Expatriates: A Novel of the Coming Global Collapse

28 THE UTE

Their stay at the Edwards home was comfortable. The two guest bedrooms and a cot in the den easily accommodated them. The next morning, Rhiannon was amazed to see colorful Gouldian finches flitting around in the shrubbery of the yard, followed by a pair of wild Sulphur Crested Cockatoos landing in the tree outside her window. As a birder, these sightings were thrilling for Rhiannon.

“Do you know how much a cockatoo like that sells for in the States?” she asked Vivian.

Mrs. Edwards shook her head. “Thousands, I suppose. They’re considered pests here. A big flock of them can do a farm a lot of damage, ricky tick.”

When Rhiannon came back into the house, she found Peter and Tatang in a deep discussion. “Tatang has decided to sell his boat,” Peter announced.

After Alvis drove to work, Vivian drove Peter, Tatang, and Joseph back to the Wyndham docks. They carried several empty boxes with them and a large For Sale sign that had the phone number for the Edwards’s home on it.

They borrowed a skiff, and the three men paddled out to Tiburon. Meanwhile, Vivian waited in the minivan and practiced with one of her Let’s Learn Afrikaans audio CDs.

Not knowing if it would be days, weeks, or months before the boat might sell, they took down the canvas awnings and stowed them below. Then they methodically removed the remaining tools, books, food, spices, memorabilia, and other personal effects from the boat and tidied it up. They left the solar trickle charging the batteries and the automatic bilge pump switched on. With the tiny leak at the propeller shaft seal, Tatang estimated that the bilge pump would cycle only once every nine or ten days.

The cardboard For Sale sign was taped up on the rear awning mast. They left the cabin looking shipshape before closing the storm hatch and locking it. As they paddled away, the elder Navarro said, “Good-bye, Tiburon. You’ve been a good boat and you got us here safe.” He looked skyward, and added, “Thank you, Lord.” Joseph gave his grandfather a hug, and they both smiled. They were sad to give up the boat, but they knew they badly needed some Australian currency. And because Navarro was unfamiliar with fishing in Australia and lacked the money to buy fuel or new fishing nets, it was unrealistic to think they could go back to fishing to earn their living.

After they were back at the house, Vivian helped Tatang write a bill of sale with the line for the purchaser’s name left blank. The boat had no formal registration papers.

On faith, Paul Navarro gave Vivian the signed bill of sale, the cabin storm-hatch key, and the fuel pump.

In an exception to normal policy, the Department of Immigration and Citizenship representative flew from Darwin to Wyndham, rather than having the Jeffords and Navarros report to the local Immigration office. The manager of the local Wyndham office was miffed and started to complain, but he was told that the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation (ASIO) had taken an interest in the case. The department wanted a more senior man to handle the investigation.

The Immigration officer’s flight from Darwin was in a Pilatus bush plane that was owned and operated by his second cousin. He tried to give his cousin plenty of business since he always provided reliable, punctual service at the going rate. Plus, the Pilatus was an excellent plane that was capable of takeoffs and landings on very short airfields. He felt quite safe as a passenger in it, especially with his cousin at the controls.

The Protection Assessment interview was conducted over a barramundi luncheon at the house. The Immigration officer, Ralph Simmonds, was a portly and jovial man in his fifties. As expected, the interview turned into a repeat of the Jeffords’ story of their escape from Samara, but conspicuously absent of any mention of their possession or use of firearms.

“That is an exceptional story, and you are an exceptional case, indeed,” said Simmonds. “You surely deserve a fair go. In my estimation, all five of you are entitled to Class XA visas. It’s our special humanitarian Onshore Protection visa and it’s what we’ve been giving the Timorese who have arrived by boat. I have no doubt we’ll see some more refugees from the Philippines in the months to come, but being the first to arrive on the north coast this year by sea, you are getting capo d’astro treatment. I do want you to do me a favor, however. I’d like you to write a detailed report of what you heard from that Catholic priest and what you’ve seen with your own eyes for me to forward to some officials in the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation at Canberra. Don’t be surprised if ASIO sends some of their boys up here to debrief you as well. What you’ve said about the possible invasion of Australia is troubling, troubling to say the least.”

After a pause, he said, “I’ll be providing a statement to Customs. Your baggage and boat have already been inspected.” He then added with a wink, “I inspected them myself.”

Simmonds turned to Tatang and Joseph. “You will both shortly be issued a Travel Document in Lieu of Passport, as well as visa labels. I’ll make sure that they are fully renewable. Welcome to Australia.”

Once Simmonds had left, Alvis asked, “So, you are planning to go to Darwin?”

Peter nodded. “Yes, we’ll probably just thumb rides. We travel by faith.”

Alvis shook his head. “Hitchhiking in Australia is frowned upon. It isn’t nearly as easy as in the P.I. or in the United States, particularly for a large group. With five of you and all your bags, you might have trouble finding even a truckie that would have enough room to give you a ride. And there are no scheduled buses—only charters and those are costly.”

Vivian gave Alvis a glance with a cocked head. He nodded in response. “I have a little ute in my garage that I could give you. It would be yours to keep.”

Peter looked surprised. “A yoot?”

“A utility truck. We call them utes.”

“That is extremely generous of you, sir,” said Peter.

Alvis laughed. “Don’t thank me until you’ve seen the ghastly thing. It is about ready to rust out, I’m afraid. That Datsun is already wearing its second ute bed. Utilities don’t last long in my line of work. The air at the salt yards is a real killer.”

When Alvis opened the garage door, Peter could see what he meant. The truck was indeed quite rusty, with crescent-shaped rings of rust around the wheel wells. The rust was so bad that there were even holes in the worst parts of the rust patches. The hood was also deteriorating badly.

Edwards started the pickup and backed it out into the driveway. There was a hole on the muffler, so it was noisy. “I’m afraid that she’ll whistle and rattle if you get it up over seventy klicks,” he shouted.

The front half of the truck was painted white, but the back half was yellow. When asked about this, Alvis explained, “In the salt business, the ute beds always rust out first. So it’s not unusual for us to buy a replacement ute bed from a wreckers.”

That evening they went to see a movie at the Wyndham Picture Garden, an outdoor movie theater run by volunteers. They used the outing as a shakedown run for the Datsun. Most of the moviegoers brought folding camping chairs, but some preferred to sit in their cars. Two groups of teenagers brought couches in the back of their utes and parked with the sides of their trucks facing the screen. It was illegal to ride in the back of an open pickup in Australia, but it was explained to them that many rules were enforced “quite casually” in the more remote regions of Western Australia and the Northern Territory.

As they were packing for their journey to Darwin, Alvis handed Peter the title papers for the Datsun. Then he went back to the house and carried out two green metal ammunition cans. “This is some .30-06 ammunition for you. I don’t own an oh-six rifle any longer, so this ammo is of no use to us. Most of it is loaded in Garand clips. I’ve got to warn you, though, it is mostly old U.S. military stuff, so you can assume that it has corrosive primers. With that priming, you’ll have to clean your rifle very tidily after shooting it.”

Handing Tatang the cans, Alvis quipped, “Who knows, someday you may need this ammo if the Indos or the Chinese come to visit.”

Alvis had to leave for work before they had finished packing the Datsun. He shook hands and said his good-byes. He left them with his standing joke. “Well, back to the salt mines.”

Since they had no Australian currency, Vivian gave them five hundred AUD in cash so they’d have enough money for fuel. Peter offered to return it, but Vivian insisted it was a gift. Their American and Philippine currency was worthless, but Australian dollars still held most of their value and were generally accepted. Before they left, Vivian gave Rhiannon a hug. “Call me if you need any help at all. May God bless you, no matter where you alight.”

They followed the route that Vivian programmed into Tatangs’s GPS. The roads were narrow and substandard until they reached Kununurra. The 560-mile drive from Wyndham to Darwin went well except for a leaking top radiator hose. As they neared the town of Katherine, steam coming from under the hood signaled that something was amiss. They stopped and found that the top radiator hose had split. They refilled the white plastic radiator filler tank with most of their remaining drinking water. It was just four miles to Katherine, so they drove to a Mobil Oil station to get help.

Even before a petrol station attendant came around front to help, Joseph declared, “I think the hose is long enough that we can just shorten it. I saw this same thing happen once with my friend Honesto’s Jeepney.”

After buying fuel and allowing the engine to cool down, they rolled the Datsun to the side of the station. They were indeed able to shorten the hose using Tatang’s balisong knife. With a screwdriver from the Tiburon toolkit, they were able to detach and reattach the hose clamp. As they worked, the station attendant quizzed them, asking about their escape from the Philippines. He was fascinated. Sarah ran and skipped around the pickup, gleefully singing “This Little Light of Mine.” By the time they had refilled the radiator and checked for leaks, it was nearly dark. The attendant kindly gave them a dozen used plastic soda bottles so they would have extra water for the radiator on hand for the remainder of their trip.

It was still 155 miles to Darwin, so they decided to spend the night in Katherine. The service station attendant told them that the least expensive hotel was just east of town on the Stuart Highway. The rooms, he said, were around one hundred AUD per night. After their fuel expenses en route, they knew they couldn’t afford the lodging and asked the station attendant if there were any other options. “No worries. My uncle is the bishop of the Anglican church here in Katherine. He’ll find rooms for you for the night,” he said blithely.

They went to sleep that night saying prayers of thanks for God’s travel mercies.