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Chapter 10

Chapter 10

South Africa 1907

Nothing is as it May Seem...

A conscious feeling stirred in him. It may have only been due to the vivid memories which were recalled so clearly. It may have been the return to Port Elizabeth itself. Whatever it was, it sat uncomfortably on his shoulders and from the comment his appearance roused in Theo, it appeared painfully across his face as well.

'Are you going to tell me what is wrong?' he asked.

'With what, exactly?' Arthur asked in reply, his eyebrows remained crumpled inwardly and both hands clenched on his lap.

'Well, by the look on your face, we are heading to a dinner with the devil, and not a beach holiday in Port Elizabeth,' he chide.

When Theo accepted Arthur's offer to holiday with him in Port Elizabeth, he was unaware of the catalyst for heading south. Theo thought he was going to be journeying to the Eastern Cape to have a beach vacation similar to what he had experienced as a younger man with several members from his college days: when they would leave Boston in the early summer, and head to an extravagant beach house owned by the parents of one of the boy's on Long Island or the Jersey Shore. He remembered one year, in particular, when they travelled to Ocean Grove, New Jersey and had a whale of time at the Palace Merry-Go-Round on the corner of Lake Avenue and Kingsley Street in Ashbury Park. Although he did not say so to Arthur, he remembered the exact time, date and spot where he lost his virginity.

'I am sorry, Theo,' said Arthur. As they steamed southward, he informed, Theo, of all the details and the real reason why he was going to Port Elizabeth. Arthur took time to explain the correct order of events and why he was confused about the situation.

'So, let me get this correct... Paul... the fellow whose house at which we are going to stay has sent you that letter – he pointed to the letter Arthur was now holding in his hand - to tell you that you have someone impersonating you. And that person is trying to get hold of a package in your safety deposit box. That box no one, apart from you and I, know about. And you have no idea what the package contains. You have not had word from Professor Romins for over three years,' he summarised in his usual, loquacious fashion.

'More or less,' confirmed Arthur with a slight nod of his head.

Theo sat stunned for several minutes before he spoke again, 'There is never a dull moment with you, Arthur McCrae.'

'I am sure there is a logical explanation to it all. Paul has sent me his address and we will go directly to his house and await his return to from work.' advised Arthur.

Even though Arthur may have suggested that a logical explanation would be forthcoming, that unsettling feeling, which he had felt since the previous week did not leave him.

Now... that's a lot of pictures...

Bringing The Past into The Future

Hey Everyone

I have taken a break from working on my paper for the Melbourne Writers Festival. I feel honoured that '209 A Story' was selected for the most prestigious festival on the Australian literary calendar. Furthermore, the launch is on the Opening Day of the Festival at 4pm on Friday, 21 August, 2009. It is a free event, open to the public, and is to be held in the Festival Club at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image (AMCI) on Federation Square - (smack bang in the heart of the amazing city of Melbourne).

The paper I am delivering is titled - 'Bringing The Past into The Future'. This has not come about simply because '209 A Story' is the adventure of the only Australian passenger to become a victim of the RMS Titanic disaster in April 1912. It is because of the book itself. '209 A Story' is a woven fabric of four lives covering a period of 150 years. '209 A Story' is the first in a trilogy, in which the past is bought into the future. A future which is fundamental to the story itself. It is the research I am doing and the research I have completed that makes it so exciting...

While working on '211 A Future', I am madly cross referencing with '210 A Time' - I am caught up in the possibilities of what is going to happen to the world in the coming decades (in particular - 'Singularity'). The changes are going to be radical. I truly believe it is this essence of the technological wonderment that is the catalyst to the magical beauty of my novels - hence bringing the past into the future.

I am bringing something of the technological present to the festival. It has not been attempted before now. On the afternoon of Friday 21 August a HASH TAG FEED from TWITTER will be included... (#209MWF). Over 100 people in 83 countries have advised they will be 'TWEETING" to the event in Melbourne. This is no small feat considering it will be 'silly o'clock' in the Americas and early 'breakfast time' in Europe and Africa. I have FACEBOOK to thank for this and the thousands who are my friends and supporters. In doing so, it will support the international flovour to the festival. It will also add an extra dimension to my paper. This could not have occurred in the past. It will also have a future because the HASH TAG FEED will remain open and comments can be added after the event. Fundamentally, it is the way of the future for publications.

In that one action I will have succeeded in establishing the entire point of my paper. I am attempting to bring the future of publishing novels into a present, which is so influenced by the past.

I understand that novels need to sell. In this day and age when over 3000 books are published DAILY, when 7 out of 10 novels make no money at all, when the once proud Publishing Houses are not taking on new writers due to cost cutting, I realise I am attempting something pretty challenging. I JUST CANNOT GIVE UP... What I will say at this point is this... I never wish to regret not trying to achieve my goal of a trilogy of novels published under my name. Obviously, if people read them and enjoy them - I am pleased. If people read them and hate them - I understand. But the joy in it for me is that I achieved a goal. No supporter or critic can remove that from my CV of Life.

So I will leave it with you.

If you want to attend the Writers Festival here's the link to what's on in Melbourne...

Should you wish to participate in the HASH TAG FEED - here's the link...
http://twitter.com/StevenRafter

Finally, as I am going back to brain storming for my 'moment' at the Melbourne Writers Festival - (and truly anxious in my hope of people turning up... OH GOD - that will be a blog in itself! tee hee!)... I smile - because... my past is what has given my present... and the present is giving me... my future!

Cheers
Steven

Chapter 9

Bank of Africa
2 Military Road
Port Elizabeth
South Africa

Friday, 15th March 1907.

Dearest Arthur,

This is my last attempt to make contact with you. I do hope you receive this letter.

The reason for my concern is set out as follows and your immediate attention to it is of utmost importance.

I have concerns regarding the account that you opened here in Port Elizabeth three years ago.

I was disappointed to hear that you had made a visit to Port Elizabeth while I was away but there was good reason for my absence. I am now the manager of the branch and it worried me when a man presented himself here a few months back claiming to be you and wishing to access your safety deposit box. It was only by chance that I overheard the situation with one of my staff when I realised something was wrong.
Should I not have word from you within seven days, I will need to refer the matter to the police.

Yours Sincerely,

Paul Vandenberg
Manger,
Bank of Africa.
Port Elizabeth.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Port Elizabeth, South Africa 1904

33º 58'S 25° 35'E

'Arhhh... Uitlander?' he suggested with a slight grumble.

'Well... Yes,' he answered almost with embarrassment as he had begun to loss count of how many times someone had been referred to him as such.

'From where do you hail?' he asked.

'I am from Australia. I arrived a few days ago and I might say I am very impressed with Port Elizabeth. It reminds me of Sydney,' said Arthur.

His eyes grew wide with excitement as he crowed, 'Sydney! I have a brother who is out in New South Wales. His name is Michael Michaelson. Do you know of him?'

'Can't say that I do, Charlie,' he replied with a smirk on his face.

Bang!

Then equally as quickly another shot rang out. This time it was closer to where he stood and Arthur jumped somewhat startled at the sound and much to the amusement of Charlie.

The sows were not impressed and the largest of the group leapt forward without warning and almost knocked over the pen. Several clumps of boggy mud flew up into the air and splattered over the owner.

'I wish they would stop that,' demanded Charlie curtly as he tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to calm his small herd.

'What are they doing?' asked Arthur.

'There is a new gunsmith in town. He's from the United States of America and he's selling a new single action, semi-automatic pistol,' he offered. 'They are good, bought one myself, I did. The pistol is good but the fellow selling them is a bit of mad-hatter.'

A number of stall holders were marching in the direction of the gunsmith to make a complaint to him about their startled animals. Once again, Arthur smiled for he was unaware if they had considered, for a moment, to whom they were going to make their complaint.

'It's been nice chatting to you, Charlie. Best of luck with the sale of your pigs. I hope you get a fair price,' suggested Arthur sincerely.

'Arhhh... You'll learn my friend. Apart from the beautiful beaches and fine weather... there are very few things termed... 'fair' in South Africa,' he smiled.

For the next hour - and three gunshots later - Arthur continued to be fascinated by the life of the market. It had energy of its own. People continued to be friendly; the animals appeared to become more unsettled with each sudden discharge from the 'mad-hatter'.

A situation then occurred that would become a burned memory for Arthur of his time in Port Elizabeth. At the point when he entered the row of stalls dedicated to grain and seed he was surprised at the corridor or brilliant colour. There were barrels and tins, bags and buckets, all fall of various grains for farmers and for mills and for domestic use. There appeared to be hundreds of different sorts of grain. The sight was remarkable and at that point, Arthur made the decision to go to immediately to the Town Hall, from where he knew he would be able to purchase several postcards to send home to his family and also one to Jefferson to tell him of the agricultural delights he was now seeing.

About half way along the alley a quick succession of gunshots rang out. They appeared louder and closer and a subsequent commotion appear to fall across the entire square. Several screams, cracking timbers and ripping sheets of material were heard and Arthur's thoughts turned immediately to the stall holders who went in search of the gunsmith.

Slight vibrations from the ground were felt in both his legs and he did not know which way to look or which action to take. All he knew was that it becoming stronger and stronger and he wondered if this is what it felt like at the commencement of an earthquake.

'Run,' screamed a woman who looked shocked as she passed Arthur.

'Watch out,' yelled a man as he climbed onto one of the large storage bins of native seeds.

'What is going on?' thought Arthur alarmed as he too jumped atop one of the large grain bins. He turned to see what was happening along the lane between the stalls. From the direction where he had just been, the slight vibrations quickly become a stampede of livestock. Arthur burst into laughter when he noticed that leading the collection of escaped animals was a large black Berkshire Hog Sow, squealing like a happy child, ears flapping wildly and with what appeared to be a big smile across its face.

Abruptly the stampeding ceased. Many animals were now pushing their hungry mouths into the Aladdin's Cave they had discovered within the stalls.

The grain merchants were not at all impressed.

The owners of the livestock were even less so.

The mad-hatter was about to be leaving town.

A Pictorial Video of 209 A Story... So Far...

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sydney Australia

Final Year at University 1903

About half way along the Corso they stopped to observe a conversation that was occurring between an old man and a young boy. The old man sat upon a small boulder and beside him stood the young boy who appeared to be his grandson. It was obvious that the old man was talking to the child about the sizable rock engraving he held in his hands. His eyes were large, dark and kind, his hair was greying and curly, and he gestured at the rock, explaining the story of the engraving to the young boy. The old man motioned for Molly and Arthur to come closer and look at the rock.

The old man was an elder of the Cannalgal Clan, which had originally inhabited the area around Manly. His heritage was far older than that of anyone who had recently arrived at the Great Southern Land. The Guringai People had lived in the area for more than six thousand years. They now found their people decimated by small pox, European influences and worst of all, discrimination.

Hesitating slightly, they moved forward enticed by the tone of his voice and the sparkle dancing in his eyes.

'Boo!' he said loudly and then broke into laughter which was as soft as the look in his eyes and Molly and Arthur looked at one another and joined in the amusement.

Although neither understood a word of what the other was saying, his story continued for several more minutes.

They were able to make out on the colourful engraving the North Head and also a gathering of men who appeared to be healing another man who was lying on the ground. The rich colour of the ochre and other paints used on the engraving was extraordinary. The little boy was proud of the words of his grandfather and Molly and Arthur remained captivated.

'Here there!' boomed the voice from behind where they stood and approaching rapidly. 'What's going on here?'

'Nothing, Officer,' advised Arthur resolutely.

Confusion settled upon the little gathering. The old man dropped his engraving which broke into two as it hit the ground, the little boy hurriedly bent to retrieve the pieces, Molly looked with horror at the hatred in the expression on the police officer's contorted face and Arthur tried to ease the situation. The uniformed officer reached for his single-shot weapon from a holster on his right hip.

'No!' demanded Arthur. 'You have the wrong idea, Officer. Everything is agreeable.'

His huffing and puffing was tantamount to the ridiculousness of what he was suggesting.

Only when Arthur stood himself directly between the Officer and the old man, was he able to break the trance in which the zealot found himself.

'No!' he said again forcefully. 'This old man was explaining the story of his engraving to us.’

'He is not an old man... he is a savage... They should not be here,' he growled with parvanimity and slowly lowered his weapon.

Molly began to cry. The little boy looked at the tears welling in her eyes.

'We will move on, Officer. They did not mean any harm,' said Arthur exasperated with what had just occurred.

'No!' he demanded loudly. 'You... can stay... they will move on!' he said waving his hands at the old man and the young boy who began to cower backwards.

Have a good week everyone...

Steven