by Di Morrissey
‘I’ll come,’ she called enthusiastically. ‘Give me a chance to see my first local village.’
Matthew laughed. ‘We will expect a full assessment of its charm and tourist promotion potential over lunch, Madi.’
She screwed up her face and poked out her tongue at him.
Connor stepped forward. ‘I think I should also check out this local tourist attraction. Might find something the IFO will consider worth funding.’ He doubled over in mock pain as Madi dug him in the ribs.
The expedition roared along the river for about ten minutes until they came to a village sprawling on a high bank with the dense jungle bearing in on three sides. A scatter of river boats and a couple of small ferries were moored to the stelling where a group of laughing children were doing ‘bombs’ into the water.
The village consisted of a main street half-sealed with a crumbling strip of bitumen, and several blocks of dirt roads lined with mainly unpainted wooden houses. There was a general store, an electrical and mechanical workshop, a petrol bowser, a shabby community hall, a white-painted Baptist church, a scatter of hawker stalls, two small dim cafes and a liquor shop.
Madi found it rather depressing. ‘Whatever do they do here?’ she asked John.
‘God knows why it was built in the first place. Now it’s providing labour for some of the logging companies working the area, and the shops flog a lot of stuff to the Amerindians living in the jungle or upstream. There are places like this along most rivers in the country.’
A well-dressed group gathered outside the church waiting for the service to begin. With them was a tall, thin, black man, dressed a little incongruously, Madi thought, in a three-piece black worsted suit, an old brocade waistcoat and garish patterned tie knotted under the curling, almost white collar. He held a black umbrella in one hand and a battered Bible in the other.
John led the little party into the liquor shop and while they negotiated their purchases Madi wandered along the street which opened onto a small town square, grassed in the centre with several large shade trees. Under the trees sat a group of some fifty Amerindians, men, women and children. They were listening attentively to a man who was clearly Amerindian. Madi squinted into the sun trying to see him more clearly. Yes! It was the same man she’d met at the Amerindian hostel in Georgetown, the man Lester had introduced her to. What was his name again? Ah yes. Xavier Rodrigues.
‘C’mon, Madi,’ called Matthew. ‘Back to civilisation.’
She looked again at the meeting of Amerindians, then turned and ran after the men who were each carrying a case of beer.
As they passed by the church the last of the congregation were entering with the black-suited man bringing up the rear. He paused under the portico at the top of the steps, his attention caught by the group coming down the road loaded with liquor.
His face was running in sweat and his eyes popped with feverish passion as his voice rose in singing octaves . . . ‘Oh yes, I hear de Lord and he speak to me and he say, here come de devil . . . Yes sir, de devil come and get inside dese poor people and send dem wild and crazy . . . crazy for de demon drink.’ He shook his umbrella at the party. ‘You all gonna rot in hell, only de Lord Jesus can save you, yes siree, you is in big trouble with de Lord Jesus.’
Only John responded, the others feeling a little embarrassed. ‘You may well be right, sir,’ he said. ‘Only time will tell.’
The afternoon, lubricated with rum and beer, passed at a leisurely pace. The girls followed John and Ann down to the little beach to have a cooling dip and see how successful they were at fishing. ‘Might catch a passing apapraima,’ John joked. ‘One of the biggest freshwater fish in the world.’
‘Are there really fish out there?’ asked Sharee.
‘Just piranha mainly,’ said John casually.
Madi jumped, ‘Just piranha. You’re joking! You mean we’ve been waterskiing near them?’
‘The speedboat keeps them away,’ said Ann, but as soon as she spoke John was pulling in his line, dragging a piranha over the grassy bank.
The girls clustered around the fish as it flapped on the grass. Madi studied the wide pointed mouth with the sloping rows of fine teeth.
Memories of reading thrillers where packs of flesh-stripping piranha dispatched hapless victims in seconds made her shudder.
Sharee picked up a stick and poked at the fish which promptly and savagely snapped the stick in half causing her to squeal and jump back.
Chuckling, John carefully held the fish, twisted the hook from the side of its mouth and tossed it back into the river with a strong bowling action.
‘You’ve now met a sample of Guyana’s wildlife, Madi,’ said John.
‘I saw a jaguar once,’ said Sharee. ‘I was driving to Brazil with my family. It was beautiful.’
Madi pounced. ‘That’s what I want to do.’
‘Drive to Brazil?’ asked Connor, who’d come down with Matt and Kevin to view the catch.
‘Anything. Just to get out into the interior to see the real country and the people and the animals. I’d especially love to go up the Mazaruni River.’
‘She’s been reading Gwen’s book again,’ sighed Matthew.
‘Whose book?’ asked Ann.
Madi quickly filled her in on the story of the adventurous young Australian woman and her diamond-hunting expedition in the 1920s.
When she had finished, Ann asked Madi, ‘Would you like to climb up to the falls?’
Viti glanced at the tall and striking Englishwoman. ‘Falls? Which one?’
‘Kaieteur, of course. There are lots of fabulous waterfalls in Guyana, but Kaieteur is special.’
‘Oh it is. I’ve flown there,’ said Viti with enthusiasm. ‘But you can only stay about two hours because of the cloud cover and mist closing in. I’d love to go back and spend a day there.’
‘That’s the beauty of going overland,’ said Ann, and added thoughtfully, ‘I promised you I would organise a trip. I’ll do it when we get back to Georgetown.’
Madi’s eyes shone. ‘That would be fantastic!’
‘Let’s talk it over with the others,’ said Ann, leading them back to the verandah. ‘How long does the trip take?’ asked Connor. ‘A week. Longer if you have problems,’ said John.
Matthew looked concerned, sensing this discussion was getting serious. ‘What sort of problems?’
‘Accidents on the rapids, vehicles breaking down, Amerindians forgetting to leave a canoe at pick-up points, or all of those things.’
‘When could we go?’ persisted Madi.
‘She’s dead keen,’ said John with enthusiasm. ‘Ann, let’s do it. It’s been years since I went. I’d love to do it again.’
‘How many can go?’ asked Connor, who’d been following the conversation as intently as Madi. ‘If Ann is willing to get the trip up, I’m keen to be in it.’
Ann shrugged. ‘It’s not just me. John has to get the vehicles. We’d need two four-wheel drives that can tow a trailer with gear. We have to take everything we need—petrol, water, food and so on.’ Ann was suddenly businesslike. ‘This would be a good time to go—before the rains.’
‘Oh Matt, do come too!’ exclaimed Madi.
‘I can’t, sis, I’m working, remember?’
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Kevin dolefully.
Madi flashed Connor a glance. ‘You can get time off?’ A warmth spread through her at the prospect of Connor sharing this special experience.
‘Yes. In a strange sort of a way it could be classed as work. Count me in, Ann? I’m willing to push, pull and paddle.’
‘That’s more than likely too,’ said John.
Sharee spoke up shyly. ‘Could I come too? I’ve never been to the interior.’
‘But you grew up here,’ exclaimed Kevin.
‘My parents always took me to Barbados or Brazil for holidays and we’ve never been far out of Georgetown. Guess they couldn’t see any reason to.’
‘Of course you can come if you’re prepa
red to rough it a bit,’ smiled Ann.
‘That’s going to be half the fun,’ said Madi, remembering Girl Guide camps as a kid and teenage treks in the Blue Mountains with her university bushwalking club.
Connor tweaked her hair. ‘You’re a real surprise, Madi. Sophisticate of the international hotel scene one moment, plunging into the jungle the next.’
They passed the next hour on the river bank leaning against the trunks of the trees which brought welcome shade and discussing details for the now highly anticipated Kaieteur trip.
Wearing sunglasses and holding a cold drink in one hand and trailing her fingers in the sand, Madi caught Matthew’s eye. They exchanged a swift warm smile that said what they were both thinking. ‘Now this is a good day.’ Madi couldn’t imagine any place on Earth she’d rather be.
Ann and John were still discussing practicalities for the trip to Kaieteur.
‘Matt and Kevin can ask Hyacinth to cook food like pepperpot and curries and bake roti. The rest will be tinned and dry goods like rice,’ said Ann.
‘I can bring curries and pickled meats, they keep. And pepperpot, of course,’ said Sharee.
Viti wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ll bring anything you like but pepperpot. I hate it.’
‘That’s unpatriotic, it’s your national dish,’ admonished Kevin, laughing.
‘So which way do we go to Kaieteur?’ asked Madi, thirsty for details.
‘A day’s drive to Kangaruma then into longboats to head up the Potaro River. There are three sets of rapids and others we have to walk around.’
‘And we carry everything?’ asked Sharee.
‘Afraid so,’ said John. ‘Amerindian helpers are usually available, but sometimes they don’t always appear on time.’
Ann grinned. ‘That’s my job. You send messages by the jungle telegraph and the tom-toms go into action. You cover every base then hope for the best.’
‘The canoes tend to get older and leakier as you go upriver,’ added John. ‘It’s all part of the adventure.’ He roared with laughter and Sharee looked dubious.
Ann gave her husband a playful shove. ‘For God’s sake, John, stop trying to scare everyone. It’s really a breeze—more or less. It’s ages since we did something adventurous. I’m really looking forward to it.’
As the afternoon drew in they changed and settled themselves on the deck with rum punches. Madi wished they didn’t have to go back to New Spirit. She enjoyed the company of this congenial group and was thrilled Connor would join them on the Kaieteur trip. His dry wit would counterbalance John’s jovial and hearty manner. Ann, ever pragmatic and sensible, was also a delightful raconteur.
This unpretentious couple loved Guyana. They viewed it with the objective eyes of people who had lived abroad. They could understand the reasons for its flaws and appreciate its benefits. Admiring their positive attitude, Madi concluded that tolerance, optimism, patience and inventiveness were needed to enjoy life in Guyana.
Eventually they farewelled the da Silvas, boarded the boat and headed back down the river, which glinted like smooth silk in the late golden light of sunset. Back at New Spirit, Aradna and Rohan helped Handy unload their bags while the group headed across the grass.
The colonel cupped his hands and called to them. ‘Sundowners are ready to be poured.’ As they reached the balcony, Madi glanced back at the golden river and saw a path running along part of the river bank.
‘I think I’ll give the sundowners a miss, Matt. Had too much booze today as it is. I’m going to take in the sunset with a stroll along the river. See you at dinner.’
‘Remember it’s early tonight. We’re leaving for Georgetown as soon as the moon is up.’
‘No worries.’
Madi really enjoyed being alone for the first time that day. She walked slowly, pausing occasionally to take in the view or to find a flat stone and skip it across the surface of the water, just as she used to do as a kid on those treasured Christmas holidays with the family. She reached the end of the New Spirit complex then noticed a slightly overgrown path punched through the green wall of jungle. She paused and looked at it. Like a magic garden really, she thought. Step through the invisible gate and you’re in another world.
She had walked for about twenty minutes in the quiet gloom of the dense undergrowth when she came to the edge of a small stream that flowed into the river. There were a couple of crude stools made of bush wood on the bank. She sat on one of them and gazed around. A lovely spot to meditate on nature’s beauty, she told herself. Then something in the water caught her eye.
For reasons she could never explain she looked around and found a long stick. Leaning carefully over a log that lay half in the stream, she poked towards a dark shape barely visible in the murky water. The stick caught on something and she pulled gently, slowly dislodging and lifting the heavy object away from the log.
Her scream pierced the tree tops sending birds screeching in flight. It was a scream of horror. A gold watch glinted against a black arm, the hand hanging limply in a gesture of defeat. The body moved in the current and she screamed again, before letting go of the branch. Then she stood paralysed with shock as the body, responding to unseen forces, bobbed to the surface and rolled over before sinking again. But it was time enough for her to stare into the unseeing eyes of Ernesto St Kitt, his right temple clotted with blood.
Madi ran blindly along the jungle track and river bank to Matthew’s cabin, praying he would be there. It was empty. So was Connor’s. She tapped at another door and Viti opened it, hairbrush in hand. Her happy smile vanished as she saw white-faced Madi.
‘Madi, is something wrong?’
Madi breathed deeply and slowly. She spoke with unnatural precision, in short gasps. ‘Viti, would you please quickly find Matthew. Ask him to come over to my cabin. Don’t make any fuss about it. Try to get him on his own.’ She drew another deep breath.
Viti wanted to ask more questions but Madi simply whispered urgently, ‘Please’. Then she turned and hurried away. Viti put down her brush, flipped her long black hair over her shoulder, closed the door and ran towards the main house.
In a few minutes Matthew opened the door to Madi’s bungalow without knocking. ‘What’s up, I got some strange hissed message from Viti.’ He stopped as he saw her sitting on the bed, her arms folded around her shoulders, staring at the floor. ‘Sis . . . what’s up?’ As Madi lifted her stricken face, he hurried to her and wrapped his arms about her. ‘For God’s sake, Madi, tell me. Are you all right?’
‘It’s not me, Matt, it’s Ernesto. He’s dead. He’s in the river.’
Matthew recoiled in shock. ‘Dead? What do you mean?’ He held her at arm’s length, gripping her shoulders.
‘He’s drowned. He’s in the river by a log. Down the path.’
Matthew sprang to his feet. ‘We’d better get help, get people up there quickly.’
‘Matt. No . . . wait. I mean, yes, we have to do that, but it’s just . . .’
‘Just what?’ Matthew sat down beside her again. ‘What, Madi?’ he asked gently. The impact of it was starting to hit him, the fact that, of all the people there, the man who was trying to help him was dead.
Madi spoke slowly and softly. ‘I don’t know what happened. He didn’t have any clothes on. Just his watch. And there was a big cut and lump, a bad one, on his head. He was caught by a log.’ Madi stopped as if exhausted by the effort of talking. She shook her head. ‘Matt, I’m scared.’
Her brother wrapped his arms around her again. ‘Hey, come on now, sis. Chin up, as Dad used to say. Look there’s nothing to be scared of, even though it must have been a horrible shock for you. It was probably just a terrible accident.’ Matthew tried to comfort her but his words trailed off. ‘You haven’t said anything to anyone about seeing the drugs last night?’
She shook her head.
‘Keep it that way. I don’t know if it’s connected, but I’m pretty sure Ernesto would not have been part of this drug scene. He was invited
here for some other reason, like we all were.’ He paused for a moment thinking fast. ‘Look sis, we’ll have to report this without any more delay. I’ll go and tell them what’s happened and that you’re in a bit of a state and are resting. Stay here. I’ll send one of the girls down to be with you.’
‘And Connor.’
‘I think Connor and I should go with them to . . . stay with the body till the police come.’ He kissed her quickly. ‘I’m sorry this happened to you, it’s horrible. But let it go, Madi, it’s over.’
‘Oh no, it’s not,’ she murmured as Matthew raced back to the big house.
Madi changed and lay on the bed hearing events unfold—loud voices, shouts, an engine starting, a boat roaring up the river.
There was a tap at her door. ‘Madison, may I come in?’ Madi hesitated before answering, ‘Yes, Annabel, of course.’
‘My dear girl,’ she came and sat on the edge of the bed, ‘how ghastly for you. What a tragedy this is.’
Madi didn’t answer. Lady Annabel was deeply concerned. ‘Poor Ernesto. What a shock. What happened, do you suppose?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Come and have a stiff brandy.’
Madi rallied and stood up, ‘Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Thanks, Annabel.’
They joined the others who were all gathered on the balcony talking quietly. As Annabel poured the brandy, the girls and Kevin hugged Madi, asking gentle questions. But Madi kept her answers brief and made it obvious she didn’t want to talk about the incident.
Antonio Destra came over to join Annabel and Madi, who were leaning on the rail, not speaking and staring out over the dark river. ‘Goddamned nasty business for you, Madi,’ he said gruffly but sympathetically. ‘Not the sort of thing a girl expects on a holiday. You feeling better now?’
Madi forced a little smile. ‘The brandy is helping.’
‘Unfortunate accident. Most unfortunate. Can’t understand what possessed the man to go swimming right up there. I’d been looking for him all day for a talk.’
Madi stiffened slightly. ‘You mean you didn’t see him all day?’