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Anxious in Talara

by Walter McConville

246 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0231; ISBN 1-55212-565-3; US$22.50, C$24.95, EUR18.50, £13.00

Fiction based on historical facts, researched by the author while living and working in Peru.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpt      catalogue info

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Also available for download Fiery Facets

About the Book ANXIOUS IN TALARA: A foreign service historical mystery novel by Walt McConville. With 5,000 producing oilwells and the largest refinery on the west coast of South America, northern Peru presents a prosperous picture at the beginning of the Great Depression in this intriguing novel. Pete, Ronnie and Hank, three expatriate oil company employees, become involved in a clever scam to compete with the national lottery, not foreseeing certain surprising complications. Problems caused by romance, political upset, rebellious workers and homicides bring them more than they bargain for. A fast-moving page-turner, Walt McConville's novel provides a fresh insight into an area and an era that will never be the same. Events and descriptions are portrayed by an author who obviously has lived, worked, and observed his locale with keen perception and a wry sense of humour. A fabulous read!

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About the Author After completing his education in Vancouver and Calgary, Walter was employed by International Petroleum Company for 11 years in Ecuador and Peru. On returning to Canada, he spent 37 years in the travel industry "telling folks where to go," managing various agencies, and escorting tours and cruises to many destinations until his retirement in 1986. Past newsletter editor, archivist, and vice president of the Victoria & Islands branch of the Canadian Authors Association, Walt currently tutors a CAA members' poetry group and composes "Canauthword" crossword puzzles for the CAA National Newsline. He has written four books, two plays (which he also staged and directed), and over 400 poems, technical articles and short stories published in Canada, U.S.A., Britain and Peru. He wrote and directed musical skits for the 1993 and 1995 national conferences in Vancouver and Victoria. Walt is also happy to have been born in New Westminster - unlike most British Columbians, he is not an import! Walt McConville has also written a collection of "Poems With Punch" in a book called "FIERY FACETS." It can be ordered from PRIMROSE PRESS at 317-1236 Verdier Avenue, Brentwood Bay, BC, V8M 1P3, Canada, for $15.95 Can/$10.95 U.S. per copy, plus $4.00 postage and handling for the first and $2.00 for each additional book, autographed by the author." Walt's most recent publication TRABLER'S TRAVEL TALES is now available through Trafford Publishing.

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Sample Excerpt - Chapter 10

From the moment of its inauguration, the policy scheme caught on like wildfire. Daily sales volumes soon reached a figure far in excess of the partners' most optimistic forecast. Twice in one month they were forced to order more blocks of policies from the printers.

Their first draw was won by an aged fisherman, Faustino Morales, who promptly and sensibly retired on the proceeds. Morales was well-known throughout the Talara area, and news of his good fortune spread quickly.

Surprisingly the Peruvian currency exchange was holding steadily at two-fifty to the dollar. Questioned by Hank and Ronnie about this, Pete assured them there was no cause for alarm. "As a matter of fact," he pointed out, "the more we sell at the current rate, the better off we'll be when the real fluctuation does begin."

But when July fifth rolled around and the rate remained further unchanged, Hank and Ronnie were honestly worried. Tension had now increased to the point where all three partners had formed the habit of meeting in Ronnie's apartment immediately before each Saturday noon financial broadcast.

On this particular weekend, after listening intently to the announcements and realizing the import, they were even more pessimistic. "Sure hope all yer figgerin' ain't gonna misfire," confided Hank somberly to Pete.

"That goes for me, too," Ronnie grumbled acidly. "Gee, Pete, we've been in this thing now for six months. If that rate doesn't soon start moving like you promised, we'll all be too old to even give a damn."

"Look, fellas," Pete remonstrated, peeved at their lack of patience, "I told yuh in January that Peruvian currency couldn't stay at two-fifty too much longer. I explained why and youse guys agreed. Well, it so happens it's hung on a bit longer than I figured. So what?"

"It might interest yuh tuh know," he continued, "that to date we've got thirteen thousand five hundred all paid-up policies. At two soles fifty a month fer the six-month term, that comes tuh 202,500 soles. So, settin' aside a third fer operatin' capital our investment balance is one hundred an' thirty-five thousand soles. That's fifty-four thousand U.S. dollars any way yuh want tuh look at it. So with fifty-four thousand dollars in the bank, who says we can't afford tuh sit tight fer a while? Man, it's earnin' interest, isn't it? An' even if the rate jumped by merely a measly five centavos, we'd still show a profit that's not to be sneezed at."

"Don't get me wrong, Pete,"grunted Hank. "I'm not in a habit o' complainin'. But all this ol' waitin' an' waitin' fer somethin' that never happens sorta floors a guy, see?"

"We'd be a lot more satisfied with a little more action now and then," added Ronnie.

A similar desire for action, although in another area, was shared by Keith Maclean, who at the same moment was relaxing in his favourite armchair in a corner of the Maclean living-room. A copy of the previous day's Lima Comercio lay across his knee, but his thoughts had strayed far away from the newspaper. His wife Sylvia had cleared away their lunch dishes and now occupied the sofa, busily engaged in a crochet job -- a new doily for an end table.

Ever since that December night when Ray Townley had his sneezing fit, which scuttled him in an incredibly short time, Keith kept on pondering the circumstances. True, the little fellow suffered from a weak heart and might not have lasted much longer in any case. Deep in his mind, however, Keith nursed a niggling suspicion that hinted at some other mysterious force having hastened the outcome. For instance, what had caused the release of ozone in Ray's apartment a moment or so beforehand?

As an electrician Keith knew the most common method of obtaining ozone when commercially required for bleaching, sterilizing water or purifying air, was achieved by electrical discharge or exposure to ultraviolet radiation. Being a blue gaseous allotrope of oxygen, ozone could often be detected following a violent thunderstorm. It also might be noticed if an electrical appliance were accidentally short-circuited.

Keith also knew that ozone could irritate people whose nasal membranes were oversensitized by the tropics, almost as acutely as sulphur dioxide affected most average persons. Having repaired many a leaky refrigerator in his former days of apprenticeship, Keith had inhaled his fair share of that pungent sulphur dioxide gas and could empathize with such people as were affected by it.

On the heels of the Townley tragedy, and before occupation of his apartment by a new tenant, Keith routinely overhauled its electric circuits.He unearthed nothing that he felt might have produced ozone. Still, he distinctly recalled its presence in the room that fateful evening, and the more he thought about it the more baffling it appeared. As a matter of fact, anything he couldn't explain was a bother.

He had since sniffed cautiously through several of the Madhouse rooms when visiting but all to no avail. Could it be that the closed doors had anything to do with it? There was an idea, by golly. Maybe, just supposing --

A vigorous knock on the front door roused him from his reverie. Sylvia laid down her fancywork, and rose to admit the visitor. Keith folded his newspaper, yawned, stretched, and stood up.

"Audrey Reynolds! C'mon in!" Sylvia was always elated to see her old schoolmate, who was now a graduate nurse and working in the Talara hospital. She had just come off shift and was still in her uniform. "Hi, Sylvia, hi, Keith! As the prospective customer said in the antique shop, what's new?"

"Just digesting our lunch." Sylvia smiled a wifely smile. "Keith was about to begin nodding into an afternoon siesta over yesterday's Comercio. Have you had yours?"

"Siesta, or Comercio?" Audrey teased, tilting her blonde head in a gesture dating from her teens.

"Lunch, you half-wit!"

"Well," Audrey perched at a precarious angle on the arm of the sofa, "I've been over to the Club and have partaken of something that answers that general description. Keith's recollection of Club meals may clarify my statement."

"How are the Club meals these days?" asked Keith, more or less anticipating the answer.

"This is Saturday, Keith dear. Before you inveigled poor Sylvia into this vale of tears, I'm sure you must have eaten countless Saturday lunches at the Club. If the memory isn't too painful, couldn't you hazard a guess at the menu?"

"Let me see." Keith grinned and scratched his head, going along with Audrey's little game. "Saturday. There'd be some potato soup, fried lobina, cold cuts, apricot cobbler. Then café con leche, hot chocolate, or Lipton's iced tea. Check?"

"Check. All of them fattening except the iced tea." She made a wry face. "Gee, kids, what I wouldn't give for just a toasted lettuce-and-tomato sandwich or a combination salad!"

"Now Audrey," Sylvia scolded, "as a nurse, nobody knows better than you how many pernicious amoebae might be lurking on an innocent looking leaf of lettuce in these parts."

"Sure, sure. But I can dream, can't I?" She paused. "You might seriously admit though, kids, if I keep on eating what they feed us at the Club, it won't be long before svelte little Audrey Reynolds will be competing sizewise with big old Pete Munster!"

"No way." Keith shook his head. "You at least are aware of the value of proper exercise."

"I should certainly say so," Sylvia chimed in. "What with tennis, swimming, horseback riding --"

"Don't forget golfing," reminded Audrey.

"Well anyway, what I was going to say," as Sylvia jabbed away with her crochet hook, "you keep active. From the look of old Pete Munster I'd suspect that the only time he'd lift a finger would be to point at his empty highball glass!"

"My, my, how we love our neighbours," observed Keith. "At any rate those Club gourmet offerings don't seem to put any meat on Hank Barlow's bones. He obviously gets ample exercise at his bricklaying work, or at chasing his Peruvian workmen to make sure they're doing a proper job."

"That poor boy!" mused Sylvia. "He always looks drawn and worried. To see him slouching along, tall in spite of his customary crouch, you would think he carried all the weight of the world on those slender shoulders of his."

"Probably got that way plodding home with the cows from the pasture," ventured Audrey. "I understand he was brought up on a farm. Not really a cutie but he's a doll just the same. So quiet and unassuming -- he could have dropped right out of a Western movie. I can perfectly visualize him in chaps and a ten-gallon Stetson!"

"Anyway," Sylvia continued, "he looks like a nice clean living boy. Which is more than I can say for some of those other rowdy bachelors in the Madhouse!"

"Sylvia has declared war on that Madhouse crowd," Keith explained, "ever since one of them got our pet housemaid in trouble a month ago."

"From the way those maids keep streaming into maternity wards," declared Audrey, "I'd lay odds that it isn't only a bunch of Madhouse occupants who are to blame."

"Well, it was, in this case," asserted Sylvia. "because our girl named the culprit -- he even paid her four hundred soles so that she wouldn't register the child in his name."

"That still doesn't prove anything," Keith pointed out. "The girl was admittedly clever enough to grab money from a guaranteed source. Scads of them pull that racket; another reason why single male gringos are at a premium."

"There you go, Keith Maclean - siding with evil-doers!" his wife pouted. "Shame on you."

"Now look, honey." Keith was serious. "I'll grant you that expatriate staff taking advantage of poor, uneducated natives is decidedly unfair. Such goings-on are counter to our northern standards and upbringing. It casts a damaging reflection on our country and morals every time one of our lads permits himself to dally with a local damsel, all the while knowing that she can never become his legal mate. At the same time, considering all facets of each situation, I have to look at the native angle as well."

"In other words -- ?" Audrey's eyes twinkled roguishly.

"In other words," Keith flushed slightly, "the - uh - uh, temporary adventure is exactly what the native lassie seeks. She says to herself: 'Here's an eligible gringuito. He has money; I haven't. What can I exchange for that cash which he is only going to squander foolishly in any event?' Your answer is obvious. From her standpoint the plea of morals hardly enters into the situation."

"But that's what's important." Sylvia cloaked herself with an aura of extreme righteousness. "Just because these unfortunate souls choose to be morally lax is no reason for us to condone their actions, or take advantage of their lack of propriety. If we enjoy the benefits of higher education we should assist them in every possible way. We could try to straighten out their thinking, and make them into better citizens for their good and ours."

"The Church," Keith reminded her, "has been operating that department for untold centuries. But while the average native pays lip service to Christian doctrine, in his heart he finds it difficult to forsake his indigenous creeds."

"Excuse me for interrupting this enlightening discussion," Audrey sparkled, "but the reason I dropped by was to tell you we're having a couple of mixed badminton sets after dinner tonight. Would you two be interested?"

"Sounds like a first-rate idea," Keith reckoned. "What sayest thou, O Better Half?"

"Suits me fine," Sylvia decided. "But I'll have to look for my play-suit and check whether the moths left enough of it for me to be decent. What arrangements afterwards, with regard to supper?"

"Potluck," Audrey explained. "Everybody contributes and we'll have sandwiches, cookies, cake, and coffee or tea for those who wish one or the other. What's your choice?"

"Sylvia told me she'd baked a chocolate cake just before lunch," Keith announced. "Think we can take a chance on it?"

Audrey raised her eyebrows, and Sylvia hastened to explain.

"Keith still loves to tease me about the first cake that I baked in Talara," she pouted. "What with the difference in the flour, the baking powder and the sugar down here, I fear it didn't turn out anything like that same recipe would have done up North."

"In fact," Keith winked, "it was so dry and crumbly that they were going to let the refinery lab test it as a brand new catalyst for the cracking coils!"

"Don't pay any attention to him, Sylvia. No matter what it was like, it would've been better than anything we nurses could have whomped up, so there!"

"Oh, but I felt simply terrible," Sylvia frowned grimly at the recollection. "We had the Athertons to dinner that night. He was most polite about it and even asked for another piece. But that wife of his! Next day, she broadcast it all around town and even now whenever I supply a cake for a tea social none of the women will touch it."

"Which has its advantages," chuckled Keith. "She brings it back home good as new and this household gets some use out of it. With prices as they are, such savings should not be passed over lightly!"

"You're a sadist, Keith," bantered Audrey. "You're right about the prices though. The way they keep increasing down here you'd never guess there's a depression up North according to what we've been hearing."

"Keith believes that before much longer we'll feel it in Peru as well," Sylvia stated. "Don't you, dear?"

"Well, local conditions won't really approach what we'd term a depression, you know. But with Peruvian exports on a decrease due to current worldwide economic conditions, a guy need not be a financial wizard to predict fluctuation."

"Will we get more soles for our dollars?" Audrey asked.

"It would appear so," Keith corroborated.

"Goody, goody, gumdrop!" Audrey exulted. "Now maybe I won't have to ask for a raise!"

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Catalogue Information

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