Rain Music

by Di Morrissey

Reaching the top of the hill, Ron slowed the car to a halt. He and Mavis got out and snapped a few photos. Ned stayed in the car rubbing his ankle. He gazed at the view spread below – the scattered houses, short streets and old buildings along the seafront, none of which testified to recent development or progress. Further along the waterfront, fishing trawlers huddled at a wharf beyond them, past the mouth of the Endeavour River with its tidal flats. Further out, luxury cruisers lay at anchor, while lone sailors, tourist fishing craft and diving boats plied the clear reef waters and small tenders made their way up the river to the main Cooktown wharf.

  ‘We’re going on to the museum,’ said Ron as he drove the behemoth of a four-wheel drive back down the hill. ‘Can we drop you there?’

  With nothing to do but kill time until he heard from Yolanda, Ned thanked the couple and it was only a matter of minutes before they pulled up at the corner of Helen Street, where an imposing, solid, colonial brick building rose amidst old trees and tangled gardens. A sign announced it as the James Cook Museum. Several other cars and a tourist minibus were parked out the front, and some of the tourists were posing for photos on the steps that led to its main entrance beneath a wide verandah.

  With help from Ron, he gingerly climbed the front steps into the museum. Opposite the front doors was a grand staircase leading to the upper floor. Near the staircase was a gift shop and information desk, while to his right was a display room. Ned could see a sign indicating the way to the James Cook Discovery Room.

  In the cool high-ceilinged interior it appeared that little had changed since the building’s original construction, and Ned was suddenly enveloped in a strangely nostalgic embrace. The contemporary fixtures seemed irrelevant, and he felt that if he closed his eyes he’d see the place as it had been in 1887, the year it opened. The atmosphere was redolent of other lives, friendly ghosts, stories and the music of the past, and he felt drawn to explore the place.

  He paid the entrance fee and farewelled Ron and Mavis, who seemed more interested in the gift shop than the museum, and Ned made his way to the display dedicated to James Cook.

  Printed placards explained to visitors that in June 1770, as Captain Cook was exploring the east coast of Australia, his barque Endeavour had run aground on a nearby reef. The vessel had limped into the river, which Cook had named the Endeavour River, and he and his crew stayed beside it for several weeks while the damaged ship was repaired. This enforced stay in the area gave Cook the honour of leading the first European settlement on the Australian east coast, albeit a brief one. In pride of place in the centre of the museum sat a cannon and a massive anchor. These artefacts had been rediscovered in the mud off the Cooktown coast more than two hundred years after they had been left behind when the Endeavour had been refloated.

  Ned thought the exhibition was interesting, but he decided not to stay long. He hadn’t heard back from Yolanda and he wanted to try to sort out his accommodation as soon as he could. He headed back to the pub via taxi.

  Yolanda pulled him a schooner as soon as she saw him walk into the bar. ‘I was just about to return your call. You didn’t like Hashie’s house?’ She pushed the beer towards him as he eased himself onto a stool.

  Ned grimaced. ‘I took one look and declined the offer. I could never work in the chaos that seems to pervade the place.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  Ned sipped the icy beer. ‘You mentioned something about another place. Peaceful, you said.’

  Yolanda nodded. ‘Let me serve those blokes and I’ll be right back.’

  She returned a few minutes later and leaned on the counter, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. ‘So, you reckon you want to stick it out here for a while?’

  Ned nodded. ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘This place isn’t for everyone.’

  ‘Cooktown, or the house you have in mind?’

  She gave a bit of a smile. ‘The house, though I guess you might not call it a house; it’s more of an interesting dwelling. It’s perfectly comfortable, just a bit unusual.’

  Ned was intrigued. ‘Whose place is it?’

  ‘Belongs to a mate of mine, Carlo,’ Yolanda explained. ‘He built it about fifteen years ago. His parents came out from Italy and helped him with it. They liked Australia so much that they decided to stay, so they bought a place in Cairns, but they go back to Italy every year or so. Around this time every year, Carlo goes to Austria, but there’s some family reunion happening in Italy so he’s joining his parents and leaving earlier than usual this year.’

  ‘Carlo goes to Austria every year?’ said Ned in an incredulous voice. ‘That’s a bit of a change from Cooktown.’

  ‘Yeah, his girlfriend is a ski instructor and that’s where she makes her money.’

  ‘So he visits his girlfriend each year in Austria?’

  ‘Oh no, Lena lives here with Carlo for most of the year. They go back to Austria together. Do you want me to ask him if you can stay at his place for a few weeks?’

  ‘Sure. Is his place in town?’

  Yolanda laughed. ‘Hell, no! It’s outta town. Him and Lena are gold prospectors – well, fossickers really, if you get my drift. You’d never find the place. It’s really hidden. His folks have a caravan on the site for when they visit, but God knows how they got it in there. Have you got somewhere you can stay tonight?’

  ‘I’ve booked into a motel, but it’s a bit pricey.’

  ‘Okay, well, when you’re ready, I’d say the best thing for you to do is to go out to the Golden Mile Roadhouse. They have accommodation, basic but clean, and you can wait there till Carlo comes in from the bush. He calls in to the roadhouse before he comes to town. It’ll be cheaper if you stay there than in town, and the owners, Frederick and Theresa, are great people. At a pinch they can guide you to Carlo’s place. It’s very isolated.’

  ‘When I’m into my music, isolation and time don’t seem to matter. It sounds just what I want, but will Carlo want me out there?’

  ‘You’ll be fine. Carlo can check you out, but I reckon he’ll be pleased he can do you a favour, and you him, by keeping an eye on things. Carlo’s place is pretty special, and if you don’t mind being seriously remote, it might be just the ticket.’

  ‘A fossicker’s campsite sounds pretty basic.’

  Yolanda smiled. ‘Wait and see. It’s a bit better than that. You got a four-wheel drive? It’s rugged country.’

  ‘I will have in a day or two, I hope.’

  ‘Haven’t seen Carlo for a bit, so he must be due to pop up soon. Can’t ring him, of course. No reception out in the backblocks where he lives.’

  ‘It all sounds a bit unusual. Tell me, would you live out there in such a remote place?’

  Yolanda flung up her arms. ‘Not on my own! I’d go stir-crazy after a week. But it suits Carlo and it might suit you. You should know, though, that if you stay out there through the wet you’ll be stuck because the roads become impassable and the river comes up. Do you know much about machinery? Are you good with running things like generators?’

  ‘Um. Sort of,’ Ned said dubiously. ‘I’d need to stock up on supplies, might need some guidance there.’

  ‘Ah, if this idea works out, Carlo will help you with that stuff. I haven’t been out there for a couple of years, but it’s a pretty interesting set-up.’

  ‘So what does Carlo do apart from fossick a bit, or is he retired?’

  ‘Lord no, he’s not even fifty. But I reckon he gets enough gold out there to give him a good lifestyle, though he doesn’t advertise it. Likes to fly under the radar. Never talks about what he does and never about what he finds. He plays his cards close to his chest.’

  ‘You make it sound pretty intriguing. If he doesn’t mind me out there for a few weeks, I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, as I said, my advice is to go out to the roadhouse and wait there for Carlo to
turn up. Tell Theresa and Frederick I sent ya.’

  ‘Thanks, Yolanda. I have to stay in town until I’ve got wheels and my stitches out, then I’ll do just that.’

  She shrugged. ‘Then you’d better give me your phone number, in case Carlo turns up here while you’re still about. I’ll give you a call.’

  *

  Ned had to wait in Cooktown for another vehicle before he could make his way to the Golden Mile Roadhouse. By the next day, his ankle had improved rapidly, so he was able to get out and about. After walking along the waterfront, he treated himself to a seafood lunch, fresh from a trawler that was tied up out the front of the restaurant. He walked slowly through Bicentennial Park and chatted to a couple of Aboriginal boys kicking a football, and over the headland he found the grounds of the Botanical Gardens, a cool and quiet oasis, if a little neglected. There he found a building called Nature’s Powerhouse, where he was able to buy a cup of coffee. The building also had a small gallery dedicated to the delicate watercolours of Vera Scarth-Johnson. Here Ned learned she was an English naturalist and conservationist and an extraordinary botanical illustrator. She had dedicated the latter part of her life to painting the plants of the Endeavour River valley, and her illustrations, which were recognised for their national significance, were given to the people of Cooktown in 1990, some years before her death.

  Ned studied the beautiful representations of the region’s extraordinary flowers and plants and imagined this intrepid artist exploring the untamed wilderness in search of specimens. He was not surprised to learn, in the caption below a photograph of her that was mounted on the wall, that she had been inspired by the work of Joseph Banks and Daniel Solander, the two scientists who had been travelling with Captain Cook. While the repairs to the Endeavour had been taking place, Banks and Solander had explored the area and taken many samples of flora and fauna back to England. Ned bought a series of small prints, thinking he’d give them to his mother when he had a chance, as he knew she would appreciate them.

  Late in the afternoon, he sat on the upper balcony of his motel with an apple and a bottle of water. He’d stopped in again at the museum on his way back to the hotel and was now enjoying the view of the town and the sea, and thinking about the variety of artefacts this unusually fine regional museum had on display. The exhibits were impressive, from Indigenous bark canoes to a fine bone china English Minton dinner service, as well as family mementos, clothes, photos, letters, sailing equipment, maps, various Aboriginal artefacts, some geological specimens and a lot of dusty and rusty implements and tools that had been used on the goldfields. He was amazed by the vast collection of Chinese porcelain and cookware the museum housed, and there was also a reconstructed opium den, complete with smoking accoutrements, as well as a joss house.

  He had climbed the beautiful staircase, and as he’d stood in the shadows of the landing and the rooms beyond, cluttered with memorabilia and displays, Ned had been drawn to the end of the hallway. In a corner was an ancient piano. A small framed printed notice had told him its story, which had piqued his interest.

  The piano had been made in Paris in 1878, and its connection with Cooktown began a few years later when a ship was wrecked off the coast. Amongst the jetsam was the piano, which was salvaged by a bullock driver. The bullocky left it in a freshwater stream to clean it of salt and there it sat for several years, until he heard that Mrs Boyd, the wife of the butcher in Coen, some four hundred kilometres to the north, might be interested in buying it. So the bullocky took the piano north and offered it for sale for twenty-five pounds. The offer was accepted and Mrs Boyd had it restored, having new strings, ivory keys and felt sent up from Sydney. Within three months it was in perfect working order and was used for the first dance to be held in Coen.

  Eventually the Boyds sold up and the piano was purchased by a family from Laura, some two hundred and fifty kilometres south and closer to Cooktown. Later it had been bought by two nurses, who took the piano to Cooktown. After they both left the town, the piano once again returned to the Boyd household, and later the family donated it to the museum.

  What a charming story, Ned had thought. How much pleasure that instrument must have given the pioneers of the far north. And how long since those yellowed keys had been touched? he wondered. Maybe the young pupils at the convent school had practised playing on the faithful old instrument. Maybe the strings had rotted and the old piano had been silenced, but in that moment, Ned could hear music: hymns, children’s songs, and a haunting tune that needed the accompaniment of cymbals and bells and old Chinese instruments. He had stood, transfixed, as he imagined the music of another era dancing through the ether and into his head.

  Finishing his apple, Ned decided that he needed to do more than daydream. It was time to thank Toni properly for rescuing him, so he made his way back to the hospital and asked at Admissions if it would be possible to see her. About five minutes later, Toni came down the corridor with a smile on her face.

  ‘Hi, Ned, what can I do for you? It doesn’t look as though your ankle is giving you much trouble.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Actually, it’s mended very quickly. The reason I’m here is to ask if I can take you to dinner tonight to thank you for rescuing me. I really haven’t had the chance to do that properly.’

  Toni smiled broadly. ‘You don’t have to do that, Ned, but I’m delighted to accept. Where did you have in mind?’

  *

  That evening they met at the seafood restaurant that had earlier impressed Ned.

  ‘It’s nice here. I love that the seafood is literally straight off the boat,’ he commented, glancing around the bustling restaurant.

  ‘Yes, I always enjoy this place. Most locals do,’ replied Toni as they settled themselves at a table overlooking the river. ‘So what have you been up to?’

  Ned filled her in on the past few days he’d spent in Cooktown. Toni laughed easily and Ned found himself relaxing in her company.

  ‘Seems you’ve met a fair few of the locals!’ she said when he told her about Carlo’s house. ‘I can’t say that I know Carlo well, but I do know Yolanda and Frederick and Theresa at the roadhouse and they’re good people, so I’d trust their judgement. If they think it’s all right for you to stay there, then it is. How’s the car situation?’

  ‘Not the best. The car’s a write-off but the mechanic at the local wreckers assures me that he can lay his hands on another four-wheel drive in reasonable shape. I’m just waiting for his call. That, and having my stitches out, are the reasons I’m still in town, but it’s all for the best because it gives me the chance to thank you properly.’ He smiled at her and she grinned back.

  ‘I feel very thanked,’ she said, holding his gaze.

  They both enjoyed their meal of fresh prawns, oysters and mangos as they chatted about their careers and impressions of Cooktown.

  Toni lifted her glass of verdelho to toast Ned. ‘Here’s to your interesting move. I hope it works out for you. I’m sure you’ll be back in town soon enough. For supplies, I mean.’

  ‘I certainly will let you know when I am.’ He touched his glass against hers. ‘Thank you again for everything.’

  As Ned paid the restaurant bill, Toni said, ‘Why don’t you let me drive you back to your motel? I’ve got wheels and it’s on my way.’

  When they arrived, Toni turned off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. She turned and smiled softly at Ned. He leaned over and kissed her gently.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’ Ned asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Toni. They kissed again, got out of the car and went inside.

  *

  Toni left early the next morning, as she had to go back to her own place to get ready for her shift. She said goodbye to Ned with a lingering kiss. As Ned finished his first coffee for the day, he kept thinking about her and the lovely night they had spent to
gether. He would make sure he found a chance to see her again. Just as he was draining his coffee, he got a call from the mechanic saying he had a four-wheel drive for Ned, if he wanted to come and have a look. Ned made his way over to the repair shop and met the mechanic outside.

  ‘Here she is,’ he announced. ‘What do you think?’

  The vehicle looked in better condition than the one he had wrecked, and when he took it for a drive, he was quite pleased by how it handled.

  ‘How much does your mate want for this?’ he asked the mechanic.

  Ned tried not to smile too much when he was told the figure, and quickly made arrangements for the transfer of ownership.

  ‘Thanks for all you’ve done,’ he said to the mechanic.

  ‘No worries, my mate will be pleased. You leaving town?’

  ‘Only for a while. I’ll be back sometime and I’ll shout you a drink at the Toppie.’

  ‘Thanks, you’re on. And be careful of those big birds,’ replied the mechanic with a smile.

  Ned felt relieved to have wheels again. He drove back to his hotel, gathered his gear and checked out. Then he headed to the hospital and had his stitches out. It took a little time but the doctor was satisfied that he’d healed well. Back on the road, Ned drove south, following the directions the receptionist at the hospital Admissions desk had given him to the Golden Mile Roadhouse. He drove cautiously, the memory of his accident still very fresh.

  He was pleased when he saw the sign for the roadhouse. As he pulled into the large parking lot he spotted several trucks and a road train refuelling. Tables and benches were set up outside the rustic log cabin building, which bore a sign, The Golden Mile, and a painting of a gold nugget over the door.

  Inside the roadhouse it was cool and spacious, although dimly lit and filled with long wooden tables. There was a pool table where a couple of truckies were enjoying a game while they ate their hamburgers. In a corner was a display showing a variety of objects, which included some old bottles, broken ceramics, a few battered hats and several very worn boots. Faded, fly-spotted photos and old newspaper cuttings revealed a potted history of some historical events, as well as stories about local characters and fortunes made and lost. Ned went to the counter and looked at the menu before ordering a steak sandwich and a coffee. He checked his phone and saw he only had one bar of reception which quickly petered out to none. Phone coverage was worse than he’d expected around these parts but then, he reminded himself, that was the whole point of coming out here: to find some quiet. The friendly dark-haired woman who took his order asked him which way he was headed.