Six and a half days a week he laboured in the depths of the opal mine with Mickey, and they made some good finds. Not enough to make their fortune though, but each gem they discovered led them to hope that somewhere in the claystone and dirt that was forever in their clothes, in their eyes, even in their mouths, there’d be a big strike. They both believed wholeheartedly that one day it would happen to them too.
Mickey, something of a daredevil in the way he casually handled the gelignite and fuses, nevertheless possessed the patience to go on. And CJ had the drive — the relentlessness to work long hours at a stretch, digging, hauling the claystone out, sifting through it and then discarding the useless earth in a heap near the mine. Often he worked long into the night, indeed the difference between day and night counted for little down the mine. His dream pushed him on and the most profitable cattle run in far north Queensland was his first goal. He’d have the best homestead, the best mix of cattle and then he’d diversify into other businesses, property, sugar cane and overseas investments.
That’s where his grandfather had gone wrong. Old Percy had put all the profits back into the land and when the hard times came — one of the longest droughts on record — there’d been no reserve and eventually the banks had reclaimed Amba Downs. Damn those fastidious number crunchers, they had presided over many a family’s downfall. Well, they wouldn’t preside over his. With his bare hands and his brains and the energy he possessed he would carve an empire such as had never been known in Queensland.
“If Gus finds you here, I don’t know who he’ll skin first, you or me,” Mary giggled as CJ took her in his arms.
They had never gone to her room before because she was afraid Gus or someone else might see CJ coming or going, but he’d entreated and cajoled her until she had agreed. How could she resist? CJ was marvellous. Warm, caring and considerate, she couldn’t deny him anything.
His blue-eyed gaze darted around the plain room. The floor was of worn linoleum, the walls were unpainted galvanised iron and from the ceiling a bare globe hung without a shade. An old wardrobe with a mirror stood near the window and beside the single bed was a small bedside table with a reading lamp. Next to the door stood a second-hand bookshelf in which Mary kept her growing library of books.
“I made sure Gus had quite a few tonight and doesn’t he sleep on the other side of the hotel?” CJ asked. He watched her nod her head affirmatively. “Then we’ve nothing to worry about, unless old Gus’s snores blow the roof off.”
Mary disengaged herself from him to go and pull down the shade and draw the curtains, though it made the room suffocatingly hot. She then turned on the oscillating fan she had bought last week, it would at least move the warm air around the room.
“I’ve something to show you,” CJ said as he sat on the bed, which squeaked under his weight. “Look!” He took a piece of cloth out of his back trouser pocket and laid it on the cotton bedspread. Slowly he undid the soft cloth to reveal several stones. He turned the stones over so that Mary could see the opals and the shimmering colours trapped within.
“They’re beautiful.”
“Aren’t they. They’re the biggest and best we’ve found.” He turned the reading lamp on, picked up the largest stone and held it to the light, turning it in different directions. “See the colours. Magnificent. Mickey reckons it’s worth a thousand dollars by itself.”
“A thousand!” Mary had never seen anything worth that much money in one piece. “The colours, they’re like a rainbow. CJ, tell me about opals. How are they made?”
CJ thought for a moment, trying to think of a simple, uncomplicated explanation for the gems. “According to what I’ve read and heard from the other miners and Mickey, precious opal occurs in rocks affected by weathering. Sun, wind and rain, can start the process which may have begun up to seventy million years ago.”
“Gosh, I had no idea they were that old.”
“Well, the stone’s aren’t — it’s the process that’s old. Weathering makes the country rock produce something called kaolin and soluble silica — the main ingredients in claystone and other rocks. As the weathering continues, cavities are created in the rock by dissolving minerals and fossil shells. These cavities provide pathways for underground water containing the soluble silica.”
A puzzled frown feathered across her young forehead. “But how does this create the opal?”
“Experts reckon that as the water table rises and falls, probably because of changes in the weather, the silica-rich solutions are carried downwards, depositing opal containing stone in the cavities.” He grinned at her. “And now they’re down there just waiting to be dug up.”
“I think I understand. It’s a bit like the way silver and gold are formed, but how do the stones get their spectacular colours?”
“From the silica and water, which over millions of years, goes rock hard. Generally, precious opal contains six to ten per cent water. It’s that plus the silica squares arranged in a regular pattern that make the colours. The colour you see in them, the reds, blues, yellows and greens is caused by the regular array of silica spheres diffracting white light.” He paused for a breath. “If you didn’t shine light on them, or see them in the sunlight, you’d have no idea of the brilliant colours contained in the stone. Colour also depends on the angle of light. Rotating a stone can make the colours change and even disappear.”
Mary shook her head. It was complicated and she didn’t understand all of it, even though CJ had explained it well. “It is a little difficult to understand …”
“Don’t worry too much about it,” he told her. He took her hand and placed the largest uncut stone into her palm. “I want you to have this, Mary.” He pulled her onto his lap and stroked her dark hair. “I’ll have a jeweller in Adelaide polish it and make you a pendant, or a ring. How does that sound?”
“CJ, I couldn’t. It’s so valuable, I’d be scared to wear it.”
“Nonsense,” he assured her. He studied her dark-skinned face for a moment. Her parentage had bequeathed her the dark hair and complexion of her mother, but he guessed that her eyes came from her father. They were an interesting mixture of light-brown with greenish flecks. “You know, your eyes are like brown opals. I’ll have to find a good one for you, maybe enough to make earrings as well.”
She smiled back at him. “You’re too good to me, CJ.” Then she frowned. “What if…” He kissed the side of her neck and she suddenly found it hard to think, “I lost it?”
“You won’t.” He continued to feather kisses down to her bare shoulder, his lips tasting the slight saltiness of her skin while at the same time his hands caressed her body, feeling it stir to his touch. She was a sensual little creature and responded almost immediately to his demands. His mouth found hers in a searing kiss of possession and he teased her lips with his tongue until she opened to him. He sank his tongue deep into her mouth and ravaged it, his body hardening as he heard her throaty moans of delight. “Oh, baby,” he whispered close to her ear. “I want you so much.”
“Me too, my darling.” Mary helped him strip off her flimsy clothes and she tingled all over with delight and need as his ambitious hands and mouth roamed over her, bringing her to an anticipatory peak in just a few minutes. How she loved him. CJ had filled her thoughts, her dreams ever since the first time they’d made love, on a rug out at the Breakaways, with the moonlight anointing their bodies and a million stars twinkling down on them as unbiased observers. It had been so romantic and absolutely wonderful.
All her life Mary had yearned for someone to love. At the mission school she had been fond of the nuns, but they always stayed somewhat aloof. There had been the children though. One girl, Paula, whom she’d loved like a sister. Paula had been fostered out last year and since then, the only creature she’d pinned her affection on was Sister Magdalena’s dog. Bitsy, a part dingo, kelpie and labrador cross, was named appropriately. Leaving Bitsy behind when she left the mission had made her cry more than any other reason, though in
hindsight she now realised that many of her tears had been for fear of the unknown.
Now shirtless, CJ laid her back on the bed and stripped the rest of his clothes off. He leant back to look at her, as he liked to do, and smiled as he marvelled at the beauty of her body. She’d been almost pitifully thin when she’d first come to work at Gus’s but she had filled out nicely. Her breasts were round orbs of delight, her waist so narrow he could almost span it with his large hands and her shapely thighs and the dark triangle of her womanhood made him wonder, suddenly, what the hell he was waiting for. An invitation? He smiled to himself, he had that. She was ripe, ready for him and the straining nature of his erection told him he was more than ready for her too.
He reached forward to turn off the reading lamp. “Baby, you got that script, didn’t you?”
“The pill? Yes.” A wave of heat rushed through her body as she remembered the discussion with the visiting doctor. It had been embarrassing to have to ask for the contraceptive pill and then listen to the doctor’s lecture on morality and the possible side effects of the medication. “I’ve been taking them for ten days, but sometimes it’s hard remembering to take one every day.”
He laughed that deep throaty laugh of his. “Don’t forget, baby. We don’t want any little accidents, do we?”
“No, but…” In the darkness his mouth unerringly found hers, cutting off what she’d been going to say. And then, as his body covered hers she gave herself up to the passion CJ could arouse in her, and welcomed his sensual, satisfying domination.
CJ climbed down the eight metre metal ladder into the darkness of the mine. The horizontal drive ran in a straight line due north — he’d checked the compass so that they didn’t run into the adjoining claim which ran due south. The work was tougher than jackerooing, tougher than gold mining. At least over in Kal they had machinery to take away the mullock and do the drilling. Here they had to hand gouge to find traces, then use a wheelbarrow to bucket the potch in, and then hand haul it out of the mine. Slow, sweaty, backbreaking work.
Mickey’s enthusiasm was one thing that kept him going. Whenever they found a slim opal bearing seam his partner would dance about as if they’d won first prize in a lottery. CJ smiled to himself. And then Mickey’d remind him that the regular finding of opal bearing deposits was a sure sign they were getting close to a productive seam.
CJ flicked on his miner’s hat light and followed the well-worn track to the end of the drive where he could hear Mickey drilling holes to place the gelignite.
“Time for a break, Mickey. Here’s a thermos flask of cold water.”
“Thanks, mate, I could drink a bucketful.”
Mickey dropped the hand drill and promptly squatted on the mine floor amid the debris of broken rocks and claystone. “Take a look at that one,” he pointed to a clump of whitish-yellow claystone.
Thumbing away the loose stone, pinpoints of light and colour were picked up by the light. CJ whistled in appreciation. “It’s beautiful.” The find began to glow a pale yellowish-blue.
“What’s it like up top?”
“So bloody hot you could fry eggs and bacon on the VW’s roof. The thermometer says it’s 108 degrees, but I think it’s shot. Have you noticed, it doesn’t go above 108 or drop below 95 degrees?”
Mickey grinned cheekily up at him. “Well, I’m glad I’m in here and you’re working up there.”
Both men knew there was little difference in the physical energy needed to work either in the mine or above it. The real difference was that the mine stayed approximately fifty degrees Celsius where on the surface it did not.
“Lucky bugger.” CJ shifted away from his leaning position against the mine wall. “Finish your drink before you dehydrate.”
“Okay. I’m setting nine sticks of gelly,” Mickey pointed to the thin milky white line running horizontally at chest level. “This one looks promising.”
CJ laughed. “That’s what you always say.”
Leaving Mickey to his task CJ strode back to the shaft and started to load the platform. There were about fourteen bucket loads to be sorted so he began the task of getting the mullock up to the surface then painstakingly noodling for small pieces of colour.
All was quiet above ground, the barren landscape with its mullock dumps resembled what CJ imagined could look like an alien world. Not a bird, a breath of breeze or a sound broke the silence. And as always, the unrelenting sun beat down from a cloudless sky. The only noise CJ was aware of was his heavy breathing as he hand winched up the load. The sturdy timber frame which held the pulley creaked protestingly, like the rope, as it wound around and around. He locked the device and as fast as his aching muscles would allow removed the buckets from the platform.
In the process of returning the platform to the mine floor he heard a noise. The sound was completely foreign to him and in the stillness, he couldn’t identify it. Until a whooshing sound and a cloud of dust shot up the shaft. Then came another sound, a scream. CJ froze as realisation hit him.
Cave-in!
By tradition, opal mining in Coober Pedy, compared to gold and silver mining, was relatively safe from cave-ins. The clay and claystone hills were so stable that timber shoring wasn’t necessary. Occasionally, rarely, gelignite would displace a pile of loose earth behind the claystone mine wall or roof resulting in what opal miners called a slide.
With his heart pounding, CJ grabbed his miner’s hat and rapidly descended the ladder into the darkness. Particles of dust flew into his mouth and clogged his throat, making him cough. Automatically he reached into his pocket for a ragged handkerchief to tie around his face.
“Mickey! Mickey. Where are you?”
CJ’s ears strained to catch some sound, anything. The light hit a mound of claystone across the drive. It rose about one and a half metres to half block the rest of the mine. Shit. Comprehension came quickly. Part of the roof had collapsed into the mine leaving a gaping vertical shaft. But where was Mickey? He stared at the pile of rubble and then he lunged forward and began to dig furiously with his hands.
“Mickey, Jesus Christ, where are you?”
CHAPTER TWO
CJ’s hands touched something soft. Material. Grunting with the effort he grabbed a handful and pulled with all his might. The claystone and rocks fell away to expose Mickey’s head and torso.
In the weak light CJ saw blood oozing from a head wound encrusted with earth. Silly bastard hadn’t been wearing his hat. Damn his casual attitude. He tugged some more and Mickey coughed then groaned. Thank God, he wasn’t dead. With more hand digging and tugging, enhanced by a series of voluble curses, CJ released his partner’s unconscious body from its premature grave.
He lay him on the dirt floor and checked him over. To the best of his limited medical knowledge there were no broken bones. The wound on his head looked bad though, the blood now flowing freely, staining the earth. CJ ripped off his shirt and wrapped it around Mickey’s head as a make-do bandage. He trained his light on the roof above the cave-in. Pieces of rock and sand continued to rain down intermittently. He knew he had to get him out of the drive quickly, in case another cave-in occurred. The platform!
Half carrying, half dragging him, CJ got his burden to the shaft. He looked up to the circle of blue sky eighty or so metres up, wondering if he could fit Mickey’s body on the platform. He’d need ropes to tie him to it. Scampering up the ladder at top speed he found what he needed and went back down with the platform. It took a precious fifteen minutes to manoeuvre the unconscious Mickey onto the platform and another fifteen to haul him to the surface.
Mickey’s groans had stopped and CJ noted that his skin had turned deathly white. Shock. How much blood had he lost? Too much probably. The dark colour began to seep through the folds of his shirt. He needed to put something else around the wound. Running into the dugout he tore a sheet off the bunk, ripping it into a wide bandage strip. Somehow, later on, he couldn’t quite remember how he carried Mickey to the VW and laid him in the back.<
br />
Don’t die, Mickey. Don’t die, he chanted as he drove at breakneck speed towards town.
For two days Mickey Edgars hovered between life and death. The Flying Doctor Service had advised Sister Damien at the hospital on what to look for and if his condition failed to stabilise they’d fly in and take him to the closest hospital with medical staff. CJ stayed almost constantly at Mickey’s bedside and Mary, who’d come to know and like CJ’s partner over the past few months visited too, keeping the man she loved company and praying for Mickey.
On the third day Mickey showed signs of regaining consciousness, coming out of the deep coma his head injury had caused. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
“Go home and get a good night’s sleep,” Mary suggested to CJ from the other side of the hospital bed. Her dark eyes studied the man around whom her life revolved. CJ looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot, he hadn’t shaved in days and he was still wearing the torn, dirty clothes he’d been in when he had dug Mickey out of the mine.
“Soon,” he promised. “When Mickey wakes up and recognises me.” Throughout his vigil the one thought dominating his mind was that it could have been him lying in the hospital bed. If he had been placing the gelly instead of removing the potch he would have collected the cave-in. Talk about luck.
He’d always been a lucky bastard though. A wild buffalo had gored him years ago up around the Daly River and missed ripping his liver out by a couple of centimetres. And that fight in Kalgoorlie with the dago — he could have been cut to ribbons. Not to mention all the spills he’d had off horses. Christ, he’d never even broken a bloody bone. His sister said he was like a cat, had nine lives, at least.
Heart of the Outback Page 3
