The township spread along the valley floor with most of the houses to the west of the river which had been bridged. The valley people had talked inconclusively for years about putting a bridge across the river, and now it had been done at last under the prodding thrust of an affluent economy. That was probably to be chalked up on the credit side; you had to pay the price of the mine to get the bridge.
Beyond the township there did not seem to be much change. In the far distance Ballard saw Turis house beneath the great rock called Kamakamaru. He wondered if the old man was still alive or whether the smoke coming from that distant chimney rose from the fireside of another. Turi had been an old man even when Ballard left the valley, although age in a Maori is difficult to estimate, especially for a youth of sixteen. At sixteen anyone over forty is verging on decrepitude.
But there was something else about the valley that was strange and Ballard was puzzled to determine what it was. A change had occurred which had nothing to do with the mine or the new town and he tried to match up sixteen-year-old memories with the actuality before him. It was nothing to do with the river; that still ran the same course, or seemed to.
And then he found the change. The hill slope on the western side was now almost completely treeless. Gone were the stands of tall white pine and cedar, of kahikatea and kohekohe the hillside had been stripped almost completely bare. Ballard looked up at the higher slopes of the mountain to where the snows stretched right up to the base of the crags in one smooth and beautiful sweep. It looked good for skiing.
He switched on the engine and went on down into the new town. As he approached he was impressed by the way it had been laid out. Although much detail was blanketed by snow he could see the areas which, in summer, would be pleasant open gardens and there was a childrens playground, the swings and slides, the seesaws and the jungle gym, now white-mantled and stalactited with icicles and out of use.
Although the house roofs were heavily laden with snow the road was quite clear and had apparently been swept recently. Coming into the town centre he came across a bulldozer clearing the road with dropped blade. There was a name on its side: HUKAHORONUI MINING CO. (PTY) LTD. It seemed as though the mine management took an interest in municipal affairs. He approved.
There were houses built along the bluff that projected into the river; when Ballard was a child that was called the Big Bend and that was where they had their swimming hole. Petersons store used to be at the base of the bluff, and so it still was, although it took him a long time to recognize it. In his day it had been single-storey with a corrugated iron roof, a low building with spreading eaves which protected against the summer sun. There used to be chairs on the veranda and it was a favourite place for gossip. Now it was two-storey with a false façade to make it look even larger, and there were big plate-glass windows brightly lit. The veranda had gone.
He pulled the Land-Rover into a designated parking place and sourly wondered when parking meters would be installed. The sun was setting behind the western slopes of the valley and already the long shadows were creeping across the town. That was one of the drawbacks of Hukahoronui; in a narrow valley set north and south nightfall comes early.
Across the street was a still-raw building of unmellowed concrete calling itself the Hotel DArchiac a name stolen from a mountain. The street was reasonably busy; private cars and industrial trucks passed by regularly, and women with shopping bags hurried before the shops closed. At one time Petersons had been the only store, but from where he sat in the car Ballard could see three more shops, and there was a service station on the corner. Lights glowed in the windows of the old school which had sprouted two new wings.
Ballard reached for the blackthorn stick which was on the back seat and then got out of the car. He crossed the road towards the hotel leaning heavily on the stick because he still could not bear to put too much weight on his left leg. He supposed that Dobbs, the mine manager, would have accommodated him, but it was late in the day and he did not want to cause undue disturbance so he was quite prepared to spend a night in the hotel and introduce himself to the mine staff the following morning.
As he approached the hotel entrance a man came out walking quickly and bumped his shoulder. The man made a mutter of annoyance not an apology and strode across the pavement to a parked car. Ballard recognized him Eric Peterson, the second of the three Peterson brothers. The last time he had seen Eric he had been nineteen years old, tall and gangling; now he had filled out into a broad-shouldered brawny man. Apparently the years had not improved his manners much.
Ballard turned to go into the hotel only to encounter an elderly woman who looked at him with recognition slowly dawning in her eyes. Why, its Ian Ballard, she said, adding uncertainly, It is Ian, isnt it?
He hunted through his memories to find a face to match hers. And a name to put to the face. Simpson? No it wasnt that. Hello, Mrs Samson, he said.
Ian Ballard, she said in wonder. Well, now; what are you doing here and hows your mother?
My mothers fine, he said, and lied bravely. She asked to be remembered to you. He believed white lies to be the social oil that allows the machinery of society to work smoothly.
Thats good of her, said Mrs Samson warmly. She waved her arm. And what do you think of Huka now? Its changed a lot since you were here.
I never thought Id see civilization come to the Two Thumbs.
Its the mine, of course, said Mrs Samson. The mine brought the prosperity. Do you know, we even have a town council now.
Indeed, he said politely. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw Eric Peterson frozen in the act of unlocking his car and staring at him.
Yes, indeed, said Mrs Samson. And Im a councillor, imagine that! Whoever would have thought it. But whatever are you doing here, Ian?
Right now Im going into the hotel to book a room. He was sharply aware that Eric Peterson was walking towards him.
Ian Ballard. Petersons voice was flat and expressionless.
Ballard turned, and Mrs Samson said, Do you two know each other? This is Eric Peters... Her voice tailed away and a wary look came into her eyes, the look of one who has almost committed a social gaffe. But of course you know each other, she said slowly.
Hello, Eric.
There was little humour in Petersons thin smile. And what are you doing here?
There was no point in avoiding the issue. Ballard said, Im the new managing director of the mining company.
Something sparked in Petersons eyes. Well, well! he said in tones of synthetic wonder. So the Ballards are coming out of hiding. Whats the matter, Ian? Have you run out of phoney company names?
Not really, said Ballard. Weve got a computer that makes them up for us. How are you doing, Eric?
Peterson looked down at the stick on which Ballard was leaning. A lot better than you, apparently. Hurt your leg? Nothing trivial, I hope.
Mrs Samson suddenly discovered reasons for not being there, reasons which she explained volubly and at length. But if youre staying Ill certainly see you again, she said.
Peterson watched her go. Silly old bat! Shes a hell of a nuisance on the council.
You a member, too?
Peterson nodded abstractly his thought processes were almost visible. Did I hear you say you are booking a room in the hotel?
Thats right.
Peterson took Ballards arm. Then let me introduce you to the manager. As they went into the lobby he said, Johnnie and I own half of this place, so we can certainly find room for an old friend like you.
Youre doing well for yourself.
Peterson grinned crookedly. Were getting something out of the mine, even if it isnt raw gold. He stopped at the reception desk. Jeff, this is Ian Ballard, an old friend. You would say we were friends, wouldnt you, Ian? He drove over any reply that Ballard might have made. Jeff Weston is manager here and owns the other half of the hotel. We have long arguments over which half he owns; he claims the half with the bar and thats a matter for dispute.
Glad to meet you, Mr Ballard, said Weston.
Im sure you can find a good room for Mr Ballard.
Weston shrugged. No difficulty.
Good, said Peterson jovially. Give Mr Ballard a room the best we have. His eyes suddenly went flinty and his voice hardened. For twenty-four hours. After that were full. I wouldnt want you to get the wrong idea of your welcome here, Ballard. Dont be fooled by Mrs Samson.
He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Weston open-mouthed. Ballard said lightly, Eric always was a joker. Do I sign the register, Mr Weston?
That night Ballard wrote a letter to Mike McGill. In it, among other things, was the following passage:
I remember you telling me that youd be in New Zealand this year. Why dont you come out earlier as my guest? Im in a place called Hukahoronui in South Island; theres a hell of a lot of snow and the skiing looks great. The place has changed a bit since I was here last; civilization has struck and there are great developments. But its not too bad really and the mountains are still untouched. Let me know what you think of the idea Id like to meet your plane in Auckland.
Three
Harrison sipped water from a glass and set it down. Mr Ballard, at what point did you become aware of danger by avalanche?
Three
Harrison sipped water from a glass and set it down. Mr Ballard, at what point did you become aware of danger by avalanche?
Only a few days before the disaster. My attention was drawn to the danger by a friend, Mike McGill, who came to visit me.
Harrison consulted a document. I see that Dr McGill has voluntarily consented to appear as a witness. I think it would be better if we heard his evidence from his own lips. You may step down, Mr Ballard, on the understanding that you may be called again.
Yes, sir. Ballard returned to his seat.
Reed said, Will Dr McGill please come forward?
McGill walked towards the rostrum carrying a slim leather satchel under his arm. He sat down, and Reed said, Your name is Michael Howard McGill?