The Rain Circle, page 10
‘You’ve told us he talked about running off to a forest in Western Australia. The outdoors type is he?’
‘Not really. No. And that’s another thing. It is correct that he likes the outdoors but he’s not the type to want to be on his own.’
‘Ah, it’s a new woman on the scene!’ declares Jaako, to be told by Suvi not to always assume there is someone else.
‘No. I doubt it very much that another woman is involved. Not the Christian I know,’ Miro answers. ‘But lately I’ve been wondering if I really do know him.’
Miro sits on his fold-out stool, rubbing his hands together, feeling a little sad yet happy to share his troubles, as Jaako and Suvi stand closer and ask if there is anything they can do to help.
‘Yes, find out what he’s doing and why he’s doing it so we can make sense of it.’
‘Okay we’ll do what we can,’ says Jaako.
‘I was not serious, of course there is nothing you can do,’ responds Miro, looking down and shaking his head. ‘But thank you for letting me share my frustration. Now you will excuse me, I must get on with my work.’
As he begins to stand he is asked to sit a while and let them pick his brain so they can do some investigation on-line at the YMCA that evening and the next. They ask questions about such things as Christian’s academic and other interests, and where he travelled for those failed job interviews and when. Who were the people he often contacted when staying at the Aalto home? How did this visit to Australia come about anyway? After an hour of grilling they have gleaned some information Miro is certain about and other matters he is not so certain about. Suvi who has been entering information into her phone looks at Jaako and says they have a few dots to join up.
On a chilly morning three days later, Suvi and Jaako arrive at the church worksite and wait for Miro to finish what he is doing before they are willing to reveal what they have found.
‘You’re right,’ Jaako says. ‘This is probably not about an affair. It is more likely to have to do with his research.’
‘It was easy to find out about his research,’ Suvi adds. ‘I just went to the university’s site then delved a bit deeper and started making links. You know his thesis was founded on a theory about making rain? Anyway, it sort of involves using a controlled nuclear reaction to lift a body of water from the sea into the atmosphere. Dense sea water becomes less dense. Salt falls out of solution, moist air is pushed up high, clouds form and large bands of rain are pushed across the land by a combination of centrifugal force and natural air currents. Anyway, that’s a bit of a rough outline.’
‘Hold on Suvi, why is this important?’
Suvi takes a spade from Miro’s barrow and scrapes a horizontal shape in the soil, saying that this is the sea mass. She then scrapes out a cylindrical shape with the spade, describing how the volume of water is activated and lifted. Finally, with great gusto she walks backwards with the blade of the shovel, carving the passage of warm moist air that will generate heavy clouds.
‘I know you’ve studied science Suvi so I believe you have described this all very well. But where is the connection with Christian and Australia?’
Suvi prods the spade into the sea section of her soil drawing, stating that if this theory was to be put into practice it is best undertaken where a mass of sea is adjacent to an expanse of productive land. In Christian’s paper he mentions the Bay of Biscay, the Great Australian Bight and the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, hundreds of other sites can be considered, but if you were to make a start you’d do this in the prime locations. The Great Australian Bight would probably top the short list.
‘But who says anyone was going to put the theory into practice?’ Miro asks.
‘No-one has said so to the general public, but wait for this,’ Suvi begins. ‘In Christian’s thesis he acknowledges collaborators at universities in Stockholm, St Petersburg, Brno and Split. These people are involved in various aspects of the theory, ranging from rain formation to controlled nuclear reactions. And where did you say Christian flew to for those interviews for jobs he didn’t get? Stockholm, St Petersburg, Brno and Split!’
‘That may be assuming too much Suvi,’ Miro interjects.
‘Not if there were no jobs on offer at the times he made those trips. None of these universities had positions that would suit Christian’s experience and qualifications. We’ve explored that through the net. It has not been difficult to find this out. Of course you had no reason to suspect he was deceiving you, but I am sorry that this is clearly the case.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Miro mutters as he tries to take it all in then presents what he believes is a credible alternative reason for the visit to Australia. ‘The job thing aside, we know the reason for going to Australia was that Inka had funding from the Australian National University. It was about her work, not his.’
‘Well, that is not entirely true,’ Suvi says quietly. ‘Her project has the ANU label yet Jaako has been able to find that the actual source of funds is a private benefactor right here in Finland, one Hanni Niemenen. She may have wanted to remain anonymous, particularly to the researchers involved, but the ANU’s audit report has to list names of all givers and the amounts. Just happens that the amount given by Niemenen’s private trust exactly matches the figure that is recorded elsewhere alongside Inka’s project. She wouldn’t know this and I’d imagine she’d be devastated if she found out.’
‘Thank you Suvi and Jaako,’ Miro says sadly. ‘You’ve done a lot of work for me. I appreciate it. Now I guess I have to think about what to do next. You’re right, Inka will be devastated. You know, even I am gutted. He lived with us for a year. Like a son to us. For some reason though I don’t feel angry with him, just empty.’
Thinking about what to do next does not paint pictures of satisfactory outcomes. Confronting the professor hand in hand with the Laakkonens may not be in the interests of either family. And in any case he is entitled to donate his private wealth to whoever he pleases. Talking with Christian is a problem if he simply will not talk. Perhaps the priority is to have support for Inka ready before she falls.
That evening Miro keeps what he knows to himself and just hopes Susanna will make the trip to Australia. Happily he discovers Susanna has been talking with daughter Emilia who insists her mother go. Over breakfast Susanna says she will make the journey if she calls Inka and is made welcome to join her.
‘Don’t say you want to be there to support her because she’s upset or anything,’ Miro says.
‘I’m not that stupid Miro,’ responds Susanna. ‘I’ll tell her I’m finally running away from you. I’ve grown tired of your bad jokes. That’s a joke too Miro.’
Miro’s response is a forced smile, not his normal beaming look when his wife makes light of things. In the middle of the night he hears his wife in the kitchen, where she has gone to have a quiet conversation with their daughter before her day’s work begins. Not wanting to intrude, he stands back and waits for the conversation to end.
‘How did it go?’ he asks, fixed on the unusually tense face of his wife.
‘She’s very happy to have my company,’ Susanna responds. ‘We had a little laugh when she said I’d be welcome if for no other reason than having someone to talk with in Finnish.’
‘But what is the bad news?’
‘No bad news really. It’s just that I didn’t raise the subject of Christian. She did. She asked if we’d heard from the Laakkonens about Christian because everything had been silent at her end. So I naturally said we’d had a nice afternoon tea with them and that there had been recent news that he was very happy and just having time out. I said Maria was not angry like she was on their visit to Lahti and seemed satisfied all was fine after their phone conversation. There was a long pause and I thought the connection had dropped out before Inka said that she’d not had any response from him to texts every few days asking how he is and what he is doing. She said she tries not to think about him too much if he wants nothing to do with her, but there is a worry in the back of her mind that he may have a mental health problem. Not having work and a loss of sense of purpose can do this.’
Miro reassures his wife that the best they can do is for her to spend time with Inka. Knowing there is a big possibility that Christian may be up to his neck in work on a grand scale, he constructs a scenario that includes elements of what Suvi and Jaako have discovered, without being specific.
‘We may soon discover that Christian’s parents are correct. He may be happy with whatever he’s doing, whether this is wandering through eucalypt forests in Western Australia or something even more exciting. He may have always planned to separate from our daughter anyway and could have employment of some kind being sorted out down there. If this is so then we don’t have to worry about him being lost or losing his mind, although it means Inka will need support more than ever before.’
He is about to extend the conversation with the Suvi and Jaako discoveries when Susanna suggests he’s probably right, sadly, but she’s tired. The detail will be left to another time.
11
Buckleboo mid August 2036
Useful falls of rain since perfect sowing conditions in April have made paddocks of wheat and other cereals a healthy green. On one hand this is very positive for graingrowers but on the other it may reduce the potential effect of the planned rainmaking demonstration. It is a concern Professor Niemenen raises with Brian Ellson who says all is not lost despite the necessary shift of the event to September. He explains that current projections at Buckleboo are for wheat yields of 2.75 tonnes per hectare and this can be boosted by another tonne per hectare with an additional 30mm of rain in September.
‘The extra moisture will fill grains forming in the ears of the crops,’ Brian explains. ‘So we’ll get a result for sure.’
Christian is walking to the door of the main house after picking a sprig of rosemary and rubbing it into his palms and smelling the scent. He is passed on the path by Patrick who says ‘G’day’ without making eye contact.
‘I think this is Christian now,’ Brian tells the professor while beckoning the young man to come in. ‘Do you need to speak with him?’
Professor Niemenen suggests the three speak together and Christian helps Brian open the phone for third party use. They discuss the delay caused by flight restrictions, the roles of different people who will be involved and lines of authority like Kris Pavic’s marshalling duties on the day. The conversation concludes with the professor asking how everyone is holding up, and Brian is a little puzzled when Christian says he is feeling fantastic.
A pot of tea is made and Christian sits at the kitchen table observing Brian’s serious look that is characterised by a squint that doesn’t hide piercing eyes that seem to be searching for something.
‘Why do you lie?’ asks Brian seriously as he places a cup in front of Christian and sits with arms folded.
‘Do I?’ says Christian, knowing full well that he is drowning under the weight of not telling the truth to his collaborators as well as his partner and family.
‘What’s this feeling fantastic rubbish. You’re not well and you know it.’
It is a relief that the lying awareness is confined to his health.
‘I’ve got cancer. Pretty sure. But I’m telling you in confidence. And I don’t want to see a doctor.’
‘Won’t have a bar of that, you have to get treatment,’ Brian says with each word stated clearly, firmly and spaced to make it a command and not a suggestion. ‘Tomorrow we see the GP in Kimba. That fancy wrist band of yours can take your temperature and everything else I suppose. Couple of my kids have one. Always diagnosing themselves and thinking a change in blood cells, or whatever, means they have leukemia or a dreaded lurgy of some sort. No, there’s no way we can do without people who are trained and have experience. Technology scrubs out a lot of occupations but you can’t tell me a wrist band can substitute for a general practitioner. Come on, get real son. I’ll drag you there kicking and screaming if I have to.’
Driving to the appointment next day Brian queries the reluctance to get medical attention and the reason for all this to be in confidence. The explanation is that there was a mishap while spending a couple of days at the University of Technology in Brno in the Czech Republic.
‘This is where small scale experiments with controlled nuclear reactions are conducted and I was working with a colleague when this mishap occurred involving radioactive material. She got sick, with symptoms I now have. Then, by the time we arrived in Adelaide I got news she had died.’
‘Whoa, whoa, hold it there,’ Brian exclaims. ‘How do you know you have the same sickness? And she will have had more exposure over time than you anyway. You may be okay. It may be something entirely different. And there are so many advances these days. Look, I had prostate cancer and was fixed. Curly Norton also got fixed and is totally cured, even though his father fell off the perch in his 50s with the same type of cancer. Very few people die of cancer these days. You know that. So what are you afraid of?’
‘A headline,’ Christian utters with determination in his weak voice. ‘A headline that says the designer of a rainmaking system using nuclear power dies from cancer.’
‘Chances of that may be very small Christian,’ Brian says, appealing for greater reason from his companion who is now slumping into the corner of the passenger seat, looking pale and miserable.
‘Well, I want zero risk,’ Christian answers.
‘Does Hanni Niemenen know about your belief you have cancer?’
‘Haven’t told her, or my family. I don’t want the project stopped or stalled because of me.’
Sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, Brian closes his eyes and tries to imagine the feelings of someone who believes he’s dying. His thoughts are disrupted by the voice of Moira Norton who has walked into the room and asks how he is.
‘Hope you haven’t got the same cold I’ve got,’ she declares without waiting for a response. ‘Curly’s been laid up for a week. Burning throat, mucky chest and coughing that never stops.’
‘I’m fine,’ Brian says. ‘Just doing some transport for someone living for a while in our shearers’ quarters.’
‘So, a bit of competition for our motel. You’re finally getting that farm stay idea up and running hey?’
‘I’m sure we’ll attract different clientele Moira.’
‘We’ve heard you’ve employed a city woman and her daughter to run the business with that Patrick of yours.’
‘Not exactly, the city people are friends of ours and Patrick, it is true, has been sprucing things up with a lick of paint but this isn’t going to be a major business. We’re graingrowers first and foremost.’
Christian appears from the doctor’s room and is surveyed up and down by Moira Norton as he pays for the visit with a cash card.
‘Nice to see you again Moira,’ Brian says genuinely as he leaves. ‘Give my regards to Curly and hope you are both well soon.’
Not much is said as bread, milk and vegetables are purchased in Kimba before the drive back to Buckleboo. Halfway home Christian unfolds the expected referral to a specialist in Port Lincoln.
‘Says a Dr Tiptaft can see me in Port Lincoln on Tuesday August 19 but I have to go to a clinic there the day before for scans. It’s a long way. I’ll get a bus down.’
‘No you won’t,’ Brian quickly chips in, knowing the bus will be tiring. ‘We’ll drive you.’
Christian’s eyes have barely left the car window, gazing at the undulating paddocks rolling by behind roadside vegetation.
‘Crops are looking good are they Brian, for this time of year?’
‘Sure are my friend. And they’ll look even better in a couple of months after that technology of yours is put to work. Then we wait for a bumper crop of golden grain come late November. That is, of course, if we don’t have a hot north wind roll in beforehand.’
‘We can fix that too if we’re allowed.’
‘You’re kidding aren’t you?’ Brian says with excitement, drawing a satisfied grin from Christian. ‘I thought we needed south-westerly air currents to make the system work.’
‘Generally, yes, for rainmaking. But if your forecasting is good and you expand the mass of cooler air that is circulated before the encroachment of a hot northerly you can create a buffer.’
‘Hell, if I’d understood that I would have been even more positive when they made that bit of film for Hanni’s communication guru.’
‘I’ve heard good reviews of your performance. You’re a star.’
‘You’re lying again,’ Brian laughs.
When the vehicle comes to rest they hear sounds behind the harvester shed. From what looks like a graveyard for discarded implements and surplus building materials, Patrick and May are pulling out sheets of corrugated iron and lengths of timber to construct a hen house. In addition to recycling stuff for the structure, they’ve found three old china bowls, chipped at the lips but serviceable as food and water containers. The scavengers are talking about constructing nesting boxes and gravity feeders to hold grain as Brian, with Christian alongside, appears and asks if they can help.
‘All under control old man,’ Patrick says without looking up. ‘But you can give us some advice on where we ought to build the henhouse if you like. If okay with you we thought we’d load this stuff onto the tray top truck and take it to the eastern side of the shearers’ quarters and start building there. Whatcha think?’
‘Fine with me son. It’ll be sheltered there,’ Brian answers in a kindly voice, turning to look at May. ‘And it’ll be close by for our farm stay manager, won’t it?’
Dressed in a pair of old trousers and long sleeve shirt bearing smears of dirt and rust from the fossicking exercise, May glances at Brian with a touch of embarrassment mixed with pride. Physical work energises her and the potential growth in responsibilities makes her feel valued at Buckleboo.
While washing dishes after dinner that evening May does a bit of stirring, asking her mother if she’ll be trotting off to sit with the inner circle at the main house.
‘Not really. No. And that’s another thing. It is correct that he likes the outdoors but he’s not the type to want to be on his own.’
‘Ah, it’s a new woman on the scene!’ declares Jaako, to be told by Suvi not to always assume there is someone else.
‘No. I doubt it very much that another woman is involved. Not the Christian I know,’ Miro answers. ‘But lately I’ve been wondering if I really do know him.’
Miro sits on his fold-out stool, rubbing his hands together, feeling a little sad yet happy to share his troubles, as Jaako and Suvi stand closer and ask if there is anything they can do to help.
‘Yes, find out what he’s doing and why he’s doing it so we can make sense of it.’
‘Okay we’ll do what we can,’ says Jaako.
‘I was not serious, of course there is nothing you can do,’ responds Miro, looking down and shaking his head. ‘But thank you for letting me share my frustration. Now you will excuse me, I must get on with my work.’
As he begins to stand he is asked to sit a while and let them pick his brain so they can do some investigation on-line at the YMCA that evening and the next. They ask questions about such things as Christian’s academic and other interests, and where he travelled for those failed job interviews and when. Who were the people he often contacted when staying at the Aalto home? How did this visit to Australia come about anyway? After an hour of grilling they have gleaned some information Miro is certain about and other matters he is not so certain about. Suvi who has been entering information into her phone looks at Jaako and says they have a few dots to join up.
On a chilly morning three days later, Suvi and Jaako arrive at the church worksite and wait for Miro to finish what he is doing before they are willing to reveal what they have found.
‘You’re right,’ Jaako says. ‘This is probably not about an affair. It is more likely to have to do with his research.’
‘It was easy to find out about his research,’ Suvi adds. ‘I just went to the university’s site then delved a bit deeper and started making links. You know his thesis was founded on a theory about making rain? Anyway, it sort of involves using a controlled nuclear reaction to lift a body of water from the sea into the atmosphere. Dense sea water becomes less dense. Salt falls out of solution, moist air is pushed up high, clouds form and large bands of rain are pushed across the land by a combination of centrifugal force and natural air currents. Anyway, that’s a bit of a rough outline.’
‘Hold on Suvi, why is this important?’
Suvi takes a spade from Miro’s barrow and scrapes a horizontal shape in the soil, saying that this is the sea mass. She then scrapes out a cylindrical shape with the spade, describing how the volume of water is activated and lifted. Finally, with great gusto she walks backwards with the blade of the shovel, carving the passage of warm moist air that will generate heavy clouds.
‘I know you’ve studied science Suvi so I believe you have described this all very well. But where is the connection with Christian and Australia?’
Suvi prods the spade into the sea section of her soil drawing, stating that if this theory was to be put into practice it is best undertaken where a mass of sea is adjacent to an expanse of productive land. In Christian’s paper he mentions the Bay of Biscay, the Great Australian Bight and the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, hundreds of other sites can be considered, but if you were to make a start you’d do this in the prime locations. The Great Australian Bight would probably top the short list.
‘But who says anyone was going to put the theory into practice?’ Miro asks.
‘No-one has said so to the general public, but wait for this,’ Suvi begins. ‘In Christian’s thesis he acknowledges collaborators at universities in Stockholm, St Petersburg, Brno and Split. These people are involved in various aspects of the theory, ranging from rain formation to controlled nuclear reactions. And where did you say Christian flew to for those interviews for jobs he didn’t get? Stockholm, St Petersburg, Brno and Split!’
‘That may be assuming too much Suvi,’ Miro interjects.
‘Not if there were no jobs on offer at the times he made those trips. None of these universities had positions that would suit Christian’s experience and qualifications. We’ve explored that through the net. It has not been difficult to find this out. Of course you had no reason to suspect he was deceiving you, but I am sorry that this is clearly the case.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Miro mutters as he tries to take it all in then presents what he believes is a credible alternative reason for the visit to Australia. ‘The job thing aside, we know the reason for going to Australia was that Inka had funding from the Australian National University. It was about her work, not his.’
‘Well, that is not entirely true,’ Suvi says quietly. ‘Her project has the ANU label yet Jaako has been able to find that the actual source of funds is a private benefactor right here in Finland, one Hanni Niemenen. She may have wanted to remain anonymous, particularly to the researchers involved, but the ANU’s audit report has to list names of all givers and the amounts. Just happens that the amount given by Niemenen’s private trust exactly matches the figure that is recorded elsewhere alongside Inka’s project. She wouldn’t know this and I’d imagine she’d be devastated if she found out.’
‘Thank you Suvi and Jaako,’ Miro says sadly. ‘You’ve done a lot of work for me. I appreciate it. Now I guess I have to think about what to do next. You’re right, Inka will be devastated. You know, even I am gutted. He lived with us for a year. Like a son to us. For some reason though I don’t feel angry with him, just empty.’
Thinking about what to do next does not paint pictures of satisfactory outcomes. Confronting the professor hand in hand with the Laakkonens may not be in the interests of either family. And in any case he is entitled to donate his private wealth to whoever he pleases. Talking with Christian is a problem if he simply will not talk. Perhaps the priority is to have support for Inka ready before she falls.
That evening Miro keeps what he knows to himself and just hopes Susanna will make the trip to Australia. Happily he discovers Susanna has been talking with daughter Emilia who insists her mother go. Over breakfast Susanna says she will make the journey if she calls Inka and is made welcome to join her.
‘Don’t say you want to be there to support her because she’s upset or anything,’ Miro says.
‘I’m not that stupid Miro,’ responds Susanna. ‘I’ll tell her I’m finally running away from you. I’ve grown tired of your bad jokes. That’s a joke too Miro.’
Miro’s response is a forced smile, not his normal beaming look when his wife makes light of things. In the middle of the night he hears his wife in the kitchen, where she has gone to have a quiet conversation with their daughter before her day’s work begins. Not wanting to intrude, he stands back and waits for the conversation to end.
‘How did it go?’ he asks, fixed on the unusually tense face of his wife.
‘She’s very happy to have my company,’ Susanna responds. ‘We had a little laugh when she said I’d be welcome if for no other reason than having someone to talk with in Finnish.’
‘But what is the bad news?’
‘No bad news really. It’s just that I didn’t raise the subject of Christian. She did. She asked if we’d heard from the Laakkonens about Christian because everything had been silent at her end. So I naturally said we’d had a nice afternoon tea with them and that there had been recent news that he was very happy and just having time out. I said Maria was not angry like she was on their visit to Lahti and seemed satisfied all was fine after their phone conversation. There was a long pause and I thought the connection had dropped out before Inka said that she’d not had any response from him to texts every few days asking how he is and what he is doing. She said she tries not to think about him too much if he wants nothing to do with her, but there is a worry in the back of her mind that he may have a mental health problem. Not having work and a loss of sense of purpose can do this.’
Miro reassures his wife that the best they can do is for her to spend time with Inka. Knowing there is a big possibility that Christian may be up to his neck in work on a grand scale, he constructs a scenario that includes elements of what Suvi and Jaako have discovered, without being specific.
‘We may soon discover that Christian’s parents are correct. He may be happy with whatever he’s doing, whether this is wandering through eucalypt forests in Western Australia or something even more exciting. He may have always planned to separate from our daughter anyway and could have employment of some kind being sorted out down there. If this is so then we don’t have to worry about him being lost or losing his mind, although it means Inka will need support more than ever before.’
He is about to extend the conversation with the Suvi and Jaako discoveries when Susanna suggests he’s probably right, sadly, but she’s tired. The detail will be left to another time.
11
Buckleboo mid August 2036
Useful falls of rain since perfect sowing conditions in April have made paddocks of wheat and other cereals a healthy green. On one hand this is very positive for graingrowers but on the other it may reduce the potential effect of the planned rainmaking demonstration. It is a concern Professor Niemenen raises with Brian Ellson who says all is not lost despite the necessary shift of the event to September. He explains that current projections at Buckleboo are for wheat yields of 2.75 tonnes per hectare and this can be boosted by another tonne per hectare with an additional 30mm of rain in September.
‘The extra moisture will fill grains forming in the ears of the crops,’ Brian explains. ‘So we’ll get a result for sure.’
Christian is walking to the door of the main house after picking a sprig of rosemary and rubbing it into his palms and smelling the scent. He is passed on the path by Patrick who says ‘G’day’ without making eye contact.
‘I think this is Christian now,’ Brian tells the professor while beckoning the young man to come in. ‘Do you need to speak with him?’
Professor Niemenen suggests the three speak together and Christian helps Brian open the phone for third party use. They discuss the delay caused by flight restrictions, the roles of different people who will be involved and lines of authority like Kris Pavic’s marshalling duties on the day. The conversation concludes with the professor asking how everyone is holding up, and Brian is a little puzzled when Christian says he is feeling fantastic.
A pot of tea is made and Christian sits at the kitchen table observing Brian’s serious look that is characterised by a squint that doesn’t hide piercing eyes that seem to be searching for something.
‘Why do you lie?’ asks Brian seriously as he places a cup in front of Christian and sits with arms folded.
‘Do I?’ says Christian, knowing full well that he is drowning under the weight of not telling the truth to his collaborators as well as his partner and family.
‘What’s this feeling fantastic rubbish. You’re not well and you know it.’
It is a relief that the lying awareness is confined to his health.
‘I’ve got cancer. Pretty sure. But I’m telling you in confidence. And I don’t want to see a doctor.’
‘Won’t have a bar of that, you have to get treatment,’ Brian says with each word stated clearly, firmly and spaced to make it a command and not a suggestion. ‘Tomorrow we see the GP in Kimba. That fancy wrist band of yours can take your temperature and everything else I suppose. Couple of my kids have one. Always diagnosing themselves and thinking a change in blood cells, or whatever, means they have leukemia or a dreaded lurgy of some sort. No, there’s no way we can do without people who are trained and have experience. Technology scrubs out a lot of occupations but you can’t tell me a wrist band can substitute for a general practitioner. Come on, get real son. I’ll drag you there kicking and screaming if I have to.’
Driving to the appointment next day Brian queries the reluctance to get medical attention and the reason for all this to be in confidence. The explanation is that there was a mishap while spending a couple of days at the University of Technology in Brno in the Czech Republic.
‘This is where small scale experiments with controlled nuclear reactions are conducted and I was working with a colleague when this mishap occurred involving radioactive material. She got sick, with symptoms I now have. Then, by the time we arrived in Adelaide I got news she had died.’
‘Whoa, whoa, hold it there,’ Brian exclaims. ‘How do you know you have the same sickness? And she will have had more exposure over time than you anyway. You may be okay. It may be something entirely different. And there are so many advances these days. Look, I had prostate cancer and was fixed. Curly Norton also got fixed and is totally cured, even though his father fell off the perch in his 50s with the same type of cancer. Very few people die of cancer these days. You know that. So what are you afraid of?’
‘A headline,’ Christian utters with determination in his weak voice. ‘A headline that says the designer of a rainmaking system using nuclear power dies from cancer.’
‘Chances of that may be very small Christian,’ Brian says, appealing for greater reason from his companion who is now slumping into the corner of the passenger seat, looking pale and miserable.
‘Well, I want zero risk,’ Christian answers.
‘Does Hanni Niemenen know about your belief you have cancer?’
‘Haven’t told her, or my family. I don’t want the project stopped or stalled because of me.’
Sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, Brian closes his eyes and tries to imagine the feelings of someone who believes he’s dying. His thoughts are disrupted by the voice of Moira Norton who has walked into the room and asks how he is.
‘Hope you haven’t got the same cold I’ve got,’ she declares without waiting for a response. ‘Curly’s been laid up for a week. Burning throat, mucky chest and coughing that never stops.’
‘I’m fine,’ Brian says. ‘Just doing some transport for someone living for a while in our shearers’ quarters.’
‘So, a bit of competition for our motel. You’re finally getting that farm stay idea up and running hey?’
‘I’m sure we’ll attract different clientele Moira.’
‘We’ve heard you’ve employed a city woman and her daughter to run the business with that Patrick of yours.’
‘Not exactly, the city people are friends of ours and Patrick, it is true, has been sprucing things up with a lick of paint but this isn’t going to be a major business. We’re graingrowers first and foremost.’
Christian appears from the doctor’s room and is surveyed up and down by Moira Norton as he pays for the visit with a cash card.
‘Nice to see you again Moira,’ Brian says genuinely as he leaves. ‘Give my regards to Curly and hope you are both well soon.’
Not much is said as bread, milk and vegetables are purchased in Kimba before the drive back to Buckleboo. Halfway home Christian unfolds the expected referral to a specialist in Port Lincoln.
‘Says a Dr Tiptaft can see me in Port Lincoln on Tuesday August 19 but I have to go to a clinic there the day before for scans. It’s a long way. I’ll get a bus down.’
‘No you won’t,’ Brian quickly chips in, knowing the bus will be tiring. ‘We’ll drive you.’
Christian’s eyes have barely left the car window, gazing at the undulating paddocks rolling by behind roadside vegetation.
‘Crops are looking good are they Brian, for this time of year?’
‘Sure are my friend. And they’ll look even better in a couple of months after that technology of yours is put to work. Then we wait for a bumper crop of golden grain come late November. That is, of course, if we don’t have a hot north wind roll in beforehand.’
‘We can fix that too if we’re allowed.’
‘You’re kidding aren’t you?’ Brian says with excitement, drawing a satisfied grin from Christian. ‘I thought we needed south-westerly air currents to make the system work.’
‘Generally, yes, for rainmaking. But if your forecasting is good and you expand the mass of cooler air that is circulated before the encroachment of a hot northerly you can create a buffer.’
‘Hell, if I’d understood that I would have been even more positive when they made that bit of film for Hanni’s communication guru.’
‘I’ve heard good reviews of your performance. You’re a star.’
‘You’re lying again,’ Brian laughs.
When the vehicle comes to rest they hear sounds behind the harvester shed. From what looks like a graveyard for discarded implements and surplus building materials, Patrick and May are pulling out sheets of corrugated iron and lengths of timber to construct a hen house. In addition to recycling stuff for the structure, they’ve found three old china bowls, chipped at the lips but serviceable as food and water containers. The scavengers are talking about constructing nesting boxes and gravity feeders to hold grain as Brian, with Christian alongside, appears and asks if they can help.
‘All under control old man,’ Patrick says without looking up. ‘But you can give us some advice on where we ought to build the henhouse if you like. If okay with you we thought we’d load this stuff onto the tray top truck and take it to the eastern side of the shearers’ quarters and start building there. Whatcha think?’
‘Fine with me son. It’ll be sheltered there,’ Brian answers in a kindly voice, turning to look at May. ‘And it’ll be close by for our farm stay manager, won’t it?’
Dressed in a pair of old trousers and long sleeve shirt bearing smears of dirt and rust from the fossicking exercise, May glances at Brian with a touch of embarrassment mixed with pride. Physical work energises her and the potential growth in responsibilities makes her feel valued at Buckleboo.
While washing dishes after dinner that evening May does a bit of stirring, asking her mother if she’ll be trotting off to sit with the inner circle at the main house.
