Page 120 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

‘Here sleep, sir.’

‘Thank you, Kilara.’ She nodded, and went to leave. As she passed me, she took a moment to look me square in the eye. I was once more entranced by their sparkle.

‘You know the Dreamtime?’ she asked.

The question took me aback. ‘Yes. No. Well, I knowofthe Dreamtime. It sounds very special indeed.’ I chastised myself for the patronising way the sentence had materialised.

‘You from the Dreamtime, mister. Ancestors know you.’ Kilara put a soft hand on my elbow. I am unable to explain why, but Kilara’s warm face and gentle touch brought tears to my eyes. ‘Rest here. Rest now.’

She removed her arm and silently closed the bedroom door.

Suddenly exhausted, I collapsed onto the bed. I must have fallen asleep immediately, as I endured a cluster of awful dreams. In one, I was face to face with Elle. We were holding hands, when some dark, malignant presence arrived to pull her away into the shadows. In another, I was at a church, seemingly on the day of my wedding. I turned to see Elle walking down the aisle, but when she arrived at the altar, it was as if she could not see me. She said her vows, but would not meet my gaze. Then, when I eventually stepped off the altar, I could see that she was talking to another man, though I could not see his face.

The final dream involved a swirling night sky, with theSeven Sisters of the Pleiades taking human form and dancing above me. They joined hands, and I found myself encircled by them, as they laughed and skipped. They became faster and faster, until I became dizzy and could not watch anymore. When I opened my eyes, in front of me was a baby in a basket, mewling and crying out. All I wanted was to take it in my arms and comfort it, but when I reached inside, the baby disappeared from view. Then, when I looked around, briefly, I was met by a familiar face. It was the woman in the red dress with the long flowing hair... She vanished, and the world began to spin once more. This time, my field of vision exploded into an array of vivid colours. Swirling galaxies and patterns were created before my eyes, becoming brighter and brighter, until my entire world burnt a burning white.

When I awoke, the sun was shining brightly onto my face.

The desert of Coober Pedy is the driest and most arid place I have ever known, but undoubtedly produces the finest opal in all the world. The great irony is that the key to forming the precious stone is rain. When it does fall – once in a blue moon – and drenches the dry ground, the water soaks deep down into the ancient rock, carrying a dissolved compound of silicon and oxygen. Then, during the endless dry spells, the water evaporates, leaving deposits of silica in the cracks between layers of sediment. These deposits cause the rainbow colouring in the opal. That’s what people pay for. The men I hire often ask me what sort of magic occurs to create our product. I give them the science, but they rarely choose to believe me, opting instead for the Aboriginal legend.

It tells of a stunning, butterfly-like creature named Pallah-Pallah, who possessed a pair of beautiful, shimmering wings. One day, Pallah-Pallah flew up to the peak of the highest mountain. But it soon began to snow, and she became buried. When the snow eventually melted, it stripped Pallah-Pallah of her wondrous colours, and they dissolved deep into the ground.

I think, in time gone by, I would have preferred that storytoo. But now all I see when I examine the fruits of the mines are submicroscopic spheres which refract light. It is merely logical, explicable science. Much like the stars that light the night sky. I have come to accept that they are not mystic beacons of hope and majesty, but burning balls of gas held together by gravity. Truly, it is better to think of them as such, rather than imagine that my Seven Sisters – my former guardians – would forsake me in such a way.

In this respect, I have come to like living underground. The ‘houses’ – if you can call them that, for they are more like burrows – are created by blasting into the rock, which is then excavated with pickaxes. We must ensure that the ceilings are four metres tall to prevent collapse, but rarely go higher. The result is, essentially, an underground cave. Some of the men create light wells, but I have not bothered. I like the dark now.

The skilled men have turned their homesteads into passable replications of overground housing, spending hours carving out arches, shelving, doorways and even art pieces. I have found that I have no desire for such home comforts. I sleep on an ageing, dusty mattress, and keep my clothing in my old suitcase on the floor. I have not even permitted myself a desk. During these last two years, I have found no desire to write in this diary.

When I first arrived, it was a small operation. I hired a team of five miners who were working for another corporation. With the handsome funds of the Mercer empire behind me, I was able to offer them more money in exchange for their expertise. Those early days were hard. We were faced with a vast expanse of land, and it was desperately slow going.

It was in the winter of 1949 that I had my brainwave.

To expand the mines at the rate Ralph Mackenzie wanted, we would need men that were accustomed to working in difficult underground conditions. I sent one of my miners backdown to Port Adelaide to scout for young male arrivals from Europe who had faced the perils of the last war and were looking for a new start. My man would approach them and offer immediate employment on a decent wage.

The plan worked. One year later, we had over one hundred men mining for opal in Coober Pedy.

Ralph Mackenzie simply did not believe the numbers I was reporting, so made a trip up to CP himself. I do not take pleasure from much these days, but the sight of his jaw dropping at the vast array of deep working shafts was a treat.

‘Good Lord, Atlas! I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. I assumed that there was an accounting error. Or, perhaps...’ He hesitated.

‘That I was trying to con you,’ I said icily. As the words came out of my mouth, I knew that I was a changed man. One year without Elle in the hellish landscape of the desert had hardened me.

Ralph laughed nervously. ‘Well... yes.’ He hung his head. ‘But here I am, and the evidence is hard to contest.’ He extended his hand to me. ‘You’re a titan of industry, Atlas Tanit.’

‘Thank you, Ralph.’

‘I say, I know how rotten it must be out here every day. How do you fancy a few weeks’ break at Alicia Hall to relax? Fully paid, of course. I think it’s the least I can do.’

I shook my head. ‘There’s no need. There’s work to be done here and I’m happy to do it.’

‘Well, that’s as may be, but it’s important to step back and appreciate one’s achievements, too.’

‘No,’ I replied sternly, noticing that Ralph looked perturbed. ‘Thank you.’

He shrugged. ‘Very well. Now, I’m not the expert that you are, but from my layman’s perspective, our plot of land seems rather full.’

‘You are correct. There are few spaces for new shafts left. We would benefit from further areas to mine.’

‘Understood, Atlas. I’ll get you more. The money you’ve returned to the corporation alone will be more than enough to purchase double, perhaps even triple the plot we currently have.’ He gave me a nudge. ‘You’ll soon be a millionaire with your ten per cent. How do you feel about that?!’