The Snow Tiger / Night of Error. Desmond Bagley
whatever – in Ballard Holdings? Or in any of the companies mentioned?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Does any of your family own any such interest?’
‘Yes; my three uncles and some of my cousins.’
‘Not your father?’
‘He is dead.’
‘How did you come to be appointed managing director of the Hukahoronui Mining Company?’
Ballard shrugged. ‘The company is an old family concern and I suppose that …’
‘Can the witness describe his qualifications for the position?’
Harrison jerked his head around to identify the source of the interruption. ‘You will oblige me by not calling out in this hall, Mr Lyall. Further, you must not interrupt a witness.’ In a milder voice he said, ‘However, the question is relevant and the witness will answer.’
‘I have a degree in mining engineering from Birmingham University. I have done post-graduate studies in South Africa and the United States.’
Lyall had his arm firmly in the air by this time. ‘But no practical experience as a mining engineer?’
Pink spots glowed in Ballard’s cheeks but he appeared to be in control as he said to Harrison, ‘May I finish answering Mr Lyall’s first question?’
‘Of course.’ Harrison looked at Lyall. ‘Mr Lyall: you will not interrupt the witness, and you will address your questions through me unless I indicate otherwise. Go on, Mr Ballard.’
‘I was about to say that, apart from the engineering studies, I attended the Harvard Business School for two years. As for practical experience as a mining engineer, that would be called for if I professed to be a mining engineer, but as managing director my field was rather that of business administrator.’
‘A valid point,’ said Harrison. ‘A managing director need not have the technical expertise of the men he directs. If it were so a large number of our managing directors would be immediately unemployed – and possibly unemployable.’
He waited until the laughter died away, then said, ‘I do not see the point in further questioning along those lines, Mr Lyall.’ As Lyall’s hand remained obstinately raised, he said, ‘Do you have a further – and different – question?’
‘Yes, Mr Chairman. I am reliably informed that when Mr Ballard appeared in Hukahoronui he was unable to walk except with the aid of a stick. Is this correct?’
‘Is this relevant, Mr Lyall?’
‘I believe so, sir.’
‘Witness will answer the question.’
‘It is correct.’
Lyall, his hand up, remained punctiliously silent until Harrison nodded at him curtly. ‘Can you tell us why?’
‘I broke my leg in a skiing accident in Switzerland.’
‘Thank you, Mr Ballard.’
‘I can’t say that I see the relevance,’ observed Harrison. ‘But no doubt it will appear in time.’
‘It was in an avalanche,’ said Ballard.
There was dead silence in the hall.
Harrison looked across at Lyall. ‘The significance still escapes me,’ he said. ‘And since Mr Lyall does not see fit to pursue the subject I think we should carry on. Mr Ballard, when did you arrive in Hukahoronui?’
‘On the sixth of June – six weeks before the avalanche.’
‘So you had not been there very long. Was Hukahoronui what you expected?’
Ballard frowned in thought. ‘The thing that struck me most was how much it had changed.’
Harrison’s eyebrows rose. ‘Changed! Then you had been here before?’
‘I lived there for fifteen years – from infancy until just after my sixteenth birthday.’
Harrison made a note. ‘Go on, Mr Ballard. How had Hukahoronui changed?’
‘It was bigger. The mine was new, of course, but there were more houses – a lot more houses.’ He paused. ‘There was a lot more snow than I seem to remember from my childhood.’
Professor Rolandson of the DSIR said, ‘It is a matter of record that the snow precipitation in the Southern Alps was exceptionally high this past winter.’
Ballard had been depressed as he drove west from Christchurch in a company Land-Rover. He was going back to his origins, to Hukahoronui which lies in an outrider of the Two Thumbs Range, and which he had never expected to see again.
Hukahoronui.
A deep valley in the mountains entered by a narrow rock-split gap and graced with stands of tall trees on the valley slopes. A river runs through, cold from the ice water of the high peaks, and there is a scattering of houses up the valley, loosely centred about a church, a general store and a village school. His mother had once been the schoolteacher.
He hated the place.
It was a bad place to get to in thick snow. There had been heavy snowfalls and even with snow tyres and four-wheel drive Ballard found the going tricky. As far as he could remember there had not been a snow like that in those parts since 1943, but of that his memory was understandably hazy – he had been four years old at the time. But he had particular reasons for remembering the heavy snow of that year.
After a lot of low gear work he eventually reached the Gap and he pulled off the road on to a piece of level ground overlooking the river gorge where he contemplated Hukahoronui.
It had certainly changed, just as old Ben said it had. In the distance was a little township where no township had been. On one side, under the western slope of the valley, was a cluster of industrial buildings, presumably the milling works and refinery belonging to the mine. A streamer of black smoke coming from a tall chimney was like a stain against the white hillside beyond.
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 Turi’s 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.