When the Singing Stops (26 page)

Annabel replaced her cup on the tray. ‘Come with me.'

Madi followed her through the house to one of the bedrooms. Annabel pushed the door open. It was obviously a man's room, and it looked as if the occupant had just stepped out.

Annabel went to the closet and opened it, revealing tweedy jackets, cotton shirts and a row of walking sticks. ‘Uncle Eric had a gammy leg, Boer War. Walked with a bad limp.'

Madi felt faint. ‘But I saw him on the stairs, as clear as day,' she whispered hoarsely.

Annabel shut the closet door quietly, unmoved by Madi's announcement. ‘Don't worry about it. You just saw a jumbi, my dear.'

‘Annabel, you don't see a ghost in the middle of the day. And it wasn't a ghost, it was your Uncle Eric!' Madi's voice had risen. This house was more than giving her the creeps now. How was a sophisticated, sensible woman like herself supposed to simply accept this explanation? Ghosts! She was the last person to be visited by some apparition. She'd never been to a clairvoyant, tarot card reader or dabbled in any
spiritual or new age psycho babble. Not that she would totally dismiss the idea of ghosts . . . she supposed.

Annabel flicked her scarf over a shoulder and reached out to touch Madi's arm. ‘Madison, this is Guyana. You must accept such things here. That shouldn't be difficult for an Australian since you all sing endlessly about the ghost of some swagman. I understand that Matthew and Kevin are rather noted in certain local circles for their party duet of your unofficial national anthem.' The two women exchanged understanding smiles. ‘Jumbis, ghosts, spirits, call them what you will, we believe in them and accept them. Have no fear, Madison. He means no harm. This was his home. Let's have another cup of tea on the verandah.'

Madison silently contemplated this casual acceptance of the ghost's residential status in the old house as Annabel topped up their cups. ‘Dear girl. There are many things here you might not understand. Don't fight them, merely accept there is a reason. Don't challenge and pry, just go forward and follow your own path. It is safest that way.'

Madison picked up her cup, trying to digest the casual remark but feeling that behind Lady Annabel's words there was a warning. She wondered if this was a reference to Ernesto's death or their visit to New Spirit.

Madi doubted she'd be making a return visit to this house. How could she explain seeing a
ghost to anyone else? It wasn't the sort of thing you could tell just anybody. ‘Oh, by the way, yesterday morning I saw a ghost. Uncle Eric with the bum leg.'

But she did tell Lester as he drove her to the bank the next day.

He gave her a sly knowing smile. ‘Ah, a jumbi visit yo, eh? Dis be good, Madison. Yo be tuning in. Yo gettin' on de Guyana wavelength. Soon yo be playing de drums.'

‘Don't joke, Lester, it was very unnerving.'

‘See, yo don' say it was scary.'

Madison thought for a moment. ‘No it wasn't. Only because who's going to be scared of an old man with a bad leg. What could he do to me?'

‘Dat true. But yo don' deny it be a jumbi.'

‘I saw the man, I saw his photo and he's been dead for years. It was the same man. I've never disbelieved in ghosts, I just wasn't convinced one way or the other. But this seems all too . . . well, silly, in a way. Yet I know what I saw.'

‘Jumbis be good an' bad. De obeah man can put a spell to keep dem away. But if yo see a bad jumbi yo tell him buzz off and go see dat Uncle Eric,' he chuckled.

Madi wondered how such a story would go over at a dinner party back in Sydney and she burst out laughing.

‘Wot so funny, Miss Madison?'

‘Just a private thought, Lester.'

He gave her a shrewd glance, then changed the subject. ‘So how was Kaieteur? Yo found de secret . . . saw de frogs?'

‘I did! They're magic.'

‘And did yo sleep good in dat hammock we get?'

‘It's the best. I can't adequately describe the hideous beds I nearly slept in along the track.'

Madi launched into stories of the trip and Lester listened with satisfaction, delighted that she so deeply enjoyed the experience. ‘So now yo seen dat, what next? Yo go to London?'

‘Lester, that was just the beginning. I'm hooked. I want to explore so much more of the interior.'

‘Now dat good news, but I ain't gonna be round here for a little time to hear yo stories. I'm going up to my holdin'. Time to look for de fire in de river again.'

‘Looking for diamonds,' exclaimed Madi enviously. ‘You're going up to work your holding?'

‘Yeah. My mumma gonna look after my boy. I save some money so I'm seeing if I can make a bit more stash.'

Madi hated the idea of not having Lester around. He was reliable, honest and fun company in the car, happy to share confidences with her and interpret the Guyanese way of life.

While she shared her experiences with
Connor, Matthew and Kevin, it was in passing, and they laughed or listened with a slightly indulgent air. To them, Madi was filling in time, they enjoyed having her around, but didn't see her visit here as anything more than a holiday. She tried not to think about her relationship with Connor. He was fun, she enjoyed his company and she didn't want to think of it as just a romantic interlude. But neither of them was prepared to plan much beyond the next dinner, the next party.

Madi sensed that in her desire to explore and travel into the wilderness, she was following an essential inner journey, even though she had little idea of what she might discover. But she had a disturbing feeling that she had to respond to these bold new feelings or she wouldn't be at peace with herself.

After the banking she invited Lester to have coffee with her. It had become something of a regular feature of their outings. At first Lester charged waiting time, but now he regarded the coffee break as time off for friends to chat and he didn't add the time to his fare. He enjoyed Madi's genuine egalitarian attitude towards him and came to appreciate the increasing depth of interest she was showing in his country. Despite his ingrained happy-go-lucky approach to almost everything he was initially a little uncomfortable at these coffee sessions, but now he enjoyed them, despite the good-humoured roasting he got from the other drivers.

‘Yo be lookin' restless. Yo got man trouble, eh?' asked Lester with a shrewd grin.

‘Not really. I'm trying to avoid thinking too far ahead on that score. No, it's me, Lester. I just have this compulsive urge to go back into the interior.' Madi fiddled with a tendril of hair by her cheek. ‘I never felt so . . . driven about anything before. And I really don't know why.'

Lester nodded. This lady has been reading too much into that old book, he reasoned. He looked into his cup and took a satisfying sip of the heavily sweetened brew.

As he put his cup down Madison leaned across the table. ‘Lester, I want to go with you to your holding. I want to hunt for diamonds.'

It was a calm, quietly delivered proposition and it totally rattled the taxi driver. For a moment he stared at her blankly then slowly a big white-toothed smile took over, although it failed to restore the power of speech.

‘I'm not joking, Lester. I want to come, for a couple of weeks, say. I won't get in the way. I want to help you. Get in there and do it, just like Gwen did.'

Lester gaped at her and struggled to speak. ‘Well, dat be one crazy idea. Course not. Wot people say? Yo is from t'other side of de track. Wouldn't be proper. Hell man, every pork-knocker on de river be sayin' tings 'bout me. An' yo,' he added with emphasis.

‘I'm serious, Lester. Wouldn't you like the
company? And anyway, I don't have to apologise for how I choose to lead my life.' She was a little surprised at the firmness of her stated resolve, and she thought how her new-found confidence would have really shocked her former husband.

Lester was still looking at her in shock, then Madi smiled broadly and in almost a whisper pleaded, ‘Please consider it, Lester. Please'.

He finally broke out into his usual infectious laugh. ‘Man, yo is full of surprises. Wot yo bruddah gonna say . . . hey, bro, I is goin' up de river to de jungle wit dat fella Lester. Now come on, Miz Madison Wright, wot he gonna say?'

‘Well, bruddah, he gonna say I is one mighty mad gal,' Madi retorted in her best Creole. ‘Seriously though, Lester. Why not? You know what you're doing, you've been looking out for me here in the city. I trust you . . . and you said you were gonna be my Guyana bruddah, eh?'

Lester still looked stunned at the idea. Madi went on. ‘I'll pay my way, plus something extra. A bit more stash as you put it. I won't be a handicap. I'm prepared to get muddy, work hard, do whatever you do.'

The offer to pay him made an impact but he was still unconvinced. ‘Better talk it over with yo bruddah and yo boyfriend,' said Lester calmly. Confident no more would come of this crazy plan, he looked at Madi. ‘Sure, I'd like yo company. It can git lonely up dat river sometimes,
depressin' when dere ain't no fire 'bout. Sometimes yo dredge and wash for days and days and find nothin', den next day yo see dat little twinkle, dat little fire in de bottom of de pan and oh man, dat be one great feelin'.' His eyes danced and his grin widened.

‘That does it, I'm going to come. I'll bring the gear I took to Kaieteur and you'll tell me what supplies and stuff I need, right?'

Lester shook his head and looked bemused at the very notion of it all, but added in a conciliatory voice, ‘After yo talked to yo Mr Matthew. Now, I gotta go see one friend'. He was desperate to restore some sort of sanity to the day. ‘I take you back now, okay.'

Madi tried to pick the right moment to discuss the idea with Matthew but, despite lolling on the cane lounge with his feet up after work and a rum in his hand, his reaction was neither relaxed nor understanding. His jaw dropped degree by degree as Madi gushed out the detail of what she proposed.

‘It's crazy, Madison. For a start it is totally inappropriate going bush with a black bloke up some damned remote river and camping in the scrub. Imagine how that piece of gossip would go down around the cocktail circuit.'

‘Matt, people like that will always gossip. I don't care.'

‘But I care. Connor will care,' he added
angrily, then calming a little, added, ‘Look, sis, the climb to Kaieteur was one thing, this is far different. It's not a holiday trip. They don't have a Club Med up there, you know. The man is trying to scratch a living in probably the hardest way possible in this country. He doesn't need a tourist along . . . and a woman, to boot'.

Madi's mouth tightened. ‘That's a pretty sexist remark, Matt. Tourist I may be, but I want to get into really working, really looking for diamonds. I'm prepared to get my hands dirty and I do have some idea of what to expect,' she said stubbornly, indicating Gwen's book sitting on the coffee table.

‘Get real, Madison,' exploded Matthew picking up Gwen's book and flipping through the pages. He stopped at a photograph of the handsome Major Blake. ‘See, she had a white bloke in charge . . . and don't tell me there wasn't any hanky-panky, eh?' He chuckled and Madi snatched the book from him.

‘Gwen was in charge and I don't believe there was any such hanky-panky, as you call it. Why can't you accept that a woman, even back then, could want adventures and experiences that were radically different to prove herself?'

‘Is that what you're doing, Madi? Trying to prove something. What, for God's sake?' asked Matthew quietly.

Madi didn't answer. She went to her room and softly shut the door. A few minutes later,
Matthew knocked. ‘You're putting me in an awkward position, sis,' he said gently. He walked over to where she was sitting on the bed and kissed her cheek. ‘Let's sleep on it.'

Matthew could feel his socks getting wet as perspiration ran down his legs while he jogged beside Gordon Ash around the oval opposite the Pessaro Hotel. The general manager insisted on his morning ‘conference run' in Georgetown as well as at the mine. Matthew was grateful there was a slight sea breeze and that it was still early. In two hours, the heat would be ten degrees higher and the humidity a killer. He was beginning to dread these Georgetown visits from Gordon Ash and he always tried to escape the regime when he stayed overnight at the mine.

‘We're meeting Johns for breakfast with your mate Bain from the IFO.' Ash quickened the pace. ‘I've been through this caper a few times before in Third World situations. Must say I can't agree with this propping up of poor countries by international funding organisations. This place is never going to get on top of itself under those conditions. Too many Third World governments just keep servicing the debt which keeps ballooning.'

‘So what's the answer?' Matthew matched his stride to the older man. ‘I agree outside funding places enormous hardship on the local
people, but without some outside aid and influence what is their alternative?'

‘Maybe they should repudiate the whole idea of their debt.' Gordon Ash was blunt and somewhat self-opinionated, thought Matthew.

‘That surely would incur retaliation.' Matthew glanced at the rough, tough fighter beside him. ‘You must create a bit of havoc in boardrooms.'

‘I've been known to speak my mind.'

That's just what we need at this moment, thought Matthew. An idealist. Ash obviously didn't fully appreciate the subtleties of the mine's financial situation. ‘Guyminco's been raped and rumour has it the funds were siphoned off into a phantom company,' said Matthew, wondering if Gordon had heard anything about El Dorado.

‘I've heard the gossip. Made it my business over a few rums in the first week. You know what I think?'

Matthew shook his head.

‘I think the government and bureaucracy are now relatively clean,' Ash said. ‘They're into fringe perks, not big cash payments. If there's a villain it's someone with access to cash flows outside Guyana who needs to launder money in a country like this where no one takes too much notice.'