Along Came a Swagman

By Ernie Palamarek

G'day, Mate! The awesome Australian Outback is one of the beautiful but dangerous settings for this captivating tale of murky intrigue, murder and myths! Read this fascinating tale! It's a ripper, mate!

From out of the mists of Aboriginal Dreamtime, a startling discovery is made by a never-do-well Outback opal miner who hauls up a priceless archeological antiquity in a dented barrel of broken dreams. Paleontologists are astounded! One look at what he found is forever burned into the minds of those who see it, setting the stage for a devious web of deceit. Greed and lust change their lives forever! Millions of dollars are at stake!

Sally Fletcher, a tall strawberry-blonde Aussie who is a TV news reporter on Vancouver Island, is at a loss for words as her world comes crashing down upon her when someone starts systematically going after her, her grandfather, and her Canadian mother. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that her Australian father is next on somebody's list.

Rune Erikson is hot on the trail of a deadly trio of antiquity-stealing snakeheads who slither through the casinos Down Under! Rune wants to keep rolling sevens but the dice keep coming up snake-eyes!
Andy, an Outback swagman on a self-healing walkabout through the harsh conditions of the Outback, becomes embroiled in this adventure.

This fascinating third novel in a series features the somewhat-jaded but dashing Rune Erikson who rips through the Outback where hardships and timeless feats of courage are legend.


Coloured by romance and eroticism, this intrigue lures Rune off his sailing ketch Valhalla at Victoria's Fisherman's Wharf into the swirling myths and legends of Dreamtime in Australia's Outback.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 26, 2007
• ISBN: 9781412244596

Ernie Palamarek

Ernie Palamarek has appeared on New York's WAMC syndicated weekly, The Evironment Show, reading from his novels to world-wide audiences of over fifty million people. He has had feature articles and photos published in national magazines and is the author of the Rune Erikson series of novels which begin to unfold in Canada and blossom in exotic locations around the world. Having spent his boyhood growing up in the saddle on the Alberta cattle ranching prairie, he has a keen appreciation for nature's wondrous beauty and its amazing resiliency which balances the eggshell fragility of the environment. He has worked in public relations for a major newspaper, in a research and development laboratory, in his own businesses, and in the service of a federal government agency. Combining his eye for detail with a vivid imagination, he continues to roam the world in search of adventure while trying to sidestep danger Ñ to observe, to listen, and to talk to wonderfully-different people in strange, exotic lands. He experiences the adventure and journeys through life with his wife, Sharon, a published photographer in her own right. She has a keen eye for style, colour and composition, and shares his passionate quest for adventurous travel. The author has lived in Victoria, British Columbia since he was twenty years old. Vancouver Island, a temperate rainforest off Canada's west coast, is his retreat in the Pacific Ocean. AMAZONIA is Palamarek's fourth novel. Click here to contact the author, TRADE WINDS PRODUCTIONS

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Long Tall Sally

Chapter Two

Snakehead

Chapter Three

The Wallungulla Black

Chapter Four

Dragon Lady

Chapter Five

Along Came A Swagman

Chapter Six

Lady Luck

Chapter Seven

Madam’s Butterflies

Chapter Eight

Wandering The Outback

Chapter Nine

Like A Mob Of Dingoes

Chapter Ten

There’ll Be No Tomorrow

Chapter Eleven

Boomerang

Chapter Twelve

Roundhouse Roulette

Chapter Thirteen

Boom!

Chapter Fourteen

Searching

Chapter Fifteen

The Devil’s Head

Chapter Sixteen

Black Jack

Chapter Seventeen

The Melbourne Cup

Chapter Eighteen

Place Your Bets And Take Your Chances

Chapter Nineteen

Lightning Ridge

Chapter Twenty

Where There’s A Will, There’s A Way

Chapter Twenty One

Birdsville

Chapter Twenty Two

The Great Bunyip

Chapter Twenty Three

The Mists Of Time

Chapter Twenty Four

Doomadgee And Beyond To Thunder River

Chapter Twenty Five

Corroboree

Chapter Twenty Six

Royal Flying Doctor Service

Chapter Twenty Seven

Headhunting Opal

Chapter Twenty Eight

Great Barrier Reef

Chapter Twenty Nine

Kuranda

Chapter Thirty

Balangurrk

About The Author

For Kevin and Sandra Starling

CHAPTER ONE

LONG TALL SALLY

FISHERMAN’S WHARF, VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA. It was only my reluctance to be impolite that I allowed this stunning but forthright TV news reporter to set her camera down upon the sloping deck of my live-aboard, sixty-five-foot ketch, Valhalla. And only because she had said that she was tired from carrying the equipment as TV reporters are often required to do in this time of one-person remote news coverage.

Yeah, right! I was actually like a bear after honey. Only in this case, the honey came after me.

Look, I really have an aversion to being interviewed, I said quite truthfully as I smiled, settled into a padded deck chair and motioned her towards another one.

It’s not an interview, she countered, crossing her long tanned legs as she sat. You brought up some very interesting points at last night’s meeting of the harbour commission, she said with more than a trace of a delightful Aussie accent.

But I didn’t think that simply calling for reasoned balance with a public-consulting, heritage commission was an issue!

You have a way of simplifying things for ease of clarity. It’s refreshing to find amidst a sea of self-serving interest.

Still, I really have to decline an interview.

I can see that you’re a man who stands by his principles. Therefore, you leave me no alternative but to stand up here in full view of all your neighbours on their boats and strip naked!

You wouldn’t…

Try me! she said with a mischievous dimpled smile.

You wouldn’t dare…

She stood up and began unbuttoning her blouse until I could see that her firm breasts were unencumbered.

She dared!

Helplessly, I looked around, somewhat panic-stricken at what my neighbours would think of her actions. Okay, okay! You win. I’ll consent to a short interview but on my terms only.

Sure! she exclaimed, flushed with victory and obvious sexual tension.

By the way, I’m Rune, Rune Erikson.

I know. And I’m Sally, Sally Fletcher.

I know. We both smiled at the absurdity of our words.

I helped her carry her equipment into the wheelhouse and down the companionway stairs to the saloon where I consented to hold the interview-on my terms!

I still don’t understand what you see in me that is so important that it warrants an interview.

It’s simple. I want to get a man-on-the-street interview. To get the public’s perception of how this harbour should be run.

I’m afraid that I’ll disappoint you in that regard. I’m no expert.

But you seem to know what should be done for this harbour. Oh, damn! There’s not enough light down here. It would be a whole lot better if we did the interview up on deck.

So my neighbours can see me? Not a chance!

You promised me an interview and we need more natural light. Could we do the interview in the wheelhouse?

Well, I suppose if that’s the only way to get enough light.

You’re a darling! she gushed and nuzzled my cheek. Her scent was like that of a delicate bouquet of Fire and Ice roses.

Okay! Let’s do a quick run-through. I’ll ask you a few questions just to get you used to me and my camera. All right?

Fine, I said with some trepidation. A practice interview makes sense, I thought to myself. Then if I don’t want to do the interview after all, I’ll just beg off. I’m sure she’ll understand.

"I’m here with Mr. Rune Erikson aboard his sixty-five-foot ketch, Valhalla, at Fisherman’s Wharf. Tell me, Mr. Erikson, how did you come to own this magnificent boat?"

Well, uh, I stammered as I cleared my throat and looked frantically out the wheelhouse windows, wishing I was anywhere but here. I happened to have done a favour for a friend of mine and his wife some time ago. Their only child, a teenager, had run away to Hollywood and like a lot of kids with stars in their eyes, quickly got into trouble down there with the ‘in crowd’. I helped them out by tracking her down and getting her into a clinic where she could get clean. Thankfully, things worked out in this case and the three of them got their lives back in order. It seems that his wife and daughter never were enamoured of sailing, so he gave me this magnificent ship as he wanted to devote all of his time to his family. He is a very wealthy individual, so he was quite able to do this, much to my delight.

That’s a fascinating account and I’m sure that there is a story there in itself, Rune. May I call you Rune?

Of, course!

I can see that you are a very caring man and I suppose that is why I am here talking to you-this man-on-the-street-or in this case, man-on-the-sea. In talking to you, I sense a man with a passion for fairness and for doing what’s right. Living here at Fisherman’s Wharf like you do, you have a very valid reason to be concerned about what goes on around you in this harbour. Last night at the harbour commission meeting, you stood up and brought out a few very valid points that everybody seemed to have missed. Could you elaborate on those points that you raised?

Certainly! My pleasure. First of all…

And so it went. Getting into the crux of the issues, I laid out some very basic tenets that I felt had to override all else-health and safety-including injuries from accidents and those of an ongoing nature such as stress-related noise pollution. I mentioned that the harbour was there for everyone to use and enjoy and most of all for the creatures that lived in it and on it. I covered the glut of less-than-esthetically-pleasing condos surrounding the harbour-condomania, I called it. I proposed that the Outer, Inner, and Upper harbours and the Gorge waterway be designated a heritage site to counteract the blight of bad planning in the past and to approve, by way of a qualified harbour commission with public approval, all future planning by the various local zoning authorities. At some point later, I took a breather as I felt that I had covered the main points that I thought were the most relevant.

How did I do?

You’re a natural. Very down-to-earth. Concise. How did you learn about all these things?

Osmosis.

Osmosis?

Yeah, I just soak information up. I like to think that I’m a good listener and a keen observer.

It shows!

So when do we do the interview?

We just did!

We did?

Yes! My co-workers don’t call me One-Take Sally for nothing!

Really? I asked, my jaw hung open like a kid in full disbelief.

Yeah! Thanks for the interview. Gotta go. Deadline!

Well, which week will it be on? Can you let me know?

Tonight! Six o’clock news!

Tonight? Jeez! You sure? I asked in disbelief.

Yeah! I’m sure! Stay tuned! Gotta run! With that she pecked me on the cheek, deftly hefted her camera and sprinted down the gangplank.

I stood there, watching her lithesome body bob and weave through the bystanders on the wharf. She sure is a tall one, I thought. Sally, hmm. Long Tall Sally.

Hey! Wait up! You forgot your… I yelled after her as my eye fell onto the camera cover that she had left behind on the main deck. Damn! Oh, well, I added as she sprinted up the gangplank to her TV news van, got in and drove off.

I picked the camera cover up off the deck, turned around and stowed it in the wheelhouse. I couldn’t get Long Tall Sally out of my mind. I had seen her plenty of times on TV as she was a regular news reporter covering the local beat. I liked her moxie and she was easy on the eye. She had a style that put me at ease immediately and it felt like I had known her for ten years instead of just ten minutes. Her strawberry-blonde hair was complimented by freckles and an impish dimpled grin. And freckles make me weak-kneed and shaky all over. Like how I felt right now. Weak and definitely shaky. Distracted too! Get yourself together, Erikson, you boat bum! You’re soon to be a star on TV! Jeez! Why did you ever do that? You should never have bared your soul like that in front of millions of people! Well, maybe not millionsof people but a whole lot anyway. Pull yourself together, Erikson! Admit it! You’re whipped! She’s got you! Now what have you got yourself into? Aw, forget her! She was just being her outgoing self and treats all the guys just like that, no doubt. Hell! She may even be married for all you know! Then what? Then nothing, you big dumbo! C’mon, get your yourself in gear. There are other things to be done. Yeah? Like what? Like supper, for instance.

Got any fresh crab today? I yelled out to Tiny on his crab boat one finger over.

Got a few left. How many do you want?

They pretty fresh?

You know me. Nothing but the freshest, Rune, Tiny said as he put his hands on his hips which had disappeared under his ample girth.

A couple will be plenty, thanks.

Two dungeness crab coming right up! Tiny stated as he flipped open his salt water holding tank.

I hustled right over and bought them.

Say, Rune, wasn’t that Sally-what’s-her-name from the TV station on your boat this afternoon?

Yeah.

Well?

Well, what?

Well, what’s up?

She wanted to do a man-in-the-street interview.

So did you?

Afraid so.

Hey, everybody! Tiny shouted out at the top of his lungs. We got a TV personality here! Heads started popping up from whatever work they were doing on the other boats.

Jeez, Tiny! Now the whole world knows!

You goin’ to be on TV?

Well, yeah.

Well then, the whole world will know anyway, won’t it?

Tell you what, Tiny. You can be my publicist, how’s that? I asked with some sarcasm.

When you on?

Tonight! Six o’clock news!

Hey, everybody! Rune’s going to be interviewed on the six o’clock news!

Jeez! I cried out as I cringed with embarrassment.

I had already showered, changed and had poured myself a liberal glass of white wine while I began preparing my supper. I filled a larger pot with water, added a dash of salt, a splash of lemon juice, and set it on the stove to cook the crabs in.

While the pot of water was heating, I went into the saloon to select some tunes. I fingered through my jazz collection which does wonders to put me into a mellow mood after a hectic day. And today’s interview making me look like some publicity hound was more hectic than usual. Astrud Gilberto! Yes! The Brazilian beauty. That’s just right, I thought. The Girl from Ipanema. This is the song that set her on the road to stardom. Her English vocals were backed up with Stan Getz on tenor sax, Antonio Carlos Jobim on piano, Joao Gilberto on vocals and guitar, Tommy Williams on bass, and Milton Banana on drums.

I put the two dungeness crabs on to cook for almost twenty minutes and prepared a garden salad while I was waiting for the crabs to be done.

That done, I set the pot of dungeness crabs aside to cool.

I got out another pot to cook pasta, poured in some water, added a dollop of olive oil and set it on the stove.

Once I Loved was playing on my sound system as I heard my ship’s bell gong a few times. It’s my doorbell when a light rap on the wheelhouse door or porthole doesn’t get my attention. I wiped my hands on a towel in the galley then walked through the saloon to climb the companionway stairs to the wheelhouse. Peering out the wheelhouse windows, I spotted an attractive young lady dressed in a summery floral dress. A floppy woven hat covered the top of her long strawberry-blonde tresses.

It was the girl from Australia.

Hi! she cheerily said as I opened the wheelhouse door to let her in. She looked freshly scrubbed and the change of clothes softened the hard edges that the news reporter in her demanded.

Well, hi! I responded as she stepped over the threshold.

Did I happen to have left my camera cover here?

Why, yes! I think so! I tried to get your attention when you were leaving but you were in such a hurry to…

Deadlines! The bane of all reporters everywhere. I’m so sorry to have caused you all this…

It’s no bother, really!

Well, I’d better get going as I don’t want to miss your debut on the six o’clock news.

Would you like to watch it here? I have a TV on board.

Well, I feel as if I’ve already imposed upon you enough what with using my feminine wiles to get your interview, she grinned impishly. Visions of her lovely breasts flowed into my mind. I blushed while checking out her low-cut bodice again.

It’s… It’s no problem! I stammered.

You sure?

Really! I’m sure. It’ll be my pleasure… as long as you don’t want another interview, that is.

I promise! Scouts honour! she declared as she raised her right hand.

I led her down the companionway stairs into the saloon.

Glass of wine? I asked.

That would be lovely, she responded as she demurely sat down on the sofa and removed her floppy hat.

This is really a lovely old ship! she remarked as she glanced around.

Yes, I replied, she has quite a unique history.

Oh?

"She was built by Leehausen and Sons in Oslo, Norway in 1905 and used as a fishing vessel in the North Sea. I haven’t found out if she was used in the first world war but I do know that during W.W. II, the Big One, the Germans had seized her and used her as a mine tender because of her wooden hull. The Valhalla was liberated after the war and was then used as a coastal freighter. During the nineteen-sixties she was purchased by a Seattle newspaper baron from the Leehausen family who were based in Bergen, Norway. He had her brought to Seattle by way of the Panama Canal and converted for use as his personal hideaway. I think he had a certain eccentricity as he had a few hidden compartments, which I occasionally stumble upon."

Have you found anything in them?

Nothing illicit yet.

It really is quite opulent for a one-time fishing vessel.

It has gone through two major refits that I know of and has been refurbished to its original Seattle grandeur.

It’s like a floating maritime museum!

I handed her a glass of wine, clicked the TV on to the six o’clock news and sat down beside her. Her scent was heavenly.

". . . happened in Ottawa earlier today. He was reported to have said that, as he was in the best of health, he had absolutely no intention of stepping down to let anyone else run in his place. To prove his point, he borrowed a scooter from a young lad visiting Capital Hill. Reportedly, his parting words to the press were, ‘The only stepping down I’m going to do is the stepping down on this scooter,’ as he rocketed down the sloping drive.

"It was reported that an opposition spokesman said ‘this is yet another graphic illustration of the governing party going to hell in a handcart’, in this case-a scooter.

He is due to be released from hospital later tonight. His badly sprained ankle will require him to recuperate at the official summer cottage for some weeks.

On the international front, there have been unconfirmed reports of yet another boatload of Chinese Fujian economic migrants hitting the northern shores of Australia. This makes an even dozen boatloads arriving within the past year. Australia has been plagued with these economic migrants much the same as Canada has been with boatloads of Fujians hitting our shores on the west coast.

And yet another strange discovery in Australia, this one in the outback. Unsubstantiated claims have been made that an opal miner there has discovered a fossilized human skull said to predate the current Mungo Man which is purported to be the oldest yet known on the Australian continent at 60,000 years old. These reports have been discounted as the skull supposedly turned up in an outback bar in the hands of the miner and had not been inspected nor tested by paleontologists. Officials stated that local pub patrons wildy exaggerated the find. One wag even claimed that the skull was glowing with shafts of fiery red light emanating from its eyes. Neither the skull nor the miner have been seen since despite numerous attempts by anthropologists, paleontologists and fortune-seekers to contact him.

My dad’s an opal miner in the outback, Sally stated.

Is he really? I asked.

Yes. My Mum and I were too! That is until she got fed up with the isolation and moved to Brisbane. Then my grandmum died in Courtenay, here on Vancouver Island, and my mum and I moved back to Canada to take care of Granddad. Well, she moved back as she was born here; I was born in Australia and had never lived in Canada before.

Interesting, so did you…

Oh, look. Here’s the interview!

I’m here with Mr. Rune Erikson aboard his sixty-five-foot ketch, Valhalla, at Fisherman’s Wharf. Tell me, Mr. Erikson, how did you come to own this magnificent boat?

Well, uh…

And so it went. I was used to working behind the scenes and not used to publicly baring my thoughts and my soul for all to see.

There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it? Sally asked.

Not with you doing the interviewing. You made it seem easy. You put me at ease.

You’re a real dream to interview-no hard edges, no devious thoughts.

Oh, yeah? I can think deviously. Care to stay for supper?

Sure! I haven’t had mine yet and I get tired of cooking just for myself.

Good, I thought, she’s single. Actually, I was just in the midst of cooking a couple crab. I was going to leave the crab meat from one for tomorrow but now that you’re here we can have both of them tonight. I’ve also got a salad ready in the fridge. I’ve just got to get the pasta cooked, some garlic bread into the oven and we’re all ready.

You’re such a sweetheart! And a cook too! she said as she kissed my cheek. My knees felt rubbery as she hugged me.

Only Trust your Heartwas playing on my sound system. My heart was not only being trusted but was leading me, no pushing me into the arms of this saucy Australian lass with the long legs as I hugged her and responded with aroused ardour.

It was only the pasta pot boiling over on the stove that broke our fiery kiss and entwined bodies.

Supper was a pleasant blur of candlelight and wine. The meal was delicious as we cracked crab and finger-fed each other the bits and pieces of succulent meat between love nibbles. The pasta was perfectly cooked al dente. Soon, we were making a mess of our linen serviettes, not to mention the white linen tablecloth that I had set out just for her. I suggested finger bowls. She suggested showers. I readily agreed. Hell, at this point, I would have agreed to anything that she would have said, including another interview. I was putty in her hands. She had that effect on me.

I showed her where the shower was and turned it on for her. She commented on the lavishness of the master cabin and the ensuite with its shower and claw-foot bath for two.

Help me with my dress, she whispered urgently into my ear.

She quickly removed her cotton print dress with a little help from me. I was awestruck at her physical beauty! Her long strawberry-blonde hair cascaded down her curving back. The freckles on her gorgeous face flowed like gold dust down onto her uplifted breasts. Despite her tan, tan lines were non-existent. I hurriedly stepped out of my clothes, smoothly reached into the cabinet for some protection and joined her under the flowing shower head.

She tilted her head back ever so slightly and ran her tongue over her parted lips. We kissed passionately under the spray of water. My hands effortlessly traced her silken body. I kissed the dark aureoles of her heaving breasts in homage to her naked sculpted form as her hands caressed my body. My pulse raced.

Urgently, she slipped her long leg around me. Gently, I held her firm body as she entwined her body with mine, as if totally possessed. Her low moans escalated in pitch as a torrent of sexual ecstacy flowed over us. She clung to me with unbridled ferocity. Her sustained moan was supplanted by the gushing whistle of a chugging steam boat as it surged into the Inner Harbour.

CHAPTER TWO

SNAKEHEAD

SHANGTIN VILLAGE, FUJIAN PROVINCE, CHINA. The insistently chirping birds outside his palatial bedroom windows woke Kejie Chin from a troubled sleep. Shrugging off the effects of his alcohol-induced languor, he reached for the pack of Marlboro cigarettes that lay on his bedside table. He rubbed his eyes then ran his fingers through his spiky brush cut as he searched for his lighter then focused upon the table beside him before finding it near a half-empty glass of scotch whiskey and water. Slapping a cigarette out of the pack, he flicked his gold lighter and drew the flame into the shredded tobacco. The hot acrid smoke threw him into a bout of ragged coughing. He waited until his coughing subsided, took another deep drag then rang a jade bell to summon his morning tea.

Dutifully, his wife entered his bedroom with a steaming pot of freshly-steeped tea that she had at the ready just waiting for her to be summoned to him. They had servants who could have brought him his morning tea tray but his wife had insisted in fulfilling one of the last vestiges of their longtime union. It was rare now for her to be of use to him as she had been in the early years of their marriage.

Lately, they had both been taking di huang-a Chinese root that grew wild on the slopes in Henan province-in different forms for two totally different reasons. She had been making a yin tonic for herself by simmering di huang in red wine. In this form it would help her blood deficiencies. For her husband, she had prepared a small portion of raw di huang. After pouring his tea, she quickly placed beside him a small bowl of sheng di huang for him to eat.

Mr. Chin liked this herb because it helped his impaired liver. When he was traveling, which was now quite often, he packed the pill of eight ingredients, of which di huang root was one, because it warmed and invigorated the yang of his loins. He felt that it enabled him to counteract the deleterious effects of his carousing life style and to perform better with his constant traveling companion-his mistress.

His wife knew of his dalliances with his bao er nai, his mistress, for Chinese women, like women everywhere, have their own information network which they use with great effect. Besides, she was not favoured by him when he was at home, for he had other willing mistresses to choose from in the local village-such was his power and the effects of his businesses. Still, she was appreciable of the fact that she was highly regarded in their community-a direct result of their new-found wealth. Their house was newly-built and was the best in the village. An elevator took them between floors of their mansion. They had servants, a pool, cell phones and new cars every year. She was somewhat discomfited that although the very success of her husband’s business made them wealthy beyond belief, it had also turned their village into a widow’s town. Oh, not widows in the traditional sense but one in which their husbands had been successfully smuggled by her husband’s organization into Canada, the United States and Australia. For there, the illegal migrants could make $2,000 per month instead of $100 per month in China. The village bank was now taking deposits from overseas illegal migrants fifteen times greater than they were in the first few years of the migration some ten years ago. Therefore, Shangtin village was now composed of mostly children, old men and women, and vibrant younger women with absentee economic mates. Although living affluently in well-furnished, modern apartments, these women had a life of sexual languishing where the few men left, like Kejie, virtually had the pick of the village amongst those women who would not wait for their husbands. And as Kejie’s outlawed business became more successful, his field to choose from widened. In addition, his power increased to the point where if anyone needed a favour or something taken care of in the village or in the outside world, Kejie took fees and gave bribes to handle those affairs as well.

Quietly, she drank her shu di huang tonic while waiting for him to take his sheng di huang.

Finishing, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand as he looked for his satellite phone. His business empire was getting harder to control as it expanded. More so, he had to rely on his lieutenants to handle his day-to-day work while he confined his time to making deals. With well upwards of $50,000 pledged or paid by each illegal migrant that he recruited, money wasn’t the problem that it once was. However, he still had to be vigilant as he was now liable for larger expenses and could take a far greater financial hit if things went drastically wrong. Uppermost in his mind were the asphyxiation deaths of the fifty-eight illegal immigrants being smuggled into England jammed into the back of a lorry hauling a cargo of tomatoes. It wasn’t that it was his operation, for it wasn’t. Nor was it bothering his conscience because he didn’t have a shred of compassion for anyone else but himself. What bothered him was that over a hundred of the dead immigrants’ relatives had attacked and ransacked the home of the snakehead involved in that particular situation. He didn’t want that to happen to him with its intendant loss of power and prestige. Anyway, they’re just peasants, so who cares? he had said.

No, he thought to himself, this business was getting tougher to arrange every year. It had been ten years since he had arranged the first illegal migration-a small operation involving considerable cost with Kejie having to buy air tickets and bribe his way into obtaining stolen U.S., Australian and Canadian passports from Bangkok and then paying more still to have photos fraudulently substituted in them. Since that time he had made a killing by arranging mass transfers of villagers by rusty work boats sent to their destinations across the Pacific. Financially, this was much better for him than flying the people to Russia or other Eastern European nations with easy visa requirements. Still, the forty day sea voyage on a fetid and decrepit ship that could sink at any time was more dangerous to the illegal migrants. But it was preferable to the uncertain two year application wait at the Canadian embassy.

There was hunger! A bowl of rice or soup a couple times of day, a minuscule ration of drinking water and only salty seawater to brush their teeth and to bathe their cramped bodies was all that they got. The paper mattresses they were issued were soon fouled by the vomit of those who were seasick in the stale air of the holds below deck. And the couple of broken toilets were soon awash in human excrement that brought on more retching. Buckets of urine fell over in the rolling hold, adding to the unbelievable stench. The hatch cover was kept on to avoid detection by overflying aircraft. Smokers fouled the air until many slipped into unconsciousness, only to be revived when the hatch was opened at night. That there was no lack of willing participants in this scheme showed their acute desperation.

And once they successfully arrived at their destination, they looked in awe at the blue, snow-capped mountains and the low-lying mists of Vancouver Island but could only see minimum-wage jobs in their future. They had set out to become meiguoke-someone belonging to the promised land called the Golden Mountain-with its attendant connotation of prestige and wealth back home. Instead, they became huojiqi-robots made of flesh and blood who worked double shifts every single day just so that they could send money home to their families, to pay off their snakehead or to friends and relatives if they were forced by the snakehead to come up with the money immediately upon reaching their destination. And if they could not come up with the money from relatives back home, Kejie made an example out of them. If torture didn’t work then he had them killed in cold blood. Word soon got around that he wasn’t one to be trifled with. Just the other day he had to threaten one of the mothers whose son had been deported from Canada and was now hiding out back in Fujian province after serving a two year sentence in China and a four thousand dollar fine for fleeing China. When we find your son, we will chop him up! he had warned.

Women were sometimes coerced into becoming prostitutes by his vicious lieutenants who lived and controlled their illegal migrant charges at the destinations. In any case, both sexes could only look forward to living in cramped, stinking quarters with their fellow migrants, all the while looking over their shoulders for the feared immigration authorities who would instantly bring this body of the bloodsucking operation to a halt.

And for all who survived the voyage and now had second thoughts and regretted having made the decision to become an illegal immigrant, they were now trapped on this relentless economic treadmill of backbreaking toil and exceedingly filthy living conditions. They could not assimilate themselves into their new society nor learn the language of their new land. Their snakehead was both their lifeline and their economic captor. Nor could they ever hope to sponsor their families to come and live with them. All that they could look forward to was a life of quiet desperation far from