Song

by Michelle Jana Chan

  The party moved stealthily along the river. Song observed the three men navigating, their eyes almost turning back on themselves. They noticed everything, from the first flies rising to the slight ripple of a skulking caiman. They travelled through the night. Song paddled while Sammy slept, and then they switched. Kai and Molson did the same.

  When they reached camp, the sun was not yet at its highest. Chi was out already but the embers were still warm.

  They tied up the boats. Song grabbed some extra battels and the four men headed down to the bend.

  Song saw Chi swing around when he heard their footsteps.

  ‘Feeling jumpy ?’ Song asked.

  ‘Hah! Actually I was expecting you to show up about now.’

  ‘Any visitors ?’

  ‘Not a soul.’

  ‘You found anything ?’

  ‘Found a lot of time,’ Chi said. ‘A man can’t do enough thinking, my mother used to say. Think too much and nothing gets done, my father used to say. Must be why they were always fighting.’

  Song rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve been on your own too long.’

  ‘Looks like I got some company now.’

  ‘This is Sammy, Molson, Kai. I’ve known them for years.’

  The three men nodded at Chi.

  ‘Found anything ?’ Song asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  Chi’s reply was very quick, Song thought to himself.

  ‘All this time and nothing to show for it ?’ Song asked. ‘You sure you haven’t been lounging about in a hammock all day ?’

  ‘Look at these hands,’ Chi said, turning his palms open. ‘Worker’s hands.’

  Kai and Molson started walking up the edge of the river and within a few minutes they were out of sight. Sammy stood on the bank scanning both directions.

  ‘What d’you think ?’ Song called out to him.

  ‘Water’s not moving well here.’

  When Kai and Molson returned they agreed. ‘It’s better up-stream,’ Sammy said. ‘Not far. Just a few hundred yards.’

  ‘It’s not for panning though,’ Molson said. ‘You’ll need to dig.’

  ‘How deep ?’ Chi asked.

  ‘Can’t say.’

  The five men left Dead Man’s Bend and walked upstream. Here was another bend in the river, but swinging left, and the rock was similarly dark along the bank.

  Song looked at the ground. It was mulch on top but it would be hard rock a couple feet below.

  ‘We’ll start digging, then,’ Song said.

  ‘Gold ain’t the sun,’ Sammy said. ‘You never know when it’s going to come up.’

  ‘Dig up half this jungle if we have to,’ Chi said. ‘This boy’s not satisfied with a grain or two.’

  That night, as Chi was at the river getting water, Song found himself rifling through Chi’s things. He’d had a bad feeling – and discovered he was right. There, in a shammy, he found a nugget the size of a thumbnail. He felt deflated and angry in equal measure, cursing himself for trusting Chi so quickly.

  Dinner had been quiet. Song didn’t feel like speaking. The Yupukama boys never had a lot to say. Chi was the talker, if anyone was, but nobody was giving him much in return. Song turned in earlier than usual.

  That night he hardly slept. He lay in his hammock listening to the raucous night. He was glad of the noise of the birds, the frogs, the insects. It helped drown out the thoughts in his head. There were the short hoots of a mottled owl, gwot gwot gwot.

  Song thought back to the day he met Chi at Louis’. The evening at his home, Yan’s warmth, Dorothy’s honeyed voice, Gloster’s stories. He shook his head at how he’d been taken in. It wasn’t the worth of a single nugget, but that Chi had shattered Song’s hopes for a partner, even a friend, upriver. He vowed that this would be the last time he’d open himself up to someone. He wouldn’t be so easy going forward, that was for sure.

  Morning came and he heard Chi get up. Song cursed him again under his breath – before Chi made him jump. He was peering into Song’s hammock. ‘You up ?’ he said. Got something to show you.’

  Song slowly sat up, swinging his legs out. ‘What’s up ?’

  Chi reached into his pocket and pulled out a shammy. Song dared to hope. Chi dropped his voice. ‘Didn’t want to tell the boys but I found this a few days ago. Only just before you came. Right here on this river. Like you said we would.’

  Song looked at the nugget, as if it was the first time. But it wasn’t the first time. Song felt a wash of relief – and guilt. He’d learned more about himself than Chi.

  ‘I’m glad you told me,’ he said to his partner.

  For the next few weeks they smashed their tools into the hard rock trying to make some headway. It was backbreaking work. Every swing of a hammer or chisel on rock jarred through their bones.

  Kai and Molson were stronger but Song worked the hardest. He was the first up and often worked till well after the light had gone. Sammy sometimes came out with him but he didn’t always take himself inside the pit. He’d stand by watching, telling all three which direction to dig. Song assigned Chi to camp to make sure there was always enough food. He didn’t want the boys to go hungry.

  The weeks passed and they hadn’t had much luck. The pit was so deep now they could no longer see the tops of each other’s heads and they were working calf-deep in groundwater. The men started to dig sideways, widening the mouth of the pit. They made new tools with the same rock they were trying to break apart. By evening their bodies ached but nobody complained. They were all used to physical work. In the morning they were as stiff as dead men.

  If anyone it was Sammy who was keeping to himself a bit more.

  ‘We’ll be off after breakfast,’ he said one day.

  Song was surprised. They hadn’t given him a sense they were tired, or ready to return.

  ‘Have I asked too much ?’

  ‘Stay if we could. But gotta get back to the village. Veronique and the others will be waiting.’

  ‘Can you at least stay one more night ? Chi can cook up a feast.’

  Sammy shook his head. ‘We should get back. And besides,’ he smiled, ‘you ain’t got nothing for a feast.’

  Song was dispirited. He needed Sammy, but he pretended he didn’t feel that way. ‘Okay, Sammy. We’ll be all right.’

  ‘Course you will. You’re going to find what you’re looking for, you know that ?’

  ‘Sure,’ Song said, encouraged by his friend’s certainty. Amerindian knowledge, he hoped.

  ‘I mean it,’ Sammy said, shaking his finger. His narrow hunter’s eyes trained on Song. ‘It’s just a matter of time.’

  It felt much quieter around camp even though none of the Yupukama men had been talkers. Song and Chi pressed on. Within a week they were clean out of oil and sugar. A few days later, the last of the rice was gone. But they were not ready to head back to Bartica. Not yet. Not with so little. They worked harder and skipped meals.

  It was around lunchtime. Song was feeling pangs in his stomach. He reached into his pocket for a handful of leaves and stuffed them into his mouth to chew on. That’s what he used to do when he was little, too. He had never wanted to be that hungry again. He picked up his hammer again, positioned his chisel and slammed it down.

  The rock split off like shrapnel. Song felt a sharp pain in his left eye. He cried out and reached up with his hand; the wound was wet with blood. His head was spinning. It was then, as he stood there leaning against the wall of the pit, that he noticed the exposed rock. The surface shimmered.

  Trembling, Song reached out and felt it with his fingertips. A memory surged up inside him: the shards of light cutting into the darkness of the ship. He remembered how solid the light used to look, something strong and firm from the world outside. As if it was the gold he was trying to reach. The stripe in the rock in front of him reminded him of that chance of light. His fingers moved over the rock. He could hear his hard breathing even above the noise of the future in his head.

&nb
sp; Chi appeared at the top of the pit. ‘You all right ?’

  Still cupping his bloodied eye Song looked up and pointed at the rock.

  Chi moved swiftly down to Song’s side. He stared at the rock and whistled. Then he looked at Song and his smile collapsed.

  ‘What happened ?’

  ‘Is it bad ?’

  ‘Looks really bad.’

  ‘Both of them ?’

  ‘The left ain’t good. The right seems okay.’

  ‘Everything’s blurred. Both sides.’

  ‘We need to bathe the left one.’

  Song pulled himself up. He reached out in his darkness to touch the rock once more.

  ‘I can see it all right, Song Holmes,’ Chi said. ‘And my oh my, we got gold on our hands.’

  CHAPTER 17

  By the time they returned to Bartica it had been five and a half months. They had lost half their body weight. Song’s bad eye had become infected. Chi had broken out in sores around his mouth and nose.

  ‘Man,’ Basil said. ‘You boys the walking dead.’

  Dory threw them a rope. ‘You better have hit a goldmine to come back looking like this.’

  ‘You need a good meal and a good doctor,’ Joseph said. He helped Song up. Then Chi. Neither man had spoken yet. They had barely said a word to each other over the last few days.

  ‘What’s the news ?’ Chi asked.

  ‘You two’s back in town,’ Basil said. ‘That’s the only news I got.’

  ‘Yan all right ?’

  ‘Given up on her man for dead,’ Dory said. ‘Like most of town had given up on you two.’

  ‘How long you been gone ?’ Basil asked.

  ‘Nearly six months.’

  ‘Jeez,’ he said. ‘Yan’s going to have you. ’Less of course your pockets are full.’

  ‘She’ll be having me then,’ Chi said.

  ‘I ain’t buying that,’ Basil said. ‘Six months, two dead men walking and empty pockets. No, sir.’

  ‘Basil, quit your talk and let these two men go on,’ Joseph said. ‘We’ll have two deaths on our hands if you stall ’em any longer.’

  ‘You ain’t got no news for us ?’ Chi said.

  ‘Yan’s well enough,’ Joseph said. ‘Had the baby. Boy I think.’ He turned to the others. ‘Was it a boy ?’

  Nobody could remember.

  Joseph offered them each a cigarette but they both refused. ‘Otherwise it’s the usual,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t be Bartica without a few killings, of course. Tom Jameson. Were you here for that ? Flat disappeared. Never seen again. Word is it must have been an outtatowner who saw the uniform and didn’t know any better. Not even Mad Dog’d do something like that.’

  ‘That’s bad news,’ Song said.

  ‘All we got is bad news,’ Basil said.

  ‘New DC, too,’ Joseph said. ‘Calls the place lawless, like that’s news to us.’

  ‘What happened to Wright ?’ Song asked. ‘Not another Bartica death ?’ William Wright had been an ally of sorts, or at least not someone against Song.

  ‘Got a transfer. Finally. He’d been waiting for one ever since he arrived.’

  ‘New one equally absent ?’ Song asked.

  ‘He’s around. Flexing. Rubbing people up all sorts of ways.’

  ‘The vicar’s still falling over himself trying to draw a crowd,’ Dory said.

  Song already felt a stirring to be back upriver. Not for the lure of gold, but for the silence. Or for the sound of the interior and his beloved birds. Without the noise of town and all its viciousness.

  ‘Can one of you bring our stuff ?’ Song asked.

  ‘Leave it with us,’ said Joseph.

  Song nodded at Chi before taking up his satchel and heading towards town. There was Bronco. His face twisted into a smile when he saw Song. ‘Man, it’s nice to see you. Kind of. Not lookin’ so good though.’

  ‘Any trouble ?’

  He snorted. ‘Over my dead body. Jingy’s been in and out of course. Flings open all the windows to air the place. Been bringing fresh flowers every week for the last how many weeks. Think she’s mourning you.’

  ‘Is she doing all right ?’

  ‘Looking better than you. But she had a fall by the dock catching crabs. Man, those crabs are in for it now. Still catching them even with her gammy leg. Twice as keen.’

  Song smiled. He missed Jingy. Missed her cooking. Missed her sharp tongue.

  ‘Say, what happened to your eye ?’ Bronco asked.

  ‘Just grit, I think. Didn’t wash it out at the time and everything rots upriver. Even the eyes in your head. Gotta get it seen to.’

  Song unlocked his door and entered the room. It was pitch dark save a few splinters of light through the shutters. He went to the windows and unhooked the wooden latches to let in the cool morning air. The sunlight swallowed up the room. There were flowers in a glass on the table. The water was yellow. Song poured the water out of the window and put the flowers back in the empty glass. Then he went to the shelf to open Father Holmes’ Bible. The deeds were still there. Song wondered again what Father Holmes would have thought of him slipping a set of deeds between the leaves of his Bible. ‘Good safe place,’ he might have said with a smile. Song thought he wouldn’t have minded. Perhaps he’d have been amazed at Song charting land upriver, buying it up, finding gold. Song was doing it his way, and that’s what Father Holmes had told him he’d do. Song closed the book and took off the shirt tied around his waist. It was heavy. Chi had stitched the gold in individual squares. There was probably three pounds. Song cut open a couple of squares and emptied the contents into two leather shammies. Then he knotted his shirt back around his waist.

  Out of his satchel he pulled out his tools and books which were wrapped in dirty clothes. He went back down to the street to drop off the couple of shirts and a pair of trousers at Mr Chow’s.

  ‘Sure I can’t catch anything from this ?’ he said, holding up the drawstring trousers. ‘This stuff ’s more alive than you.’

  ‘Jungle dirt’s clean, Mr Chow. You’ve seen a lot worse.’

  ‘Won’t be as good as Jingy.’

  ‘I’d heard she hurt her leg.’

  ‘She’s all right. Hasn’t slowed her down. The Father’s family’s arrived now so she’s got her hands full. Did you hear we got a new DC ?’

  ‘Seems like that’s what everyone’s talking about.’

  ‘Crazy man. Says he’s going to close down the bars. No hookers. No liquor. Then what’ll everyone do to make a living ? They’ll start robbing and thieving. Then he’ll see real lawless. Man’s got no sense.’

  ‘I’ll keep my distance,’ Song said.

  ‘Rumour is,’ Mr Chow dropped his voice, ‘he himself got rid of Tom Jameson. Thought he was too soft. White man kill a white man. Thought makes you shiver. They say he’s got his sights on shutting down Ruby Lou’s.’

  ‘It sounds like he won’t be around long—’

  Mr Chow held up his left hand. ‘You be careful what you say out loud. That man’s got spies. Say, you should get that eye seen to.’

  ‘On my way.’ Song left the shop and headed to Ruthie’s Best Roti Hut. He bought a super deluxe with chicken and sank his teeth into the stuffed curry roll. Ruthie watched him eat. ‘Never tasted so good, I’ll bet,’ she said. ‘Even I can’t make them taste so good as when you ain’t eaten for a month.’

  Song took a second bite and choked.

  ‘Take it easy, son,’ Ruthie said.

  Song could feel the texture of the meat and potatoes between his teeth, and the heat in his throat. It tasted of the dishes Jinda used to conjure up in his head. Descriptions so evocative it was as if he filled their stomachs. Song was heavy-hearted that Jinda couldn’t taste the food he was eating now. How he hadn’t had a chance at life. But he promised again to his dead friend that he would live twice as hard for both of them.

  ‘Need another ?’ Ruthie asked. ‘On the house. Just ’cause you need it.’

  Song s
hook his head with his mouth full, tried a smile and gestured ‘later’. He wanted to see Edward Hoare before he knocked off for lunch.

  Father Holmes used to say Mr Hoare was the kind of man Bartica was short on. He was mild-mannered, modest and straight as a ruler. He re-calibrated his scales with lead weights that he kept in a safe and used the most recent price of gold from Georgetown. You could be sure of those scales, unlike the lousy ones at Stein’s, Slicker’s or Ashkanzi’s, which were always out but never out in your favour.

  Song pushed at the door of the office and a bell attached to the hinges tinkled. Mr Hoare came out from the back room. He was wearing bankers’ sleeves, rubbed grey with pencil lead, and his glasses rested on the end of his nose.

  ‘Song Holmes. It’s been a long time.’

  Song smiled at the sound of his full name. ‘I just got in, sir. Six months upriver.’

  ‘Looks like it, too,’ Mr Hoare said. ‘More important things than eating, I guess. Jingy won’t be pleased.’

  ‘You’re right about both. How’s everything with you, sir ?’

  ‘Me ? I’m always the same. Work’s work. Bit of fishing. I’ve been heading up to Georgetown more often since what happened to Tom. You’ll have heard by now I’m sure. The town was in shock, and you know how hard it is to shock this place. The thing is that man didn’t really have an enemy. Imagine that. A PC without an enemy.’

  ‘He was a good friend, wasn’t he ? I still remember when you and Tom used to come around to the vicarage and sit on the porch in the evenings. I spent more time listening to your conversations than I did doing my homework.’

  ‘Hah! I miss both of those men. The world gets smaller as you get older. Did you hear the new DC’s missing too ?’

  ‘You’re joking ? I heard he just arrived.’

  ‘Didn’t last a month. But you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d heard his rhetoric. Bartica has no room for a man like him.’