a moment and Ballard shrugged. The hall was very quiet when someone said, ‘I can answer that question.’
Harrison’s head jerked. ‘Dr McGill, this is most unseemly.’
McGill stepped forward. ‘Mr Chairman, there are only four people who can answer the question. Mr Buck refuses for reasons I can understand. Mr Eric Peterson will not answer, again for reasons I can understand. In all propriety Mr Ballard cannot, because he is interrogating Mr Buck – he cannot be questioner and witness simultaneously. I am the only one left who was present at the meeting.’
Harrison sighed. ‘Very well, you will answer the question. What was it, Mr Ballard?’
‘What was the immediate reaction of the councillors to Mr Buck’s evidence?’
McGill unzipped his satchel and drew forth a flat notebook. ‘As is my habit, I took notes immediately after the meeting. I can read here exactly what was said.’ He selected a page and stared at Eric Peterson where he sat next to Lyall. ‘Mr Eric Peterson’s exact words were, “Turi Buck is an ignorant old black man. He knows nothing – he never has and he never will”.’
There was pandemonium in the Press gallery.
The hall errupted in a babble of noise and Harrison hammered in vain on the rostrum but the crash of his gavel was lost in the uproar. When, at last, he could make himself heard, he said in anger, ‘This hearing is adjourned until further notice and until those present can control themselves.’
‘Turi Buck is an ignorant old black man. He knows nothing – he never has and he never will.’
The words hung heavily in an embarrassed silence in the residents’ lounge of the Hotel D’Archiac which did duty as a council chamber. At last Matthew Houghton coughed nervously, and said, ‘There’s no call for that sort of talk, Eric’
Ballard was angry. ‘I should bloody well think not.’
John Peterson, who was standing, put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Eric, if you can’t talk sense you’d better keep your big mouth shut. You’re starting to behave like Charlie.’ He looked at Turi. ‘My apologies.’
‘Maybe you’d better let Eric make his own apologies,’ said Ballard tightly.
Eric went red in the face but said nothing. John Peterson ignored Ballard and addressed himself to McGill. ‘So you’ve come up with past avalanches, and now you say there’s going to be another.’
‘I have not said that.’
‘Then what are you saying?’ demanded Houghton.
McGill spread his hands. ‘Who cares if a few thousand tons of snow falls off a mountain? It’s happening all the time in the Southern Alps. But if someone is standing underneath at the time then it’s downright dangerous.
That’s the position you’re in. You have a potential hazard here.’
‘Not an actual hazard?’ queried John Peterson.
‘I can tell you more after another series of tests. But I’ll tell you this – the hazard isn’t getting any less.’
Peterson said, ‘It seems pretty flimsy to me. From the line you’re shooting it seems to me that you want us to spend a lot of money because of something that may never happen.’
‘There’s something I don’t understand,’ said Houghton. ‘If there have been avalanches in the past, why weren’t the houses knocked down? My house was the second one built in the valley; my grandfather built it in 1850, two years after the Otago Settlement.’
Ballard said, ‘Let’s have a look at the map.’ He pushed the map across the table to Houghton. ‘Matt, I want you to cast your mind back, say, twenty years – before all the houses were built when the mine started. I want you to mark all the houses you can remember.’ He handed Houghton a pen.
‘Well, there’s my house there, and Turi Buck’s house – but we know why that’s still there. And there’s the Cunningham house, and the Pearman house …’
‘… and the Jackson place and the old Fisher house,’ said Mrs Samson.
Slowly Houghton marked them all and then leaned back. Ballard said, ‘Don’t forget the church and the school – and Peterson’s store.’
Houghton scratched more crosses on the map, and Ballard said, ‘Just look at it. All those buildings are well scattered and if you look at the terrain you’ll see that every one of them is protected against falls from the western slope to a greater or lesser degree.’ He picked up the pen. ‘But we do know there was another building – the Bailey house.’ He marked its position on the map. ‘That’s gone now.’
Mrs Samson said, ‘What are you getting at?’
‘When the settlers first came here, back in the middle of last century, they didn’t bother overmuch about keeping records, so we don’t know a lot about houses destroyed. We only know about the Bailey house because of Turi. My bet is that the houses Matt has just marked are the survivors.’
Phil Warrick said, ‘That makes sense. If a man had a house knocked down he wouldn’t rebuild in the same place. Not if he had any brains.’
‘Or if he survived,’ said McGill. ‘The Baileys didn’t.’ He put his hand flat on the map. ‘Those houses survived because the builders were lucky or knew what they were about. But now you’ve got a whole township here – not just a few scattered houses. That’s where the hazard comes in.’
‘So what are you asking us to do?’ asked John Peterson.
‘I want you to accept the fact that avalanche hazard exists – that’s the first step and all follows from that. So you’ll have to take the necessary precautions, first in the short term and, later, in the long term. You must notify the appropriate authority outside the valley that a hazard exists. Then you must be ready for it if it comes. You must have rescue gear stored in safe places where it can be got at in case of disaster. And you’ll have to have men trained to use that equipment. And you’ll have to have contingency planning in case it becomes necessary to evacuate the town. I can help in advising on a lot of that.’
Eric Peterson said, ‘My brother is right. It seems to me that you’re asking us to spend a lot of money guarding against something which might never happen. If we have to train men we have to pay them; if we have to have equipment we have to pay for it. Where do we get the money?’
Quentin laughed bitterly. ‘You haven’t heard anything yet. Wait until you hear about the long-term precautions.’ His finger stabbed out. ‘If this man has his way the mine will shut down.’
‘What the hell!’ John Peterson stared at Ballard. ‘What foolish talk is this?’
‘Ask McGill how much it will cost to protect the mine,’ said Quentin. ‘At the last meeting we had they were talking in millions of dollars – and we all know the company won’t stand for that.’
‘Not
