The Silent Country

by Di Morrissey

  Marta sent Colin from the front of house to backstage to check on every detail, while she sat in the tiny dressing room preparing to go on stage. She wore elaborate, heavy make-up and a black dress which she would accessorise with the costume props. She maintained an air of distraction, at once removed from the normal, while remaining razor sharp about every small detail of the production.

  ‘When it goes black at the end of the first scene, wait and count to ten before cueing the lights and the music. Don’t forget to change the props and don’t lose the order of my wardrobe. They are laid out as I need them. And did you get flowers for me? They must be presented at my curtain bows,’ she told Colin.

  Colin nodded. Marta was rather imperious and although she said she was nervous, she looked self- possessed and confident. ‘You really love doing this, don’t you?’ he smiled.

  ‘Don’t you love doing something that you know you’re good at, that sweeps you away, that fulfils you?’ she asked, her eyes shining. ‘Now go. Sit in the front row and clap very loudly!’

  There was an almost full house. Some people had made an effort to dress up and there was an air of anticipation. The lights dimmed, the stage was in darkness. Suddenly, the spotlight blazed onto the stage showing Marta standing, hands folded, head bowed. There were a few half hearted claps. By the end of the first scene, however, the audience were mesmerised and the loud applause was enthusiastic. Her clear voice reached to the back row and the audience stared, transfixed by her accomplished performance. The time seemed to speed past and at the interval Colin raced backstage to double-check on the props, but before he could say a word, Marta held up her hand.

  ‘Do not say anything. Not until the show is finished. Now, make sure everything is in place. Don’t forget the music.’

  After Marta, who’d been word perfect all evening, had finished her final speech and taken three deep bows, Colin presented her with the bouquet of flowers. The thunderous applause continued until Marta blew a series of kisses and gave a small signal to Drago who darkened the set, allowing her to make her way off the stage.

  ‘You were wonderful, fantastic!’ Colin hugged her.

  ‘It went well. But there were small problems. Ask Drago to come and see me.’

  The Wednesday opening night was a great success. Marta was interviewed on the radio and the show was given a rave notice in the paper and so it was booked out for the next few nights. Yet no-one seemed aware that this famous European actress was camped at the beach. Colin kept telling Marta how proud he was of her and how stunned their little group was by her remarkable performance and Topov announced that he would grace the show with his presence on Saturday night.

  After that show Topov came backstage to Marta’s crowded little dressing room. He grandly embraced her and announced, ‘Now, we make big film role. You be famous star.’

  ‘Not unless I’m paid a lot of money,’ retorted Marta.

  Topov threw up his hands, waved to everybody and sailed from the room. ‘I go. Topov has very important business. You wait. Soon we have big success.’ But no-one took much notice.

  After the visitors left, there was another tap at the door and Colin went to open it.

  ‘More fans, I suppose,’ he said.

  However, standing in the doorway, almost unrecognisable in his town clothes, was Len Buchanan from Brolga Springs.

  ‘G’day, mate. What a show! Had to come and congratulate the star.’

  ‘Len! This is a surprise. What are you doing in Darwin?’ asked Marta.

  ‘I’m living here for a bit. Saw a piece in the newspaper about your show, thought I’d come along, see how things’re going.’

  Helen came forward and shook his hand. ‘Wouldn’t have recognised you. Good to see you again.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know me without me horse?’ he grinned.

  ‘Well, you look a lot more spruced up than when we saw you last,’ said Helen.

  ‘So do you lot,’ said Len. ‘Tell me, what’s happening?’ He accepted a glass of beer from Colin and looked around the group.

  ‘We’ve come to a temporary standstill,’ said Drago. ‘The budget is bust.’

  ‘No money?’ said Len. ‘That’s a bit steep. What are you doing about it?’

  ‘We’ve got jobs to tide us over. Doesn’t pay much,’ said Peter.

  ‘Anytime you want to come out with me to make a few quid, let me know. I’m shooting crocs. Skins fetch a good whack.’ He glanced at Helen. ‘If you want to come for a ride, I’ve got me horses here in Darwin.’

  ‘That would be nice. How do I find you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m staying at a mate’s property while he’s away. I’ll write his number down, if I can remember it. Not used to having a phone.’

  Marta did not sit back and bask in her sudden fame and money. She paid the box office girl and Bobby the pianist and, with Colin, marched into a solicitor’s office where she explained her situation. Colin watched quietly as Marta put on another performance about being stranded in Darwin. The solicitor agreed to represent her and said he’d send a letter to Topov demanding that he pay Marta what she was owed.

  Topov ignored it.

  Marta told Colin not to mention the solicitor to the others until the case was resolved. Several days later she stood before the local magistrate in the Court of Petty Sessions.

  Topov, now unable to avoid the issue, made a dramatic entrance into the hearing room at the last moment and when asked if anyone was representing him, Topov announced with a flourish, ‘Topov speak for Topov.’

  He studiously ignored Marta and when directed to a chair before the magistrate’s bench, he flicked imaginary dust from the seat with his large handkerchief, sat, crossed his legs and smiled at the magistrate. But every time Marta’s solicitor began to outline the facts of the case, Topov leapt to his feet, protesting.

  ‘This is rubbish talk. Not so, this crazy story.’

  The magistrate’s patience soon began to wear thin and he admonished Topov, threatening to fine him if he kept interrupting. ‘Wait until it is your turn to speak, Mr Topov.’

  Marta’s solicitor reiterated the facts of her investment in the film project and her being hired to appear in the film as an actress for which she would receive an extra payment over and above the expenses due to all the investors on the trip. When, at last, Madame Konstantinova’s name was mentioned, Topov seized the moment.

  ‘Is true, true. Madame Olga holds all money. I, too, am employee of this lady. She very strict money lady. She keep money. She mad because Helen sleep in my caravan. I do not invite this woman to my caravan. She cold English fish. She is . . .’

  ‘That is enough, thank you, Mr Topov. The fact remains, it was you who auditioned and hired Miss Johanssen. Made promises to her.’ The magistrate peered over his glasses at the angry, red-faced Topov. ‘You are in charge of this filming expedition. Did it not occur to you that you were ill-equipped, that your plans were hazy to say the least? Under these conditions, a lady requires some comforts and certainly some security.’

  ‘I make promise, yes. Topov make successful film. Everyone come with Topov because they know Topov brilliant director. We make film to amaze world, make plenty money.’ For the first time he spun around and directed his gaze at Marta. ‘Everyone share Topov dream. We know it is not easy, not piece of cake. Marta, you are spoiled girl. Selfish girl.’

  ‘That will do, thank you, Mr Topov.’ The magistrate banged his gavel on the desk.

  Marta shifted uncomfortably and refused to look at Topov, but she too was angry.

  Her solicitor put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Say nothing.’

  ‘Mr Topov, I must find against you. You must pay Miss Johanssen the money owed to her.’

  Topov exploded from his seat, gesticulating wildly. ‘Impossible. Topov cannot. Olga has money. Why Marta not sue Olga? Topov innocent man. Topov making brilliant film, make everybody rich. Now this silly little girl stop great film.’ He reefed out his large handkerchie
f again, this time to dab his eyes, saying in an emotional voice, ‘Topov has no money, how he pay this girl? What about all other people? They stay with Topov, but now . . .’

  Marta looked down at her clasped hands as Topov, now on his feet, paced in front of the magistrate.

  The magistrate was unmoved. He gave Marta, looking pale and upset and dressed in a clinging blouse, short skirt and high heels, a swift and appreciative glance, then looked at his notes. ‘I direct you, Maxim Topov, to pay this young lady the two hundred pounds that is currently owed to her . . .’

  Topov’s pathos turned to red-hot fury. ‘I cannot pay. Topov has no money. Olga has money. Topov sacrifice everything to make great film.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to sell whatever you can,’ said the magistrate firmly. ‘Your vehicles, your camera, to raise the money that you owe Miss Johanssen.’

  Topov froze, his power and energy suddenly drained from him. ‘Sell? You make Topov sell camera? Sell my soul, sell my passion, sell my life?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘I do not make this film for Topov. I make this film for Australia, for world.’ He began shaking his head as he paced like a caged lion. ‘No, no, is impossible.’

  ‘I’m sorry Mr Topov, that’s the law. You owe Miss Johanssen two hundred pounds. You have broken an agreement and she is entitled to restitution. That is all. This case is concluded.’

  Topov suddenly dissolved like a snowman in the sun. He walked in front of Marta, opened his arms and fell to his knees, his voice trembling.

  ‘Marta. Why you do this? You are beautiful actress. I make you star. We all work hard, we all one family. Why, why you do this?’ His voice broke.

  The solicitor grabbed Marta’s arm and bundled her out of the room. ‘The man is mad.’

  Marta wiped her eyes as Colin hurried after her, watching her distressed face.

  ‘What will happen?’

  ‘He has to pay her,’ said the solicitor. ‘Will you take her home?’ He turned to Marta and handed her an envelope. ‘My account. I do hope you can settle it quickly.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘Don’t want any more money troubles, do we?’

  Seeing Marta’s expression change from distress to haughty disdain, Colin stepped forward and took the envelope. ‘Your bill will be paid. Thank you.’ He took Marta’s arm and they walked away from the court.

  ‘I didn’t want him to have to sell everything. I didn’t think this through,’ she said. ‘It’s Madame Olga who should be paying. Topov’s right. Anyway, Colin, I have enough from the show to pay the solicitor.’

  ‘Fine then. Maybe this has taught Topov a lesson. Why don’t you let me or Drago or Helen talk to him when he’s calmed down? We’ll tell him to talk to Madame Olga and get some money up here straight away.’

  ‘Perhaps I have been selfish. I was so angry. I was promised extra money for appearing in the film,’ said Marta. ‘I am a professional actress. I am not some cheesecake model . . .’

  ‘I know you aren’t,’ broke in Colin hastily. ‘Everyone knows now. You were brilliant in your stage show.’

  ‘I just don’t want to be a woman that men tramp all over,’ said Marta vehemently.

  ‘I respect you, Marta, for standing up for yourself. No-one else thought of confronting Topov,’ said Colin.

  ‘I bet that he won’t sell anything. He’ll weasel his way out of this, like he always does,’ said Marta. ‘At least I have a moral victory. And it might get him to spur Madame Olga into action.’

  ‘So then everyone won’t be too angry,’ said Colin comfortingly.

  But when Marta told the others what had transpired, they stared at her, quite shocked. Then they became annoyed and agitated.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us what you were doing? We could have all applied to the court,’ said Drago.

  ‘You knew I was doing my show for money,’ said Marta defensively.

  ‘We didn’t know you were just looking after yourself!’ said Johnny.

  ‘If he sells the gear we can’t go on,’ said Drago.

  ‘We’re all stranded,’ said Peter.

  They all glared at Marta and Colin looked down at his feet not knowing what to say.

  ‘I’m not sorry for suing Topov,’ said Marta heatedly, ‘but I am sorry that I have put you all in this spot. Perhaps we can find the money another way, without having to sell everything.’

  It was Helen who spoke up, ‘We all need money. Why don’t we do what Len suggested?’

  ‘Hunt crocodiles? I’m not very happy about that,’ said Peter.

  ‘Well, according to Len, it’s good money. Very good money,’ said Johnny and everyone looked at him, thinking the same thing.

  ‘You wouldn’t tackle a croc, would you?’ asked Drago.

  ‘I’ll do anything for money,’ said Johnny cheerfully.

  ‘It wouldn’t do any harm to talk to Len. Find out what’s involved,’ said Helen.

  ‘It’d be good if we could film some of it,’ said Drago. ‘Now that’d be real action.’

  Marta had kept quiet but now offered to help. ‘If you all want to risk your lives to go on with this craziness . . . I will contribute any money that I have left over after I’ve paid my solicitor’s bill.’

  A huge smile broke out on Colin’s face and he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ll go along too.’

  ‘We’d better see if Len is keen on a bunch of amateurs tagging along,’ said Helen. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

  That night everyone, including Topov, who didn’t want to be left out, met Len in the bar of a pub he frequented down near the harbour. Helen quickly took control, calling the meeting to order. ‘Len and I have already been talking and he’d be happy to have us join him in a business arrangement.’

  ‘We make film business,’ said Topov.

  ‘We need to buy petrol, supplies,’ said Helen patiently. ‘So we need money.’

  ‘Who can handle a gun?’ asked Len.

  ‘I can. I have in the war. But I’m not much of a shot,’ said Peter.

  ‘I can, too,’ said Helen.

  ‘Gee, that’s great,’ replied Len.

  ‘So how dangerous is this business?’ asked Johnny.

  ‘You just have to be careful, have your wits about you and listen to me,’ said Len. ‘We’re trapping the crocs as well as hunting them in the boat. And there’s more work after they’re caught. It’s not pleasant dealing with the skins, skinning, salting, packing them, but they fetch bloody good money.’

  ‘How you catch these monsters?’ asked Topov. ‘We want to see plenty action. Drama. Excitement.’

  Len tried not to smile. ‘Reckon you’ll see a bit of action, Mr Topov.’

  ‘So how would it work, with all of us?’ asked Helen.

  ‘In small groups, you’d each have a different job, provided you’re physically up for it,’ said Len.

  ‘I don’t have to go if there are too many of us,’ offered Marta.

  ‘No, we need you to be on camera,’ said Drago.

  Topov quickly added, ‘Marta be damsel in distress.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere near a crocodile,’ said Marta quickly.

  ‘Once they’re tied up, they’re pretty harmless, you can jump on them and wrestle them a bit,’ said Len nonchalantly.

  Marta turned up her nose.

  ‘Where do we get money for the skins?’ asked Johnny.

  ‘I sell ’em in Darwin. And a couple of blokes buy ’em and take ’em to Broome, too. Flog them in Asia.’

  ‘Can we catch crocs in daylight?’ asked Drago. ‘I’m thinking it’ll be hard to shoot them in the dark.’

  ‘Nah, night is best, spot their eyes, they glow red in the dark,’ said Len.

  ‘We’ll need spotlights in the dark.’

  ‘Once we’ve found the croc,’ said Len.

  ‘So where do we go?’ asked Helen. ‘Is it public land or someone’s property?’

  ‘I have a few Abo mates I go out with. It’s their territory so they know where the crocs hang around.
Couple of spots are quiet backwaters, never been fished much either. You can’t believe the size of the fish in there.’

  ‘Well, we won’t starve,’ said Johnny. ‘You catch ’em, I’ll cook ’em.’

  ‘Croc is beautiful meat to eat,’ said Len. ‘How soon do you want to set off?’

  ‘As soon as possible, I guess,’ said Helen looking around the group.

  ‘Marta need costume for part. Safari clothes,’ said Topov. He turned to Marta. ‘You have money, you buy hunting clothes.’

  ‘I’ve got enough suitable clothes already,’ said Marta. ‘And why am I the one in the front line here? Shouldn’t we film Len and the others in action, too?’

  ‘Let’s just shoot it as it happens,’ said Drago quietly.

  ‘Topov make big story,’ began Topov but they ignored him.

  Helen broached the subject that was on their minds. ‘How do we share the profits?’

  ‘That depends how many skins we get, how big they are, the demand and the going price for them. But look, I’ll do the right thing by you blokes. I don’t mind helping you out a bit,’ said Len, smiling at Helen.

  ‘So, our convoy hits the road again,’ laughed Marta. She was surprised how happy she felt to be travelling out into the bush again.

  ‘Where are we headed?’ asked Helen who was sitting in Len’s vehicle with Marta also squashed into the front seat.

  ‘Round the South Alligator River region. Might cross into West Arnhem Land where there’re some special spots. It’s wild blackfella country out there and I have a couple of them lined up to help us.’

  ‘Are we allowed to hunt on Aboriginal land?’ asked Helen.

  Len shrugged. ‘Depends who catches us, eh? The black-fellas don’t care, it’s open slather as far as they’re concerned.’

  They’d left the organisation of the supplies to Len, the cost of which would come out of their share of the profits. They set off, travelling east in a small convoy consisting of Len’s truck carrying a runabout, a wooden dinghy tied on top, the Land Rover, the Jeep and, bringing up the rear, the old Dodge towing the very battered yellow caravan. They left the main road and followed smaller ones until they petered out. Then they trailed behind Len as the bull-bar of his truck tore through the scrub, snapping saplings, exploding termite mounds in a shower of red dirt while eucalyptus trees and cycads flailed at them as they passed. They drove beside a magnificent billabong seething with honking ducks and geese and squawking, flapping ibis amongst the giant pink waterlilies.