When the Singing Stops

by Di Morrissey

  ‘My friend Lester. He’s back from his holding upriver. Said he found some good diamonds.’

  Hyacinth glanced at Madi. ‘You keep different company to de rest of de expat ladies, dat’s fo sure.’

  ‘You don’t have to stay back and serve, Hyacinth, we’ll manage.’ Madi had been made aware that some servants didn’t like waiting on other Guyanese. The status amongst the various ethnic groups was complicated by economic, racial and social factors.

  Madi recalled a campfire conversation with Lester where he’d talked of the effect of slavery. ‘We had plenty bad tings go on, so now we just want to be left to do our ting. Some people tink dey is better dan ’nother person. Dat be okay. But we is all Guyanese, dat be de main ting.’

  Following dinner they sat in Berbice chairs, like Australian settler’s chairs, with their legs casually draped over the extended arms. A relaxed and mellow foursome, sipping good brandy. Lester was pleased with the price his haul had fetched and attributed his good fortune to having Madi and her frog talisman in the camp. He reported that more Amerindians than originally expected were planning to descend on Georgetown for Xavier’s rally.

  Matthew was sceptical. ‘There are rumblings around the traps, bits in the paper saying the Amerindians are going to make huge demands, that there are activists down at the hostel stirring things up and so on. Rumour has it there could be trouble between certain factions. Doesn’t it all sound very much like the Aborigines back home with their tent embassies and faction fighting?’

  Lester saw it differently and politely, but fervently gave Matthew and Connor another perspective on the political rumblings. He pointed out that the Guyanese of all races were tired of the poverty and waste and corruption that seemed endemic in their society. Aware of the links his dinner companions had with international companies, Lester was a little reserved. But he made it clear that at the street level, the Guyanese people were increasingly questioning just how much long-term good was coming out of the rapidly expanding foreign control of key sectors of the economy.

  His thick Creole patois belied the depth of his understanding of the economic trends. He cited the recently developed Columbus goldmine and asked why there was no Guyanese equity in it? Why there were so many expatriate employees in key positions and so little training of local personnel? And, for good measure, he questioned the environmental standards of the company.

  ‘Why is it,’ he asked, ‘dat we said to be a mighty rich country when everyone so poor?’

  It was quite a speech, thought Madi, who had learned upriver that there was a lot more to Lester than met the eye, and she turned to Connor to see his reaction.

  He ignored Lester’s view of the big picture. ‘What’s worrying you about the environmental standards at the goldmine? I was up there only two days ago and everything seemed fine—big tonnage turning over.’

  ‘Yo’ not heard ’bout de dead fish?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, ‘cordin’ to de Amerindians near dere, de river at de goldmine got lot of dead fish. Even dead pigs floatin’. An’ mine bosses running about here and dere very angry. Xavier been dere to look.’

  Matthew and Connor exchanged knowing and concerned glances.

  ‘Sounds like cyanide—a tailings dam leak,’ said Matthew.

  ‘I didn’t hear a whisper of it, or see anything untoward,’ said Connor defensively.

  ‘Ah, but you never left the air-conditioned offices, did you?’ said Madi. ‘There’s only one way to find out what’s really going on in this place and that’s to get a bit dirty, get down with the workers, Connor.’

  ‘Xavier stir tings up, yo see,’ said Lester.

  Connor thought for a moment. ‘The sooner I meet this famous Xavier the better, I think.

  He’s not going to be a popular man . . . taking on the government over land rights, development partnerships, and now mining issues,’ said Connor. ‘I have to meet this man. He sounds quite a force.’

  ‘I told you that,’ said Madi.

  ‘We make it happen, we get yo and he together,’ said Lester.

  ‘Between you and Madi I don’t stand a chance. But I can’t make any promises. All I can do is listen. It’s not the sort of area I normally get involved in. However, I agree, I owe the Amerindian people a big favour,’ added Connor, seeing Madi’s expression.

  But Connor was worried. Trouble, particularly political trouble, could jeopardise the sale of the bauxite mine. And a scandal over any environmental problems at the goldmine would really inflame what was obviously a fast developing difficult political situation. The IFO’s investment in rehabilitating Guyminco could be jeopardised, and future investment from abroad for other projects, lost. He had to get detailed information on what was happening and fax his head office in New York.

  Matthew made a mental note to write a short briefing paper on the Columbus goldmine for his boss. Stewart Johns liked to be across the local political gossip so that he could trade information over drinks at the Georgetown Club with his contacts from the American and British diplomatic corps. It was all part of the essential networking in such situations and Johns had impressed on all his senior staff the importance of keeping him informed of anything interesting they heard.

  The following night Connor took Madi to dinner at the Embassy Club. ‘Used to be the Russian Embassy. When they got strapped for cash they made an entrepreneurial move to open up for business.’

  They found the club amusing with its old world pomp and obsequiousness mixed with the everybodies who were somebodies and the nouveau riche. ‘Interesting how these people claim to be so egalitarian and the minute they get in a place like this they start to play their little games . . . best table, who’s in to be seen with and so on,’ remarked Connor.

  ‘Well, it’s not as stuffy as the Georgetown Club.’

  ‘Want to go dancing at some sleazy great music joint later?’

  ‘Maybe. Let’s linger over dinner for a bit,’ smiled Madi.

  ‘Tablecloths and linen serviettes make a bit of a change.’

  ‘Ah, they do,’ agreed Madi, ‘but you’ve got to agree there’s something special about a bush stew on an enamel plate by a campfire in the jungle. Mind you, Gwen and her friend, Major Blake, did it in style when they went bush looking for diamonds. They had meals served by staff at a fold-up table in a mess tent. Sounds unreal, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t be surprised if they had linen napkins as well. Very much Gwen’s style.’

  After dinner, Madi and Connor went to a club—a dark room partly lit by coloured neons, smoky, with a steel reggae band whose music made the thin walls shake. Madi danced with abandon, often finding herself partnered by strangers as the crowd moved around the floor. The Guyanese men were limber, sexy dancers who taught her how to move her hips, keeping her shoulders still while keeping the calypso beat. ‘Man, don’t dey have slow dances?’ drawled Madi as Connor pressed his hips against hers in an attempt at a calypso rumba.

  ‘I think it’s time we went home,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’ve missed making love to you.’

  In the car Connor hesitated before starting the engine. ‘Madi, there’s something I want to ask you . . . I’ve never asked any girl this before but . . .’

  Madi stared at him, a feeling of despair creeping over her. ‘Connor . . . don’t . . .’

  ‘Madi, I do love you, you know. And I can’t believe how much I missed you when you went away. So . . . I want you to move in with me.’

  Madi had to stifle the laugh that rose in her throat. ‘Connor . . . oh, never mind.’ She glanced at him as he sat in the darkness, hands resting on the steering wheel. ‘You mean, you’ve never asked a girl to move in with you . . . even during your dancing days?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘I understand you fancy-free, travelling men regard each country as a moveable feast. There are always women to play with, so to speak, then your job finishes and you move on . . . it’s called the diplomatic dance. You must have left a string of broken
hearts around the world. So am I the Guyanese distraction?’

  ‘Madi! I don’t deny I’ve played around in my time. But lately I’ve felt different. I realise I’ve been looking for something . . . someone special. I’m now in my thirties, I don’t understand what you’ve done to me, why I feel so different about you. Maybe it’s time to . . .’

  ‘Connor!’ She cut him off. ‘Look, I love being with you, we’re great together. But I must say it bothered me a bit when I realised how you, Matthew, Kevin, all of you, lead such selfish lives . . . no commitments, not prepared to settle, always in hardship locations, the perfect excuse to move on. And then I thought, wait, this is what I’ve been missing. To be free, to pick the flowers and move on . . .’

  Connor gave a wry grin. ‘You mean I’m your Guyanese distraction?’

  ‘Yeah. I guess you could say that.’

  ‘Madi! I’m shocked,’ laughed Connor, starting the engine.

  ‘What’s sauce for the goose . . .’

  ‘Is sauce for the gander . . . all right, you’ve made your point. There’s just one problem, my darling . . .’ He put the car in gear and moved away from the club. ‘And that is, that I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone before. So there.’

  Madi was silent. Something in his voice rang true and touched a sensitive spot deep inside her.

  But she was determined to hold back her feelings. She had promised herself she’d be careful.

  ‘Let’s not get into that, not now. Let’s just go back to your place and spend the rest of the night together.’

  ‘Just tonight?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ She reached out and touched his leg. ‘And thanks for asking.’

  Late as it was, Madi rang Matthew to tell him she was staying at Connor’s knowing that he would worry if she wasn’t at home in the morning. ‘Matthew is concerned about me,’ she told Connor. ‘Do you think I should take his advice and go on to London?’

  ‘That’s not a fair question. I don’t want anything to happen to you but, selfishly, I don’t want you to go. I can’t get over how much I missed you.’ Connor looked rather bewildered and it struck Madi again that he seemed to be genuinely confused at these new feelings.

  They made love and, lying beside him as he slept, his breathing slow and deep, his hand linked trustingly in hers, Madi was overcome with tender feelings towards this gentle man. And she had to admit, if she weren’t careful, she could fall deeply in love.

  They were awakened by the phone shrilling in the living room and it took a while to reach it as Connor had to unlock the metal grille door across the hall to the bedrooms. After a break-in and ‘teefing’ while he was away, Connor, like many expat residents, had locked away the liquor, stereo, camera and personal valuables behind metal grillework as well as a safety door to that section of the house.

  He glanced at his watch, it was barely 7 am, and when he heard Matthew’s voice he hurriedly began to assure him Madi was safe and there with him.

  ‘I got that message, that’s not why I’m ringing. Johns has just called. Seems there’s been a massive accident at the goldmine, all hell is breaking loose, although we don’t have much information yet. But I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘What sort of accident?’

  ‘At first we heard it was a really big leak from the tailings dam, then that the whole thing was about to collapse.’

  ‘Is this what Lester was talking about?’

  ‘No. Much worse, from all accounts. Christ, it could be a disaster of massive proportions. An environmental nightmare.’

  ‘Not to mention economic, political, you name it,’ Connor said.

  ‘Anyway, you’d better meet us at the Pessaro to hear what’s going on,’ added Matthew. ‘AusGeo has already sent a team up from Guyminco, led by Kevin, to help.’

  ‘That’s good. There’s got to be first-class damage control on this one in every way possible.’

  Madi sleepily appeared at the door. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Matthew, see you in half an hour.’ Connor hung up and told Madi the news.

  ‘Dear God! It’s what Lester just warned us about. It will be terrible for the villages downstream.’

  ‘Saving the mine will be the first priority, that’s a third of the country’s GNP,’ snapped Connor, grabbing some clothes and heading for the shower.

  ‘Connor! Think of the people who live along the river! And what it will do to the environment,’ said Madi.

  ‘If they don’t patch up the mine things will get worse. Now we don’t know how bad it is. I’m off to the Pessaro, there’s a briefing happening there.’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  The gathering in the small private dining room included heads of mining companies, government ministers, US embassy officials, Stewart Johns and Matthew. To Madi’s surprise, Antonio Destra bustled in, as she was politely escorted out by her brother to ‘have a cup of coffee while we get this little meeting out of the way. I’ll fill you in over bacon and eggs’.

  ‘God, they’re blaming everyone and everything. Even sabotage by the Amerindians,’ said Connor.

  The briefing by inspectors from the mines department was brief and focused. They confirmed the spill, it was massive, the dam was indeed in danger of total collapse, and sabotage was not ruled out. The minister pleaded for a joint effort by all in the mining industry to tackle the problem and pledged as much support as the government could give. He did not rule out the possible need for international assistance. Eventually someone asked the question that they’d been silently asking themselves. ‘If sabotage is suspected, who is behind it?’

  ‘Off the record, of course, and I hope you will all respect the confidentiality of this meeting, we have solid reports of Amerindian activity around the tailings dam area recently. Add this to the fact that their leaders have been stirring up the tribes for a big protest rally in Georgetown, seeking more rights and that sort of thing. You can come to your own conclusions.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Madi leaned over the breakfast table as Connor whispered the details of the meeting to her. It came out louder than she’d intended and several diners turned to look at her. She dropped her voice. ‘He wouldn’t do something like that. Never. If they’re trying to blame Xavier then it’s a set-up, that’s my opinion.’

  Connor repeated the briefing details. ‘Millions of litres of the stuff has already flowed into the river from the leak. If the whole wall goes the impact will be unimaginable.’

  ‘What are they going to do?’ asked Madi, shocked.

  ‘Emergency repair crews are already on the scene. Matthew has dashed off back to Guyminco to run things at that end, and today everyone along the river will be warned not to drink the water, and not to bathe or fish in it either.’

  ‘The international press will have a field day with this one,’ said Madi.

  They were on their coffee when Antonio Destra strode in and, without waiting to be asked, pulled out a chair and plopped down with them. ‘Not the industry’s greatest day by any stretch of the imagination. It certainly puts the Amerindian uprising centre stage and makes the miners look like a bunch of cowboys. What’s your feeling, Connor?’

  Madi gave him no chance to reply. ‘It’s not an uprising, Antonio,’ she spoke sharply. ‘It’s a movement for a greater say in the running of this country and the use of its wealth. I think it’s disgusting that the Amerindians are being so readily blamed for this disaster before there’s even been an investigation.’

  Destra smiled indulgently. ‘Of course, perhaps we are jumping to conclusions. Anyway, the word is about that Xavier Rodrigues is holding a press conference mid-morning at the hostel. I’m popping over with Olivera.’

  There was a small crowd gathered in the dining area of the hostel, and Madi and Connor were immediately greeted by Lester. ‘Good, I try to phone yo, and tell yo to come here. Bad news, eh?’

  Xavier walked into the room to a lectern and a photographer’s flash went off
as he lifted his hands for silence.

  He spoke passionately, denying there had been any Amerindian involvement in sabotaging the mine. ‘No matter how strong our objections to excessive mining in sensitive areas, no Amerindian would be foolish enough to protest in a way that would harm our country, our people.’ Claiming it to be an accident, he launched a blistering attack on what he described as the corner-cutting, makeshift and shoddy construction of the dam. ‘There have been signs for some time of small leaks. All efforts by us to consult with the goldmine owners have been ignored. This is the result—a tragedy that will shock the world.’ He then demanded the mine be closed and the government adopt a policy of consultation with the people.

  He answered questions, his black eyes blazing, occasionally running his hands through his long hair that fell softly about his shoulders. He wore an open-necked blue shirt, khaki cotton pants and jungle boots. Around one wrist hung a woven bracelet.

  ‘He’s certainly charismatic,’ said Connor to Madi. ‘He’s got that special quality that marks out the real leaders in this day and age. They’ll love him on TV.’

  When the conference broke up, Xavier came over to them and Madi introduced him to Connor. ‘This is a sad day for Guyana, a sad day for my people, but in one way maybe fate has stepped in to aid our cause.’

  ‘Pretty drastic way to get attention for your case,’ said Connor.

  ‘One has to utilise opportunities where one can in order to achieve the end,’ Xavier commented, then smiled at Madi. ‘I’m glad to see you are safely back in Georgetown.’ And glancing at Connor added, ‘I’m sorry your wilderness experience had such a serious downside’.

  ‘Yes, my visit was cut a bit short.’

  They made no other reference to their rescue but obviously Xavier was aware of the whole story. ‘Madison has told me a lot about you, and I would very much like to discuss some ideas with you. Perhaps we can get together shortly.’