Chapter 11

We took the A32 through the mountains; very scenic. At Lithgow we had the opportunity to take either the B59 or stay on the A32.

I really wanted to visit the Arms Museum and the Armory.

“No time!” exclaimed Abbie ... the rat.

We sailed by ... spitting distance ... I pouted.

Then the road got ... interesting. (The Chinese have a saying: May you live in interesting times.) The road got like that.

After awhile ... the 32 changes to the M4, it’s sorta the same road ... just re-numbered. Then it’s a right turn onto the A3, which is King Georges Road, to Hurstville; Sydney’s Chinatown. Hurstville is more than half Chinese ... not Asian ... Chinese.

Left turn on Ruby, right on Carrington and Abbie said, “Park.”

Jim did.

“You won’t need to lock up, Revered Grandfather has his people watching,” Abbie suggested.

We entered through a private entrance and were escorted to the top floor. Plenty of incense and tobacco smoke.

“No weapons,” said a young lady in response to a look from our escort.

We were led through a hall and into a huge room. The figure propped up with many pillows beckoned Abbie forward. He was very old ... very very old. Abbie knelt and put her forehead on the floor.

A foreign language spoken and Abbie jumped up and embraced the man in the bed.

She waved us forward and I felt a most intense scrutiny ... without a doubt this man could read me.

His gaze took in Jim.

Our escort bent and whispered in the old mans ear.

“How did you come by two hundred seventy four kilos of 24 karat gold?” The accent was pure upper class English mixed with a Sandhurst tone of command.

Jim said, “Prospecting upper Mitchell’s Creek.”

“Surely there’s more to it?”

“Indeed ... but I prefer to keep the exact location private.”

“I can respect that,” the old man said. “Mining claim and all that.”

“No sir,” said Jim. “It’s State land and cannot be claimed.”

“Oh ... I see,” the bedridden old man said, “You mean ... anyone can prospect the creek.”

“It’s been very busy since the downturn,” said Jim.

“So ... it was just luck?” he asked.

“You could call it that,” I said.

“This gold has been refined ... but not smelted ... where did you... ?”

“What you see in the bags is how it came...” Jim offered no more than that.

“I can offer the Swiss Franc, Norway Krone or Singapore Dollars,” he said.

“Umh,” Jim hemmed. “You don’t understand.”

“What? I know the girl mentioned that you don’t want to convert ... that is sheer foolishness.”

“We don’t want to keep the gold ... or realize any profit from it.” I said, “I don’t need it and Jim prospects as a hobby.”

Jim said, “We want to give it away. Surely you have people...”

“What?”

“We want to give it away ... without paying taxes on it.”

“You don’t want it?”

“That’s what I tried to tell you, Revered Grandfather. They don’t want it.”

“Preposterous!” Said the old man and fell into a coughing fit.

“By the way,” he said, “You sent her to Driving School ... twice. You provide a safe haven, you gave her a cellphone, feed her, pay her ... any fool can see you’re careful of her ... why haven’t you married her?”

Well ... we had to leave ... and leave we did. We left the gold and headed back to Bathurst. Eventually, two complete gold rigs were delivered to our respective homes ... including dredges ... eight inch suction dredges ... probably.

“Revered Grandfather doesn’t understand Australian law,” I said.

“Nope,” Jim said. “Can’t use dredges in Australia.”

“Wait ... we can dredge harbors.”

“Sure ... if we had a sand dump barge ... and a tugboat to haul it ... two or three barges and two tugs would be better,” Jim said. “Then we’d have to have employees, insurance, paid vacations, sick leave...”

“Oh God.”

“We can always sell ‘em. New Zealand comes to mind.”

“Legal there?”

“Yup.”