The Snow Tiger / Night of Error Page 13

  ‘I never knew my father,’ said Ballard. ‘I was born in the January of 1939 in England, and I was brought here as a babe in arms. Something else also happened in ‘39.’

  ‘The war?’

  ‘That’s it. My father had split with old Ben and he decided to leave England and farm here. He bought the land and then the war came and he joined the army. He was in the Western Desert with the New Zealand Division and I didn’t see him to recognize until he came back in 1943 when I was four years old. My mother wanted him to stay – a lot of the men who came back in ‘43 refused to return to active service – and there was a bit of a quarrel between him and my mother. In the end it was academic because he was killed in the avalanche here. I saw it happen – and that’s all I got to know of my father.’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘No. It hit my mother hard and she turned a bit peculiar. Not that she went round the bend or anything like that. Just peculiar.’

  ‘Neurotic?’

  ‘I suppose you could call it that.’

  ‘What form did it take?’

  Ballard stared past the whirling snowflakes eddying in the wind beyond the open garage doors. ‘I think you could say she became over-protective as far as I was concerned.’

  ‘Was that what Charlie meant when he said she wouldn’t let you out in the snow for fear you’d catch cold?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘He made another crack about you wouldn’t go on a slope steeper than a billiard table.’

  Ballard sighed. ‘That was it. It was made worse because my mother was the schoolteacher here. She tried to run the farm herself but she couldn’t, so she sold off most of the land to old Peterson, just keeping the bit the house was on. To earn a living she took the job of schoolmistress. She was qualified for it. But there I was – in the middle. Over-protected and regarded as a teacher’s pet into the bargain.’

  ‘“Don’t go near the water until you learn how to swim,”’ quoted McGill.

  ‘You don’t know how true that was, Mike.’ There was an edge of bitterness in Ballard’s voice. ‘Like all kids everywhere we had our swimming hole over by the bluff behind the Petersons’ store. All the kids could swim well except me – all I could do was dog-paddle in the shallows and if my mother had known about that she’d have given me hell.’

  He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to McGill who produced a lighter. Inhaling smoke, he said, ‘I was twelve when it happened. It was in the spring and Alec Peterson and I were down by the river. Alec was the fourth of the Peterson brothers. There was a lot of melt water coming down from the mountains – the river was full and flowing fast and the water was bloody cold, but you know what kids are. I dipped in and out of the shallows – more out than in – but Alec went farther out. He was tough for a ten-year-old, and a strong swimmer.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said McGill. ‘He got into trouble.’

  ‘I think he got cramp,’ said Ballard. ‘Anyway, he let out a yell as he was swept out into the main stream. I knew I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting him out, but I knew that river. It swirled around the bluff and on the other side there was an eddy where anything floating usually came ashore. It was common knowledge among the kids that it was a good place to collect firewood. So I belted across the bluff, past the Peterson store as fast as I could run.’

  He drew on the cigarette in a long inhalation. ‘I was right. Alec came inshore and I was able to wade in and grab him. But on his way around the bluff he’d bashed his head on a rock. His skull was cracked and his brains were leaking out and he was stone dead.’

  McGill blew out his breath. ‘Nasty! But I don’t see how you could be blamed for anything.’

  ‘Don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you. Two other people heard Alec when he yelled but they were too far away to do anything. And they saw me running like hell. Afterwards they said they’d seen me running away and leaving Alec. The two witnesses were Alec’s brothers – Charlie and Eric.’

  McGill whistled. ‘Now I’m beginning to see.’

  ‘They made my life a misery for the next four years. I went through hell, Mike. It wasn’t just the Petersons – they set all the other kids against me. Those were the loneliest years I’ve ever spent. I think I’d have gone nuts if it hadn’t been for Turi’s son Tawhaki.’

  ‘It must have been tough.’

  Ballard nodded. ‘Anyway, when I was sixteen years old Ben appeared in the valley as though he’d dropped from the sky. That was when the preliminary exploration was made for the mine. He listened to the local gossip, took one look at me and another at my mother, and then they had a flaming row. He beat her down, of course; very few people could withstand Ben. The upshot of it was that I went back to England with him.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She stayed on for a few years – until the mine started – then she went back to England, too.’

  ‘And latched on to you again?’

  ‘More or less – but I’d learned the score by then. I’d cut the apron strings.’ Ballard flicked his cigarette butt out into the snow.

  There was a brief silence before McGill said, ‘I still don’t get it. Grown men don’t behave like Charlie’s behaving because of something that happened when they were kids.’

  ‘You don’t know Charlie,’ said Ballard. ‘John’s all right and, apart from what he believes about the mine, so is Eric. But for one thing, Charlie and Alec were very close – Alec was Charlie’s twin. And for another, while you can’t call Charlie retarded, he’s never really grown up – he’s never matured. Only last night you said he sounded like a schoolboy.’

  ‘Yeah.’ McGill stroked the side of his cheek. He had not shaved and it made a scratching sound. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you told me. It makes things a lot clearer.’

  ‘But there’s nothing much any of us can do about it.’ Ballard prodded at the starter again and the engine caught with a steady throb. ‘Let’s go up to the Gap.’

  He drove into town, and as they were passing the Supermarket, McGill pointed to a car just pulling out. ‘Looks as though he’s leaving, too.’

  ‘That’s John Peterson.’ Ballard accelerated to get ahead and then waved Peterson down.

  As Peterson drew alongside McGill wound down the side window. ‘Going far, Mr Peterson?’

  John said, ‘I’ve an early business appointment in Christchurch tomorrow, so I thought I’d leave early and get in a couple of rounds of golf there today.’ He laughed as he waved at the snow. ‘Not much chance of golf here, is there?’

  ‘You may be disappointed,’ said McGill. ‘Our information is that the Gap is blocked.’

  ‘Blocked? Impossible!’

  ‘We’re just going to have a look. Maybe you’d like to tag along behind.’

  ‘All right. But I think you’ll find yourself mistaken.’

  McGill closed the window. ‘As the White Queen said – I can think of six impossible things before breakfast. Carry on, Ian.’

  They drove up the road that rose towards the Gap and which paralleled the river. As the headlights’ beam swept across the ravine which the river had cut McGill said, ‘Jack Stevens could be right. Have you ever seen the river as full as that?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when we come to the next bend.’ At the next corner Ballard stopped the car. The beam from the headlights played in calm waters which swirled in smooth eddies. ‘I’ve never seen it so high. The ravine is more than thirty feet deep here.’

  ‘Let’s get on.’ McGill turned in his seat. ‘Peterson is still with us.’

  Ballard drove as far as he could until he was stopped by a cliff which suddenly appeared from out the darkness – a cliff which had no right to be there. ‘My God!’ he said. ‘Just look at it!’

  McGill opened the door of the car and got out. He walked towards the wall of snow and was silhouetted in the headlights. He prodded at the snow and then looked upwards, shaking his head. With a wave of his hand he gestured for Ballard to join hi
m.

  Ballard got out of the car just as John Peterson drew alongside. Together they walked to where McGill was standing and beating his gloved hands together. Peterson looked at the piled snow. ‘What caused it?’

  McGill said blandly, ‘What you are seeing, Mr Peterson, is the end result of an avalanche. Not a big one, but not a small one, either. Nobody will be leaving Hukahoronui for quite some time – at least, not in a car.’

  Peterson stared upwards, holding his hand above his head to stop snow driving into his eyes. ‘There’s a lot of snow there.’

  ‘Avalanches tend to have a lot of snow in them,’ said McGill drily. ‘If the slope above the town gives way there’ll be a hell of a lot more snow than you see here.’

  Ballard walked over to one side and looked at the river. ‘There’ll be floods in the valley if the water keeps backing up.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said McGill. ‘The water is deep here and there’ll be considerable pressure at the bottom. It will soon drill a hole through this lot – I’d say before the day is over. That will leave a snow bridge over the river, but it won’t help any to clear the road.’

  He went back to the snow wall and took out a handful of snow and examined it. ‘Not too dry but dry enough.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Peterson.

  ‘Nothing. Just being technical.’ He thrust his hand under Peterson’s nose, palm upwards. With the forefinger of his left hand he stirred the snow around. ‘Soft, harmless stuff, isn’t it? Just like lamb’s wool.’ His fingers closed on the snow, making a fist. ‘There was a man in my line of business called Zdarsky,’ he said conversationally. ‘He was a pioneer working before the First World War. Zdarsky said, “Snow is not a wolf in sheep’s clothing – it is a tiger in lamb’s clothing.”’

  He opened his fist. ‘Look at that, Mr Peterson. What is it?’

  In the palm of his gloved hand lay a lump of hard ice.

  ‘So that was the first avalanche,’ said Harrison.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And it meant that no vehicles could leave or enter the valley?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  McGill said, ‘It had been my intention to persuade the town council that the best course of action was to evacuate the population of the valley until the danger had receded. This was now impossible.’

  ‘You say impossible. Surely the obstacle could be climbed.’

  ‘It could be climbed by the fit and active, of course; but what of the elderly, the handicapped and the children? But at least one member of the town council was now convinced that avalanches were something to be reckoned with in Hukahoronui. He was now ready to go back to town and throw his full weight into implementing any action I recommended. Mr John Peterson had been the first mayor and his words and actions would count for a lot. We went back to the town to get some action going.’

  Harrison nodded and made a note. ‘What was the name of the man you quoted to Mr Peterson? How do you spell it?’

  ‘Z-D-A-R-S-K-Y, Matthias Zdarsky. He was an Austrian and an early pioneer in snow studies.’ McGill hesitated. ‘I have an anecdote which may have some bearing on what I quoted to Mr Peterson.’

  ‘Proceed,’ said Harrison. ‘As long at it does not take us too far from our purpose here.’

  ‘I don’t think it does. A couple of years ago I was in Western Canada as a technical adviser on avalanche protection. There was a cartographic draughtsman who had been given the job of drawing a map of the area showing all the sites of avalanche hazard. It was a long job but he had nearly finished when, one day when he got back from lunch he found that some joker had written in medieval lettering on each avalanche site the words “Here be Tygers”, just as on an old map.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘The draughtsman didn’t think much of it as a joke, but the boss of his department took the map, had it framed, and hung it on the wall of his office as a reminder to everyone about avalanche hazard. You see, everyone in the game knows about Matthias Zdarsky and what happened to him.’

  ‘An interesting anecdote,’ said Harrison. ‘And perfectly relevant. At the risk of wasting more time I would like to know what did happen to Zdarsky.’

  ‘He was in the Austrian army during the First World War. At that time both sides – Austrians and Italians – were using avalanches as weapons in the Dolomites and the Tyrol. It’s said that eighty thousand men died in avalanches during the war. In 1916 Zdarsky was going to the rescue of twenty-five Austrian soldiers who had been caught in an avalanche when he himself was caught in one. He was lucky enough to be rescued alive but that’s about all you can say. He had eighty broken bones and dislocations, and it was eleven years before he could ski again.’

  The hall was hushed. Presently Harrison said, ‘Thank you, Dr McGill.’ He looked up at the clock. ‘I think we will now adjourn for the weekend. This hearing will recommence at ten in the morning on Monday.’ He tapped lightly with the gavel ‘The hearing is now adjourned.’

  SIXTEEN

  Next morning Ballard went to the hospital to visit Cameron. He tried to do this as often as possible to keep the old man company and cheer him up. It was a fact that Cameron now was an old man; his experience in the avalanche had almost killed both spirit and body. McGill said, ‘I’ll go to see him tomorrow. I have things to do at Deep Freeze Headquarters.’

  ‘I’ll be out that way this afternoon,’ said Ballard. ‘I’m picking up Stenning at Harewood. Want a lift back?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said McGill. ‘Ask for me in the office.’

  Ballard found Cameron out of bed but in a wheelchair with a blanket tucked around him in spite of the fact that it was a hot day. He was talking to Liz Peterson when Ballard walked into the room. ‘Hi!’ said Liz. ‘I’ve just been telling Joe how Mike tried to freeze our blood when he gave evidence yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, I think he made Harrison shiver a bit.’ Privately he thought it tactless to describe the sufferings of an avalanche victim such as Zdarsky to one who had himself been caught in an avalanche, and he wondered how much Liz had said. ‘How are you feeling, Joe?’

  ‘A bit better this morning. I could have stayed yesterday afternoon in spite of my damn fool doctor.’

  ‘You do as he says,’ Ballard advised. ‘What do you think, Liz?’

  ‘I think Joe should do as he likes. Doctor doesn’t always know best.’

  Cameron laughed. ‘Oh, it’s good to have a pretty girl here – especially when she’s on my side. But you really shouldn’t be here, Liz.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘You should be out there, enjoying the sunshine. On a tennis court, maybe.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of time for tennis, Joe,’ she said. ‘The rest of my life. Are they looking after you well here?’

  ‘Okay, I guess – but it’s just like any other hospital. The food is terrible – they have too many dieticians and too few cooks.’

  ‘We’ll have something sent in,’ said Ballard. ‘Won’t we Liz?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m not bad at home cooking.’

  They stayed until Cameron sent them off, saying that young people must have something better to do than to sit around in hospitals. Outside, in the sunshine, Ballard said, ‘Doing anything in particular, Liz?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What about having lunch with me?’

  She hesitated fractionally, but said, ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘We’ll go in my car. I’ll bring you back on my way to the airport this afternoon. I’m meeting someone.’

  ‘It’ll cost you lunch for two. I’ll have to bring Victor. I can’t leave him in my car.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She laughed. ‘Love me – love my dog.’

  As Ballard started the engine of his car, he said, ‘Did you mean what you said yesterday – about leaving New Zealand?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it.’

  ‘Where would you go?’

  ‘England, I suppose – at fir
st anyway. Then perhaps America. You’ve travelled around a bit, haven’t you? I’ve always wanted to travel – to see things.’

  He drove out of the hospital grounds. ‘Yes, I’ve been places, but they’ve always been working trips. I’ll tell you one thing – I certainly never expected to come back to New Zealand.’

  ‘Then why did you?’

  Ballard sighed. ‘My grandfather wanted me to. He was a forceful old bird.’

  ‘He was! I didn’t know he was dead.’

  ‘He died a few days ago.’

  ‘Oh, Ian! I am sorry.’

  ‘So am I, in a way. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I’ll miss him. Now that he’s gone I won’t be staying with the Ballard group. In fact, I’ve just about made that impossible.’

  ‘It’s like Mike says – neither of us get on with our relatives.’ Liz laughed. ‘I had a row with Charlie last night. Someone saw us in the restaurant yesterday and split to Charlie.’

  ‘Don’t get into trouble because of me, Liz.’

  ‘I’m tired of Charlie’s tantrums. I’m a grown woman and I’ll meet whoever I like. I told him so last night.’ She rubbed the side of her face reflectively.

  Ballard glanced sideways and caught the action. ‘He hit you?’

  ‘Not for the first time, but it’s going to be the last.’ She saw the expression on Ballard’s face. ‘Not to worry, Ian. I can defend myself. I’m reckoned to be a pretty aggressive tennis player and those smash services develop the muscles.’

  ‘So you hit him back. I doubt if that would make much of an impression on Charlie.’

  She grinned impishly. ‘I happened to be holding a plateful of spaghetti at the time.’ When Ballard burst out laughing she added, ‘Eric socked him, too. We’re quite a happy family, we Petersons.’

  He turned the car into the hotel car park. As they walked into the foyer he said, ‘The grub’s not bad here; they serve quite a good lunch. But what about a drink first?’

  ‘Something long and cold,’ she agreed.

  ‘We’ll have it by the pool,’ he said. ‘This way.’ Suddenly he stiffened and halted in his stride.

  ‘What’s the matter?’