Chapter 24

When I got home, everything seemed to be back to normal. I told Weena about my rescue of Chaz so that he could get two whole hours of undisturbed sleep — in an office chair. After dinner, Weena's dad called from Merredin and assured us that he was "right on schedule"; he invited us to meet him for dinner but at the Duxton, not the New Esplanade.

"Will you say anything about making him a grandad?" I asked.

"Not until I'm actually two or three months pregnant. I think he'd go overboard on gifts and stuff."

"Oh." I thought for a minute. "By the way, what should I call him?"

"What do you mean? What do you usually call him?"

"'Sir' or 'Mr. Scott'."

"What?"

"Remember, I've only seen him twice: when you took me to meet him at the mine and when he came to the wedding. I'm not even sure I remember what his first name is."

"Robert. Robert Gordon Scott. In 1953 most Australian boys were named something like that. Because of Menzies. He's called 'Rob' — not 'Bob'."

"Is he a Liberal, too?"

"No, Labour. He thinks Howard is ruining the country."

"I'm not certain I'm allowed to say anything — after all, I'm a government employee." Weena laughed.

"And your dad, is he a Liberal?"

"He was, briefly. He voted for Gordon Chalk. But he's pretty solidly National or Labour."

"So that's why you're Gordy?"

"Yep. And your dad's Robert Gordon. What a pair!"

"I've never heard of Gordon Chalk."

"No. Outside of Queensland, few have. He was Deputy Premier and Treasurer from 1965 to 1968. When Jack Pizzey died suddenly on 31 July 1968, the Governor appointed Chalk as Premier. When the Country Party elected a new head, he stepped down, though he continued as Treasurer till 1976. My dad thought that being able to step down and back showed tremendous character."

"It is. Think of being 'in charge' and giving it up."

"Think of both Gandalf and Galadriel. They could have had the Ring, but had the strength of character not to grasp it."

"But Tolkien made them up."

"He must have known real people. He just clothed them in fictions."

"Too heavy for me. Let's go to bed."

The next morning Des had a full report for me: the Dean's series was held in a small lecture theatre that seated about 200. In general, about half the seats were occupied. The lectures were aimed at the general public and never had 'visual aids.' Depending on the speaker, there might be someone from the appropriate provincial ministry. There was sherry before and tea and coffee afterwards. Suits and ties were in order. He'd gotten the pr/invitation. It contained the date, time, place, my name and title, about two sentences from my official CSIRO bio, and the title of my talk.

I thanked Des. "What do you think, guys, should we blow them away?"

"How?"

"We could drum up a fancy sort of audience. Maybe some politicians or military. Maybe some business folk. Not the drudges the Dean expects. To celebrate April Fool's."

"Hilarious. Could you pull it off?"

"I'll see. How about a test? Then we'll talk depending on the result."

I went into my office, fished among my assorted jottings and came up with Commander Evans' card. I called the printed number. I told the 'female voice' that I wished to talk to the Commander and was told that the Commander was very busy and could I explain my situation. I responded that she should tell the Commander that Hollister had called and would like to speak with him.

"Hollister?"

"That's right." I gave her my number. "I should be here till about noon."

"Yes, sir. I'll tell him."

"Thank you." I sat back and wondered how long it would take. The answer was — under ten minutes.

"Hollister."

"Evans. I understand you called. Is there a problem?"

"No, Commander. I was wondering whether you might have time on Friday, April First, for a practical joke."