Chapter 14

KNOCK KNOCKITY KNOCK

“Hello,” I said to the wood.

“G’day mate...”

“Day-ee, Jim.”

Opened the door and, “Grab your gear and let’s get after it,” Jim said.

“Day-ee, Jim,” Rang out from the kitchen.

“Day-ee, Mrs.”

“You come to take him prospecting?”

“Aye,” said Jim.

The watermelon stepped out of the kitchen, “Good. He’s been a mope and I’m too far along to fuck some cheer into him.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” I said, blushing.

“G’wann ... the girls are coming over for a sunnie and we don’t need you lot gawking.

“Yes, Jim. Laurie is coming ... No, Jim ... you have to go.”

So ... while I found my kit ... the wife and Next-door Jim sat in the kitchen, Jim drinking my beer and the walking talking watermelon drinking my soda. It’s been a while since gold had lured me away from my diminutive bride ... I had other things to do. Witness the painful back ... swollen breasts ... trips to the restroom to rest every fifteen minutes ... and the oddest idea of what tasted good ... like dill pickles in ranch dressing ... or strawberry ice cream and raspberry jam topped with chocolate sauce ... gag.

Every time I stepped in the kitchen and asked for what I couldn’t find I asked if she was sure.

“I’ll be fine,” she lied.

Since she had hidden my prospecting gear here ... there ... and everywhere, I must have asked 35 times and got the same answer: “I’ll be fine.”

After it was all loaded, packed away and snug ... I went for my last kiss and to ask, “You’re sure?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Fully loaded ... both Jim and my Toyota ... What? You bet I’m driving! Jim had a snoot full ... we pulled away from the house and headed out to the GWR ... Great Western Road.

“You usually don’t partake of hops and barley before a bit of a dig ... what’s up?”

“Your wife knows the finest women in the country, and she’s been introducing them singly and batches. She finally hit the right jackpot and the woman won’t have a damn thing to do with me. I find solace in the bottle,” that was said in a Shakespearian tone.

Not that I understood a word of it ... Jim was plastered. What I did understand was Laurie.

Wouldn’t mind a bit of that myself.

I shook my mental self.

“Where?”

“Mitchell’s Creek,” Jim said, “It’s been a year.”

I knew exactly what he was saying. The last time we were in Mitchell’s we caused a National Incident.

At the turn, Jim told me to stop. He got out with his GPS and fumbled around the roadway. “Straight.”

“Ain’t no road, Jim,” I protested.

“When the old-timers wrote in their journals, Mitchell’s Creek produced 135 ounces in 5 days. It was rough gold ... they never went back.

“Google Maps shows a trace of a road along the top of the bank

“The hand-drawn map shows that road. Straight.”

“Yessir.”

It wasn’t much of a trace, but it was a road of sorts. When the GPS said we were at the place ... the road kept on. We stopped.

The odd fellow was sitting on a stack of sacks.

“G’day, mate,” perfect Australian.

“Day-ee.”

“Day-ee”

“I knew you wouldn’t give it a miss,” he said. “I approve of what you humans did with the metal last time. So ... we stepped up production.”

“Wait,” said Jim, “Stepped up production? Where did that come from?”

“Movies.”

“Movies? What kind of movies?”

“Movies about your favorite pastime.”

“What?” I was thoroughly confused.

“Propaganda films about the war.”