The Silent Country (52 page)

‘Should we cover him up?’ asked Marta. She was trying to raise some sympathy for the old director, but she, too, was secretly relieved. She was sick of Topov’s film, it was not just stupid, it was dangerous and she’d had enough of it all.

Helen must have had similar thoughts because she looked at Drago and said, ‘And what’s going to happen about the film? Can you finish it? It seems a shame to have come this far, done so much, for nothing.’

‘There are some good scenes, but I can’t see how it was ever going to cut together,’ Drago replied. ‘I could finish shooting, but I don’t know what Topov had in mind, it’s all been a bit . . . disjointed.’

‘I’m not hanging around to finish this project. We don’t owe the old bastard anything,’ said Johnny.

‘Let’s at least look in his caravan and see if he left any
notes about the film. Get something to put over him,’ said Helen.

‘I’ll go and look in the caravan,’ said Johnny, ‘And I can raid his rum, too. He won’t be needing it.’

‘I’ll see if he has any personal documents. It’s such a pigsty in there,’ said Helen. Helen and Johnny took the torch and headed to the now pathetic-looking, battered little caravan that Topov had so loved.

Marta pulled a canvas chair closer to the fire, her back to the lump on the ground which Len had covered with an old oilskin. ‘This is like a horrible dream. A nightmare,’ she said. ‘So why do I feel so relieved?’

Drago and Peter also pulled their chairs closer to the fire as Len stood, his back to the flames and rolled a cigarette.

‘Nasty business. Wonder who he upset,’ mused Len.

‘Everyone,’ said Drago and Peter almost in unison.

‘Might be worth going back to the scene in daylight, see if we can pick up a few clues,’ said Len. ‘Too bad Clive’s gone. He’s a good tracker, that one.’ He glanced at them. ‘What’s done is done. Whoever did it will have to live with it for the rest of their life.’

They were wrapped in their own thoughts as the torchlight in the caravan flickered at the window.

Then Johnny came out, closely followed by Helen. ‘Bloody hell, you’re not going to believe what the bastard’s done,’ he called.

‘Or didn’t do,’ said Helen. ‘It’s outrageous.’ She was shaking her fist, waving something in it.

‘What did you find?’ asked Marta.

‘Look at this. Our money. He had it all the time!’

Marta jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t believe it! Where did he get it? How come he didn’t pay me! How long has he had it? We’re out here in the wild, risking our lives and he’s sitting on
our
money!’

‘It must have come from Madame Olga. She must have sent it to him in Darwin and he hid it from us. That’s outrageous.’ Helen shook her head.

‘Why didn’t he pay me the two hundred pounds he owed me?’ asked Marta.

‘He really must have wanted to come out here to Arnhem Land,’ said Drago thoughtfully. ‘I suppose he knew that we were getting annoyed and figured we would only stay because of the money he owed us.’

‘Yeah, if I’d known he had the cash, I would’ve taken what he owed me and pissed off,’ said Johnny.

‘Well, that’s what we can do now,’ said Marta. ‘We can go back to Darwin and buy plane tickets out.’

‘But what abut the film?’ asked Drago.

‘It’s not our film,’ said Peter. ‘I agree with Marta. We go.’

‘But we can’t leave Len stuck out here, we agreed to help him. He agreed to help us, actually,’ said Helen.

Everyone looked at Len.

Len dragged on his cigarette. ‘We probably have enough skins to make a few bob. But no-one’s flying off anywhere while there’s the problem of Topov’s body. Are we going to tell the cops?’ he said matter of factly.

They were all silent.

Then Johnny spoke up. ‘What if there wasn’t a body? If Topov had just . . . disappeared.’

Len sucked the last drag from his cigarette and tossed the soggy end into the fire. ‘Was a bit of luck finding him, actually.’

‘And if we hadn’t found him? We would be on our way to Darwin,’ said Marta.

‘And how would you explain his disappearance?’ continued Helen. ‘Wouldn’t the police have to come and look around?’

‘Possibly. They need to know how he died,’ said Len.

‘We could just bury him,’ said Marta.

‘We can’t just go back without him and not say anything,’ said Peter.

‘We could do that,’ agreed Len. ‘But it doesn’t stop the police looking for answers. But I think there is another way . . .’

They all looked at Len as a bit of a smile lurked at his mouth.

‘What if poor old Topov was taken by a croc?’ There was an intake of breath as Len continued. ‘Mind you, we didn’t actually
see
the tragic event, but I’m a professional and despite our warnings he wandered down to the river, which I know is a big croc’s territory. And the signs of what happened were obvious.’ He sighed. ‘Sadly, no remains were found.’

Johnny picked up the story. ‘We shot a number of crocs and opened them up, looking. But no luck. Terrible thing. Scared us all. So we packed up and left straight away.’

They all looked at each other, the mood shifting.

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Peter.

‘There’s one thing, though,’ said Len, gazing at each of them in turn. ‘This is not to go past this group here tonight.’

‘Obviously,’ said Helen.

‘Of course,’ agreed Marta.

‘That includes your friend Colin,’ said Len.

‘Why? He’s trustworthy,’ said Marta.

‘Because Colin is dead honest and bloody naive. He’d think it was his duty to tell the police what really happened,’ answered Johnny.

‘Yeah, he wasn’t part of this, so why tell him,’ said Len practically.

‘Are you sure such a story is believable?’ said Helen, looking at Len.

‘Easier than the truth,’ said Len. ‘How do we explain that?’ he pointed towards Topov’s body, ‘Without implicating one of us?’

‘So we’re all agreed,’ said Marta, wanting to resolve things.

‘Do we need to make a pact, like blood brothers or something?’ said Johnny.

‘Pass the cup of rum and we’ll toast Topov and that’ll be the end of it,’ said Peter.

There was a sense of a blood pact, a secret shared, as the enamel mug with the rum went from one to the other, each shaking the hand that gave it to them.

A hasty meal of damper, fish and a leafy green which Mary had showed them how to pick and cook was soon dispatched. The last of the rum was passed around the circle. The moon rose above the distant ridge that Topov had been so sure held riches deep in its heart. The air was clear and cool. The fire burned brightly, a beacon in the darkened landscape around them.

It was Marta who rose shakily to her feet. ‘I want to propose a toast to Maxim Topov. Director, cinematographer, entrepreneur, irritating rascal, a mad, wild ira . . . iras . . .’

‘Irascible,’ supplied Helen.

‘. . . Irascible man who drove us crazy. But also made us laugh and who believed in himself and his dreams, although no-one else did.’ She lifted her mug. ‘Dream on, Topov.’

‘To Topov. Who brought us here,’ said Helen. ‘Which we will never forget.’

‘That’s for sure,’ said Johnny.

‘To Topov’s dream and film,’ said Drago quietly.

Everyone drank and there was a short silence. No-one was going to raise the issue of how Topov died.

Johnny broke the spell. ‘So, what’re we doing with him?’

‘Bury him,’ said Helen.

‘We can’t just leave him out here. He deserves a bit of a service,’ said Drago.

‘Oh, Topov wasn’t religious,’ said Marta.

Len stood up. ‘We’ll bury him in the morning and we’ll mark the place with our own cave painting, eh?’

This broke the solemn spell as everyone discussed the sort of picture that would sum up Topov without identifying him. There were ribald and ridiculous suggestions until finally they settled on Drago’s idea of a stylised interpretation of his director’s viewfinder.

‘That’ll give the Aborigines something to ponder,’ grinned Len. ‘There’s a lot of white and red ochre around here. We’ll do it properly.’

It was after midday before their convoy drove away, heading back to Darwin. Marta looked back at the mushroom-shaped outcrop below which they had buried Topov, the spot marked by a symbol painted on the rockface above the grave.

Len had made sure they dug very deep, to stop the dingos from retrieving the body and he was meticulous in brushing away signs of digging and footprints from around the site. Then they had gone to the river and Len pointed to the spot where Topov could have been taken by a croc, describing its mudslide, the location of its nest and what might have happened to Topov’s body. After the excruciating detail, Marta thought it better that Topov had died the way he did and had not been taken by a giant reptile.

Marta turned her back to the lake and smiled at Veronica. ‘The police accepted every word we said. Len convinced them that Topov had been taken by a crocodile. We
handed all Topov’s personal things to the police and told them to forward them on to Madame Olga.’

‘So, the story I read in the paper was not true,’ said Veronica.

‘No. That story was made up by Len. Anyway, it was the beginning of the end for us, too. Colin and I went back to Sydney, but without the film we had nothing in common. He went back to the bank, I looked for work as an actress. Television started and I made some TV commercials. To me that wasn’t acting but it paid better than the theatre. When I had an offer to go to Hollywood it seemed like a lifeline out of Sydney and I was pleased to go.’

‘The adventure was over,’ prompted Veronica.

‘Yes. The outback, that wild, wonderful, beautiful, dramatic country swept us along. I imagine everyone went back to mundane lives, but none of us could forget that country and lifetime we travelled through.’

‘Did you ever see the others again? Do you know what happened to them?’

‘I exchanged cards with Colin over the years. I believe Drago went back to Europe and became a very respected cinematographer in feature films. Peter went to Western Australia looking for work. Johnny stayed in Sydney but I don’t know what he did. The most surprising thing was that Helen stayed up north with Len. They got married and Helen bought a property and they bred horses or some such thing. One never knows how life will turn out.’

‘You might be surprised to know that Johnny became very rich, though his business interests have come under some suspicion . . . gambling, casinos, nightclubs, entertainment connections and so on,’ said Veronica.

Marta gave a small laugh. ‘That sounds correct.’

‘He’s still alive. In fact, he was not at all happy that I started investigating this story.’

Marta raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? We might not have done the right thing. But we just wanted to get away from there. And frankly, most of us despised Topov. He did the wrong thing by us all. I don’t think that anyone wanted justice for him. Besides, none of us wanted to believe that one of us had caused his death and, frankly, no-one was brave enough to make an accusation.’

Veronica looked at her notes, trying to phrase her next remark. ‘Marta, later on, did you ever discuss it with Colin and tell him what happened?’

She shook her head. ‘No. We agreed on that. It was better he believed that Topov was taken by a crocodile.’

‘So you never found out what really happened to him?’

‘You mean, who in our group was responsible for Topov’s death?’ Marta shrugged. ‘I have thought of scenarios but I know that I did not do it. Nor did Helen . . . The bruises on his face. That was ugly, I’ll never forget that. Only a man could do that.’ There was an interruption as Allegra appeared with the silver coffee service on a trolley.

‘Thank you for being so open with me,’ said Veronica. ‘I still have unanswered questions of course. But there are some happy endings – you, Doris, Helen, Drago.’

Marta nodded. ‘Poor Colin. He married but I suspect he wonders what his life might have been like if the film had eventuated. Johnny sounds like he achieved what he wanted, to be rich. But he is a man always looking over his shoulder, I imagine, even now in his old age.’

‘Marta, would it be possible for me to find where Topov was buried?’ asked Veronica suddenly.

Marta lifted the ornate silver coffee pot. ‘Yes, perhaps, but what would it achieve if you found him?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Veronica. ‘Closure, perhaps. The film, I know nothing came of it, but what happened to the film that was shot?’

‘The cameras, Topov’s notes, his personal things,
everything, were all given to Madame Olga. I have no idea what happened after that.’ She poured the coffee and handed a cup to Geoff with a brilliant smile. ‘Sugar?’

As Veronica waited in the departure lounge before boarding her flight home, she felt a tap on her shoulder and saw her old friend Gordon smiling at her, dressed in his immaculate flight attendant’s uniform.

‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked. ‘A holiday?’

‘I wish. No, an interview in Italy. Can we chat later, when everyone is asleep?’ asked Veronica. She couldn’t think of a better person with whom to share her story about Marta and her experiences with Jamie.