The Silent Country (44 page)

Topov clucked at her with a smile, rubbing his fingers together. ‘No, boom time. Is big business. Maybe there is much money.’

Peter shook his head and turned away. ‘He’s a crazy man.’

‘We go see. We leave now.’ Topov walked to the Land Rover, got in on the passenger’s side, opened his map and waited.

With a resigned air the rest of the group finished packing up.

‘It’s not much of a detour,’ said Helen. ‘Who knows? Something might come of it.’

‘Don’t make excuses for him,’ said Drago.

‘How does Topov know these things?’ muttered Johnny.

Johnny took the lead in the Land Rover with Topov beside him. The landscape was not the jungle they’d imagined but once they’d turned off the highway onto a dirt road marked with a hand-painted sign ‘Batchelor’, they began to notice where heavy machinery had torn through bushland and that a river they crossed was lined with dead paperbark and pandanus trees. Bulldozers and trucks had gouged huge bites from the earth and then seemed to have abandoned the spot in distaste. The open wounds of large ditches scarred the scrub.

‘This is all abandoned,’ said Drago. ‘Not being worked.’

‘Just testing I suppose,’ said Colin.

‘Why such big holes, can’t they make a small hole and see what’s there?’ asked Marta.

The sudden sight of the small township of Batchelor surprised them with its power station, blocks of prefabricated houses, gardens and amenities such as a small school, hotel, shop and community centre. As soon as they drove up to the centre two men came out to meet them.

‘You looking for work?’ they asked Johnny.

‘We were wondering if we could have a look around,’ he said with a smile. ‘We’re just passing through.’

One of the men scowled. ‘Nothing to see here.’

Topov leaned across Johnny to speak to them. ‘I wish to see mine.’

The men shook their heads. ‘Sorry, mate, no sightseers.’

Drago got out of the Jeep and walked over to the men. ‘Can we get a cold drink at the store here? We have women with us, they’d like to use the amenities, is that possible?’

The two men looked at each other and shrugged. ‘S’pose so. Toilets at the centre, drinks at the shop. Then be on your way.’

The group stood outside the shop as Johnny and Helen passed around bottles of cold drinks.

‘Nothing to see here,’ said Peter.

‘The man in the store said the mine is six miles away anyway,’ said Drago. ‘And you need a security pass to get in there.’

‘What for? What’s going on?’ asked Marta.

‘Who knows?’

Topov came out of the shop looking pleased. ‘We go back way. Man in shop Bulgaria man, he tells me way.’

There was a round of groans.

‘Forget it, we’ll get lost or chased away,’ said Peter.

‘Shop man say mine very big. Australia has plenty uranium. Everybody look,’ said Topov. ‘I wish to see mine. Important for film.’

Drago shrugged. ‘Six miles isn’t too far.’

‘I don’t know what it has to do with the film,’ said Peter.

‘I don’t like the idea of sneaking in the back way,’ said Marta. ‘Is that what we’re doing?’

‘It sounds dangerous to me,’ said Colin. ‘They’re being so security minded and secretive.’

Topov ignored their comments and got back in the vehicle, explaining directions to Johnny. The others followed and it didn’t take long before they found themselves in a landscape of levelled trees, the ground scraped clear and a network of bulldozed roads weaving between dumps of ore, pits and an open-cut mine. There were shafts disappearing into the ground that were big enough to drive through. They could also see a complex of sheds, workshops and machinery behind barbed-wire fences.

They drove unimpeded past the mine site and realised that they were at the rear of the township. Then they saw that between the mine site and the neat, if temporary-looking town, was a city made up of scores of tents and small, rough-looking huts. Two men in shorts and boots were sitting on an upturned box. Topov jumped out and went and spoke to them, then waved at Drago to come over.

Drago understood the signal and took the small camera with him. By now the men were on their feet, pointing at the tents and gesticulating. The others got out and went to see what it was all about. Drago was speaking Yugoslav to one of the men who seemed quite agitated.

‘What are they saying?’ Colin asked Johnny.

‘I think they’re complaining about the work conditions. Topov wants them to show him round.’

Drago turned to Colin. ‘We’re going to look at their camp and take some footage. We said we’d show it to their big bosses back in Sydney. In return they’re taking us around the mine. Sorry, ladies, no women allowed underground.’

Helen shrugged. ‘We’ll wait with the vehicles.’

‘I’ll stay with you,’ Colin offered. ‘I’m not so interested in all this mining.’

When the men came back an hour later, it was clear that Topov had been in his element. He was enthusiastic and his pockets were bulging with rock samples. ‘One man picked up a rock and poof! He finds uranium.’

‘They said they didn’t know the importance of the rock for years, though,’ interjected Peter.

‘We hear many good stories.’ Topov grinned.

‘So why is it called Rum Jungle? Is that what they all do? Drink rum?’ asked Marta.

‘They told us that about seventy years ago a bullock
team carrying rum got bogged in the jungle near the river so the drivers let the bullocks go and drank the rum and passed out until they were rescued,’ said Drago. ‘It is known as a very famous piss-up.’

‘What is piss-up?’ asked Topov.

‘Over drinking,’ said Colin.

‘How Australian to commemorate such an event, especially with such a vulgar term,’ said Helen tartly.

‘So what is it like over there where the men are living?’ asked Marta. ‘Did you film anything?’

‘We met some new Australians like us,’ said Peter. ‘Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary. They live worse than the Aborigines. Old tents, huts with holes for two men. Mud, cold at night, flies and they have to walk a long way to share a toilet with a hundred men. Very bad.’

‘Why complain? They make good money, no communists here,’ said Topov.

Peter glared at Topov. ‘They should get the union people, go on strike. Drago has it on film.’

‘Look, it’s not our business,’ began Colin.

‘Plenty of commo bastards in unions,’ said Johnny.

Topov cut the discussion off with a wave of his hand. ‘We go little drive then Darwin.’

‘What do you mean, a little drive?’ asked Drago suspiciously.

Topov ignored him. ‘I get map. Johnny, come.’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Let’s get out of here. It’s like a concentration camp.’

‘This is a holiday camp compared to a concentration camp,’ said Peter darkly as he headed for the Jeep.

For the next two hours they bumped and careened through the scrub leaving the devastation of the mine site at Rum Jungle behind. Periodically Topov called a halt and he scrambled out using his director’s lens as a telescope to peer at the rock formations, picking up a small
rock or two and examining it before discarding it or adding it to his collection.

It was almost dark when they arrived at the Darwin Hotel and while everyone was furious with Topov the overwhelming feeling was relief to finally be in a large town. The luxury of clean rooms and a proper bathroom down the shiny wooden hall that smelled of cedar floor polish put them in good spirits. Topov was especially expansive and was already entertaining a group he’d met in the bar. He was perched on a high cane stool, his foot on a brass foot rail. Further along a group of cattlemen had hooked their Akubra hats to a pole at the end of the bar.

Marta, Helen and Colin sat at a table in the Green Room, a lounge next to the bar. The concrete floor was painted green and the cane furniture had green-leaf fabric cushions. It looked out onto a garden, a square of green lawn and tropical plants, open to the sea breeze blowing across the Esplanade. Helen had booked a large table for dinner and they were looking forward to receiving the payment due to them and the chance to shop for necessities as well as do a little sightseeing.

Topov sauntered to their table. ‘Now, we eat.’ Then he went through the swinging doors into the dining room.

Everyone found it pleasant to dine amongst other people and they made up for their last spartan meals by ordering three courses. Helen had a few words to Topov but he waved her comments aside and ordered more wine. After the meal they returned to the Green Room. There was an excellent pianist and, in a jovial mood, they all settled around two tables as Topov called for drinks.

Marta wanted Colin to dance but he shook his head.

‘I’m not much of a dancer.’

She pouted and jumped up and went and spoke to
the pianist who was partly screened by a large vase of ginger plants and palm leaves. After a few moments he swung into ‘I Can’t Give You Anything But Love, Baby’ and Marta stood by the piano and sang the lyrics in a strong throaty voice. In a few moments the chatter in the room diminished and when she finished all applauded and called for more.

‘She’s very talented. You haven’t used her enough,’ Drago said to Topov.

‘Plenty time. We film more adventure after Darwin in Arnhem Land,’ he said.

‘I don’t think such a place exists,’ said Helen. ‘Well, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, everyone.’

‘When do we get our money?’ Johnny asked.

‘After the banks open tomorrow. Goodnight.’ Helen glared at Topov but he ignored her.

When Marta returned to the table, Colin took her hand, his eyes shining. ‘That was wonderful.’

Gradually the group broke up, Topov and Johnny heading for the bar.

‘Feel like a moonlight walk?’ Colin whispered to Marta.

‘Just a little one. It’s been a long day. Mad Topov and his mining,’ sighed Marta.

They left the hotel and walked a short distance along the Esplanade, their arms around each other. Then they turned back to the hotel and went upstairs.

‘My room is eleven. I have a nice big bed. Come and stay with me,’ whispered Marta as Colin kissed her.

‘I’m sharing with Drago. I don’t s’pose it matters that everyone will know,’ said Colin.

Marta gave a low laugh. ‘You are so proper. Drago doesn’t care.’

Colin had planned to return to his room at daylight. But he couldn’t bear to leave Marta’s warm and soft embrace. When he finally made his way down the hallway
to his room, the housemaid mopping the polished floor gave him a big smile. There were also smiles and knowing glances at breakfast. Marta was unperturbed but Colin kept his head down and busied himself buttering his toast. Topov didn’t appear, but Helen, who’d been collared by almost everyone asking about their money, announced she’d meet them all at morning tea time.

But when the time came Helen looked at the expectant group apologetically and said, ‘I’m sorry. I have to say there’s been a bit of a delay . . .’

There was an explosion around her.

‘Delay?’

‘Where’s our money?’

‘Where’s Topov? What’s happening?’

‘This is impossible! It can’t happen,’ shouted Marta.

Helen made placating gestures. ‘Please, listen to me. Madame Olga is flying into Darwin this afternoon with the money and more film.’

‘We don’t want film stock, we want to be paid,’ said Drago firmly.

‘And you will. In cash. The flight gets in at three pm,’ said Helen.

‘Did you know about this?’ asked Johnny.

‘No, I did not. I thought the money was coming through the bank,’ said Helen.

‘So why’s she coming up here?’ asked Peter.

Helen shrugged. ‘She wishes to discuss matters with Mr Topov and hand over the film and take back what we’ve shot.’

‘Well, I for one will be at the plane to meet her,’ said Drago.

‘Good idea. We’ll all be there,’ said Johnny. ‘With bells on.’

Madame Olga inched her way down the steps from the aircraft, dressed in a bright red silk dress with an orange scarf wound about her head. The reception party all noted that she carried a large black leather handbag looped over her arm.