‘No,’ Haut said and after a spluttering laugh, added, ‘Harold thinks it is irrelevant. But he does agree with the practical, the real: my analysis on huge oil discoveries in Tasmania.’ He paused and added: ‘I must make a distinction here. The apparition of my relative and the cutting-stone is one part of the overall vision I had. The vision showed me my future and what I had to do to follow God’s will, his mission for me. It was horrific, but I am compelled to pursue it.’

Cavalier wanted him to elaborate, but felt it better to start with some of his professional backstory.

‘You began mining when?’ Cavalier asked him.

‘In 1981 with the aim of learning the oil business and eventually drilling in the exact spot where my forefather had placed that cutting-stone on Bruny,’ Haut said. ‘I was twenty-two when I worked for BHP Minerals as Head of Field Operations. We discovered oil and gas at Styx River Bridge. A road was cut but, for reasons unknown to me, BHP was deterred from further exploration.’

‘So you began your own operation?’

‘In 1984, I applied for a fifty square kilometre oil and gas licence on Bruny Island. But guess what? MRT said they, quote, “would not give me a licence for exploration of something that wasn’t there”!’

‘Very Orwellian speak. After all, it was 1984.’

‘Yeah, right. Two years later I went over the heads of MRT and approached the Minister for Mines, Ray Groom.’

‘Ray Groom? He played for the Melbourne Football Club.’

‘He was Tasmanian premier too. I sat in his office every day for three months …’

‘Hope they had good back copies of Women’s Weekly!’

‘I had a few books to read, and a bible.’

‘How did Groom react?’

‘He said “Gidday, Al” every day to me when he came in and when he left. One day he called me in and granted me the licence.’

‘I’m not surprised. Groom was schooled under the disciplined but brilliant regime of Norm Smith, one of Aussie Rules’ greatest coaches. He would admire your determination.’

‘I borrowed from a bank to do the first onshore seismic survey on Bruny Island and offshore at Storm Bay.’

They broke off while Haut fetched two more cans of beer. Cavalier took the time to scribble down his thoughts.

Haut speaks in the same pulse about the ‘real’ as he does the spiritual. To him the latter is the norm. I, a mere heathen, can’t grasp his breath-taking commentary and certitude about his almost symbiotic connection to his god. I must explore the ecclesiastical route further …