When the Singing Stops (7 page)

As soon as his feet hit the floor a smiling Shanti appeared in the room. ‘You all better now, me tinks, eh?'

‘God, what time is it? What happened?'

‘Silk said spirits suck away yo blood, put in bad tings. Silk take dem out. He put in good tings. He wash you with dead water and use de medicine and say de prayers. Now you good Guyanese, go to obeah man, eh?'

‘I guess so. I feel better, that's for sure. What's dead water, Shanti?'

She busied herself and didn't look at him but answered matter of factly. ‘Water dey wash dead people with.'

A shiver of revulsion went through Matthew and his stomach turned over but he refused to dwell on this. ‘I'd better get back to Wanika House before anyone panics.'

‘I got to do de breakfast, come, we go. You say farewell to Silk 'nother time. He busy.'

‘Don't I have to pay him something?'

‘Yeah, Mister Matthew. Just little bit. You got American dollar?'

‘No. Now only Guyanese money'

Shanti laughed. ‘Lotta Guyanese money no buy too much, eh? You give him ten dollars. Silk say you easy one.'

Matthew reached into the hip pocket of his jeans to pull out his wallet and discovered a small pouch tucked in beside it. He turned over the little leather bag. ‘What's this?' He lifted it up to open it. ‘God, it smells awful.'

‘Dat be yo talisman. Obeah man say you keep it by you. Keep you safe.'

‘No more bat bites, eh?' Matthew was slightly bemused at the neatly stitched waterproof pouch. He opened it to find a scrap of paper with Hindi characters written on it and a sliver of strong-smelling gum resin.

‘Asafoetida . . . smell bad but keep evil spirits away,' explained Shanti.

‘And possibly friends too.' Matthew grinned and slid the little bag back in his pocket, pulled
out ten dollars and left it on the table by a candle and fresh flower.

They strolled back along the little road now active with early morning traffic. Matthew pondered at the difference between walking this unknown path at night, fearful and faint, and now in sunlight, feeling extraordinarily well and cheerful.

They walked down the drive and Matthew delighted in the scarlet flowers on a tree, the grand white Wanika House, the greenness of the lawns and the vista of the river behind. Life felt good. He liked this place, this country. He was overwhelmed with a sense of well-being and he decided he would persuade Madison to come out here and join him.

‘What's for breakfast, Shanti? I'm starving.'

At that moment a shout rang out. ‘There he is! Christ, Matthew, what happened to you?' Kevin came sprinting towards him. Several other men appeared around the guesthouse and at windows that faced the front drive.

‘Oh God, you're all looking for me. Sorry.'

‘At first we thought you'd been murdered. Then we saw the bat and thought you might be bleeding to death or fallen in the river. The groundsman started telling us these bloody horror stories.'

Johns joined them. ‘You gave us a bit of a fright, Matthew. You look all right. Where did you go? I tried to find the local doctor in case you'd tried to get medical attention.'

‘Is there a regular doctor here?'

‘Not full-time.'

‘Shanti took me to the obeah man. Pundit Silk. I guess I'd lost more blood than I thought. I passed out, I think. But I'm fine now.'

‘Are you sure?' Johns glanced at Shanti going into the kitchen entrance of the house. ‘These magic men can be a bit . . . dubious.'

‘What did he do to you? Smells a bit off.' Kevin peered at Matthew's neck dressing.

Matthew was reluctant to pass on too much of what happened. It now seemed like a strange dream. He pulled the cotton bandage to one side showing the bites on his neck, now just slightly red. ‘It was hard to stop the bleeding. They must use something to help the blood coagulate. I'll make sure I shut the windows tonight.'

‘They're not common. It was a million to one chance. Don't let it put you off the place,' said Johns.

‘Funny thing is, it hasn't. In fact, I feel like I'm on some sort of high. Thrilled to be here, can't wait to get involved in the rich tapestry of Guyana . . .'

They all laughed and headed towards the dining room.

‘That toast and bacon smells good,' declared Kevin.

‘I'll just have a quick shower and be right with you,' said Matthew.

Standing under the hot water was a relief,
despite the erratic pressure. Matthew wanted to wash away the dead water and whatever else was on his skin. But his sense of euphoria didn't fade and he couldn't shake the idea that Guyana was going to be a very significant experience in his life.

I
t was a fat envelope and Madison studied the large bright Guyanese stamps. One was a purple orchid—
Cattleya violacea, Queen of the orchids
was printed in small letters. The other stamp was a strange bird—
Opisthocomus hoatzin (Canje Pheasant) National Bird of Guyana—
which looked like a prehistoric winged reptile. The small coloured squares gave her a feeling of anticipation and excitement. Savouring the delight to come, she slid the unopened envelope into her handbag. Her brother's letter would be a treat to have with a cappuccino.

She felt utterly wicked as she browsed through dress shops debating whether to buy a new suit for work. Yet here she was for the first time she could remember, taking a ‘sickie', a day
off work for no good reason. Well, she did have a reason, even if it was vague and would not please her boss or the doctor. She was unsettled. It wasn't tiredness or depression or a feeling of not coping. It was an uncomfortable sense that life had no essence to it. No real meaning. She was going through the motions.

As if reflecting her apathy, none of the clothes pleased her though there were some attractive executive outfits amongst them. They looked good on her but she couldn't work up enough enthusiasm to buy one, to the barely disguised frustration of the salesperson. Then her eye was caught by a display in a resort wear shop. A plaster mannequin, high cheekbones, impossibly thin lanky body, stood poised in khaki shorts, a linen shirt and cotton vest buried under flaps and pockets, leopard print belt and cotton socks rolled over canvas boots. From under a stiff pith helmet her sightless eyes stared through the plate glass, across busy Military Road on Sydney's North Shore, to some far off jungle horizon.

Madison paused, strangely held by the slightly absurd display, then she turned away and headed for the nearest coffee bar conscious of an urgent need to read her brother's letter.

She had to smother her laughter at the description of the party and was horrified by Matthew's account of the vampire incident. She read slowly, savouring each anecdote and his assessment of the country.

‘. . . There are massive problems here, not just in our area but within the country as a whole. The bureaucratic frustrations are endless and some basic consumer goods are unavailable. But the people are incredibly warm and hospitable and the mix of races and cultures is colourful. What intrigues me most is the vast interior. I've seen only a little of it but it's very beautiful. It's a pity it's not more accessible. Before I leave I will definitely take a few trips. The Kaieteur Falls—five times the drop of Niagara mind you—is an absolute must.

Madi, I do wish so much you were here to share some of this. I've been in some exotic places in the world as you know, but this place has something special. It's so different in every way imaginable. It casts a spell. It would be good for you and it's about as far away as you can get from Sydney! I repeat—make a move, sis! Mum and Dad are still fit and they've settled into their new business on the Gold Coast. They're doing well without us.

I know your skills and talents, and you could climb further up the corporate ladder at your hotel but you need to get into the international field. Get out and play in the big league, give London or Europe a shot. I know you can make it, give yourself the chance to prove yourself to yourself, Madi. Nuff said, I won't nag you again. But I'll be disappointed if you chicken out. You were always the one who
dared me to do things. But at least consider coming here to visit me. Hang the cost, you wanted a break and there are NO swish joints and not a gold chain, white shoe, designer swimsuit or sunglasses in sight. Hey, I take back the gold chain bit, I was thinking of those dreadful Queensland resort developers. Here they're worn by great black heavyweights who have so much gold about their bodies, the gold rope around the neck is almost a minor accessory. Haven't sussed out these bods yet . . . just seen them from the safety of the company car.

Anyway, as I said at the start, the big news is AusGeo has landed the management contract to whip the bauxite mine into some sort of order so the Guyanese can privatise it and earn some money. God knows they need it. Give Mum and Dad a hug next time you go up and I expect news of your imminent arrival here. By the way, the phone works most of the time, but the fax is very erratic. Pigeon post might be more reliable. Luv-ya-lots . . .'

Madison carefully refolded her brother's letter and headed resolutely back along the crowded footpath. Without hesitating she walked into the resort wear shop and pointed to the model in the window. ‘I would like to buy that outfit. Size ten please.'

‘The safari set? Very well, but I'm sorry the hat is just a prop, it's not for sale,' said the
assistant who was dressed in a gold and silver painted sweatshirt.

‘Never mind, I'll get my own hat,' grinned Madison. ‘I'm sure I'll find one in the wilds of Guyana somewhere.'

The woman nodded sagely. ‘Oh, you must have a decent hat in Ghana, that African sun . . . ferocious . . .'

‘It's Guyana, actually,' began Madison but seeing the blank stare from the saleswoman, nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, I'm sure I'll find something suitable.'

A short time later she was standing outside the shop, bags in hand. The clothes fitted, the boots fitted, and they'd felt and looked good. Madison glanced up and down the street.

‘Guess I'd better find a travel agent.' There was one across the road and as she waited for the lights at the pedestrian crossing, she wondered if she should wear this new outfit to the office when she announced she was quitting.

She had reached this decision so easily, without even thinking about it. Whatever the reason it felt right. A sense of recklessness that she found exhilarating swept over her.

Roger George, looking every inch the suave hotel general manager smoothed his Jerry Garcia tie, a small gesture towards frivolity and flamboyance that relieved the conservative starkness of the pinstripe Zegna suit. ‘My dear
Madison, I am very distressed about your decision—on one hand. On the other, I have to say I am not surprised. You know your talents and abilities as well as we do and I'm sure you'll have offers to choose from. It's the nature of the hotel industry to wish to circulate to the, shall we say, more prestigious or challenging hotels in a network.'

‘Challenge. That's what I'm after. Definitely. A challenge. I haven't the language skills for the Georges Cinq,' she gave a teasing smile in case he thought she was seriously considering the best hotel in Paris, ‘but I would like to see what I can achieve in, say, one of the boutique hotels in the UK or Asia.'

‘Aren't we challenging enough for you?' He lifted an amused eyebrow. ‘Seriously, Madison, I'm sorry to lose you because you've done an excellent job here. You've pulled off some spectacular events and done more than I ever anticipated could be done in the marketing of this hotel. You have a big future ahead of you and it is natural that you wish to spread your wings. I will of course be happy to recommend you to our hotels abroad.'

Madison stared at him, wondering why no one in the hotel administration had ever bothered to tell her before that she was this good. Or was it just smooth talk to ease her way out the door?

‘What if I change my mind? Would you take me back on board?'

His demeanour remained unruffled. ‘If there is a slot here, we will always take you on, Madison. You have proved yourself.'

That was smooth, thought Madison. He doesn't say what slot might be available. He could take me back in the housekeeping department and not be breaking his word. She shuddered, remembering the week she'd spent working in various sections of the hotel. Changing sheets had not thrilled her.

‘Just testing,' she grinned and then became serious. ‘I intend to break through the plastic veneer of front of house and rise above the chandeliers to the walnut doors and cedar halls of senior management. I intend to run the place one day.'

‘Run this place?' For the first time the unflappable Roger George looked somewhat taken aback. ‘You plan on managing a large hotel like this . . . well, perhaps in some Third World country . . .' He gathered himself and gave her one of his patronising smiles. ‘That's the spirit, think big and who knows where you might end up.'

Madison rose. ‘I'll end up at the top, Roger. The top is the only place I plan to go.' She stretched out a hand. ‘Goodbye, and thank you.'

‘Thank you, Madison. And good luck. Wherever you end up.'

‘Thanks, Roger. I'll always keep a slot for you too.'

She left the wood-panelled office pleased she'd got in the last word. Petty it may have been, but he'd annoyed her. She wondered why she'd always felt intimidated by the GM's private school old boy charm. Still, he had given her a glowing reference and contacts to look up in England and Singapore.

Madi's colleagues from the hotel took her to dinner at the end of the week. They went to a Paraguayan restaurant where great slabs of lamb were hacked from a carcass on the asado barbecue pit and served with potatoes and spicy sauce. As the meal wore on, carafes of red wine were passed up and down the table. Madi was initially amused at the envy of her bold move, and the comments by her workmates that it was just what they expected of her.

‘You have “star” written all over you. You're going to be big, be a big success, Madi,' said Frank the accountant.

‘You're going to be swinging from the chandeliers, not just crashing through the glass ceiling,' said Louise from personnel. ‘We all knew you'd be the one.'

‘Be the what?' said Madi feeling rather confused. She'd dismissed earlier compliments as the wine talking, but now she sensed these people she'd worked with for five years knew something about her that she didn't.

‘Typical Madi, so modest. You're going to
be a
huge
success.
Huge.
You've all the right ingredients. You just walk into a room and people pay attention to you. It's like actors. Some have it, some don't.'

‘Hope you'll give us a job when you're running a hotel chain in Europe or America,' added Tony who ran the kitchen staff.

Madi laughed it all off. However, that night as she lay in bed and thought about what they had said, she felt a slow resentment build up inside her. She did have a lot of fun qualities and career skills. Other people thought so too. Yet all the while she'd been married to Geoff, he had been telling her she was a sham. Faking her way through a job beyond her capabilities.

Whenever she'd told him of a marketing or promotional plan she was about to propose for the hotel, he'd sneer. ‘And whose idea did you borrow for that?' And when she'd told him about the successful campaigns and events which she'd created and developed, he'd doubted her. ‘Yeah, you and how many others thought of it? You can't fool me, Madi. I know you better than anyone. You're going to fall, fall flat on your face. You'll be found out one day.'

And as tears sprang to her eyes, he'd turned away looking pleased with himself. Finally she'd say, ‘Find out what? What am I supposed to have done? Why don't you believe me?'

Now she was appalled that for so long she'd caved in to the assault of his verbal abuse. It had taken a counsellor to make her realise how he'd
used her to counter his own inadequacies. As Matthew had said, it somehow empowered him to destroy a person like her who was an achiever, a decent and good person. Dr Geoffrey Churchill had embarked on a career as an arts administrator, after switching from academia at the University of Sydney where he'd completed his PhD and lectured in fine arts. Right from the start he'd found it hard to adjust to life outside the protective cloisters of the university. They'd met at a tennis club and looking back now, tennis was probably the most they'd ever had in common. He had courted her with a serious itinerary of opera and art gallery visits. Then he'd expounded at length on the background and finer points of the artists and performances in what he'd described as her introduction to the ‘better facets of culture'.

Madi knew his knowledge far exceeded hers, though she found this assumption of his role as teacher and hers as student a little condescending. But she didn't let it show because he took such pleasure in teaching her. He also gently criticised her dress sense and suggested she wear her hair pinned up in a smart French roll rather than the casual style she favoured. At first she enjoyed being ‘looked after', even when he took to going shopping with her to choose her clothes. He also ran the finances and made decisions on where they should go for holidays.

Madi had been attracted to his caring, nurturing attitude, so like her father and brother.
He was an attractive man who was admired by other women, and she suspected he had an adoring ring of female students who found their charming and erudite lecturer very appealing.