Inheritance. Part 5

'Your father would have wished it,' she said, 'and also you won scholarships. Why waste good money?' And after a few more tiny strands had been painstakingly incorporated, 'And also what would all my friends here say if I kept you at home? Such an honour, such clever children and I turn it down? Eh? Their fans would be slapping me all day!' Laughter all round, and agreement, then on with the weaving. 'And now here you are,' she said with a proud wag of her head, 'at independence time, all ready to take over from the palagi! Your father and grandfather will be looking down from heaven and praising me for my good sense!'

Such hopes riding on our education. It was a burden as well as a gift. No wonder we felt a little adrift, in those early days of our return. It took Teo some time to lose that palagi student-style outrage and settle into fa'asamoa. In a way, I suppose I have always fought against the pull. Yes I work for the Samoan community, but I do it from the comfort and stimulation of a larger and more sophisticated New Zealand. Perhaps if Jeanie had stayed, I might have too.

Hamish Yesterday Simone came into my study with a cutting from the newspaper.

'Remember that awful Stuart Roper?'

I actually dropped the book I was reading in shock. Simone is uncanny the way she can pick my thoughts. But this, it seemed, was pure coincidence. A friend of hers had sent an article about gardening from the New Zealand Herald some plant Simone was interested in growing. On the back of the cutting was a photograph of a fattish, seedy-looking man at a business function, gla.s.s of champagne in his hand, suit jacket undone and stomach bulging. A drinker's red face under a shining bald head. Something cosmetic must have been done to his ear it looked normal. So did the hand that held the gla.s.s. The other didn't appear in the shot. Perhaps that was the missing one. Stuart Roper.

Only part of the article was included. It seemed this was a retirement party put on by the bosses for railway workers who had accepted voluntary retirement. Something like that. So he was still around. I wondered if he had ever remarried. The same self-a.s.sured smile; the same belligerent stance.

I nodded, reluctant to speak in case Simone found some clue.

'Thank goodness,' she said. 'Jeanie got away.' She looked at me sharply. 'We never heard from her.'

'No.'

'I was so fond of her.'

I said nothing. The topic had been explored many times in the past, but Simone hadn't mentioned Jeanie for years.

'I expect she needed to move right away.' Simone continued to watch me. My stomach lurched at the thought that she might know something. I had warned Elena off, but that woman could not be trusted to act in good faith.

'Indeed,' I said at last, 'yes. I expect she went overseas. Jeanie was a competent nurse. She could work anywhere.'

Simone made that rumbling in her throat that means she is not satisfied with the answer.

I needed a drink. While Simone prepared our meal, I watched the news. But I was remembering that dreadful time in Apia, over the affidavits, when life began to disintegrate for John and his family.

Was it Jeanie or Simone who bought that huge tuna down at the fish tree? I fancy it was Jeanie, though Simone was equally foolhardy. A whole tuna! I can still see it bulging out of the boot of our car (so perhaps it was Simone?), the tail drooping into the dusty road, the mouth gaping sadly at the sky, the boot lid tied with a piece of cord. The women laughing in triumph at their prize. Usually the fish tree was festooned with little flamboyant reef fish, strung like beads on a strip of panda.n.u.s, all bones and little flesh. That day a whole tuna hung there among its tiny relatives, truly a whale among minnows. A young fellow I didn't recognise stood proudly beside it, flapping at flies with his fan. Proud indeed. Not many would take a paopao beyond the reef to fish. In the old days of course ...

We had come down to buy meat as this was WESTEC's killing day, but the sight of the tuna had the women in raptures. We had to buy it. And despite my protestations, buy it they did, Simone doing the bargaining, Jeanie egging her on. What did they pay for it? Perhaps a whole pound. A bargain anyway, they crowed, as they helped the fisherman heave it into the boot.

'We'll have a party!' cried Jeanie, 'You must come to us this time. Stuart will butcher the beast, we'll freeze what we can, give a piece to the housegirl, and then we'll gorge ourselves on fresh fish till it's gone!'

Jeanie was radiant that day. I remember clearly her dark eyes shining at the fun of such a daring purchase, she and Simone giggling like naughty schoolgirls at a midnight feast.

'Father loves fish,' she said, 'and so do I. He'll be so pleased.'

This would be a month or two after Gertrude's death. John was enjoying getting to grips with the finances of the plantation often came to me for advice. I wondered how he managed with the workers. His manner would have surprised them after Gertrude so quiet and tentative. Perhaps he left that part to Stuart, or more likely Samasoni took charge. I had heard things were not so happy up at the plantation, but hoped the rumours would fade.

The night of the tuna feast, Stuart and John were both in town. Thankfully, it was only a small dinner party, given the way it ended. Simone and I, a lady doctor friend of Jeanie's and a newcomer a man from the World Health Organization who had come to help with the aftermath of the hurricane. All palagi. Simone took over a large platter of whatever we had in the garden and we all supplied a bottle from our liquor ration. I fancy Stuart had been down to the liquor shed and pleaded an important party because he definitely had more than the monthly ration.

We sat on the verandah drinking. Stuart began as a good host attentive, friendly, flirting with the lady doctor, but not outrageously so. Simone told me later that there had been some incident at the plantation earlier which had rubbed John and Stuart up the wrong way. A difference of opinion over future directions. I remember her scorn that I hadn't spotted it. They spoke not one word to each other the whole night, she insisted. John was quiet, I noticed that. Even at the dreadful end, he spoke only the once, and to devastating effect.

Stuart drank whisky all through the meal. Appalling bad taste, given that delicate, meltingly tender flesh. Jeanie had baked a large section of it as much as she could fit in the oven and dressed it with coconut cream and lime juice. Simple, fresh, utterly delicious. Most of us drank lime juice or beer with it; Stuart downed tot after tot of neat whisky. His attentions to the lady doctor became loud and embarra.s.sing; he crammed the fish into his mouth without comment. He could have been eating tough WESTEC beef, instead of this gift from the sea.

Simone, I could see, was becoming dangerously irritated. 'Is the fish not perfect, Stuart?' she asked, ice in her voice. 'Hasn't Jeanie dressed it beautifully?'

'Hmm?' He turned to her with his mouth full. When he laughed, morsels of fish flew onto the table.

'Your wife,' Simone continued dangerously, 'has cooked us a beautiful feast and you do not compliment her?'

Stuart stared at her. Jeanie, coming back from the kitchen, pa.s.sed behind my wife. I saw her shake her head a small rather hopeless movement as she laid a gentle hand on Simone's shoulder.

'She knows I hate fish,' said Stuart, too loudly. Now everyone was listening. 'She bought the d.a.m.ned thing to annoy me.' He turned to the lady doctor again and laughed, leaning towards her intimately. 'She lives to please her father, you see. I don't come into the equation.'

In the silence that greeted this p.r.o.nouncement, John cleared his throat and said mildly, 'Stuart you have had enough to drink. You are embarra.s.sing our guests.' Then he turned quickly to the World Health Organization expert and asked some diversionary question about the hurricane relief. It was skilfully done and I thought the awkward corner had been turned. Perhaps I was too interested in the expert's reply to notice Stuart. Simone told me later that he became absolutely still, his face 'swelling dark and purple like an aubergine', as the conversation became animated and he sat, ignored even by the lady doctor.

Suddenly he banged his fist on the table, strongly enough to make the gla.s.ses jump and bellowed, 'Here's a good riddle: What do you get when a Chinese man rapes a half-wit girl? Eh? What do you get?'

He laughed into the silence he had produced. The rest of the guests were merely embarra.s.sed. I was the only one there who knew where this was leading. If only I had been quick-witted or brave enough to intervene. But I remained as tongue-tied as the rest.

'John O'Dowd, that's what you get!' the dreadful fellow shouted. 'John O'Dowd!' He raked us all with his bloodshot eyes. For a moment we were all mesmerised. Then the idiot fortunately flung a full gla.s.s of whisky into the lady doctor's lap, jumped up to repair the damage, lost his footing and crashed to the floor. In the ensuing mayhem the drunken outburst was, I hoped, forgotten or at least discounted. Jeanie helped her wretched husband out of the room, while Simone mopped at the lady doctor.

'What a so rrrrude man!' she cried. 'He will regret every word in the morning. Hamish, it is time we went. It's time we all went.' She embraced poor, petrified Jeanie, who had returned to the room, loudly praised the meal, hooked an arm under the lady doctor's elbow and sailed out, leaving me to follow with the hurricane expert. Alas, we were all glad to escape.

Back home, we drank our nightcap Simone's concoction of fresh coconut milk and some other secret and no doubt horrifying ingredient in the dark on the verandah.

'You knew something about that,' Simone said. 'I saw your face.'

I told her then. Described Gertrude's outburst before the O'Dowd's arrival. The secret of John's unconventional birth, of which he seemed to know nothing. Simone, predictably, was aghast. She stormed to her feet, threw the remains of her drink over the railing and stood listening in the steamy dark. For the moment all was silent next door. 'But there will be storms ahead,' she warned, as if I were in some way to blame, 'What broken souls might I need to repair tomorrow? You should have warned me, you stupid man!'

Next morning we were both on the verandah drinking our morning lime juice and reading the Samoa Times. News about the hurricane was still trickling in it was worse than we had feared. Apia had not taken the full force of the storm. Other areas had suffered dreadfully. Whole villages completely flattened. The majority of both islands' banana crop destroyed. In the next few months lack of food would become a major problem.

But our attention was soon diverted to the sounds from next door. We could hear the shouts quite clearly. Stuart was in a rage; Jeanie answering defiantly. No word from John O'Dowd. Some accusation we couldn't catch not the Chinese rape theme this time. His rage was directed at Jeanie. Surely the man was demented? Then Jeanie's high voice pleading. 'Don't Stuart! Why say such things? Haven't you done enough? Please!'

A crash and a scream followed. Jeanie's scream.

'Hamish, go over there! That monster is beating her!' cried Simone.

But you can't interfere with someone else's domestic life. Or I can't. What could I do? Stuart is a big, heavy man. In any case we saw him run out of the house a few minutes later, slam the jeep into gear and roar out onto the road, leaving a red dust cloud hanging in the still air.

We watched the house for signs of life. I wouldn't let Simone storm over there with offers of help. Privacy is precious. 'They know we'll help if they need it,' I said.

'She could be lying in a pool of blood. He could have killed her!' Simone stood vigil on the verandah, staring across. 'I must go to her.'

Then we saw John come out and sit on the cane settee, a gla.s.s of something in his hand. The fallen tree partially obscured him but even so I pulled Simone away. He would not be so calm, I said, if anything dreadful had happened to his daughter. Much later, as we ate our meal in the shade of our own verandah he was till there, staring out at nothing in particular. We saw Jeanie bring him a fresh drink, speak to him quietly, but he waved her away. She went back inside. When night fell he was still there. Stuart had not returned.

'It is very, very bad,' murmured Simone. 'John can not cope with all this unpleasantness.' She rang Jeanie then. I couldn't prevent it. Jeanie apologised for the shouting. 'We are alright, thank you.' she said, and hung up.

'But her voice was so small, so sad,' Simone reported. 'All that brightness gone. She is not at all alright.'

The next couple of weeks I was busy at the Supreme Court. A laughable case: I was defending a pair of lads caught trying to dynamite fish in the lagoon. They were accused of endangering the life of the arresting police officer. The prosecution a.s.serted that the arresting officer had plunged into the lagoon in an attempt to stop the boat and, as he flailed towards them, had to dodge a stick of lighted dynamite thrown by one of the boys. The lad I represented insisted he had thrown a small flotation buoy as the policeman was in difficulty. The other lad said my fellow threw a rock. Both defence and prosecution witnesses kept bursting into giggles. The mother of one of the accused at one stage threw a cloth over her head and shook with laughter. Everyone was enjoying the fun except for the Judge, who became very testy and finally threw the case out which was my ploy all along. But the old boy found a way to show his displeasure with me.

As I was leaving, the Registrar of the Courts called me into his office.

'This Schroder case,' he said, 'Judge is not pleased. Waste of b.l.o.o.d.y time. Wants it settled out of court.' He looked at me over his spectacles, the old owl. 'Family squabble, Hamish, shouldn't come to court. Get both sides to produce more affidavits. Family conference should settle matters.'

I sighed. The thought of Tiresa and her family in conference with Stuart Roper was not enticing.

'Judge's orders, Hamish. Settle it. Isaia Young is representing the Levamanaias. He's agreed. He'd be free Friday morning, ten o'clock.'

So family conference it was. And a disaster.

On Friday we all a.s.sembled in my office. On our side, John, Jeanie, Stuart and my secretary. Isaia Young had brought in Tiresa, Teo and their senior matai, Susuga Lotoifale. I didn't like the look on Isaia's face. He had some trump card up his sleeve. He was a bright young lawyer, Isaia, one of the new breed: well educated in New Zealand. No doubt he would be fast-tracked to the bench. And probably rightly so. It was high time the bench acquired a browner look.

To be honest, there was not a lot more we could produce in the way of affidavits. I again produced copies of Schroder's will and of Gertrude's. One of the senior kiln driers at the plantation not related to the Levamanaias had reluctantly agreed to signing a statement to the effect that John was a competent manager and seemed interested in continuing Gertrude's work. As I read the statement, Tiresa muttered and waved her hands around, dismissing Peseta as a worthless traitor who would regret his defection in the months to come. I swore to the fact that John was indeed the son of Gertrude's sister, Bridget, and waved the birth certificate briefly. So far the Levamanaias had not requested to see it. I produced a new affidavit from John, promising to follow Gertrude's instructions for the good management of the plantation and to continue the practice of employing members of Tiresa's 'aiga. I referred to the fact that Gertrude had left the opposition a small plantation, and that it had been Mrs Schroder's strong wish that the plantation be managed along palagi lines, not under fa'asamoa.

Susuga Lotoifale then banged his carved stick on the floor, cleared his throat, and rose to speak. A big, grave man, lacking the light touch of his predecessor in the t.i.tle. Dressed formally in white shirt, black tie and jacket, black lavalava and sandals, he launched forth into a prayer for reconciliation between the two sides, for G.o.d to guide our hearts, and bring us to a satisfactory conclusion. Nods and amens all round. His ensuing speech referred to the boundaries of plantation and village land, the history of the estate, the devastating flu epidemic which prematurely returned to G.o.d so many of the family, the sad loss of Gertrude Schroder, and the wish of his 'aiga to continue her good work on the plantation. Many of the family had worked there for generations. He named the generations. Many had died while working for PJ Schroder. He named the deaths. Many were skilled in the production of excellent cacao, and although the newcomers were all admirable people and welcome into the family, they surely did not have the skill of his 'aiga, etcetera. After each weighty p.r.o.nouncement, he paused to wait for my translation. If he considered my translation too short, he waited pointedly for me to add more detail. This was a spoken affidavit, not a written one as requested, and it proceeded for a good hour. As our good Judge knew well that it would.

Of course it all went over the heads of John and his family. John and Jeanie waited politely for my commentary but Stuart became restless; several times he looked rudely at his watch. There is an easy rhythm to these affairs that I had learned to enjoy. Stuart would need to adapt if he was to live here.

Finally the old boy came to his point. He was no fool. He gestured dramatically with his stick. 'Ta te gase a uluga!' he cried literally 'let us die together', but in fact a well-worn saying encouraging us to work together for a solution. He proposed that John should retain the house and plant the kilns, the fermenting vats and drying sheds while the plantation would be owned by Tiresa and her children who would pay John a fee for processing the cacao and copra. Susuga Lotoifale offered another wise saying, exhorting us to pull hard on the oars together, and sat down heavily.

Tiresa, who had been fanning herself vigorously throughout the speech, now laid down the fan and applauded with a broad smile. Teo appeared to have gone into a trance. Isaia gave me a cheeky wink, gesturing expansively that I should take up the reins.

It was a clever proposal, dividing the operation into the two activities that might appeal to either side, but of course I could not advise John to accept. The fee for processing the crops would be far smaller than the income from the crop itself. Nevertheless, I was bound to translate the suggestion.

Stuart, who had been wriggling and fidgeting for a good half hour, exploded at my words.

'That's ridiculous! Tell them so! Daylight robbery!' or words to that effect. Not at all the proper manner of response. John laid a hand on his son-in-law's sleeve. 'Let Hamish conduct this. He will represent us fairly. What do you think Hamish?'

I told them I thought the proposal was unfair but that we should make a counter-proposal. Maybe a small concession: the ten acres of cacao plantation nearest to the Levamanaias' village, and a commitment to process their cacao without fee. I had had this in mind and had already discussed part of the proposal with John.

Wretched Stuart would have none of it. Neither Jeanie nor John could calm him down. What a liability the man was! He seemed not to care that Teo and Isaia could understand every word, and Tiresa a good part of it. He demanded that we make no concession, suggested that Tiresa's 'aiga were greedy and unscrupulous. That we should walk out of negotiations.

Naturally, this behaviour distressed me. It gravely undermined our case. I suggested in my most legal voice that John was my client in this matter and that Jeanie and Stuart should retire and leave the negotiation to their father.

But the damage had been done. Teo jumped to his feet, waving a piece of paper. The young hothead, incensed at Stuart's slur on his family, shouted that John had no right to the inheritance. 'Look at the birth certificate! It's here under our nose!'

There was a moment of silence. The old matai shook his head sadly. Isaia spoke quickly in Samoan to Teo that they had agreed not to use this information. Lotoifale spoke more harshly, berating the boy for an unchristian act.

Teo pleaded with them in English. A calculated act. Everyone knew, he said, that John was illegitimate, the son of a half-wit, raped by a Chinese man who then committed suicide. Surely this undermined the case for inheritance?

John put out his hand for the birth certificate. In silence I handed him my copy. I believe this was the first time he had set eyes on the doc.u.ment. He read the words.

He looked at me. 'You knew this?'

I nodded. 'John, I don't believe it alters your right to inheritance.'

We all waited in silence.

'My father committed suicide? After rape?' His eyes contained such pain it was hard to look at him.

I cleared my throat. 'Gertrude told me so.'

'She knew? All knew?' He looked around the room as if a vast crowd were witness to his shame.

Tiresa rose from her chair, raised her hand dramatically until she was sure we were all paying attention. Then she advanced on poor Teo, gesturing as if to slap him resoundingly once, twice on either cheek. The gesture was not designed to connect and the effect was slightly comic, which I found embarra.s.sing in light of John's distress.

'Apologise this moment, shameful boy!' Tiresa shouted in English. 'We are not need such dirty tricks to show our right!'

She stood, glowering, until Teo muttered something. I believe Stuart was enjoying the altercation. I heard his chuckle and no doubt others did too but John was speaking to me, asking me to conclude the conference as I saw fit. He left on Jeanie's arm. At the door, Jeanie turned and spoke for the first time. Her words spoke an apology but the anger was sharp and unforgettable.

'I apologise for my husband's behaviour, which aroused ill-feeling. Together we have possibly destroyed my father.'

She steered her father out but returned quickly without him. 'Stuart, you will come too.'

She was furious; you could see it in every line of her little body. Stuart spread his hands, grinned as if sharing a joke with us at her expense, but he went quietly.

In the end, we agreed quickly on new boundaries. No one had appet.i.te for further haggling. The house, plant and the Apia house to John, along with half the plantation; the other half to Tiresa's children to farm as they wished.

In some ways the hurricane was a boon to me. My legal practice had been declining with the return to Apia of qualified Samoan lawyers, but now there was extra work to be done at the High Commission a.s.sessing the damage, deciding what help New Zealand might offer, distribution of relief aid and so on. I was in demand because of my local knowledge and ability with the language. Suddenly I was fully employed again and the problems of Gertrude's family faded into the background.

Simone kept in touch with Jeanie though. Stuart had hit her a couple of days after the conference. Her face was badly bruised and her hand bandaged. Simone mothered her, expressed outrage. Jeanie didn't try to hide the fact, but seemed to shrug it off as unimportant. Simone couldn't understand her stoicism.

'She simply changes the subject. What if he comes back and hits you again, I ask. She smiles and shakes her head. Won't be drawn about the why of it all. My belief is her husband is jealous.'

I had witnessed no cause for jealousy, but of course Simone was out and about more than I. She reported that Jeanie was often in town in the company of Teo and Elena. And more than once with Teo alone.

'Jeanie loves his fast car. I fear she loves the man a little too.'

One would hardly blame her for looking elsewhere, I suppose. But to look in Teo's direction was extremely unwise. Teo was so noticeable. And in Samoan terms so eligible.

But of more immediate concern was John's health. Again, Simone was the one with the information. I suggested 'Samoa Tummy'. Most newcomers have a bout or two before their stomachs become hardened to the local bugs.

'No nothing like that,' Simone said. 'He has become listless, doesn't eat well. Has lost interest in the plantation. Even his books lie unread. Jeanie is particularly worried about that.' Simone eyed me fiercely. 'But surely it is this terrible news of his birth. That poor man will feel shame, Hamish. Perhaps you might speak to him? The least you could do. You were to blame, cheri, over the birth certificate.'

It's true. I felt uncomfortable. Simone a.s.sured me that it would have been far better had I gently introduced the truth to him at an earlier stage. I'm not entirely convinced that it was my task to do this, but perhaps Simone was right. She usually is.

'Perhaps,' she said, eying me fiercely, 'you might find something local to interest him. Take him to the club.'

Stuart was often away at the plantation, which had not suffered too badly. Cacao trees are relatively low to the ground; Gertrude's had been protected by tough hedges, and, being further inland, they had escaped the full brunt of the wind roaring in from the sea. But I don't think John ever went out to the plantation after the conference. I admit I had not found time to talk to him either, despite Simone's nagging. Mostly Jeanie stayed in Apia too, working with Elena on the filariasis campaign: eradicating that dreadful, disfiguring disease was Elena's prime responsibility that year. At any rate, Jeanie was not confiding in Simone, which drove my wife mad.

'Speak to John,' she urged me again. 'Let's have them over for a drink. I'll take Jeanie out to the garden. You need to apologise you naughty man. He might talk to you another bookworm.'

We had our drink and our chat. But he never opened up. I'm no good at that sort of heart to heart. We discussed the hurricane damage and the th.o.r.n.y problem of distributing relief food important issues but he wasn't really interested. I told myself that it would be insensitive to bring up the subject of his birth; that general exploration of local issues would be of more comfort to him. Weak excuses for my own social inadequacy.

I was shocked at the change in him. He'd been here only a few months and already his skin had yellowed, his face thinned. He had seemed so alive and proud the day they arrived. I wondered whether malaria had got him. But of course I was wrong. Simone, as usual, had the truth of it. He was sick to the core with shame.

John would not stay after the meal. He pushed away from the table, his dessert untouched, and left, giving some apologetic excuse. Jeanie stayed.

'I'm so worried about him,' she said. 'He's never been this bad before.'

'So he is p.r.o.ne to depression?' Simone does not believe in discrete inquiry where health matters are concerned.

Jeanie smiled at her directness. 'Yes, a little. But not like this. He won't eat. He won't look at me properly. It's as if he suddenly disliked me.'