Читать книгу Topics About Which I Know Nothing - Patrick Ness - Страница 24

From Elizabeth Bronwyn, Public Health Nurse (Ret.), Toronto, Ontario, to Dr Wayne Bronwyn, Ophthalmologist, Boston, Massachusetts. Handwritten. Mailed from unknown address, presumed to be central Australia.

Son,

As we’ve said many times, your father and I are enormously grateful to you for this trip. Our fortieth wedding anniversary has turned out to be the best we’ve ever had (except, perhaps, our always irreplaceable first). Our time here has been so wonderful, and we’ve come to know such great joy. Great Joy. How can I even say it? I can’t, son, I just can’t, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to communicate it to you in any way that you’ll understand until you’re older yourself.

We’re staying. There’s no way around it, so there it is. We’re staying. For good.

I know this is a great shock to you. Knowing you, you probably have some strong feelings on the matter, and six weeks ago, we’d have thought we were as crazy as you’re thinking right now. But such things have happened here, such wondrous, remindful things that have invigorated us. We’ve suddenly and unexpectedly rediscovered what it means to have new experiences and a new outlook. When you’re our age, I hope you’ll be lucky enough to know what it’s like to have your first completely new point of view in twenty years.

Through a friend of ours back home, we’ve already arranged the sale of the house. (We’ve known someone who’s wanted it for years; he was only too happy that we finally obliged. Don’t worry, we’re getting our money’s worth.) Because we’re from the Commonwealth, immigration doesn’t look to be a problem either, especially considering that my health and your father’s are excellent. (See what you missed when you naturalized? The only place in the world Americans are welcome to stay is America. And you, especially; a doctor in a country with no nationalized medicine. Tut tut, one last time.)

Yes, I know, what in the blazes are we thinking? After 61 years, what can I say? When you know, you know.

Your father says not to kick yourself for giving us the trip. You’ve no idea what a wonderful thing you’ve done.

All our love,

[signed]

Mom & Dad

P.S. We’ll write soon.

From Dr Wayne Bronwyn, to Derek Bell, Executive Secretary to Ambassador Margaret Gottscheid, United States Embassy, Canberra, Australia. Via facsimile.

Mr Bell:

Per our phone conversation of today, I am faxing you the letter I received from my parents, Mr Henry L. and Mrs Elizabeth ‘Beth’ R. Bronwyn, this morning.

As I cannot possibly reiterate too clearly, the letter is so utterly out of keeping with any pattern of observed behavior that I am led to conclude that they are almost certainly being held in Australia against their will through unknown circumstances or by some unknown person.

To summarize what I attempted to express over the phone, here in short are the reasons I am alarmed:

(1) My mother describes her health and the health of my father as ‘excellent.’ This cannot possibly be the case. My mother is 61 and my father 62. In addition, my father has high blood pressure, and my mother has migraine headaches. It was only after extensive consultation with their physicians that I went ahead with the gift of the trip, a trip that was originally planned at two weeks and which my parents themselves suspiciously extended to six. And for that matter, why bring the subject of their health up at all?

(2) I do not care how much anyone wants to sell a house, it seems highly unlikely that the entire transaction can be secured between two parties at entirely different points on the globe in a few weeks’ time. As they did not provide the name of the ‘friend,’ I have been unable to find out any further on the matter as of today, although I did talk to Mrs Olive Ray, a close friend of my mother’s. Mrs Ray had not heard of any such deal or of any plan of my parents’ to stay in Australia. This leads to reason number three.

(3) My mother would not have kept such a thing from Mrs Ray. She, Mrs Ray, seemed to think that the matter was not cause for much concern, that my parents had been struck by a fancy which would pass or that perhaps they were merely playing some sort of prank, the source of the prank being their ongoing enjoyment at my expense for becoming a naturalized U.S. citizen after marriage to my wife. My mother even refers to this in her letter, but in such a way as to prompt reason number four.

(4) My mother says ‘Tut tut, one last time.’ What exactly can ‘one last time’ mean? This is ominous evidence indeed.

I have included my parents’ itinerary, although they did veer from it since they extended their trip. I have also included a blown-up and darkened copy of the envelope in which the letter was sent in hopes that the postmark might be of some help.

Fax me back as soon as possible with some kind of response. My parents are elderly, and I am greatly concerned that harm has fallen them. In the meantime, I am going to do some work of my own to get to the bottom of this. I am more than prepared to fly to Australia if that is what is required.

As a naturalized citizen, I trust I can expect the same assistance from your Embassy as any native-born American. I’ll hear from you soon.

[signed]

Dr Wayne Bronwyn.

From Derek Bell to Dr Wayne Bronwyn. Via facsimile.

Dr Bronwyn:

The Embassy is in receipt of your fax dated 6 October. The fax follows our lengthy phone conversation of the same date. We are still looking into just exactly why you were mysteriously cut off, Dr Bronwyn, and also why you were not able to re-connect to my office. At any rate, on to your fax.

As I attempted to explain to you over the phone before we were cut off, I am not sure what you would like us to do in this matter. You said in our conversation that your parents were of sound mind when they left on the trip, and though it seems plausible that one older person might possibly lose their bearings on an overseas trip, it seems unlikely that both would, especially considering that you yourself felt strongly enough to send them on a trip by themselves halfway around the world. Also, while 61 and 62 are somewhat up there in years, I don’t know many people who would call that elderly. The Ambassador is 66 herself, and hale as ever. If your parents were in their late eighties, for example, I would be more inclined to lean towards some sort of mysterious circumstances or scam, again going on the inference that you believed enough in their mental states and personal health to send them on the trip in the first place.

In addition, I have never heard of any scam coming out of Australia’s center dealing with the mysterious actions of older tourists. It’s a big, red desert with a few oases, and the tourist trade there is too valuable to have missed any such scam happening on any scale. For that matter, I suddenly find myself unclear on exactly what sort of scam you might be talking about.

It is my personal tendency to read the letter from your parents at face value. Take it from a career diplomat who has been here for 18 years: this is an amazing place. Perhaps what happened is just what your parents say happened. They were rekindled by a change of landscape. It’s not unknown. Some retirees move to Florida, looking for Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth, no doubt. Your parents have just chosen a different hot climate that’s farther away.

This, however, is all moot speculation, because, as you somehow failed to mention in our nearly forty-minute conversation, your parents are citizens of Canada. Although I can understand that you were quite excited and might have easily forgotten such a detail, the fact is, our office has no jurisdiction over them whatsoever. I suggest if you wish to pursue the matter that you contact the Canadian Embassy. I have included their phone and fax numbers.

Might I also suggest that if you do in fact call our good friends to the north, you might receive closer care to your problem if you choose, shall we say, somewhat less frank language than you engaged in during our phone conversation. Your fax strikes quite a nice tone (perhaps Mrs Bronwyn helped?), and this is probably the best route with our Canadian friends. Remember, they’re like Americans, only more British.

Yours,

[signed]

Derek Bell

From Elizabeth Bronwyn, to Dr Wayne Bronwyn. Handwritten. Mailed from unknown address, presumed to be central or southeastern Australia.

Son,

I’m sorry for the delay. We had intended to write you immediately with our new address, but so much has gone on in the past few weeks that there’s been barely a moment to put pen to paper. A new friend of ours has set up a post office box for us (address enclosed) in Binturang Springs, which is where we’ve been staying for the past several days. We needed to establish a permanent address for immigration purposes. We hope to have a resident visa sometime soon. As it is, we’ve decided to spend the remaining time on our tourist visa traveling around this beautiful country.

I was planning on telling you all this in our phone conversation yesterday, but you were so upset, it was difficult to get any words out. Then we were somehow cut off. Must be these international phone lines.

I do understand that you’re upset, son. I can certainly understand the shock at your parents suddenly pulling up stakes and moving 11,000 miles but, once again, what can I say? We’ve found a new outlook, a new life. As vague as that is, it’s the best way I can put it. Not all older people, not most, want simply to wind their days down in a sameness that lasts until you stop breathing. Why die before you die? Your father and I have done something daring for probably the first time since we got married. Out of character? Sure. But isn’t acting out of character part of character, too? I hope we can talk again soon, and I can try to convince you one more time that sometimes these things just happen.

One more thing, I hardly think that moving away when you’re 39 years old constitutes ‘abandonment.’ You have Jane and the kids. We only ever visited once or twice a year; hardly lifeblood to either of us, if we’re honest. I’ll chalk up most of your remarks to shock at our decision. Hopefully soon you’ll come to understand.

As I’ve said, we’re very, very busy, so I’ll end here. I think it’s clear, given the phone trouble, that letters are a better means of communication for us. All of our mail will be forwarded from the P.O. Box, so feel free to write at any time. We’ll get the letter and respond from whatever port of call we’ve set our feet onto.

Love to everyone,

[signed]

Mom & Dad

From Dr Wayne Bronwyn to Philip Wilder, KBE, Ambassador, Commonwealth of Canada, Canberra, Australia. Via Facsimile.

Mr Ambassador Wilder,

As I have received next to no help from your ‘assistant,’ I am writing to you directly and demanding your help. My parents, Canadian citizens, have fallen prey to mysterious circumstances and are either being held in Australia against their will or are mentally incapable of making the proper decision to return home. I have included two letters from my mother as proof that something is amiss. I have also included my correspondence with the American Embassy in Canberra, who were of no help whatsoever. I trust you’ll make it a matter of national pride to do better.

To be frank, my parents have always been stilted people of limited imagination. I know that sounds cruel coming from a son, but I mean it lovingly. They have lived in the same house in Toronto for my entire life. My father was an accountant for 40 years, my mother a nurse for 38. They are just not given to flights of fancy, certainly nothing as ridiculous as selling everything they own on the spur of the moment and moving halfway around the world. These are people of limited horizons! For the past five decades, their idea of a good time has been a drive to the same lake once a season! It took months of convincing for them to even take this one vacation, and I nearly had to force them onto the plane myself. I only persisted because of what my wife calls my ‘dogheaded dedication to the impossible task,’ a stubbornness you would do well to keep in mind.

Additionally, I spoke to my mother on the phone a few days ago for the first time since they reached this ‘decision.’ Her answers to my questions were vague and directionless. She kept saying ‘these things just happen’ and ‘I can’t explain it.’ Even when I pressed, she was unable to give me a straight answer.

This is clearly a cry for help. Something is wrong. Something is so obviously wrong that I cannot believe the cavalier attitude taken by some of those on your staff. And this plus the fact that I was disconnected four times in a row. I am providing you with the post office box that my mother gave for her address, and I want someone to look into it. I was a Canadian citizen until I married my lovely wife thirteen years ago. I can only hope that my expatriate country can give me assistance that can only be considered just and decent.

I want some answers. As I have said, if I get none, I will come to that godforsaken country myself.

Yours,

[signed]

Dr Wayne Bronwyn

From Ambassador Philip Wilder, KBE, to Dr Wayne Bronwyn. Via Facsimile.

My dear Dr Bronwyn,

You’ve developed quite a reputation in our office for your persistence. I am not sure whether it is Canadian pugnaciousness reborn or a healthily adapted American tenacity, but you most certainly have gotten our attention, which, I trust, was your whole point.

I have reviewed all your correspondence, as well as the notes my talented deputy, Anita, compiled on your telephone calls. I wonder, as a sidenote, whether you have perhaps misread as ‘cavalier’ nothing more than the relaxed attitude folks tend to adopt in a tropical clime. Remember, it is deep, glorious spring here, where our outlooks, while hopefully remaining professional, have nonetheless gained a rosy tint. Don’t judge us harshly, Dr Bronwyn, the sun here would cause your president himself to not only remove his shirt, but to not feel embarrassed about it.

I must say that my first inclination is to agree with my esteemed associate in the American office. While the behaviour of your parents may be accurately labeled extraordinary, I would say it is delightfully rather than ominously so. I am 63 years of age myself, and although I will miss dearly the people and trees of my beloved Vancouver, I’m staying in this wonderful place when I retire this autumn. And me, a knighted civil servant, no less, giving up my home country for one that will probably discharge the monarchy any moment now.

But I digress. Because of your persuasive, albeit somewhat quixotic tactics, I have had my office look into the matter of your parents as much as is legally and ethically possible. Your parents have broken no laws, remember, and not everyone sees the obvious foul play that you do. Nevertheless, your commitment to your belief is stirring enough for us to have uncovered the following:

1 Your mother and father requested immigration proceedings on September 21, some weeks before your mother’s first letter. Perhaps given your reaction to the news, she was deliberating on ways to soften the blow, as it were.

2 A post office box was indeed established in Binturang Springs. We have been in contact with the clerk who rented the box. He remembers the box being rented by a young woman. He says that she was friendly and otherwise unremarkable except that her voice seemed slightly accented, meaning of course, slightly accented Australian. This would seem to be the ‘new friend’ that your mother refers to in her second letter. As you can see, despite your accusations, your letters were indeed read. Let me also, as a sidenote, just say that Binturang Springs is a very small town, as are most in central Australia. Tourists have a very high visibility, making the likelihood of foul play even more remote as any larcenous behaviour could not possibly be kept hidden for long. It’s a big place, the red centre, but an empty one. You can see from one horizon to the other and everything in-between. Only the aborigines know the secrets, and they’re not telling.

3 Though we have checked some cursory leads tracking older travelers from Binturang, this office has been unable to locate your parents. Apart from simply sending a letter and asking them, finding out where your parents’ mail is being forwarded is illegal unless we have clear just cause, and I am sorry, Dr Bronwyn, I don’t see just cause anywhere in this situation.

Perhaps you should just believe what your parents have told you and be happy for them in their newfound youth, if you will. And frankly, even if you will not, it is my duty to inform you that this office will aid you no further. Again, I can understand your passion and even forgive the rough edges with which you pursue it, but I can see no reason for my office or the government of Canada to put more resources into what is bordering on harassment of two adults acting legally.

You are welcome to follow through on your wish to write the Canadian Foreign Affairs Ministry concerning our actions in this matter. I am confident we will be easily acquitted.

Having said all this, if more, or rather any hard evidence comes to light or if you are not satisfied with ending your investigation here, which I strongly suspect is the case, you may want to contact the Australian Ministry of Immigration here in Canberra. They would certainly be interested if there were any hint of immigration fraud. There is clearly not; I am only suggesting a tactic you might use, again, if you insist on pursuing the matter. I make the suggestion because I believe in your sincerity, despite your casually deleterious way with spoken language.

If you decide to come to this country as part of your quest, might I suggest that you not miss the opportunity to visit any one of the larger cities’ Royal Botanical Gardens? The bulk of tourist highlights are well-covered in most guidebooks, but I find that visitors often overlook the abundant gardens available here. Most are lovely for a leisurely stroll, like those I used to take in Stanley Park, only not so often gray.

I will leave you here, Dr Bronwyn. Good luck in your future endeavours, and please refrain from contacting this office in the future.

Your humble servant,

[signed]

Ambassador Philip Wilder, KBE

From Elizabeth Bronwyn, to Mrs Olive Ray, Public Health Nurse (Ret.), Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Handwritten. International Express Mail from the Cavalcade Hotel, Perth, Australia.

Ollie,

Here are the tickets and the cashier’s check. Henry and I can’t wait to see you. We can’t wait for you to see us. You won’t believe the change, and I mean that in ways you can’t possibly imagine. You won’t regret coming, and I have very little doubt we can persuade you to make the same decision we did. It’s unbelievable here, Ollie, in all the best ways.

Your plane leaves on the 3rd and, because of the way the dateline works, arrives here on the 5th. We’ve become close to a young couple with whom we have a lot in common (you’ll see what I mean; Henry says, ‘Boy, will you ever!’). They’re going to pick you up at the airport. Don’t worry, we’ll see each other shortly afterward. You can write to Paul after you get here and explain everything. Trusting me on this issue is essential.

Swallow your trepidation and brush away your fears. If there was any time in your life to act in the face of caution, it’s now. You’ve earned it after all these years of living. We both know you’re only old when you decide to be. Decide not to be, Ollie.

Looking forward to seeing you,

[signed]

Liz

From Elizabeth Bronwyn, to Dr Wayne Bronwyn. Handwritten. Mailed from unknown address, presumed to be central Australia.

Son,

There is going to come a day when I’m finally going to be fed up with you. I thought today might be that day. I’m referring, of course, to the outlandish, embarrassing, and ultimately infuriating phone call I have just been put through with the gentleman from the Australian Ministry of Immigration.

Do not think, as has been your tendency for far too long for me to expect you to act any differently, that it was anything but you that got me angry. The gentleman was quite polite and friendly, even charming, as he went through his list of humiliating questions about supposed actions of ours that you’ve insinuated. Questions about our sanity, our health, our finances.

Then, my dearest son, questions about our alleged criminal pasts, our financial dire straits in previous years, our possible willingness to smuggle drugs. You couldn’t have implied diamonds or rare birds, could you? Obviously you thought it would direct them to us most quickly (and it did), but I would have thought that even in your haste you might have realized that the idea of two sixty-something drug smugglers, from Canada no less, is nothing short of absurd.

How dare you, you child? How dare you slander us so grotesquely because you are simply too selfish to see that we’ve acted of our own free will? Being unable to abide our decision is one thing, but what you’ve done is nothing short of dangerous. I’m trying my hardest to view this as some misguided idea of loving behavior on your part, but I am having difficulty.

Almost the only thing that keeps me from cutting you off completely is that the good people at the Ministry of Immigration clearly believe you’re as loony as we think you are. I doubt most suspected drug smugglers get off with a simple phone interview. Can you imagine in the midst of your frenzy how awful such an accusation could have been for us? I’m sure you think everything would have turned out okay, but what if it hadn’t? What if things had gone horribly wrong? What if they weren’t so inclined to listen? What if your father and I had had to sit in jail while we waited for you to come and clear things up? Is any of this getting through to you?

And all this as we’re suffering the death of Olive Ray, which, in your investigative zeal, you must have discovered and, it must be concluded, disregarded its impact on your father and me. We were unable to return for the funeral, so if you showed up and looked for us there, I hope you at least had the good grace to leave some flowers.

How dare you? That’s my benediction, son. Consider it clearly. How dare you?

[signed]

Mother.

From Dr Wayne Bronwyn to Brian Coppedge, Senior Investigator, Australian Ministry of Immigration, Canberra, Australia. Handwritten. Mailed from Hughes Gaol, Darwin, Australia.

Mr Coppedge:

I am writing this letter to you because of the increasing difficulties I have had in getting through to your office by phone, a problem exacerbated by the limited phone privileges I have in here. I find it hard to believe, in a modern Western country like Australia, my phone calls would be cut off so often, even when I’m calling from this little bunch of shacks you people have chosen to name after Darwin.

In a final attempt in what I see as my increasingly futile search for my parents, I will recap the events that led me here to try and get someone, anyone, in this godforsaken shithole desert of a country to help me track them down.

As you know (as I have explained to your belligerent staff many, many times), a week after the last letter I received from my mother (enclosed), I received a phone call from Paul Ray, son of Olive Ray, a close friend of my mother. As indicated in my mother’s letter, Mrs Ray suffered a massive stroke and died shortly after this whole farrago began. Because of funeral arrangements and family responsibilities, Paul Ray was unable to go through his mother’s effects in any detailed fashion for several weeks, but when he did he discovered a letter from my mother urging Mrs Ray to fly to Perth (enclosed) along with plane tickets and a check for expenses.

Paul Ray then contacted me. He indicated that he had spoken to my mother the day after the funeral, when she called to speak with Mrs Ray. He told her the news of Mrs Ray’s death and said that my mother took it badly. He was surprised that my mother didn’t already know, as he remembered the two women being friends, but, having had somewhat limited contact with his mother for several years, he thought nothing further of it until he found the letter and plane tickets. He told me that my mother made no mention of inviting Olive to Australia and did not even mention that she was calling from there. How many more odd circumstances do I need to point out before someone will take me seriously?

I then contacted your office again (even after you had done such a botched job of investigating their activities. A phone interview for possible drug smugglers? What’s wrong with you people?) and offered this new information. I was rebuked and, indeed, told to stop ‘harassing’ my own parents. Harassing? I’m trying to get to the bottom of a very serious situation. Why can’t anyone see that I am motivated by nothing but compassion and concern?

Receiving no assistance whatsoever from your office (or in fact anyone at all throughout this whole ordeal; I’ve already sent you copies of the letters from the American and Canadian Embassies that show just how outrageously I’ve been handled), I took a trip to this blackened landscape myself, and in the past six weeks, I have been to every bare corner of it.

I first went to Binturang Springs, the location of the post office box, and talked to a Mr George Kingfisher, manager of the inn where my parents initially stayed. After trying with limited success to convince him of the desperation of the situation, he finally directed me to Henry Badgery, a tour operator who had conducted my parents on a personalized tour of the surrounding desert area. Mr Badgery said that he remembered my parents, that they were pleasant people, that they had befriended a young married couple, but he told me nothing more. I did not and do not trust this Mr Badgery, let me tell you right now. I am almost certain he’s a liar.

I then contacted the Binturang Springs Post Office, where I was thwarted in my attempt to discover my parents’ current forwarding address by a callous postal clerk named Armando Bravada who refused to bend the rules despite the obvious gravity of the situation.

Having received no help, I embarked upon what ended up being a nearly complete circle of your country. I flew to Perth, where my parents had earlier planned to meet Olive Ray if she had been able to use the tickets they sent. I visited the hotel indicated on the return address of the Express Mail to Mrs Ray, but no one gave me any useful information. I then headed east along your southern coast, following backwards the middle part of my parents’ original itinerary through impossibly named towns like Wagga Wagga and Wollongong. I took a dip down to Hobart, then back up to Melbourne, through Canberra (where your office was closed due to some royal holiday or other), then to Sydney and up to Brisbane and Cairns. Occasionally, I came across people who thought they recognized my parents’ names but not the pictures I provided. On the whole, I found out very little.

It finally occurred to me while driving the considerable miles between resorts scattered along your northeast coastline that my method had been a thoroughly inefficient way to canvass for my parents. Actual Australia was much bigger than the picture I contained in my mind. It seems obvious, but I have been recently upset and my concern has sometimes taken over the better part of my reason. I realized there were a lot more people here than I’d thought, and I couldn’t just go looking without some guidelines. Again, embarrassingly obvious, but once you get an idea in your head, it’s hard to shake it.

It was at this point that I returned to Binturang Springs and, unable to find either Mr Kingfisher or Mr Badgery, I paid another visit to Mr Bravada.

Having had some long hours in my cell to reflect, I can honestly say that I regret that I acted like less than a gentleman to Mr Bravada. Although I would hardly regard my contact with him as ‘assault’ or ‘false imprisonment,’ it would seem that the Western Australia authorities disagreed enough to contact their Darwin counterparts. If I ever see Mr Bravada again, I would do my best to apologize. My arrest, though extremely inconvenient, is beside the point, however.

I was able to get two interesting bits of information out of Mr Bravada. One was my parents’ current forwarding address here in Darwin (enclosed). The second was a telling comment about this Mr Badgery. Mr Bravada didn’t know all that much about Mr Badgery (or was keeping it to himself) but was able, after exhaustive interrogation, to tell me, and I quote, ‘Some people say that he [Mr Badgery] takes old folks out into the bush and brings young folks back.’

Due to an unexpected loss of consciousness, Mr Bravada was unable to tell me anything more, but my concern for my parents’ wellbeing immediately increased. Using the address Mr Bravada had provided, I flew to Darwin and went straight to my parents’ hotel. The front desk clerk told me that there were a Mr and Mrs Bronwyn checked in. The young woman had not checked them in herself, but a bellhop thought he remembered a young couple by that name. Undoubtedly, these are the ‘friends’ my mother mentions in her letters. He believed that they had mentioned an older couple travelling with them and perhaps (there was some confusion) he had misheard who, in fact, was named Bronwyn.

You can imagine my dismay that it was at this moment, when I finally had some answers within reach, that I was accosted by the Darwin Police and taken away.

So, here I sit in Hughes Jail (or Gaol, is it?), awaiting heaven knows what fate, and I’m asking one last time for your help, Mr Coppedge.

I’ve been thinking through scenarios that might have engulfed my parents, and I think I’ve figured it out. It involves Mr Badgery, and I shudder to think of it. He ‘takes old folks out and brings young folks back in.’ It’s clearly some sort of immigration scam. Mr Badgery lures some older folks into a tour group, takes them out to a desolate area, does dire misdeeds to them, and replaces them with younger couples who want to immigrate who then assume the identities of the ‘older folks.’ I am sure Mr Badgery makes a tidy profit.

Murder is what I’m talking about, Mr Coppedge, something much more serious than these trumped-up ‘assault’ charges for which I sit imprisoned. I contend that my parents have been murdered by Mr Badgery and their identities have been assumed by a younger couple who have written letters as my mother saying that they’ve ‘suddenly decided to stay.’ It’s the only explanation that fits.

Unless, of course, Mr Badgery has actually found a fountain of youth, but even I am not yet desperate enough to believe that.

It’s so clear, Mr Coppedge, so clear what’s happened. I apologize for any past rash behavior on my part in my eagerness to find the truth, but there is murder most foul here and I humble myself and beg you one last time to investigate.

Very truly yours,

[signed]

Dr Wayne Bronwyn

Letter from Brian Coppedge, Australian Ministry of Immigration, to Dr Wayne Bronwyn, Darwin Jail. Hand delivered by messenger.

Dr Bronwyn:

Let me begin by saying that you have become the stuff of legend here at the Immigration Ministry, right alongside the Filipino man who had a sex-change operation so he could marry his Australian friend and become a citizen (made even stranger by the fact that the gentleman knew that we allow homosexual partners to immigrate yet went ahead with the operation anyway) and the Romanian woman who was not satisfied with just one Australian husband and somehow managed to wed four. You’re going into our folklore as the Son Who Harangued His Parents Right Out of Their Own Country.

You may well find this insulting, but, after your verbal tirades, threats, and extraordinary actions, I feel little compunction to hide my personal distaste for you. You should, however, take it as a measure of pride. Even after you’ve left this country for good, which, I assure you, will be sooner rather than later, you’ll be remembered.

All rancor aside (or most anyway), your behaviour has been of such astonishing effort that, as a parting gift, we have investigated enough of your claims to file this matter away permanently.

Although we have yet to schedule an in-person interview (one step among many in the long immigration process: immigration doesn’t just happen, you know - we do look into things), I have spoken to your mother several times by telephone. She has been helpful in providing both factual details of their vacation as well as illuminating anecdotes about her son’s particular personality quirks. I can safely say that there is no doubt in my mind that your parents are safe and sound and simply wish to immigrate to this great country. I have also spoken with Mr Kingfisher, general manager of the Hollingsworth Hotel in Binturang Springs, as well as Messrs Badgery and Bravada, who, at the behest of our office, has generously agreed to not press charges in exchange for your prompt expulsion from the country.

First of all, Dr Bronwyn, your murder claim is little short of ridiculous. As I’ve said, I have spoken many times to your mother by phone myself, and though she is somewhat confused and embarrassed by your persistence, she is vibrant, energetic, and very much alive. She provided details on the sale of their house back in Toronto, details which we independently verified with Canadian authorities, details which no ‘immigrant imposter’ could possibly know. In addition, we were able to obtain credit card receipts (matched again with cooperation from your mother) from various hotels along their entire itinerary, and signatures from the earlier part of your parents’ trip match exactly with signatures from later. If your parents had, in fact, been replaced in some bizarre immigration scam, I would have thought you would have noticed a change in the handwriting of your mother’s letters. No one is an exact enough forger to fool a son.

As for Mr Badgery, we have discovered that he is a quite well-liked fixture in Binturang Springs, having led tours as far back as anyone can remember, something along the lines of forty years or more. I highly doubt that he could keep any murderous scheme afloat for four-plus decades and not raise an eyebrow until now. As for Mr Bravada, he recalls saying nothing along the lines of ‘old folks going in and young folks coming out,’ but then again, he remembers rather little of your attack, so traumatized was he at the literal and figurative browbeating he underwent at your hands. Once again, you may count yourself very lucky that Mr Bravada has agreed to let you move back to America rather than press charges. You may also count yourself lucky that our office chose to make the case to Mr Bravada to do so. There was strong sentiment here to let you sit in Hughes Gaol for as long as they would have you. However, we are a compassionate country, and as your mental capacities are clearly under some strain, we will choose to believe that you are acting outside your normal operating behaviour.

And that, Dr Bronwyn, is that. We shall do no further investigating, though some of us here believed that we should have ceased after the illegal drug wild goose chase you tried to send us on. The case is closed. We are more than happy to welcome your parents into the country, and we are just as happy to usher you out. Accompanying this letter is an order to escort you to the airport and onto a plane back to America. Do not attempt to enter Australia again, Dr Bronwyn. It would be unwise.

As a last note, may I implore you to get some help once you arrive home? As you are a physician yourself, I hope that you will be able to somehow objectively see your current state of mind and the actions that have resulted. Take our decision not to press charges as a second chance to get some professional assistance for what has clearly been a shock to your psyche. You might start with fear of abandonment issues.

I am confident that you will reject these entreaties out of hand, but despite what you might think, we are