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  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:

  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.

  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.

  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 s
uffered 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.