When the Singing Stops (25 page)

It was the parting of the ways. Connor and Madi farewelled the rest of the group and headed back the way they'd come towards the falls. ‘You sure you can find the way back down in the morning?' called Ann.

‘If we're not back by afternoon .. . give a hoy,' called Connor.

‘Connor, you don't have to stay if you don't want to,' said Madi. ‘I'll be fine. I think.'

‘Rubbish. You're not doing me out of this . . . adventure.'

By the time they got back to the falls the day was fading. Connor eyed Trudeau's old guesthouse. ‘Do you reckon we could bust in and make ourselves at home?'

‘Connor, that would defeat the reason we're here. To experience the falls.'

They set up a small camp, strung their hammocks between trees set back from the mist of the falls, and pooled their resources. Connor had brought a torch, Madi insect repellent. They each had a hammock and thin plastic sheeting. Madi had thrown in Sharee's cotton sari as a cover and Connor had a knife—‘to slice the cheese'. His final offering was a small bottle of rum and they both had water.

‘Wait, something else,' Madi pulled out a
lime. ‘Thought it might be a thirst quencher. Be better with the rum.' They made themselves a rum and water and went back to the falls to watch the sunset. Madi sighed. ‘I see what Pieter meant. Look at how the water changes colour with the sky.'

The river was burnished red and gold, seeming to glow with an incandescent light. The surging white crests of the tumbling river flashed like molten gold as they went over the edge.

‘Imagine this after massive rains and floods. This is just a normal season,' said Connor.

Madi watched the movement of the river as it slid to the falls and exploded downwards. ‘I wish I could compose music. Can you imagine a symphony that captured all of this?'

‘That's what's missing, music . . . What music would you play here if you could . . .' They talked of music, of dreams, of passions, of things they'd like to try. They talked of friends, and places, and families. And slowly the sunset melted into the hills and all was luminous dark.

‘Let's eat supper and come back and watch the moonrise,' said Connor.

They ate their picnic by torchlight. ‘What I wouldn't give for a hot cup of tea.' Madi untied her cotton anorak from round her waist and slipped it on as the evening coolness settled on them.

‘Glad Ann told us to bring plastic in case of rain during the climb. It will be dewy, I guess,'
said Connor spreading his thin plastic sheet over his cotton hammock.

With a rum to fortify them they went back to their viewing rock and silently watched the glimmer of light behind one of the distant mountains grow brighter until the rim of the moon showed above the peak.

Majestically it rose, turning the churning waters to silverplate and casting a metallic and friendly light around them. They could now distinguish other sounds above the water and Madi cocked her head. ‘I heard something. Let's walk away from the falls a bit.'

They headed back towards the bromeliads, picking their way by the beam of the torch, Connor going first and reaching back to help Madi and shine the torch at her feet. It took longer than it had earlier, but then they came out on the rocks set back from the falls. The clutch of bromeliads glistened in the moonlight, their greenness frosted with a silvery sheen from the moon.

Both heard it together. A resonant, rich, throaty song. It rose and fell like heartbeats that lingered. Silence, then it began again. This time a chorus, a chuckling joyful song, that echoed and reverberated across the ravine.

‘The golden frogs . . . they're singing,' whispered Madi. She held onto Connor's hand as the trembling notes bored into the fibre of her soul.

Connor kissed her head. ‘Then all is well. Let's go back and sleep.'

Madi thought of last night, and now she wanted to kiss him again with the joy of all they'd shared on this memorable day. But he kissed her lightly on the top of her head like a doting father, and virtually tucked her into her hammock with another quick goodnight kiss.

Madi woke before the sunrise, an eerie foggy light swirling about the dripping trees. She felt damp, her hair and face were wet. Glancing over at Connor she could see rivulets of dew running off the plastic cover spread over him in his hammock.

She walked quietly back to the edge of the falls and sat hugging her knees and watched the fog and mist swirling up from the ravine and across the surface of the glassy Potaro. Like Salome's veils slowly lifting, the layers of mist began to melt in the streaky pastel shades of the coming dawn.

She hurried back to fetch Connor. ‘I can't let you sleep through the sunrise.' She shook him gently. ‘Come on.'

Together they watched the colours of the river and falls change as the red, fat ball of sun rolled into view, rising higher, the red glow becoming hard-edged, white gold that hurt their eyes.

‘It really makes you understand the words, a new day dawning . . .' said Madi.

‘Anything seems possible when you see
something like this. It's very renewing.' He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. ‘I'm glad we shared this, Madi.'

‘It's something that I'll never forget. Connor, we should make a vow, whenever things seem hard, or we get depressed and sad, we must remember this.' She waved her arm out towards the panorama of pristine rainforest on the mountains around them, wreathed in the last shreds of mist, the velvet strip of sparkling river, the spread and drop of the remarkable falls.

They sat a moment or two longer and Connor's arm tightened around her shoulders. Madi turned to him and lifted her face to his kiss.

If ever there was a moment, a place where passion was matched by its surroundings this was it. Connor and Madison made love in the first rays of the sun, their heated bodies cooled by mist, the roar of the falls matching the pounding of their hearts.

Madi lay back on the mossy rock as Connor gently kissed the length of her body. The beauty of Madi, the feelings she aroused in him, the magic of this place, swept over him and he struggled to find words to express it. ‘Do you feel what I do, Madi? I just can't describe it . . . I'm gone . . . over the falls, all is lost.' He buried his face between her breasts, the sweet smell and sensation of her skin crushed against him. She smiled and rubbed his head. A contentment and a glow spread from her toes through her body.
‘It's wonderful, Connor . . . I can't find words either. Let's just share it.' They lay there in silence, bodies pressed together but Madi was trying to make sense of her feelings. Connor had given her a wonderful gift—he had given her back to herself. She felt a woman again, whole and magnificent and adored. She had an energy, a sense of power, not over Connor but because of him. She knew whatever the future held, she would be all right. She was strong again. The failed marriage, the insecurities, the indecision about her future, all slipped away over the falls. It wasn't because a man had made love to her and become smitten. She had given herself and she suddenly saw how, by giving oneself, so much came back in return. It had been a shared experience, but for her it was also a milestone in her journey to discover who she really was. This was for Madi her moment of revelation and she would always thank Connor.

She smiled into his blue eyes. ‘You don't know how wonderful you've made me feel . . . for lots of reasons.'

‘Good. Hang onto that, Madi. I feel it too.'

They arrived back at the resthouse to find Mrs Bell hanging washing out.

‘Did you find it gooood?' she asked in her singing accent.

‘Unbelievably beautiful, Mrs Bell.'

‘There be cake and coffee with Mr Bell,' she
said, pointing to where he was sitting with the rest outside the house.

Ann was first to spot them walking over. She called out and Connor and Madi raised their walking sticks in acknowledgement.

Over Mrs Bell's cake they described the sunset and sunrise with bubbling enthusiasm, finishing each other's sentences, trying to describe the impact it had on them. Watching Connor and Madi, it was obvious to each of their friends, though no one said anything, that they had undergone some subtle change in the way they related to each other.

After a swim, they all went fishing and Madi caught more catfish. The rest of the day was spent relaxing. That night over fresh fish curry with chilli and lime relish, they agreed it seemed they'd been away from the city for weeks.

Next morning they set out with Captain Blaise. They all felt fit and relaxed and pleased that each had met some personal challenge in making the trek and climb. It had been hard saying goodbye to the Bells. The old couple stood holding hands, their white heads shining in the early morning light, gap-toothed smiles creasing their finely wrinkled skin. They were grateful for the kerosene and Ann had carefully packed a plastic bag containing letters the Bells wanted posted to friends and family in Georgetown.

Madi had been first up and had said her own private farewell to the elderly couple
whose simple life, love and caring for each other, and whose faith and trust in the world around them, had touched her. She wished she had a gift for them and wondered how she might send them something. Then she thought of her little carved frog. She loved it dearly. She stroked the little wooden creature and decided she would get Lester to find another. Then she offered the frog to the Bells as a gesture of thanks for their kindness.

Mr Bell turned the little carving over in his bumpy boned hands. ‘This be a very good fellow,' he said softly, then handed it back to Madi, pressing it between her fingers. ‘But dis fellow got your name on him. He be made for yo. Thank you, but we can no take him from yo.'

Heading up the river the girls discussed what they might get for the Bells that would be practical and how they might get it to them. They settled on a box of tinned and packaged luxury foods.

‘Captain Blaise will see they get it,' said Ann. ‘There'll be someone going upriver, one of the pork-knockers perhaps.'

There were no breakdowns on the way back and late that night Connor kissed a sleepy Madi as Singh held open the gate. ‘I'll call you. Take care, my sweet.'

She nodded, handed Singh her backpack
and, holding tightly to Mr Bell's stick, walked to the darkened house. ‘You had a good trip, Miss Madi? Where you go?' asked Singh as he pushed open the front door and turned on the hall light.

‘I had a very good time, Singh. I climbed Kaieteur.'

Singh gently closed the door behind her. ‘Well now, dat be some ting. Some ting indeed,' he muttered in awe.

Madi splashed her face, brushed her teeth and fell into bed as Matthew padded down the hall and tapped at her door. He peered at his sister beneath the shroud of mosquito net.

‘Was it worth it, Madi?'

‘Oh yes. Oh very much.'

‘Good. Sleep tight. Talk in the morning.'

‘You have to do it, Matt,' she called sleepily.

She was asleep before Matthew reached his bed and she dreamed of Kaieteur, of Connor's kiss and touch, of the cascades of water, of rainbows and little black birds, and heard again in her dream, the singing of the little gold frogs.

W
ater Street, the commercial end of town, was jammed, choked and chaotic. A normal state of affairs. The mixture of races—black skin and Chinese eyes, fine-boned Hindu faces topped by crinkly hair, African, Portuguese and Amerindian blends—normally delighted Madi. But now they crowded in on her. After the beauty of the trip to Kaieteur, the noise, the putrid smells, the sense of danger from what Lester called the street choke and robs, made her clasp her small bag to her chest and hurry after Ann.

‘You all right? You seem distracted. Singh is waiting for us outside Stabroek markets,' Ann said.

Madi was relieved to see Singh, who took
the shopping basket from Ann and opened the door of the Toyota Landcruiser.

Madi leaned back in relief in the air-conditioning. ‘I think I'm going through some sort of adjustment. Like a mild form of culture shock. I'm mentally and emotionally still back at Kaieteur and the river. I can't cope with this city madness.'

‘How are you going to be in London or Sydney?' said Ann.

Singh nosed the car through the stalls and shoppers outside the main markets, narrowly missing a man carrying a carcass of beef across the sunbaked square.

‘I'm not ready to move on yet. In fact I want to go back up the river. Further into the interior. Now that I've had a taste, I want to see more. I'm absolutely fascinated by the place.'

Ann glanced at her. ‘You sound as though you've eaten labba and drunk creek water. That means you'll always have a yearning to return to Guyana. That's the local belief, anyway. But I understand how you feel. It happened to me too.'

‘It did?'

‘Oh yes. I came out here for a car rally, met John, fell in love, went back to England and couldn't wait to get back here. John was part of it, of course, and it took me a while to differentiate between my feelings for him and the extraordinary pull the country had on me.'

‘How did you adjust?'

‘I travelled around as much as possible. John made that easy, knowing people everywhere. I still don't quite know what the magic is . . . it was so different from England. So exotic . . . the jungle, the way you can have a magnificent garden, a fabulous and quite privileged lifestyle. The people are marvellous—incredibly warm, as I'm sure you've discovered. There are so many frustrating things, of course, but in a strange way, that's part of its charm too. You can always manage to laugh at adversity here. In the UK, you tend to get tight-lipped.' She gave a hearty laugh.

‘You don't miss England?'

‘How can I? I'm lucky enough to go back a couple of times a year.'

Madi stared out at the street of such unfamiliar faces to those she saw at home, the colonial buildings, the tropical trees, the undisciplined jumble of cars, bicycles, trucks and carts. ‘Strange, I've never thought of living anywhere but Australia. I never imagined I would be drawn to any other part of the world.'

Ann gave her a steady look. ‘Get it out of your system, then see where you are and you'll probably have a clearer idea of where you're going.'

She didn't elaborate on what ‘it' was, because they were now outside Guyana Stores.

‘Right, let's raid the supermarket.'

It intrigued Madi that the main store of Georgetown could so regularly run out of
things. Drippy freezer cabinets with open lids held nothing save for a squashed plastic bag of squid pieces. Shelves that should have had tinned provisions were empty and where a pile of just-arrived items was being unpacked, shoppers grabbed three and four at a time, scarcely noticing what they were buying.

‘The old days of shortages when you had to queue for the basics are still remembered. People's shopping philosophy is, if it's there grab a couple and figure out what to cook with it later,' said Ann dropping tins of mushrooms, canned soup and packets of dried haricot beans in her shopping basket.

‘My dears, what a pleasant surprise! Doing the providoring, I see.'

Lady Annabel, resplendent in African print caftan, dark glasses and a long sienna scarf wrapped around her head, sailed towards them. ‘Dear Madison,' she leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘How did you find Kaieteur?'

Madi grinned. ‘It was magnificent. Words fail me.'

‘I doubt that. So, what are your plans?'

‘For today, next week, or next year?'

Lady Annabel took off her glasses and studied Madi. ‘I was thinking of today. Like in the next hour. Would you care to go for tea somewhere? Actually, I was about to go over to my old house. Madi, would you like to come? Ann?'

‘Can't thanks, Annabel. Got to get the food back and meet John. But, Madi, why don't you go? You'll find the house interesting. I'll send Singh back to pick you up.'

‘Would you, Ann dear? That would be lovely. Madi?'

Madi shrugged. ‘Sure. I have no special plans this morning.'

Madi reacted in some surprise at the size and haunting splendour of the old mansion. High-standing and double-storeyed, it rose in peeling paint like an ageing grey shadow from the tangled garden. The area under the house had been glassed and closed in, a modern addition which looked like a new bandage on an old body. ‘That's an office for Colonel Bede,' said Lady Annabel as the car delivered them to the wrought-iron fence and gate. ‘He trundled in a desk and filing cabinets but doesn't seem to use it much. Holds a few meetings there, he told me. At least someone is occupying the place occasionally. Whole place is a bit of a white elephant,' she said in a sad voice.

Ann waved goodbye. ‘Singh will be back in an hour or so.'

They walked through the overgrown garden, past the choked pond and hibiscus and bougainvillea, once regularly pruned and now sagging with overlong tresses. A knotted and twisted flambeau tree rose up on one side of the
house reaching beyond the upper verandah. ‘I'm going to take some cuttings back and pot them up for my little garden. I just like to check the place every few weeks.' Annabel went to a side entrance, unlocking a thick door which led to a staircase leading to the verandah. ‘Used to be the servants' entry.'

Madi caught her breath at the musty odour that reminded her of old clothes, mothballs and mouldy carpet. Strips of sunlight fell through the closed wooden shutters but Madi could make out the bulk of mahogany furniture crouching darkly in the large sitting room. There was a faint aroma of old wood, or was it furniture polish? Annabel opened a set of shutters which revealed dusty leather, ornate and heavy chairs, sofas and sideboards and a dining table of baronial proportions. On the walls were misty scenes of the English countryside which seemed faded and insipid, or was it just the contrast of the hot sun and bright colours outside the windows.

‘You've never moved or sold anything?' asked Madi. ‘What's going to happen to all this?'

‘God knows. Where would I put it? I can't afford the upkeep of this place. Bede owns it all now. I'm quite comfortable in my little flat across town but this does bring back memories. Daddy entertained many notables here.'

They walked through other rooms with four poster beds, massive wardrobes and bureaus, old paintings and family portraits.

‘There's so much personal memorabilia here,' exclaimed Madi. She refrained from voicing her impression that it seemed like a living mausoleum, as if Daddy had been carried out in action, brushing his teeth or combing his hair, or asleep in his bed, and no one had set foot back in the house and nothing had been moved since. She knew without asking that his clothes would still be hanging in the closets.

‘How long has it been like this, closed up?'

‘Ten years. Bede made a legal agreement for me. I really don't understand it except I have somewhere else to live and an allowance from the estate.' Lady Annabel shrugged. ‘We can have tea . . . if you don't mind tinned milk. I keep supplies here and occasionally pop in for a solitary tea party with Daddy.' Madi didn't know how to react as Lady Annabel seemed quite serious about her occasional teas with a ghost.

‘Have a browse around while I pop downstairs to the kitchen. Won't be long. There's a side balcony off the games room which is quite pleasant. Make yourself at home.'

Madi tried to imagine Annabel as a child growing up in this now musty and museum-like relic of a bygone imperial era. The buzz of cars, cyclists and traffic outside was muffled by the garden. Had it ever been a gay, light-hearted place, Madi wondered.

She peeped into large, elaborately tiled bathrooms with massive brass-tapped tubs and willow-patterned toilet bowls with varnished
wooden seats and tarnished brass chains. She opened the floor-to-ceiling doors of a bathroom closet and recoiled in surprise at the dusty and slightly musty assortment of toiletries, personal effects and towels, untouched for years.

The main verandah was filled with a clutter of fat rattan furniture covered in faded brocade print. Between the living room and entrance to the verandah, a flight of stairs led to a small landing that turned at right angles down to the main reception area. Madi peered over the railing, glimpsing what appeared to be a library to one side of the large front door and a sitting room to the other. In the sitting room a small bookcase caught her eye and she glanced along the row of titles of old mouldering British crime novels and history books.

As she stood there studying the titles, she heard footsteps coming up the staircase. At first she thought it was Annabel, but the lopsided step, one footfall seeming heavier than the other, caused her to lift her head. Someone coming up from the colonel's office, she wondered? Holding a book she'd just drawn from the bookcase, Madi leaned over the balustrade and saw an elderly man resting on the landing, shirtsleeves rolled up, a Fair Isle vest over his white shirt and tie. Madi smiled at him, thinking he must work about the place, then she turned her attention back to the book and wandered along the verandah to a wicker chair. Straight away she was absorbed—
Being The Discovery of the
Large and Bewtiful Empire of Guiana by Sir Walter Raleigh.

She thumbed through the facsimile edition of Raleigh's enthusiastic account of his search for El Dorado. Immediately images of his adventures in the interior flashed through her mind. Despite the quaint language she was soon marching beside him, thrilled by his reckless expedition into the unknown in search of a prize beyond description.

‘Tea is ready, darling,' called Annabel brightly. Madi carried the book to the enclosed verandah where Annabel had opened a window and set out a teapot and cups of Royal Albert china on a tray beside an opened tin of evaporated milk.

‘Annabel, this Raleigh book is utterly fascinating.'

‘I know. Poor Raleigh, he tried so hard, came so close, one suspects, and still lost his head in the Tower of London.' Annabel poured the tea. ‘Like Raleigh, Daddy was quite convinced that there is a fortune in gold out there somewhere. He used to tell me the legends about it as bedtime stories when I was a little girl.'

‘You must have had an unusual childhood.'

‘It was very special.' Lady Annabel smiled softly. ‘No other time in my life has ever matched it. No man was as special as Daddy. Everyone at court and in the diplomatic world adored him. He was a very good diplomat, I've been told. After Mummy died, I was surrounded
by a devoted father, adoring uncles and aunties and now . . . all gone.' She handed Madi the cup and lifted a hand towards a wall where framed photographs hung.

‘They were grand days really,' she said with affectionate nostalgia. ‘Such times we had when we all got together. Christmas was magnificent. We always tried to come back here and have Christmas and see out the old year in BG. We were British Guiana and proud of it.' She stressed the word British.

Madi glanced at the rows of faded photos in walnut and tarnished silver frames. ‘No other cousins or family?'

‘Some of the children are back in the UK. I used to see them infrequently, at the obligatory tea with mad Aunt Annabel.'

‘That's a shame . . . that you only see them infrequently, I mean.'

‘God, no! They are the most boring and stuffy bunch you can imagine. And the children have no manners. Another reason for making my escape back here.' She laughed, but Madi sensed it was a hollow laugh.

Madi looked again at the wall of photos of lost relatives and found her eye captured by a sepia shot of men in golfing attire posing with clubs and Indian caddies. She put down her cup and stood to look at it more closely.

‘Annabel, this man, who's that?'

‘Oh, that's Uncle Eric. He lived here with Daddy during the brief stint of my marriage.'

‘Doesn't he live here any more?'

‘Good grief no. He passed on years back.'

A shiver went through Madi. ‘Annabel, I just saw him on the stairs. I heard him walking up the wooden stairs. He had a sort of lopsided step, a limp perhaps.' It suddenly occurred to Madi the man she'd seen hadn't come upstairs nor had she heard his distinctive step go back down.