Chapter 2

Far Horizons

Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA—1957

Albuquerque, New Mexico is about two thousand miles from Boston. The Baker family rode the rails. There would be a new Chevrolet waiting for them there. It was an exciting time for them all, to see so much of their country. The train passed through the northeast, down through New York and Baltimore to Washington, DC, then across to Chicago and south through the Mid-west to Albuquerque. The journey was broken several times to visit cities and landmarks alike.

“Take your time, Jimmy,” said Bob Phillips. “You have a big job waiting for you, and you need a vacation. Give the family a good look at our great country, and, remember, Worcester Electronic is picking up the check.”

It had been quite a journey, starting with the family meeting when Jimmy reached home and delivered his news. It was not greeted with overwhelming joy. Marci was concerned for her family, particularly her aging mother. She had other siblings to look after her, but Marci was closer to her mother than the others were. Susan was happy to move, despite leaving her friends behind. At eleven, on the cusp of puberty, she had demonstrated a remarkable serenity when confronting problems in her life. Wherever her father went, she was happy to go. She was looking forward to meeting new people and having new adventures. Secretly, she believed she had outgrown Worcester.

Sarah was the least inclined to move. She did not want to lose her friends, including a new boyfriend. James Junior wanted to go. He got out the encyclopedia and checked out New Mexico. “Do they really have cowboys and Indians out there, Dad?”

“They sure do, Jimbo, real cowboys and Indians. It’s a lot warmer than it is in Worcester, too.” The cowboys and Indians were enough to sway the boy. He had visions of a warm and sunny clime where he could play baseball every day of the year.

Jimmy addressed them all: “Look, this is the best thing that could have happened to us. It will mean more money. We can have a second car, and we can look forward to giving you all a college education. I think we should go.”

“I don’t want a college education,” spoke up James Junior. “I just want to be a cowboy!”

In the end, they all agreed to give New Mexico a chance. Marci had one condition. She would not hear of selling their home in Worcester. “I want to know we have a home we can return to if anything goes wrong,” she said. “We own this house and it will be our home again one day. Mark my words!” She wasn’t to know how prophetic that statement would be.

The new factory was almost finished; Jimmy only had to complete the organisation. Art and Chris were as good as their word and dispatched a quartet of office staff for his deployment. A tall and somewhat fearsome woman named Margaret Allenby, former executive officer of an Army hospital in the Pacific, took charge and soon she had the place running smoothly. Despite her forbidding appearance, she had a soft centre, but she would stand no nonsense. Jimmy referred to her (out of her hearing, of course), as the Master Sergeant.

The children settled into Albuquerque with little difficulty. Susan and Sarah went to school at Las Lunas High School, where they quickly integrated with their new classmates. Susan found everything about her new State interesting. There was a significant Mexican component, and she found their culture—along with that of the Pueblo Indians—engrossing. It wasn’t long before she was arriving for breakfast with the greeting: “¿Hola Madre y familia. Como estas?” Her mother was not impressed, but Jimmy encouraged her, reckoning a second language might come in handy one day.

Sarah was moody at times, but as she met more friends and more boys, her natural cheerfulness reasserted itself. Meantime, the letters to her boyfriend in Worcester diminished gradually until they petered out altogether. Finally, she confided in Susan: “I don’t think about Mike anymore. Besides, there are plenty of great guys here close by!”

Susan had felt the stirring of her womanhood, but she found her school friends a little too puerile for her liking. Always a serious girl, she did not want to languish in the ‘leave school, get married, have kids, and be a dutiful wife’ scenario most of her friends expected. Deep down, she wanted to see a great deal more of the world.

James Junior loved the place. Compared to Worcester, it was a mild climate, with temperatures rarely falling below freezing and it hardly ever snowed. He soon had a posse of little friends lining up after school for his mother’s chocolate brownies. In his opinion, he was well on the way to becoming the new Babe Ruth.

They had arrived in late February, as spring was making itself felt, and in time for numerous dance festivals at the Indian pueblos. Soon, caught up in all the activity of their schools and other social affairs, no one thought much of the Worcester they had left behind.

Jimmy was busy at the factory. As the cold war grew more serious, there was no let up with orders. More contracts flowed in and he had to increase his workforce by thirty percent. Many were Latinos, and he found he was often calling on Susan after school for assistance as a translator, for she had become almost fluent in Spanish, including many not-so-nice words the meaning of which she was largely unaware. Almost without notice, the years rolled on until 1962, when a series of events was to pitch the family headlong into turmoil.

Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1958

Away to the east, the sky was showing the first traces of dawn. Under a pale slice of mid-winter sky, a pink flush heralded another day. Paddy and young Jack huddled together in the open Land Rover. This was becoming an almost daily event, necessary to protect the wheat crop from marauding kangaroos and feral pigs. Jack had learned to shoot at the age of eight with an old Winchester .22 single shot rifle. He soon mastered the weapon and moved on to better things, but the old single shot had taught him a valuable lesson. When you have only one shot, you have to make it count.

Despite Australia having a reputation as a hot and semi-arid country, winters can be cold. Here in the middle of July, they had watched the frost forming on windscreen and hood as dawn approached. Jack was wearing an old army surplus woolen battledress blouse. He was proud of this military relic. It still had Corporal’s chevrons on the sleeves along with the yellow and red shoulder flash of the Royal Australian Armoured Corps. He loved the jacket, almost as much as he loved the olive-green Land Rover, because it so closely resembled a military vehicle. He often drove it through the scrub, making believe he was on patrol. His military ambition had not waned.

Jack cradled a sporting rifle in his arms. It was a beautiful example of the gunsmith’s art. Manufactured in Finland by Sako and chambered in .243 centre fire, it had beautiful balance and amazing accuracy. This one sported a Parker Hale six-power telescopic sight that had been a recent birthday gift. Paddy favoured an old Lee Enfield Mark 3 .303 military rifle. Tried and proven in two world wars, it was reliable and packed a decent punch. Its best feature was its ten-round magazine, twice the ammunition Jack had.

The sky was lightening now. Where they had parked the Land Rover, in a small clump of Wilga trees, near the stock watering point, they were downwind of the wheat field and not visible to the kangaroos.

Paddy grunted: “I can see the bastards, mate, to our left and about a hundred yards away.”

Jack could see them now, a mob of around twenty, guarded by a big buck on the left flank. “OK, Dad, you start on the right, I’ll take the left. On the count of three…” On cue, the rifles shattered the peaceful morning. A great cloud of pink and grey galahs rose from the crop’s edge and spiraled into the rapidly lightening sky. Jack saw his father’s first shot knock over a ‘roo and then he had no time to worry about anything other than his own targets. He saw his first mark, the big buck, bound into the air and go down like a sack of grain dropped from the back of a truck. He quickly switched his target to the next in line. Before he could squeeze the trigger, he saw, in his peripheral vision, something that made him hesitate. Low to the ground, he had spotted four large feral pigs bolting for the cover of the scrub.

Feral pigs are the bane of Australian agriculture. Descended from escaped or abandoned domestic animals, they are large and dangerous. They are omnivores and they will eat anything they can catch or find. They cause massive destruction to crops, from sugar cane to cereals, rooting in the ground and knocking over many acres in their wasteful search for food. They despoil water holes, turning them into muddy wallows where sheep and cattle cannot drink. They kill and eat young lambs, and even calves. Their reproductive rate is high. Each sow will have several litters a year, each containing up to ten piglets. If a mother is shot, or dies, her piglets are sometimes taken over by another lactating sow that would rear them. They are cunning and difficult to bait.

All of this flashed through Jack’s subconscious mind. Almost automatically, he followed all four with his telescopic sight. Four shots rang out and four pigs tumbled to their deaths in the wheat, giving a final kick of their hind legs as the life drained from them. Jack stood there, finding it hard to believe what had happened. In some kind of fog, he realised what a feat of controlled shooting he had just performed—four moving targets, partly obscured, with four rounds from a bolt-action rifle at a range of around one hundred yards. He knew he was a good shot, but not that good. He came back to the present to find Paddy looking at him in amazement.

‘Bugger me,” said his father, “how did you bloody do that?”

“I don’t know, Dad. It was kind of instinctive, as though something took control of me for the moment. I didn’t even hear your rifle once it started.”

“I’ve never seen shooting like that, but from a twelve-year-old kid, it’s ridiculous. Good on ya, mate.”

Jack swelled with pride. His father’s approval was the ultimate praise to him, because he loved this big tough bushman with all his being. He said nothing, ambition to wear his country’s uniform only reinforced by the morning’s action. His father was still looking at him in bewilderment. What sort of a son did he have here? Anyway, it looked as if Ballinrobe would be in good hands. He looked across the crop, standing eighteen inches high and just starting to come into head. It stretched for almost a mile in every direction. Just one good fall of rain, and the crop would be a beauty. He turned back to his son.

“Righto, we better skin these ‘roos and get home before your mother burns the breakfast. She’s not gonna believe what you’ve just done!”

Paddy was no mean shot himself—six humped grey forms lay on the ground. They skinned them all. Later, Jack would peg the skins out to cure. By winter’s end, he would have a nice stock of pelts for the visiting skin buyer. They also loaded a pile of fresh meat for the dogs. They drove home in silence, replete with their victory over the pests.

Jack drove. He had learned to drive the Land Rover by the age of ten, taking a while to master its crash gearbox and indifferent brakes. Now he was an expert, in wet or dry conditions. As they approached the last gate before the homestead, Paddy turned to Jack and said, “Mate, I’ll bloody well miss you next year when you kids are off to boarding school.”

Jack did not like that prospect at all. Despite his yen to be a soldier, he had come to love life at Ballinrobe and could not imagine not being there. Still, he hoped to taste the military life before settling down. He hoped his father would be understanding and patient when the time came to confront him about it.

Worcester, Massachusetts, USA—1962

Worcester looked different in the early fall. Robed in the reds, yellows and browns of its deciduous trees, it was a pretty sight as they drove in from Boston. It was too bad they were returning on such a sad note. The city had grown, too. New suburbs stood where farmers’ fields had been a short time before. Jimmy Baker knew it was a story writ large across America. Post-war prosperity had made a good life for many. Russia had become less bellicose, and tensions appeared to be receding all around the world.

Jimmy had come home to a dark and depressed household. Tearfully, Marci hugged him. “Oh, Jimmy, Mom has passed away. I am just so sorry I was not there.” Jimmy did his best to console her and the children. James Junior was the least affected. His Grandmother had been absent from his short life for most of it. He dutifully dispatched birthday and Christmas cards, but he had not really known her. The girls were sad, but they knew about the inevitability of death and understood that Grandma’s time had come. Susan had not found Grandma to be such a nice person, anyway. She remembered all the narrow minded remarks about Negros and Latinos, things she now knew were evidence of a bitter old woman lashing out.

Sarah retained her obsession with the opposite sex, and her Grandmother’s demise was just an inconvenience. These teenage crushes were fleeting, but ever so dramatic when they were happening. Sarah had even confessed to having sex with one of the boys.

Susan—now almost seventeen and just about to complete High School—did not know whether to be envious or horrified. “For God’s sake, don’t let Mom find out. She’ll kill you,” she burst out. “Remember that pep talk at the start of the year?”

Marci, realising her girls were fast metamorphosing into two beautiful young women, had read the riot act about boys, pre-marital sex, and unwanted pregnancies. She left them in no doubt that transgressions in certain areas would bring down the wrath of God upon them. She was especially scornful of girls who got into trouble and intimated that, if such a thing happened, the perpetrator would be most unwelcome in her home.

The funeral was in a small Episcopalian Church surrounded by the beautiful colours of autumn. As Susan followed the cortege into the small churchyard to the family plot, she looked up at a leaden sky. Long flights of Canada geese were arrowing their way south and she could feel the chill of the approaching winter. She experienced a queer thought. Every funeral should be on days like this, she mused; it makes the whole thing so appropriate.

After the graveside service, they all gathered at an Aunt’s house. Aunt Sophie was Marci’s older sister and had been caring for her mother, first at her home and later at the nursing home. This was not a happy gathering; a gloomy atmosphere pervaded the place. After politely acknowledging the adults, Susan and Sarah wandered outside to mix with the other teenagers, several of whom were their cousins.

Susan was thinking about the funerals of relatives of her classmates. Brian Murphy told her about Irish Catholics and the wakes that followed the funerals. “Everyone gets sloshed, they sing and dance. They tell stories about the dead guy, and there is a marvelous amount of food and drink,” he said. “It’s more like a party, a fond farewell to a friend and loved one.” Lola Suarez had told her a similar tale of the Mexican services. Perhaps it was a matter of their religion, both groups being Catholic. Marci did not like Catholics, branding them as too fond of the drink and loath to accept personal responsibility. Sometimes, Susan thought, Mom sounds just like Grandma.

Soon, their cousins surrounded them, wanting to know all about Albuquerque and New Mexico. Some thought it would be fun to live there, others preferred to stay in Worcester. It had not escaped a few of their male cousins that both Susan and Sarah were quite pretty, and they were curious about who they were dating and how serious it all was.

“Do you, err, like, go all the way with your boyfriend?” said a tall, pimply youth called Karl who was suntanned and had peroxide blonde hair.

Susan replied that she did not have a steady boyfriend, and it was none of his business anyway. Sarah became coy about it, and a blush worked its way up her fair-skinned neck and face. Karl boasted that he had joined the Marine Corps and been posted to Camp Pendleton, near San Diego, intimating that plentiful sun, surfing, and sex were to be had by all. He suggested off-hand that he could offer them the benefit of his experience with women. When that garnered no response, he slyly offered them a ‘smoke’. It was hand rolled and the tobacco was a funny green colour. The girls thought it was time to say goodbye to Cousin Karl.

Marci had learned that there was a small bequest for her in the will, some personal jewelry, and a few thousand dollars. The house was to be sold and the proceeds divided between all the siblings and, since there were seven of them, that would not amount to much. Aunt Sophie was not happy about this arrangement. As she had been her mother’s primary caregiver, she thought the house should have been hers alone. Her complaints about this did not endear her to the others, and they parted in a rather restrained manner.

Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA—1962

In Albuquerque, life returned to normal for a little while. Jimmy had caught some flu-like infection. At first, he assumed he had some kind of reaction to the unaccustomed cold weather in Worcester, but it grew worse. He visited the family doctor, Willie Hammond, who prescribed some of the new antibiotics.

“These should clear it up, Jimmy,” he said. “One good thing the war gave us was Penicillin and it works just dandy. Come and see me in a week; you should be fit as a fiddle by then.”

However, the symptoms persisted and the doctor gave Jimmy a second course of the wonder drug. By the end of the second week, Jimmy felt better, apart from a persistent dry cough. As winter approached, the cough became worse and Jimmy began to feel run down. He was continually tired, and struggled to meet the demands of his important job. One day, after a bad fit of coughing, he found that he had begun to cough up blood. For a while, he ignored the problem. Then, one day at work, in the middle of a meeting with his ‘Master Sergeant’, Margaret, a paroxysm of coughing caught him in mid-sentence.

Margaret was immediately concerned. Her hospital experience told her that this was something serious. “Get down to the doctor pronto,” she said. “That looks bad, and the longer you leave it, the worse it will become.”

Nobody argued with Margaret. Jimmy came to attention and delivered a mock salute. “Yes. Ma’am!” he retorted and straight away phoned his doctor. Dr. Hammond sounded serious. “I think you should get over to the hospital right away, Jimmy. I’ll phone them and tell them what tests I want done.”

Jimmy came home that afternoon after having x-rays, lung function tests, and all manner of blood tests. He confided in Marci. “I don’t want the kids to worry. Susan is in her Grad year and needs no distractions like this. In any case, it may be nothing. Look. I’m only forty-two, and that’s too young for anything serious.” They spent a normal weekend with the children—little league baseball, hot dogs, basketball for Sarah. Susan, the quiet studious one, spent some time in the library; she had a history assignment to finish. History was her favourite subject.

Most did not know that, along with more than three thousand US military advisors, US Army helicopters were ferrying troops around a small country in Indochina.

Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1962

This year the wheat crop had been down in yield. September did not bring the finishing rain to make it a good crop. Once home from boarding school, Denni and Jack had joined in with the work as usual. It was a dry, hot summer. For weeks on end, the daily temperatures had climbed above one hundred degrees Fahrenheit as the sun blazed down from a clear blue sky. Waterholes dried up and had to be fenced to prevent sheep bogging down in a desperate effort to get a drink.

For the next six weeks, nothing changed. Paddy and Jack, Mick and Ollie spent days on end checking stock and water holes. Many sheep were dragged from the mud, but not all survived. Paddy had reduced his sheep numbers, and replaced them with more wheat and some cattle. He had a flair for dealing. He sometimes travelled throughout western Queensland, attending cattle sales. Occasionally, he would sell some of these at a profit at the next sale, but mostly they were put in charge of a drover and walked the many miles to Ballinrobe on stock routes especially chosen for any grass available on them. They would arrive in good condition, having taken advantage of the feed on the stock routes and were usually sold soon after at a good profit. The Australian cattlemen called this practice using the long paddock.

In mid-December, summer storms began to gather. It grew unbearably hot and humid. For a while, the storms were brilliant lightning shows with little rain—all piss and wind—as Ollie described them. One stinker of a morning, as the workmen, Paddy and the kids gathered just after sunrise to decide on and allocate the day’s tasks, black clouds began to gather in the south-west, the direction from which the summer rains came.

Mick observed, “I think this might be it, boss—bloody good rain at last.”

He was right. By lunchtime, a persistent drizzle had started, and in the early afternoon, thunder and lightning rolled in. It began to rain heavily and did so for more than twenty-four hours. Lying in bed that night, Paddy was jubilant. “This rain will set us up for the summer and there should be enough sub-soil moisture for a good start for our crops.”

Helen nuzzled into his shoulder. How lucky I am, she thought. I have a wonderful family and the best man in the world. Gently, she began to stroke him. She slipped out of her nightdress and began to make love to him. He responded in kind, and soon they lay gasping for breath, feeling as one.

How Paddy loved this gentle but strong woman who had stood by him in good times and bad, and had given him such a perfect family. Later, in the dark, listening to the rain rattling on the iron roof, Helen decided to clear up some things about what the future held for Denni and Jack. “Paddy,” she murmured, “we have to talk about the kids. It will be the last year of school for them next year, and we have to do something about their futures.”

Paddy, half-asleep in the afterglow of their lovemaking, was not ready for such a serious discussion. However, Helen had chosen her time well. A man is so vulnerable at this time, sated, warm, and with his soft woman cuddled alongside him, ready to say yes to anything she suggests. Many times over the years, Helen had used this technique to obtain the things she wanted, like a new car, or the just-renovated laundry.

Helen continued. “Denni is a young woman now. I’ve made sure she knows about the birds and bees. She’s a sensible girl, and I don’t anticipate any trouble in that department. But what about her future, what will she want in life?”

It was all very clear-cut to Paddy. “Well, I suppose she will marry some nice bloke and settle down. There are a few young fellas around here who will finish up owning a nice station.”

“Paddy, she’s a very intelligent girl. Don’t you think she might have other ideas? I know she wants to go to university in Brisbane. I don’t think she wants marriage and kids right away, and I am not sure she wants to be a farmer’s wife.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Paddy. “She is still mad about the horses. In fact, she is keener on the horses than Jack is. All he wants to do is drive the Land Rover and shoot.”

“All girls love horses. I think it is a sex substitute for them, but times are changing. Look around you. That Dawson girl is going to be a doctor. Who would have imagined that ten years ago, a female doctor!” Helen rested her case.

“Oh, well, I suppose we can indulge her. She’s been a good kid and has worked hard,” replied Paddy. “She’ll come home after a few years, anyway, I suppose.” Helen didn’t think so. She would miss her daughter terribly, but the girl deserved her chance in life. She would not stand in her way.

Paddy said, “At least there is no problem with Jack. He’ll be home with bells on, and won’t that be good? I can teach him all he needs to know about the job.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Paddy. The world will require a better-educated farmer in the future. You have been a great man, and a pioneering one, but it is going to get a lot harder down the track. I would like him to study farm management,” said Helen. “Have you talked to him about this? Come to think of it, have you had the birds and bees talk?”

Paddy was embarrassed to say he had not. His narrow religious upbringing made him reluctant to talk about sex. “Well, I suppose I will have to do that. He probably knows it all anyway, what with all the breeding animals, and he is studying Biology at school.”

Helen said, “I don’t think that will be enough. I think he needs some direction. He seems to be spending a lot of time with Amy O’Neil. It wouldn’t surprise me if he is already active in that area.”

Paddy was secretly pleased at this. He had been no saint in his youth, and understood what a powerful libido he had. He never espoused it, but he thought of sex as a wonderfully fulfilling game, with the ultimate pleasure at the end of it. He was immensely grateful that Helen was a willing and adventurous partner. He had heard many of his mates complaining of their wives’ indifference to sex and, in many cases, active avoidance of it.

“We won’t have to wonder what Jack wants to do, anyway. It will be Ballinrobe or bust for him.”

“Paddy, has Jack spoken to you about the army? He told me he wants to go to the Royal Military College when he finishes school and become an officer.”

“What?” said Paddy. “Over my dead body! Look at some of those blokes that came back from the war. Mad, some of them, or pisspots. I won’t see my son end up like that.”

“Our son you mean,” said Helen gently. “I still think he deserves his chance too. It’s not like there is a war on.”

Meanwhile, not far to the north, in a small country in Indochina, the number of US military advisors has doubled. They are about to be joined by the first thirty military advisors from Australia. An undeclared war was about to get serious.

Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA—1963

On this Wednesday morning, Dr. White looked out the window at the city of Albuquerque. He had moved here from Chicago several years ago, fleeing the cold, crime, and congestion. It had been a good decision. He had prospered here, and his family loved it. However, it had not been all beer and skittles. Today was one of the bad ones. He hated this part of his job. In his waiting room was a patient to whom he was to deliver the worst of news, a young man with a family and a good career ahead of him. He was about to sentence him to death.

As the nurse ushered him into the doctor’s office, Jimmy was still hoping for the best. This morning he had felt better than he had for a while, but he reasoned it was probably adrenaline-fueled anxiety giving him a high. He was ushered to a chair, greeting White with a nervous smile. “Mr. Baker,” White commenced, “I guess there is no easy way to say this. I am afraid that you have Mesothelioma, a cancer that rarely responds to treatment and is inevitably fatal. There are many treatments I can apply, surgery, chemotherapy and radium treatment. All of these will have bad side effects, some quite debilitating and painful. You should talk this over with your family. You should also obtain a second opinion if you think you need it. I am sorry I cannot offer you better news or a better prognosis. This condition is usually caused by exposure to asbestos fibres. Were you ever a miner or a processor of asbestos material?”

“No,” replied Jimmy, “But I spent nearly four years in the Navy and there was a lot of asbestos insulation in those ships. Could that have been the cause?”

“Probably,” said White. “Your condition is not unknown amongst Navy veterans.”

Jimmy said nothing for a long time. He could not get his head around this news. “So how long have I got?”

“It is very hard to say. Your condition may progress very quickly. On the other hand, if you are lucky, you may have two years. I can promise you no more than that.”

Jimmy then asked him the question he always dreaded. “If you were me, what would you do?”

Dr. White hesitated. “Even if you undertake any of the treatments I have suggested, your disease will not be cured. Indeed, surgery may exacerbate your condition, since disturbing the cancer may stimulate it into more rapid development. Chemotherapy and Radium both have serious side effects. You will lose your hair. You will spend long periods in hospital, and endure much pain. If I were you, I would let the cancer take its course and use what time you have left to enrich your life and that of your family. If you can afford to, take a nice vacation, travel, treat yourself to a new car or do whatever takes your fancy. Enjoy what time you have left.”

Jimmy forced himself to his feet. “Thank you for your frankness, Doctor,” he said. “I will give earnest consideration to what you have told me.” He took the elevator to reception. In a semi-dazed state, he phoned Margaret to tell her he would not be at the office for the remainder of the week.

“Are you all right?” she said. “I’m just a little off colour,” he replied. “I’ll see you Monday.”

He crossed the street and began to wander aimlessly. Eventually, he found himself in a small park and sat on a bench in the cool shade of some trees. It was a lovely day. There were children playing on the green lawn. A couple of boys about James Junior’s age were punting a football, bursting with energy. He could hear a couple of warblers calling high up in the trees. All around him were the sights and sounds of normality, but now they had a particular piquancy. He looked at passersby as if he had never seen them before, and indeed, he had not, not with his new view of the world. How many of them knew when they were going to die? How many were thinking of loved ones left behind, of a life cut down in its prime?

He sat for a long time and considered his new life. It was to be brutally curtailed, but he was, in a sense, set free by the knowledge. His family would be looked after. He had a substantial insurance policy, and Marci had her home in Worcester. They could sell the house in Albuquerque and he had substantial savings, along with a large block of company stock. Money would not be a problem.

Marci saw the change in him as soon as he opened the door. Her face crumpled into tears. “Oh, no,” she wailed, “is the news that bad?”

He nodded. “You’re looking at a dead man walking,” he said, “but I have come to terms with it. Now we must speak of how to make the best of a bad situation.” He looked at her face, at the bottomless depths of her wonderful brown eyes, and he felt his resolve ebb away. She took him in her arms and all the horror and tension burst forth. He began to sob uncontrollably.

They did not tell the children, although Susan looked knowingly at her mother. She was closest to her father, and sensed something was worse than her parents told her. Later she confronted her father. “Daddy,” she said, “are you really okay?” Jimmy looked into another pair of brown eyes and felt a great sadness. He may never see his Susan grow up or see his grandchildren. He blinked back his tears. He had to be strong for them all. “I’m okay, Princess. The best is yet to come.”

Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1962-63

Helen was right. Jack Riordan had tasted the apple, and it tasted damn good. Like most boys his age, he had been fascinated by the idea of sex for a couple of years now. Like most boys his age, he could hardly believe his parents had done this, were probably doing it right now! He used to listen for clandestine sounds of sexual activity without success. Like most other boys of his age, his great fear was that he would die before he had had a chance to experience it. At the end of his second to last year at school, he had become aware of his body and its needs. The first time it had happened involuntarily, the result of a delicious dream. Now he was like a fox terrier in the presence of a rat. He could not wait to begin.

Goondiwindi in 1962 was still a small country town of twenty-five hundred people. Most knew each other, and Jack, as the son and heir of a prominent station owner, was well known to most of the town, more so since the story of his proficiency with a rifle had passed into local lore. It was no handicap either that he was a good-looking young man, tall, and with thick black hair. Some thought he had a slightly rakish air about him, one more attribute valued by the local girls. No matter where you are—Angels love bad men.

Jack was not old enough to possess a driving license, but he knew the local Sergeant of Police, a friend of his father. Sergeant Ernie Molloy often came to Ballinrobe to fish and shoot ducks. He knew Jack was a proficient driver, and like with most bush kids, but warned him off the main roads. “And don’t drive in town, either,” he said. “If I catch you at it I’ll give you a bloody good kick up the arse!” Molloy had very large feet and very heavy boots, so for the next year, Jack used to drive to the edge of town and walk half a mile to the main street.

The main entertainment for young people in town consisted of a couple of milk bars, run by gregarious Greek immigrant families, and the local open-air picture theatre. Pubs were out of bounds—the legal drinking age was twenty-one—so the options available to a young courting couple were very limited, especially when they were so recognisable in the town. No matter where you went, you had to pass one of the five pubs. There the drinkers gathered on the verandas and hanging out of the windows had a good view of all the girls with their beaus, and were not above offering all kinds of helpful advice.

Not all the girls were available. The patriarchs of the Greek families kept their daughters well hidden. There would be no uncivilised Australian husbands for them! The various churches held sway as well in an age before personal freedom and the advent of female contraceptives. Most would not risk hellfire for the sake of a few minutes’ pleasure. Virginity was a precious commodity. How else could a girl first attract and then trap a decent husband?

* * * *

Amy O’Neil was the daughter of one of the local bank managers. Jack met her at a church dance and was impressed with her maturity. She seemed to be more sophisticated than other girls. She had come from Brisbane when her father transferred to the bush. She was eighteen years old and had seen a lot more of life than the others, especially Jack Riordan.

Amy suggested they take a walk half way through the dance. Jack wasn’t so sure about that. His mother was in town and had arranged to pick him up when the dance finished. What if she came early to chat with friends and watch the dancing? She would notice he was missing and there would be serious questions to answer.

Helen always knew when Jack was lying. Nonetheless, they slipped out into the warm summer night. The heat of the day had ebbed away, leaving a gentle cool breeze coming off the river. Amy took Jack by the hand. At her touch, he felt a fizz of excitement surge through his groin. They soon reached the riverbank where there was a gentle descent to a small beach popular with the local fishermen and well screened from the street by a thicket of wild sunflowers.

For a moment, Jack hesitated, but Amy moved up to him and gently kissed his mouth. She pressed close to him and he could feel her softness along the length of his body. Her soft breasts pushed against him. He could feel her erect nipples and realised with a thrill that she wore no bra. She kissed him harder, hungrily, her tongue exploring his mouth. He replied in kind as they slipped to the soft grass.

She leaned over him, pulling down the straps of her dress, exposing her breasts to his eager lips. As he took her in his mouth, she began to moan softly. Her hands raced over his body unfastening his clothing, stroking his chest and stomach, moving ever nearer to his throbbing groin. He could feel his erection threatening to burst through his trousers. So did Amy; in one swift motion, she stood up and stepped out of her dress, revealing her smooth stomach and a pair of tiny white panties. She discarded these with one hand then she tugged his pants down below his knees with the other. For a moment, she stood proud and tall in the soft moonlight then knelt down beside him and began to stroke him. He ran his hand up her legs to her soft inner thighs; she moaned again and spread her legs. Jack found the mound of tawny gold hair and the warm, wet, slippery folds of her sex. She gasped loudly and rolled to straddle him. For a moment, he felt himself push at her, then plunge into her sweet warmth.

Amy rode him, grinding against him until he came in a great rush. Amy was crying out, “Oh, God. Oh, yes, Ooooo…yes!” He could feel her contracting around him as her orgasm took control. Afterwards, they lay together. He could feel her sticky wetness against his thigh. She looked tenderly at him. “That was your first time, wasn’t it?” she said, with a secret smile. “Never mind, it happens to us all eventually. You were good for a first timer. I’ll have to teach you all I know.”

She stood up and ran down to the water, slipping in until only her shoulders showed. “Come on in,” she said. “The water is nice and we need to clean up.” Jack joined her in the wonderfully cool water and began to wash himself down. Amy swam over to him and put her arms around his neck. She began to rub herself against him and he felt his erection stirring. Amy began to kiss him again; she ran a hand down his body and took his penis in it, stroking it gently until it was rock-hard. She slipped down a little further, then, placing her arms around his neck again, she locked her legs around his waist and took him inside her. This time it was slower and not so urgent for Jack. Amy came in a murmuring rush of words. “Oh, I need, I want, Oh, God, I want it.” She came to a shuddering climax.

As they walked back to the school dance hall, Jack looked for the first time at his watch. “Shit,” he said. “I’m half an hour late. Mum will kill me!”

Amy smiled. “Why don’t you blame me?” she replied. “Anyway I want to meet your mother.”

“Not now. She’ll guess what we’ve been doing.”

Amy, undeterred, followed Jack to the car where Helen stood waiting. “Where have you been, Jack? You should have been here long ago. Dad will be waiting for us. And who is this?” said Helen, looking Amy up and down.

“Hello, Mrs. Riordan,” said Amy with a knowing smile. “It’s so nice to meet you. Jack and I have hit it off really well. I’m Amy O’Neil. My Dad is relieving manager at the National Bank. I believe you have your account there.”

Helen said, “Nice to meet you, Amy, now we must be on our way. Can I give you a lift?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, “It’s only a short way. Goodnight, Jack, thanks for the walk.” She gave him a prim handshake, turned on her heel and walked away.

Helen looked at Jack suspiciously. “What have you been up to, my boy?” she asked. “That girl is a bit too saucy for her own good. I’d watch that one if I was you.”

For the rest of the summer, Jack and Amy took every chance to meet and make love. She gently taught him things he hadn’t believed possible, teaching him all he needed to know to pleasure her. The things she could do with her lovely body knew no bounds. As February approached, Jack prepared for his last year at school. He drove into town for one last visit to Amy.

“Let’s make this one special,” she said; and she did. Jack said he couldn’t wait for the school holidays to come. “I won’t be here,” said Amy. “Dad’s being transferred back to Brisbane.”

“I can come to Brisbane, if I have to,” said Jack. “I can get the train.”

“I don’t think so, honey,” said Amy. “I guess it’s all over now. It was fun while it lasted, but all good things end. At least you’ll know all the right moves when the next girl comes around.” She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, and with a cheery wave, walked away.

Jack never saw her again.

San Diego, California, USA—1963

Captain John Ernshaw, master of the SS Golden Ray, stood on the bridge wing and surveyed San Diego harbour. This was a busy place, filled with the blaring horns of tugboats and the bustle of cross-bay traffic. Over there were the Marine Base and Naval Air Station, and several troopships lay alongside. Recently, there had been an increase in activity at both establishments.

Ernshaw was a spare man with iron-grey hair and a military bearing. The four gold rings on his jacket sleeves showed the tarnish of many years at sea. On his left breast, he wore the blue and white ribbon of the Distinguished Service Cross along with a row of service ribbons, prominent amongst them the Atlantic Star. The DSC had been awarded for gallantry in 1941, when he had driven off a U-boat pack, sinking one and ramming a second, resulting in a large number of prisoners and most of the boat’s codebooks being hauled aboard.

John Ernshaw was a humble man and credited his destroyer HMS Cutlass and its crew with the award as much as himself. If asked about the decoration, he usually said it was for a ‘bit of a muddle in the North Sea.’ They gave it to the wrong chap and couldn’t take it back.”

SS Golden Ray was a passenger cargo ship of around twenty-thousand tons displacement, driven by two oil-fired steam turbines capable of a cruising speed of eighteen knots. It was being fitted with stabilisers. A smooth ship in most weather conditions, she could accommodate eight passengers. There was not much call for berths right now: bigger and faster aircraft had taken much of the international passenger traffic. This is why the Captain was waiting for his five passengers with great curiosity. It was unusual for five members of the one family to travel together.

Captain Ernshaw had received a phone call from the ship’s agents a week ago. The passengers were arriving by train today. There was notification that one of the passengers may need some special medical attention, and they provided details to Golden Ray’s surgeon, along with a list of medications required on board for the voyage. His information was that two of the passengers were attractive young women and that his crew was to be on its best behaviour. Ernshaw grunted at that. If any of his Jolly Jack Tars took liberties he would keelhaul them, and they knew it.

* * * *

The objects of Captain Ernshaw’s curiosity had been planning for a couple of months by the time he received his phone call. Jimmy and Marci had talked their respective heads off after he had recovered from his devastating visit to the hospital. “Marci,” Jimmy had said, “we have to face this head on and make the most of what we have while we still can. I have a few ideas, myself, but you have to decide first what you want to do. You have to face the prospect of being tied to an invalid for a few years, and following me like that girl in the Bible. You know, ‘Whither thou goest, so doth I’ or something like that. I have some unusual requests to put to you all, and I don’t want you to be tied down.”

“You mean Ruth,” said Marci, “and if you think I would abandon you, you haven’t learnt much in the last eighteen years.” He gazed into those brown eyes again. His heart swelled with love. He felt very humble in her presence, and, for the umpteenth time, thanked God for bringing her into his life.

“Okay,” he said, “this is what I want to do. Firstly, I would like to show you and the kids a little more of our great country. I am sure that the experience will be better than any school education, at least in the short term. Then I would like to take them on a voyage to a foreign country, again for the experience. Perhaps we could even live abroad for a short time. Secondly, I want to keep my condition from the children. I don’t want to spoil this experience by having them all weepy and sad.”

“I think Susan knows,” replied Marci, “She has said nothing but she sometimes looks at you in a wistful way. I think she senses that the younger two do not need this burden right now. I will do whatever you want, my love, to see you enjoy your last years. There will be plenty of time to mourn when you are gone.”

The family conferences that followed were long and convoluted. Finally, the prospect of a year away from school was too tempting for Sarah and James Junior. Susan had graduated from Las Lunas High and was planning for college. She thought it would be good to have a year off study, especially if travel was involved. They decided they would like to see the Mountain States, the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone Park, California and the Pacific coast. Jimmy wanted to return to his roots in Montana to see the country of his youth, and pay his last respects to his long dead parents. Moreover, he had a private trip planned to Washington, to visit Arlington and some of his shipmates who had already departed this world. Marci was pleased with the progress they had made. She had come to like the idea of getting the kids out of school for a while, especially Sarah, whose attachments to her beaus were beginning to look dangerous to her.

Jimmy had to tell Bob Phillips what had happened and what he was proposing to do. Bob and the Directors were genuinely sympathetic, and offered him as much help as he needed. They gave him a generous severance payment. Jimmy had not been to his office since that fateful day at the hospital. Now he returned one last time to tidy up his affairs. Margaret greeted him, tears in her eyes. He told her of his plans, but admitted he was unsure of the overseas destination.

The Master Sergeant did not hesitate. “Australia,” she said with some authority. “I was there during the war. It is a lovely place with a relaxed attitude to life. I saw some of their soldiers in New Guinea. They were the bravest men I ever saw, tough and self-reliant. They didn’t like U.S. officers much, though.” Jimmy was sympathetic; he and the other seamen hadn’t liked officers much either.

A week or so later, he was invited by a friend to attend a Rotary Club dinner and was surprised to find two visiting Australian Rotarians there. They proved to be friendly and garrulous and Jimmy took a liking to them immediately. He asked about where to go in Australia.

“Brisbane, mate; fair dinkum, it’s the best city in the world. Best beer, too.”

“Bloody oath, mate,” said his compatriot. You can’t go wrong with Brissie.”

Therefore, the Baker family—after a long last look at their country—entrained for San Diego to begin the adventure of their lives.

* * * *

There was activity on the wharf below. Captain Ernshaw looked down and saw a taxi come to a halt near the gangway. The cabbie began to haul a seemingly endless array of luggage onto the dock. He called to his Second Officer, “Peter, take a couple of our chaps down and help our guests embark. Smack it about now.”

The Second Officer departed at the double, and soon the passengers and their luggage were aboard. Ernshaw noticed the last to board was the father of the family. He paused at the head of the gangway and snapped a smart salute to the quarterdeck and the Red Ensign on the taffrail.

Hmm, thought the Captain, an old seafarer for company. Should be jolly interesting.

In the passenger accommodation, the Bakers sorted themselves into their allocated cabins. With eight cabins, there was room for all, and more to spare. Jimmy and Marci took the larger stateroom, while the three others each occupied a single berth. James Junior could not believe he had a separate bathroom. How wonderful it would be—no more trawling through the endless female clutter of powders, potions, lipsticks, hair dryers, curlers and other things, the purpose of which he could only imagine. A knock on the cabin door interrupted Jimmy and Marci. Jimmy opened it to a smart looking seaman.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir. Skipper says oop to smokin’ room for drinks afore dinner.” Jimmy thanked him. On his last ship, it was Jimmy running such errands. How about that?

The Captain was courtesy personified. He greeted his passengers and soon they were settled into comfortable chairs. Ernshaw looked at Jimmy. “You were a sailor?”

“Yes sir,” said Jimmy, “I spent most of the war on convoy escort duty in the Atlantic.”

“By Jove,” said Ernshaw, “so did I. We must get together and talk over old times. Now we must not bore the others with old war stories. Let me tell you about our voyage. We’ll be stopping over in Hawaii, Fiji, and Auckland before we finally dock in Brisbane. It will take about eight weeks, so relax, and enjoy the cruise. You will have about three days shore time in each port while we load and provision. I believe you have been ill, Mr. Baker. I hope the salt air will return you to good health. Well, duty calls. Anything you need, just ask one of the crew. Our Second Officer, Peter Lewis, will be directly responsible for your comfort. Make sure he complies, yes?”

The Bakers went in for their first meal of the voyage. “Dad,” said James Junior, looking at the silver service, “were the meals like this in the Navy?”

Jimmy smiled at his family. “Only for the Admirals,” he said.

Meanwhile, a small item buried in the newspapers reported the deaths of three U.S. military advisors in a small country in Indochina. Most people did not see it. Those who did thought nothing of it.

Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1963

Helen Riordan had been worrying about her children to no avail. With the departure of Amy O’Neil, Helen had breathed a sigh of relief. Her contacts in the bank had informed her that Amy and her family were gone for good. She had been convinced that Jack had been doing more than kissing Amy, but as the weeks went by, her worries faded away.

She had discovered that Denni was determined to go to Queensland University in Brisbane to study science, and had convinced Paddy of the value of this move. “She’ll have to live in one of the Colleges,” he said, “I’ll not have her sharing a house or flat with a pack of deadbeats.”

Paddy had taken umbrage at what he called dirty unshaven lefties who adorned the front pages of the papers recently. “How come they can spend all day doing that sort of thing? Shouldn’t they be studying?” The student unrest that had first emerged in Europe and then America was beginning to stir in Australia. He didn’t want his daughter mixing with pot smoking hippies, as the papers described them.

They made no decision about Jack. Paddy wanted him home as soon as possible, and while he was ready to talk about further education, he was adamant that his son was not going to the army. “Not even as a General,” he would say. One of his drinking mates, a veteran of World War Two and Korea, joked with him that Jack was too smart to be a General. Paddy’s normal good humour deserted him. “Oh, shut your bloody trap, Alf. I don’t want to talk about any army, not even the bloody Salvation Army!” This was not an isolated incident. Helen had noticed Paddy was more often than not in a bad mood. She put it down to the pressure of the children’s future and the lack of recent rain. Then he began to complain of indigestion, refusing to eat Helen’s famous lamb curry, a special favourite of his. Finally, Helen confronted him over his health. “Paddy, I’ve made an appointment with Dr. Thomas for you on Tuesday to sort out this indigestion thing. I think it’s time to do so,” she said.

“Don’t be bloody silly, woman,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a couple of inches of bloody rain won’t fix. Anyway, I think I’m busy on Tuesday.”

Nevertheless, Helen prevailed, as he had known she would, and the next Tuesday found them in Doctor Thomas’ surgery. Thomas listened to Helen’s description of the symptoms then took some blood for testing. He listened to Paddy’s heart, but noticed no irregularities. Finally, he said, “I think you may have a stomach ulcer. Drink plenty of milk, avoid spicy foods and take this medication. I’ll have your test results soon and we can review the situation then.”

Paddy hated milk. “I was weaned more than fifty bloody years ago. Does he think I am a bloody baby?”

* * * *

Meanwhile in Sydney, Jack was preparing for his final examinations. He wasn’t too worried about the results, for he was the best scholar in the school. He had already written to the Royal Military College and was awaiting a reply. He had had no liaisons since Amy, reasoning that he was unlikely to be that lucky again. He listened to the boasts of his schoolmates and realised none of them knew what they were talking about. He was content to leave things until he was home again. However, Amy frequently came to him, at night, in his dreams.

His reply from the Army came soon enough. He examined the enclosed application form and began to fill it out. To his chagrin, he discovered that he had to get his parents to sign the section giving their permission for him to join the army. Legal majority did not occur until the age of twenty-one in Australia. Bugger it, he thought, I won’t be twenty-one for nearly three years; I’m sure Paddy won’t sign this. Nonetheless, he filled out the application and carefully put it away. Maybe his parents would change their minds.

The train left Sydney in the long twilight of a late November day. It was a smooth ride up the coast and over the spectacular bridge on the Hawkesbury River. At Gosford, the electric lines terminated, and the passengers gnawed at rock-hard meat pies and curling sandwiches while they drank stewed tea in the quaintly named Railway Refreshment Rooms. Outside, with much puffing and wheezing, the steam loco coupled up to the train for the northward journey. Jack was thankful it was summer, for the cold was fearful along the ranges in winter in the unheated passenger carriages. He was jubilant to have finished school at last. He would never visit Sydney, Australia’s most vibrant city, as a schoolboy again. In a few months, he would be eighteen, have a driving license, and be ready to take on the world.

He climbed into his sleeper bunk. The clickety-clack of the wheels over the rail joints and the gentle swaying of the train soon lulled him to sleep.

Just before dawn, the train stopped south of Narrabri, running onto a switching track to make space for the southbound train to pass by. Jack woke about this time and climbed from his bunk, dressed, and made his way to the open platform at the end of his carriage. It was a beautiful morning. There was no sound but the gentle clinking of some metal parts as they cooled, and a faint hiss of steam from the locomotive, far away at the head of the train. All around the train, the country stretched, prairie-like, for miles covered with sweet native grasses. He heard some kookaburras bring the world to life with their raucous, laughing calls. Magpies and butcherbirds, in a breathtaking bush symphony, joined them. Far across the plain, a large mob of sheep grazed in peace.

English poets waxed lyrical about their pastoral scenes, but this is as good as it gets, thought Jack. A sudden rush of love for his country struck him. He knew it could be cruel, but it could be bountiful and kind too. He vowed that nothing would ever break this bond.

The southbound train shrieked by, the air displaced by its forward movement rattling and buffeting the stationary carriages. Soon they were moving again, heading for the end of the line, the town of Moree. There Jack would take a strange little rail motor to his final destination, Goondiwindi.

Some boys from his school were on the train, along with boys from other schools in Sydney. They all knew each other, having ridden these rails for four years. They had played rugby and cricket with and against each other. Now bound in the brotherhood of young men about to enter a new world, they had much to talk about and they all wanted to talk about sex. Some of the boys were already smoking cigarettes. One of them started talking about a new cigarette, made not from tobacco, but from the leaves of a plant called maryjuana or something like that. It was supposed to send you into a dreamlike state, very pleasurable. Jack was not interested. He had tried one of Ollie’s cigarettes and wondered why anyone would waste their money on such foul tasting things.

* * * *

Paddy and Helen were waiting for him at the station. Paddy had a new Land Rover with a metal roof and seats in the back. It was painted battleship grey. “Have a dekko at that, young fella,” said Paddy, “Look at the room in the back!”

Jack dutifully admired it, but secretly, he preferred the old green one. A sudden panic struck him. “Dad, you didn’t trade in the old one, did you?”

Paddy gave him an indulgent smile. “What, and have you shoot me?” he said.

“Crikey, Dad, it’s great to see you all again.” He hugged his mother. Denni stood off to the side, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Guess what?” she said, “I’ve got my license.” She waved a little rectangle of grey cardboard as she spoke. “I’m going to drive us all home.”

“Oh, no!” cried Jack. “We’ll all be killed.” He would never admit it, but he was proud of her achievement. They had a late lunch at one of the Greek cafés.

“Remember, Paddy, a salad and not much meat for you,” said Helen. “Doctor’s orders.”

Jack looked at his father. Paddy was still the big strong bushman he had left a few months ago, but there were more lines around his mouth and eyes, and his skin had a greyish look to it Jack had not noticed before. “Is there anything wrong, Dad?” he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Right as rain, mate. Don’t worry about it.” Paddy changed the subject and they began to talk about crops and livestock, horses, and Mick & Ollie. The crop had been a reasonable one, but wool prices were wavering, and Paddy had again changed his mix, selling some sheep and acquiring more cattle. Having eaten, they piled into the Land Rover and headed to the Police Station.

“I’ve organised your driver’s license, young man,” announced Paddy, “Ernie said he would have it ready to pick up by now. He says you don’t need a test; he knows you have been driving for years anyway.”

They pulled into the station yard. Ernie came out with another piece of grey cardboard. “G’day,” he said to Denni. “You haven’t bent anything yet, I see.” He turned to Jack. “This one’s for you, mate; see you keep it clean.”

Ballinrobe was about twenty miles from town. Jack drank in all the old familiar places as they drove along. He had missed this place, missed his horses, his old Land Rover, his dogs and his family. However, most of all, he had missed the elemental mystique of the land and his attachment to it. He resolved to leave the questions about his future until he had re-immersed himself in Ballinrobe. As soon as he arrived home, Jack grabbed his rifle and loaded himself and Sam, his kelpie bitch, into the Land Rover he now thought of as his own. He drove all over the station, noting anything new. There was nothing to shoot, despite the saliva-dripping anticipation of Sam for a fresh kangaroo leg. Jack stopped in some of his favourite places, to sit in the Land Rover and listen to the birds and the whispering sigh of the breeze in the belah trees. His spirit was soon rejuvenated, his connection with the land renewed. Soon he turned for home, ready for the inevitable clash with his parents over his future.

Meanwhile, not far to the north, in a city called Hanoi in a small country in Indochina, a man called Ho Chi Min was making plans for a war to engulf another small country in Indochina and merge it into a communist dictatorship.

Pacific Ocean, Near Fiji—1963

The Baker family was enjoying a life on the ocean waves. Skies remained blue, seas remained calm, and fair winds blew. Jimmy began to feel better, buoyed by his return to the sea. For a young man from Montana, he had taken to the sea as if he had been born with built-in gyroscopes. Not even the fierce Atlantic storms had upset his equilibrium. He spent long hours leaning over the taffrail, watching the ship’s wake behind them, as if he was watching a giant furrow as the ship ploughed an endless field.

Marci was happy for him. She was happy for herself, as Jimmy had re-discovered his libido, and they engaged in long nights of gentle lovemaking. Please God, she prayed, give him to me for as long as you can. His children need him, I need him, and I am not ready for what you have in store for us.

Susan still carried that wistful look in her eyes, but she too was enjoying the voyage. She often thought ahead to what would happen when they reached Australia. She wanted to study history, and hoped there would be a university wherever they settled. She was a beautiful young woman; naturally she thought about young men. She was not a virgin, but the experiences she’d had were meaningless fumbles in the back seats of cars with pimply youths who had nothing on their minds but their own satisfaction. She dreamed of love, real love, with someone she could mould herself to, until they both acted as one.

They had spent a few days in Honolulu, while the Golden Ray off loaded her cargo, and took on stores, fuel, and water. The whole family enjoyed doing the things a million tourists had done before them. James Junior ate pineapple for the first time and soon it became his favourite fruit. “Dad, do they raise pineapples in Australia?” he asked. No one knew for sure.

For Jimmy, a visit to Pearl Harbour and the memorial to the Arizona was essential. He had mixed thoughts. He was sad so many good men had perished here in that surprise attack, but was proud of them and his own service in the U.S. Navy. On the other hand, if this had not happened, he would not have been in the Navy, and he would not now be suffering from cancer.

Golden Ray sailed on. Tomorrow they would be in Fiji. James Junior teased his sisters that they would have to wear grass skirts and go topless in order to fit in with the locals. Sarah, with her trim figure and long legs, thought it would be a great idea; her mother scolded them for even thinking about it.

Jimmy and Marci lay entwined in their stateroom and tried to chart the future. “Jimmy,” she said, “It seems the kids have settled in well. There have been no demands for a return home yet. Susan has been doing a lot of reading and the crew has been marvelous with James Junior.” Jimmy had liked what the crew had done. They had found an officer’s cap for James Junior, and had dubbed him ‘The Midshipman’, or ‘Middy’, for short. They gave him the run of the ship, and he was frequently on the bridge ‘standing watch’ with the Captain. Ernshaw’s young son had perished at El Alamein in 1942, and for him, James Junior helped ease that pain.

Sarah flirted outrageously with the crew. She earned her mother’s ire by sunbathing regularly in a skimpy bathing costume. She was particularly interested in the young Second Officer, but the crew had had their orders and never once crossed the bounds of propriety.

“Darling,” said Jimmy, “I know my time is short, but since we made the decision to travel, I have felt a great sense of freedom. Everything has a startling clarity. I think we should follow my instincts when we get to Brisbane. Let us just go along with whatever happens. I feel that God is guiding us towards our final destination.”

Marci was not so sure about that, but it was his time, and she was determined to let him use it in whatever way he needed.

Brisbane, Queensland, Australia—1963

In 1963, Brisbane was not an attractive place to approach by sea. Recent rains had turned the river into a brown flood. Where it reached the sea, there was a dirty stain spreading like some malignant disease on the clean blue surface. They passed oil tanks, factories, refineries, and dredges before nudging into the planks of the wharf. There they took their leave of the Golden Ray and its friendly crew, James Junior still wearing his officer’s cap.

Captain Ernshaw bade them farewell. “On your way, Jimmy. I hope you find that road you’re searching for.”

The family left with thanks, and rather sadly, for they had enjoyed a wonderful voyage.

Brisbane was on the verge of turning from a big country town into a city. The taxi to the city centre passed through industrial precincts, skirted the airport, and travelled through suburbs filled with timber houses, on high stumps, with large verandas and iron roofs. The cabbie told them the houses were designed for the climate of mild winters and hot, humid summers. To these Americans, it all looked a little strange.

They passed clanging grey trams with conductors wearing strange caps, more like the kepis worn by French army officers. Traffic was not heavy, and traffic lights were few. They passed busy intersections controlled by policemen in khaki uniforms and brown slouch hats, like the hats worn by the Australian army.

James Junior was interested in the traffic, dominated by cars that looked like small Chevrolets. The word Holden identified them as cars they had not heard of. Later they would learn that the Holden car was an Australian institution, built by a subsidiary of General Motors. Moreover, they drove on the wrong side of the road! Other strange vehicles resembled the cars, but with only a front seat and a cargo area at the back. The cabbie said they were Utes. Subsequently, they found out the name was an abbreviation of utility vehicle. They soon learned that Australians have a habit of shortening names like that. Hence, they say barby for barbecue, cozzie for swimming costume, and pressie for present.

The centre of the city looked like a big country town, not very different than Albuquerque in size, and with few tall buildings. Later, after dinner, as they lay together, Marci said, “Jimmy, what will we do now?”

Jimmy thought for a while, and then said, “I kinda like the idea of a smaller place, like one of our small college towns. We need a college for Susan and a good high school for the others. Why don’t we spend a week or so here and see what Brisbane has to offer in the way of sightseeing then catch a bus from here to Melbourne. Somewhere along the way we’ll find something we’ll like.”

Brisbane offered quite a lot. They rode the riverboats, visited the zoo, and handled the kangaroos and koalas. Jimmy even went to see a cricket match, although he had no idea of what was going on. The man alongside him had tried to explain, but that had made it even more confusing.

One day they made an excursion south to the area known as Surfers Paradise. This was a strip of holiday homes along the Pacific coast. In years to come, massive development of the tourist potential of the place gave it the name ‘Gold Coast’, becoming the Mecca for Australians—naturally shortened to Aussies—who wanted a beachside holiday.

They swam in the lovely cool waters and tried a bit of surfing. Sarah and James Junior liked this, and Sarah was admiring of the bronzed life savers patrolling the beach. Jimmy looked out to sea. The Pacific Ocean rolled away to the horizon. Somewhere out there, more than seven thousand miles away, lay his old home. He had a premonition then; a voice in his head told him there would be no return to America. So be it, he decided, this was as good a place as any to die.

When the week was up, they boarded a Greyhound bus for the trip south. Each felt a tingle of anticipation. Somewhere down the road lay their futures. The fact that they were unknown only made the prospect more appealing.

Meanwhile, not far to the north in a small country in Indochina, small men and women, dressed in black, carrying AK47 assault rifles, were beginning to ambush their enemy, cache weapons and food in a maze of tunnels, under the direction of regular officers of another small country in Indochina. Most of the weapons had come from Russia and China.