The Opal Desert

by Di Morrissey

  ‘All the more reason we keep any finds to ourselves,’ said Shirley. ‘I certainly don’t want to share our opal with that Bosko.’

  ‘But, my darling, if we do find some good pieces we have to go to a buyer to sell them and then everyone finds out.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but that doesn’t mean that we have to share them with Bosko and his fights. I think that charity should begin at home,’ said Shirley briskly. ‘If we have good opal, we should take it to Sydney. My father knew a firm of jewellers there who were trustworthy. I know that the buyers on the field are pretty fair but my instinct tells me to avoid the middleman, especially as he is liable to talk in town.’

  Stefan smiled. ‘Shirley, you are a very smart lady. And brave. Let’s hope we have the chance to test your idea.’

  ‘Back to work. There might be a gem at the bottom of the bucket!’

  Stefan and Shirley were absorbed in their own deepening relationship. Their routine seldom altered. Long days at the mine were interspersed with the odd morning in town or an overnight fishing break. They didn’t socialise much, though they enjoyed stopping briefly to chat with the people in the street or their neighbours out in the field. But they didn’t need the company of other people. They laughed and shared experiences and memories, disappointments as well as achievements. Their lovemaking was passionate and tender, and although each gave the other space and time to be alone, they could also sit together in companionable silence, fulfilled and content.

  Shirley sometimes caught herself wondering at the amazing and glorious turn her life had taken. As well as love and friendship, she felt she shared a trust with Stefan that she would never have allowed herself to feel with anyone else. She knew, without any doubt, that Stefan was the centre of her life. And while her friends and colleagues might have been shocked to see their simple and basic lifestyle, Shirley loved it. She never imagined that she could be so happy. There was no thought in her mind of returning to Sydney and resuming her previous life. She planned a permanent life with Stefan. She sensed and hoped that he felt the same.

  Ideas and future plans came naturally into the conversation as they talked about moving on from this mine to another, when the time would come that they felt this one had been fully explored. She hoped they’d get to that point soon, because knowing that Stefan’s partner had been killed in this mine always made her feel slightly uncomfortable. But the two of them knew the uncanny luck of opal mines. One could swear there was no opal left and leave a mine only for someone else to come along, dig for a day and make a massive find.

  One evening, as they were sitting down to dinner in their shack, there was a shout at the front door.

  ‘My friends! It is me, Viktor.’

  ‘Come in. Are you okay?’ asked Shirley, who couldn’t tell if their friend from the fields was upset or excited. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘No. I have been to the pub, celebrating.’

  ‘Sit down and have some of our dinner. If you’ve been celebrating, does that mean that you’re on opal?’ asked Stefan.

  ‘Yes. I’ve found gem stuff. Good-colour crystal. I’ve been scratching along for years and I’ve finally made a find, so I want to share my news with all my friends.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t make too much of a noise at the pub,’ said Shirley. ‘Someone could be heading out to your mine right now.’

  ‘She’s right, you know, Viktor. Where have you left your opals? Did you get them all, or are there still more to dig out?’ said Stefan.

  Viktor flung open the long army greatcoat he was wearing to reveal layers of pockets inside. He put his hand into one of them and pulled out a handful of glittering nobbies, laying them on the table between the plates of food. ‘Good enough to eat, eh! Aren’t they beauties?’

  Stefan picked up a stone and turned it over. Even as a rough, the colour burned through in flashing lights of blue, green and yellow. ‘These are first quality opals, for sure. Congratulations. This deserves a toast.’

  ‘I have the drink.’ Viktor reached into another of the voluminous pockets and held aloft a bottle of brandy. From another pocket he produced a bottle of vodka. ‘We drink the vodka with a little dash of brandy. It is a wonderful drink. Please, you too, Shirley.’

  ‘It sounds a bit lethal to me, I’ll just have one,’ she answered as she got out three glasses.

  Viktor measured out the vodka and added a splash of brandy. Lifting his glass he gave a short bow. ‘To my friends, my mining neighbours, may the same luck shine upon you. May the sleeping opals awaken to the ring of your pick. Zivio!’

  He threw back his drink in one gulp and Stefan followed suit. Shirley swallowed the strong liquid, gasped and smiled at Viktor’s infectious delight.

  Shirley put a plate of food in front of him, but it was waved away as his stories tumbled out. Time and again he refilled the glasses, which he and Stefan quickly emptied. Shirley busied herself tidying away the dinner dishes and making up sandwiches for the next day as the two men sat at the table and talked.

  Stefan was obviously enjoying himself, telling stories of fishing in the ice as a boy, travelling across a snowbound landscape in an antiquated train. Viktor in turn talked of the fights and challenges he’d won and lost, and how he missed hunting and the life he’d known as a teenager.

  Shirley noticed that the drinks were getting larger and that the pale gold drink was now a deep honey colour as the quantity of brandy they contained increased. She’d never seen Stefan so relaxed and talkative, and she was glad to see him enjoying himself, but she was concerned for Viktor. If he had been like this in the pub he might not be totally safe.

  Eventually she interrupted, ‘Stefan, why don’t you take Viktor back to his mine, just to be sure that everything’s all right. And be careful. It’s dangerous walking around at night with those open shafts and mullock heaps.’

  ‘Viktor, Shirley’s right. I think you should let me help,’ offered Stefan. ‘If we work in the mine tonight, we could move a fair bit of dirt and that would give you a head start for tomorrow.’

  Viktor slapped Stefan on the back. ‘You are a good man. No, don’t come. You have to work tomorrow, too.

  I shall dig for a bit, then I can sleep in my mine. Thank you, Shirley. Now before I go, we drink one last time!’

  With that he poured nearly a full glass of brandy, topped with a little vodka. He lifted his glass of deep brown liquid and tapped it heavily against Stefan’s, spilling some of the liquor. Then he drank and after he’d finished, his beard was sprinkled with drops of the fiery drink that he’d spilt.

  ‘Are you sure you will be all right to drive?’ asked Shirley, thinking of the dirt track to his mine, barely lit by moonlight, that wound through trees, mullock heaps, abandoned claims and half-finished shafts. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep first in your tent, before you go down your shaft, Viktor?’

  ‘This is a good woman. You are a lucky man, Stefan.’ Unsteadily Viktor got to his feet. ‘I will be all right.’ He patted the pockets where his opals nestled and gave them both a broad grin. ‘Yes, everything is all right. In one day, in a moment, how your life can change.’

  ‘I’ll see you to your truck,’ said Stefan.

  When he came back inside, Stefan put his arms around Shirley. ‘He’ll be okay. He drove down the street in almost a straight line. Viktor can certainly drink.’

  ‘You did pretty well yourself,’ said Shirley. ‘I’m so pleased for him. He’s been here quite a while and hasn’t found much.’ She leant into Stefan as he held her. ‘I hope our turn is coming.’

  Stefan held her tightly. ‘You must have faith, but no matter what happens, good or bad, we will always have each other.’ He lifted her face towards his and looked into her eyes. ‘I will always look after you, Shirley. I never want us to be apart.’

  As they kissed, Shirley knew that Stefan truly loved her. Any remaining barrier between them had fallen away. Perhaps the effect of the strong alcohol, Viktor’s joy or reminiscing about his homelan
d that he thought he’d never see again had put things in perspective for Stefan. The words hung in the air between them and Shirley knew a pact had been made. She was as committed to him as he was to her. He turned off the light and, taking her by the hand, led her into their tiny bedroom.

  Stefan’s head was a bit woolly the next morning and, as he drank two mugs of strong black coffee, he said humbly, ‘But this won’t affect my work.’

  ‘I wonder how Viktor is,’ said Shirley. ‘I bet he didn’t swing a pick last night. I expect that he just slept off his little party.’

  ‘We’ll look in on him before we start work,’ he said.

  Stefan sang softly as he drove out to the diggings. His musical voice always entranced Shirley. She loved it when he played his flute, which he did occasionally. She came to realise that when he picked it up, it was generally when he needed to be by himself. When he played, he closed his eyes and he seemed to be in another place. She learnt simply to appreciate those moments and enjoy the music while leaving him with his thoughts. But at other times he’d whistle as he dug, or sing, as he was doing now, and Shirley knew that he was feeling happy.

  There was no movement around the tents at the camp as their truck pulled up. Shirley assumed that everyone was either working in their mines or still sleeping.

  ‘Stefan, before we get started, we’d better give Viktor a hoy. I’ll go over and look in his tent.’

  ‘Hang on. I’ll check down his mine shaft first. He’s probably asleep with his opals. Last night’s vodka and brandy combination was pretty lethal.’

  Stefan whistled as he trudged across the no man’s land to Viktor’s mine. The cover was off, the bucket was at the bottom of the shaft and a spade lay to one side. Stefan shouted down the narrow opening, but got no response. He was about to turn away but thought better of it and instead climbed into the mine, his feet feeling for the rungs of the iron ladder.

  ‘Viktor? Wake up! Are you in here?’ He couldn’t hear any noise or see any light, so he switched on his torch and glanced at the mine’s two drives. He chose the narrower one and, hunched down under the low roof, he headed along it, stepping over rubble and a cable strung along the length of the tunnel which conducted power from the generator for the jackhammer. Seeing nothing, Stefan retraced his steps to the wider drive.

  The entrance into this tunnel was jammed with earth and rubble, allowing only a small gap into the drive. Viktor must have been in a frenzy of digging once he found the initial opals, thought Stefan. But as he waved his torch along the rough walls, he sensed that something was not right. There was too much chaos. It looked as though Viktor had spent an entire night smashing through as much rock as possible. ‘Well,’ said Stefan to himself, ‘If he’s done that, he’ll have crashed and be asleep in his tent.’

  Stefan was about to retrace his steps when a pile of rocks caught his eye. A piece of coloured cloth was caught between some of the rocks. On his knees, Stefan inched forward and found that the rocks were placed like a wall in front of a cavity. He hastily pulled the top layer of rocks down and shone his torch over it, his head bumping against the low roof. As the torch beam waved against the gouged wall, Stefan could see a dark mound. He shone the torch onto it to get a better look.

  He had to look twice before he could accept what he was seeing in the pale torchlight. The huddled shape of Viktor was crumpled against the wall. This was not the curled figure of a man sleeping, but the distorted limbs of a body that had been flung here. And as Stefan ran the torchlight over the pile of rocks, he gagged, for he saw that Viktor’s throat had been cut.

  Stefan flung himself backwards in horror, scrambling out of the tunnel, suddenly feeling fearful and claustrophobic. At the top of the shaft, in the warm sunshine, he collapsed onto the ground, his head in his hands, the nightmare of what he’d just seen too awful to contemplate. Pulling himself up, he hastily ran to Shirley, who was at their mine, ready to descend. Shirley saw Stefan stumbling as he ran towards her and she knew instantly something was badly wrong.

  ‘Stefan, what is it?’ She met him and he clung to her, his breath coming to him in gasps, making it impossible for him to speak. ‘Take it slowly, darling. Catch your breath. What on earth has happened?’

  Stefan shook his head. He stared at Shirley and, after a moment, took a deep breath and said, ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘What happened? Was there an accident?’

  ‘No!’ shouted Stefan, startling Shirley. ‘There hasn’t been an accident. He’s been killed! Murdered!’

  ‘No! Are you sure he’s dead?’ Shirley shook Stefan slightly. ‘I’ll go and check on him. Come on, quickly. How do you know he’s been murdered? Dear God, what a tragedy.’ She was already running towards Viktor’s mine.

  ‘Shirley! His throat has been cut!’

  Shirley faltered and turned back to Stefan. ‘Oh no. How horrible.’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘The opals. I suppose they killed him for his opals.’

  As they both hurried towards Viktor’s mine, Stefan said, ‘I didn’t touch him. We should go straight to town and get the police.’

  ‘Yes. I know, but first let me see him. Maybe I can do something.’

  Stefan looked at Shirley and said, ‘It’s not a pretty sight.’

  Holding the torch high so that she could see as she scrambled over the rocks piled in front of Viktor, Stefan watched Shirley put a hand to her mouth in horror as she crouched beside his body. She lifted his wrist and put a finger below his ear where the ugly gash had almost severed Viktor’s head, which was now lolling at an unnatural angle.

  ‘You’re right, Stefan, there is nothing I can do. He’s been dead for a few hours. Poor Viktor. They’ve taken his opals. I wonder if they dug any more out? What’s the rest of the mine like?’

  ‘A mess. If there was any more opal, they’ve probably got it.’

  ‘There’s nothing left in his army coat,’ said Shirley angrily. ‘He carried everything that was precious to him in those pockets.’ She was close to tears.

  ‘Shirley, come on, we have to get the police.’ Stefan leant over and held out his hand to help her scramble back through the small gap.

  In silence they went back to the ladder and Shirley looked back into the darkness of the mine. ‘Poor Viktor. He was so happy and he said that he had such plans. This is just terrible,’ she said angrily.

  ‘He told me that he’d like to have enough money to move on. He was sick of being hounded and a good find would be his ticket away from Lightning Ridge,’ said Stefan.

  ‘Hounded? By whom? What’s that mean?’

  ‘When I asked him, he just made a joke of it. He said that women were after his money. I didn’t believe him.’

  Shirley straightened up. ‘Well, no one deserves to die like that. Come on, we’d better get the police and let everyone else know that there’s not just a ratter on the loose but a murderer.’

  The murder caused a furore in Lightning Ridge, but the police were unable to find any clues. As Shirley suspected, the other miners at the campsite were totally unco-operative and all swore that they had seen and heard nothing that night.

  Viktor’s funeral was well attended, and afterwards Shirley and Stefan went back to work but they both felt uneasy. Among Bosko’s group at the bore baths there was speculation that Viktor had been involved with anti-Tito sabotage, but no one really knew. Other rumours suggested that he was working with the Yugoslav government. Stefan told Shirley that it was just gossip, although Bosko seemed quite definite that Viktor was involved in something underhanded.

  ‘Where does Bosko get all this information? Or does he make it up?’ demanded Shirley.

  Stefan shrugged. ‘He certainly seems to have good links back to the old country, but I’m just never sure which cause or which group he’s supporting. All I know is that he’s always pressuring us to give money to support them.’

  ‘Yes, the Help Bosko Get Rich Fund,’ snapped Shirley. ‘I not only don’t trust him, I don’t believe him. I don’
t think he’s working for anyone but himself. I just wish when people come to our country they’d leave all their wars and intrigues behind them and start afresh.’

  ‘That’s not easy to do when you have family left behind,’ said Stefan. ‘I know that many immigrants do bring their prejudices, affiliations and loyalties with them in their suitcases, and it is not always possible to sever the links completely. Unless you are a little child, it is hard to let go of the way you were brought up, and just discard your culture and beliefs.’

  ‘Do you feel the same? Your parents are still back there. I know that you say you’re happy you’ve made a new life here, but do you ever want to go back? Would you go back to get involved in Yugoslavian politics?’

  Stefan heard the strain in Shirley’s voice and saw the uncertainty in her eyes. He put his arms around her. ‘Of course not. You are my life now. I prefer to leave the ethnic tensions of Yugoslavia behind. The country might hold together under Tito’s rule, and some people think of him as a great leader, but who knows what will happen when he dies? I suspect that there will be a parting of the ways between different interests.’

  ‘It sounds a bit of a shambles. I suppose it takes a strong personality to bring together so many different people and ethnic groups under one flag.’

  ‘Yes, and a very ruthless leader,’ said Stefan. He hesitated and took Shirley’s hand. ‘I have made a happy life here, and I sometimes worry about my parents who sacrificed so much for me, but I have you and I’ve made my choice. I don’t want to be involved with Bosko and his little patriot games.’

  Shirley shook her head. ‘This is all so foreign to me. I have lived in a city, worked with people from all walks of life, gone about my business, gone to the beach, the pictures, enjoyed myself. I really had no idea that this sort of thing went on.’

  ‘Shirley, I suspect that there is a lot going on that Australians generally don’t know about. I have been told that there are camps set up out in the Australian bush by the UDBa – the Yugoslav intelligence organisation – to train Yugoslavs to fight the elements hostile to Tito, both here and back in Yugoslavia.’