The Silent Country (48 page)

‘We make film business,’ said Topov.

‘We need to buy petrol, supplies,’ said Helen patiently. ‘So we need money.’

‘Who can handle a gun?’ asked Len.

‘I can. I have in the war. But I’m not much of a shot,’ said Peter.

‘I can, too,’ said Helen.

‘Gee, that’s great,’ replied Len.

‘So how dangerous is this business?’ asked Johnny.

‘You just have to be careful, have your wits about you and listen to me,’ said Len. ‘We’re trapping the crocs as well as hunting them in the boat. And there’s more work after they’re caught. It’s not pleasant dealing with the skins, skinning, salting, packing them, but they fetch bloody good money.’

‘How you catch these monsters?’ asked Topov. ‘We want to see plenty action. Drama. Excitement.’

Len tried not to smile. ‘Reckon you’ll see a bit of action, Mr Topov.’

‘So how would it work, with all of us?’ asked Helen.

‘In small groups, you’d each have a different job, provided you’re physically up for it,’ said Len.

‘I don’t have to go if there are too many of us,’ offered Marta.

‘No, we need you to be on camera,’ said Drago.

Topov quickly added, ‘Marta be damsel in distress.’

‘I’m not going anywhere near a crocodile,’ said Marta quickly.

‘Once they’re tied up, they’re pretty harmless, you can jump on them and wrestle them a bit,’ said Len nonchalantly.

Marta turned up her nose.

‘Where do we get money for the skins?’ asked Johnny.

‘I sell ’em in Darwin. And a couple of blokes buy ’em and take ’em to Broome, too. Flog them in Asia.’

‘Can we catch crocs in daylight?’ asked Drago. ‘I’m thinking it’ll be hard to shoot them in the dark.’

‘Nah, night is best, spot their eyes, they glow red in the dark,’ said Len.

‘We’ll need spotlights in the dark.’

‘Once we’ve found the croc,’ said Len.

‘So where do we go?’ asked Helen. ‘Is it public land or someone’s property?’

‘I have a few Abo mates I go out with. It’s their territory so they know where the crocs hang around. Couple of spots are quiet backwaters, never been fished much either. You can’t believe the size of the fish in there.’

‘Well, we won’t starve,’ said Johnny. ‘You catch ’em, I’ll cook ’em.’

‘Croc is beautiful meat to eat,’ said Len. ‘How soon do you want to set off?’

‘As soon as possible, I guess,’ said Helen looking around the group.

‘Marta need costume for part. Safari clothes,’ said Topov. He turned to Marta. ‘You have money, you buy hunting clothes.’

‘I’ve got enough suitable clothes already,’ said Marta. ‘And why am I the one in the front line here? Shouldn’t we film Len and the others in action, too?’

‘Let’s just shoot it as it happens,’ said Drago quietly.

‘Topov make big story,’ began Topov but they ignored him.

Helen broached the subject that was on their minds. ‘How do we share the profits?’

‘That depends how many skins we get, how big they are, the demand and the going price for them. But look, I’ll do the right thing by you blokes. I don’t mind helping you out a bit,’ said Len, smiling at Helen.

‘So, our convoy hits the road again,’ laughed Marta. She was surprised how happy she felt to be travelling out into the bush again.

‘Where are we headed?’ asked Helen who was sitting in Len’s vehicle with Marta also squashed into the front seat.

‘Round the South Alligator River region. Might cross into West Arnhem Land where there’re some special spots. It’s wild blackfella country out there and I have a couple of them lined up to help us.’

‘Are we allowed to hunt on Aboriginal land?’ asked Helen.

Len shrugged. ‘Depends who catches us, eh? The black-fellas don’t care, it’s open slather as far as they’re concerned.’

They’d left the organisation of the supplies to Len, the cost of which would come out of their share of the profits. They set off, travelling east in a small convoy consisting of Len’s truck carrying a runabout, a wooden dinghy tied on top, the Land Rover, the Jeep and, bringing up the rear, the old Dodge towing the very battered yellow caravan. They left the main road and followed smaller ones until they petered out. Then they trailed behind Len as the bull-bar of his truck tore through the scrub, snapping saplings, exploding termite mounds in a shower of red dirt while eucalyptus trees and cycads flailed at them as they passed.
They drove beside a magnificent billabong seething with honking ducks and geese and squawking, flapping ibis amongst the giant pink waterlilies.

Len turned towards a nearby low escarpment that had a deep overhang as though a bite had been taken from the solid orange rockface. As the rest of the party followed him through the crushed grass, they could see a thin plume of blue smoke rising from a rough camp where a group of Aborigines and several skinny dogs waited.

There were two women, one of whom had straggly white hair, a teenage boy and an older man whose bare chest showed deep initiation scars as if witchetty grubs had burrowed beneath his skin. Both men wore loincloths, the older woman wore the remains of a faded cotton dress, while the younger woman had a small woven apron strung from her hips as she sat cross-legged, cradling a baby at a drained and sagging breast.

‘Who these people?’ said Topov as they stopped and watched Len greet them. ‘We make film with them. Where big hunter warrior men?’

‘Come ’n meet the mob,’ said Len. ‘These’re my mates. They’re hunting with us.’

‘Do we share the profits with them too?’ asked Johnny.

‘Ah, bit of tucker and tobacco is all,’ said Len as he shook the hand of the broadly smiling older man. ‘This is Clive, his son George. And that’s Mary and Violet, his wives and little baby. What piccaninny name?’ Len asked Mary, the older woman.

‘Lisabet. Like queen lady.’ And she burst into giggles.

Marta and Helen laughed too, peering closely at the chubby, long-lashed infant.

‘You hunt old man croc?’ asked Clive.

‘Yep. We want special big fella for these people. Seen any?’

‘Plenny big one. Some little fella,’ said Clive.

‘Do they attack humans?’ asked Helen.

Len began to pull some of the gear off his truck. ‘The crocs are well fed round these parts, no humans to bother them. They’ve been living off the land here for millions of years, mate, but it don’t mean that they wouldn’t try.’

Clive signalled to George to help Len take down the camping equipment and the boats. ‘We bin walkin’ down river, long way. Big croc took one dog. We get ’im, eh?’ said Clive.

‘You bet. My friends want to see plenty catch ’em big croc for pictures. Click, click.’ Len mimed holding a camera. ‘Don’t think they know about moving pictures out here.’ He turned to Topov. ‘These Aborigines very good actors. You tell ’em what you want them to do. And you should see ’em dance!’

‘I take scene of family walking along river,’ said Topov. ‘Maybe they do something? Get food, make something?’

‘Let’s get our camp set up first, eh? By the way there’s some fantastic old cave paintings up there in the shelters if you want to take a look.’

‘I’ll help you set up,’ said Johnny. ‘I’m not into art.’

The others pulled out their tents, sleeping bags and personal bags and left them in a pile as Len, helped by Clive and Johnny, directed where to set things up.

‘You blokes go up the hill, there. Take Clive and young George with you, he’ll show you where the cave paintings are. They’re real old, special creation ones apparently,’ said Len.

‘What about the ladies?’ asked Peter, looking at Violet and Mary. ‘Do they want to come?’

‘Some of them pictures can’t be looked at by their women. If you climb up the side of that escarpment and to the top, it’s pretty precarious, but amazing paintings. Clive has to come and touch ’em up every so often. Traditional business.’

‘What do you mean, touch them up?’ Helen turned to Clive. ‘These paintings, are they old ones? Have they been there for, say, many generations?’

Clive nodded emphatically. ‘Them old, for sure.’ He made a curling movement with his hand as if waving across hundreds of generations. ‘We keep painting ’live one. Keep ’im story going.’

Helen turned to Len. ‘But surely they are not
defacing
ancient rock art?’

Len glanced at Clive who was smiling proudly. ‘Look, Helen, they have their ways. I don’t pretend to understand what it’s all about but these people have kept a culture alive for centuries. It’s not our place to tell them that what they’re doing ain’t right. As a matter of fact, they did a lot better before the white man came along, if you ask me.’

Johnny smirked. ‘It’s a Pommy thing, init? Gotta be in control, tell the natives that what they’re doing isn’t how it should be.’

Helen bristled. ‘Think what you like. I am trying to learn and understand these people. I do believe they have a far more sophisticated culture than we give them credit for.’

Surprisingly, Topov came to her defence. ‘Helen is right. Native people wild, dirty, no clothes, but up here, big brains.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Smart people. And here, also very big.’ Topov touched his heart. ‘They live wild life, free life. Good life.’

‘I just want to know more about this rock art,’ said Helen.

‘Let’s go see it then,’ said Marta.

‘We saw paintings at Katherine Gorge,’ said Peter.

Len shook his head. ‘Not like this. This is magic stuff. And I mean magic. Some of the caves are burial sites. The Abos bring the bones back there after they’ve been picked clean by birds.’

‘Ouch, that’s awful. Birds eating your flesh,’ said Marta.

‘No worse than being cremated,’ said Len. ‘It’s all a ritual. The body is taken to their home country and hidden in a tree tied to a bark frame. Then a year or so later they go back and get the bones, wrap ’em in paperbark and sometimes they’re painted and then there’s a big ceremony when they get put in their secret burial place.’

‘Can we film this?’ asked Drago.

‘Who’s to know, mate?’ Len shrugged. ‘You should get Clive to take you up when he does his touch-up painting. That’s one of the reasons they’re camped here, as well as helping me. Then they’re going walkabout. They can take some croc meat with them.’

Topov listened to all this, nodding his head. ‘This good. Topov take Bolex and make pictures in cave. Topov go hunting too, sometime.’

‘Yeah? For buffalo? Crocodiles? Emu?’ said Johnny disparagingly.

Topov stomped away to the battered yellow caravan and rummaged for a while before emerging with a large canvas-wrapped parcel. Throwing off the canvas, he revealed a machine.

‘This Geiger counter. I find uranium,’ he said triumphantly to the startled group.

Johnny was the first one to react. ‘You’re crazy! Uranium! What for? Damned needle in a haystack, mate.’

‘Where did you get it?’ asked Peter.

‘I buy in Darwin.’

‘We’re making a film and trying to make money, aren’t we?’ said Drago with some heat.

‘Who says there’s uranium out here?’ asked Len.

‘Topov great geologist. I find uranium here. This is good place for uranium.’

‘What would you do if you found it?’ asked Helen.

Peter just rolled his eyes then muttered to Drago,
‘Keep him away from the filming. He’s not going near crocodiles.’

‘So you go hunting minerals while we hunt crocodiles?’

Len saw the same opportunity. He’d been concerned about having the large and erratic Russian in a tiny boat at night with a big dangerous croc close to them. ‘Plenty of work for everyone. We don’t all have to be in the boat and hanging about. Crocs can take off and cause problems. Might be best if the ladies hung around the camp at night.’

‘No, Marta is star, she must be in boat with hunter,’ insisted Topov.

Drago stepped in. ‘I understand what our director wants. I’ll follow the action in the second boat, Peter can hold the spotlight, Johnny can steer,’ said Drago soothingly.

‘Colin and Marta can come with Clive and me,’ said Len.

Marta hissed to Colin, ‘Unbelievable how Topov gets out of the work.’

‘Sounds like keeping Topov out of the way suits Len,’ answered Colin.

‘Y’know, Topov, you can’t just peg a claim anywhere,’ said Len. ‘You gotta have a licence and register it.’

Topov dismissed their talk. ‘I make find, we film it and government know I discover uranium.’

‘Steady on, mate. Do we want another Rum Jungle out here?’ said Len in alarm. ‘Leave it there.’

‘He’s not going to find any minerals,’ said Helen. ‘Let him go and play.’

Topov dug into the pocket of his baggy pants and pulled out a folded paper, smoothed it out and waved it at them. ‘Topov have licence. We find money in this ground. Lots of money.’

Helen snatched the piece of paper. ‘What’s this?’ she glanced at it and looked at Len. ‘It’s a fossicker’s licence.’

‘So let him fossick. Come on, let’s get this camp sorted out and you do a bit of rock climbing while I get the gear ready for tonight,’ said Len.