Wembly had talked with Thompson briefly about his behavior with the natives. He explained it all away by telling how he had to gain their confidence through participation in their feasts. As far as the shooting was concerned, the Patrol Officer was fully aware of the policy of not backing down in any confrontation with a native. He simply shot him in the foot to keep him under control.
As they ate, Senior Patrol Officer Wembly conducted his promised briefing on what was going on in the larger world. “As you are well aware, we are at war with Germany in Europe, and I fear things are not going well. I have brought you some newspapers that will fill you in on that element of world history. As we told Jeremy on the wireless yesterday, Hitler has given his navy orders to regard all British merchant ships as warships. In simple terms, it gives them license to sink our freighters whether they are armed or not.
“I sincerely doubt that there are any German Navy ships in our waters, but what does concern me is what the Japs are up to. They have officially joined the Axis powers, along with Italy. The Japs may be planning to adopt the same policy of sinking unarmed freighters, so we are on alert. We know they have a large fleet of submarines, and they are probably cruising in the vicinity.”
Thompson asked, “Do you think there is any chance of their invading New Guinea or Australia?”
“The Japs have already invaded Indo-China,” Gale said. Then, indulging in his morbid fascination for ghastly events added, “I hear that there are so many Jap casualties that they are actually cutting off the right hands of the corpses to aid in later identification of bodies.”
Wembly gave him a chilling look. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Gale, we are eating our lunch.”
“Sorry, sir,” he said, looking down at his fish.
“British Forces have already abandoned Shanghai to the Japs,” Wembly said. “But enough of the war news. What you gentlemen need is to be brought up to date on the changes in the administration of your island.”
Dr. McDuff looked alert. “What changes are those?” he asked.
“It is vital to the war effort that we maximize the production of copra to strengthen our economy. There is even the chance that the Japanese might make a move to take over the islands that produce it. But more about that later.
“Dr. McDuff, one of the key problems we have had with the copra plantations on the part of the natives has been their lack of interest in working on them. We had hoped that Christianizing them would awaken their latent ‘work ethic.’”
“Latent!” Thompson laughed. “That implies that there once was one and it is only asleep. These people are born retired. They won’t do anything more than they need to do to stay alive.”
“Well, we think we have the solution,” Wembly said.
“What might that be?” McDuff asked earnestly.
“Taxes,” Wembly announced.
Both Thompson and McDuff were wide-eyed. “Taxes?” they each said in turn.
“How terribly British,” Gale wise-cracked.
“How are taxes going to make those lazy bastards get their arses up into the coconut trees?” the plantation manager said.
“Each adult male over the age of puberty will be assessed a head tax of five pounds a year. It must be paid in Australian currency — no pigs, no taro, no shells and no dog teeth. The only way they can get money is to work on the plantation. You will pay them five pounds for six months of work.”
“Are you serious about this?” the missionary asked.
“Couldn’t be more,” Wembly said. “The plan is being introduced on all Crown-controlled islands throughout the South Pacific — effective immediately.”
“That’s virtual slavery,” McDuff said.
“Dr. McDuff, need I remind you that you are an American and are here at the convenience of His Majesty’s Government. Strictly speaking, your opinion is neither sought nor noted in this matter. It is a matter under the jurisdiction of the Exchequer. As a foreign national I am simply informing you of our laws,” came the frosty response.
“How is this plan going to be implemented?” Thompson asked. “Are you going to collect the taxes when you get here every couple months?”
Wembly smiled a wicked smile. “Under the Wartime Powers Act you are hereby appointed Acting Governor of the island known as Christ’s Despair. The salary for that position to be announced at a later date.”
Thompson’s face reflected mixed emotions. The announcement took him by complete surprise. He had just been awarded absolute power over this dismal place, and no longer had to put up with the Reverend McDuff’s criticisms. But at the same time he just inherited a bureaucracy he had no idea how to manage.
The missionary was bewildered. He hardly knew what to expect. He looked to the Patrol as a source of justice, and they had just installed his main antagonist as Supreme Ruler.
“There’s more,” Wembly said. “We still have not resolved this business of arming the natives.”
“Arming the natives?” McDuff asked.
“Yes. I saw no less than four men with machetes swinging them recklessly on the beach when I went ashore earlier. I also noticed that there is an abundance of knives and hatchets.”
Thompson spoke up before the minister could say anything. “The good Pastor, here, gave them out at last night’s feast as inducements to come to his prayer meetings. I’ve been using them as payment for work performed, myself. However, Mr. McDuff had a little too much kava last night and gave everything away before he fell asleep at the dinner table.”
“See here,” McDuff said sharply. “You know you drugged me and gave away my possessions without my being able to do anything about it.”
“I suggest you take it up with the island’s governor,” Thompson grinned.
“Gentlemen, if you please. There is no point in arguing about this now. I, for one, would not want to try to recover any of those items from one of the men. But all is not lost. As I pointed out earlier, we may have a possible Japanese invasion to contend with at some time in the future. Providing the natives don’t use the machetes on you, it may be to our advantage for them to be able to defend their island from the Japs. I suggest you think about that for a bit.”
Chapter 14
In spite of the incongruous Island Patrol uniform, the large black man coming toward Yani from the Wombat was very familiar. Yani thought he knew him, but how could that be? He knew only people from his own island and those he had met since he came to Christ’s Despair.
The man smiled at him and studied the tattoo on his chest. In it he read Yani’s shaman status, and knew immediately where he was from. “You are my brother,” he said in the Chase Island dialect, and placed his open hand on the tattoo. Yani was taken by surprise at this greeting — it was reserved for only “one who really knew.”
After a moment of feeling Yani’s heartbeat, the stranger unbuttoned his uniform shirt and revealed an almost identical marking. He took Yani’s right hand and held it against his heart.
“I am Negeb, son of Ooma,” he said proudly. “Who are you?”
“I am Yani. Also, son of Ooma,” he answered. The two men stood with their hands on each other’s chests smiling for a full minute.
“We must talk,“ Negeb said. “Let us clear a circle and build a fire.” They left the pier and went to the edge of the jungle, but stayed on the beach. Without speaking, they collected a large amount of shells, and arranged them in a pattern. It was a circle, but there was a sequence in the types of shells and the order in which they appeared.
Yani brought some dry driftwood to the center of the circle, and stacked it. He began to work at making a fire in the traditional manner, but Negeb grinned mischievously, produced a match, and said. “Don’t bother. I have the Witman’s magic.”
Once the fire was self-sustaining, they sat cross-legged in the sand, facing each other. “How is it that you are here?” Negeb began.
Yani answered, not with an account of his adventures, but with his spiritual quest. “I am sear
ching for Kilibob. I want to go to the Witman’s island and bring back Kilibob’s gifts to our people. I have learned much about the Witman’s ways. He has strong magic, and I wish to take it back from him.”
Negeb said, “I have been away from our island many seasons, and I have learned much of the Witman’s magic. But I am no longer sure it is good for our people.”
“I think tinkens are better than gardens.” Yani said. “Steel tools are better than rocks and wooden spears. You come in Kilibob’s boat ... you know it is better than our log canoes.” He wanted to ask if Kilibob was on board, but thought it best for Negeb to mention it first.
Negeb went deep into thought. Yani waited for him to return to the conversation. At length he said, “Do you know John Frum?”
The younger man knitted his brow. “Jonfrum? Jonfrum ... hmmmm. Sounds like a Witman name.”
“It is,” Negeb said. “He is from an island called America. It is far from here. It lies beyond the sunrise.”
“My Big Man Duff is from America. Maybe he knows him. Is Jonfrum a churchfella? Big Man Duff is a churchfella.” Yani said.
Negeb became aware of how sophisticated he had become. Although this young man was a son of Ooma, he was still a child in many ways. “He is no churchfella? He does not like churchfellas.”
“Big Man Tomsin does not like churchfella either. He is not a friend of Jesus.” Yani said.
“Are you a friend of Jesus?” Negeb asked worriedly. “Are you a Christian?”
“I am a Churchboy,” Yani said, sure that it would impress Negeb. “Big Man Duff speaks Pidgin. I understand. I tell kanakas what he says in Blackfella words.”
“You are a translator,” he said in English, since there was no word in their language for the concept. “Do you speak any English?”
Yani did not answer.
“English! The words the Witmen speak to each other,” Negeb said. “Some words are the same as Pidgin.”
“Yes. Sometimes I can say a whole piece of English.” He recited a bit of what he had learned. “Our father huartin Heaven...”
“Don’t let the Witman know you understand any of his language. He will beat you and tell you to speak only Pidgin,” Negeb warned.
“Big Man Duff does not get angry when I speak Witman language. He says all his magic formulas in Ing-lish. I am trying to learn his words, so I can do the same magic.”
“What magic?” Negeb asked.
“He gets tinkens from God in Heaven. He keeps no garden. God sends him food in tinkens when he says his magic words. I have seen it work.”
Negeb smirked. “The tinkens come from Australia, Yani. They make them in a place in Sydney.”
Yani had heard Witmen refer to Australia and Sydney. Negeb had just cleared it up. These were other names for Heaven.
“Australia is the name of the place where the Witmen come from. I have heard that we will take some island fellas there to teach them how to be Policeboys.” Police was also another word with no equivalent in any island dialect.
“What is Policeboy?” Yani said, astounded at the number of new ideas this circle talk was bringing to him.
“I am a Policeboy,” Negeb said. “I am allowed to speak English to tell the Patrol Officers what islander’s say. Patrol Officers speak Pidgin, but some islanders speak only Booga-booga. They gave me a Witman name — Percy — and taught me some English. They do not know how much I understand, and I pretend I do not know everything they say.”
Yani realized that he was doing much the same. He brought the conversation back to an earlier point. “What is Jonfrum?”
“Two words — John Frum,” Negeb explained. “He comes to islands and tells the Blackfellas not to try to be like the Witman. He tells them to stay with custom. He says change will kill the Blackfella. Witmen have only one reason to bring churchfellas to islands. They destroy the old way of living, and make the Blackfella a slave on their coconut plantation.”
He was about to explain what a slave was when Yani said, “Yes. Big Man Tomsin makes slaves out of rubbish men on this island. True men will not work for him.”
“That’s why Patrol Officers are here. I am supposed to teach some of Tomsin’s men how to be Policeboys. They give Policeboys big sticks. Everybody must pay taxes.” He stopped. There was no native word for taxes, and he wasn’t sure how to explain them.
“Anyway. They have to work on the plantation to pay taxes. If they don’t, they beat Blackfellas. Then they go to the calaboose.”
Yani looked mystified.
“Jail!” Negeb said.
Yani had never heard of jail either ... nor had any of the tribesmen on Christ’s Despair.
***
Coffee was served as the after-dinner conversation aboard the Wombat devolved to gossip about topics familiar only to the Australians. McDuff was thinking about how his mission would function in light of the new rules. If he objected, he would be deported. If he stayed, he felt he was guilty of complicity in enslaving the people of the island.
“Excuse me, Mr. Wembly,” he asked during a lull in the conversation. “What will you do if the natives just refuse to pay the tax, or work on the plantation? Who will be the enforcer of these tax laws?”
“Remember that tall Blackfella you saw when you came on board this morning?” Wembly said. “That was Percy. He is going to organize a unit of Policeboys. Generally, we pick out underdogs in the local population ... men who have been abused by the village. We train them to use truncheons to keep the others in line. They have no allegiance to the others because of the way they have been treated.
“Percy will supervise the construction of a jail house or a stockade. They call it a calaboose in Pidgin. These people hate confinement, and it hardly takes more than a few days in the calaboose to make them willing to work on the plantations.”
“Can we trust this Percy-fella? Any chance of his sympathizing with the locals?” Thompson asked.
“He’s from another island — I forget which. But, as I’m sure you know, they have no feelings of nationalism or unity as we know it. If you are from another island you might as well be from another planet. It’s like putting a German in charge of a bunch of Frenchmen.”
“I know you are not interested in my view, gentlemen, but this all sounds rather brutal,” McDuff said.
“We are at war, Dr. McDuff. The effort of all his Majesty’s subjects is needed — black natives included,” Wembly concluded. With that, he pushed his chair away from the table, indicating that the luncheon was over, as was the briefing session. “Mr. Thompson, I will need to discuss your new responsibilities with you. Please remain on board.” Which was another way of saying to the missionary that he was expected to leave.
McDuff started to leave, and then signaled Mr. Gale he would like to speak to him on deck for a moment. Once they were outside, he said, “This is really quite embarrassing, but since you have whetted my appetite for civilization with the shower, I have one other small request to make.”
“Surely,” Gale reassured him.
McDuff blushed and said, “Do you think the government would miss a package or two of toilet tissue?”
***
As McDuff walked down the pier, he could see no sign of Yani, and wondered where he went. It was unusual for him not to be around. At the same time he felt rather strange — he was having a chill. He hadn’t experienced the sensation of cold since last winter in New England. I guess I overdid the ice water, he thought. Even the shower was cooler than the usual dip in the ocean. Enjoy it while you can, Moses, he told himself, you’ll be wet with sweat again before you get to the edge of the jungle.
The fleeting remembrance of Massachusetts in the wintertime led to thoughts of his graduation from divinity school — The True Church of God Seminary. It was so long and so far away. Although it had only been a couple years since his graduation, it was a very much younger Moses McDuff who had committed to memory the words of his missionary inspiration, John G. Paton. He recited them aloud a
s he walked toward the church clearing: “We established laws, courts, stocks, prisons and fines to proclaim to these naked savages that the ways of Christianity are superior to the chaos under which they lived.”
Is this what Reverend Paton was talking about? he asked himself. Am I missing something here? How can I talk to these people about the love of Jesus Christ when my fellow white men see them as beasts of burden?
***
Negeb asked numerous questions about Chase Island and about Ooma. He also asked him about the situation on Christ’s Despair, making mental notes of the conflict Yani described between McDuff and Thompson. Under the rules of the circle Yani was obliged to tell Negeb everything he knew. But the same responsibility was also upon his partner. They meditated together for a long time, then Negeb said: “I tell you within the circle that I think John Frum is right. When the Blackfella tries to be like the Witman it hurts his spirit. You can appear to be a Churchboy, but it must be with the plan to take back the Witman’s magic to our people. When you get back to our home island, you must cast away the part of the Witman’s behavior that is bad. Keep what is good for our people.
“John Frum says all Blackfellas are brothers in matters of custom. Churchfellas drive our spirits out. The collecting of so many coconuts is a foolish Witman ritual. We have always collected only what we needed since the days of Manup. It does nothing to help us ‘know.’ Picking and crushing coconuts is a job for rubbish men.
“Tomorrow I will teach Tomsin’s rubbish men to look like Policeboys. Real men will not follow them. Yani must not become a Policeboy. You stay with churchfella now. You go to Sydney with me next full moon. Pretend you are friend of Jesus. Do what Churchfella McDuff wishes.”
Negeb had laid a heavy load on Yani’s shoulders. He did not really understand everything he was told, but a son of Ooma had told him truths while they were within the circle. He dare not do otherwise.
When John Frum Came Page 13