When the Singing Stops

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Thanks for making the trip such fun. You going back now?’ said Madi as she shook his hand.

  ‘No, ma’am. I wait a day or so. Dere be someone wantin’ a ride back down de river.’

  The old shopkeeper came out with a couple of glasses of rum and gave one to Jacob and they both squatted by the river to watch Lester and Madi set out. They waved their glasses in salute and Madi waved her Akubra.

  ‘Wot yo’ mek of dat white lady an’ Lester?’ asked Sammy.

  Jacob pondered over his rum and took a slow deliberate sip. ‘She nice, but mus be bit strange t’ come t’ dese parts. Mebbe she be lucky, like she say. Mebbe.’

  Sammy nodded in agreement and smiled. ‘Reckon Lester eat better dis time now he got woman cook.’

  Out on the winding river, the little trading settlement was quickly lost to view and the jungle crowded in on the narrowing waterway. Suddenly Lester tapped Madi on the shoulder and pointed to a gigantic tree. ‘See dat tree and dat mountain top wid de bump on de right. Get dem in line and dere be de door to our creek.’

  He steered towards the tree and sure enough there was the narrow and almost concealed entrance to the stream. Madi felt a fresh surge of excitement. It was everything she had imagined it would be and as they slowly turned in, she reached up and pushed aside the hanging branches. Within a few yards the stream widened and she was able to glimpse the sky above the towering forest canopy. She noted that the sun was low and hoped the camp site was not far off.

  Lester stood, while holding the tiller, throttling back to dead slow. ‘Look out for sunken logs.’

  Madi soon saw what he meant as they scraped past a rotting tree trunk just below the surface, then a few minutes later Lester cut the engine. Their way was blocked by a fallen tree.

  Lester cursed. ‘Damned swamp tree. All time dey fall down.’

  ‘You mean we have to go in there? Past that tree?’

  ‘Yep. Unless yo want to drag dis boat cross de swamp.’

  ‘Can’t we cut through the tree?’ Madi stood to look ahead and saw that the tree blocked the entrance to what seemed to be a small lake.

  Lester was fiddling in a tin box. ‘Okay, we fix him.’ He manoeuvred the boat up against the tree and went to the bow. Leaning over the side he tied a stick of dynamite to the trunk and handed the fuse to Madi. ‘Unwind dis as we back up.’

  She fed out the fuse line as they headed back towards the river before sheltering close to the bank. Lester cut the engine. ‘Get down low in de boat.’ He lit the fuse and crouched beside Madi, who had her hands over her ears.

  The explosion shattered the old tree, chunks of wood spearing in all directions. The jungle screamed back in protest at the disturbance. As the acrid black smoke began to drift away, Lester gave the outboard an energetic tug and they inched ahead to the calmness of a tiny lake. At one side of the topaz water was a small strip of silvery sand which Lester made towards with a cheerful whistle.

  ‘This is so pretty. How on earth did you find it?’

  ‘Mebbe luck, mebbe accident, mebbe meant to be, eh?’

  Madi jumped onto the gritty sand, glad to stretch her legs again. She was drenched in sweat and exhausted by the heat and humidity. But the tiredness was barely noticed as she took in the idyllic setting of the camp site, even though it was heavily overgrown with weeds and shrubs. Under a thatched roof on four poles was a rough table and stools. A fireplace of blackened river stones was nearby. Tools, sluice boxes and other equipment were intact under a weighted tarpaulin almost totally covered in vines. When Lester pulled back the tarp, Madi burst out laughing at the sight of an old tin hip bath.

  ‘Yo bones get sore n’ stiff doin’ de work, we be glad of hot bath, b’lieve me, Miz Madi.’

  ‘I believe you. Very civilised, Lester, very civilised indeed.’ If Matthew could only see us now, thought Madi happily.

  ‘We take turns and be private, okay?’

  ‘Thanks Lester, that will be very nice.’

  Together they worked quickly as a team to unload the boat, set up two tents, string hammocks, store food and light a fire. Lester used a machete to slash back the undergrowth around the central part of the camp, leaving the bulk of the site for the next day when he was refreshed and had more light. Already it was time to light the kerosene lanterns and to cook dinner.

  Lester was crouched before the fire while Madi sat on one of the bench stools sipping strong black coffee, watching him stir tinned stew in a saucepan.

  ‘Smells good. I could eat the proverbial horse.’

  Lester chuckled. ‘Dis horse come outa de tin. Best stew in Georgetown supermarket.’

  They ate without saying much, both feeling quite exhausted. Madi yawned and Lester stood. ‘Okay, Miz Madi, hit dat mattress in yo tent. Now, yo not gonna be ‘fraid in de night if dere be spooky noises?’

  ‘You mean animals and so on?’

  ‘Could be. Could be de water mama singing too.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said with resignation. ‘Who’s that? Another jumbi?’

  Lester gave a crooked grin. ‘It be a woman with long hair and magic power. She live under de water. Sometimes she sit on a rock and try to lure de men.’

  ‘Like a mermaid?’

  ‘Yeah, she can be big trouble. More even dan de matchikouri.’

  ‘All right, I’ll bite. What’s a matchikouri?’

  ‘It be like a man, but big and hairy with flaming red eyes, webbed feet and fire coming from his chest. He grab people and rip dem in pieces to eat.’

  ‘Gee thanks, Lester. Just the sort of bedtime stories I wanted to hear.’

  He shrugged. ‘Yo got t’ know de stories of dis culture. But ah think yo is too sleepy to bother if dem come wandering by, eh?’

  ‘You’re right. I’m so tired I couldn’t care if they all carried me off.’ Madi took her plate to the bucket of water by the fire and washed it. ‘Goodnight, Lester. I’m really thrilled to be here. Thanks so much for letting me come along.’

  ‘Yo sleep good, Miz Madi.’

  She slipped out of her shorts and top and pulled on a cotton shirt of Matthew’s. She fell onto the air mattress and blew out the small lantern. The light from the oil lamps outside quivered, causing shadows to move on the canvas of her tent. But she wasn’t frightened, despite Lester’s tales.

  She tried to isolate the sounds around her, of Lester retiring, of the soft rustle of trees, of distant water tumbling over rocks, of strange nocturnal noises from small jungle animals abroad in the bright moonlit night. But soon she was sleeping soundly and deeply, feeling safe and contented, embraced by the jungle around their camp.

  THIRTEEN

  It was midday, the heat and humidity were oppressive and the glare from the sun reflected off the river and seared like a laser beam. Madi had a splitting headache despite Matthew’s old floppy white cricket hat. This was only their first proper working day and Madi was beginning to realise that the adventure was going to involve a lot more hard work than she ever imagined. But no way was she going to give in to her aching back and arms. If Gwen could do it in the 1920s, she would do it today.

  Very early the first morning they’d walked all over the accessible parts of the claim. The lease and surrounding area were thickly covered by jungle in most parts, but laced with narrow animal trails and a network of little streams, and there was also a small swampy area. With the enthusiasm of a born naturalist, Lester pointed out the indications of possible diamond and gold country, the shape and colour of rocks, the grand towering trees, a mixture of soft and hardwoods, and manicole palms. ‘Dose palms are edible cabbage trees, make good hats, too. Good country,’ he said with warmth and pride. ‘Good country.’

  ‘How did you ever find this spot?’ asked Madi as they pushed through undergrowth, both slashing away with machetes.

  ‘All round de big rivers like Essequibo, Potaro, Demerara yo find good country. De best way be de old maps. Dem British geologists made good maps. You can buy at de Lands Department.’r />
  The camp was crudely fenced with posts and wire and the claim’s perimeter was marked by a metre wide boundary line of cleared underbrush, now somewhat overgrown. ‘We have to clear dat back, it be de law.’

  A roughly painted wooden sign on a post gave details of Lester’s claim, his name, prospecting licence number and description of the location and area. Madi estimated that the claim was about the size of a couple of city blocks. ‘How much do you pay for this, Lester?’

  ‘Dis cost me one thousand Guyana dollars a year to work.’

  ‘A real bargain, I’d say, provided you find gold or diamonds.’

  ‘Dat be de gamble.’ Lester grinned. ‘Diamonds be rascals to find. Sometimes better luck with de gold.’

  Lester worked in the old-fashioned way with a minimum of modern technology. His sluice box—’pork-knockers call him a torn box’—was made from a steel drum with the top and two sides cut out. A piece of wood was slotted into one end—the head—and a drum with holes bored in the bottom was attached to the top end. Sections of board were slotted across the bottom as traps. It was tipped on a downwards slant and gravel and water were shovelled and bucketed into the drum with a constant stream of water. Occasionally he would create a small dam in the creek, set the torn box in the water, remove the dam wall or block and let the slurry of water and gravel flow continuously through the torn box. Then it was lifted out and the heavy sediment and stones trapped in the bottom were rinsed in the pan or picked out.

  He taught Madi to pan. ‘Okay, yo be de jigger man workin’ de torn box. Now take dat battel—dat what we call de gold pan—and do like dis.’ He handed her the shallow V-shaped dish and showed her how to squat at the water’s edge and swirl the fine mesh tray inside the outer tray in a circular motion, trapping the bits of gravel, gold and diamonds in the centre.

  It took Madi only a short while to get the hang of it. She became excited at a silvery flash but it turned out to be small and valueless crystals glinting from their sheen of water. Other pretty little stones, like garnets and smooth dark toffee jasper speckled with cream spots, she put to one side. Lester had explained to her the different gemstones and crystals found in the area and was amused by her treasuring of stones he regarded as rubbish. But he did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm, saying that her little finds showed promise of something better.

  ‘We call dese sweetmans. What yo do with dem, eh?’

  ‘Maybe have them made into jewellery. I almost have enough bits of jasper to make a necklace of graduated stones. Polished up and the backs cut flat, they’ll be beautiful.’

  ‘A gold ‘n’ diamon’ necklace or ring be better, eh?’

  ‘Of course! Lead me to the diamonds, Lester This is hard work . . . but I’m loving it,’ she hastily added, for despite her aching back, headache and tired arms, she was totally absorbed in this work. Each time she twirled the sieve she expected to see the sparkle of a real gem.

  Then had come that first brilliant flash of gold and she’d squealed in wild excitement. That tiny nugget, the size of two pin heads, had been enough to keep her at the hot, backbreaking work for hours. She figured the headache had come from staring too intently into the metal tray at every speck, fearful of missing even the smallest gem.

  Lester let out a rebel yell of delight when Madi shouted, ‘Gold, Lester! A nugget. A real nugget. Honest. Look’. She stumbled across the rocky creek bed to where he was digging.

  Lester leaned on his shovel and smiled at the sweat-soaked woman, wide-eyed and almost speechless, who held out her pan for his inspection.

  He carefully poked at the little nugget. ‘Congratulations, Miz Madi,’ he said, nodding his head in appreciation of the find. ‘Well, like I said, tings were startin’ to look good. I reckon it a good time to stop for lunch ‘n’ we have little celebration, eh? The torn box is nearly empty, dat’s good.’

  Lunch was pickled pork on cold rice with a chopped yam sprinkled through it. Madi was hungry and didn’t mind what they ate so long as it was filling and renewed her energy. She marvelled that such simple food could taste so good. Memories of barbecues and picnics reminded her how much better food tasted in the open air or by a campfire. As soon as she finished her mug of tea she jammed the old cricket hat on her head and stood up. ‘Right, I’m ready.’

  Lester didn’t move. ‘Middle of de day be siesta time. Better we rest, den work.’

  It was unbelievably hot so she followed Lester’s example and lay in a hammock in the shade of some trees. In minutes she was dozing.

  When she slowly began to wake she was dripping perspiration and sleepily thought it must be hot enough for the rocks to melt. Suddenly she was imagining the scene transformed by a surrealist painter—sloppy rocks melting over each other, lava hissing into the river with foamy bubbles steaming. Weirdly shaped trees bending drunkenly with rubbery trunks. A river that ran uphill, peeling backwards over rapids to expose the river bed like a tin of sardines. Flowers that opened and shut like time-lapse photography.

  She dreamily recalled Gwen’s description of giant cup-shaped lilies filled with spongy emerald moss out of which grew smaller flowers of amazing colour and variety . . . of flowers that sprouted from the trunks of trees . . . of frogs and lizards and butterflies as brilliantly coloured as enamelled jewels—bright red and green, silver and black, turquoise and yellow. She imagined a plague of gold frogs scattered like glittering tropical confetti.

  Madi felt like Alice in an abstract wonderland and shook her head to clear this strange vision. The scene at the camp settled back into focus—the slowly flowing stream, solid rocks and the reassuring figure of Lester hunched over the wooden sluice box. Watching him Madi felt a surge of fondness for her Guyanese friend. They had exchanged few personal revelations before this trip but there was a bond between them she could not easily identify. It was not romantic or physical, nor brotherly, nor the bond that girlfriends share. For the first time she realised she had a good male friend without any complications. They had vastly different lives and backgrounds, and what now bonded them was this country. Thinking back she realised how lucky she was to have met him. Lester had given her the keys to the door of Guyana.

  She joined him, glad to paddle in the cooling creek. ‘Here, dig down through de dirt an’ sand till you get to de gravel. Take up de gravel and wash in de pan and we see if him look good.’

  They found flecks of gold in the first few pans and Lester decided to dig further into the bank, first tipping a bucket of gravel into Madi’s pan.

  Suddenly Madi let out a shriek. ‘I’ve found one!’ With her fingernails she lifted the shiny but opaque stone, barely a quarter of a carat, into the palm of her hand. Lester hurried over.

  Madi was almost breathless. ‘It’s real, isn’t it, Lester? Is it a real diamond?’

  ‘Yep, dat be one. Guyana diamonds be very hard, very bright. Good quality. Okay, find some more like dat and we be in business.’

  Within an hour they’d found two more and Lester decided they should concentrate their efforts on this part of the claim.

  Side by side they worked, saying very little, concentrating on what they were doing, a sense of rhythm and purpose in their movements. There was something about this sheer physical work, as opposed to talking, thinking, interacting with other people, as she did in her normal work, which Madi preferred. At one point she had the strange sensation of rising out of her body, being high above and looking down at the two figures—one tall and dark, the other shorter and blonde—just two small specks beside a sliver of slipping water, dwarfed by the jungle all around.

  Once or twice Madi and Lester exchanged a look, a swift smile, a murmured comment but didn’t pause in what they were doing.

  Mid-afternoon Madi just had to plunge in the creek to cool her hot and aching muscles.

  Lester kept washing the gravel through the sluice box. ‘De last box,’ he shouted to her. ‘Always de best, I say every time. Even if nothin’ dere it de last box of de day and dat good news, he
y?’

  She watched as he took the shaker pan with the final mix of gravel. He carefully washed away the sand pan and poured in a portion of mercury, then raked through it with a finger, giving a satisfied grunt. Madi peered into the bottom of the battel to see a cluster of gold nuggets and gold flecks sticking to the mercury.

  ‘Now how do you get it out?’

  Lester took a handkerchief and put the residue from the pan in it and squeezed. The mercury ran out through the cloth into a jar, leaving the gold behind.

  ‘In town I take de gold to de Gold Board and dey clean it up wit a blow torch to get rid of impurities. Weigh him and pay me. Easy, eh?’

  Lester was hugely pleased with the day’s work. He handed Madi a small glass phial with a cork top. The diamonds rattled in the bottom.

  Madi held it up to the light and turned it slowly. ‘It doesn’t look much for such a hard day’s work.’

  ‘Like yo say, Madi, no worries. We add more to dese tomorrow, eh?’

  ‘I hope so.’ She looked at the small stones again, almost hypnotised by the pieces of compressed and crystallised carbon. She now understood the lure and obsession that drove Lester and all the other pork-knockers. She could appreciate why men—and women like Gwen—would endure the hardship and deprivation of the interior and take the gamble involved simply to find specks of light hidden by nature for thousands of years.

  Lester smiled at her. ‘Be careful, Madison, yo have the light of diamon’ fever in yo eyes.’

  She laughed and handed him back the phial which he put with his handkerchief into his pocket.

  Lester went ahead to the camp, asking Madi to tidy up the workings ready for the next day When she’d finished she walked a little distance along the stream. The last sunbeams stuttered through the canopy of green twilight. With her gym shoes slung around her neck Madi waded through the shallow creekwater, treading on a soft carpet of sunken brown leaves.

  It was a dim, enclosed world and Madi found herself pausing to study lizards and insects, delighted as a blue morpho butterfly fluttered away. Gingerly she prodded strange mossy growth looking at tiny plants and flowers with total absorption. She stared in amazement at the world around her, so very conscious of how her focus and interest had narrowed to pinpoints in the immediate world that embraced her. Georgetown seemed far away, Sydney seemed like it was in another galaxy. She reached in her pocket for her carved frog, rubbing her fingers over its smoothness, and felt content. She believed her frog—her replica of the golden frogs of Kaieteur—was her lucky talisman, the guardian of her destiny.