The Snow Tiger. Desmond Bagley
am a grandfather five times now.’ Turi’s shoulders shook. ‘My sons are men and all married. Both my daughters are mothers.’
‘Tawhaki,’ said Ballard. ‘How is Tawhaki?’ He had been Ballard’s playmate as a child and a constant companion as he grew older.
‘He does well,’ said Turi. ‘He went to the University of Otago and took a good degree.’
‘In what?’
Turi laughed. ‘In economics. Imagine a Maori knowing about economics. He has a post in the Department of Finance in Auckland. I don’t see him often.’
‘You must give me his address. I’ll look him up when next I’m in Auckland.’ Ballard saw Turi regarding McGill with interest. ‘Mike, here, is very interested in snow. He’s so interested he’s going to Antarctica later in the year.’
Turi’s seamed face broke into a grim smile. ‘Then there’s something for you here, Mike. We have a lot of snow; more than I can remember since 1943.’
‘So I’ve seen.’
Ballard went to the window. On the other side of the valley the cedar branches drooped heavily under the weight of snow. He turned, and said, ‘What happened to the trees on the west slope, Turi?’
‘Above the mine?’
‘Yes,’ said Ballard. ‘That slope has been stripped.’
McGill became alert. ‘The slope used to be timbered?’
Turi nodded and then shrugged. ‘When they put in the mine they wanted props. Kahikatea make good mine props.’ He looked up. ‘The Petersons own that land; they made a good profit.’
‘I bet they did,’ said Ballard.
‘Your mother shouldn’t have sold it to them.’ Turi clasped his hands. ‘Then they blasted out the stumps and put the land down to grass for hay. They run cattle on the river flats; Herefords for beef and a few dairy cows. That’s also become profitable now the town has grown.’
Ballard said, ‘Didn’t anybody think of what would happen when the snow came?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Turi. ‘I did.’
‘Didn’t you say anything? Didn’t you object when they put up the mine building? When they built the township?’
‘I objected. I objected very loudly. But the Petersons were louder. Who would listen to an old man?’ His lips twisted. ‘Especially one with a brown skin.’
Ballard snorted and looked at McGill who said slowly, ‘The stupid bastards! The stupid, greedy bastards!’ He looked about the room and then at Turi. ‘When did you come to the valley, Mr Buck?’
‘My name is Turi, and I was born here.’ He smiled. ‘New Year’s Day, 1900. I’m as old as the century.’
‘Who built the house?’
‘My father built it in about 1880, I think. It was built on the site of my grandfather’s house.’
‘And when was that built?’
Turi shrugged. ‘I don’t know. My people have lived here a long time.’
McGill nodded. ‘Did your father give any reason for building on the same site? Under this big rock?’
Turi answered obliquely. ‘He said that anyone building in Hukahoronui must take precautions.’
‘He knew what he was talking about.’ McGill turned to Ballard. ‘I’d like to test those samples pretty quickly. And I’d like to come back to talk to you, Turi, if I may?’
‘You must both come back. Come to supper and meet a couple of my grandchildren.’
As Turi accompanied them to the door Ballard said, ‘You don’t think much of the mine, do you, Turi?’
‘Too many changes,’ he said, and shook his head wryly. ‘We now have a supermarket.’
‘You know I’m in charge of the mine now – and I don’t like it much, either. But I think my reasons are different. You’re going to see more changes, Turi, but these I think you’ll like.’
Turi thumped him gently on the arm. ‘He tamariki koe? You’re a man now, Ian; a real man.’
‘Yes,’ said Ballard. ‘I’ve grown up. Thanks, Turi.’
Turi watched them put on their skis and, as they traversed the slope which led away from the house, he waved and called, ‘Haere ra!’
Ballard looked back over his shoulder. ‘Haere ra!’ They headed back to the mine.
The late afternoon sun poured through the windows of the hall, rendered multi-coloured by the stained glass. Patches of colour lay across the tables; the carafe of water in front of Ballard looked as though it was filled with blood.
Dan Edwards loosened his tie and wished he could have a cold beer. ‘They’ll be adjourning pretty soon,’ he said to Dalwood. ‘I wish old Harrison would get a bloody move on. All this talk of snow doesn’t make me feel any cooler.’
Harrison poured himself a glass of water and sipped. He set down the glass, and said, ‘So you took samples of the snow cover on the western slope in the presence of Mr Ballard. What were your findings?’
McGill unzipped the leather satchel and took out a sheaf of papers. ‘I have written an entire report on the events that occurred at Hukahoronui – from the technical side, of course. I submit the report to the Commission.’ He gave the report to Reed who passed it up to Harrison. ‘Part One consists of my findings on the first series of snow profiles which was submitted to the mine management and, later, to the municipal authorities of Hukahoronui.’
Harrison flipped through the pages and frowned, then he passed the papers to Professor Rolandson. They conferred for a moment in low voices, then Harrison said, ‘This is all very well, Dr McGill; but your report appears to be highly technical and contains more mathematical formulae than the majority of us are accustomed to. After all, this is a public hearing. Could you not describe your findings in a language that can be understood by others apart from yourself and Professor Rolandson?’
‘Of course,’ said McGill. ‘Indeed, I did so to the people in Hukahoronui.’
‘You may proceed; and you may expect to be questioned – in the interests of clarity – by Professor Rolandson.’
McGill clasped his hands in front of him. ‘Snow is not so much a substance as a process; it changes in time. It begins with a snowflake falling to earth and becoming part of the general snow cover. It is a six-sided crystal and not very stable, and sublimation begins – a sort of evaporation. Eventually the crystal becomes a small, rounded granule. This is called destructive metamorphism and results in a higher density because the air is squeezed out. At the same time, because of the evaporative process, there is water vapour in the snow mass and, due to the low temperature, the separate granules tend to bond together by freezing.’
‘This bond is not particularly strong, is it?’ asked Rolandson.
‘The bond is not strong, when compared with other materials.’ Rolandson nodded and McGill went on. ‘The next thing to take into account is the temperature through the snow cover. It’s not constant – it’s warmer at the bottom than the top, thus forming a temperature gradient. If you look at Graph One you will find the temperature gradient of those first five samples.’
Rolandson flipped pages. ‘Not a very steep gradient – not more than two degrees.’
‘It’s enough for the next stage in the process. There is still a lot of air in