The Opal Desert (21 page)

Ivan told Shirley the story of a reclusive old Scotsman who'd had a mine in the area many years before and was too mean to buy food and used to cook goannas over the fire like the Aborigines did.

‘Oh, the poor things. What happened to the man? Did he find opals and buy proper food?' asked Shirley.

‘If he found opals, he never sold them. He had a wild old horse and he used to ride him at night. People thought that he was out hiding his opals, but he died all alone and no one ever found them.'

‘You hear a lot of stories of men not wanting to part with their opals,' said Albert.

Ivan touched his head. ‘I think some of them went a bit crazy. Opal fever can do that, eh?'

The days passed too quickly, but it was time enough for Shirley and Albert to feel they had found a second home. Rugged up by the fire they talked about the future and how they could work the mine as long as it was fruitful and then turn their dugout into a home base and work another claim.

‘I'll just keep this claim registered as our mine until the day comes when we can buy it outright,' said Albert.

‘Could we, Daddy? Then I would feel even better when I come out here. I so wish Mummy would come. Maybe one day we can make the cave like a real house. Then she'll come,' said Shirley.

‘Yes, perhaps, and baby Geoffrey. But until then, you and I will just have to come when we can.' He winked at her. ‘Even if we don't find much in the way of opal, Opal Lake's a pretty good place to be, eh?'

Shirley nodded conspiratorially. ‘Yes. But it's still nice to find opal!'

*

Kerrie gazed around Shirley's cosy, if cluttered, dugout. ‘So this is the mine you started with your father?'

Shirley smiled. ‘Indeed it is. I can say I've had a hand in building my home. Every mark on every wall in that front section was made by my father. Later, when I moved out here permanently, I had some help to extend it a bit.'

‘How long have you been living here, Shirley?'

‘I've been here for more than thirty years and before that I lived in Lightning Ridge. My father sold the opals we found when we first came here and he put the money aside to continue paying for the lease on this place. When he died I wasn't surprised to find that he'd bequeathed it to me. I had a good job so I continued making payments on it, but I didn't come back out here for many years.'

‘Why didn't you come out here earlier?'

‘I had my own life and career, and I was so close to my father and we had shared such a special time together. We only had that one trip out here. I knew it just wouldn't be the same here without him. But eventually I came.'

‘Did your father ever come back here?' asked Kerrie. ‘He obviously loved it as much as you did.'

‘No. He didn't. The war came along, Mother had another baby, and within a few years he was made headmaster of his school. Then there were the twins. He always said that he wanted to return to Opal Lake, but there just never seemed to be the opportunity. I think it was in my father's mind that when he retired and all his children were independent he would then have the freedom to reopen the mine.'

‘It never happened?' asked Kerrie gently.

‘My father passed away just before he retired. It seemed so unfair.'

‘Oh, I see. And you were working?'

‘I had a pretty demanding job. As you know, I trained as a nurse. I was very dedicated to my profession and I moved up the ranks to become the ward sister in the orthopedic unit of one of the top teaching hospitals in Sydney. My work had long hours and a lot of responsibility.'

‘I suppose that didn't leave much time for a social life,' said Kerrie.

‘I had a few flings, but no one ever really caught my fancy. I liked a young doctor once, but to him I was just a good nurse – I don't think the idea of asking me out would have occurred to him. Actually, most of the doctors I worked with for years didn't know a single thing about my personal life, and absolutely nothing about me,' said Shirley.

‘I suppose patients were hung up in those traction contraptions for ages in orthopedic wards in those days,' said Kerrie. ‘Not like now, when they have you walking around as soon as possible.'

Shirley smiled. ‘That's right. I've seen a lot of changes in my profession. I still keep in touch with some of my old nursing friends with emails through my great whacking box of a computer,' she said. ‘It's pretty ancient. No one seems to use floppy discs anymore.'

‘Shirley! You have to update!' laughed Kerrie. ‘Let me help you.'

‘That would be kind of you. I tend to handwrite a lot of notes and my diaries and letters, and I'm still going through research material, but I know that eventually I'll have to type it all up into some sort of order.'

‘Tell me, Shirley, why did you came back here?' asked Kerrie.

Shirley gazed into the distance. Kerrie had the impression this was a time deep in her memory, and that Shirley was recalling the place, the weather and the moment when she returned to Opal Lake.

‘I thought it was the start of a new life,' she said wistfully.

‘Why was that?'

‘Because I thought that I had finally found the person that I would spend the rest of my life with.'

Kerrie looked at Shirley, startled by the vehemence of her words.

‘I met him when he was a patient in my ward. Badly crushed legs and broken ribs. He was there for several months.'

‘I suppose you get to know people well under those circumstances,' said Kerrie. And waited.

Finally Shirley nodded. ‘Initially I was a bit bothered by the ethics of it – my profession being a nurse – and yet I was drawn to a man with whom I had something in common.'

‘Why was that? Can you tell me about him? What was his name?' asked Kerrie.

If Shirley had been reluctant to speak initially, words now tumbled out.

‘His name was Stefan. He was Croatian. He migrated from Yugoslavia during Tito's regime and, sadly, left his parents behind. I think he always felt guilty about that, even though they had insisted that he leave. Stefan was educated at the university in Zagreb. He was an engineer. He came to Australia as a refugee. No family support, no money and very poor English initially. He didn't feel that he fitted in.'

‘So you met him in your hospital ward? What was he like?'

‘When I first saw him he was not a pretty picture,' said Shirley.

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut in pain. But sensing her presence, he opened one of them, struggled to focus, and then greeted her.

‘Good morning, sister.'

‘And to you, Mr Doric.' She stood beside his bed, checking the tension of the apparatus supporting his right leg. As he winced, she said, ‘It won't be long now and you'll be out of this.'

‘That will be a relief.' He tried to smile. ‘It will be good to get out of this bed. My back is so sore.'

‘It must be lonely for you, all these weeks in traction. You never seem to have any visitors.'

‘I have acquaintances but they are not living in Sydney. I have received a few messages from them.'

‘Checking up on you? That you're still alive and kicking?' asked Shirley with a smile.

He looked at her in surprise at this bald statement and then smiled. ‘Ah, the Australian sense of humour. I suppose that might be true.'

‘Would you like some books?' asked Shirley suddenly. ‘Do you enjoy reading? I'd be happy to lend you some, if you like. Tell me what you enjoy, and what your interests are. I'm a big reader,' she added enthusiastically.

‘You would do that for me?'

Shirley nodded. ‘Of course. I'll make a selection for you and drop them by. You can choose which ones you'd like.'

‘You are very kind. Thank you.'

‘That is my pleasure. But you need to get out in the fresh air. I don't think that you'll be in traction much longer,' said Shirley, glancing at the notes that hung at the foot of the bed. ‘And then I'll see if one of the nurses can take you into the grounds in a wheelchair.'

He closed his eyes and sighed. ‘That sounds wonderful. Thank you, sister.'

It was several days, however, before he was freed of the weights and pulleys that had kept him bedridden. He lay there, staring at one of his legs which was still plastered. He was surprised when Shirley arrived wearing an attractive skirt and blouse, and pushing a wheelchair.

‘We're very short on staff, so here I am.'

Stefan was shocked. ‘I did not expect this. I don't want you to go to any trouble for me.'

‘Since I'm off duty, I thought that a bit of exercise would do me good. I've brought you some books, too.' She pulled them from her basket and put them beside his bed.

With professional expertise she helped him from his bed into the wheelchair, his plastered leg stretched out in front of him. She put a light blanket over him and placed her basket on his lap.

‘Hang on to that. It's got a few snacks in it.'

The grounds of the hospital were quiet and leafy despite being surrounded by offices and old homes. As they trundled along the broad path they heard only the squeak of the wheelchair and the chatter of birds in the spreading trees above them. Shirley turned off the path and bumped over the gravel to a sheltered spot hidden from view by their thick trunks. Sitting in the dappled sunlight beneath the branches were a bench and table.

‘This is one of my secret spots. I often bring my lunch here. It's always restful,' said Shirley. ‘Are you comfortable?'

He lifted his face to the sunlight and took a deep breath. ‘Indescribable. Wonderful.' He turned to Shirley. ‘I cannot thank you enough. I thought that I would never feel the sun again.'

‘Don't mention it. It's pleasant for me too.'

‘You do seem to work long hours. You are always in the ward,' commented Stefan. ‘I hear your voice even if I don't see you.'

‘Barking orders? I try not to crack the whip too hard, but some of the nurses are too timid or too slow and they have so much to learn. Still, their hearts are in the right place, so I shouldn't whinge.'

‘Whinge. That is a new word. It means to . . . complain?' guessed Stefan.

Shirley laughed. ‘Yes. In the Aussie vernacular. Now, cup of coffee? I brought a thermos. Hope you like it strong.'

‘Yes, I do. When I first came to this country, it was difficult to get proper coffee. But I won't whinge,' said Stefan.

Shirley laughed as she handed him the coffee. ‘Good. And I grabbed a couple of sandwiches from the cafeteria. Ham or corned beef?'

They sipped their coffee and sat in contemplative silence. Stefan threw crumbs to several pigeons on the ground beside them. Shirley felt comfortable with Stefan. She didn't feel the need to make superficial conversation for he was so obviously enjoying the simplicity of the fresh air and sunshine. They finished their sandwiches and Shirley scrunched up the greaseproof paper and packed up the basket.

‘What books did you bring for me?' asked Stefan.

‘I am looking forward to reading them.'

‘A mixture. Donald Horne's book about Australia, called
The Lucky Country
. A very funny book written a few years ago by John O'Grady about the life of an Italian migrant. And then there's
I, the Aboriginal
, by Douglas Lockwood.'

‘So has an Aboriginal written his autobiography?' asked Stefan.

Shirley smiled. ‘Not exactly, he told it to Douglas Lockwood. It's about an Aboriginal man who crossed from his traditional culture to the white man's world in the 1950s. Reading his story will give you a wider knowledge of what is happening to Aborigines in Australia, if you're interested in that sort of thing.'

‘I don't have a lot of knowledge about Aboriginal people. It is very hard to meet them. I hear conflicting stories,' he added diplomatically. ‘So I would like to read more.'

‘Indeed. Maybe we can talk more about it later, when you've read the book.'

‘You have been very kind to me.' Stefan hesitated. ‘Do I call you Sister Mason?'

‘No, of course not. I'm Shirley.'

He studied her. ‘You are very clever, very kind. Why are you helping me?' he said. ‘I am nobody.'

‘Don't say that. I know a lot about you, and it seems that we have something in common.' She smiled at his raised eyebrow. ‘I gather, from your records, that you were in a mining accident in Lightning Ridge.' He nodded and she went on. ‘I am very fond of Lightning Ridge and the opal fields. I went there with my father when I was a little girl.'

Stefan's face broke into a huge smile. ‘Is that so? Were you mining for opals?'

‘Indeed. We found some beautiful opals but our mine was ratted. My father was really angry.'

Stefan shook his head. ‘Terrible, terrible thing. It still goes on. In fact, the ratters are quite organised now. How long since you have been back to the Ridge?'

‘Too long. It was my father's dream that when he retired he would take up opal mining again. Actually, after the ratting incident, we moved to Opal Lake. He took up a lease there and we always planned to go back, but, well, life gets in the way. The war, family, work, and then my father died before he retired, so he never had the chance to fulfil his dreams, but I've sort of inherited them.'

‘You would go back to the opal fields? To mine? To live?' asked Stefan in surprise.

‘I've got a good job here at the hospital, a lot of responsibility,' said Shirley. ‘But I still have the lease on my father's mine and sometimes I think about going back. Finding opal was very exciting.'

‘Oh, I know that very well. Even though this accident was terrible, I can't wait to return.'

‘I've read the report of the accident, but it's a bit sketchy. What happened exactly?' asked Shirley.