The Silent Country

by Di Morrissey

  ‘This scenery is like the ruddy moon,’ declared Johnny.

  Then suddenly before them was a mob of red kangaroos led by several large males.

  ‘Don’t hit one,’ shouted Colin to Peter as the ’roos raced across the track. ‘They’ll smash the car to smithereens.’

  In the Land Rover Topov was beaming. ‘Quick, quick! Dinner,’ he cried. ‘Where’s gun?’

  Drago had reached for the Bolex and filmed a few quick shots from the window, but by the time they’d stopped and Johnny had the rifle loaded, the ’roos were standing up watching them impassively, out of range.

  ‘Do we go after them?’ asked Johnny.

  ‘In what? The ground is stony and rough, we don’t want another accident. We’d have to unhitch the Land Rover. Let’s wait till we get to Birdsville,’ said Helen.

  The gibber plain of flinty stones shook the vehicles and the passengers so much that Johnny complained that his back teeth were rattling out of his head. But it took more of a toll on the little caravan bouncing behind the Land Rover and finally one of its tyres blew out. As Peter began to change it, Topov leaned back in his seat and slept, the two women sat in the cars with the doors open and Johnny paced up and down smoking a cigarette, one of his remaining few. Colin helped Peter by passing tools.

  ‘Dust and shaking, very bad for these cameras,’ muttered Drago as he checked them.

  ‘This spare tyre is rubbish,’ said Peter. ‘I hope it lasts until Birdsville.’

  The next day they were all shocked as Birdsville came into view.

  ‘Is this it? This isn’t a town,’ snapped Helen as they drove towards the tiny settlement.

  The pub with its broad tin roof glinting in the sun stood out beside several smaller buildings in the dusty street.

  As the convoy limped into town Colin pointed, ‘Look, someone is waving at us!’

  Outside the rambling old building that had ‘Inland Mission Hospital’ painted above the door, stood the sister-in-charge, a vision in a crisply starched white uniform and veil.

  ‘It is angel,’ cried Topov, clapping his hands.

  Sister Graden welcomed them cheerily and broke the news that the supply truck hadn’t yet arrived from Marree so there were no provisions available to buy at the moment. ‘But you’ll get a good feed at the pub.’

  Johnny got out of the Land Rover and headed to the bar for a drink and cigarettes. Sister Graden was sympathetic to their predicament but said her own supplies were low and she had several patients to care for and suggested they see what they could get from the pub in the way of food to see them through to Boulia, the next place with a general store.

  ‘How do you manage here?’ asked Marta. ‘When do supplies come?’

  ‘Tom brings the mail truck through from Marree every couple of weeks, except in the wet, but we manage.’

  The travellers trudged into the pub where two stockmen at the bar were already in conversation with Johnny. Marta and Helen were directed to the ladies’ lounge, a small, pokey, dusty room where the handwritten menu offered limited Meals and Refreshments. They ordered steak sandwiches and chips.

  ‘I couldn’t eat another baked bean,’ said Helen. ‘I think I’d better supervise the food purchases next time.’

  In the bar Topov grandly explained to the bemused bushmen and the bartender that, ‘We make film of outback. Where is exciting place? No more desert.’

  ‘It can get pretty exciting around here on occasion,’ drawled one of the stockmen.

  ‘You still got some bad country to cover if you’re heading north-west,’ added the other.

  ‘But is nothing, nothing out there,’ declared Topov. ‘All empty. No good for film. We go to Northern Territory.’

  ‘Plenty of action in the Territory, all right. But it’s not empty out there,’ said the other drover, inclining his head towards the doorway. ‘No way, mate.’ The two stockmen grinned at each other.

  ‘Phsst. What is? Out there?’ demanded Topov. ‘We see nothing.’

  ‘You weren’t looking, mate. Wildlife galore, thousands of emus, camels and birds. Why do ya think this place is called Birdsville?’

  ‘You want to get off the track, go look for the wildlife, eh, Topov?’ teased Johnny. ‘You can take one of these fellows’ horses.’

  ‘You joke, Johnny. You wait to see Northern Territory. Big jungle, big river, plenty wild things.’

  ‘You going to Rum Jungle?’ asked one of the stockmen with interest. ‘We hear there’re Japs living there still, hiding from the war they think is still going on.’

  ‘Bulldust. No Japs ever got to Australia. Anyway, it’s full of uranium. They’re digging it up to make bombs,’ said his mate.

  Topov was instantly curious. ‘They make mining in jungle?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s work going at this new place, Batchelor. I thought droving was hard work, I don’t want to know about heavy machinery jobs. Too bloody noisy, give me a few head of cattle and a horse any day,’ said the stockman, knocking back the last of his beer.

  Helen poked her head through the door. ‘Topov, are you eating? Come and join us, the steak sandwiches are pretty good, even if they are a bit tough. It will make a nice change.’

  They ate their fill, the men opting for large slabs of steak with ‘all the trimmings’ – a fried egg, slices of tinned beetroot, fried onions and soggy potato chips. Gravy or tomato sauce was mopped up with slabs of damper.

  ‘You learn this damper. Is Australian bread,’ Topov told Johnny.

  ‘We have a camp oven. Do you use one to make it?’ Colin asked the bartender.

  ‘Talk to Gloria. She’s the cook,’ he said. ‘She’s out the back.’

  Johnny and Colin found Gloria throwing wood into a blazing wood stove in the lean-to open air kitchen. Gloria was part Aboriginal, plump and stoic. When Colin and Johnny asked about making damper, she gave a bit of a smile and nodded, showing them how to throw the flour, salt, baking powder and water together, kneading it lightly before putting it into a pan dusted with flour. She slammed the heavy lid on the cast iron pan and pushed it into the oven. ‘Good with cocky’s joy.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Johnny.

  Gloria reached for a sticky green tin labelled Golden Syrup.

  ‘Ah, yes. That’d be good,’ said Colin. ‘Put it on the shopping list.’

  ‘Yeah and where’s the bloody shop?’ muttered Johnny as they left. ‘We’ll come back later, to try the damper, okay?’ he said to Gloria.

  They left Birdsville the next day with what supplies they’d been able to scrape together to buy, plus a few extras given to them by the publican. They had refilled their jerry cans with water and petrol. Gloria, who kindly made them a few dampers, gave them a tin of golden syrup from the pub’s storeroom.

  Her parting advice had been, ‘Plenny lizard, emu, bird. You hunt, plenny good tucker.’

  So Johnny tucked the butt of the rifle between the seats of the Jeep, ready to grab it should they see any game. Helen was seated beside him.

  ‘I’m quite a good shot,’ commented Helen. ‘If we see anything, let me have first crack.’

  Johnny was irritated. ‘Oh, I suppose you went pheasant shooting on Daddy’s estate, did you?’

  ‘Yes, actually,’ she answered calmly.

  ‘What’s that?’ Peter squinted out of the Dodge to the glare of the western horizon.

  ‘A small tower. Look, there’s an old fence. Do you suppose it’s a building of some kind?’ asked Marta.

  ‘Would be good wouldn’t it,’ said Colin. ‘It’s sunset, we need a place to stop soon.’

  ‘Turn in, let’s have a look,’ said Marta as Peter slowed and studied the indentations in the loose red sand that had once been a track.

  ‘I’ll wait for the others. Maybe best not to take all the vehicles up there till we know what’s there.’

  When the others caught up they conferred and waited while Peter drove the Dodge slowly along the winding ruts.

  ‘It’s a
windmill,’ exclaimed Marta. ‘Oh, look, there’s a stone farmhouse.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll have some company for tonight,’ said Peter.

  ‘No,’ said Colin, ‘I don’t think there’s anyone there. It looks abandoned.’

  ‘Let’s see what’s inside,’ said Marta.

  ‘Be careful of snakes and things,’ warned Colin.

  They wandered along the verandah, peering into the rooms. They were empty except for a few pieces of old furniture that were covered in dust and animal droppings – a table, broken chairs, a bed with bare wire springs.

  ‘Look at the old stove and chimney. It’s a wood burning stove that probably works,’ said Marta. ‘Be nice to have a fire going in this. We could cook dinner here. Let’s get the others.’

  Peter drove back to the road leaving Colin and Marta to explore. Beside the windmill was an old water tank atop a small tower. Colin turned the rusting wheel at the base of the pipe and was suddenly hit with a rush of brown stained water. He jumped back as Marta laughed.

  ‘Phew, it stinks. It’s putrid. Must be something dead in the tank, I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘You smell awful,’ said Marta sniffing his hair.

  Her face was close to his and her hair brushed his cheek. He felt himself tingle and wished he didn’t smell so bad.

  ‘Let’s explore and see what’s over the rise there.’ He took her hand and they walked through the loose dirt and up a small rise studded with spinifex grass and clumps of grey coarse bushes.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Marta’s hand flew to her mouth as they saw three graves, each surrounded by rusting iron fences. One was small and its border appeared to be an iron baby’s cot. Quietly they stood to read the sad headstones.

  ‘A father and his two children. One just a baby,’ said Colin. ‘They all died within three years of each other. I wonder what happened to the woman.’

  ‘How terrible to die out here and be alone like this,’ said Marta. ‘I hate this emptiness.’ She gazed around the land, deserted as far as she could see. ‘This is a lonely country.’

  They stood in silence still holding hands.

  ‘Look over there,’ said Colin. ‘In the dip, the grass and plants are quite green. Do you think that’s where the water is coming from?’

  They walked several hundred yards and found that it was a water soak which looked to be a natural well. Colin bent down and cupped his hand in the water and tasted it. It was quite cool and earthy. ‘I suppose we could boil this up if we strained it through a cloth.’ He splashed himself to wash away the tank water. ‘It’s certainly a lot fresher.’

  The rest of the group wandered around the forlorn homestead and finally Topov agreed that they would stay there the night.

  ‘We light fire. We have rum. We make party,’ he announced.

  Colin wondered if Topov was trying to inject a little cheer into the tired and cranky travellers who had followed him into this desolate country.

  Drago and Peter built a campfire in the front yard and set the chairs around it while Colin and Marta helped Johnny get the old wood stove going. They soon had a stew, made from the steak and vegetables they’d bought in Birdsville, bubbling in the camp oven on top of the stove and Gloria’s damper and golden syrup ready for dessert. The billy was set on the campfire to boil for tea. They carried out the old table and Topov put out their enamel mugs and set up a bar.

  As darkness fell, bringing the chill of a desert night, they rugged up and sat around the fire enjoying the rum. Helen preferred her tea but Marta accepted a small toddy of rum and pulled her chair close to Colin.

  ‘Look at those stars. Trillions of them,’ said Colin. ‘You don’t see the sky clear like this in the city.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. Like diamonds,’ said Marta. ‘It makes you feel less lonely.’

  ‘I couldn’t live in a place like this,’ shuddered Helen.

  ‘Wonder what happened to the lady of the house after her family died,’ said Colin. ‘We found some old graves over that way.’

  ‘Graves! That’s sad,’ said Helen.

  By the time they’d eaten their dinner everyone declared it had been one of the better meals of the journey.

  ‘I’m sleeping on the verandah,’ announced Drago, dragging his sleeping bag up the steps. ‘A roof and a floor, what luxury.’

  ‘I might sleep in the kitchen, stoke the fire up,’ said Johnny. ‘We’ve got porridge and powdered milk with golden syrup for breakfast.’

  Colin helped Marta put up the tent for herself and Helen. Topov was having another rum and telling Peter about a filming experience in Russia. Peter sat staring into the fire holding his drink and not speaking.

  ‘Are you putting up your tent?’ Marta asked Colin.

  ‘No, I think I’ll share the verandah with Drago. It’s easier.’

  Topov was the last to go to bed. He had started singing to himself, quietly at first but soon his singing grew more lusty until Drago and Johnny shouted at him to be quiet. His gait was unsteady as he headed to the caravan.

  It was after midnight, the ground cold and the air still. Everyone was asleep. Suddenly there came a cry, a howl. Colin, a light sleeper, sat up. Whatever it was it could be some distance away as sound carried far in the clear night. The cry came again and Helen scrambled out of her tent.

  ‘What’s that? Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s nothing, Helen. It’s a long way away,’ whispered Colin from the verandah. ‘Probably some animal, maybe a dingo.’

  ‘I don’t like it. I’m not staying out here to be eaten by wild animals.’ With that she pulled a blanket and a pillow from the tent and marched to the caravan. ‘I’m sleeping in there on the other bunk. And locking the door.’

  Marta scrambled out of the tent. ‘What is it?’

  Colin got up and went to her. ‘It’s all right, Marta. It’s probably a wild dog. You know, a dingo. I’ve never heard one before.’

  ‘Get Johnny’s gun,’ she said.

  ‘Go to sleep. There’s nothing dangerous out here,’ mumbled Drago.

  ‘He’s right,’ whispered Colin. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  ‘I don’t like being out here on my own. I’m coming on the verandah too.’ She grabbed her sleeping bag and followed Colin back onto the creaking wooden verandah, put her bag close to his and wiggled into it, pulling it up to her nose.

  Colin smiled at her. ‘You look snug. I’ll bring you tea in bed in the morning.’

  Colin was up early and took a bucket to the spring at the little soak hole and carried it back to the stove. Johnny had the fire stoked up and roaring.

  ‘I’m bathing in hot water this morning,’ said Colin cheerfully.

  Helen appeared with her hat draped in a fine veil. ‘The flies drive me mad.’

  Everyone was now resigned to living with the small black bush flies that glued themselves to clothes and sought the corners of eyes, mouths and nose, but they all hated them.

  ‘And how did you sleep, Helen?’ asked Johnny with a faint grin.

  ‘There is no need to smirk, thank you. I took the other bunk and felt far safer than out here on the ground with wild dogs. Apart from Topov’s snoring, I slept well.’

  Topov appeared looking rumpled, complained of a headache and demanded coffee. Without consulting him, Drago took a few pictures of the deserted homestead and the graves before they left. Topov, if he noticed, made no comment. Marta and Colin travelled with Peter, as usual.

  ‘You’re very quiet, Peter, did you not sleep well?’ asked Marta.

  ‘Only when the silly old man stopped singing,’ he said dourly.

  ‘He was telling you some long story,’ said Colin.

  ‘A fairy story,’ said Peter.

  ‘What do you mean, Peter?’ asked Marta.

  ‘I don’t believe anything he says. I think he is all bullshit.’ He bit his lip and clearly didn’t want to discuss it anymore.

  Their water and petrol were low. Johnny joked they might have to run the cars on rum a
nd everyone’s water was rationed. They fervently hoped that they would have no trouble getting water when they got to Boulia.

  The Land Rover was in the lead and Johnny squinted at the road ahead. ‘Dust. Hope it’s not one of those crazy dust storms, tornado things you hear about.’ He pulled over to confer with the others as they came alongside. ‘Lookit that. What do you make of that big red cloud. A storm?’ he asked.

  ‘Could be a willy willy. I’ve heard about them,’ said Colin.‘But they’re normally a big pillar or column of dust whirling in the sky.’

  ‘What do we do?’ asked Marta. ‘Where to go? It’s a huge cloud.’

  ‘Let’s pull off the road,’ said Peter. ‘Maybe get out the tents and anything that we can cover ourselves with. It’s moving slowly.’

  They all worked feverishly to cover the vehicles with tents and tarpaulins, anchoring them as best they could.

  ‘As soon as it gets closer, get inside, put handkerchiefs, cloths, shirts, hats, over your faces,’ said Drago.

  ‘Cover cameras,’ instructed Topov.

  They waited and in a short time the great dust cloud hovering above the road was revealed to be dust churned by a large mob of cattle. The beasts plodded along, seemingly at their own pace and whim. As they drew closer two men at the head of the herd rode over to investigate the strange convoy battened down beside the track. The filmmakers swiftly flung off their dust protectors and Topov called for the small camera to capture the passing cattle.

  Peter hailed the riders. ‘Hoy there, where’re you going?’

  ‘Moving five hundred head of fats for market. We’re taking it slow, keep up their condition. Not much water about this season,’ said one of the men.

  ‘Where you blokes headed?’ asked the other drover.

  Both of the drovers were suddenly riveted by the sight of Marta emerging from a car in her shorts and tight blouse with a bright lipstick smile. While Topov and Drago were busy with the camera, Helen explained they were a filming expedition.