The Silent Country

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Topov knows this,’ he snapped. ‘Recorder in caravan. Peter. He know machinery, he do sound.’

  ‘What? I’m a mechanic not a movie person,’ Peter expostulated.

  ‘Calm down, friend. It is simple once you understand. It runs on torch batteries,’ said Drago. ‘If it is portable.’

  ‘You mean we could’ve done sound recording all this time!’ exclaimed Johnny.

  ‘Marta actress. We dub later,’ said Topov.

  The tape recorder was brand new, had never been out of its box.

  ‘What else do you have in that caravan?’ demanded Johnny.

  Topov ignored him, tossing the box to Peter. ‘You make sound for tribal people.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ said Drago.

  ‘Let me check it out first,’ said Peter curtly.

  Colin produced his notebook. ‘I’ll need to know what you’re recording to match it up with the filmed sequences.’

  The following morning Len arrived back with Marta and Helen, who both said how they had enjoyed their night of relative comfort.

  ‘The blacks are starting to put paint on to get ready for the big show. Figured you might like to film them doing it. It’s quite a performance in itself,’ said Len.

  ‘Is that them singing down by the river?’ asked Marta.

  ‘Yep. The initiated men are chanting.’ As Helen rose, he said apologetically, ‘Sorry, love, women taboo. You’re not supposed to see this. Same as the men can’t look at what the women are doing before they dance.’

  Topov pointed at Colin, Drago and Peter. ‘You go film. Topov come later.’

  ‘Should we be filming it, if it’s taboo?’ asked Colin.

  ‘Topov does not care. Just get pictures.’

  ‘I’m going fishing then,’ announced Johnny.

  ‘Maybe we should see what the women are doing,’ Marta said to Helen.

  ‘I’m really not all that interested.’ Helen retreated to the caravan.

  Colin and Marta exchanged a look and Marta clamped a hat on her head and went off to the camp to find Doris and the women. She was quite intrigued by the women’s activities. Later, as Marta sat with Colin eating their dinner, he quietly told her of the amazing scenes of the men preparing for the corroboree.

  ‘You know, some of the men cut themselves so that they bleed and they use the blood as glue to stick on feathers as well as paint. They use ochres and clays as well and the designs are magnificent. There’s such a ritual to everything. Drago was beside himself filming it all. I think he was glad Topov wasn’t there.’

  ‘How did Peter go with the sound?’

  ‘Great. Though it was a bit touch-and-go when he played back something to see if it was properly recorded and the men got upset and quite scared to hear their voices coming back at them. But after a few moments they thought it was a big joke.’

  Annabel and Len joined them as the sun was setting and they could hear that the singing had begun.

  ‘I brought along some camp stools, these things can go on all night,’ Annabel said as they walked to the Aboriginal camp.

  The ceremonial ground had been brushed clean with branches and some of the other stationhands joined the small party as they settled in for the show. Johnny and Peter had driven the three vehicles through the trees and parked them so that the headlights would help illuminate the dancers. Topov had ordered the cumbersome tripod and big camera to be set up and directed Drago to move among the dancers and film them using the smaller, more portable Bolex. Peter sat on the ground holding the microphone of the tape recorder.

  Slowly some of the young women with babies and children and frail old people settled in behind them, though the children soon wiggled their way to the front.

  The old men who had daubed their bodies with clay designs, filed in singing and chanting to a beat pounded on clapsticks and boomerangs. Behind them appeared the dancers. The men – wearing only small loincloths, paint, feathers and headbands – were already stirring a dust cloud that swirled around their stamping feet. The energy, the powerful imagery, the sinuous movements accompanied by stamping and high-pitched chanting, combined with the thudding sticks and the pulsating sound of two didgeridoos was hypnotic.

  To Colin, the body paintings – ochres and dramatic white pipe clay in dots, waving lines and intricate scrolls studded with feathers – looked like living, writhing masterpieces. He tried to draw some of the patterns in his notebook but hated to take his eyes away from the dancing for a moment.

  Marta studied the dancers’ faces, the expressions and the body movements and began to follow the story. ‘Look, he’s the hunter and that man is a crocodile and there . . . Look at the birds.’

  Annabel leaned over and told them. ‘This is the brolga dance. Have you seen our brolgas, the beautiful grey birds with long legs and necks? This is how they dance when they’re courting.’

  The story had now moved to a lagoon and one of the dancers, paddling in a make-believe canoe, was being trailed by a sliding crocodile. Several of the children cried out, warning the hunter. But it was the flock of beautiful and majestic brolgas that came to the hunter’s rescue by chasing away the crocodile.

  And then on the edge of the make-believe lagoon, the women dancers suddenly appeared. The phalanx of women, their pendulous breasts swaying, their arms swinging as they looked down at the ground, didn’t have the lithe lightness of the men but their strong voices, heavily painted faces and hair matted with white powder created a chorus to match theirs.

  Topov was beside himself. He swayed and clapped and, as the dance reached its crescendo, he leapt to his feet and, to the onlookers’ amazement, he joined the line of men, stamping and chanting. What shocked the film makers was not his audacity at involving himself in something so culturally foreign, but the fact that despite his weight he moved with such agility and rhythm that he imitated the hopping and stepping line of men.

  It didn’t last long. There was a shriek of approval from all the audience, the kids jumped up and down and clapped, but soon Topov was out of breath and triumphantly returned to his seat.

  For everyone present, time seemed to have disappeared as they were swept away in the power and magic of the dance. The firelight sparking into the night sky, the gleam from the car headlights on the shining black bodies, gave them all, for a moment, a sense that they were peeking into another dimension where millennia had passed and that this was how it had always been.

  When there was a lull in the proceedings Annabel leaned over and said, ‘No matter how often I’m privileged to witness these events I feel I’m watching something so unique, so special.’

  ‘It’s wonderful. I hope this dance never dies out,’ said Marta.

  ‘Ah, that is a question for the future, isn’t it? I’m very proud our blacks can live here and keep up the old ways,’ said Annabel Johns getting up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to be up early. I hope you have enjoyed the evening. They’ll go on for quite some time yet, but they won’t be offended if you leave.’

  They thanked her and watched her drive back to the Big House.

  ‘You have to be a special type of woman to live out here,’ said Marta.

  ‘It’s certainly isolated,’ agreed Helen. ‘One would crave decent company.’

  ‘We’re very lucky to have seen this, just the same,’ said Marta.

  ‘It’s something I’ll never forget,’ added Colin.

  ‘Len, can you escort us back to the homestead? I’m looking forward to a comfortable bed again.’ With that Helen rose and she and Marta, accompanied by Len, walked into the darkness.

  The following morning they packed up and said goodbye and thank you to Annabel. As they drove through the homestead gate, they saw Len and Doris saddling their horses. Everyone stopped to shake Len’s hand and thank him for his help and kindness. Marta called Doris over and gave her a hug.

  ‘You’re a gorgeous little girl, Doris. I hope your life will be a happy one.’

  ‘You pretty lady,’
said Doris staring at Marta.

  Impulsively Marta took off a thin etched, silver bracelet with a small silver charm of a star from her wrist and handed it to Doris who quickly put it on her arm. ‘It’s too big. Here, wear it like this.’ Marta twisted the bracelet and snapped it twice around Doris’s wrist. Doris held out her little arm and admired the adornment, looking immensely pleased.

  Len pulled off his hat and shook hands with them all. ‘Good luck with the rest of your trip. Sorry I can’t be of more help along the way. Man’s gotta job to do.’

  ‘You’ve been extremely helpful. Given us a chance to get some wonderful footage,’ said Helen graciously.

  Topov waved regally from the Land Rover. ‘We send you invitation to premiere!’

  ‘Right, yeah, thanks,’ laughed Len.

  After dinner on what was to be their last camp before Darwin, Colin and Marta walked away from the campfire together.

  ‘We’ll be in Darwin tomorrow, if nothing goes wrong. It will be strange being in civilisation again,’ said Colin. ‘I like the peace of being in the wide open spaces.’

  ‘Me also. Except for the discomfort. If we had better places to stay, even better tents and beds and proper equipment, I would like it more,’ said Marta. ‘But only for a short time. I couldn’t live so far from everything. My mind would starve.’

  ‘You’re used to an audience, the bright lights,’ said Colin. ‘I’ve done more thinking out here than ever before in my life.’

  ‘What are you thinking, Colin?’ asked Marta, leaning close to him, her voice husky.

  ‘About you, of course,’ he said quickly. ‘But also about my life, my family . . . my future. All this.’ He waved at the starry sky, a hill with a tree silhouetted against the moon. ‘It makes you feel insignificant in the big plan of life. But it also makes me feel big. I mean big-hearted, you can dream big dreams, that there’s a bigger world out there. I now think cities make you feel small, cramp your mind.’

  ‘Because out here life is reduced to being very simple. Food, shelter, stillness,’ said Marta. ‘And it makes you face who you are. There isn’t much pretence in a place like this. There’s nowhere to hide.’

  ‘You mean from each other? It’s interesting how we all get on, know each other’s faults, annoy each other, but help one another. I wouldn’t know these people so well in a city.’

  ‘And that can be a good thing and a bad thing,’ agreed Marta. ‘The fact is we have to rely on each other to get us through so we all get something out of Topov’s crazy dream. I won’t care if I never see any of these people again once we are done. Except you.’

  ‘Oh, Marta. That’s what I’ve been thinking too,’ said Colin in a rush of emotion. He put his arms around her and held her tight.

  She wound her arms around his neck and lifted her face to be kissed. Colin sighed and pressed his mouth to hers. Then he sighed again. ‘Oh, Marta. I wish we were really alone. How romantic this would be.’

  ‘We can be alone in Darwin. Everyone will be busy there. We can do things together.’ She smiled coquettishly at him.

  ‘Like a nice dinner? Once we get our money,’ said Colin.

  Marta snuggled against him. ‘We can be together without spending money.’

  ‘Oh.’ The knowledge of the invitation she was proposing, aroused him and he kissed her passionately, feeling the curves of her body press into him.

  Marta drew away. ‘Let’s wait till Darwin. We can be together then.’

  7

  VERONICA HAD PUT TIME aside to have lunch with Colin. She knew he enjoyed these meetings and she was anxious to know what had happened to the filmmakers in Darwin. She was especially interested in finding out if Colin knew how the cheeky cockney kid Johnny had transformed into the rich and notorious businessman now known as John Cardwell.

  ‘Hi Colin, it’s Veronica here. I was wondering if you’re free for lunch sometime?’

  Colin drew a long breath. ‘I’m sorry, Veronica, I can’t meet you again. Let’s just forget it. I really don’t want to talk about this whole episode anymore. It was just a wild goose chase.’

  ‘What? Why ever not? It’s a fantastic story. We’re really quite keen to pursue it.’

  ‘Please don’t, Veronica.’

  Veronica paused, quite shocked. What had brought about this sudden shift in Colin’s thinking? Then she realised. ‘Colin, how long is it since you’ve seen Johnny, John Cardwell?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him in many, many years. I’ve told you that already, we just don’t move in the same circles. I’m sorry, Veronica, I must go now.’

  ‘Colin, just one last thing, I know that you haven’t seen John Cardwell, but have you spoken to him recently? Did he ring you?’

  The silence on the end of the phone told her all she needed to know. No wonder Cardwell had wanted to see her. He wanted to know who her source was.

  ‘Whatever happened in Darwin? Were you happy? Did it change your life?’ persisted Veronica, fishing hard.

  But Colin just answered softly, ‘Goodbye.’

  Andy rubbed his chin. ‘Mmm, more and more interesting. It would appear that Cardwell is trying to stop us digging. But why? It makes me want to know more.’

  ‘Yes. Me too. I can’t believe that I was so stupid not to get some of Colin’s story on film. But it never occurred to me that he would stop talking, he so clearly enjoyed relating the events. But without Colin, we only have a few clues. Everything seems to hinge on what happened in Darwin,’ said Veronica. ‘I’ve looked online to see if I can find anything in the local papers, but only newspapers till 1954 are available that way. The rest of them are still on microfilm.’

  ‘So that’s your next move, right?’ said Andy.

  ‘Prise open your wallet, boss. I’m heading to Darwin to see if I can pick up the trail,’ Veronica replied.

  Andy looked concerned and gave her a rueful smile. ‘Ordinarily, I’d say go for it, even though the story’s still a bit of a long shot, but I’ve been summoned to a meeting with Big Bill. Economic constraint seems to be the buzzword around here.’

  ‘Oh. Would there be any point in my taking off before the ground gets cut from under us? Do you really think our budget will be slashed? Or worse . . .?’ She couldn’t bring herself to even think that the program might be axed. Apart from how it would affect her and the rest of the team, it would break Andy’s heart. He’d poured so much of himself into Our Country.

  ‘I’d hate to have to haul you back and frankly I’d have a hard time justifying the trip on such tenuous leads. I don’t think our new leader would appreciate the fact we’re chasing a story based on your gut instinct and my antennae.’

  ‘And the fact that, for some unknown reason, one of the country’s most notorious characters has tried to squash the story about this funny little filming expedition by putting the hard word on you and scaring off my source,’ added Veronica. ‘When’s the meeting?’

  ‘Tomorrow at ten.’

  ‘So we put everything on hold for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’ Andy smiled. ‘By the way, since there seems to be only one other person we can still talk to, did you get Marta’s last name?’

  ‘No. Colin loved talking about her. But stupidly I didn’t ask him what it was before he was frightened off.’

  ‘Mmm. Depending on the outcome of the meeting with our new fearless leader, I might call my old pal Jim Winchester at the Darwin Daily and see if he can find anything.’

  ‘Andy, it’s our story! If we can’t afford to go to Darwin and pursue it then we have to drop it,’ said Veronica.

  Andy looked at her, knowing Veronica would never let a story go if she could help it. ‘Okay. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.’

  William Rowe greeted Andy courteously if less effusively than their last meeting and Andy took his business like manner as meaning bad news. He sat opposite the man behind the desk while he signed some papers.

  Rowe looked up and took off
his glasses. ‘I’ve done a lot of work since I saw you last, Andy. Reading reports and press clippings, watching shows, interviewing staff, wandering around the station, watching shows go to air, chatting to the folk in control rooms and in various departments. Interesting to hear in-house opinions.’

  ‘As opposed to viewers’?’ said Andy.

  ‘That too. I’ve seen the market research reports. I often find it fruitful to talk to the barber and the lady in the supermarket as well.’

  ‘I imagine you have quite an across-the-board overview then,’ said Andy carefully.

  ‘You might say that. I think I’ve identified where our weak spots are, where talent and programming are letting us down. And I see where we could improve and boost shows that have perhaps not met their full potential.’

  ‘Well, I guess we all have a view on that, even if biased,’ said Andy with a small smile.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush, or country,’ Rowe said with a slight grin at his word association. ‘While the emphasis on demographics has to change, as I mentioned in our previous meeting . . .’

  ‘Younger,’ said Andy.

  ‘The twenties and thirties, yes. Younger but not silly. There are enough idiot shows out there for hormone- hyped, boozed blokes and wild-girl audiences. It’s actually come as a pleasant surprise to discover there are a lot of bright, articulate, motivated young people under thirty – and forty come to that – who, apart from sport, soaps and dramas, don’t have shows that interest them very much at all.’

  Andy felt he should speak up for his program. ‘We have a pretty solid youthful audience. How to attract new ones, well, that’s the question, isn’t it?’ He was thinking positively, assuming Our Country was being considered in this new push for audiences.

  ‘That is your challenge. You and your team, Andy. I have to admit, I was rather surprised at the solid ratings of your show even though it’s tucked away there on Wednesday nights.’

  ‘The comfortable old shoe?’ remarked Andy, remembering their previous talk.

  ‘Quite. But I’m seeing the potential for a bit of spit and polish. A makeover. Well, not quite as drastic as that. But I think there’s a good chance we can boost the ratings and prestige of the station by giving you guys a bit of a push.’