When the Singing Stops

by Di Morrissey

  Madi peered over but could see little. She’d always meant to come down at low tide with Lester, who liked to dig for antique bottles that had been kept intact in the inky mud since colonial days. Lester sold the odd-shaped heavy blue, green, black and clear bottles to the gift shop in the Pessaro. Now she’d have to buy one before she left, not as much fun as digging up your own.

  As she stood there in the faint moonlight it dawned on Madi that she had subconsciously begun to think of final things to do. As if she was leaving soon. And she realised she had made the decision without being fully aware of it. Madi thought back to a passage in Gwen’s book that she’d written before leaving Guyana. It had touched Madi because it was just how she felt.

  ‘I am glad there are still secret remote places on this overcrowded earth where the fairies and spirits take refuge, where the boulders move mysteriously, the forests are enchanted, the trees sing to each other, and the rivers flow living gold. I am thankful that I shall never see that dreadful day when science has solved all mysteries and the scar of civilisation has defaced every acre of wilderness.’

  Madi looked up as a dark-coloured family sedan pulled in at the end of the seawall. To her surprise Antonio Destra climbed out of the driver’s seat, gave a slight wave and walked towards her. He was grinning and she was reminded of the cheery and helpful companion she’d first met at the airport while waiting for the painfully slow immigration officer to process their papers.

  His introduction to his wife, his offer for her to stay the night with them rather than face the risks of Georgetown alone, had immediately put her at ease. She’d liked his friendly manner and her instinct had been to trust him.

  Then she remembered how his behaviour in the following weeks had confused her—like the time she’d seen him at the Amerindian hostel, then he’d later denied being there. Could Lady Annabel be right? Could he really be working for the CIA?

  ‘I followed you from Bain’s house,’ Destra said, leaning in his relaxed way against the seawall beside Madi as if it were perfectly natural for the two of them to be together in this isolated spot at night.

  Destra lit a cigarette. ‘It’s time you and I had a little talk about life, and particularly life in good ole Guyana.’

  ‘Good ole Guyana, as you call it, does not appear too conducive to a good ole long life,’ Madi said. ‘Since I’ve been here, I’ve witnessed too many killings and almost been killed myself. I don’t know what your role in this country is really all about, Antonio, but I do know you’ve been mixed up in these killings. In fact, I don’t know why I’m standing here talking to you.’

  Destra gave a casual shrug. ‘Madi, I’m not here to harm you. I’m here to give you an explanation that I really should not be giving you at all. But it involves you. You’re an intelligent woman and I’m hoping that when you hear what I have to say, you’ll decide to leave Guyana for awhile. At least until life here can get back to normal, or what passes as normal in Guyana.’

  ‘Is that a friend’s advice or a threat?’

  ‘I’m your friend, Madison.’

  She looked silently across the water, then turned back to Destra, her eyes reflecting her irritation.

  ‘Then tell me why Ernesto St Kitt had to die. You were with those people using drugs at New Spirit that night.’

  ‘I was. And if I’d not allowed myself to be distracted by that, St Kitt might be alive today. But I was keen to see which government officials were part of that particular little group. St Kitt had been invited but he’d flatly refused to join in. He was disgusted and he stalked off in the direction of the path by the river. It gave Bacchus’ hit-man the perfect opportunity he’d been waiting for—to remove Ernesto completely.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘St Kitt was determined to dig out the past performances of the El Dorado company which had been ripping money out of organisations in Guyana for years. Your brother’s mine, Guyminco, was only one of many companies paying Bacchus bribes to break through government red tape.’

  Now Destra had Madi’s full attention. ‘All that had to change when El Dorado decided to go for the biggest prize of all, the licence for the Amazonia Casino. To own the casino licence, Bacchus and his company had to be lily white, pure as angels.’

  Destra paused to light another cigarette then continued. ‘Bacchus had his front as a respectable banker, but too many government files and officials were witness to the company’s strange dealings in the past. All that had to be dealt with. And it was . . . until St Kitt started nosing around.’

  ‘So that’s why he was murdered and that’s why the official line was that he had overdosed on drugs?’

  ‘El Dorado’s problems would have been solved then, except you and your friend Bain stumbled on Mr Rashid Bacchus’ logging operations in the forest. A very foolish move if you don’t mind me saying so . . . You were very lucky to escape.’

  ‘We may have escaped that but there have been two attempts on my life and one on Connor’s since then.’

  ‘Because the information you have on Bacchus could still have stopped him from getting the casino licence. He couldn’t afford to let you live.’

  ‘But why did you kill him? I know you were involved. You had that man made up to look like an Amerindian in the Carnivale parade. And you were there to make sure he got away.’

  ‘You amaze me, Madi. You always seem to have more information than you should have. But yes, we decided he should dress as an Amerindian because the facepaint and the headdress would make an effective disguise.’

  ‘But why did you kill Bacchus?’

  Destra looked at Madi and a tiny smile formed around his mouth. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Madi, my dear, you still don’t understand, do you?’

  ‘You mean because of me? Bacchus died because of me?’

  ‘It is certainly not my duty to act as the white knight to save beautiful damsels in distress. But Madi, it was him or you. And wherever you went you would still have been in danger. Bacchus could not afford to lose that licence. And the slightest whiff of scandal associated with any company running a casino is enough these days to scare off the big gamblers. They want a fair chance and they avoid casinos run by crooked operators. ‘And,’ said Destra quietly, ‘I will admit it served my purposes to have Bacchus out of the way. He was getting sloppy. That drug-packing operation in the forest so close to an Amerindian village was just plain stupid. And those attempts on your life later were signs of a man panicking. Can you imagine how the world spotlight would have fallen on Guyana if a beautiful blonde European woman had been murdered here?’

  Madi shivered at the thought. Then she realised there could be another advantage gained from the death of the corrupt banker. ‘So now the casino won’t go ahead?’ she asked.

  Destra flicked his cigarette butt over the seawall. ‘Olivera who works with me has already taken over as head of El Dorado and he’ll get the licence up with no problems. Amazonia is going to happen, Madi. The hefty tax from gambling revenue will help keep this government in business.’

  Madi shook her head in resignation. ‘I really think It’s wrong.’ She glanced at Destra. ‘Why are you involved?’

  ‘Because my job is to make sure Guyana keeps surviving under a democratic government, to make sure the socialists, and their Cuban allies, never get into power again.’

  ‘So you do work for the CIA?’

  ‘Let’s just say my brief is to watch that emerging countries like Guyana keep moving in the right direction.’ He turned back to face the sea. ‘As you have already learnt, nothing is ever what it seems on the surface. I wanted you to know the facts before you decide what you will do next.’

  ‘I’ve already made my decision, Antonio.’

  A silence settled between them and Madison had difficulty controlling her turmoil of emotions. When she finally spoke there was a tremor in her voice. ‘And what about the dreamers, Antonio? The dreamers of a better world?’

  She didn’t expect a reply. She threw hi
m a look that said she’d heard enough, then turned towards her car. She’d taken only a few steps when Antonio called after her.

  ‘Madison’.

  She stopped and swung around to look at him.

  ‘Madison, I read once, that in a corrupt society, the dreamers of a better world—like you and Xavier—are potentially the most powerful of people. Perhaps your dreams for Guyana will come true one day. Good luck, Madison.’

  He gave a brief wave and strode along the seawall to his car. He didn’t look back.

  She opened the car door and glanced back at the old seawall, painted with crude advertisements and slogans. The lights from the Pessaro Hotel, the small light atop the Georgetown communications tower, and the glow from the old lighthouse dimly illuminated the soupy brown sea.

  Madi knew one day she would stand on a sunny golden Sydney beach beside the clear blue and white surf of the Pacific Ocean and feel deep nostalgia for this murky milky waterfront, and this peculiar city, in this wonderful country.

  A sleepy Singh opened the gate with a broad smile. ‘It be very good to see you, Miss Madison. How you be?’

  ‘Adeh,’ said Madi, realising how familiar the servant’s language had become to her. ‘And you?’

  ‘Good. I be good. Mr Matthew is upstairs.’ Singh opened the front door and turned on the light for her.

  ‘That you, sis?’ called Matthew. ‘Connor rang and said you were on your way. Where’ve you been?’ He kissed her warmly. ‘Cuppa or a rum?’

  ‘Oh, what the heck. A rum. Make it the ten-year-old.’

  When they were settled he gave her a shrewd glance. ‘Been doing some thinking, hey? Connor told me you were a bit upset.’

  ‘Not upset so much as disillusioned, toughened, resigned, but determined. Cheers.’ She downed a mouthful of the velvety aromatic rum.

  ‘What about? Everything is working out very well. Connor and I were discussing Xavier’s ideas. You know what we reckon? That he’ll eventually end up forming a new political party and leading the country.’

  ‘So he’s used this whole push to further his own political ambitions? I can’t believe that.’

  ‘It probably didn’t start out that way, but how else is he going to make life better for the people?’ When Madi didn’t answer he added, ‘Anyway it’s a long way off and we’ll all be out of here by then. Change happens slowly in a place like this. Speaking of which, I’ll let you in on a little secret. We have a potential buyer for Guyminco.’

  Madi looked pleased. ‘Hey, Matt, that’s great. You AusGeo boys have pulled it off. And ahead of schedule.’

  ‘Keep it quiet. There are problems that will hopefully get ironed out at the conference at New Spirit.’

  ‘Ah yes, the great gambling table where all the warring factions deal the cards and place their bets.’

  ‘You don’t have to sound so cynical. It’s not gambling, it’s deal making.’

  ‘So who’s the mysterious buyer? Do they know what sort of place this country is?’

  ‘Of course, they’re already here.’ He gave a grin. ‘It’s the Columbus goldmine company. The US is keen to up its role in this country and Columbus is already in the game, so they know what’s what.’

  Madi wondered if the night could possibly yield any more surprises. She recalled the first party she’d attended in Guyana and the declaration by the US Ambassador that America was keen to lift its commercial presence.

  ‘Columbus mines, after what has happened?’ she said almost in disbelief.

  ‘It’s a straight-out commercial deal. The price is right, as they say in television.’

  Madi gave a little laugh. In a way, it was all like something out of a television show, one of those biting British political dramas about the almost obscene use and abuse of power. ‘I guess it’s time to move on, Matt,’ she said with sadness and resignation.

  He gave a small smile. ‘You’ve really blossomed, Madi. Hard to think of you any more as my little sis. I’m very proud of how you’ve embraced this country, these people, how you’ve tried to help them. You’re quite a gal! Infuriating at times. But I know no one will ever walk over you again. Guyana has changed you forever.’

  Madi reached out and hugged him. ‘Oh, Matty, I’ll always be your little sis . . . I now realise how special and important you are. Thanks for putting up with me.’

  ‘You’ll never lose your sweetness, I hope.’

  It suddenly occurred to Matthew how special she was. If she married Connor then Bain would be a lucky man. And, Matthew wondered, would he ever find a girl like Madi?

  Madi sat hugging her knees and staring into the large pond filled with the old Victoria Regina waterlilies. The tall pink lotus blooms waved their regal heads. The more Madi looked at them, the more they seemed like people chatting to each other at a frightfully elegant cocktail party, one head slightly bowed, one nodding, another thrown back in laughter. The thought amused her. But then the glassy surface of the water was disrupted as a big black hulk slowly surfaced between the giant green leaves. Madi leaned forward and watched the dugong swim slowly across to the far bank before sinking below the surface to look for fresh grass and roots.

  Madi leaned back against a gnarled tree where orchids and bromeliads clung, trailing roots and flowers. The scene before her looked so tranquil. Yet not far away crowds were swarming over hoardings around the cricket ground. Perched in trees that overlooked the oval and jamming the stands, they roared and cheered the Guyanese against Barbados. As another wicket fell, Madi got to her feet and walked through the deserted gardens to where she’d parked Connor’s car.

  Her private tour of Georgetown was over. She had circled the town, re-living special memories so many landmarks conjured up for her. The Blue Toucan coffee shop, the Amerindian shop, the Bourda Markets, the big Stabroek marketplace, Guyana Stores, the Universal Bookshop, the Pepperpot coffee house, the Pessaro Hotel, the Georgetown Club and Embassy Club, Lady Annabel’s father’s house, the little bridges over the littered drains choked with lotus flowers, the simple temples and houses, the grand old homes, the distant sugarcane fields.

  So much had happened to her in such a brief time. Was it so significant just because it was different? Or had this tiny pocket of a country, plonked onto the edge of the great lamb chop of South America, become a defining milestone in her life. If she’d gone to visit Matthew in say, Greece or Bahrain, would the effect on her have been the same?

  She thought of the rivers, the rainforests, the savannahs, the magnificent waterfalls, the gentle forest people, her warm, laughter-loving coastlander friends, and knew this place was special. She touched the little frog at her throat and thought of the tiny gold frogs in their sparkling green home at the lip of Kaieteur. They symbolised this country . . . beautiful, rare, endangered. For as long as the frogs kept singing in their clean air and sunshine, all would be right with the world.

  Despite the dangers she had experienced, she had only happy memories of Guyana. She’d discovered her own strengths and had come to like herself. She knew that whatever the world threw at her from now on, she was better equipped to deal with it.

  She’d developed a new relationship with her brother. He now saw her as a woman of intelligence and independence. He respected, as well as loved her.

  And in this country she’d met Connor. Would she have fallen in love with him in a less romantic place? Shared adventures and adversity had helped their bonding. She had yet to decide her feelings for Connor. That could only be done away from here, away from him.

  Connor had been offered the choice of two jobs . . . in China or in Papua New Guinea. He’d asked her to go with him and asked which place she’d prefer. ‘Both will be rugged, but you seem to like adventuring,’ he said with a grin. Then added more seriously, ‘I can’t imagine being anywhere without you now, Madi’.

  Again, she’d told him she wasn’t ready to make a decision. She hadn’t raised the other issue that disturbed her. In both these places IFO money was backing n
ew mine developments.

  She drove back to Connor’s house and let herself inside. Connor was over at Matthew’s discussing the next day’s forum at New Spirit. Madi didn’t want to know about their deal-making. The disillusionment still unsettled her. She would drive to Matthew’s later for a farewell supper party with their friends before going to the airport for her 11 pm flight to London.

  Her suitcase stood inside the door. The frog painting and an Amerindian fish trap Matthew had given her were safely wrapped inside the bulky roll of her hammock.

  There remained one last thing to do. She changed for the flight, putting on her R.M. Williams jodhpurs and boots, and a soft blue cotton shirt. She put her bags in the car.

  Lester had given her directions to his house. She parked just down from the brightly floodlit US embassy and walked between two houses to where he lived with his mother and son.

  He was sitting on the darkened verandah, Denzil perched on the top step waiting for her.

  ‘Hi, Denzil,’ called Madi and the little boy jumped up, gave a shy wave and ran to Lester.

  ‘Yo find us okay den.’

  ‘Here I am,’ smiled Madi as she reached the small front verandah.

  ‘Come in and meet Mumma. She very shy ’bout yo coming here, but happy to meet yo at last.’

  Lester’s mother gave Madi a warm embrace and fussed about, settling her on the sofa and bringing them soft drinks and a plate of sweet biscuits.

  ‘Just the three of you live here?’ asked Madi.

  ‘My sister lives with us but she be workin’ at de hospital. She be a nurse’s aide,’ said Lester proudly. ‘So now. What yo plans, Madison? London den what?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Lester. I don’t know where I’ll go or even if I’ll stay in London. The hospitality industry doesn’t interest me in the same way it did before. I’d like to try the eco tourism side of things back in Australia perhaps.’