said Veronica brightly.

Bonza and Reg exchanged a look. ‘Sounds good on paper,’ said Bonza. ‘Been a few changes out there.’

‘You know the place?’

‘Yes, way back.’ Bonza shook his head. ‘But it’s been two steps forward and five back.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Veronica.

‘Used to be a bonza cattle station, but now, well, you check it out. I reckon all that tourist stuff just spoilt it, but they call it progress,’ said Bonza shortly. ‘Now if you want a really good story, why don’t you get onto some of the illegal croc hunters? The skins go up to Asia, a boat picks ’em up every fortnight. They come back as handbags and shoes to Sydney tourist shops. Bonza business,’ he laughed.

‘And I s’pose you know them?’ Veronica asked Reg.

Reg lifted his hands. ‘I don’t know anything about this. I’m not hearing this conversation.’

Bonza put a finger to the side of his nose. ‘Seeing as it’s illegal – as long as faces aren’t seen and it’s night, what the heck. Give your film a bit of action, eh?’

‘Where are the skins collected?’

‘Up the coast a bit.’

Veronica nodded her head. ‘There are a lot of stories up here.’

‘Always has been, luv. Bonza bloody country. Makes the wild west look tame as a fat cat,’ declared Bonza.

Reg smiled at her. ‘If you want the more legit side of tourism up here, I’m your man.’ He handed her his card.

‘Aw, come off it, Reg. You haven’t been as pure as the driven snow all your life,’ said Bonza with a grin.

Reg looked at his arm. ‘Nope. Been black as the ace of spades as long as I can remember.’

They both laughed.

Later, after dinner, as the men sat around yarning and the women, back in the kitchen, cleaned up, Veronica spotted Jim at the bar and went over to him.

‘Thanks for this evening, Jim. It’s been huge fun. Mary is lovely. She went to so much trouble.’

‘She enjoys a bit of a bash and the other women always bring stuff. So, has it been helpful?’

‘Extremely interesting. I was told Bonza was a bit of a leg puller, but he’s given me a few ideas for stories. Is he on the up and up?’

‘He bullshits a lot, but, yeah, he used to have pretty sticky fingers. I don’t know how much he does now.’

‘Reg is a nice man,’ added Veronica.

‘Yeah, kinda balances the story. He’s had a rough time of it. Stolen from his family as a kid, by the time he figured out where he came from they’d all gone. He was pretty bitter, drank, got into a bit of strife. He joined the church, got married, got into a training scheme,’ said Jim. ‘Made a good life for himself.’

‘So he’s showing tourists around? A cultural tour is it?’

‘Oh no. Reg knows Arnhem Land really well, but he mainly works with the big game fishing people and the helicopter joy flights.’

Veronica pulled Reg’s card from her pocket and read,
‘Discover Darwin and the near North. Reg Sculthorpe, Tour Guide.’

Eddie wandered over to her and said, ‘Illegal croc hunting still goes on, I’m sure. Could be a bit dangerous, but hey, never scared us off in the past.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘It’s illegal and I don’t want to be involved in anything that could compromise the program. Doesn’t really have anything to do with the story I’m after, anyway.’

‘No, I guess not. So I certainly wouldn’t mention it to Jamie the ranger guy that’s coming with us.’

Veronica thanked Jim again for the evening. ‘I’m just going to say goodnight to Mary and make a quiet exit. I’ll be in touch.’

The next afternoon, as Veronica was contemplating her meagre wardrobe and wondering if she’d brought the right clothes to be heading to a remote station with the possibility of camping out for a couple of days, the phone rang and Jamie McIntosh introduced himself.

He was softly spoken and polite but he didn’t waste time with smalltalk and pleasantries.

‘We want to get away as soon as possible after daylight, it’s a long drive. I’m just checking you have the right gear for this. You’ll need boots, or sturdy trainers, socks, hat, fly veil if flies bother you, sunblock, a shirt with long sleeves, a warm jumper for night, long pants to protect your legs, sunglasses. Maybe a small backpack to carry water and camera or whatever you need if we’re walking a lot in the day. Your personal stuff.’

Veronica got the feeling he was trying to tell her to bring just the essentials.

‘Thanks. I might be short on one or two items, any suggestions where to get them?’

‘There’s a big camping store in Mitchell Street. Has clothes, everything you’ll need. Are you allergic to anything? Food, insects?’

‘Not that I know of,’ said Veronica.

‘Good. Perhaps as we drive you could fill me in on the background to this story, what you’re hoping to find and so on.’