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by Nicola Baird


  It was an odd feeling, too, to be the temporary mother of a boy child. All her feminist life in the city she'd assumed (wrongly!) that it would be impossible for a male child to be conceived, to grow and fatten inside her body. If she had wanted a baby she'd have wanted a girl - to share secrets with. A girl to give a good headful of confidence for life; a girl to be a better version of herself. And now, through no fault of her own, there was a mini action man issuing 24-hour demands within her own house.

  She'd often heard Solomon Islanders discuss the birth of their children in the most archetypal of ways: everyone wanted girl babies. Suzy had pestered her colleagues why that was, and though none would give a straight answer cynically she reckoned that women wanted a mini-me who could help them round the house: do the washing, mind the baby, go to the garden, carry more than a bush knife and generally be nice. And the men wanted to be sure that more girls were born so that the sex ratio of the country would shift back to more females than males as it is in nearly every other country in the world (ergo: more partner choice for them and their sons). It all smacked of wise long-term "family" planning, but then of course that was the last thing there was in the country. From a very random sample, the 36 students in her form one Tuesday morning, there was not one "only" child. Most had four or more siblings and one had 10. Suzy had met a woman with sad eyes and 11 children, the last cradled on her arm - though past his third birthday - because he couldn't walk and wasn't all there in the head at all. Nosey she'd asked that mother, struggling with the needs of what must have been a Down's Syndrome child, what she'd have changed (if anything) if she had a second go at life. Without hesitation the woman had said: "Only two children". She was 40 but looked properly old.

  Suzy looked in the mirror - a difficult business as the mirror was only about 4cm by 7cm and the yellow plastic edging gave her pale, tired face a deathly tinge. "Twenty-four today," she told herself firmly, "twenty-four: not quite so raw." If she'd been birthdaying last week she could have treated herself to a leisurely in-bed read followed by a perfectly prepared breakfast and a relaxed working day. Because of course she used to have a job…

  As it was her surrogate child took over the proceedings with a hideous wail which didn't waver (in intensity or volume) for about two hours. By that time Suzy's sentimental dreams of motherhood - of dandling the baby on a lawn, with nothing to do but count clouds, sing lullabies, read fairy tales and listen to the plop of ripe papayas fall from the tree - had been long since shattered. Baby care on the front line involved nappies, milk and endless washing. Drying on the line strung up beneath her house’s supports were terry towels, adapted nappies, all yellow-stained from the baby’s strange coloured poo. And there was the rustle of plastic bags she’d had to start washing (imagine, washing a bag!) so she could reuse them as bibs, dirty nappy storage, whatever was needed. In some ways she wanted to give herself a real birthday present and sock the kid in its noisy little mouth, instead she hunted through the medical kit that the British High Commission presented to all newly-arrived volunteers, searching frantically for the pain killers she'd put in there. At last they were found, two innocent looking sugar-coated pills of Nurofen that could cure the ache in her head. And just in case they didn't, she also stuffed some cotton wool into her ears. This muffled all sound so effectively that it was no surprise she thought she must be hallucinating when around another of the baby’s dinner times a teenager walked softly into the house.

  "Don't you go to King George VI School?" The student looked puzzled, clearly unsure whether to say yes or no. Suzy realised she'd asked the question negatively. She tried again. "Do you go to King George VI School?"

  "Yes, Mrs Suzy. I'm Lovelyn Adam. You teach me!" she seems offended not to be recognised. “Oh, you students look different without your uniforms,” said Suzy lamely. Lack of sleep (rather than age) was making her stupid. But the confusion made her also remember the horrible truth that just as lots of Solomon Islanders couldn't tell a white person from another white person (seeing all Caucasians as ghostly blurs) sometimes she also couldn't match locals' names and faces, especially the teenagers.

  "Is it your baby?" asks Lovelyn looking at the uncomfortable angle Suzy holds the poor child, as if she wants to give him wind.

  "Well, yes and no," said Suzy and then just as she was about to explain - and in fact just as Lovelyn was about to do some even more radical explaining - the radio announcer's clipped English tones cut in with an on-the-hour news flash.

  "Police today are searching Guadalcanal for the mother who abandoned her newborn child on a bus. "Bus Baby", as the little boy is called by Detective Sergeant Pilakati, who is leading the hunt, was left on a CDC-Honiara bus three days ago. Detective Sgt Pilakati has made an urgent plea for Bus Baby's mother to contact Number Nine Hospital for medical assistance.

  "The child is well, despite his ordeal, and being cared for at a secret location."

  Suzy is outraged. "That hideous policeman," she splutters with contempt, then shouts it with more venom that she knew she possessed. "And what about me? What about this secret location crap? It's only secret because he refused to write any information down on his stupid pad. Her tumble of irritation is drowned by the measured bounce of the presenter's news voice which bleeds into the next news story:

  "During the 4th annual meeting of the African Carribean and Pacific conference of the parties meeting, the Minister for Youth, Women & Culture, Dean Solomon, has talked out against vandals spoiling the Soldier's Graveyard. All graves in West Honiara are now being inspected for graffiti by the police. The Honourable Minister warns that the person, or persons, responsible for defacing sanctified areas will face severe penalties.

  "This kind of behaviour is inappropriate for a new nation," said Dean Solomon in a statement earlier today, "it may spread sickness and if it is not nipped in the bud may also jeopardise our friendship with both the US of A and Japan whose war dead are buried there.

  “And finally ... the British tourist cruiser, the QE2, will call at Honiara next tomorrow on the final leg of her Pacific cruise. She is expected just after dawn for a half-day visit. That's the news from Radio Happy Isles, up-to-the-minute news on the hour, every hour. This is Richard DoubleUX. And now for some more music - here's the current local chart-topper Lucky Dube's Little Heroes - so just sit back wherever you are in our sunshine isles and enjoy the best music on your favourite radio station."

  Suzy has still not calmed down, so Lovelyn does her usual pacifying trick of locating the ice-box, finding some cool water and a glass (in this house, despite the occupant being white-skinned - and therefore rich, or so she had thought - glasses seem to be old Sunshine coffee jars) and rehydrating the cross-patch. Lovelyn pours out the water carefully and takes it over to Suzy who, despite turning off the radio, continues to rant, upsetting the baby into tears. She gulps down the contents of the glass, face turning pink with anger. "Is it just because I'm a woman? Is it just because I don't belong? Is it just because - I don't know? No I really don't know what it is. Except IT'S WRONG AND IT'S UNFAIR. That policeman didn't listen to a word I said. And this poor baby now has an uncaring beast of a man leading the hunt for his mother. It sounds like when she's found she'll be kept in prison, not hospital. God, I'm beginning to hate this place. The town's all-seeing eyes are as bad as life in a jail." Suzy is raving, and it doesn't suit her.

  Lovelyn waits politely for some calm to descend. It is a shorter wait than she expected - just as suddenly as Suzy's rage appears it also disappears.

  "I am sorry," she says, her eyes refocusing on the room, "sometimes things just get on top of me and ... well, sorry. Now, why are you here Lovelyn? Shouldn't you be at school?" Suzy feels rather guilty quizzing this student, seeing as she also ought to be at school if she hadn’t messed up things for herself.

  "Oh I'm a little bit sick today, you know belly run," says Lovelyn, obviously lying. "The thing is Mrs Suzy..."

  "No, no, call me Suzy,"

  "Yes, Mrs, I me
an Suzy. I've got something I need to explain, but I need to be quick. I only live next door and I don’t want my mobs to miss me. Can I tell you now?"

  "I didn't realise we were neighbours," says Suzy suddenly interested in her surprise visitor, "you mean you live with Fred's family?"

  "Well, yes," agrees Lovelyn cautiously. "My mother runs the AA store, you know the one you're always buying your noodles in, on the corner. Fred and his family have lived with us for a long time now. His wife is my cousin."

  Suzy nods her head, swotting at a non-existent fly - one she thought was there thanks to the buzz of clues currently zooming around her head. "You're going to tell me something that's made a fool of me aren't you?" she says suspiciously.

  "Oh no," protests Lovelyn. "No one's been made a fool of, but I do need your help - this is why ..." And so her story begins: "I think you know most of the people I'm going to talk about, or at least you'll know them when you see them face-to-face. What I'm going to say may sound a bit odd, and it's a secret too. Please, please don't tell anyone else what I'm going to tell you. But the thing is that I think Stella is going to die, and I don't want that. I'm not sure if that's what my mother wants, but I know it is not what my cousin wants who lives with her."

  “Who lives with who? You’re just going too fast…” Lovelyn tries again. "You do know Stella, she used to come down to the school to do cleaning work. I've seen you talk with her plenty of times."

  Suzy is getting the idea now - the last thing she heard about Stella was that she was pregnant and ill. Putting two and two together she guesses, rightly, that the "Bus Baby" must be Stella's. But why did she get given him? A thousand questions shape themselves: "Lovelyn what's going on?" quizzes Suzy impatiently.

  "I'm not really sure. But this is what I know. I was late for school one day and the telephone rang. It was a Big Man on the line, I'm sure of that, and he wanted to speak to Matron (that's my mother, the one who runs the store). When she got off the phone she was very upset, he seemed to have frightened her, it sounded like he was asking her to get back at Stella. You see Stella used to be married to him, he's an MP you know, but there was a fight or something at the G-Klub, I don't know where really, and my cousin, that's Henderson who I think you've probably seen around, he used to live with us all next door too, anyway he rescued Stella, and told her to live with him.

  "Well Matron was really angry about this and threw Henderson out of the house. She's a really kind person, and she liked Henderson a lot, he's her brother's youngest you see, and kind too, so it was to wrong to tell him to go, and I think it must have been to do with this Big Man. She wouldn't normally spoil a wantok, especially a good man like Henderson.”

  Mention of Henderson is an added confusion for dog-tired Suzy already struggling to keep up with the names and actions. Think of it as knotted rope that will unravel if you focus on getting some parts straight she tells herself. And as for Henderson the so-called “good man”, well there’s at least something this student doesn’t know.

  "So Stella and Henderson went to live at the Labour Line and then as Stella got closer to delivering she started getting sick, spoilt by devil custom magic. I'm sure all the staff room must have been talking about it - it's one of the biggest "personal" scandals going on at the moment, everyone in Honiara seemed to be talking about it. Well Henderson told Stella to go and see Matron to try and get some medicine to cure her, and I'm sure Matron, who is really clever at good custom medicine, would have helped her, but the problem was that Stella really turned up just a few moments after the Big Man’s phone call, and this frightened Matron.”

  Suzy's head is whirring, the MP Lovelyn is talking about, could be any one of 32 MPs, and yes, it's true she knows one MP; but surely the one she knows isn't the one Lovelyn's talking about? She thinks back to her conversation with Dean Solomon at the club once, and that weird journey in his car before she got sacked. Did she ever mention Stella? She knows the answer has to be yes, she was so intrigued by custom magic that she talked ceaselessly about Stella's "problems", little knowing the stupidity of what she was saying - satisfying her gossipy nature at the same time as giving the MP all the information he needed about what his runaway wife was doing. She grinds her teeth in frustration. How could she have been so stupid, getting all the wrong messages from the MP's insatiable interest? She'd thought he was just trying to straighten out a stranger about old Solomon customs, when in fact he was ... Suzy forces her mind to shut up so she can hear the rest of Lovelyn's story.

  "Anyway Matron told me to help her and we went up to the far bush garden, to a secret custom place, and that's where Stella gave birth,” she rushes on with the story, ignoring Suzy’s look of amazement. Homebirth is one thing, but birth in the bush sounds something else – how clever these local women are.

  “But the moment the baby was born, before he'd even made a cry, Matron rushed off with him and so Stella never knew he was alive. She was very weak anyway, so didn't question the fact that her baby was born dead. Except he wasn't of course. Matron made me go to the radio station and put out a death notice on the radio. So that's how Henderson and the wantoks heard about the baby's so-called "death". Then Matron and I put a big rock wrapped up in calico – about the weight of this baby - into a coffin then Matron organised a mock burial over at the soldiers' graveyard. She really wanted everyone to think he was born dead."

  "Hang on, hang on," interrupts Suzy, "so how did I end up with Stella's baby if everyone else thinks he is dead?"

  "Well that was a mistake really," giggles Lovelyn. "Matron told me to go and hide him,” continues Lovelyn. “I'm guessing, but I think she wanted to be certain that the MP knew his baby was dead before she gave him back to Stella. The custom place is far away, and I was tired, so after dealing with the coffin I had a long walk back into town, and I took a bus. But then you went and flagged it down at Tenaru. I thought you'd recognise me, tell me off for missing school, or tell someone you'd seen a student with a baby and then I'd end up getting expelled."

  "But I wouldn't have recognised you," says Suzy apologetically “I hardly notice women with children – they all like the same. You really didn't have to give the baby away."

  "Well, I know that now, but I didn't then!" agrees Lovelyn. "I just panicked and I pretended I was getting off the bus to let the White Mrs ..." she pauses wondering why Suzy cringes, "... Have more space and that's how you ended up being given the baby. It was a mistake, but maybe a lucky one. This is where you have to help me again, because I don't know what to do now. Henderson is mad with rage, calling for revenge and all sorts of dark curses. And poor Stella is ill and doesn't care about life now her child is dead. She stayed with us next door but Matron was frightened so got her to move back to the Labour Line. And I can't tell Matron I was frightened and gave the baby away to a, well, stranger. She thinks I’ve found someone to look after him properly until he’s safe. She'll work it out. She's old but she’s clever. It cannot be long before she realises whose baby the white Mrs next door is holding - especially now that the story is on the radio, and the police are involved."

  "It's OK," says Suzy quite certain that nothing like this could happen to her anywhere but the Solomons. “But I think we should straighten a few things. Firstly, is Stella well enough to have the baby back? And secondly, if we give the baby back to Stella is it going to cause your mother big problems?

  "Oh, yes, I think so," says Lovelyn happily. "There's going to be a big row. That's the only thing I'm sure about."

  ***

  Henderson can’t stop fidgeting even standing at the exact spot where the salt water waves merge with the fresh water at Tenaru River mouth. Patteson has taken a wantok’s truck hoping a change of scenery will bring some sense to his friend. While Patte sluices fresh water and soap over the dusty truck Henderson strides barefoot back and forth through the soft wet sand thinking of ways to kill the MP as he hurls shells at the shallows.

  “So you really love Stella?” is Patte’s obvi
ous question, shouted out towards the wind. Henderson only just hears it, but it brings his pacing and bloody fantasies to a stop at last.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Being a husband isn’t as fun as I thought it would be when I was yearning for a taste of life,” he gestures towards the out-of-sight islands that make up his back home. “When I danced with Stella I was punched. When I lived with her I was broke. Most of the time she was ill – beaten up or custom magic ill – so I’ve had to play at being Mummy to a child who isn’t even mine. Stella choose me as a safe husband, she never had time to fall in love with me. I thought love would be different.”

  “You moved too fast man,” mutters Patteson who is starting to have similar problems with one particular girl who is the cleanest, calmest, most Christian woman he’s met. He thought he liked the wild child who partyed whenever and wherever, but his heart surprised him by looking in a different direction. It’s strange. But Patte is always the philosopher: “I know things Henderson, you can learn from me. Some girls put you on the wrong pedestal, think you can do no wrong, when you can! Shaking them off hurts them, and often hurts you too. Some want you for money or just as an ornament to show off, who cares about them? But then there’s a girl – often dark eyed and dark haired and no different to the others at all. Except that she has such an effect on a man that there’s no way he can leave her alone, even in his dreams. She may not be fun, or a friend or anything he’d ever expected to admire. But she gets under his skin, trapped in his mind even when she’s not with him. At first he calls it a problem, but the rest of the world recognises it as love, celebrates it with gossip and somehow that couple is soon caught up in a wedding feast or a scandal.

 

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