I have described the interview with Kadek in detail in an endeavour to explain my own irrational behaviour. Maybe it was in character. I don’t know. Or maybe I’ve grown up a bit during the days I’ve spent in prison. Again, I don’t know. I’m so cut off, so solitary — but at least I have come to terms with myself. I no longer belong to Kadek’s world, or to Rosa’s. I’m not the man who set fire to Drym. I’m somebody else now, though my name is still Alec Wentworth Falls and I still inhabit the same body.
But perhaps it isn’t the days in prison. Perhaps it was the days in the Gibson Desert that changed me. And Ed Garrety. Particularly Ed Garrety. To go back there. To go back to the place of his crime, in search of peace, knowing he was dying — and then to end it, quickly, cleanly. How can you betray a man like that? How can you not be influenced by him? A term in prison is nothing to the long years he was imprisoned within himself, and if, by accepting my fate, I can achieve something of the same moral stature … God help me, I am not made of the same material, but at least I can try.
Fremantle Gaol, 1st May, 1970.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was released from prison on Monday, May 18, following a brief court hearing at which the authorities dropped their charges of illegal entry. The criminal charges of fraud in connection with the Blackridge prospect had also been withdrawn. Even the possibility of extradition had become remote. As my lawyer explained, for the insurance company to succeed with their charges of obtaining money by false pretences, when it was Rosa who had put in the claim, they would have to prove either complicity or arson. He thought, in the circumstances, I would hear no more from them now that my identity was accepted by the Commonwealth Department of Immigration. ‘There’s no law against a man leaving his wife, and since we now have evidence that she has been cohabiting with a man on Rottnest Island …’ He left it at that with a smile and a broad shrug.
It’s a strange feeling to suddenly find yourself free again after being held on remand for so long — a hundred days exactly. And though nobody in their senses would say that they have enjoyed being in prison, I cannot say that I regretted it or that I actively disliked it. This may seem strange, but it gave me opportunity to take stock, something I had not had time to do since I landed at Fremantle on December 27. In a way it was like being back at school, or in the services, for it enabled me to get to know an extraordinary cross-section of Australians, some good, some bad, but most of them men I should not have come across otherwise. There were other nationalities there, of course, but it was the Australians that interested me, and those hundred days, living in that close, ever-changing community, taught me a great deal about the country and the people. I do not recommend it as essential training for immigrants, but it is certainly one way of attending a crash course on the behaviour pattern of men whose grass roots are very different to those of almost any other nation. And I came out of prison, not in any state of uncertainty or depression, but knowing exactly what I intended to do, my mind wonderfully clarified, my metabolism like a dynamo recharged and my senses sharpened. I celebrated by staying the night at the Parmelia, a luxurious room with a view over the Swan River and a meal I still remember.
The fortnight before my release had been relatively crowded. Three days after I had finished my manuscript Kennie came to see me. He was on his way back from a survey down near Yornup in the South West. He had a letter from his mother telling him that she was still on her own and that his rather was at Nullagine trying to organize an expedition in the Gibson. ‘That letter was written on the 2nd, so he’s probably out there now. There’s talk, you see, that the pegging ban will be lifted soon.’ And he added, ‘I’d hate to think Pa and that partner of his are going to grab the Monster while you’re stuck in here awaiting trial.’ He had guessed that Kadek had had something to do with my arrest and he felt sorry for me, which somehow annoyed me. And he annoyed me even more when he said he had been to see Janet the day after we reached Ml Newman. ‘She took it badly, you know. The old man’s death. Have you heard from her at all?’
‘No.’
He gave that irritating little laugh of his. ‘Oh well, not surprising really. She’d been so sure you’d bring him back. And then being told of his death like that on the radio. I did my best to make her realize you’d done all you could.’
I wondered about that. If he was in love with her … but I didn’t ask him. Instead, I found myself asking about the station, what she had done about the cattle, and his face brightened. ‘It worked, your suggestion about bringing them into the gully.’ Apparently water from the lower levels of the mine had been forced to the surface. Neighbouring station owners had lent her boys and she had spent the week we had been in the Gibson mustering and driving the cattle out of the Pukara to water at channels they had cut in the old costeans. ‘But there’s precious little feed for them, of course.’ And the drought still on, not a drop of rain all the time I had been in prison.
It was seeing Kennie that started me thinking again about the Monster, and then two days later I was brought into the interview room to find Freeman and another man sitting there. He bounced to his feet and came towards me, his short stocky body radiating vitality, his hand held out and his round, smooth face strangely jubilant. ‘Soon as I got the news I got the first plane out of Sydney.’ He was smiling as he gripped my hand, but a little uncertainly, the uncertainty reflected in the nervous blinking of his eyes. ‘I just wanted to say I was sorry. We’re withdrawing the charges, of course, and we’ll work some form of compensation. That’s why I’ve got my lawyer with me.’ He introduced the other man — Ian Macclesfield. ‘But the first thing was to see you and apologize personally.’
All this in a rush of words that left me feeling slightly dazed. ‘What’s this all about?’ I asked.
He stared at me, and then he suddenly laughed. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ he said. ‘I forgot for a moment where I was. With everybody talking about it and the shares over five dollars And then he told me. As a final resort, before abandoning the Blackridge prospect altogether, they had Petersen do an IP, and the survey had shown a strong anomalous formation at a depth of just over 1,500 feet, almost underneath the poppet head of the old mine. The first drill-hole had been completed three days ago. ‘Petersen cabled me the core sample analysis yesterday — 4.2 nickel between 1,530 and 1,553 feet. So you were right, you see. I made an immediate press release. That’s what put the price of the shares up.’
‘And you’re withdrawing the charges?’
‘Of course. It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re Alec Falls or Bill Smith. It’s not my business how you got into the country. I don’t even care whether you’re a mining consultant or not. You were right. That’s all I’m interested in, and I’m sorry — I wanted you to know that straight away, and I hope you’ll accept my apologies.’
‘And you flew straight here?’
‘Yes, I got the night plane.’
I went over to the table and sat down in the vacant chair, feeling suddenly a little weak. He’d taken the night plane, come all that way, two thousand miles, to apologize. I wanted to laugh, or cry, anything to express my feeling of relief. I could hardly believe my luck. So many times these last months I had remembered Petersen’s words: So everything you touch … remembering them as a bad joke. And now Freeman was here telling me Blackridge of all unlikely prospects had come out trumps. I really did believe for a moment that I was born lucky.