Vanishing Point

by Alan Moore

  If ever there was a profession that went through severe cycles, it was that of the geoscientist. One year there was a shortage and new graduates could name their salaries. A few years later when aspiring university students graduated, the boom would be over and there would be an oversupply of new graduates. Many were forced to find alternative jobs. The fortunate became school science or geography teachers and the less fortunate did anything that paid.

  Somehow Alec’s move to Melbourne was making life a little easier. He still thought of his family constantly but the surroundings of Adelaide that pricked the memory were absent. In Melbourne even his phone calls to the police became less frequent. When he did make them the answers were always the same: ‘nothing to report and no progress although the case is always open’. The pain of the past few years remained fresh in his heart. No longer did he give any credence to that old saying that ‘time heals’. Every day he thought of Katherine and Carolyn and wondered what happened to them. Where were they and how was it that they could just disappear, leaving no clues? On occasion he would suddenly find himself crying gently in the strangest places: in the cinema, at church, even just walking down the street. Memory still jarred his everyday ordinariness.

  Today, as the train rattled past the familiar stations, slowly filling with rugged-up commuters heading for the city, Alec was thinking of his first lecture. He rarely read on the train and as he stood at one end of the crowded carriage he looked at all the open newspapers hiding banks of anonymous heads. His view of all the papers was the same: headlines as depressing as ever. Politics dominated in one form or another. If it wasn’t Prime Minister Gorton struggling to achieve unity in his fracturing government it was President Richard Nixon making statements about the crisis in Cambodia.

  Alec looked at the grey sky outside and decided that he would not bother to buy The Age that morning. The last copy he bought was filled with the gory details of the murder of a pregnant American actress, Sharon Tate, by a bunch of drug-affected hippies. He found it all too depressing.

  The commuter train pulled up at McLeod station and Alec wheeled his cycle out of the open carriage doors and on to the platform. Once through the barrier he pedalled past the hospital, through the back streets, to the Department of Geology. The crisp air brought tears to his eyes. He locked his cycle safely away, wiped his eyes and went up to his small office. Once seated behind his desk he checked through his lecture notes with just a quick glance at the photograph of Katherine and Carolyn next to the microscope. It was the same picture he kept on his desk in the basement office at the Mawson Laboratories: the sweet oval face of Katherine and the newly born Carolyn. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  Alec had just finished rehearsing his lecture when there was a knock on the door. He looked up and said, ‘Come in.’

  ‘I’m not coming at a bad time, am I?’

  It was Shelley Keaton. She and Alec met the previous week at a welcoming cheese and wine function for new staff. Alec wouldn’t normally attend such an occasion, but as a new staff member himself, he felt obliged. When introduced by the gregarious host and then left on their own they spent most of the evening talking to one another. They sensed each other felt out of place in the more formal environment that most attendees seemed to enjoy so much. Once the small talk and embarrassed silences were overcome, they discovered that they had much in common. As the evening wound up Shelley farewelled him. ‘I’ve really enjoyed meeting with and talking with you. We should meet up some time.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good idea. I have enjoyed talking with you too. Thanks.’

  ‘See you some time then?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be in touch.’

  Alec did nothing about it for a couple of weeks but it looked like Shelley was now renewing the acquaintanceship.

  ‘Oh! Of course not. It’s Shelley, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Glad you remember me! If you didn’t I’d have felt a bit miffed after all our chatting! Anyway, are you busy?’

  ‘No, not really busy. Well, actually I am, sort of. I’m due to give my first lecture in ten minutes!’

  ‘Oops. I’m sorry! Are you nervous?’ Shelley asked as she moved further into the office, leaving the door open behind her.

  Alec stood and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I am, a bit. I’ve done plenty of lecturing during pracs at Adelaide but I’m always a little nervous at first. Once I start talking it’s okay. I just hope the overhead projector works or else my lecture will be a fiasco.’

  ‘Well, I won’t keep you. Just called in to see if you’d arranged anything for lunch. There’s an anti-war protest at the Agora and I want to hear the speaker. He’s some bloke from America who went to Canada to escape conscription and there’s also a local who refused the call-up when his birthday ballot was called.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Well, there’s a rumour that the cops will be on campus in force and may try to arrest them. They want a good turn out in case they have to block that.’

  ‘It sounds interesting. I’m free after my lecture so what say I meet you outside the department. If I remember right, you’re in Economics but not sure if I could find you there. I don’t know my way around the uni yet.’

  ‘Great! I’ll come over at twelve thirty. We can get some lunch and go down to the Lake on Elm Lawn first. The protest starts at about one.’

  The Agora was the centre of social activity at La Trobe where it served much the same purpose as its Athenian namesake. Staff and students could meet on equal footing. Students could protest there about issues ranging from opposition to the continuing unpopular Vietnam War to funding for schools and universities.

  ‘All right, I’ll be waiting for you at the front, spot on twelve thirty.’

  ‘See you then, cheers.’

  ‘Cheers for now.’

  At exactly twelve thirty Alec made his way to the front of the geology building to find Shelley already there. He was not sure if he should regard this as a date, or just a friend introducing a newcomer to the University.

  ‘Spot on time.’ Shelley greeted him with a warm and welcoming smile, eyes sparkling.

  ‘I try to be,’ replied Alec. ‘One of my quirks, good point or failing, whatever way you want to look at it.’

  They set off together towards the Agora, Shelley bubbling with chat and slowly drawing Alec out as she found out even more about him than at the cocktail evening.

  Alec, still reticent by being in the company of another woman and wondering if he was somehow being disloyal, said little to keep the conversation going.

  November is the month that the final university term draws to a close. The La Trobe campus was unusually quiet as summer heat and exam tensions took away the energy of the students. Although anti-Vietnam war protests still occurred, they were more subdued and less well attended. Petri found his time at the University both busy and peaceful although it felt strange to be back in the university environment again, so long after having been a student.

  The library did not have all of the older journals he required on the shelves but these were easily ordered through the efficient inter-library loan system. Petri’s connection with Associate Professor Peter Fleming allowed his ready access to the research information. Even though he was not enrolled nor a graduate of the University, after Dr Fleming had spoken with the librarian Petri was able to freely borrow books and journals. It was a useful symbiotic relationship since Fleming was working on a similar research project but with a greater academic, rather than economic, emphasis.

  Petri strolled from the library to the Agora quadrangle and bought a cappuccino from the student cafeteria before finding an empty seat outside. Around him a few students were sitting at other tables or on the steps leading from the raised walkway to the open flagstone area, reading or chatting. In spite of a cool breeze it was a Melbourne early summer day with a few leaves rustling around in small eddies, chasing discarded scraps of paper and cafeteria rubbish. The only noise came from the low hum of surrounding conversa
tion and the occasional raucous squawking of the aggressive exotic Indian mynah birds that had grown to pest proportions.

  Petri took out the journal he had collected from the library and paged through until he found the article he was looking for and started to read. Engrossed in his reading he did not notice that the cafeteria was filling up as students and some staff took advantage of the lunch break.

  ‘Excuse me, do you mind if we join you?’ A polite question interrupted his train of thought. Petri looked up.

  In front of him stood a man and woman each holding a cup and a roll. Petri surmised that they were either mature age students or members of staff.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your reading. We need a place to sit to eat these.’ The man lifted the paper-wrapped roll slightly by way of demonstration, dropping crumbs as he did so. ‘They tend to fall apart in your hands and there aren’t any spare tables.’

  Petri smiled and indicated the two empty chairs with a wave of his hand. The couple pulled out the chairs and sat. The man extended his hand in greeting, ‘I’m Alec. Alec Thompson. This is my friend, Shelley Keaton.’

  Since their first meeting earlier in the year, she and Alec had been out together and she had met several of his colleagues in the geology department. To them it seemed that they had already become an ‘item’ but Alec assured them, and her, it was friendship only. He could not forget Katherine.

  The group shook hands, Petri smiling at Shelley as he took in her pretty features.

  ‘Hey, I’m Petri, Petri Koivu. Just call me Petri as most people seem to find the Koivu a bit tricky to pronounce, let alone spell!’

  ‘Unusual name, where are you from?’

  ‘From Perth. I’ve been in Australia since I was six. My Dad’s Finnish and Mum’s a Scot. That probably explains both my odd accent and unusual surname.’

  ‘Ah! I see you’re a geologist! Alec moved the conversation away from the personal and pointedly looked at the familiar orange-yellow cover of the Journal of Geological Society of Australia that Petri had politely put down when the others joined the table. ‘That’s a coincidence, so am I! I’m a lecturer in the geology department but I don’t think I’ve seen you in there.’

  ‘Probably not. I’ve only been here a few days and most of the time stuck in the library or in Dr. Fleming’s office.’

  ‘So, what are you doing over here?’

  There was a spark of immediate rapport between the two men and the conversation flowed easily as they exchanged information about their relative interests. Shelley smiled to herself, ‘so typical of men! As soon as they find a common interest they chat on as if I don’t exist.’

  Being the secretary in the economics department meant that much of the geological discussion went right over her head, although she did follow the conversation as much as she could and was interested in learning. Her eyes moved from one man to the other as they animatedly discussed their pet projects.

  As if reading her thoughts Alec turned to her and apologised. ‘Sorry, Shelley. I hope you don’t mind us talking shop.’

  ‘No, no, not at all. I actually find it quite interesting.’

  ‘I’m really involved in an exploration program out west,’ Petri explained. ‘Gold from the greenstone belts must have gone somewhere over the millions of years of erosion, and we all know how rich the Kalgoorlie area has been —’

  Shelley interrupted the flow. ‘I’m only a secretary but if you explain a bit I can be included in your select group of geologists. So, what are the ‘greenstone belts’?’

  ‘Sure, I apologise. We didn’t mean to be rude!’ said Petri.

  ‘And try to put all this in layman’s terms so I’m not totally left out of it!’

  ‘Sure. I’ll do my best. If you don’t follow, because we geos naturally slip into jargon, just stop me and I’ll try to explain.’

  Shelly smiled. ‘Thanks, I’d appreciate that.’

  Petri continued. ‘In WA the rocks that are host to nearly all of the gold mines are called greenstones. They’re all green because of the minerals that make them up. They’re really ancient volcanic rocks, some of very unusual compositions, and are probably about three billion years old.’

  ‘Did you say three billion, or million?’

  ‘Billion. Three thousand million.’

  ‘Wow. I didn’t realise there were rocks that old.’

  ‘Oh, yes. And there are even older rocks in the world. Anyway, that means they have been exposed for a very, very long time. In the Tertiary Period, that’s only about thirty million years ago, Australia was further south and the climate much wetter than today. During that time large rivers flowed inland, parts now desert and they flowed across the greenstone belts.’

  Shelley nodded as he spoke. He had a gentle voice that, with his unusual accent, made him very appealing. She was interested in what he had to say but she found herself wondering what sort of a man he was. As he explained further her mind was drifting slightly to the person rather than to what he said.

  ‘We call that the Tertiary drainage pattern. You can still see where they flowed if you link up all the present day salt lakes. They’re not really lakes, just saltpans, but link them up on a map and hey presto! You can see the old river patterns. Well, just as today we get gold in placer deposits—’

  ‘I know what they are,’ interrupted Shelley suddenly picking up on the conversation. ‘That’s when heavy minerals, like gold, are concentrated in flowing rivers as the water washes away the lighter materials. My uncle used to go panning for gold in some of the creeks in the Victorian goldfields. He even found a couple of nuggets.’

  ‘Correct.’ Alec smiled affectionately at her. ‘We might even turn you into a geo at this rate!’

  Petri continued. ‘Well, anyway, I’m working on a program with a small mining company looking to see if there is some way they can access the gold deposited at placers in those Tertiary channels but without panning or conventional mining. You may have heard of Spinifex Exploration N.L?’

  ‘Oh! yes, Spex. It’s been in the news lately because of some new nickel discoveries near Kambalda. Is that the one?’ asked Alec.

  ‘Yeah, that’s us.’ Even though on contract and not an employee Petri tended to think of himself as so much a part of Spex that he used ‘us’ when referring to the work he did with the company. ‘The idea is to pump down a cyanide-based solution in one area, let it soak down through the channel, dissolve any gold present, then pump it up further downstream and precipitate out the dissolved gold!’

  ‘Isn’t that environmentally dangerous, though?’ asked Shelley. ‘I mean cyanide is pretty poisonous. Won’t it affect the ground water and poison it?’

  ‘That’s not really a problem in that area. Firstly, the ground water is so salty that it can’t be used for any purpose, irrigation or stock. It is thousands of times more salty than sea water and not just salt as in sodium chloride but all sorts of other salts like magnesium and potassium —’

  ‘Now, don’t get too technical for me,’ interrupted Shelley with a smile.

  ‘Okay. I was just going to say … now what was I going to say?’ Shelley’s smile was disarming and Petri momentarily lost the thread of his explanation. ‘Oh, yes. I was going to add that once the pregnant liquor is pumped up to the surface, the gold dissolved in the cyanide solution can be recovered and the cyanide solution recycled.’

  Shelly tilted her head to the side.

  Petri explained. ‘The pregnant liquor is the solution containing all the dissolved gold. The cyanide solution that isn’t recycled, because there is always some minor wastage, doesn’t last long anyway.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because once it’s exposed to sun and air it’s not very stable and breaks down into water and gases. You know, like carbon dioxide and nitrogen. They’re found in the atmosphere anyway.’

  ‘So, what are you doing here? I mean, why not do all this research at UWA?’ asked Alec.

  ‘Oh! WA Uni is okay for basics, but r
eally it is because of your Dr Fleming. You must know him?’

  ‘Of course, I know Peter. Good bloke. Really good teacher. Great with students.’

  Petri nodded. ‘Well, I’m planning a sampling program and Peter has been doing a lot of research on the flow regimes of the Tertiary river channels. I want to be able to carry out some sampling to check out the best areas for starting my exploration. The visible flow patterns shown by the lakes are not all there is to it. Some old river channels are now completely covered by sand and we need to find which are most likely to have maximum gold concentrations. That’s where Peter’s work fits in.’

  The three chatted on, leaving the geological subjects and talking about the events of the time. Vietnam and the growing opposition to the war featured prominently in their discussions, as did the question of the morality of the Wallaby tour of South Africa. It was clear that the two men shared similar interests, although they disagreed on some issues.

  Shelley tried to argue that sport and politics should not be confused and tried to defend the proposed rugby tour by the South Africans for 1971 but both men turned on her, strongly disagreeing. In spite of this she held her ground and kept her opinions. It was clear that Shelley was a spirited young woman.