by Di Morrissey
‘Then you’ll have to come back. I like to sit with a cup of tea and lose myself in them. They take you away to another place,’ said Doris.
‘I’d love to come back, if I may.’
Doris hugged her. ‘Any time. Consider yourself part of the family.’
Andy listened as Veronica told him what she’d unearthed in the archives about Topov’s death.
‘Poor old bugger. No-one deserves to be eaten by a bloody great lizard.’
‘I’ve got a pretty good idea of where it happened so I figure we should go and film the location.’
‘Be careful. There are probably even more crocs around now.’
‘So I hear. There wasn’t much in the police report. Everyone in the group was interviewed and corroborated the story, but now that I think about it, there’s wasn’t an interview with Colin. I wonder why that was. I’ll double-check. And it seems all Topov’s personal effects were handed over to Olga.’
‘And we don’t know what became of Madame Olga?’ said Andy thoughtfully.
‘No. That’s another angle we could chase. So, I’m heading out to Wild Man’s Crossing.’
‘How do you like the outback?’ asked Andy.
‘It’s amazing. Beautiful. Intriguing. I must say it’s quite swept me up.’
‘Hmm,’ said Andy. ‘Now, do you want to hear my news?’
‘Oh, sorry. I’ve been caught up in my stuff. Marta? Did you have any luck?’
‘Sort of. We’ve found her listed with the Screen Actors’ Guild of America in 1959. Of course that address is out of date . . .’
‘That’s exciting. It would be great if we can find her. There are so many questions to ask!’ exclaimed Veronica.
Veronica felt better equipped than for her first outing with Jamie as she packed her backpack for the trip to Wild Man’s Crossing. This time she and Dougie travelled with Jamie in his National Parks four-wheel drive.
For Veronica the journey was enjoyable and companionable as she and Jamie talked while Dougie sat in the back, staring out the window, his iPod in his ear. They turned off the main highway and were soon in the dramatic landscape of rocky red escarpments broken by splashes of vivid green palms, cycads and tawny spinifex. Veronica fell silent, trying to imagine how the vehicles in Topov’s expedition picked their way through this same country with barely a road to follow.
Jamie had warned her there’d be no hospitality like Rick and Vicki had offered at Brolga Springs this time. ‘There’s a basic roadhouse and store with a few motel rooms, unless you want to camp. But for the short time we’ll be here, camping doesn’t seem worth the trouble,’ he said. ‘Sure to meet some colourful characters, though.’
‘I’m a bit over colourful characters,’ confessed Dougie. ‘Seems I’m always filming them for one reason or another. I was told they were people who had opted out of the mainstream, who like to keep to themselves, be known by one name and yet they’re happy to be on camera and talk for an hour.’
Veronica laughed. ‘I know what you mean. The really interesting people don’t want to be filmed at all.’
Dougie wanted to stop along the way to film the landscape. He was so enthused that Veronica agreed to the breaks. Once, while Dougie set up the camera and filmed scenic shots as well as close-ups of plants and tiny marsupial footprints in the soil, Jamie led her a short distance into the scrub, away from the road.
‘Turn your back to the track. Take a deep breath, close your eyes,’ he said.
Veronica did so and then he asked. ‘What do you feel, hear?’
After a few minutes she said, ‘I hear silence. But now I can hear all kinds of things – buzzing of insects, birds a long way away, the scrunch of an animal scratching under a bush or something, wind sort of whispering.’ She stood a moment longer, then opened her eyes. ‘Amazing how alert your senses get out here. There isn’t the bombardment of city sounds, yet it’s a busy world when initially it looks . . . empty and silent.’
Jamie smiled. ‘Yes. You’re starting to attune to the landscape.’
‘Is this how it’s done? Is this how you teach people about the country and what it means?’ she asked.
Jamie nodded. ‘It’s a starting point. I used to walk with Billy blindfolded, holding his hand, to give him a sense of what was around him. Then you have to learn to use your eyes properly, because you’ll start to see small things, details that surprise and enchant.’ He stopped and spread his arms. ‘I walk along a city street and things just pass me by. Here I walk through what looks like empty scrubby rubbish country to some, but I see beauty and layers of life that have continued for hundreds and hundreds of years.’ He looked at her. ‘It’s a learning process. Especially for those of us who grew up some place else.’
‘Yes, I can understand that. But then it begins to make sense?’
‘Yes, it’s as though somewhere there’s a switch that connects us to where we come from and belong, no matter where we’ve been. It turns on and you just know. This is the right place. I find the land seems to speak to me.’
As they drove, Veronica thought about the dichotomy of Jamie’s double inheritance. His life in Melbourne and his life out here were poles apart and yet he apparently fitted in so easily to both. She stole a look at his profile, his fine features, slim brown hands on the steering wheel, the slope of his shoulders and she tried to imagine him naked save for a loincloth and white clay paint, dancing by firelight. He caught her studying him and she looked the other way, hoping her face wasn’t flushed.
Dougie was worried. Scattered clouds had drifted in, shading the sun, fading the brilliant colours of the landscape.
‘Will this cloud last long?’ he asked.
Jamie glanced at the sky. ‘No. It’s between seasons, so you get the odd cloudy day, but it’s not going to set in. Not like the build-up of the wet.’
A high wind was blowing as they rolled into the roadhouse at Wild Man’s Crossing. Several battered and muddy vehicles laden with swags, tents and fishing gear were parked out the front. As she got out and stretched, Veronica was dismayed to hear a jukebox playing and raucous laughter coming from the bar. Jamie turned to her and said:
‘Wait here, I’ll go get the keys. Our rooms are at the back.’
‘Jeez, this looks a bit rough,’ said Dougie.
‘We’re only here a night.’
‘Might’ve been better to pitch a tent or thrown down a swag away from here,’ said Dougie.
‘I agree. Except that Jamie says that the river and billabongs around here are infested with crocs. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t sleep much,’ said Veronica.
‘This camping area and roadhouse wouldn’t have been here, back then when the group came through,’ said Dougie, looking around.
‘No, there would have been nothing but bush. Do you want to do a bit of a recce before dark?’
‘Yes, and hope that it’s fine in the morning. Do we know exactly the spot where the man was taken?’
‘Not really. Jamie is taking us to the Crossing in the morning.’
They drove round the back past a generator, some forty-four gallon drums overflowing with rubbish, a work shed where two blue heeler dogs were chained and a toilet block. Next to a tall eucalypt tree was a low building – four basic bedrooms. Jamie handed them each a key.
‘Keep your rooms locked. Pilfering, drunks and wildlife are rampant.’
‘We were thinking we’d like to drive around a bit, just have a look-see about the area, is that possible?’ asked Veronica.
Jamie handed her the car keys. ‘Go for your life. I’ve got to find one of the land owners from the other side of the river and do a bit of paperwork. Just don’t get out of the car anywhere dicey and don’t get off the tracks.’
‘We’ll be an hour or so. If we’re not back in two, come and find us,’ laughed Veronica.
‘Okay. I’ll eat your share of dinner! But seriously that’s how it works out here. Always let people know where you’re going, what your pl
ans are. There’s a log book in the shop which they get visitors to fill in.’
Veronica felt comfortable driving Jamie’s heavy-duty vehicle. She and Dougie headed along the dirt road and then took a turn off along a smaller track.
‘Bit different from city driving,’ commented Dougie as they bumped across deep dried mud ruts from the last wet season.
‘I feel like I’m on safari,’ said Veronica. ‘I love it out here.’
They drove through the scrubby bush stopping once as a large goanna crossed in front of them.
‘He’s beautiful! Look at those markings,’ exclaimed Veronica.
‘He must be a metre and a half long! I bet the minute I get out with the camera he’ll take off.’
‘Of course he will, Dougie. And probably run straight up you. Isn’t that what they do when they’re frightened, run up the nearest upright object thinking it’s a tree?’
‘Hey, look. There’s the river. And there’s the track in. Let’s take a look,’ said Dougie.
Veronica drove slowly towards the river, following the tyre marks made by other vehicles. They reached a rough clearing that held an improvised barbecue plate on a stone base and at the water’s edge they saw a cement landing, sloping into the water.
‘Boat launching spot,’ said Dougie. ‘Must be good fishing.’
‘I wouldn’t be out on the river in this weather,’ said Veronica looking at the trees whipped up by the wind and the turbulent muddy grey stretch of the river.
‘Looks like a washing machine. It’s rough for sure,’ said Dougie. He opened the car door and they realised how strong the wind was as the door was almost wrenched from his hand. ‘This must be beautiful on a calm sunny day. I might just take a shot of this.’
Veronica sat behind the wheel looking at the river and had to agree, this must look idyllic when the water was glassy smooth and the day was sunny.
Dougie tried to hold his camera steady against his shoulder as he started filming. ‘Wind’s too strong, I need the tripod. I’ll just grab a few hand-held shots from the landing.’
Veronica got out of the car and pressed the central locking button, put the keys in her pocket and followed Dougie as he headed to the landing. But as she looked at the murky churning river and heard the howling wind in the trees, she was gripped by a sudden fear. The place was deserted and looked and felt utterly sinister.
‘Dougie, no! Come back,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t go there.’
‘Just be a tick. One shot.’
‘No! Please, Dougie.’ She started to hurry after him and stopped. She simply couldn’t bring herself to take one more step closer to the river. She glanced around quickly. ‘Dougie! Come back. There’s a crocodile here!’
‘What! Where?’ He stopped, looking around.
‘I know it’s here, quick. Come back to the car!’ Veronica turned back and started running.
Dougie laughed. ‘Come on, how do you know? I can’t see anything.’
‘Dougie, I’m ordering you,’ shouted Veronica. She’d seen pictures of crocodiles and how amazingly fast the reptiles could move on their short legs. Visions of snapping jaws, the horror of being caught in such a mouth, made her start to shake.
Dougie hesitated as Veronica dashed to the car, fumbling with the keys. ‘It won’t open!’ She kept pressing the electronic car key button. ‘Oh, God, we’re locked out!’ She glanced around. With the wind they couldn’t hear any sounds but she was sure that she could feel the presence of the crocodile.
Dougie caught up with her. ‘Why’d you lock it?’
‘I didn’t think, but now it’s jammed or the key has a flat battery.’ She kept clicking the key with no success. ‘Should we climb up on the roof?’
‘What and spend the next two hours sitting there like a pair of dummies? Here let me try.’
He fiddled with the key as Veronica kept telling him to hurry up. Finally there was a click as Dougie manually turned the key and unlocked the doors. Veronica scrambled inside slamming her door shut. ‘Get in Dougie, just hold the camera tightly, I want to get out of here.’ She started reversing quickly.
‘Why’re you so spooked? I’m sure that the river’s too rough for anything to be out there.’
Veronica didn’t answer, relieved to be heading back to the road. Within a few hundred metres they came to a narrow bridge and stopped. ‘You can take your shot from here, looking back at that landing spot on the bank,’ she said.
Dougie shook his head still feeling bemused and leaned against the railing and lifted the camera to focus. But then he suddenly lowered the camera and pointed at the river. ‘Oh, God, look!’
Veronica peered at the river. In the water was a massive crocodile, its mottled hide the colour of the choppy river. It lifted its large head out of the water and with it’s tail flashing, it swam only a few metres from the landing where Dougie had been standing just minutes before. She caught her breath. The croc looked so evil, so cruel.
‘Man, that must be three and a half metres long!’ breathed Dougie, looking pale. ‘Glad I didn’t hang about. How did you know it was there?’
Veronica was too shaken to answer as they turned back towards the roadhouse.
It was a very different scene the following morning when they headed out after breakfast. The previous night had been noisy with music, laughter, shouting and a fight erupting in the bar. The ruckus continued till the small hours. Now the day was still, clear and sunny and Veronica was looking forward to visiting the notorious Wild Man’s Crossing.
‘Was there a wild man?’ asked Dougie as they drove through the bright warm morning, already promising a hot day.
‘Wild Man Johnson was a buffalo hunter, I’ve been told,’ said Veronica, remembering Collette’s comment.
‘Yes, he was another one of those characters from the old days. He ran some cattle but mixed more with the local tribes people than he did with white people,’ said Jamie. ‘I’m sure he was a visitor to Brolga Springs in the early days. Apparently he’d periodically get on the grog and run amok, hence the nickname.’
‘I wonder what happened to him,’ said Veronica.
‘Hard to say, don’t think he had an official family,’ said Jamie.
‘You mean he had a black wife?’ said Veronica.
‘Probably. It was quite common and another reason he didn’t mix in white society. Anyway his legacy is his name attached to a very notorious spot.’
The road they were now on was graded and seemed well used. As they turned past a ranger station they came to a bitumen parking lot where a tourist bus was parked. Beside it were public facilities, toilets, a picnic shelter and a barbecue. A bus driver in shorts, long white socks and a shirt with a company logo on it was setting out plastic glasses on a picnic table, an Esky of cold drinks beside him for a group of foreign tourists. A pathway wound a short distance to the broad river that glinted benignly in the sun. Even from where they’d stopped Veronica could see the now familiar large yellow ‘Achtung’ beware notice above the zigzag jaws of a croc’s head. These signs seemed to be everywhere in the Top End, even beside the smallest pool of water.
Jamie came over with one of the local tour guides. The girl was dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt with an NT logo.
‘This is Justine, she’s going to take you down the river, give you a bit of a talk about her country on the other side.’
‘You comin’, Jamie?’ asked Justine.
‘Oh, I guess so. See if your spiel is up to scratch.’ He smiled.
‘Spiel? I’m talking true story here, fella,’ she kidded him back.
‘Right. This is Veronica and this is Dougie, they’re making a bit of a documentary for TV.’
‘Yeah, is that so? All right, let’s go.’
‘What about the tourists over there, are they coming with us?’ asked Veronica.
‘Yeah, once I get them rounded up. Backpackers can be a bit hard to organise, sometimes.’ She pointed out her shallow, blunt-nosed aluminium boat with a can
opy to shade passengers. There was a narrow portable aluminium walkway from the boat to the small wooden landing on the bank.
‘Walk smartly, don’t linger by the water,’ advised Justine as she ushered them onto the vessel.
Veronica gave Jamie a questioning look and he nodded.
‘Yes, there are a lot of crocs in here.’ He pointed at the opposite bank. ‘Keep your eyes peeled. Several of them will drift to the middle of the river. Justine knows where they are, most of the time.’
Dougie settled himself in the bow with the camera and Jamie sat beside Veronica, waiting for Justine to organise the tourists.
‘This is a great initiative, these indigenous tours,’ said Jamie. ‘You can’t beat the local people talking about their own country. They’ve all come back here from various places and work with the tourists.’
‘There wasn’t work here for them before this?’ asked Veronica.
‘No. Tourism is the way of the future, that’s for sure,’ said Jamie. ‘What the hell?’ He stood up as he heard raised voices.
Veronica swung around. Some of the tourists were at the landing and Veronica watched in horror as they peeled off tops to reveal swimsuits. Two or three had snorkels and one was putting on flippers. Justine was remonstrating with a large red-faced man who was gesticulating and shaking his head.
‘We pay. We come to see everything. We good swimming people.’
‘Swim! Are you nuts!’ snapped Justine with a raised voice. ‘See that sign? No swimming! Danger. Crocodiles. Yum yum. Eat people.’ She made wild gestures but the visitors continued to prepare themselves for a swim.
Veronica looked at the river framed by cabbage tree palms, pandanus and reeds while its crystal clear water flowed gently past. The air was balmy, the water bathtub warm. It all looked very inviting. Jamie scrambled to the stern of the boat where Justine was standing, holding the rope and arguing with the apparent leader of the group.
Jamie stepped ashore and went up to the man, speaking calmly to him. But the man remained adamant and shook his head.
Jamie turned back to Justine. ‘Bring the bus driver down here, please.’
The driver hurried to Jamie, relieved to see someone with some authority dealing with the situation. ‘They won’t listen, I’ve told them …’
