by Di Morrissey
She became aware of the smell of wood smoke and on reaching the camp found that Lester had filled the old tin bath with buckets of hot water. He greeted her with a grin.
‘This be yo reward for de first day! Man, yo sure pulled yo weight. I din’ think yo’d make it through. Enjoy de bath. I’m goin’ check de traps, maybe we catch something tasty like a marudi, a brush turkey, eh?’
Madi eyed the bath. ‘Oh, Lester! What a treat! Thanks. You’re a real gentleman.’ He gave her a courtly bow and another of his big smiles, collected his rifle and a haversack and strode off into the jungle.
The hot water eased her stiff muscles and she had to giggle to herself at the picture she must present, hunched in the tub in the open air by the tent and campfire in the middle of the jungle. ‘Hey, Gwen, this is the life, eh?’ She spoke aloud, invoking the spirit of that other Australian woman who had fallen under the spell of diamonds, the river and the jungle of Guyana.
The days became a cycle of physical work that toughened Madi’s muscles amazingly and strengthened her back. The labour was broken by periods of beauty and tranquillity, moments of high excitement and drama. It was such a totally absorbing new world that she gave little thought to anyone Or anything away from this immediate environment.
Lester was full of admiration for her dogged efforts to stick at it when she was tired or when days passed without any finds. She was a worker but he recognised she was genuinely fascinated and enjoyed what they were doing and where they were. His worries about the rough conditions and how she’d cope had long gone and he realised he’d miss her company and very able assistance.
Gradually they fell into the habit after dinner of sitting around the campfire sharing a tot of rum and talking. Most of all she loved to hear Lester talk about Guyana. He spoke from the perspective of a man who had made up for his minimal education with extensive reading. He was prepared to accept the blemishes and stumbles of his country’s past and he optimistically believed Guyana could go forward to a better future.
Sometimes Lester and Madi just fantasised about how they’d spend a lot of money if they had luck and found a fortune of diamonds.
‘Man, I’d set ma boy Denzil up. Put him in a good school, take him away . . . to America.’
‘What happened to his mother? Where is she?’
Lester shrugged. ‘She ran off wit a Canadian man. Miner fellow. She never write. We jes live together and she didn’t take to a baby. Good-lookin’ woman wit education and she catch eye of a miner at de office where she work. My mumma take de boy over when she take off. Man, I live for dat little boy.’
He took a long sip of his rum and lit a cigarette. ‘What ’bout yo, Madi? . . . Yo bin married, but no babies. Yo is a career gal, eh?’
Madi didn’t answer straight away and leaned forward to poke at the fire with a stick. ‘I assumed I’d have babies eventually, but the marriage didn’t work out. We were in the two-incomes-no-kids set and life was mainly about having a good time. My husband never saw me as a real achiever. I had a job and did it well, wanted to achieve more, but he kept putting me down, saying there was no big future for a woman in hotel management. But I’m not prepared to just stay home and be a mother and wash a man’s socks either.’ She paused and looked up as sparks from the fire swirled into the night sky. ‘But that’s another world. I’m not missing it one bit, Lester. Not at the moment anyway.’
Lester chuckled. ‘Seem to me yo got to find a passion in life, dat ting dat drive yo on. Some ting dat give life some meanin, yo know what I mean?’
She looked across the campfire at Lester, now lounging back against a log, hands behind his head and taking his turn to follow the sparks up into the jungle canopy and the night sky.
‘I’ve never had that grand passion you talk about, Lester,’ she said quietly, still a little amazed at his reading of her life. ‘I can’t imagine that. But I can feel something changing in me. Something has happened to me since I’ve been here. It’s like I’m really being my real self for the first time.’
‘I go long with dat. De way yo talked us all into letting yo get up here . . . yo is one strong lady, Madi.’
She returned his smile, remembering for a second Geoff’s constant criticism of her. ‘Lester, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me for ages. A real compliment.’
They talked about their childhoods. ‘I had one good set o’ clothes I wore to church every Sunday and dey got put away de minute we got home, to keep dem good. I used to love dem stories in de Sunday School. Mebbe dat got me started on de readin’. And de stories my mumma told me . . . like de gilded man. Mebbe dat start me on de gold huntin’,’ he grinned.
‘The Walter Raleigh story? If he really came here looking for the city of gold . . . where is it? Legends spring from some grain of truth they say.’
‘Dat fo sure. Dey say it be here, in de lake where de man o’ gold comes up.’
‘Here? Is it near here?’ she asked urgently.
Lester chuckled. ‘No, not here. In de south. Dey say El Dorado be in Lake Parima on de Rupununi plains. Man yo should read dat Raleigh’s book yo found at Lady Annabel’s. He write about dis country, de birds, de life in de forest. He be a good man, he treat de Indians good, he respect dem and dey help him. He believe dat like de blood flows round our body in all dem little rivers and streams, so be de same here . . . de way to de heart be up de river. De bloodstream of de body and de waters of de world go to de heart.’
They spent most of their days undisturbed, except for some harmless wild animals wandering into camp. But several times Amerindian hunters dropped by and Lester always squatted down for a talk, often sharing a tot of rum with them. Once two Amerindians equipped for hunting called into the camp and, from the way they sought out Lester and spoke to him, Madi deduced that they were doing more than passing the time of day.
Characteristically, they didn’t stay long.
That night by the fire, she casually brought up the visit. Lester nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘Tings getting stirred up round de settlements. De captains goin’ to have a big meeting.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘It mean that it about time fo’ some changes in Guyana, and our Amerindian friends are going to mek things change.’
Madi was mystified. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, dey want a big say in where dis country goin. Dey want t’ share in wealth of de land, like de mines. Dey say de country belong to dem really.’
‘It sounds just like Australia and the Aborigines. Land rights and all that sort of thing,’ Madi said.
In the early light of the next morning she lifted the flap of her tent and, seeing Lester still asleep in his hammock under the tarpaulin, headed for the creek to bathe. There was a deepish pool where she could squat in the crisp water up to her armpits. She brushed her teeth, dressed and sat on a log to towel her hair dry.
Maybe it was because her attention was diverted, her head covered by the towel, the fact she had bare feet and legs or that she simply put herself in the wrong place at that moment, but suddenly she felt a scratch on the side of her calf. She didn’t cry out, it didn’t hurt that much, but when she looked down her voice stilled in her throat as she saw her attacker. Solid and deadly black, the creature was about a hundred millimetres long with a barbed and curved tail. Its sting was armed with the erect barb, and it quivered with agitation on the ground by her foot. She had never seen a scorpion before, but there was no mistaking its lethal shape. It was between two rocks by Madi’s leg and as she moved it scuttled under one of the rocks and disappeared.
Madi’s heart was beating rapidly and she tried not to let panic overtake her as she hurried back towards their camp calling out to Lester.
He examined her leg. ‘It be a scratch, not a big sting, yo is lucky. Dey is normally only out at night.’ He had a first-aid kit and rubbed an ointment on it, making Madi wince. ‘We better get de piaiman look at it.’
‘A what man?’
‘Pia
iman be de Amerindian medicine man. Dere one in de village near here. Best go now. Take some tings, maybe we stay dere a day or so.’
Madi was in too much discomfort to discuss this idea so she grabbed a few clothes and her toiletries, threw them into a shoulder bag and headed for the boat. Her leg was throbbing and a slight redness and swelling showed around the surface of the scratch.
The trip took about half an hour, and Madi sat back with her eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. A dog barked and a child called out and Madi opened her eyes as the boat bumped into the bank at a small village. She could see several round thatched huts with tall grass spires and people running down to greet them. Lester helped Madi out and spoke quickly to one of the children to alert the village.
In a short time Madi was sitting on a wooden stool in the shade of a tree with her leg being treated by the piaiman. He was a wizened, stocky old man, with a shock of shiny black hair, cut short above the ears and combed forward to hang down above his eyes. He wore frayed shorts and a faded T-shirt. He had teeth missing and smiled a lot, speaking softly in his tribal language as he lit a tobacco pipe. She glanced at Lester, wondering at the man’s casual attitude, and he whispered, ‘De smokin’ be part of it. He say we should ha’ brought de scorpion so he can rub its guts on de scratch.’
‘In Gwen’s book she said she was able to tame scorpions,’ said Madi weakly, trying to distract herself. ‘She had them walking all over her without attacking.’
‘I heard of dat,’ said Lester.
The piaiman’s demeanour now changed and he began to chant, rocking to and fro, blowing the tobacco smoke around and over Madi, shaking a small rattle.
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘It be a sort of tareng, dat be blowing, dey believe de breath and spirit be one,’ explained Lester. ‘It a kind of spell, don’ worry.’ Seeing Madi’s shocked expression, he smiled reassuringly. ‘Even we coastlanders know ’bout dis. He be sendin’ away de spirit dat make yo feel bad. De medicine men have very powerful magic’
The piaiman finished his ritual and two women with long glossy braids came and rubbed a paste made from lime juice on Madi’s leg which hurt a little where the surface of her skin was highly sensitive. She was also given a strange-tasting herbal brew to drink which for a moment she was fearful of swallowing, but Lester allayed her fears. ‘Just folk medicine, it be safe fo yo.’ In minutes she began to feel drowsy.
‘Dey say yo must rest here a little time. Keep your leg up,’ translated Lester. They made her comfortable. A shy young woman with copper skin and almond eyes, wearing a cotton dress, propped a small wooden stool under her foot. Madi gave her a smile then dozed, leaning back against the tree.
An hour or so later she was served a meal of fish and what tasted like tapioca pudding.
Lester helped her to her feet. ‘How yo feel?’
She took a few cautious steps and rubbed her leg. ‘Good. It feels fine. Are there going to be any after effects?’
‘No. Yo only had a little brush with dat one.’
‘But where is the piaiman, I must thank him, pay him something.’
‘All done. I fix him up. Come on round and see de village. We is gonna stay tonight. Someting important goin’ on.’
Looking around the quiet village, men idling or sleeping in hammocks, kids playing, women working quietly in craft or around fireplaces, Madi was unable to imagine that anything of any consequence beyond daily chores was stirring anyone, but she was pleased at the invitation to look around her first Amerindian village.
‘And what is this important event all about?’
‘Xavier Rodrigues coming t’ speak to de village. He go round all de country explain’ tings to de people. He getting de people to support him so he can speak for dem in town.’
‘Georgetown? You mean, it’s a sort of political rally? Out here?’ she said with mild astonishment.
‘Yeah. But not like in de ole Burnham days when de speakin’ go on and on and all dat other rubbish—gettin’ the school kids out to cheer him and dance and so on. Dis be for de Amerindian people, get dem all agree to push for better tings.’
‘You mean more government assistance, better conditions and so on?’
‘Dey don’ want handout from de government, dey want to run tings for demselves. Xavier tell ’em dey got to get power and dey decide what dey do.’
‘And do they know what they want?’
Lester shrugged. ‘I can’ say anyting ’bout dat. But dey look to Xavier, he be de leader and he smart in dealing with de coastlanders and de power men.’
‘How did Xavier get to be the leader of all the different tribes all over the country?’
Lester pondered this for a moment. ‘I don’ know ’bout dat. I s’pose ’cause he been talkin’ and talkin’ and travellin’ round and tellin’ em what dey want t’hear. Dey tink de time is come. Now we walk dat sore leg and we go round de village.’
They stopped where the women were cooking and pounding out thin flat rounds of cassava bread. They showed Madi how it was made, first grating the dried white yam-like root on a board studded with nails. Then they pushed it into a long cylindrical tube-like basket that was stretched and squeezed by a child sitting on a pole attached to its base. One of the women explained in halting English that the juice from the cassava was poisonous but when boiled it became a safe flavouring which was used in pepperpot stew—cassareep.
‘We use cassava to mek drinks . . . Cassiri and paiwarri. Men drink and . . .’ she rolled her eyes and gave a little lurch when she couldn’t find the word.
‘Get drunk,’ said Madi laughing. ‘I hope that the poison and the drink are always clearly labelled.’
At a wide shallow pool in a nearby stream Lester and Madi sat quietly and watched a man and his young son, both carrying bows and arrows, studying the water. After a whispered exchange the father pointed to where the boy should stand and the lad took his bow and arrows and waded carefully until he was knee deep in water. The bow was almost as tall as the boy and it took an effort for him to pull back the arrow as he stood motionless for several minutes, poised to shoot as he watched the movements of a fish moving slowly into his range. His father went a little way upstream and set a fish trap, a narrow basket baited with a small piece of meat. He returned and squatted on his haunches with Madi and Lester.
‘Poison not allowed no more,’ said the father. ‘Some pork-knockers use barbasco and haiari juice.’ He grinned at Lester who held up his arms defensively. ‘Not me.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Madi.
Lester explained that it was a poison the Amerindians extracted from the roots of particular plants and they put it in the water where fish were likely to be. It stunned the fish which floated to the surface to be picked up.
The Amerindian pointed to his son, now proudly holding a quivering fish on the end of his arrow. ‘Dat de best way.’
Madi lifted her hands above her head and clapped in appreciation of the boy’s achievement, winning big smiles from both the boy and his father. ‘Do they use many poisons and medicines from the forest?’
‘Course. Traditional medicine be very good. Man, dese people bin figurin’ it out since twelve tousin’ years before Columbus saw South America. Coastlanders like my mumma use de old folk medicines. Dey even in de cookbooks. Can’t get all de plants in Georgetown but dey know de Amerindian people got de knowledge.’
‘That sort of knowledge should be preserved.’
‘It should be looked at better by de scientists. Yo ask Pieter. He be comin’ tonight.’
‘Pieter?’ she queried. ‘You don’t mean Pieter Van Horen?’
‘He be de Dutch plant man you meet at de falls. Clever man. He lookin’ for de medicines from de trees and so on. Yo’ll be glad to see him again, I be tinkin.’
As the day developed, the preparations for the visit of Xavier began to look like some sort of celebration. A lot of food, including a roasted pig was cooked, the ground outside the main hu
t was cleaned with brooms, and tibisiri mats were spread around. The women appeared to do nearly all the work while the men lazed in hammocks or sat and smoked and talked in small groups.
In the late afternoon, Amerindians from other nearby jungle villages began arriving, coming in groups along the many trails and some along the only road to the village. Women carried babies in soft woven slings across their breasts and the men carried basketweave warishi backpacks suspended by a cloth band wrapped across their foreheads.
It was just before sunset when a noisy scatter of children and dogs heralded the arrival of the two men in a small but powerful boat. Xavier, lithe, dark and handsome and neatly dressed in shorts and a shirt, the sleeves rolled above his muscular arms, was accompanied by the tall fair-haired Dutchman.
Madi could immediately feel the charisma Xavier exuded as he was welcomed by village leaders. A powerfully built Amerindian with painted markings on his face, shoulder length hair, and dressed in western clothes, seemed to be the official greeter, shaking Xavier’s hand, pummelling his shoulder and talking rapidly as the villagers clustered around him. The women hung back smiling shyly as the community ‘captains’ came forward, followed by the older men.
Lester and Madi stood back as Xavier moved through the crowd, touching the children and acknowledging the women. Then he came towards them, smiling. Lester explained he was showing Madi diamond country.
‘You’re a long way from home. Are you doing field work of some kind in Guyana?’