Song

by Michelle Jana Chan

‘Lady’s wound up dead and nobody knows why,’ he said. ‘Some stranger took a knife to her neck. Of all the girls and it had to be Lady. She was the finest woman in there. Breaks my heart. She was my first, and the first of half the men in this town.’

  Song pushed his way out of the crowd. The street was a blur in front of him. He could still hear Sugar shouting. He looked down at the cream pie he was holding and let it fall to the ground.

  CHAPTER 9

  Father Holmes had taken a trip upriver to do what he called missionary work. That’s how he’d explained it to Song, not too unlike what he’d done at Diamond with the plantation boys. He said he’d be teaching the Amerindians who lived in the villages on the banks of the Essequibo. Song couldn’t go; Father Holmes had told him he had to stay behind to attend school. Song didn’t want Father Holmes to leave, not now, not ever, but he pretended to be unconcerned, even supportive. Privately he hoped that he might join Father Holmes on a trip upriver one day.

  While they were apart, Song had been spending time at the jetty. He stopped by after school, or came on Sundays after lunch when the hours passed by slowly and the heat was high.

  ‘Ah, that woman, Lady,’ Joseph said, unexpectedly. ‘Think of her too often. Some tramp who couldn’t pay. Should have at least tried the tables. Can turn handfuls of pennies into handfuls of diamonds with one throw of the dice.’

  Song didn’t want to hear anything more about Lady. In fact, he was taking himself to the jetty hoping to get away from thinking about her. Of the way she’d been killed. Of the way she used to sing to him.

  ‘Teach me the tables,’ Song said, hoping to change the subject.

  Dory nodded. ‘Wei qi, that’s the game. Not hard to understand but impossible to master.’

  ‘Don’t matter what it is,’ Joseph said. ‘S’long as you win. Don’t be learning yet though, boy. Not at your age. Can run you into trouble if you know the tricks too young.’

  ‘Teach him poker, man,’ Basil said. ‘Nothing wrong with a round or two of poker. Play for crabs.’

  ‘Crabs ?’ Dory sneered. ‘No point in that. Lose a crab and you just catch another. No risk, no sport.’

  ‘I’m not teaching no preacher’s son the tables’ Joseph said. ‘And that’s that.’

  ‘I don’t want to play for money,’ Song said, ‘not ever.’ He was thinking of Dai Jie, who had journeyed all the way around the world only to be killed over a game of cards the night before they left the boat. His death still haunted Song. ‘I want to learn to play for fun.’

  Joseph wagged his finger at him.

  ‘Dory, teach me wei qi,’ Song said.

  ‘Can’t neither. I’m a superstitious man. Don’t want to end up in hell.’

  ‘Like you not going anyways,’ Basil said.

  ‘You ask Mr Holmes. Father Holmes, I mean,’ Dory said. ‘He’ll teach you.’

  The rest of the boys fell about laughing.

  ‘He doesn’t know how,’ Song said, hurt by their reaction. ‘But you’d be surprised what he does know.’

  ‘Bet he does know how to play,’ Dory said. ‘Every man knows, even if he don’t admit it.’

  ‘If every man knows,’ Song said, ‘then I have to learn, too.’

  There was a voice from below the dock. ‘I’ll teach you.’

  Song peered down. There was a man untangling fishing line on the lower deck. He was unwashed, wearing torn-off trousers and with a shirt tied around his head. He winked at Song and gave him a crooked smile.

  ‘You don’t be teaching him nothing, Jesus,’ Joseph said. ‘You ain’t involved in this here conversation.’

  ‘You come to me, boy. I’ll teach you all you need to know ’bout anything you want to know. These boys don’t know nothing about nothing. Limin’ all day on the jetty, carrying a few tin pots about the place pretending they got a job. You want some edge to your life, you come see Jesus.’

  ‘Stay out of it,’ Joseph said. ‘This boy’s here with us.’

  Song didn’t know why the jetty boys were being so hostile to this man. Song kept quiet but he was curious. The man they all disliked, who he couldn’t believe was called Jesus, seemed to have taken a shine to him.

  ‘Make your choice, boy,’ Jesus goaded. ‘Wanna end up like this lot ? Nothing to show for nothing.’

  ‘Watch your mouth or I’ll reshape it for you,’ said Basil.

  Song wanted to be loyal to the jetty boys but he was intrigued. ‘I’m already late,’ he said. ‘Gotta go. See you all around.’

  ‘You come find me, boy. I’ll show you some real-life gamblin’. Not cards. Not tables. Upriver. That’s gamblin’ for real men. That’s what dreams are made of.’

  Song was awash with relief when Father Holmes returned home. He had tried to persuade himself each day that Father Holmes might be back before bedtime but doubts crept into his head, crowding out any hopes.

  ‘No need to be so twitchy, sweet child,’ Jingy said to Song. ‘That grown man can look after himself. All he’s doing is taking a boat up and down talking to folks, no different to what he does here ’cept it’s on the river. Mark me, he’ll come walking into this house some day soon looking for a meal and a wash.’

  Jingy was right. That’s exactly how it was. Song had just sat down for lunch when he heard the front door open and Father Holmes’ voice.

  ‘Song. Jingy. Anyone home ?’

  Song leapt down from his chair and raced into the hallway. ‘You’re back, you’re back,’ he cried out. ‘How was your trip ? Do you remember every detail to tell me ? We’re having crab for lunch. Are you hungry ? I’ve been studying hard and I’ve read so many books; I’ve got so much to tell you. Jon and I have been working on the bird book. He has it right now but I’ll get him to come over and show you.’ Song was breathless.

  Father Holmes laughed. ‘I look forward to seeing it – and to hearing all your news,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a lot to tell you, too, Song. You’d have loved this trip. There’s so much energy in the forest, so many sounds, the howlers, the screaming piha, I woke up every day to the noise, the frantic rhythm. It’s another world out there and it makes you feel so alive.’

  He opened his arms and Song hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. Father Holmes wrapped him in his arms and Song allowed himself to be held close.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ Father Holmes said.

  Song couldn’t find the right words. ‘You were gone so long,’ was all he could say. He hoped Father Holmes might have known what he hadn’t said.

  ‘I’m back now.’

  Some weeks later, Song was out catching crabs when Jesus pulled his boat up alongside the bank. Song was pleased to see him again. He had been thinking about real-life gambling. Gold and diamonds. Upriver: that’s where Old Ivor said he’d find it.

  ‘Give me one of ’em,’ Jesus said, pointing a finger at Song’s basket. ‘Pastor’s son can’t turn away Jesus himself.’

  Song laughed ‘Go right ahead. I’ve got more than I need.’

  ‘Welcome to the kingdom of heaven, my friend,’ Jesus said, peering into the bucket. He pulled out the biggest.

  Song noticed the man’s skin was breaking out in sores.

  ‘What happened ?’ Song asked.

  ‘Kabauras,’ Jesus said. ‘Damn things so small you can’t even see ’em. Bite starts tiny too. But itch you so bad you can’t sleep.’

  Song stared at the scabs. Some had broken open and were infected.

  Then he scanned Jesus’ boat. ‘So did you find anything ?’ Song asked.

  ‘Me ? Sure. The only thing worth looking for.’

  ‘How much ?’

  ‘Wouldn’t like to say.’

  ‘Come on, Jesus. Show me.’

  Jesus cast his eyes around the bank. He pulled a filthy bunched-up rag out of his pocket and unravelled it. A knob of gold glinted against the cloth.

  ‘How much is it worth ?’

  Jesus sucked the air in between his teeth. ‘Twenty bits. Maybe twenty-fi
ve. Never one to wait on a price. Crazy dogs the ones who wait. I get it off of me fast as I can. Dangerous to carry gold on you, ’specially in Bartica. Bon Success, Boa Vista, Ciudad Bolivar. I’ve been to ’em all. But nowhere’s for the killing like Bartica.’

  ‘How long were you gone ?’

  ‘Found all this in under an hour,’ Jesus said. ‘Course I been gone a couple weeks. But when you see that first fleck looking up at you like a sunrise you know there’s a lot more where that came from.’

  Song looked again at the small lump of gold.

  ‘I can teach you everything you need to know about life upriver,’ Jesus continued. ‘Life of a pork-knocker ain’t easy. You’re gone most of the year. Come back to cash in, spend a bit of money. A couple nights at Josie’s and a few bottles of cassiri. Or buy the room a round at Ruby Lou’s. I take three girls upstairs at a time. Spend the rest on supplies for the next trip and then you’re gone again.’

  Song couldn’t follow everything Jesus said but he was beginning to understand the life of a pork-knocker, the high risks, the hand-to-mouth existence. He looked again at the gold in Jesus’ hand. ‘So this is a lot, is it ?’ he asked.

  ‘More than your basket of crabs, boy.’ Jesus lifted out a second crab. It snapped as he held it up in the air. ‘Nothing as beautiful as yellow gold. And there’s plenty more out there. Wanna join me, boy ? I could do with a hand. Give you a battel for sifting out the gold and you’ll soon be on your way.’

  Song couldn’t deny that he was captivated by Jesus’ talk. But he didn’t want to bare all. He knew Jesus would keep at him if he thought Song still needed persuading. And Song wanted to learn more about the ways and wiles of a pork-knocker. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.

  ‘Best job in the world. Worst job in the world. Any day could be your lucky day. Strike gold and you’ll never have to work again. Or you might be found floating down the river. Men kill for half an ounce ’round here. Some less than that. Important thing is never to tell anyone how much you got; only a fool brags.’

  Song picked up his basket. ‘I’d better be going.’

  ‘They’d be conditions taking you on,’ Jesus added. ‘Hate talkin’. Kill a man who talks too much. But I’m as fair as they come. I’d give you a wage from the start, and let’s face it, you wouldn’t be much good to me first off. Couldn’t be fairer than that. I’d teach you the rules.’ Jesus flashed him a gold-toothed smile. ‘The rules are there are no rules.’

  Every line Jesus uttered seemed to grab Song harder by the throat.

  ‘Gold in your blood, boy,’ Jesus said. ‘Fire in your eyes. I know ’em when I see ’em, and I ain’t never been wrong.’

  Song hurried home. He felt like he’d already shown too much of his hand.

  Jingy was on the porch talking to a tall man in a suit. There were trunks and cases beside him.

  ‘Where you been chil’ ?’ Jingy called out. ‘That basket better be full.’

  ‘It is,’ Song said.

  ‘What took you so long ?’

  Song hesitated. ‘I was talking to Jesus.’

  ‘You don’t be speaking to that scoundrel. ’Specially when we got guests. That man’s nothin’ but trouble. Now this here’s Mr Robert Leigh. Come from America to see Father Holmes.’

  The man was handsome, clean-shaven and with a broad smile. He wore his cream shirt open at the neck. He put out his hand to shake Song’s.

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Song. So you’ve been consorting with scoundrels named Jesus ? It sounds like I won’t be bored in this town.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ Song said. ‘He’s not really a scoundrel. Jingy thinks so because he’s a pork-knocker. They’re people who look for gold. Are you moving to Bartica ?’

  ‘He’s a scoundrel all right,’ Jingy interrupted. ‘That man just got the wrong name. What was his mother thinking ? I’d say you’re asking for trouble naming someone Jesus. No one’s going to live up to that.’

  ‘It’s Spanish,’ Song said. ‘It’s common in Spanish. It’s actually pronounced “hay-zuz”.’

  ‘I don’t care if everybody in Spanish is called Jesus, it don’t make it no better he got that name,’ Jingy said. ‘Blasphemy is what it is. You don’t go spending time in that man’s company. You’ve got enough to do just looking after yourself.’

  ‘Wise words,’ Mr Leigh said. ‘Women are the wise ones, Song. That’s something you’ll figure out. We’re just a side-show.’

  Song liked the man’s slow certain voice. ‘Are you really from America, sir ?’

  ‘I’m from Buffalo, New York. Know it ?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s on the east coast. I’ve read Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Your president is McKinley. The country’s built on steel and oil.’ Song looked across at Jingy. ‘And gold.’

  ‘You’re an encyclopaedia, Song,’ Mr Leigh said. ‘Sounds like you’re getting a fine education.’

  Song felt his cheeks grow warm. ‘What brings you to Bartica, sir ?’

  ‘You could call me a pork-knocker of sorts,’ he winked at Jingy. ‘I’m a metals man. Here to look for new mining opportunities. Silver, tin, bauxite,’ Mr Leigh paused, ‘and gold, of course. Mind you, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at diamonds. I hear they’re no harder to find here than your crabs.’

  Father Holmes came into sight and Jingy called out to him. ‘Mr Robert Leigh’s here from America.’

  Song watched as Father Holmes hurried towards the house. He was out of breath when he arrived.

  ‘Good morning, Father Holmes,’ Mr Leigh said. ‘Pleasure to meet you. Robert Leigh’s the name. I’m hoping you were expecting me ? Governor Johnson said he had written a letter to you.’

  The two men shook hands. ‘The post in these parts can be unreliable,’ Father Holmes panted. ‘I’ve received no letter from the governor, but welcome to the vicarage, Mr Leigh. What can I do to help ?’

  ‘The governor suggested I might join one of your trips upriver. I’m researching the mineral resources in the region.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help. You’re welcome to stay with us. What are you looking for in particular ?’

  ‘From what I hear, the same thing most men roll into this town for. Gold.’

  It was a few weeks before the next trip upriver, and in the meantime it was Song’s job to introduce Mr Leigh to Bartica. He felt proud to show the American how well he knew the town’s streets, its characters, its rhythm. They visited DC William Wright about land registration and Edward Hoare at the taxes and weights office. Song introduced him to the boys at the jetty; Bronco outside Louis’; Louis himself; Mr Chow; Old Ivor, Golden Don and all the gold merchants along Central Street. Everyone was curious. Some claimed the American was just a big-talking small-timing fraud. Others heard he had enough money to buy all the land upriver and kick every pork-knocker to kingdom come.

  Each evening, before the mosquitoes rose up in clouds, Song headed to the promontory with Mr Leigh to go fishing, carrying a rod and a bucket of worms. He liked hearing his stories: of buildings so tall they took an hour to walk up; ships made of metal that could carry a thousand people, and a country so big you could walk for a lifetime and still not have even covered one per cent of one per cent of its size.

  ‘Girl’s calling out to you, Song,’ Mr Leigh said, nodding down the street.

  Song looked up. It was Maia. Song could see she was wearing one of her older sister’s dresses; it trailed below her ankles and she was tripping up as she walked. ‘That’s Maia. She’s goes to the same school as me.’

  Mr Leigh winked at him. ‘Maia, huh ?’

  Song shrugged. ‘She’s only waving at me because of you, Mr Leigh. She wouldn’t have otherwise. She doesn’t notice me usually.’

  Mr Leigh also waved at Maia, but she didn’t wave back. ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘She’s just shy,’ Song said. ‘Her mother runs Josie’s bar so I don’t think she likes strangers much. The place is always full of drunks. Jingy says it’s the wors
t kind of bar.’

  ‘Everyone’s got to make ends meet, remember that. Anyway you can tell your girl that I’m no drunk.’

  Songs squirmed. ‘She’s not my girl.’

  ‘Treat her nice, Song. That won’t cost you anything. Father Holmes won’t be teaching you much about one thing, and that’s women. Sweetest thing on the planet. Might knock your pride from time to time but that’s no bad thing for any man. Find a sweet one and stick with her. Treat her right and she’ll stick by you forever.’

  Song turned back to look at Maia. She was swinging back and forth on an open gate. He loved watching her play, wildly yet so innocently, unaware of him or anyone watching.

  He saw her head turn, as someone called out her name. It was her mama. Song saw Josie beckoning her little girl back home. Then he noticed Josie was outside the bar with Father Holmes. She said something to him, and he laughed blithely. They seemed to be sharing a joke. Song waved but neither noticed him.

  ‘Tell me about your family, Song,’ Mr Leigh said.

  ‘What about them ?’ Song said, still looking down the street.

  ‘I’d like to know more about where you’re from. How old are you ? How many sisters and brothers do you have ? What about your parents ?’

  Song pictured his family sitting in their one-roomed house. His mother. The memory of his father. His sisters and brothers. By now there’d be Xiao Song, too. He took a deep breath before he answered Mr Leigh.

  ‘My father passed on. I have two sisters and two brothers. My mother was pregnant when I left so there’ll be one more now. I left when I was nine. I’m thirteen now.’

  ‘Your father would be very proud if he could see you now.’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s dead anyway.’

  ‘Do you think about them very much ?’

  ‘Not really,’ Song lied.

  ‘Do you write to them ?’

  ‘They can’t read. Father Holmes helped me send money home once but I’ll never know if it ever arrived.’ Song felt sad to hear himself say that out loud, but it was what he thought. The man going to Hong Kong probably died on his ship. It was too far away, too long a trip.