by John Kelly
For the next few days, George Balwyn and Quentin Avers sweated on the impending arrival home of Amanda Blackburn. Their greatest concern was that as a consequence of their mismanagement, they no longer held any control over her. Their supervision of the outcome had been usurped and, in their minds, Amanda had now become a loose canon. Effectively, she could now write her own story, one that might serve the intentions of neither, and one that she could write freelance and self-publish as her own. She could even implicate them in trying to engineer their own outcome; a position both men found extremely uncomfortable.
One week passed, and in all that time Amanda Blackburn had forsaken communication with anyone in Australia. No one knew where she was or when she would arrive home. Telephone calls and ever frantic sounding emails from BLM Publishing produced no response. The longer the agony of not knowing, the greater the fear loomed at the offices of BLM, and at Quentin Avers tiny upstairs office in a small shopping centre in the outer suburbs. What was she going to do? What had she already done? When the news finally filtered through that she was back and on her way to Lillico, bypassing both George Balwyn and Quentin Avers, it sent a shudder through both of them.
Nestled comfortably at the end of Copelands Road and set against a backdrop of rolling hills, paddocks and large gum trees, a lone farmhouse stood peacefully in an area where cattle were grazing and cottage industries produced mouth watering chutneys, and gourmet jams. It was a quiet, scenic area, an ideal location for Michael Balwyn to see out his remaining years albeit now on his own. The literary antics of his son had largely gone unnoticed with the more pressing state of his wife Elaine's health his major concern. But now, Elaine had passed away; as much a relief as it was a painful, sorrowful experience. Her death was no surprise; he had been told to expect it. Once he finished writing his journal, he was unaware of any embellishments subsequently included later by his son George; in fact he thought little more of the journal at all.
There were moments of course when some of the detail in the journal intervened and memories of his life with Elaine took him back further than he had anticipated to a point where he would also see the face of his first true love, Shigeko, and recall their special time together. But that was normal. It did not compromise his love for Elaine. If anything at all, it enriched him for the experience, appreciating the privilege of loving two women unconditionally. There were moments however, when the pain of not knowing what had happened to Shigeko haunted him. During the early 1950's as the BCOF commitment was gradually scaled down and soldiers came home, the question of bringing their Japanese spouses with them was a highly emotive issue. When the Menzies government finally approved the entry of Japanese war brides, the numbers that came were far greater than anyone expected. The press were largely negative in their reporting of BCOF's recreational activities in Japan, and revelled in stories of immoral conduct citing the abnormally high incidence of venereal disease among members. Many returning servicemen felt they were being viewed with suspicion and treated as social outcasts. Vietnam veterans experienced this same strange invective twenty years later. Michael Balwyn could not help but notice this absence of gratitude and wondered if his and Shigeko's fate was perhaps a blessing in disguise.
On the day of Amanda's return, he was sitting on the veranda looking out toward the small hill where the road snakes its way over the ridge down into his part of the valley. He always knew when George was coming. So quiet was the area, the sound of the car carried across before it appeared at the top of the rise. This time it was not one car that caught his ears but two, and when they both appeared at the rise, he quickly realized neither belonged to George Balwyn. 'Visitors,' he thought, 'better put the kettle on.'
Visitors were rare for Michael. The local sales representatives knew he was no longer active, that the house was now annexed from the farm. The last visitors he had seen were well-wishers following Elaine's passing, and they had since stopped. So it was reasonable that Michael's curiosity was aroused, and even more so when one car stopped short halfway up the driveway, as the first came into the yard. As the kettle started to whistle, Michael watched as the male driver climbed out and immediately walked around the other side to help as another man, a very elderly man, climbed out from the passenger side. At first he did not recognize either but as both walked toward him, something about the elderly man triggered his memory and he cast his mind back in time, over sixty years. He was not certain, but something inside gave him a hunch. Only when the man spoke was he sure.
'G'day, you old bastard! Wrecked any trains lately?'
It was Len Patterson, smiling broadly as he made his way across the yard.
'This is my son Andrew,' Len continued. 'He's just been from one end of Japan to the other looking for you.'
'Len?' Michael Balwyn asked, as if to be sure. 'Len Patterson?'
'Who'd you expect? General MacArthur?' Len quipped.
'What the devil are you doing here?' Michael asked, as he walked forward to greet him. The two men embraced briefly and then looked at each other.
'You look shithouse,' Len said.
'So do you,' Michael replied. 'Have you still got the clap?'
'Actually, I never did. It was part of my cover-up.'
'And I believed it,' Michael laughed.
'So, could you spare an old soldier a cup of tea mate?' Len asked.
'Sure, come in. Who's in the other car?' Michael asked.
'Well, old mate, that's what we've come to talk to you about. But first things first, let's have a cuppa and talk. I hear your wife passed away recently. I'm sorry; mine did too, a couple of years ago. It's no fun,' Len said, as the two walked inside leaving Andrew standing alone. Moments later, the other car moved forward and swung into the rear yard. Amanda Blackburn emerged and joined Andrew Patterson.
'How did it go?' she asked.
'Pretty good,' Andrew replied, 'neither dropped dead from fright. Now they're in there drinking tea.'
'I guess we'll have to give them a while to get reacquainted. You don't think it'll take all night, do you?' Amanda asked.
'You never know with old soldiers. But I'm sure Dad will get around to the guts of it fairly soon.'
The 'guts' of it took half an hour. Len Patterson allowed time for the two of them to chat over old times, about their lives since Japan, and for Michael to settle before he began explaining the reason for his visit. When he finally broached the subject he began with the events surrounding his receiving a copy of Michael's journal in the mail, only to later discover that Derek Avers and Ronnie Maclean had also received a copy.
'I never sent anyone a copy,' Michael said, surprised.
'I know that mate; your son did.'
'George?'
'Yep. The problem was, he added a few things and that got everyone a little peeved.'
Michael sat in silence as Len explained pretty much everything that had happened since.
'Your boy has been a little naughty,' Len said at the end. 'Nothing good comes from mixing a potion of fantasy into a glass of truth,' he added. Michael looked confused.
'There's a lady I'd like you to meet. She works for your son, or at least she did. She'll probably get the sack after all this, but she will explain things to you better than me. Can I ask her to come in?'
'She's here?' Michael asked.
'She's waiting outside as we speak,' Len replied.
'Well, let's bring her in.'
As Michael spoke, his telephone rang and he rose up from his arm chair to answer. Len rose up also and signalled to Amanda and Andrew to come inside. Following the revelations from Len Patterson the phone call was not unexpected. In fact, given the circumstances, Michael thought it was right on cue. It was George Balwyn calling his father and sounding slightly sheepish.
'Everything all right Dad?' he asked.
'Sure son, why would it not be?'
'I'm in the car heading down your way. I'll be there in about half an hour, Dad. I need to have a chat with you; explain a few things about that j
ournal you wrote. I have some exciting plans, Dad.'
'Oh, what sort of plans, son?'
'I think we can use it; incorporate it into some kind of novel.'
'Sounds very interesting,' Michael replied,
'Has anyone else turned up today, Dad?' George asked.
Michael turned toward the door as both Amanda and Andrew entered the room.
'Er, no,' he answered, 'should I be expecting anyone?'
'No, not really. Just asking. Anyway, I'll explain all about the journal when I get there.'
'Okay son, drive carefully and I'll see you soon.'
Michael replaced the receiver, and looked across the room feeling a sudden surge of adrenalin. He realized he was enjoying what was happening around him. He felt something of a drama unfolding, such was the intrigue, the manipulation and a definite strategy being played out before him, one that his son would find slightly embarrassing and who would arrive shortly and be forced to explain. 'Yes,' thought Michael, 'I'm going to enjoy this.'
The gathering in Michael's front room looked more like a deputation of local counsellors for the aged, but for his old army mate Len Patterson. Len's son Andrew and Amanda might well have been calling to explain the benefits of retirement centres rather than seeking to reprimand Michael's son. But it made little difference; either way, they were company for the old man, company now more welcome since the passing of Elaine who, despite their problems, he realized he missed very much. It was two years into their marriage, shortly after George was born that Michael's memory improved enough to recall his affair with Shigeko. He delayed telling her for months afterwards. Finally he decided to confide with Elaine and confess his affair with a Japanese girl while away, and that, in all probability, he had another child, a Japanese child. Elaine did not receive the news well, and given the anti-Japanese sentiment that existed during that post-war period, fuelled by an ever hysterical media presenting them as sub-human, she struggled to cope with the truth of it all. Knowing her husband had a Japanese child living in some other part of the world haunted her constantly; any suggestion that he make enquiries concerning the child's welfare was scorned. Elaine became distant and cold such that baby George became the centre of her all-consuming attention. While not denying Michael his natural inclinations, she never allowed herself to fall pregnant again. Michael had paid a huge price for holding back what he should have revealed earlier. Michael, never again unfaithful, was left to ponder his deceit. And so, as the years passed George was over-indulged and ill-disciplined in every way imaginable. The all-too-obvious result had him believing he could do anything and get away with it; a trait he carried into his later life as a publisher. Therefore, Michael realized as he faced Amanda Blackburn, that whatever scheming activity short of criminal negligence George had concocted, it would not have surprised him in the slightest.
'And so who is this attractive young lady I see before me?' Michael asked, brimming with anticipation.
'Mr. Balwyn, my name is Amanda Blackburn. I am currently employed by your son, although that may be short lived.'
'Well,' Michael said in reply, 'don't think too badly of yourself. You certainly wouldn't be the first to run foul of him. Please take a seat. Is there anything I can get you?'
'No thank you. I don't wish to impose upon your generosity in seeing us.'
'You can get me a whiskey, cobber, if you have one?' Len begged.
'I think I can handle that,' Michael chuckled.
As Michael poured Len his whiskey, he concentrated on Amanda. 'So, what has my son been up to?' he asked her.
It took perhaps twenty minutes for Amanda to roll out the bizarre sequence of events that took place from the day she first met Quentin Avers in the gardens by the Shrine of Remembrance, her discussions with Janet Ryan and George Balwyn, reading the journal, the trip to Japan and the people she met. She held back telling Michael about Yoshiko, and also her meeting with Shigeko, preferring to concentrate on the peripheral matters such as the fate of the gold ingots. But Michael was too alert to allow her such latitude. He was about to speak when out of the corner of his eye, he saw through the front window, a car come over the rise raising more than a little dust as it came down the hill.
'Well, well, more visitors,' he said. 'Haven't had this many people here since the funeral. My, my, it looks like George.'
A bolt of adrenalin ran through Amanda's body. She had been dreading the moment she would have to face him. Little did she realize that George had been dreading the thought of facing her.
'Well, now that's he's arrived we can sort all this out,' Michael said.
'Sounds good to me,' Len Patterson volunteered.
'But first,' Michael asked Amanda, 'while you were in Japan, did you meet a lady by the name of Shigeko?'
The question took Amanda by surprise and her lip quivered and she hesitated.
'You did, didn't you?' Michael pressed gently. Amanda was not ready to explain yet. But in the end she gave in.
'Yes,' she answered.
'How is she?' Michael asked lovingly.
'Amanda paused for a moment and then answered directly.
'Perhaps you might like to ask her that yourself?'
Michael faltered slightly.
'What do you mean? Are you saying I should go to Japan to see her?' he asked.
'Actually, she's a little closer than that.' Amanda replied.
Michael stared at her, his heartbeat increasing with anticipation.
'Where?' he asked.
'Outside in the car,' Amanda replied, pointing toward the door, to the parked car outside. At the same time, George Balwyn drove into the yard.
28.