by Di Morrissey
He nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. But I put you in charge of opals. Do you mind if I sell them for this?’
‘Stefan, they’re our opals. We worked together for them, so of course I don’t mind.’
Shirley drove him to Broken Hill, where he caught the train to Sydney. At the station there was a group of Japanese tourists who were running late and in the confusion surrounding them, there was no time for lingering.
Stefan held Shirley briefly, murmuring, ‘You are so very special to me, Shirley.’ He kissed her swiftly, stepped on to the train and took his seat. As the train pulled away, she couldn’t see him for the craning faces of the tourists, but she waved furiously anyway, tears running down her face.
Four weeks passed and there was no letter, phone call or any message from Stefan. Shirley finally called his cousin Franko in Split but his English was virtually nonexistent and she wasn’t sure that he understood who she was or what she wanted. All she managed to get from him was an insistent message that, ‘Stefan, no here.’
To keep herself from going crazy with worry and concern, she went back to their mine, despite promising Stefan she wouldn’t work it alone. But she found the work calming and distracting and better than doing nothing.
They had been following a small faultline in the second drive, so she continued to chip away at it instead of powering through the main drive with the jackhammer. She was delighted when she found a small channel of good opal. She dug it out and washed the roughs outside and then took them back to the dugout. After snipping a chip off each one she decided they were good enough to put in the safe with the rest of their collection. But her pleasure in the find was tempered by the fact that she couldn’t share it with Stefan.
When she opened the safe, she was surprised that Stefan had taken quite a few more of the firsts than she’d anticipated. She just hoped he’d got a good price for them and the money would serve its purpose and solve things for him in Yugoslavia.
As she locked the safe another thought struck her. Was her precious fossil safe? She pushed the thought away. She had always refused to keep the fossil in the safe, telling Stefan that, ‘It doesn’t feel right to lock such a beautiful thing away in the dark, when it’s already been hidden in the dark for millions of years. And besides, if we were ratted, they’d take the safe.’
Stefan had laughed indulgently and never asked where she put the fossil gem.
But now, after her initial suspicion, she couldn’t stop worrying about her precious fossil. At first she refused to go and check on Tajna as she felt that by even considering that he might have taken it she was being disloyal to Stefan. But as the silence from Stefan lengthened, she couldn’t stand it any longer.
She went to the area they’d opened up as a work space and office. The room wasn’t finished and smelt musty and dusty, with rubble still piled at the base of the back wall, but it was already cluttered with a filing cabinet, overflowing bookcases and a small desk. Photographs, a map and a calendar were tacked to the wall. Loose electric cables were looped so that a portable light could be rigged up to illuminate the unlined earth tunnel that led from the kitchen and ended at a wall. This wall was still to be removed so that the office would be linked with the main part of the dugout. In the meantime, the room had a separate entrance near where their car was parked.
Shirley reached up and removed the spotlight from its metal holder on the wall, which made the passage much darker. Then she slid back the metal brace that hung from a single bolt in the wall. She reached into the exposed cavity behind it and felt a surge of relief as her hand touched the cloth wrapped around the opal fossil. She drew Tajna out and, putting the light on the dirt floor, crouched down to examine her prize. She unwrapped the fossil and its dazzling colours leapt out at her. Slowly she caressed its surface, lifted it to her lips and kissed it. Then she held it to her chest, longing not for the precious cold relic of another life from another time, but for the warmth of Stefan.
Shirley lost track of the days as she stayed in the dugout and worked in the mine, sometimes emerging into darkness, unaware it was night. Finally she could bear Stefan’s silence no longer. She had to find out if Zoran had any news of Stefan, or at least if he could find something out for her, so she drove to Lightning Ridge, checked into the motel and slept fitfully until morning. She sought out Zoran, who told her that he would make inquiries and would come to her motel later that day.
Shirley sat on a plastic chair outside her room pretending to read a book, but behind her dark glasses she watched the passing traffic. She knew some of the locals by name or by sight, and the few tourists she saw were obviously just sightseeing. She felt desperately alone. Now she wished she’d stayed in Opal Lake. Fear suddenly grabbed her. What if Stefan was trying to reach her and she wasn’t at their dugout? Would he try to contact her again?
She jumped to her feet, deciding to drive back to Opal Lake right away, but just then Zoran appeared, walking towards her across the carpark accompanied by Bosko, who had a slight smirk on his face.
‘So. I heard you were in town. You wanted to have a word with Zoran.’ Before Shirley could speak Bosko continued, ‘You want to know about that Croat boyfriend, eh?’
Shirley tried to adopt the same insolent and arrogant tone. ‘If you know something, I’d like to know it, too. I have plans to make.’
‘I hope you’re not planning a little holiday on the Dalmatian coast.’ He chuckled. ‘Could be awkward.’
She stared at him and Zoran. ‘Zoran, what do you know about Stefan? Where is he? Is he all right?’
Zoran opened his mouth to speak, but Bosko silenced him.
‘I will tell Shirley the news. You can forget about your boyfriend. He won’t be coming back.’
‘Why? Why do you say that? What do you know?’
‘I heard he got married. His Australian holiday is over. You’d better find yourself a new mining partner.’
‘I don’t believe you. Why would he do that?’ Shirley struggled to take in what Bosko had told her. ‘Zoran, is this true?’
Zoran looked at his boots, as though too ashamed to tell Shirley what had happened, but Bosko was not at all reticent.
‘He has taken my advice and married a good Yugoslav girl. You Australian women think that you’re so good, much better than our women, but you’re not. Stefan will be much happier living with a good woman and in a better country than this.’ He burst out laughing.
‘But he never wanted to go back! He only went back to see his mother. He hated the fighting, the troubles. He loves Australia. He loves me.’
‘He should never have turned his back on his real country. Forget him. You won’t hear from him again. He’s had his fun with you. Now you’d better find yourself a new man before you get too old to dig opals on your own. Come on, Zoran, we have better places to be.’
Bosko turned and strolled away. He didn’t bother to look back at the shattered woman standing by the motel-room door.
Shirley drove back to Opal Lake on autopilot, her mind racing, her heart thumping. Images, memories, the sound of Stefan singing crowded into her mind. Above all she kept asking herself, ‘Why? Why?’ Surely he wouldn’t have just slunk back to his previous life without a word to her. There had to be some reason. Had his dying mother really insisted that he marry some local girl and he’d agreed to do it just to appease her?
Then she thought of the disagreement they’d had just before he’d left. It was a silly argument. How stupid she’d been, to put pressure on him about formalising their relationship. She was happy as they were. She really hadn’t cared about whether she was married to him or not. Or had she? Guilt began nagging at her. Was all this her fault? Had she frightened him away?
Shirley began to analyse their relationship. Had she been too aggressive and taken control of their lives by wanting to move to Opal Lake to her father’s mine? Perhaps the move had put Stefan in the position of appearing to be dependent on her. She knew she’d made a lot of decisions for
them both, because Stefan had insisted that she look after the business side of their venture. Had she undermined him?
He always said that she was a good businesswoman, but had she shut Stefan out of that area of their life? She had simply wanted everything to be perfect for them, so she had always contacted the buyer and decided what they’d sell and what they’d keep. Was it only in their close personal and private time that she asked for his opinions as they made their plans?
Had she been horribly wrong when she insisted that they keep the Tajna fossil? Stefan had wanted to sell it so that they could be well set up for the future, but she had wanted to keep it for entirely sentimental and illogical reasons. Was that the wrong decision?
She tortured herself with questions and castigated herself. She thought back over their discussions and tried to fathom how many of their decisions had been mutual ones and how many she bulldozed him into. Had she taken advantage of his sweet nature and been thoughtlessly selfish?
He was such a gentle, easygoing man, his anger reserved only for the likes of Bosko. She thought of his passion and his tender touch and their uninhibited lovemaking, and she cried out aloud in pain. Bosko’s words, ‘He’s had his fun with you’, kept repeating in her head.
Shirley stared at the road, and everything that was familiar to her suddenly looked foreign and ugly. Her world had changed. How could she return to their dugout where everywhere she looked at was a reminder of all they’d created and shared?
There had to be another explanation. Surely it could not be true that once Stefan was back in Yugoslavia he’d found that he still cared for it, and loved its familiarity, and realised that Australia had merely been an interlude. Had he simply used her as Bosko hinted?
Shirley was confused, hurt, bewildered, but she had no one to talk to and nowhere to turn.
Back in Opal Lake, she was embarrassed by Stefan’s abrupt departure and just wanted to hide and never come out of her dugout. She felt such a fool. Everyone knew that she loved Stefan, and now they’d know that he had run off and married someone else. It was so humiliating. So she sat in her cave and tried to ignore the outside world.
Two weeks after her return, there came a soft call at her door. ‘You there, Shirley?’
Shirley lifted her head, tried to smooth her hair and came out to the entrance where Jock, a local miner, was standing, holding his old hat in his hands.
‘Hello, Jock. What can I do for you?’ If Shirley was surprised at the sight of a somewhat dishevelled old man standing outside her dugout, she didn’t let him know.
‘Sorry to bother you, Shirley, but Toby down at the store said you might be able to help me out with the loan of a bit of equipment. Me generator and jack have packed up and I reckon I’m bottoming on good opal. Toby suggested I might be able to borrow some of your gear . . . er, seeing you’re not digging at present.’ He paused and as Shirley didn’t answer, he added, ‘Hate to leave that opal just sitting there. The suspense is killing me.’
Shirley almost smiled. Then she sighed. ‘No, I’m not using the jack or old generator at present. Go and help yourself. It’s in the shed. Hang on, I’ll give you the key.’
The old miner looked relieved. ‘Gee, thanks, love. Er, when I bring it back can I bring anything up here for you? Toby said you don’t get out all that often for supplies.’
‘I’m all right, mate.’ Then she hesitated. ‘Jock, if you wouldn’t mind dropping a list into Toby, maybe he could get someone to bring the groceries up when they’re coming this way.’
‘You bet, Shirley. Happy to help,’ said Jock, looking relieved. While his request for the loan of some gear was genuine, he was pleased that he could help Shirley, too.
When Jock told Toby that Shirley did need some groceries, the storekeeper said, ‘She should stop locking herself away and moping. She has to get some tucker into herself. I reckon we’re going to have to prise her out of that dugout, or keep dropping in to check on her. You know, she needs to get back to doing something proper. Never thought that Stefan would do a runner. He seemed to be a good bloke. You just can’t tell.’
And so a routine was established with a regular delivery of supplies sent to Shirley’s dugout.
When Jock returned Shirley’s equipment he scraped his boots and whipped off his hat as she invited him to come in and sit down.
‘You look pleased with yourself, Jock. How’d you go?’ asked Shirley.
The normally taciturn Scot gave a broad grin. ‘It was there all right. Not much, but it’s safely stowed, till them buyers hit town.’ He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a sock and shook out several pieces of opal onto the table. ‘Here, have a look. You’re a pretty good judge.’
Shirley studied the stones, admired the colour, congratulated him on his find and spent the next hour talking to him about opals.
Finally, Jock felt comfortable enough to ask, ‘You won’t be mining no more?’
‘Hard work for me on my own,’ admitted Shirley. ‘But I’m thinking about it.’
‘Plenty of fellows would go in with you. In the mine,’ he said, looking faintly embarrassed at coming close to what was locally considered the taboo subject of Stefan.
‘I’m all right for the moment, Jock. I’ll manage. I still have my little nest egg, but when I need to, I’ll think about mining again. Plenty of time.’
Jock scratched his head. ‘Aye, time, there’s the rub, eh? Fellow like me, pushing eighty. I haven’t got as long as I’d like. My back gives me trouble. Not as strong as I used to be.’
‘So you need to find a young fellow to come in with you. Got any family out here?’ asked Shirley.
‘No. It’s only me. Got a few nephews back in Scotland but they don’t fancy this lifestyle. Not that I blame them, it’s hard work. And all the new people out here now want the fancy gear. Heavy machinery. They’ll be looking for big investors, serious mining people.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s all changing. Don’t know how much longer I can keep at it.’
‘What else would you do with yourself, Jock?’
‘That’s a tricky one. Not going back to the city, that’s for sure. Reckon I’ll be staying in me little camp out in the bush, till the day comes and they find me sleeping the sleep of the dead under a tree.’ He smiled. ‘Could be worse places. I have a nice bed under the trees and I lie out there under the old net and listen to the leaves rustling and talking. A lot of stories whisper across the opal fields. But one day all those stories will be gone.’
‘That’s a sad story you’re telling me, Jock,’ said Shirley, trying to mimic his Scots brogue. ‘Don’t you know any cheerful ones?’
‘Stories! I know stories that will make your toes curl, make you bust a valve laughing, and secrets too. Och, aye, I do.’
Shirley studied him as he reached for his pipe. ‘Y’know, Jock, it’d be a shame if those stories were lost. There’s a lot of history out here.’
He nodded emphatically. ‘Aye. Once people are gone, it’s all gone. But what to do, eh?’ He shrugged.
‘I’ll tell you what we do, Jock. We’ll write them down. Or I will,’ said Shirley suddenly. ‘When you’re so inclined, come and see me. You tell me those stories and I’ll put them down. What do you say?’
He thought about it for a moment. ‘That’s a grand plan. Will there be biscuits?’
Shirley laughed. ‘Indeed there will. Maybe a fruitcake with the tea. I’ll look forward to it.’
Jock was pleased to see the light back in Shirley’s eyes. He didn’t think anyone would be interested in the stories he had to tell, but if it gave Shirley some spark and put the light back in her eyes he’d be sure to come and see her again.
So it began. Jock’s visits were augmented by visits from one or two of the other old-timers, who also came to share their stories. At the pub there were jokes about Shirley’s old suitors. The men swore they were doing it to help Shirley and give her an interest. But deep down the miners and the loners who’d lost touch with their families
long ago saw it as a way to leave their small mark, explaining who they were, what they’d seen and what they’d done.
It was the spark, the lifeline that Shirley needed. Her skills of gentle probing, patient listening and hours transcribing were valuable. She filled notebooks. She dragged out her old typewriter and the tape recorder she’d forgotten why she’d kept, and set them up on her kitchen table.
Gradually she filled the old fruit boxes and cartons that Toby sent up from the store with files and notes and packed them away, clearly labelled.
When she didn’t see Jock for a few weeks, she asked if someone could check on him. They found him, as he’d hoped, sleeping on his stretcher bed beneath the sandlewood trees under a shroud of torn netting. The occasional bird call and the soft rustle of the leaves kept him company.
‘What a beaut place to sleep through eternity,’ muttered one of the men.
They packed up Jock’s meagre belongings from his mudbrick shack, pausing to admire the old man’s skill in transforming mulga branches into basic furniture as well as the crooked stairway he’d constructed, which led to the flat roof of the dwelling. Amidst the debris of leaves and animal droppings on the roof stood an old tin bathtub with a hose attached to the water tank, where he must have sat and soaked, admiring his view.
Later they delivered a big old rusting biscuit tin to Shirley. She knew that the tin had probably been searched for opals for there was nothing of value in it, only old army medals, yellowing photos and postcards, and a powdery sprig of heather.
Jock was not the last to make Shirley the repository of effects treasured for sentimental reasons rather than their value. Sometimes miners gave her items that were of value with the casual comment, ‘If you find something to do with these, then you’ll know what to do.’
The miners’ stories and their artefacts were carefully documented and stored. Shirley knew that eventually they would be appreciated by a museum or some other archive, for the life of the opal field that they described was fast disappearing. So she kept them safe.