by Di Morrissey
The twelve months formal separation had been a nightmare. The arguments, the accusations, the hassles over the property settlement. At first he’d tried to be civil and placatory and said he’d handle everything with their family solicitor. But Madi quickly realised she was being treated as the cast-off incapable female and so she’d hired her own lawyer, pleased at how angry it had made Geoffrey. She’d always overlooked his cautious and careful ways with money, realising now he was downright mean. With no children things had been fairly straightforward, the house sold, profits split, possessions shared, although all with acrimony. He’d continued to try to weasel advantages but she’d stood her ground, finally producing evidence of her income, her contributions to joint expenses showing she’d paid more of the household bills while he had spent money on personal indulgences. He’d finally backed down and Madi enjoyed a moment or two of satisfaction for having won a round where he would normally have expected her to cave in to his emotional bullying.
She found it hard being on her own again even though she recognised she was a different person to the girl who’d married so young. But something told her that once over this bumpy patch her life would improve and she’d fly like an eagle. She hadn’t experienced that soaring lift-off yet, but she was learning to like herself, enjoying her own company. She’d been incredibly lonely outside working hours sometimes, but now . . . having made the decision to leave the safety and security of her job and fly away to Guyana, even if into the protection of her brother, she felt she was on her way to a new life at last.
The United 747-400 soared into the clear blue sky over Sydney, banking to the east to give a spectacular view of the harbour. Then it slowly climbed to thirty-seven thousand feet for the nonstop flight to Los Angeles. In LA, Madison sat in the Red Carpet Lounge for an hour enjoying a Californian chardonnay and the latest US magazines before boarding a United 767 to Miami.
After disembarking, she found the Guyana Airways flight to Georgetown had been delayed till the following day. The Guyanese girl at the desk was charming but could only offer a smile and a shrug, pointing out it was not unusual. Her relaxed manner gave Madison an inkling that this attitude might reflect the Guyanese approach to life in general. She checked into an airport hotel and attempted to phone Matthew in Georgetown. There was no answer at his house, though the phone made such a strange sound she wasn’t sure if it was working or not. She fell across the double bed and slept for a few hours.
Later she showered, pulled on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt and tried again, unsuccessfully, to reach Matthew. Finally she rang the mine number he’d given her and was relieved when he came on the line. Quickly she explained she was on tomorrow night’s flight.
‘I’m glad you caught me, Madi. I have a problem out here and can’t get back into town. But a friend I’ve made here is going to meet you. I’ll get onto him with your flight details right away. His name is Connor Bain and he’s an expat Aussie who’s thrilled to have more Australians here.’
‘What was his name? Spell it.’
‘C-o-n-n-o-r. Got that?’
‘Yes. Unusual name.’
‘He’ll take you to the house and I’ll be back the next day. Just rest up. Really sorry about this, but I’m so glad you’re on the way.’
Madi tried to hide the disappointment that her brother wouldn’t be at the airport. ‘How will I know this guy?’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll find you, I gave him a photo of you. Besides, you’ll probably be the only blonde in the entire country!’ The line crackled and dropped out for an instant then Matthew was back shouting over the phone. ‘So don’t worry, Connor will look after you.’
‘What if something happens, what if the plane is late or delayed again?’
‘He’ll wait. This line is bad. Take care, see you soon. Luv ya.’
‘Bye, Matt.’
Madi hung up. She was a seasoned traveller but for the first time she knew she was flying into something way beyond her experience. The casual airline staff and appalling phone line did not create a very appealing first impression.
She ate in the rooftop restaurant looking over hotels, a shopping mall and looming aircraft. In the distance, the city of Miami did not call to her. She scanned the menu offering Tex Mex, Surf and Turf, and a variety of chilli-burgers, and felt a depression settling over her. This was not how she imagined her grand adventure would start. Then she caught herself and wondered why she’d thought of this trip as a grand adventure. She was going to see her brother who happened to be in a Caribbean/South American backwater of a country that sounded weird and had something of a turbulent history.
She ordered an omelette and salad and a glass of wine as the sunset-streaked sky faded to murky twilight and she thought about travelling. She’d always loved travel books. Best of all she loved travel books written by lady travellers of the Victorian era. She’d found her first intrepid lady traveller book one Saturday when browsing in a secondhand bookshop. Since then she’d built up quite a collection.
Her hobby had provided a pleasant diversion while Geoff played his CDs, reducing the need for conversation which invariably turned to conflict. Her friends made fun of this literary indulgence but they also enjoyed hearing occasional anecdotes gleaned from the writings of women like Beatrice Grimshaw in Papua New Guinea, Jeanne Bare who disguised herself as a young man and went to sea in the eighteenth century with French botanist Philibert de Commerson, the adventures and writings of Mary Kingsley, Isak Dinesen, Violet Cressy-Marcks.
These women had inspired in Madison a passion to travel to exotic places. She’d once told Matthew she’d been born a century too late and would have made a wonderful intrepid lady traveller discovering lost Egyptian tombs, chasing butterflies up the Amazon or studying stone age tribes in inaccessible jungles and deserts. To be sitting in an airport Holiday Inn on the edge of Miami wasn’t quite the same. Still a journey has to begin somewhere, she rationalised. And the important journeys she had already made in her life had almost always begun tremulously.
She recalled the weak-kneed walk to her car the day she’d closed the door on her marriage and the nervous introspection she’d felt the next day while wandering along Manly Beach. At first, she wished she’d taken the path out of her marriage earlier. But then she’d adopted the Buddhist approach of seeing each experience as a process without necessarily having a beginning or end. ‘Go with the flow,’ as her mother had said when they’d discussed what she should do after she left Geoff. She decided this was the attitude needed now—she must let herself go. Madi relaxed at last and ordered a second glass of chardonnay.
The flight was not one of her most enjoyable. Crammed between two large Jamaican men, who talked across her in accents thick with reggae rhythm and peppered with ‘man’ and ‘yo’, Madison slunk down, closed her eyes and slept till they touched down in Trinidad. As the men groped for bags and hats, they gave her wide smiles.
‘Yo weren’t very good company, Mary.’
‘Still, it was nice sleepin’ with yo,’ quipped the other.
Madison couldn’t help smiling back at them.
The stopover was only forty-five minutes and as any view had disappeared under the dark sky, Madison decided to stay in her seat.
The stewards, slim, dark and handsome, exuded a warm charm. Madison was struck by their affectionate physicality. They touched their passengers—discreetly and inoffensively—patting an arm, gently adjusting a head on a cushion, and when conferring with a stewardess they would give her arm a friendly squeeze or touch her hand to make a point. It was such a refreshing change from the slick professionalism that ran off most airline staff and made you feel you were made of plastic, as they waved their pots with the litany . . . ‘Tea? Coffee?’ There was a genuine warmth and naturalness about these men that made up for the dried bread roll snack and melting chocolate bar.
On the intercom before takeoff, the pilot advised the flight was on time. Arrival at Timehri airport, Georgetown, Guyana, would
be approximately 10 pm.
An hour after the plane landed, Madison wished she’d never thought of coming to Guyana. Straight off she could see that frustration, irritation and discomfort lay ahead of her. She was standing in a straggling line with forty other tired passengers in a hot tin shed with a single fan slowly churning as rain pummelled on the roof. She eyed the one immigration official with growing annoyance. He stood secure behind his podium apparently enjoying the knowledge that he represented Authority and Power, while in front of the wooden counter everyone waited for him to pass judgement. He took each passport in his fingertips and slowly turned page after page, looking at every stamp ever entered there. Occasionally he glanced up at the cowering owner of the little book before languorously turning its pages again to find a suitable blank space. With closed fist he smoothed the page open so it stayed flat. He lifted the Official Rubber Stamp, checked its details in case they had miraculously changed in the past few minutes, pressed it firmly and carefully onto the ink pad, checked the bottom of the stamp again and, with a last glance at the passport holder, he lifted his arm and stamped the page with a mighty and impressive thud. The book was then thrust at its owner while the immigration official looked to his next victim.
Nodding at the five deserted immigration podiums, Madison asked a South American businessman behind her, ‘Why don’t they have more officials doing this?’
‘It’s midnight. Who wants to work at midnight?’ He shrugged and almost smiled in amusement at her question.
Madison struggled to control her exasperation. ‘But all flights get in at this hour. You’d think they’d have a better system.’
The man raised both his hands in a dismissive gesture. ‘This is Guyana.’
He was a man in his fifties, olive-skinned with dark eyes, hair greying at the temple. He was slightly paunchy and looked a little worn around the edges. He seemed the type nothing would faze, a man who’d travelled and seen a lot in his time.
The line moved up one. Madison yawned and was suddenly concerned about Matthew’s friend. Would he still be out there? ‘How far are we from town?’ she asked the businessman.
‘It’s an hour’s drive, more maybe in this rain. Have you got a hotel reservation?’
‘No. I’m being met, I think. I’m supposed to go to my brother’s, but he’s out of town.’ She suddenly felt a little nervous. Guyana so far had the feel of a place dominated by Murphy’s Law. If something could go wrong, it would.
‘The decent hotels are full because there is an international tariff conference on in Georgetown,’ he explained. ‘Don’t worry, my wife is meeting me and if your friend’s not here, you can stay at our place and we’ll take you to your brother tomorrow. I’m Antonio Destra, by the way.’ He shook her hand and Madison felt at ease and surprised herself by trusting this friendly man immediately. He exuded a rather fatherly air. ‘Here’s my card. I’ve been in Miami on business.’
‘You’re Guyanese?’ She glanced at his card. ‘Oh, you work for an American company.’
‘Yes, we sell new and used equipment to the mines and construction companies. I’m actually Colombian,’ he added. ‘And you?’
‘I’m Australian. Madison Wright. I’ve come out to visit my brother—he’s on assignment here at the Guyminco bauxite mine.’
‘Ah, we do business with them . . . one way or another. Sometimes there is no money at Guyminco,’ he shrugged. ‘They’re having problems.’
‘Yes, my brother’s company AusGeo is trying to sort them out. How do you do business with them if they don’t have money?’
‘We take payment in bauxite then sell it on the open market. It’s just a matter of shuffling commodities. Business is business,’ he beamed. ‘So what are you going to do while you’re here?’
‘I’m not sure. What do you suggest?’
‘You should see the Kaieteur Falls—the jewel of Guyana.’
They talked some more and Madison felt herself warming to this friendly and outgoing man.
Suddenly she was at the top of the line, enduring a blatantly sexual assessment by the immigration officer before he embarked yet again on his slow and deliberate passport inspection routine. Eventually the stamp fell with the official approval and she passed through a doorway to a messy hall where the luggage was piled. She finally found her bag and took it to a large powerfully built, black woman customs officer who glanced at Madison’s small carry-on bag and asked with economy of words, ‘Duty free, house goods, food, liquor, shopping?’
‘I don’t need any of that stuff, I’m just here on holiday with my brother. Please take a look if you want.’ Madison was trying to be polite, trying to disguise her growing impatience.
She was waved through and, dragging her bag on its wheels, she walked into a brightly lit bare area that served as arrival and departure waiting space, opening onto a crowded carpark where the rain continued to teem down. Madison stopped in confusion, surrounded by bustling, pushing, shouting taxi drivers and porters looking for business.
At that instant a hand grasped her elbow. She spun around to push the offender away and suddenly, she was looking up at a well-dressed man with reddish hair and blue eyes. He gave her a swift smile and spoke with a pleasant Australian accent. ‘You’re Madison. I’m Connor Bain. Let’s get out of here.’ He took the handle of her suitcase and still holding her elbow began to walk her swiftly through the throng.
A shout made her stop. ‘Hey, Madison!’ Antonio hurried up, a pretty, small, dark-haired woman beside him. ‘Madison, this is my wife Celine. You okay or do you wish to come with us?’ He glanced enquiringly at Connor who held on to Madison’s arm and was frowning.
Madison made swift introductions and thanked him. ‘Connor is a friend of my brother. Thanks so much anyway.’
‘Telephone us next week and tell us how you’re going,’ Antonio called as Madison plunged into the rain-drenched parking lot, propelled by Connor’s hand still on her arm.
‘Better hurry, it’s wet.’
‘I can see that, but we didn’t have to be quite so abrupt, did we?’ asked Madison as Connor pushed her suitcase onto the back seat of his car and held the door open for her.
‘I’m trying to beat the travelling circus from the tariff conference. They come in for a conference and take over the town. City streets are blocked off when they travel anywhere. So who was that fellow anyway?’
‘I met him during the boring wait in Immigration—thanks for waiting for me, by the way—he works for an engineering company.’
‘Thought I recognised him. Colombian, I think.’ He glanced at her in the darkness. ‘Do you make a habit of picking up men in planes and airports?’
Madison was tired and snapped more than she meant. ‘He was very helpful, and in case you didn’t notice, that was his wife who met him. I thought he was a decent bloke.’
‘Decent bloke.’ Connor gave a short laugh. ‘Doesn’t take you long to make up your mind about people.’
‘Feminine instinct is a powerful tool.’
‘So? How do I rate so far?’
She refused to look at him. ‘Too early.’
He chuckled, but as the car threaded through the crowded, unlit parking lot he suddenly groaned. ‘Oh, no. Damn.’
‘What’s up? What are those blue lights? An accident?’
‘No, they are Georgetown’s only two police cars escorting the convoy of tariff officials. By the way, if you are in an accident or need a police officer, do not call the police. Instead drive yourself to a police station, collect the required officer and return to the scene of the crime. Then you’ll be expected to ferry him back again.’
‘You’re joking. Why are the police going so slowly? Do all the cars only go at forty ks an hour as well?’
‘No. Driving slowly gives them the regal status they feel should be accorded them. That’s the Guyanese for you,’ he laughed as if that explained everything.
‘It’s dark, it’s pouring rain and it’s the middle of the night.
Do they expect the populace to line the road and cheer?’
‘You’re getting the hang of the place already. This is going to be a long trip. Tell me your life story.’
‘I think I’d rather sleep.’
‘Go ahead, drop the seat back,’ replied Connor affably, thinking how incredibly young and innocent Matthew’s sister looked in her jeans and T-shirt with her gold hair tied in a teenager’s ponytail. He gave her another quick glance as she settled back. It would be nice to have an attractive, easygoing Aussie girl around for a bit. He began to think of places he might take her dancing and dining.
Madison had a million questions but felt she’d get only cynical replies from this man who seemed a bit brash and slightly superior. He was altogether too confident the way he’d steered her by the arm through the carpark. Not that he was impolite, just very sure of himself and what he was doing. And she’d had enough of overbearing men. Still, he certainly was handsome.
She opened her eyes as they hit a pothole and saw through the rain, bars of fluorescent neon lights shining on a wet canvas awning where a painted sign said Disco. Sitting incongruously next to it was the dome of a small squat mosque, cotton flags on bamboo poles sagging in the rain. She closed her eyes again.
The sound of the car horn awoke her with a start. Iron gates swung open and Connor parked most of the car underneath a white weatherboard house. ‘We’re here.’ He touched her arm again, then called out. ‘Singh, where are you? Get the bag out of the back seat.’
Madison stumbled from the car, still half asleep. Connor took her hand luggage from her and opened the front door. A light was burning above a flight of wooden stairs. The house was silent. At the top they turned right and he opened a metal grille door across a hallway. ‘I won’t bother you with the Fort Knox details right now. Second on the right.’
The room looked plain but comfortable. A small bedside lamp was lit between the single beds, one of which was turned down and had a mosquito net draped over it. Connor clicked a dial by the door and the overhead fan began to slowly revolve. ‘I’ll bring your bag up. Bathroom is across the hall. The pump is on. Hyacinth will show you how it all works tomorrow.’