When the Singing Stops

by Di Morrissey

  Sitting on the enclosed verandah of Wanika House and looking out at the calm gardens and smooth expanse of the Demerara River, Madi felt a sense of tranquillity she hadn’t felt since being in the interior.

  While Connor spoke with Gordon Ash about the future of privatisation and the sale of Guyminco, Matthew did the rounds of all the administrative departments and came away impressed with the steadily improving attitude and positive approach to their work by staff at all levels. The prospects for the sale of the mine as a going concern were looking far better than when they’d first arrived.

  Madi set herself up at a table in the downstairs sitting room and resumed writing her proposal for Xavier on the establishment and marketing of eco tourism as a practical and viable industry.

  The housekeeper, Shanti, was thrilled to have the three of them in residence. The plump and happy woman was a delight and exuded a sense of wisdom and earthiness. Madi remembered Matthew’s letter describing how Shanti had taken him to the obeah man after the bat had attacked him soon after he arrived in Guyana.

  While the men spent their time at the bauxite mine, Madi was waited on with biscuits and coffee as she worked on the upper verandah with her notebook. Shanti asked Madi what she was writing and Madi described her idea of developing small holiday places where visitors could experience the ‘real Guyana’.

  ‘Not all the real Guyana be beautiful places like Kaieteur and Rupununi, Miss Madi. Dere be poor places and scary places, too.’

  ‘But that’s in the cities and shantytowns. And Guyana isn’t unique in having an ugly side. Even rich countries like America and Australia have poor people. Shameful, but there it is, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You know what make dese problems? Greedy people. De government say we let in foreigners to dig de gold and minerals and make Guyana rich. But ah don’t see no riches dropping in ma front door.’ Shanti gave a wide smile. ‘But you would be welcome in my home. You come visit one day. My family live just down there.’ She pointed through some coconut palms.

  ‘The nicest thing about Guyana is the people. So friendly, so hospitable . . . that’s a big attraction for visitors,’ said Madi, smiling at the dark-skinned, motherly woman.

  ‘Trouble is we don’ believe we have same culture or past. We Indians come as workers like the African slaves, even the Amerindians fought each other in early days. Then we get ruled by all different people from Europe. It’s like we haven’t decided who we be as just Guyanese people.’

  ‘That’s a pretty good place to start, Shanti, just being Guyanese people.’

  ‘But we still have de old powers if you know where to go. Sometimes de old ways work good.’ There was a shout from the cook below, and Shanti turned away.

  She clattered down the stairs and Madi was left pondering over her last remark. She turned back to her proposal and continued writing.

  That afternoon Madi wandered along a canal where a coconut grove lined the banks. Piles of coconuts and husks were heaped beneath the feathery-topped trees. A nanny goat, pink udder bulging, snuffled amongst the debris.

  As Madi stood there, a sense of foreboding crept up on her. Suddenly the shadowy grove looked sinister, and she had the overwhelming sensation she was in danger. Panic suddenly took over and she darted through the trees, across the lawn and into the back door of Wanika House’s kitchen, startling Shanti, who was seated at the table in the spacious kitchen.

  Shanti looked at Madi’s ashen face. ‘What be wrong?’

  ‘I just had a feeling someone was . . . after me,’ she finished lamely. It sounded so stupid when she had not actually seen anyone.

  Shanti led Madi into the empty dining room and sat her down. ‘What trouble you be in, girl?’

  ‘Oh Shanti, I’m scared. Such strange things have happened these past few weeks. I think someone is trying to hurt me . . . kill me. I know something I shouldn’t . . . that’s why I’m up here, keeping out of the way. But I think they know. This means Connor could be in trouble too . . . and Matthew.’

  ‘That brother of yours be safe. He be protected. Obeah man fix him up. Now, what be de story, Miss Madison?’

  Briefly, in short sentences, without giving names, Madi explained why she believed someone was trying to harm her.

  Shanti folded her arms. ‘This be a bad story. They be serious ’bout harmin’ you, eh?’

  ‘It certainly looks like it. Matthew’s boss is getting the official people to look into it.’

  Shanti sniffed. ‘Official people not be the right people, just now. They be slow. While they think and shuffle papers, you be in trouble.’

  Madi nodded and looked at Shanti with stricken eyes. ‘So what do I do?’

  She spoke slowly. ‘I told you de old ways sometimes be de best ways. You want to try de old way? It work for your brother. We can get help to stop dat feller following you.’

  ‘You can . . . how?’ asked Madi dubiously.

  ‘You come to my house. We got to do it soon, before he go away.’

  ‘You mean, you think there is someone around?’ Madi’s fears returned.

  ‘I always trust de instinct. When feelings come on you like that, they be telling you, look out girl.’ Shanti stood and patted Madi’s shoulder. ‘Now, you wait till I finish up here and send a message to de magic man. We tell the houseboy to tell your brother and Connor we be back later.’

  Madi sat in the front room of Shanti’s little house. The garden was overgrown, but a row of pot plants were neatly tended along the small verandah. There were lace doilies beneath cut glass vases of plastic flowers, ornaments, a wooden clock, a doll in a glittery dress. Framed photographs and pictures cut from magazines were pinned to the walls, coloured crochet throws draped on a sofa. In the next room she saw an old nut-brown lady holding a young girl on her lap. Madi was left in the best room with a glass of warm, fizzy orange drink. She gave the little girl a small wave and the child giggled and hid her face in her grandmother’s chest.

  Shanti returned, having changed into a simple dress, a straw hat on her head. ‘Come, we go now.’

  ‘Shanti, I’m not sure about this. Will it be all right?’ Madi was apprehensive.

  ‘You believe and it will be so,’ was all she said. ‘You say you trust the Amerindian ways, this be the old Carib shaman way. I tell him we is comin’ and he be ready.’

  ‘Who and what is this magic man?’

  Madi followed Shanti out of the house as she explained. ‘De shaman be like de doctor, de priest and de magician in one. He heal de body with herbs, and talk to de spirits to find out what to do. It take special training, he has to learn de traditions and de ceremonies. And he got to have de gift for it. He be a big man in de village. Very important. Only de shaman can send away de kanaima—de evil spirit man.’

  Shanti loaned Madi a bicycle and they set off along the pitted dirt road that wound through the small township. Madi hadn’t been on a bicycle for some years and the rusty machine she rode was no Malvern Star. She wobbled around dogs, chickens, children playing cricket, mounds of dirt and scattered cans and bottles. The chasm of the mine was behind them, the drone of the dragline endlessly gouging the rich sandy earth into containers faded in the distance, and soon they were riding on a quiet path into trees.

  Dusk was some time away, but it began to look like rain, and clouds, punched and bruised blue-black, loomed oppressively above the last streaks of pale gold light. Beneath the trees it was gloomier, birds called an alert, and the only person they saw was a stooped woman carrying a massive pile of twigs and sticks on her head.

  They reached a small shack built, it seemed, from left-over planks, doors and windows from abandoned dwellings. Shanti wheeled to a stop with a flourish and lowered her bike to the ground. Madi dismounted, leaned her bike against a tree and nervously followed Shanti round the side of the house into the backyard where an open fire sent a plume of smoke trailing into the deepening sky.

  Although they were only metres away from the village track, the place felt
quite isolated. As they walked towards the fire, Madi jumped and clutched at Shanti. ‘What’s that?’ For a moment in the firelight a strange creature appeared in the half light. It was a tree, but carved into the folds and creases of its trunk was the face of a man. Grotesquely leering, the wild-eyed creature had his mouth agape and tongue protruding. Above his frighteningly expressive face, which appeared half human half animal, wild tresses of hair formed by the twists of some serpentine limbs and creepers, curled and rose upwards to blend with the foliage of the tree.

  ‘That be the green man. Half man half tree, he look after de nature spirits,’ said Shanti, taking her towards the fire.

  Tending the fire was an old Indian man, wizened, black and shiny as though dried and glazed. Madi expected his skin to crackle as he moved. But he simply sat cross-legged, throwing small sticks onto the fire, and watched them approach through sultana eyes. He wore an old red sweater and dark pants. He nodded to Shanti who gestured to Madi. ‘This be de lady with de trouble.’

  He motioned Madi to sit, and she sat on the other side of the small fire and glanced questioningly at Shanti.

  ‘It be all right now. I will help you with the questions. His English not so good.’ She sat beside the old man so they were both facing Madi. The old man began taking slow deep breaths first through one nostril and then the other and then such long breaths that Madi wondered if he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes and appeared to be in a form of trance. Slowly he began to speak with Shanti translating. Shanti’s voice changed slightly, becoming deeper and slower, each word carefully formed.

  ‘Did you bring your zemi?’

  ‘What’s that?’ whispered Madi.

  ‘Your idol, your totem.’

  She drew out the wooden frog and leaned over and placed it in the old man’s hands. He turned it over and began a soft chanting, then threw some leaves into the fire.

  Madi found herself mesmerised by the increasing smoke which almost obscured those on the other side of the fire and she felt as if she was dreaming, for suddenly, like seeing pictures in clouds, she imagined she could see wraithlike figures of babies and young children rising in the smoke.

  ‘First come de bush babies, he say they be immortal child of dreams . . .’

  A flick of the hand and the smoke changed again to deep impenetrable black.

  ‘We enter the land of unknown . . .’

  He breathed and flung powder once more and the smoke billowed densely pure white.

  ‘And comes the dawn of awakening . . .’

  And then in a final burst of some sort of ephemeral energy, the smoke and flames seared into the colours of a peacock, which made Madi gasp at the sheer beauty and force of the dazzling light and colour. Did she imagine a strange flute-like music?

  The colours waned and, as if inhaling, the fire swallowed its glorious tongue and returned once more to a small glowing centre. Madi saw the old man was playing a strange little bone flute. Without explanation, she knew that this was the bone of a past enemy.

  The last note faded and the old man lowered his head, and seemed to nod to sleep. Shanti handed Madi back her frog and said simply, ‘You are protected’. Rising to her feet, Shanti indicated they should leave. They quietly went to the front of the house and walked with their bicycles back through the trees.

  ‘Can you explain that to me in any way I can understand?’ asked Madi.

  ‘Don’t ask for explanations. Just accept the gift. In the old days, the missionaries say such men are possessed by evil spirits. We choose to believe what we wish, eh?’

  She remounted her bicycle and, in the near darkness, Madi silently followed the little red plastic glow on the back of Shanti’s bike.

  By the time they reached the grounds of the guesthouse, spats of rain, flat and heavy, were slapping at them. ‘Shanti . . . thank you. How do I repay the old man . . . and you?’ Madi looked at the woman who seemed such a paradox, so practical and yet so accepting of a tradition that was beyond Madi’s intellectual capacity.

  ‘You will find a way to repay us.’ She headed for the kitchen and Madi went upstairs to the verandah where she could hear Matthew, Connor and Kevin chatting over drinks. Lightning and rain streaked the Demerara River.

  ‘Cook said you went out with Shanti . . . have fun?’ asked Matthew cheerfully.

  Madi didn’t think she could adequately begin to describe the events she’d just experienced. She sat down and stared out at the rain before answering. ‘Fun isn’t the word. I went out with Shanti . . . I got a bit freaked this afternoon. I felt that whoever is after me, us, is here.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’ The two men looked anxious.

  ‘Nothing at all. It was just a feeling, an instinct. So I told Shanti,’ she paused and her brother gave her a penetrating look. ‘Did she take you to the Indian magic man?’ he asked softly.

  Madi nodded and Connor looked from one to the other. ‘The bat doctor?’

  Madi shook her head. ‘Someone different. He cast a spell . . . Shanti says now I’m protected . . .’

  Matthew drew a small pouch on a long strip of leather from inside his shirt. ‘This is supposed to keep me safe.’

  ‘Well, that’s great for you blokes, what about me?’ demanded Connor with a grin.

  ‘Speak to Shanti,’ smiled Madi, feeling relieved. ‘I’d love a drink, by the way.’

  ‘Do you want to tell us about it?’ asked Matthew.

  ‘Not right now, but I will.’

  Matthew leaned over and kissed her cheek as Connor handed her a drink. She gave them both a big grin. ‘Maybe this is something I won’t write home about!’

  Matthew pulled the leather thong holding the little bag over his head and handed it to Connor. ‘Here, mate, keep this in your pocket for a bit.’

  Connor flushed slightly. ‘No . . . I’ll be right, that’s yours.’

  ‘I have a feeling it will work for someone I like . . . and I don’t think I’m quite the target that you and Madi possibly are.’

  Matthew spoke lightly and turned to the bar to freshen his drink. Connor looked deeply touched and he put the small bag the obeah man had given Matthew into his pocket.

  Madi went and gave her brother a kiss. ‘Thanks, bro.’

  Matthew sat back down. ‘If a tree falls on my head, I want it back. Now pull up a chair and let’s watch the fireworks.’

  They watched the dancing lightning illuminate the pockmarks where rain met river until cook rang the bell for dinner.

  By the time they’d finished eating, the rain had stopped and the watery moonlight shone feebly across the wet landscape.

  ‘Want to go for a walk?’ Connor took her hand. ‘We can’t stay cooped up in here all the time.’

  They headed down to the water’s edge where the lawns stopped and a small path, dotted with palm trees, shrubs and an occasional stone bench, wound beside the river.

  ‘I wanted to get you on my own for a bit.’ Connor kissed her. ‘It’s been one of those go-go days, all meetings and talk.’

  ‘Go on, you’re in your element,’ teased Madi. They linked arms and she felt contented and calm. Despite the eerie light, provocative shadows and rustling palm fronds, her fears had been put to rest by the visit to the old shaman.

  They sat on the bench and Connor kissed her again and she leant her head against his shoulder.

  ‘How’s your tourism proposal coming along?’ asked Connor.

  ‘Well. The more I think about it, the more ideas I have and the more sense it makes. It’s getting all the infrastructure to happen that’s difficult . . . transport, things like that. The places to visit aren’t a problem.’ She sighed. ‘We’ve seen some marvellous sights out here, haven’t we?’

  ‘It’s one of the blessings of my job. I sometimes whinge about the gypsy life but I’ve been in some fascinating places . . . fascinating awful and fascinating good. But this has been the best,’ he answered. ‘Because I found you . . . Madi . . . have you thought any more . . .’ he r
eached for her hand, feeling the ring. ‘You don’t want to put this on the other hand?’

  ‘Don’t rush me, Connor. We went through this. We’re still going through the getting to know each other stage.’

  ‘I haven’t found any faults with you yet,’ he grinned. ‘You wake up smiling, you’re fun to be with, I even love arguing with you.’

  ‘Now don’t make me cross. That sounds like you don’t take my arguments seriously.’

  ‘I do, I do! Wanna fight?’ He held up his hands in a mock boxing stance.

  ‘No. I want to get off this wet seat and go to bed. It’s been a big day for me too. Come on.’

  She pulled him up and holding hands they began walking back, Connor leading her on a short cut across the lawns. He stepped ahead of Madi to lift a dripping arc of bougainvillea to one side, and kissed her lightly as she brushed past him. ‘I love you, Madi.’

  She didn’t answer but squeezed his hand, and together they walked up the wide stairs towards the open front door. Suddenly there was a deafening crack and a window beside them shattered, glass splinters flying in all directions.

  ‘What the hell . . .’ Connor pushed Madi ahead of him. He kicked the door shut and in one fluid movement he switched off the light and pulled Madi to the floor, crouching beside her.

  Madi was shaking, ‘What was that?’

  ‘A shot . . . a bullet. Someone was having a go at us.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ gasped Madi and flattened herself on the floor. ‘Get down, Connor. Get down.’

  He put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Stay calm Madi. Don’t panic. I think we’re safe now.’

  Matthew appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘What the hell is going on down there?’

  ‘Put out the light up there, Matt. Someone took a shot at us.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Not bloody likely, mate. It was a shot, all right.’

  ‘Christ. I’ll phone mine security right away,’ snapped Matthew and ran to the telephone in the upstairs hall.