Song

by Michelle Jana Chan

  ‘We’re going to stay on and sit out his fever,’ Father Holmes said to Song. ‘It’s serious and Dr Foo says it’s the only way he might get better. Are you doing all right though ? This is a much longer trip than I expected.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Father. I love it upriver. I’ve never been happier.’

  ‘I worry about the risks. Exposing you to fevers like this. After everything you’ve already been through.’

  ‘There are no more risks here than in Bartica.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  Meanwhile Jon and Song made great progress with the book. Jon spent his days with his pencil in hand. Song tried to concentrate on supporting him but often found himself tagging along with Sammy. He learned to speak a few simple words of Arawak – greetings and niceties. And Sammy improved his English, which was already good; he’d learned what he knew from his father, who he’d accompany from time to time to Bartica for supplies.

  ‘I’ve never seen you in town,’ Song said. ‘Where do you stay ?’

  ‘On the boat.’

  ‘At the dock ?’

  ‘We moor upstream. Dad gets worried about getting too close to town. We only come by to get supplies, things that Jim Groves don’t bring. Everyone knows him as a swindler.’

  ‘That’s what Jingy says, too,’ Song agreed. ‘She lives with us at the vicarage. She knows everybody in Bartica and their business.’

  ‘Nobody likes that man. He barters cigarettes, liquor and salt for our gold. But he don’t give nobody a fair price. There’s some who think he opens our parcels, and sells us what’s inside. That man’s a full-time cheat.’

  ‘I’m going to tell Jingy that. She’ll say she told me all along. You should come and stay with us at the vicarage next time. You’ll get to meet her.’

  ‘Dad doesn’t like town. Says you can catch fevers there, like the one Jim Groves has. They’ll smoke out that room after you’ve all left. Everyone’s afraid of town.’

  ‘That’s funny. Everyone in town is afraid of upriver. I guess everyone’s afraid of something. Especially if it’s something they don’t know. Will you try and change your dad’s mind ? Bartica’s not as fun as here but you can come with me to class one day.’

  Sammy nodded. ‘I’d like that, but I wouldn’t be allowed. Dad’s strict. Not like Father Holmes. He lets you do anything.’

  Song was amazed to hear Sammy say that. ‘Does he ?’

  ‘Lets you go to school. Lets you come upriver. Lets you come hunting.’

  ‘Guess you’re right,’ Song said. On reflection, he realised Father Holmes did give him lots of freedom.

  ‘You should ask him if we can spend a night away,’ Sammy continued. ‘There’s a place I could show you and Jon but it’s more than a day away.’

  ‘What is it ?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  ‘Sure you can go,’ Father Holmes said when Song asked him.

  ‘It’s high time these two boys saw the “smoking place” we call Kaieteur,’ said Sammy’s father. ‘You take Molson and Kai with you, Sammy.’

  Molson and Kai might have been older and bigger than Sammy, but they paid attention to Sammy like he was an older brother. They seemed like quiet sorts, but that was mostly because their English wasn’t good. Kai told Song he was actually named after the ‘smoking place’.

  The five boys left after breakfast and walked the whole day through the forest. Mr Leigh had loaned Song his compass, but Song had already lost all sense of direction.

  ‘You know I don’t have any idea where we are,’ he told Jon.

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘It’s okay. We’ve got the boys. Kai knows where we are.’

  Kai was leading the group. He raised his hand as if to acknowledge the statement.

  ‘Sometimes you feel like you’re lost but you never are,’ Sammy said. ‘Trick is not to change your mind. Just got to stick to what you think is the right way. Don’t double back. Don’t hesitate. Push on.’

  While they moved through the forest, they came across birds that neither Song nor Jon had ever seen, even in Mr Matthews’ book. The sound was more like an aria than birdsong, as if the birds were improvising scores. Sometimes the boys might catch a glimpse of plumage, but the songbirds never lived up to their melodies. The finest singers were always the dullest creatures: small and dark with indistinct markings, like the loud but tiny dusty-throated antshrike or the extraordinary lowing of the capuchinbird, which was one of Mr Matthews’ favourites.

  As the afternoon rains approached the light began to fade. Song could hear a low steady rumble.

  ‘Thunder,’ he said.

  ‘Not thunder,’ said Molson.

  Molson was right. It didn’t sound like thunder. It sounded like heavy rain, the kind you can hear before you can feel. ‘What is it ?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Sammy said.

  They continued walking for another ten minutes before they broke out at a riverbank. The rumble had grown louder.

  ‘This is the Potaro,’ Sammy said.

  Kai pointed downstream. ‘Your thunder.’

  Song followed Kai’s gaze. ‘What is it ?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Perhaps we should go back,’ Jon said. He looked worried. Song put his arm around his friend’s shoulder.

  The five of them pulled a boat out of the trees which had been hidden in the foliage. Kai and Molson steered them downstream. The river was wide but the current was strong and they kept close to the bank.

  The noise continued to grow louder, like the rising calls of a thousand howler monkeys.

  ‘What is it ?’ Jon asked again.

  Song looked ahead. He could see a mist rising on the water. ‘Rapids.’

  Kai shook his head. ‘Not rapids.’

  Molson started steering the boat sharply towards the bank and tied up.

  ‘It’s too dangerous to get any closer,’ Sammy said. ‘We’ll walk the rest of the way.’

  The rumble became a roar. ‘If it’s not rapids, why can’t we use the boat ?’ Song asked. He was full of anticipation but becoming irritated with the boys for acting so mysteriously.

  Molson pointed ahead. ‘Kaieteur.’

  Song looked ahead. He didn’t see anything at first. The river seemed to be moving even more slowly here. There were few rocks to break its flow and there was no indication of rough water ahead. The river was carrying a heavy trunk in its current and suddenly Song saw the tree tip up and disappear. It was like how he’d imagined the edge of the world might be.

  He stared, and then started to run along the bank. Jon was right behind him. As they approached, they saw the river stop suddenly. There were clouds of spray and rainbows like diamonds.

  Sammy, Kai and Molson lay on their stomachs and crawled up to the edge of the cliff. Song and Jon copied them, shuffling forward to peer over the edge. The river fell so far down Song couldn’t see where it ended. In the mist were tumbling swifts; swooping, rising, darting, sometimes passing through the torrents of water. Song had the sensation he was also flying. Above everything below.

  One morning Dr Foo said there was probably nothing more he could do for his patient; they may as well begin the journey back to Bartica. There was a sombre mood among the party but Song didn’t feel much for Jim Groves after what Jingy and Sammy had said about him.

  As they carried the post office clerk’s limp body down to the riverbank, Song turned to Father Holmes. ‘Do you think we could stay on ?’

  Father Holmes raised his eyebrows. ‘You and I ? Here ?’

  ‘I don’t mean for ever,’ Song quickly added. He didn’t want Father Holmes to think he didn’t love the home they’d made together in Bartica. ‘Just until we finish the book.’

  ‘I think we need to get Jim back.’

  ‘Jim could go back with Dr Foo.’

  ‘I think you two need to get back to your studies. Don’t you miss school ?’

  ‘Yes,’ Song said. H
e did miss school. But he thought that when he was back at school, he’d miss being upriver more.

  ‘We’ll come back another time,’ Father Holmes said.

  Song fell quiet as their boats pulled away. Sammy and the others stood on the bank. Song watched until the boats turned a bend and the village was out of sight.

  Jim Groves died a day before they arrived back in Bartica. Father Holmes gave him the last rites on the river. For the rest of the journey, Song stared at the fourth boat carrying Jim Groves’ wrapped body and thought about the clouds of water above Kaieteur, rising like angels. These were his angels now: not cherubs with wings like in Father Holmes’ Christian books but instead swirling clouds of water rising up from the falls, darting swifts, macaws flying free in the big skies above.

  Bartica seemed oddly quiet after their time in the forest and the unceasing sound of birds and monkeys and insects.

  On Robert Leigh’s last day he took Song swimming on the Mazaruni side of town where the current was strongest. They battled in the rough water just to stay still, before digging with sticks in the muddy banks looking for worms. Then they caught a few crabs before lying down upon the grassy verge, catching their breaths and slapping at mosquitoes.

  ‘I’ll miss you, Song,’ the American said. ‘You’ve been a fine host. I want to thank you for that.’

  Song felt a wave of sadness pass through him. Nobody had said something like that to him before. Praise that seemed more intended for an adult. ‘I hope you’ll come back,’ he said.

  ‘I hope so, too. But setting up a mine is a big investment. The risks are high. The rewards can be high, too, of course. I’ll file my report and then it’s up to the company. They’ll make the final decision.’

  ‘And what do you think they’ll do ?’

  ‘I’ve no doubt they should invest. But the funny thing is that after I bring back all the facts and figures, they’ll pore over my report, but it will still come down to one thing.’

  ‘What’s that ?’

  Mr Leigh hit himself in the stomach. ‘Gut.’

  Song thumped himself in his stomach. ‘My gut says you’ll come back.’

  Mr Leigh laughed. ‘That’s not your gut. That’s your heart. Now before I go, Song, I want to know your big plan. What are you looking for from life ?’

  Song didn’t know if he had a good answer to that, at least not one that he wanted to share. His plan was to go back upriver, simple as that. Until now that had been a figment. Now it was something tangible. What he was looking for from life was harder to say. Gold, diamonds, but beyond that, who knew ? Song didn’t want to think about that, let alone talk about it out loud. He’d known too many dreams that didn’t come to pass.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re only, what, thirteen, fourteen ? It’s a wonderful thing to have your whole life ahead of you, but it’s a crime to waste it. Remember you can do whatever you want. Anything. Mining ? Teaching ? The church ?’

  Song shook his head. ‘Not the church.’ He surprised himself with how strongly he felt.

  ‘You could go to sea.’

  Song shook his head again. He knew he couldn’t do that. ‘I’ve been to sea.’

  ‘Then what ?’ Mr Leigh was pressing him.

  ‘I guess I’d like to go upriver again,’ Song said.

  ‘If you choose to go upriver, you make sure you hit the big time. I don’t want to hear of you pork-knocking a few specks of gold dust out of the ground. Don’t be one of the many. Set yourself apart, Song. You’re smarter than all of those pork-knockers put together, with a battel in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. You can read and write, you can figure things out differently. You need to discipline yourself, build some structure. Think about buying land. That’s what my mining company will be doing if they choose to invest. There’s no reason you can’t do the same. Save enough and buy land. Then you know you’ll own everything you find, no questions, no disputes.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Song said. ‘I’ll write and tell you how I get on.’

  ‘Do that. Tell you what, I’m going to leave you my set of brass scales so that I can be sure you’re weighing something of note. That sound good ?’

  ‘You don’t need to leave me your scales, sir. I’ll make sure what I find will be worth weighing.’

  ‘I’m sure, too, but it’ll be a good reminder. I’d like you to have them.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Song said. ‘Perhaps the one thing I do worry about is what Father Holmes might think.’

  ‘Don’t worry about what you can’t control. Worry about what you can. Choose a life that will make you happy.’

  ‘But pork-knocking ? Jingy says it’s for drunks.’

  ‘She’s right. I’m sure there are some drunks. But there’s more than one type of pork-knocker. You’re not going to be the kind chipping away at a rock for the rest of your life. Besides, would you enter the church because it might make a preacher and a cook happy ? That’s a big gamble. Now, tell me your biggest dream, Song.’

  ‘Same as yours.’

  ‘Which is ?’

  Song hesitated, nervous to say it out loud. ‘You’re chasing gold, too.’

  Mr Leigh sighed. ‘Gold is only a tool for me. If I bring the company here and they strike it big, I get a promotion and a raise. And a small part of me hopes it might help win me back the love and respect of my wife. That’s why I want to find gold.’

  Song toyed with the crabs scrambling over each other in the basket.

  ‘And you ?’ Mr Leigh asked. ‘There must be a good reason you want to find gold. Gold isn’t an end game.’

  Song shrugged. ‘For a life upriver,’ he heard himself say, as if it was someone else’s voice. ‘For the freedom it will bring.’

  They walked back to the house without saying much more to each other. As they approached the vicarage Song saw Father Holmes on the porch. He thought how lonely he looked. Song felt sorry, like he had betrayed Father Holmes by sharing his dreams with Mr Leigh and not him. Song broke into a run. When he reached the steps he tilted the bucket forwards to show off the contents. ‘Look what we dug up.’

  Father Holmes looked inside. ‘Good job.’

  ‘Mr Leigh caught most of them.’

  ‘He must have had a good teacher.’

  ‘The best,’ Mr Leigh said.

  ‘I didn’t teach him,’ Song said. ‘There are crabs in America too.’

  ‘Not like these,’ Mr Leigh said. ‘Might have to take some of these indigo shells back. My boys wouldn’t believe the colour.’

  Mr Leigh moved to sit down beside Father Holmes. ‘Tobacco ?’

  Song made to take the basket inside to Jingy but he lingered in the hallway.

  ‘No, thanks,’ he heard Father Holmes say.

  ‘Virginian, mind.’

  ‘You go ahead.’

  ‘Makes me miss my family, sitting out here on a porch like this.’

  ‘And they miss you, Mr Leigh. I know they’ll be glad to have you back but we’ll miss you here, especially Song. He’s very fond of you. I can see you’ve opened his eyes to a bigger world than I could have shown him.’

  Song felt guilty. He didn’t like to think Father Holmes felt second best next to Mr Leigh.

  He heard the striking of a match and knew Mr Leigh must be lighting a cigarette. At the same time the cicadas suddenly struck up their soft hum. ‘He’s a wonderful boy,’ Mr Leigh said, ‘and he knew something about the big world before I ever got to him.’

  ‘That’s true. He makes me feel like I’ve only lived half a life.’

  ‘You’ve got him questioning, too. It’s impressive.’

  ‘I sometimes worry if it isn’t too much. He’s making me question myself and my work, too. Like my missionary trips. He’s right. Upriver, they look at the birds, the trees, the mountains, the world around them; that’s what they believe in. Who am I to say that’s wrong ?’

  ‘I don’t know
many vicars who’d say something like that. You’re a special man, Father, and Song knows it; he cares a great deal about you.’

  ‘He’s got nobody else.’

  Song realised Father Holmes was right. He didn’t have anybody else, but it hurt Song to be reminded of that.

  ‘He couldn’t hope for better in you, Father.’

  ‘That’s nice of you to say, Mr Leigh. All I know is that he deserves some shot at a childhood after the ride he’s had, and I would like to give him that. The rest will be up to him.’

  ‘Song’s got dreams, Father. That’s all he needs to get on in life.’

  Song squeezed his hands tightly together, as if it might be a way of holding on to his dreams and not letting go.

  *

  The vicarage was very quiet after Mr Leigh left. The American had been a good talker with a resonant voice that could be heard a street away. After his departure Jingy sang louder than ever as she went about her work, as if the notes might fill the space he left. Song wrote him long letters, proudly labelling the front of the envelope with Mr Leigh’s address in ‘The United States of America’. He relayed to him news about all the people Mr Leigh knew in Bartica. He described catching crabs and hooking big fish and swimming in the river with Jon at dusk. He even sent Mr Leigh updates on pork-knocker gossip he overheard at the dock or outside the bars: there was word that someone had found a thick seam and there was so much gold coming out of the ground it was causing the price to drop.

  Every afternoon when he came home from school he asked Jingy if he had received any post. Nothing arrived. As the months passed Song wrote with less frequency. Jingy cursed the man who she said had taken advantage of her cooking and all of their hospitality without so much as a written word of thanks. When people asked Song if he had heard any news from the big American, they nodded knowingly at Song’s negative response.

  ‘As soon as they leave they forget everything we done for them,’ Joseph said. ‘While you’re useful they couldn’t be nicer. Once they’re done, you’re done. That’s how things work out there in the rest of the world.’

  Father Holmes insisted that Mr Leigh was a good man and said if he did not write, there must be a very good reason. ‘Trust your judgement, Song. It’s more reliable than the postal service. Anything could happen to a letter over a few thousand miles.’