When the Singing Stops (37 page)

‘I'm so glad you are here, and you've brought mail! Good news indeed—well, one hopes it is.' She chuckled, and, as Joseph began pulling bags from the back, she gestured to the stoic-looking Amerindian man who hadn't moved. ‘Dali, come. Help with these bags.' Turning to Madi and Connor, she gave a wide smile. ‘We are flooded in, so you are lucky. While it's a longer way in, the boat trip is the scenic route.' She waved to a wooden longboat pulled into the bank with an old outboard motor on the stern.

With their bags stowed, Kate dragged out
some kapok-filled life vests in faded orange canvas. ‘Regulations. Now settle yourselves. Joseph, you can steer; Dali, you sit in the bow and be lookout.' Then in an aside to the visitors added, ‘He's the only one who knows the way.' She stepped gingerly into the longboat which could have held a dozen or more people.

Connor and Madi sat beside each other and faced Kate who began delving into a cooler as they set off along the marshy waterway. Out came a rum bottle filled with punch. She passed them plastic cups of a powerful fruit and rum concoction. ‘Have you had lunch?'

‘I had a chocolate bar,' said Madi.

‘I slept,' said Connor. Kate reached for a plastic container. ‘Some biscuits to go on with. We'll have a nice dinner.' She lifted her cup. ‘A toast—welcome to Caraboo, may you leave enriched.'

Madi and Connor touched plastic cups and exchanged soft smiles. Kate beamed and passed a cup of punch to Joseph, and the tin of biscuits to Dali who squatted in the bow, his eyes scanning the way ahead. Silently he took a handful without looking back.

They carefully navigated across the flooded landscape of channels and small lakes into a creek that soon became a river. Madi could see how it had overflowed and simply made the land around part of it.

Connor was enchanted by the off-beat way in which the trip was developing, much to
Madi's delight. ‘I think I feel a bit like old Sir Walter, plunging into the unexplored depths of the continent.' He turned to Kate. ‘Is all this yours? How do you cope with the isolation and the work?'

Kate threw back her head and laughed. ‘I am not alone, I live in a community of fifteen people!' She explained that most of the Amerindians on the property had been born at Caraboo, it was as much their home as hers. ‘But life for them is harder than it's been for a long time. The hunting isn't like it used to be and even the fish are becoming harder to find. Too many people overfish the rivers for the big market in Brazil. The balance has gone. The future is uncertain for the Amerindians. Those on our place are okay for the time being, but for thousands of others, it's tough. It's no good trying to leave them as subsistence farmers, quaint and colourful though it may look for the occasional tourist.'

‘There isn't work in the towns or cities?'

‘These are simple people, mainly poorly educated. They are not city people. Certainly the young people get lured to the bright lights, but it is more difficult there for them without the support of the family and village. Or else they leave to work as domestics or in the gold-mines or on farms here and in Brazil. Then it's hard to resist consumer goods and little, if any, money goes back to the villages.'

‘It's the story of indigenous minorities all
over the world,' said Connor sympathetically. ‘You sound like a disciple of Xavier's.'

Kate smiled. ‘The Amerindian political evangelist, eh! The emerging conscience of the country.' She paused to take a sip of her drink and to shout briefly in Carib to Dali. ‘He's the right man at the right time in this part of the world, in my opinion. Guyana is at the crossroads and someone of greater integrity and wisdom than our current crop of politicians has to speak up for the ordinary people . . . to help them get a real stake in this country.'

‘You really think he's going to become meaningful for the other races too?'

Kate thought for a moment. ‘I'm no politician, can't abide the big city power games that people play but I've seen this country put on some ridiculous political acts over the years. I can't see why an Amerindian can't emerge as a unifying national leader for all races, one who is going to stand up against foreign exploitation.'

Connor gave Madi a nudge. ‘It seems there's a visionary or a revolutionary behind every tree.'

Madi took his hand. ‘Perhaps you ought to listen carefully to what they're saying. Then you might be able to write off the trip as work and feel great about not wasting time.'

He squeezed her hand. ‘Don't be nasty, it doesn't suit you.'

They took in the scenery for a while, the craft being carefully guided by the bowman signalling to the helmsman.

‘Have they started farming native animals down your way?' shouted Kate, above a temporary acceleration of the engine. ‘You know, kangaroos and that sort of thing.'

Madi shrugged. ‘You can get ‘roo steaks in supermarkets now.'

‘Aborigines have some big emu farms in the west, I think,' added Connor. ‘And crocodile farming is big in the Northern Territory. I once had a croc burger in Darwin. Tasted okay, bit fishy. Why do you ask?'

‘Well, it's an idea I have for Caraboo, get the Amerindians farming wildlife. It's becoming pretty scarce in some areas. There's something neat about the idea of farming wildlife to preserve it, and at the same time give people who need it an economic boost. We've got crocs we could farm . . . the black cayman.'

‘Couldn't this go hand in hand with tourism?' asked Madi, and Kate nodded in agreement. ‘Good idea, but getting the money and support won't be easy. Still, that's hardly a reason for not dreaming, is it?' She passed the punch again, causing Connor to raise an eyebrow in resignation and refill his mug while Madi declined. She wanted a clear head to develop fresh ideas for the policy paper on tourism in Guyana that she was determined to prepare for Xavier. Kate's little dream fitted neatly into Madi's embryonic plan.

The boat skimmed up a small tributary and turned to a landing from which a wide track wound through a stand of flowering trees. A young Amerindian girl hurried down to help carry the bags as the party trailed up to the compound.

The wooded pathway opened onto a cleared area of white sandy soil dotted with mango trees burdened with over-ripe, fat yellow fruit under glossy green leaves. In between them were frangipani trees, blossoms scattered like a cream and gold carpet. By the clearing were four small Amerindian-style thatched guest bungalows with a small palm-leaf awning shading a hammock at each entrance.

The main house was large and almost completely open-sided. Inside the low mud brick walls were hammocks strung between poles supporting the heavy, thatched roof. This looked to be the main rest area, a sort of verandah where hammocks replaced sofas and chairs.

Kate led them inside. ‘Not your five-star hotel layout, but it works well enough,' she said, more in assurance than apology. In the open plan area behind the hammocks was a long wooden dining table and chairs of solid English oak. Several internal walls of mud brick sectioned off rooms but went up little more than a couple of metres towards the high-peaked thatched roof that capped the building. A cool breeze circulated through the whole living area.

‘A very practical design,' observed Connor, keeping a straight face. ‘Totally air-conditioned.'

Amerindian women and girls seemed to be everywhere and one of them carried out a tray of cool drinks from the kitchen and put it on the table. ‘Help yourselves, and relax,' said Kate. ‘I'll join you later . . . have a few urgent matters to attend to.' She disappeared out the back and they could hear a firm discussion ensue about the state of the generator.

‘I'm not getting in a hammock or I won't get out,' said Connor. ‘That trip was exhausting.'

Joseph grinned. ‘Don't go to sleep, you'll miss the afternoon swim.'

‘That sounds good,' said Madi, who was browsing through a massive bookcase. The spines of nearly all the books were missing and wonderful old editions of English literature faced the world in tatters. She gently drew out a volume of Dickens. ‘Oh dear, what a shame. Did the humidity get to them?'

Joseph came over with a cool drink for her. ‘No, it was Oscar. Oscar the Wild, she calls him. A billy goat. Big fellow. I wouldn't argue with him. Came in and ate the lot. Just the backs, though. I think he liked the glue.'

‘How very Guyanese, fact or fiction,' mused Connor as he randomly reached for a book.

They were still chuckling over the quaintness of some of the titles when an Amerindian woman came in and introduced herself as Amelia. She seemed to be the housekeeper in charge. ‘Come, I take you to your hut.'

Their bags were on a plain wooden bench
and the large room was furnished with a cane-framed bed, a mosquito net swinging above it, a small wooden cupboard, a chest of drawers that smelled of mothballs, and a rickety desk. The bathroom had a stone floor, a modern septic toilet and a shower that worked by gravity from a large drum of water sitting outside on a mini tower. ‘Sun keep him warm and we fill every day,' Amelia smiled.

Opening a cabinet above the sink she showed them that Kate had provided every amenity from toothbrush and toothpaste to soap, deodorant and shaving cream.

‘Five stars,' quipped Connor.

‘Careful, mate. At the slightest suggestion of sarcasm you'll end up sleeping next door with Joseph,' retorted Madi. ‘It's different, that's all. And I like it.'

The ceiling of the hut was high, and loose dried palm leaves rustled lightly in the breeze. Both rooms had electric lights but Amelia showed them the candles and matches. ‘Generator sometimes sick,' she said with a big smile and left, closing the woven palm leaf door behind her.

Connor flung himself on the bed. ‘What bliss.'

‘I'll say. A real shower in the interior is a novelty,' grinned Madi.

‘No. I mean being here with you. Come here,' he opened his arms.

Madi lay down beside him and he wrapped
himself around her, kissing her face and neck and hair before finding her mouth, nibbling her lips and plunging his tongue between them. She kissed him back, then realising the extent of his passion, pulled away. ‘Let me get in the shower, I feel so yucky.'

Connor licked her ear. ‘You smell like the forest and you feel wonderful. No, stay . . . we'll shower later . . .'

They peeled away their clothes and made love beneath the arched, leafed roof where, unnoticed, geckos and other tiny creatures scurried between the papery brown thatch.

They were sound asleep when Amelia called outside their shutters. ‘Madam says to come, she bathing with the water dogs in the creek now.'

They joined Joseph and Kate at the big house as the sun began to sink low to the horizon. Kate was wrapped in a sarong over a black one-piece swimsuit and they followed her as she walked outside calling in a high pitched but affectionate voice. ‘My darlings . . . my loves . . . my own dear ones . . . come along . . . come along.'

Madi and Connor exchanged a glance, unsure just who she was referring to as no one else was in sight. Then around the corner of the house waddled several huge otters.

‘Good lord,' exclaimed Connor.

The otters, each as long as Madi was tall,
were being herded by Amelia and several boys with sticks. They were followed by several smaller otters.

‘Oh, they're absolutely gorgeous,' said Madi excitedly. They were giant otters, some bigger than seals, with solid heads too large for their cumbersome flippered bodies, protruding eyes that held a ferocious glint, and snouts that sprouted large spiky whiskers. Despite their awkward swaying gait they moved with determined speed.

The darlings, sighting their mistress, rushed forward and one of the young boys ran protectively in front of Madi and Connor who stood mesmerised by the herd of screeching and grunting animals complaining in querulous old-man tones.

‘Do stand back,' commanded Kate, ‘they are very protective of me. Don't try to pat them.'

‘I wouldn't dream of it. They could take a hand off,' muttered Connor. Madi was fascinated at the cooing and loving phrases that Kate poured out to the wild creatures as they rushed to her, nudging and rubbing against her, leaping up on their tails to push their front flippers against her body. She picked up a small one, the size of a large dog, cradled it in her arms and marched down the trail towards the stream, her throaty, cultured voice floating back as Madi, Connor and Joseph followed at a distance. ‘My beauties, my dear ones . . . have you missed me . . . what joys you are.'

They soon reached the creek and at a tail-dragging, running stagger, the otters dived into the water and Kate waded in beside them.

‘She's tamed them and bred them up. She knows more about them than anyone in South America, I think,' explained Joseph to the incredulous visitors. ‘I come here a lot to pick up her beef and it always amazes me.'