by Di Morrissey
‘Not much out here to film. Where else you going?’
‘Up north,’ said Colin. ‘Darwin and the wilds.’
‘Ah, the Top End. Plenty up there. We was there in the war before shipping out with the army.’
‘Are these your cattle?’ asked Marta.
One of the men, still mounted, yanked off his battered hat as he addressed Marta. ‘Cripes, no. Me and me mate Bill, here, we’re just droving. Suits us fine.’
‘Do you go to the city much?’ she asked. ‘It’s so lonely out here.’
‘Don’t have much time for cities. We like our freedom,’ he answered.
Bill, his face shadowed by his low-brimmed hat, commented, ‘We had our share of excitement in the war, thanks. New Guinea. Now we get our fun by droving.’
‘Is there any water, wells, or anything coming up?’ asked Helen.
One waved an arm. ‘Two miles west, there’s a bore . . . It’s a hot spring. Bloody hot. So be careful. But good enough to boil up for drinking water and throw in the radiator of your cars.’
‘Thanks for that. It’s marked, is it?’ asked Peter.
‘Yeah, there’s a bit of a signpost. We’ll be pushing on then. Good luck with your trip,’ said the other drover, glancing over to where Drago was walking slowly behind some cattle holding the Bolex close to the ground, following the cattle’s feet.
As they watched, the two young veterans headed down the track with their cattle. Johnny sighed. ‘That’s a lot of beef.’
‘Such handsome young men. Imagine, they’ve been to war and now they choose this solitary, uninteresting work,’ said Marta. ‘Such a waste of their lives. Do they not have wives, children?’
‘If they have, they’re stuck at home,’ said Johnny.
Colin was thoughtful. ‘This is what appeals to Australian men . . . going bush, being your own boss, sleeping under the stars, being self-sufficient. Living with the rhythm of the seasons. Well, that’s what people in the city think, but they would never do it themselves.’
‘But now you’re doing it, Colin,’ said Marta seeing the sudden embarrassment on Colin’s face. ‘These country men, they would wilt like flowers in the city.’
‘Come on, let’s hit the road,’ said Drago as Topov headed to the Land Rover. Drago looked cheerful, pleased at the shots he’d captured. Topov had been wary of the large cattle and stayed back, happy to allow Drago to get in close.
The country was still gibber strewn, studded with coarse grey saltbush and canegrass, the track just two grooves, corrugated from the churn of tyres, horses and the tread of cattle. It meandered between ruts gouged by the rush of the wet that spread over the channel country surrounding Boulia. But the group were all feeling happier. They’d found the bore and replenished their water.
Suddenly they came to a line of sandhills. They were long, low and undulating, distorting the perspective of sky and horizon. There were no peaks and troughs and the spindly bushes keeping a toehold in the shifting sand, were stunted by the force of wind that rushed unchecked across the open land. Nothing rose between them and the horizon. There were no shadows, only bright light. The dunes in the foreground were dusty red, paling to silver. Some had patches of thick yellow and grey green herbage. There was no sense of distance, no hint of anything beyond.
At first the travellers became excited at their initial glimpse of what appeared to be cliffs rising from sparkling waters. When the elusive sight came no closer they realised it was only a mirage that glinted between sand and sky. As the light changed so did the sandhills, their contours and colours becoming soft or flint hard.
‘Beautiful, but a harsh place to be lost,’ commented Marta.
A dust storm had recently passed through and as well as burying the track in parts, it muffled all sound. There were no birds, no trees, no semblance of anything having ever lived here. The glare of the setting sun burned into their eyes, forcing the drivers to squint.
Johnny was in the lead now driving the Dodge and whether it was a sudden lack of attention, tiredness or frustration, he ploughed too fast into a bank of sand. In seconds the vehicle was bogged, sunk in the dribbling sand that seemed intent on burying the heavy car. They all piled out of their vehicles and in dismay studied the Dodge that appeared to have settled in comfortably for an extended rest in the desert.
They tried to dig it out with their one small shovel but the sand poured in as quickly as it was dug out. When Topov insisted on getting behind the wheel to try and drive the Dodge out, the wheels dug in even more deeply.
‘We need sheets of iron, or something to put under the wheels,’ said Peter.
‘Why don’t we get some of the bushes, lay them under the tyres,’ suggested Drago.
It was hot work and though it looked like the matting of chopped spinifex and grass might do the job, the Dodge remained firmly in place.
‘Let’s try to pull her out with the Land Rover,’ said Peter. ‘We just have to be careful it doesn’t get stuck too.’
‘How far away is Boulia to go and get help?’ asked Johnny.
‘Too far for the moment. And I don’t think that they would send out a tow truck,’ said Helen sarcastically. ‘We’ll have to do the best we can.’
As the day dwindled it seemed they’d never extricate the Dodge. Over a cup of billy tea they discussed the options. Topov glared at them all, obviously fed up with the whole situation and he grabbed the Bolex and the rifle and strode away. ‘I take picture. Lost people in desert. Maybe Topov hunt food.’
There was a bit of muttering at his arrogance and unhelpfulness, but most of them were glad he’d stopped giving ineffectual directions and advice.
‘He might be the one needing to be rescued,’ muttered Peter.
The Land Rover strained, but it just didn’t have the oomph to do the job. Johnny slumped dejectedly over the wheel. Everyone had been pushing, pulling or digging and they all fell by the wayside, panting and dejected.
‘This is looking to be a bit serious,’ Johnny commented to Colin.
‘The rule is – stay by the car. Everyone knows that. Topov is crazy to set off out there. Do you think we should look for him?’ worried Colin as he sat in the shade of the caravan.
‘Sod him,’ said Johnny, stalking off to talk to Peter.
Marta slid beside Colin and slipped her hand into his. ‘I’m scared.’
‘It will be all right. If the worst comes to the worst, some of us will have to drive into Boulia in the Land Rover and get help.’
‘You told me people die out here.’
‘We’re supposed to be on a main road . . . well,’ he smiled, ‘a track between outposts. Someone must come along. People live out there somewhere.’ He swung an arm at the desolate surroundings.
‘Why would they? You mean Aborigines?’
‘I suppose so, though I think they’re nomadic. But there are far-flung cattle stations around. Those two ex-diggers we met, where were their cattle from? Who are they working for?’
Marta shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine. You would have to be desperate, crazy, running away from a crime, to live out here.’
Colin was thoughtful. ‘Yes. It’s lonely. Must be tough. But I’m beginning to think I’ve had some of the nicest times of my life on this trip.’
Marta cocked her head and gave a coquettish smile. ‘Really? Like what?’
Colin hesitated, then grinned. ‘Swimming in the creek with you, sitting round the campfire, looking at the stars, just talking to you. It’s been nice. When I look back on all this, I’ll remember being with you. Seeing you cry at the graves, how you slogged on through all those things Topov had you do . . . I’d love to see you really act, Marta.’
She smiled at him. ‘Me too. I am quite good you know. But I am used to performing the classics in a refined theatre . . . This is . . . nonsense.’ Quickly she added, ‘I don’t mean you. It’s Topov . . . He makes it up as he goes along. But, sometimes, surprisingly, what seems silly at the time can look quite dif
ferent on the screen. Editors are the gods. Provided the cinematographer has got it right.’
‘Drago seems to know what he’s doing,’ said Colin.
‘He does. But it’s frustrating for him being relegated to second fiddle unless Topov allows him to film something.’
‘Topov is the boss – director, producer, cameraman . . .’ Colin sighed.
‘Yes, I know, but who knows what will come out of this? We haven’t even got to the Northern Territory yet.’
Colin hadn’t let go her hand. ‘Marta, whatever does happen, will we still be friends afterwards? See each other?’
She looked at him, a big smile replacing her fears. ‘I hope so. Who knows?’ Then the smile faded. ‘I’ve seen things change, when your life seemed so safe. And then . . .’ she shrugged. ‘Live for the minute is perhaps the best way, eh?’
At her words Colin flung his normal propriety to one side and leaning forward, impulsively kissed her. It was a quick, spontaneous kiss, but he was unprepared for the effect it had on him. Marta, too, seemed surprised for she suddenly grabbed his head, pulling his face close to hers, and kissed him strongly and quickly before breathlessly moving away.
‘We must be careful. Do not fall in love with me, Colin.’
Such a thought hadn’t occurred to Colin. He hadn’t planned to kiss her and certainly didn’t consider falling in love. Marta was a fantasy, an unreachable creature. But in this moment when she’d seemed vulnerable he’d seized the chance, shocked by his daring.
‘It’s just where we are, I suppose,’ he said softly.
Marta snuggled against him. ‘It’s this country. So terrifying because it’s so big, so . . . unknown. It makes me feel like an ant. It’s beautiful but you feel you can be swallowed up.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Like that.’
There was shouting and they turned to see Topov coming over the rise, the gun over one shoulder, the camera under his arm, dragging something behind him.
He strode from the dune, singing and laughing. ‘Here is Topov! Big hunter!’
‘What is it? What’s he got?’
They all hurried towards him as he walked back to the cars dragging a large bird.
‘What is it? An emu?’
‘Looks more like a turkey of some kind.’
‘We didn’t hear the gun,’ said Johnny. ‘Did you fall over it?’
‘If it died of natural causes, I’m not eating it,’ sniffed Helen.
‘You take picture of Topov,’ he instructed Drago. ‘Still photo, for publicity.’ He struck a pose with the large gangly bird, the rifle and the camera, looking pleased with himself and breaking into self-congratulatory chuckles. When the photo was taken, everyone asked questions and examined the scrawny long-necked bird with its mottled brown wings. At that moment there was the sound of an engine and a large truck roared into sight. Everyone cheered.
‘Thank God,’ sighed Marta.
The truck stopped and a beefy man in a torn shirt got out followed by an Aborigine in old trousers held up by a leather belt. Both were grinning broadly.
‘Hey, Topov! The great white hunter. Greetings!’ boomed the big man. The Aborigine slapped his leg and chuckled. The driver took off his battered hat and shook Topov’s hand, then grinned at the group, who were speechless. ‘G’day. I’m Fred. Found this dopey bugger wandering around out there trying to shoot anything that moved.’
‘Did you shoot that bird?’ asked Marta.
Topov handed the bird to Fred. ‘We play little joke.’
‘He wanted to raz you blokes up a bit so I loaned him my bustard.’ He looked at the Dodge. ‘Bogged, eh?’
‘Yes. We have tried everything,’ said Peter, annoyed at Topov for showing off by pretending to be the big hunter when the party was in serious difficulties. ‘We have more pressing things on our mind than jokes.’
Fred crouched down and looked at the Dodge’s wheels. ‘We should be able to yank you out.’ He snapped his fingers at the Aborigine. ‘Wally, go and get the cable. We’ll pull these bastards out of the sand with the truck, okay?’
‘Yeah, boss.’ Wally hurried to the truck.
‘That’ll do the trick. Thanks a lot, Fred,’ said Peter.
‘Very kind of you,’ added Helen. ‘Do you live around here?’
‘Ah, down the track a bit. I gather from Topov that you’re a bit low on grub. Can you hang out till Boulia?’
‘Is there a property, a farm, a station, between here and there?’ asked Helen.
‘There is,’ he said slowly.
‘Then we ask for provision, food, from them. We pay,’ said Topov.
Fred scratched his head. ‘Don’t know that Mac and his missus will have much to spare. Been a bit of a tough season. They’re heading out themselves to stock up on tucker. Help a bloke in a crisis of course, but they only get supplies every six months and it’s that time again. When the wet comes you can be stranded on your place for months.’
‘But we pay,’ insisted Topov.
Helen looked annoyed. ‘He doesn’t get it,’ she said to no-one in particular.
‘Shopping every six months! I couldn’t begin to think of managing that,’ said Marta.
‘We’re down to basic rations,’ added Johnny. ‘What’re you doing with that bustard? Are they good to eat?’
‘Stringy. But you’re welcome to it. That’s Wally’s dinner. But he can go and get himself something else. Once we have you outta this mess we’ll send him off for a goanna or something. Maybe he can find you some eggs, bit of bush tucker, eh?’
‘Yeah, boss. That right boss,’ agreed Wally.
Fred and Wally connected the cable to the Land Rover and the truck, turned on the engines of the vehicles so that the Dodge was eventually pulled out of the sand while Topov filmed the action. Everyone thanked Fred profusely.
Fred handed around his waterbag in the way of a celebration. ‘Save your water. Wally knows where to get more. Enjoy the old bustard. You know how to cook it, right?’
Johnny raised an eyebrow. ‘Stew it? Roast it on the fire?’
‘Chop it up, throw it in the pot with a couple of stones. When the stones are soft, chuck out the bird and eat the stones!’ Roaring with laughter he gave them a wave, then shouted at Wally who swung himself onto the back of the truck and they drove away, a cloud of dust soon obliterating them.
The party drove as far as they could before dusk, trying to make up the distance, but they had to make one last camp before Boulia.
The bustard dinner was not a great success.
Topov spat bones into the campfire. ‘Johnny, this shit. You buy food at farm.’
‘He can’t,’ snapped Drago, ‘Because they can’t be giving or selling food to every lost and disorganised outfit that passes the gate.’
‘I think Johnny did the best he could with an old bird,’ said Colin.
‘At least there’s wildlife out there,’ said Marta.
‘I think you have to be an Aborigine to find it and catch it,’ said Helen.
Marta stretched languorously, causing Colin to catch his breath and look away. ‘I just hope we get to sleep in a comfortable bed soon.’
Helen didn’t say anything but scraped her plate into the fire. She was still sleeping in the caravan and neither she nor Topov ever made any mention about this arrangement. Secretly Colin was hoping they could all spend an evening in a country pub with hot water. Even a lumpy mattress would be a welcome change from the hard ground.
When they arrived in Boulia, Helen went to the bank while everyone headed straight to the pub for a cold beer. She returned looking grim and drew Topov to one side and they had a heated discussion before Helen strode back into the pub.
‘Enjoy your drink. We won’t be staying here. There’s a bit of cleared land where we can camp, but I can’t get any money to buy provisions.’
Before she could finish there was a clamour of protest.
Helen held up her hand. ‘It seems that we forgot that it’s Saturday afternoon and
the bank is shut. We can’t get any money.’
‘If we didn’t have such rubbish vehicles we wouldn’t have broken down and wasted time,’ said Peter angrily.
‘You’re the business manager, Helen,’ added Drago. ‘We need cash with us. Where’s the money?’
‘We were told it wasn’t safe to carry too much cash. But the locals won’t cash a cheque for a lot of strangers passing through.’
Colin and Marta looked at each other. ‘Very disappointing,’ said Colin.
That night there was no communal gathering around the fire as Peter, Drago and Johnny returned to the pub and Colin and Marta pooled their resources and went to the local Waitis Café. Topov and Helen were already in camp when the others returned.
In the early hours of the morning Colin felt a soft nudge on his shoulder and found Marta bending over him.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
‘There’s something strange out there. I got up to go to the toilet and when I came back I saw, over there, a strange light.’
‘Not the moon?’
‘No. Though it was big and round. It shimmered and moved around.’
‘Not a car headlight?’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘No. It was in the sky. But low. Very weird. I am frightened.’
Colin sat up. ‘There’s nothing there now. Just a few stars.’
‘It didn’t go out, it suddenly moved very fast, away, over there,’ pointed Marta. ‘You do believe me, Colin?’ She was shaking, her eyes wide and shocked.
‘Of course. Come on, I’ll take you back to your tent.’
‘I don’t want to be by myself. Bring your sleeping bag, put it in where Helen slept,’ insisted Marta.
‘Sleep in your tent?’ He was about to say what will people think, but threw caution to the wind. ‘All right. I’m sure it was nothing to worry about.’
‘Do you think it was a spaceship?’ Marta held his small pillow as Colin picked up his sleeping bag.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I wish you’d seen it,’ she said.
‘We’ll keep the flap open. You go to sleep and I’ll keep watch. If it comes back I’d love to see it.’