The Opal Desert (24 page)

‘It must be stultifying being lumbered with thousands of years of history,' said Shirley. ‘Here, in Australia, you have the opportunity to be creative and original without the burden of the past. This country is like a clean slate and I'll tell that to Bosko if he starts to criticise Australia to me.'

Stefan smiled at her. ‘You are clever, and I love you, but please, never argue with that man. He's not only arrogant, he's dangerous. Now let's forget about him and go and order dinner.'

Shirley sighed. ‘Opals brought us together, and . . . well, that's the end of the story.' Her expression hardened, her mellow look was gone in a flash.

Kerrie flipped a page and began sketching the change in Shirley's face. ‘That's the end of the story? Surely not. You and Stefan were in love, working together in Lightning Ridge. What happened?'

Shirley didn't answer for a moment and turned away, staring at the wall where a map of Opal Lake hung.

‘I wish I knew. I really wish I knew.'

S
HIRLEY AND STEFAN SAT
beside their shaft in the sunshine, bent over the bucketful of ‘possibles' they'd washed in their puddler, which was an old cement mixer. Filled with water, it tumbled the dirt from the stones so that any colour in them was more noticeable. While a lot of the stones were just potch, worthless colour with no gem-quality opal, Shirley still found it fascinating to turn each one over and examine it closely.

The two of them were so deeply involved in what they were doing, the sun warm on their backs, birdsong in the distance, that they didn't hear Bosko coming across a mullock heap until he greeted them. Shirley dropped a cloth over the top of the bucket to cover the roughs. Even after five years she still didn't like the loud Yugoslav and remained suspicious of him.

‘Where have you sprung from?' she asked.

‘Just doing the rounds. Greetings, Stefan.'

‘Hello, Bosko. How're things?' Stefan stood up and stretched, reaching for a cigarette pack in his pocket.

‘Depends on what you mean,' he answered. ‘Here or there.' He turned away from Shirley and said briskly, ‘I want to talk to you, Stefan.'

Shirley shrugged. ‘I'm not going anywhere.'

‘There's something I want to discuss just with you, Stefan,' said the big Serbian.

Shirley watched them stroll a short distance away and light up their cigarettes. Although Stefan's back was to her, she could tell that Stefan wasn't pleased with what he was being told. Several times he shook his head and folded his arms across his chest as if to ward off Bosko's flow of words.

After a while the two men turned and retraced their steps, but they were speaking Yugoslav so Shirley did not know what they were saying. Finally, Bosko slapped Stefan on the back.

‘So, I will see you at the bowling club or the baths, yes? We must stick together out here.' He glanced at Shirley but didn't bother to say goodbye. Giving Stefan a meaningful look, he walked away.

Shirley watched him weave between the mullock heaps to his parked car. ‘What was all that about, Stefan? What's he after?'

‘It's all to do with the old country. I'm not sure how much to believe. He's such a big talker.'

‘You don't look very happy. Is it bad news?'

‘Back home? There's agitation in Yugoslavia among many of the Croats, Serbs and Macedonians, so Yugoslav Intelligence is getting more ruthless. Bosko tells me that there is a big push by many people opposed to Tito's dictatorship, both in and out of Yugoslavia.'

‘Support? You mean Yugoslavs here in Australia are supposed to help fight against Tito?'

Stefan nodded and sat back down. ‘That's the idea. People like Bosko think that Yugoslavian loyalty should always be to the old country, whether we live there or not.'

Shirley looked hard at Stefan. ‘I gather you don't feel quite like that. I mean, what does he expect? Does he want you to rally the troops and go back to Yugoslavia and help?'

‘Bosko says that he is part of a group prepared to fight in Yugoslavia. He expects the rest of us here to help them by giving money or opals.'

‘You're kidding. Bosko is certainly taking a lot upon himself, and even if people give him their hard-earned cash how do these fighters use it?'

‘Bosko likes to be important. He says that he is sending money back to Yugoslavia to the right people, but I suspect he takes a fee for doing so.'

‘Is that how he gets his money?' asked Shirley. ‘He said he mines for opal, but I've never seen him work. He always just appears to be part of a group.'

‘According to him, he owns some big claims and he says he has people working for him, but I don't think that's true. He makes demands and I think people are afraid of him and they pay up.'

‘That's called being a standover merchant,' said Shirley. ‘He's a bully. Don't you give him a penny and not a single stone we've worked hard to mine. There must be other ways to send help back to Yugoslavia, if you want to.'

‘Shirley, it's very complicated. Yugoslavia is made up of so many different nationalities, and many want to go their own way. Maybe, if I knew for sure that the money Bosko collects could be effective, I might help a little, but I don't trust Bosko. Whenever any of the Slavs hit opal, Bosko is always there to put pressure on them to share their finds, but there is really no way of knowing who's doing the sharing.'

‘All the more reason we keep any finds to ourselves,' said Shirley. ‘I certainly don't want to share our opal with that Bosko.'

‘But, my darling, if we do find some good pieces we have to go to a buyer to sell them and then everyone finds out.'

‘Yes, I know, but that doesn't mean that we have to share them with Bosko and his fights. I think that charity should begin at home,' said Shirley briskly. ‘If we have good opal, we should take it to Sydney. My father knew a firm of jewellers there who were trustworthy. I know that the buyers on the field are pretty fair but my instinct tells me to avoid the middleman, especially as he is liable to talk in town.'

Stefan smiled. ‘Shirley, you are a very smart lady. And brave. Let's hope we have the chance to test your idea.'

‘Back to work. There might be a gem at the bottom of the bucket!'

Stefan and Shirley were absorbed in their own deepening relationship. Their routine seldom altered. Long days at the mine were interspersed with the odd morning in town or an overnight fishing break. They didn't socialise much, though they enjoyed stopping briefly to chat with the people in the street or their neighbours out in the field. But they didn't need the company of other people. They laughed and shared experiences and memories, disappointments as well as achievements. Their lovemaking was passionate and tender, and although each gave the other space and time to be alone, they could also sit together in companionable silence, fulfilled and content.

Shirley sometimes caught herself wondering at the amazing and glorious turn her life had taken. As well as love and friendship, she felt she shared a trust with Stefan that she would never have allowed herself to feel with anyone else. She knew, without any doubt, that Stefan was the centre of her life. And while her friends and colleagues might have been shocked to see their simple and basic lifestyle, Shirley loved it. She never imagined that she could be so happy. There was no thought in her mind of returning to Sydney and resuming her previous life. She planned a permanent life with Stefan. She sensed and hoped that he felt the same.

Ideas and future plans came naturally into the conversation as they talked about moving on from this mine to another, when the time would come that they felt this one had been fully explored. She hoped they'd get to that point soon, because knowing that Stefan's partner had been killed in this mine always made her feel slightly uncomfortable. But the two of them knew the uncanny luck of opal mines. One could swear there was no opal left and leave a mine only for someone else to come along, dig for a day and make a massive find.

One evening, as they were sitting down to dinner in their shack, there was a shout at the front door.

‘My friends! It is me, Viktor.'

‘Come in. Are you okay?' asked Shirley, who couldn't tell if their friend from the fields was upset or excited. ‘Have you eaten?'

‘No. I have been to the pub, celebrating.'

‘Sit down and have some of our dinner. If you've been celebrating, does that mean that you're on opal?' asked Stefan.

‘Yes. I've found gem stuff. Good-colour crystal. I've been scratching along for years and I've finally made a find, so I want to share my news with all my friends.'

‘I hope you didn't make too much of a noise at the pub,' said Shirley. ‘Someone could be heading out to your mine right now.'

‘She's right, you know, Viktor. Where have you left your opals? Did you get them all, or are there still more to dig out?' said Stefan.

Viktor flung open the long army greatcoat he was wearing to reveal layers of pockets inside. He put his hand into one of them and pulled out a handful of glittering nobbies, laying them on the table between the plates of food. ‘Good enough to eat, eh! Aren't they beauties?'

Stefan picked up a stone and turned it over. Even as a rough, the colour burned through in flashing lights of blue, green and yellow. ‘These are first quality opals, for sure. Congratulations. This deserves a toast.'

‘I have the drink.' Viktor reached into another of the voluminous pockets and held aloft a bottle of brandy. From another pocket he produced a bottle of vodka. ‘We drink the vodka with a little dash of brandy. It is a wonderful drink. Please, you too, Shirley.'

‘It sounds a bit lethal to me, I'll just have one,' she answered as she got out three glasses.

Viktor measured out the vodka and added a splash of brandy. Lifting his glass he gave a short bow. ‘To my friends, my mining neighbours, may the same luck shine upon you. May the sleeping opals awaken to the ring of your pick.
Zivio!
'

He threw back his drink in one gulp and Stefan followed suit. Shirley swallowed the strong liquid, gasped and smiled at Viktor's infectious delight.

Shirley put a plate of food in front of him, but it was waved away as his stories tumbled out. Time and again he refilled the glasses, which he and Stefan quickly emptied. Shirley busied herself tidying away the dinner dishes and making up sandwiches for the next day as the two men sat at the table and talked.

Stefan was obviously enjoying himself, telling stories of fishing in the ice as a boy, travelling across a snowbound landscape in an antiquated train. Viktor in turn talked of the fights and challenges he'd won and lost, and how he missed hunting and the life he'd known as a teenager.

Shirley noticed that the drinks were getting larger and that the pale gold drink was now a deep honey colour as the quantity of brandy they contained increased. She'd never seen Stefan so relaxed and talkative, and she was glad to see him enjoying himself, but she was concerned for Viktor. If he had been like this in the pub he might not be totally safe.

Eventually she interrupted, ‘Stefan, why don't you take Viktor back to his mine, just to be sure that everything's all right. And be careful. It's dangerous walking around at night with those open shafts and mullock heaps.'

‘Viktor, Shirley's right. I think you should let me help,' offered Stefan. ‘If we work in the mine tonight, we could move a fair bit of dirt and that would give you a head start for tomorrow.'

Viktor slapped Stefan on the back. ‘You are a good man. No, don't come. You have to work tomorrow, too.

I shall dig for a bit, then I can sleep in my mine. Thank you, Shirley. Now before I go, we drink one last time!'

With that he poured nearly a full glass of brandy, topped with a little vodka. He lifted his glass of deep brown liquid and tapped it heavily against Stefan's, spilling some of the liquor. Then he drank and after he'd finished, his beard was sprinkled with drops of the fiery drink that he'd spilt.

‘Are you sure you will be all right to drive?' asked Shirley, thinking of the dirt track to his mine, barely lit by moonlight, that wound through trees, mullock heaps, abandoned claims and half-finished shafts. ‘Why don't you get some sleep first in your tent, before you go down your shaft, Viktor?'

‘This is a good woman. You are a lucky man, Stefan.' Unsteadily Viktor got to his feet. ‘I will be all right.' He patted the pockets where his opals nestled and gave them both a broad grin. ‘Yes, everything is all right. In one day, in a moment, how your life can change.'

‘I'll see you to your truck,' said Stefan.

When he came back inside, Stefan put his arms around Shirley. ‘He'll be okay. He drove down the street in almost a straight line. Viktor can certainly drink.'

‘You did pretty well yourself,' said Shirley. ‘I'm so pleased for him. He's been here quite a while and hasn't found much.' She leant into Stefan as he held her. ‘I hope our turn is coming.'

Stefan held her tightly. ‘You must have faith, but no matter what happens, good or bad, we will always have each other.' He lifted her face towards his and looked into her eyes. ‘I will always look after you, Shirley. I never want us to be apart.'

As they kissed, Shirley knew that Stefan truly loved her. Any remaining barrier between them had fallen away. Perhaps the effect of the strong alcohol, Viktor's joy or reminiscing about his homeland that he thought he'd never see again had put things in perspective for Stefan. The words hung in the air between them and Shirley knew a pact had been made. She was as committed to him as he was to her. He turned off the light and, taking her by the hand, led her into their tiny bedroom.

Stefan's head was a bit woolly the next morning and, as he drank two mugs of strong black coffee, he said humbly, ‘But this won't affect my work.'