Song well knew what could happen over a thousand miles. He didn’t want to imagine that Mr Leigh’s ship had gone down, or he had died of a sickness on board. Perhaps a lover of his wife had taken a knife to him, or Mr Leigh had taken a knife to the lover and wound up in jail. Song didn’t want to consider any of this. He was alive to Song, that was all that mattered. A part of him wished he knew the real reason why Mr Leigh had never replied, but another part was grateful not to.
Still no letter came. Life returned to how it had been before the American visitor arrived, although there were good memories of him throughout the house. He had left Father Holmes his elegant yellowed globe, which now stood in the study. To Song he had given his compass and the fine set of brass scales he’d promised him. Song turned over the smooth cold metal weights in his hand, letting the heaviest rest in his palm. He stacked them up in each dish, trying to find as many different combinations to balance both sides as he could. Over and again he read the small plaque fixed to the wood, embossed with ‘Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,’ and thought how far away the place sounded.
Song didn’t want the memories to fade. He wanted to remember freshly everything Mr Leigh had said to him: ‘It’s a wonderful thing to have your whole life ahead of you, but it’s a crime to waste it’; ‘If you choose to go upriver, make sure you hit the big time’; ‘There must be a good reason you want to find gold. Gold isn’t an end game’; ‘Your father would be very proud if he could see you now’; ‘I’ll miss you, Song.’ Song didn’t want Mr Leigh not to be in his life any more. But he switched on his resolve, telling himself how when a cloud passed overhead, the sky was the same again on the other side.
CHAPTER 11
The following year slipped by. Father Holmes and Song became so much a part of Bartica life that nobody could remember a time before the pair lived at the vicarage. ‘You two might as well have been born here,’ Short John told Song. ‘But then you wouldn’t be so nice.’
‘Father Holmes is nice,’ Song said. ‘I’m not sure I am.’
‘Course you are. Never seen you do a damn thing wrong.’
Song wondered about that. He’d left his family and never gone back. He hadn’t saved them, in spite of his promise. He hadn’t even managed to send money home. And now he spent his days dreaming of going upriver; that seemed wrong, too, after everything Father Holmes had done for him.
But he had also been studying hard at school and getting through the books in Father Holmes’ library. With Jon, they had finished the first and a second bird book, and had started a third volume. Song had learned a lot about life upriver, too. From Sammy, he had grasped some survival skills – and how to look for gold. Indian knowledge, that’s what Mr Leigh had talked so passionately about.
Song had made some good friends, and he and Father Holmes knew many of Bartica’s residents by name. Father Holmes had taken on the task of personally inviting every living soul to his services. Together they went down streets that had never seen the shadow of a man of the church.
‘The church should be open to everyone,’ he said to Song. ‘In fact, everything should be open to everyone. It doesn’t matter where people are born or who their family is or what their prospects are, they shouldn’t be treated any differently to anybody else. Don’t forget that.’
Song watched Father Holmes repeatedly trying to persuade another tired mother or another drunk to come to St Ethelbert’s on Sunday. At times, he wished Father Holmes wouldn’t. The vicar just got knocked back again and again. Tom Jameson had probably been right. Bartica didn’t need Father Holmes. But there were other times when Song wondered if they were making a difference. If Bartica was becoming a kinder, gentler place.
The congregation sometimes swelled, but then the next week shrunk – on a whim, it seemed. There were some who became regulars that nobody would have expected, like Dolly from Ruby Lou’s and Old Ivor, who initially said he was too tired of life to care about being saved to live another one. Josie also attended, sometimes with Ella, rarely with Maia, and never with Clio. She’d had a baby boy, Vivi, who usually screamed through the service, but she nevertheless always brought him, no matter; nobody knew who the father was and nobody asked.
Bronco said he would’ve come more but couldn’t leave his post. One or two of the jetty boys turned up from time to time; Mulay from the post office, and Odd-job Bunny, an albino who could turn his hand to anything. The town’s affection grew for Father Holmes and the boy by his side.
‘Town’s a better place with you in it,’ Edward Hoare said to Father Holmes. He and Tom Jameson came around most Sunday evenings now, and Song always made sure to listen in to their conversation from the study.
‘Turned that boy around too,’ Tom added.
Song stopped reading his book and listened harder.
‘There was nothing to turn around,’ Father Holmes said.
‘Well, you’ve made him the man he’s becoming,’ the policeman said. ‘And there’s not many good ones in these parts.’
‘He’s still a boy, Tom. Give him time.’
Song reflected on how Mr Leigh hadn’t thought of him as a boy.
‘There’s younger than him working in the mines,’ Tom said. ‘Learning a trade. Making a living.’
‘I’d like to keep him at the vicarage for as long as I can. After everything he’s been through.’
‘No use growing up too soon,’ Edward said in agreement. ‘Would you like to see him in the church ?’
Song held his breath.
‘He’s too smart for the church. He doesn’t take anything for granted. He’s even got me questioning things I’ve made vows about.’
They laughed. ‘Then why are you teaching him to read all these books ?’ Tom asked.
‘Because he’s good at it.’
‘That’s a reason,’ Edward said.
‘But what good will it do him ?’ Tom asked. ‘A houseboy who can read books.’
‘Reading changes everything. Writing will give him a step up. Whatever Song chooses to do in life he’ll do it better with a pen or a book in his hand.’
Tom whistled. ‘All what you’re giving to him and you’re not even grooming him for the church. I don’t believe it.’
‘Church isn’t for everyone.’
Song felt relieved. He didn’t know why he’d ever doubted Father Holmes, or been anxious that he’d disapprove of his plans.
‘When did you know it was for you ?’ Edward asked.
‘It wasn’t my decision,’ Father Holmes said. ‘My mother had me down for the church when I was a baby. I was as sick as a runt at birth and she swore – holding me up to the heavens, as she told me a thousand times – that if God allowed me to survive childhood I’d be in the seminary at thirteen. A gift from God given back to God, she used to say.’
That was a revelation. Song suddenly felt sorry for Father Holmes.
‘And you were all right about that, were you ?’ Edward asked.
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ Father Holmes said. ‘In truth I wanted to go to sea. When I was small my father used to take me down to the docks at Liverpool where his brother worked and we’d watch the stevedores loading and unloading cargo. We tried to guess what was in the boxes and where all the boats might be going. I looked enviously at the sailors boarding the ship dressed in uniforms with shiny buttons, adventure flashing in their eyes. I had dreams to be an engineer and build boats and take myself to far-off places.’
Song heard the men put down their glasses. Tom smacked his lips. ‘And instead you ended up at a seminary. A mother’s curse, I swear.’
‘It didn’t turn out so bad. I still went to sea. I loved the journey here. I spent my whole time with the crew, not the passengers. And here I am living on the banks of one of the world’s great rivers. Who’d have known ?’
‘Guess mothers get it right more often than we think,’ Edward said.
Song thought about his own mother. She had not got it right. She could have come, too, with his
younger sisters and brothers; on the boat they would have all had at least a bowl of rice every day. They would have been saved, without him having to save them.
‘I don’t doubt that I have a richer life because she sent me away,’ Father Holmes said. ‘I could be hedging in Wales or watching over a dozen sheep in the hills. And I wouldn’t have Song.’
Song was stilled by Father Holmes’ words. His was also a life enriched. He had lost a father, but by leaving he had found a father, too.
Later that evening Father Holmes came to say goodnight to Song.
‘Father, can I ask you something ? It’s about what I should do after school.’
‘You’ve got lots of time to decide, Song. Study hard and you will have many choices.’
‘Will you not mind whatever it is ?’
‘I’d like you to do whatever you want to do.’
Song hesitated. ‘I’m ashamed to tell you.’
‘Ashamed ?’
‘Embarrassed.’
‘I know many people who spend their lives doing something they don’t want to be doing. Follow your own dreams, Song.’
‘Even if it’s pork-knocking ?’
‘If that’s your dream.’
‘Don’t you mind ? Some say it’s just gambling.’
Father Holmes sighed. ‘Gambling is the roll of a dice. You can get lucky upriver, but that doesn’t make it gambling. You need to make something of your life, Song. The average pork-knocker does not.’
‘When I save up enough, I was thinking of buying land. Then I’d own everything I found. No one could take it away from me.’
‘I know you won’t do it the usual way. And if that makes you happy . . .’
‘Are you happy you’re a vicar ?’
‘I don’t indulge myself with that question, Song. I am a vicar. I’m happy.’
‘But if you could do it all over again, would you be a vicar again ?’ Song probed.
Father Holmes sighed. ‘I think I’ve taught you to ask too many questions. Would I do it all again ? I think I would. But I’d need you to turn up along the way.’
‘I’d turn up.’
‘That’s settled then. I’d do it all again and you’d turn up. Goodnight, Song.’
Father Holmes leaned across and put his arms around Song. Song closed his eyes and could not help but imagine the emptiness if Father Holmes’ arms were not around him. He lost everyone he loved. But he also believed Father Holmes would never leave him. They would be together always.
Song and Jon Swire continued to spend much of their free time together. Song had moved up a class mid-term but they still met after school every day to work on the book. Early evenings they went to the Mazaruni side where there was more bird life. Song cherished these excursions. He and Jon had spent so many hours together, learned so much alongside each other.
One evening Jon said he wanted to try to finish his sketch of an unusual duck. They took out the boat and spent a good hour spotting lapwings but had not yet seen a mandarin. The light was going and they would have to head back soon.
‘I won’t come for dinner tonight,’ Jon said. ‘Kiddo’s been on at me about spending too much time at yours. Not helping enough at home, that kind of thing. Not that he does a damn thing, of course.’
‘But you can’t get your homework done there.’ Song also knew there wasn’t enough food on the table.
Jon closed the book and put away his pencil. ‘I better go back tonight though. I have a feeling he’ll take it out on Mama otherwise.’
A yell startled them both. ‘What you boys up to ?’
They looked up and saw Kiddo shouting at them from the bank.
‘You shirking your family again. Know who your family is ? It’s not some goddamn preacher man and a Chiney boy. I’m coming to give you some reminding.’
Jon dropped his voice so even Song could barely hear him. ‘You the hell not my damn family.’
‘You bring that boat here,’ Kiddo shouted.
‘Don’t answer,’ Jon said to Song. ‘He’s drunk.’
‘You hear me, boy. You’re going to feel it tonight.’
‘I ain’t your boy,’ Jon shouted back.
‘You’re mine enough to beat the living hell out of you. You get that boat back here.’
Song watched Kiddo pacing up and down the bank of the river. There wasn’t a location either side they could dock safely. Then he thought about going around the promontory where the two rivers met. He looked at the ripples on the water and knew they’d struggle to turn the boat back upstream. But there was no way he was letting Jon face Kiddo. He looked at his friend’s pale face.
‘Jon, let’s go downstream and then around. I know we can do it.’
‘That’s too dangerous. We’ll never make it.’
The light was almost gone. ‘We have to. It’s the only way.’
Song turned the boat towards the middle of the river to pick up more current. They started to move swiftly downstream.
‘What you boys up to ?’ Kiddo shouted; his voice was becoming increasingly agitated.
‘We can’t miss the turn,’ Song said to Jon. ‘When I shout “turn”, you dig in your paddle.’
‘Do you think we’ll make it ?’
‘Too late to change our minds now. Just twist in your paddle when I yell.’
The boat was moving quickly now. They had already travelled too far to hear Kiddo’s shouting. They could still just see him moving along the bank, but his figure had become shadowy in the gloom.
‘Now,’ Song yelled suddenly. ‘Turn.’
The two boys shoved their paddles into the water on the right side of the boat angling the flat sides of the wood against the current. The nose of the boat twisted sharply to the right.
‘Dig,’ Song shouted. ‘Don’t stop.’
As they lifted their paddles in and out of the water, trying to pick up speed around the promontory, the current caught them again. The boys fought. They were managing to stop themselves moving further downriver but they were making no headway. They kept it up but Song could see Jon tiring. His own arms hurt, too.
‘Stronger, Jon,’ he shouted, but at that instant, a wash of rough water tipped the boat. Both boys were catapulted into the river.
Song had barely caught his breath before he started kicking his legs towards the bank. At the same time he yelled out Jon’s name. It was almost too dark to see anything now.
Song trod water while he scanned the surface of the water. He saw his friend further out. Jon was floundering to stay afloat. Song let the current carry him towards his friend.
When Song was near, Jon lurched towards him, pushing down on his shoulders. Song found himself being held down. His chest was burning for breath. He inhaled a mouthful of water but managed to break the surface for a moment to take a gulp of air. Jon grabbed at him again. Without thinking Song punched his friend in the face. Jon cried out and loosened his grip. At that moment Song seized Jon from behind, dragging him into the crux of his elbow, and then started to kick them both back to land.
‘Kick,’ he shouted at Jon. ‘I can’t do this on my own.’
Song thrashed his legs, trying to steer them both in the direction of the bank. He could feel Jon weakening.
‘Damn it,’ Song shouted. ‘Help me.’
With relief Song felt his friend start kicking. Swimming backwards, Song turned to see the dark shadow of trees behind him. They were almost there. He put his feet down to see if he could touch the riverbed but there was nothing. It was fully dark now. He pushed on. And with relief felt solid ground underfoot. He pulled Jon up on the bank and turned him on his side. He was coughing up water. Song flopped down beside him.
The two boys lay in the darkness. Only the sound of their heaving chests broke the stillness. As Song heard Jon’s breath calm, he felt his own body relax.
A squawk of parrots burst through the air. The flapping of wings halted as the birds settled to roost in the trees above them.
‘The
book,’ Jon said, still gasping. ‘We lost the book.’
Song thought about Jon’s beautiful birds: the lustre of their feathers, the light in their eyes. ‘We lost Kiddo,’ Song said. ‘That’s what matters.’
‘Maybe I should have taken the beating. I’ll only get it later anyway. And we’d still have the book. And the boat.’
Song shared Jon’s regret at the loss of the book, like a chapter of their life was gone. But he took it as a sign: he could no longer only observe, now he had to make his own story, to live a life that was a story worth telling.
Song felt Jon’s hand reach for his own. He squeezed his friend’s hand back.
*
Jon wasn’t at school the next day. Song’s heart sank when he saw his empty desk. He walked past Jon’s house on his way home but there was nobody about. Jon didn’t show up for a week. When he finally came back to school, Song could still see the bruising on his face. Song winced. There was a cut above Jon’s eye that was infected.
‘I’m going to kill Kiddo one day,’ Song said to Jon.
Jon gave Song a half-smile.
‘What did your mama say when he did this ?’ Song asked.
‘Said I needed to stop provoking him. She can’t say anything to Kiddo. He’ll hit her if she does.’
‘He’s got to go, Jon. She has to get rid of him.’
‘She won’t. I don’t know why,’ Jon touched his forehead. ‘Is it bad ?’
‘You need to keep washing it. Jingy’s got some brew she uses when there’s an infection. You could come by and she could treat it.’
‘Mama says I’ve got to go straight home after school now. Don’t give Kiddo a reason, she says. So, what did Father Holmes say about the book ?’
‘He was more worried about you than the book.’
‘That’s nice of him.’
‘We still have two, remember. We hadn’t done so much in the one we lost. We were less than halfway through.’
‘Guess I should have taken the beating there and then. Saved us a lot of trouble. But thanks for what you did that night.’
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