Frog Whistle Mine Read online

The next few hours were wonderful. After some awkward moments at the start, Tony became immersed in the giving and receiving of gifts. Everyone got something. It was great seeing the enjoyment the guests got from their simple gifts of New Zealand things. Then it was time for the residents to swap their presents. Tony was voted to be first. He was both embarrassed and pleased. He couldn’t help but smile as he handed out the things he had bought. It felt even better than he had imagined.

  Tony got only two gifts: one from everybody, and one from Rose. The collective gift was a digital camera—one with mega-everything. He was thrilled, both with the gift and the thought that they cared enough to combine and get something so good.

  The present from Rose was equally special. She had made a simple pendant out of a bit of the greenstone. While everyone was watching, she made him stand as she put it over his head and tucked it in place. Then she kissed him on the cheek, and all the others cheered. Tony went bright red. It was so embarrassing—yet also real nice.

  Lunch was a barbecue. It was highly popular with the overseas guests. Many of them telephoned their families at home to tell them about the special New Zealand Christmas they were having.

  In the afternoon, Rose and Tony went down to the bays with the new camera: seagulls, seals, flax, flowers, even rocks—you name it, it got photographed. Tony couldn’t stop smiling. The day had started out the worst ever, and now it was the best ever. This was his first real Christmas, and he knew he would remember it for the rest of his life.

  Chapter 15

  On Christmas evening, Tony and the others gathered in a quiet part of the lounge to wait for Jamie Duggan to explain himself. Tony glanced around the group: Nick looked uncomfortable, Christine was anxious, only Betty and Rose looked relaxed about the situation.

  Duggan was composed, yet there was a tenseness that all could see. ‘Ma home town is Glasgow in Scotland,’ he began. ‘Tha’s where I was born and educated. Ma parents were well off and I have to say tha’, unlike many in tha’ city, I had everythin’ a boy could want. A good house, plenty of food, and excellent schools. I didna want fer much.

  ‘After university, I decided to see the world before I settled down to a job. I travelled and worked through Africa, Asia, Australia, but it wasna long before I ended up in the Pacific Islands. I loved the islands and wanted to see them all. So I got a job workin’ on a millionaire’s yacht. You’d hardly call it a yacht, it was more like an ocean liner, and ne’er once did we raise any sails. But I canna complain, it took me everywhere until I got to Mangareva.’ As he said the name, a small smile settled on his face.

  ‘Mangareva. What a lovely place. And it is there tha’ I met the lovely woman who was to become ma wife. Her name was Ema which means “beloved”, and she was certainly tha’.’ His face clouded for a moment in memory.

  ‘Ema came from the island of Tureia which is to the west of Mangareva. It is also close to an atoll called Mururoa. Ema was born on the first day of 1966. On July the second of tha’ year the French Government exploded their first nuclear bomb on Mururoa. O’er the next eight years there were almost fifty explosions. Each of them creatin’ large amounts of radioactive fall-oot.’ His voice now showed the first signs of anger. ‘When Ema was eighteen months old, the fall-oot was so bad tha’ the French evacuated their weather scientists from Tureia. They took their own people off the island, but they left Ema and the others behind. Each day Ema would breathe tha’ poisonous air, and eat vegetables and fish loaded with tha’ radiation. A year later, the French Government finally shifted all people from Tureia and tha’s when Ema arrived in Mangareva. But it was much too late. By then the damage had been done. Inside the wee body of tha’ two-year-old, the radiation had already done its damage. Och, nobody would know fer another twenty-five years, but she had already been condemned to die.’

  Duggan’s eyes were now moist, and as Tony looked at each of the others, he saw that they too were affected.

  ‘She was nineteen when I met her and within two months we were married. I worked on a vanilla farm run by a New Zealander and we lived in a wee house tha’ was hardly big enough to swing a cat in. Oh, how we loved each other. They were wonderful times.

  ‘Then ma father died and I inherited a goodly sum of money. Enough to buy the farm, which I did. We moved into a big house and decided to start a family. It was not to be. We tried fer five years without success. So, we went to Tahiti to see if there was somethin’ we could do to fix things. Tha’s when the leukaemia was discovered.

  ‘By then I knew somethin’ about what had happened with the nuclear testing, so I approached the French authorities fer help. They said it was nothin’ to do with them. We flew to America to visit specialists, but there was nothin’ they could do. So we went back to Mangareva, and there we stayed until she died. It was on her birthday—she was twenty-nine.’

  He stopped for a long time, yet his audience knew the story was unfinished. They sat in silence, each of them feeling some of the pain that Duggan had experienced.

  ‘Tha’ year, 1995, was the toughest year of ma life. I spent the first nine months doing almost nothin’ except grieve fer Ema. The farm became a mess, and so, in a way, did I. Then in September the French started testing weapons again at Mururoa. The thought tha’ once again they were goin’ to pour their poisons into the ocean snapped me out of ma mood. I went to Tahiti to protest the testing and ended up in prison. It was not fer long, yet long enough fer me to figure out tha’ if I was to have a life again, I had to move away from the French. I chose New Zealand because it is the one country tha’ has consistently stood against nuclear testin’. After trying a few other things, I ended up here in Charleston. And here is where I intend to stay.’

  During the pause that followed Tony thought about what it must be like to have your life shattered because of the actions of others. He knew if something like that happened to his mother he would probably feel much the same as Duggan did.

  After a while, the man looked up and around at the group. ‘So maybe ye can understand why I doona think kindly of the French. I know it was all a long time ago and the French no longer explode their bombs. I know tha’ the people I come across had nothin’ to do with it. And I know I should let bygones be bygones. Aye, I know all tha’, but at times I canna help maself.’ He turned and looked at Nick. ‘I’m sorry, Nick. It was stupid to call you all those things. You had nothin’ to do with it. I regret what I did and I apologise.’ He held out his hand and, without hesitation, Nick Dawnay shook it.

  Then Duggan turned to Tony. ‘You’re a smart boy, Tony. You worked out that I was minin’ the uranium and messin’ aboot with it. The only thing you got wrong was how I was usin’ it.’ He leant down and picked up a chocolate box he had placed by the chair. ‘I’m a very keen fisherman. In the islands I fished with luminous lures. They’re great. Yet I have never been able to get them in New Zealand. I tried to import them from America, but it’s nigh on impossible, so in the end I gave up. You see, they contain radioactive materials to make them glow, and there’re all sorts of regulations covering them. Then I got the idea of making ma own oot of the uranium ore in the mine. I’ve got a degree in chemistry and it was nay very difficult.’

  He took the top off the box. ‘And this is what I made.’ Inside the box were four metal plates connected to hooks. Each plate was painted a different pastel-shaded colour. ‘You canna see them work unless there’s a lot less light. So if you’ll follow me outside, I’ll show you.’

  They trooped out onto the deck to a secluded, dark corner. Duggan placed the four lures on the wooden table. As Tony’s eyes became accustomed to the dark, the intensity of the colours brightened until he saw them as they would appear to a fish deep in the ocean: brilliant, luminescent colours of green, red, blue and purple.

  ‘There you are,’ said Duggan. ‘Tha’s what I made. The American ones use a man-made element called promethium. Mine use radium. They work almost as well and they’re natural.’

  ‘Are they dan
gerous?’ asked Rose.

  ‘You have to be careful in makin’ them, but they’re all right like this.’

  ‘Do they catch fish?’ asked Tony.

  ‘Aye, they do tha’. The lure turns as it moves through the water and it’s easily mistaken fer a small fish. The bigger fish canna resist them. Those kingfish you had last night fer dinner were caught with the blue one. Tha’ seems to be the most popular.’

  Christine asked, ‘How do you feel about handling radioactive things after what happened to your wife?’

  ‘Och. This stuff’s nay like tha’ which killed poor Ema. This is natural. The stuff from those bombs is far from natural. Tha’s plutonium. Tha’s one of the most dangerous things ever made by man. There’s nay comparison between the two.’

  After that they returned inside. Jamie left early, and everyone felt a little more comfortable when he had gone. His story had touched each of them, yet there was still something about the man that was scary. There was a sense that his anger remained, not far below the surface, and barely under control.

  Chapter 16

  For the first night since arriving in Charleston, Tony had an undisturbed night’s sleep. He woke soon after dawn to another glorious day. Apart from the day he’d arrived, Tony had seen only blue skies in Charleston.

  He lay in bed thinking about his Christmas Day. What a roller coaster of emotions it had been. From the despair of the morning to the euphoria of the afternoon. Then there was Jamie Duggan’s story. That too had been emotional. There was no doubting that the man had reasons to hate the French government. But hating all French people for ever after seemed crazy. Tony was beginning to agree with Nick’s view that Duggan had some problems.

  And then there were the radioactive fishing lures. Sure, the man might be a keen fisherman, but messing around with uranium after what had happened to his wife just didn’t seem right either. Yet, those lures had sure been something. Tony thought it would be great to get hold of some of that radioactive paint. It would look spectacular on the concretions. And there were all sorts of other uses—Halloween decorations for one, though it might not be so good having radioactivity around kids.

  Then something clicked in Tony’s head. He’d hardly been aware of it, but something had been niggling at the back of his mind—something about the lures. It was the colour of the blue one. He had seen that glowing colour before. Now he knew where.

  Clink, clink, clink…

  It was the colour of the ghost, digging in the middle of the night.

  Tony sat up in bed. He now knew he had not seen a ghost. It was Duggan, trying to scare him away again. He had used that glowing paint on a sheet or something. Then he’d made it move and added a bit of clinking. At the end he had simply dropped the sheet to the ground and it had seemed to disappear. Dead simple.

  Weka, rat, possum and now ghost. Duggan was going to a lot of bother to scare him away from the place. But why? What reason would…

  Tony slapped his face. ‘Stop it, you fool!’ he yelled. ‘You were sure of the uranium in the marshmallows as well. And look how that turned out.’

  Slowly, he sank back into bed. The memory of the marshmallows took the gloss off the morning. He would never be able to think of them without cringing. He never wanted to make a fool of himself like that again. Next time he and Christine would most certainly get thrown out. Betty wouldn’t be Mrs Nice a second time around. No, it was time to forget about Duggan and just enjoy all the good things that were happening.

  Tony’s days settled into something of a ritual. He would rise early to enjoy a breakfast chatting to Betty. He’d never known his grandparents but, if he ever did, he hoped they’d be like Betty and Lofty, particularly Betty. Tony liked the way she could give advice without lecturing. You really felt that she cared and wanted to help you.

  After breakfast he would spend the morning walking the tracks, exploring and photographing what remained of the old Charleston: mines, water tunnels, dams, and rocks. Always there were the rocks. He now knew that Charleston Gneiss was the oldest rock in New Zealand—seven hundred million years old. When he sat on it, Tony tried to imagine that length of time and couldn’t. Yet he felt that Nick could, and he hoped someday he might too.

  The afternoons were spent collecting and working with concretions. He didn’t go back to the uranium grotto or the limestone pit—just the thought of them made him cringe. However, he did explore the rest of the mine. His pattern toy was proving most useful.

  There was no problem selling the concretions, as almost every guest wanted a memento of their visit to Charleston. He now labelled them with ‘Charleston, New Zealand’ and signed them ‘Tony H-W’. It gave him a good feeling to think that his creations and his name were going all over the world.

  His relationships with people were almost back to the way they had been before the marshmallow performance. Nick had never been a problem; in fact they had grown closer because of it. Nick now confided in Tony daily, giving updates on the earthquake—everything was still on track for a New Year’s Eve event.

  Christine had forgiven him, yet she kept a much closer eye on him than she had before. As she said to him one morning, ‘This is the best job I’ve had, Tony; I don’t want to blow it. So, please, don’t start anymore of your amateur detective stuff.’ Then she had messed up his hair. ‘But I’ll still love you, no matter what.’

  Rose was funny. She was the only one who never mentioned the incident. It was the perfect story for her Charleston Chitchat, yet so far as Tony knew, she never passed it on to anyone else. She now spent much more time with him. She always went with him to the mine, even though she clearly disliked it. She said she was looking for more greenstone, yet she only ever found two more pieces. When he was in the shed, she would sit at the bench chatting away to him or sending TXT messages to her friends. Not that Tony minded having her around; quite the opposite, he was beginning to like it.

  Yes, all in all, things were working out very well for Tony Hogan-White. The only cloud was Nick’s prediction of an earthquake. Still, the geologist didn’t seem concerned about it, and he should know better than anyone. So, for the most part, Tony managed to push that to the back of his mind and concentrate on enjoying the place.

  There were three days left in the year when Tony made the discovery that would eventually shatter the peace for all those who lived in Charleston.

  It was towards the end of his morning walk. By now he had explored every marked track and was starting on the unmarked ones. That day it was to be the gorse-covered track that led south from the top of Cathedral Rock.

  He followed the path he had taken on the first morning after he’d arrived: down into the glade and alongside the stream that led to Doctor Bay. He now knew that this was the stream that flowed through the limestone pit in the mine. Just the day before he had followed it up to where it emerged out of the rock. He’d hoped to find another way into the mine, but it was far too narrow.

  From the stream he climbed up to the top of Cathedral Rock, where he paused to once again enjoy the thrill of standing close to the edge; yet never so close that he could fall over. It really was an awesome place. The sort of place where you could stand for ages thinking about things.

  With some reluctance, he left the summit and pushed his way into the gorse. He soon wondered why he was doing this. Obviously there had been a path at one time, but now it was so overgrown that you couldn’t see anything, not even where you were going.

  The path led down from Cathedral Rock into a gully with a small stream. The map indicated that this had once been one of the best mining places. Now there was nothing but gorse and a bit of a track. He followed the stream for a while before it disappeared into a bush-clad ravine. The path climbed into manuka scrub, and he found himself walking along the base of the terrace. This was close to where he had spent half the night after the marshmallow episode. It was not one of his favourite places.

  Then the path narrowed until it disappeared altogether. Now he
had to push his way through scrub, with even less visibility than before. He knew that if he followed the terrace he would eventually find the limestone overhang and from there he would see the caravan.

  The first discovery was a path leading down from the top of the terrace. It was not much of a path, yet it had been used recently. There were a lot of weka prints showing that this was how they had got up to Duggan’s place. But on top of the bird marks was a set of human footprints. Tony had the feeling that they were the same as those he had seen in the mine. Those had definitely been Duggan’s.

  Not much further along was the dusty clearing under the limestone overhang. This was where he had sat and worried about his future. At that time he had been glad to be in a place by himself, hidden away from all other living things. This time, however, he was not alone. Sitting in the dust and heated by the sun, was the family of weka.

  Tony stopped and lifted his camera: this would be his best photo ever. He walked slowly forward taking a photo every step until he was so close the birds filled the frame. He sat and watched them having their bath. They would nestle down for a while and then the legs and little wings would start pumping the dust up and over their backs. They were loving it.

  It was plain this was not their first visit. So much dust had been kicked up that they now rested in a hollow half a metre deep. If they dug much deeper they would have trouble getting out.

  He watched as the colour of the adults changed from brown to fawn, and the chicks from black to grey. Then he saw another colour in amongst the dust. At first he thought it was blood. Perhaps Sirloin’s leg was still bleeding. No. It wasn’t blood. It was a piece of cloth—a red piece of cloth.

  Tony’s heart began to thud. Had the weka scratched it up from below? If so, then what else was down there? He picked up his camera and took a couple of quick shots in case it disappeared again.

  He need not have worried. Another fluttering of wings and legs ejected the cloth from the hole. Tony pounced on it. There might be all sorts of reasons why a piece of red cloth was buried in the ground, but he could think of only one: it was part of the red dress worn by a French backpacker five years before.