Song

by Michelle Jana Chan

  ‘What’s with all this ?’ Song said, gesturing to the keys in her hand.

  ‘It ain’t me,’ Nanny said. ‘It’s you. People are talking. Know you’re doing business with the old man. Say you’re bringing him enough gold to fill a room. And what am I doing ? I’m running up and down these stairs ten times a day, unlocking and locking and unlocking. Milk comes around, unlock. Meat comes around, unlock. Newspaper comes around, unlock. Unlock, lock, unlock. People used to waltz on up. That’s the way to live a life. Freedom. Now he’s got the willies someone’s going to come and rob him or worse so we’ve got more bolts than Devil’s Island, I swear.’

  Freedom. Song had believed gold would bring him freedom. Not weigh him down, like Chi said, like Nanny was now intimating.

  Upstairs Mr Ebenezer was standing in front of the painting of the goatherd with his back to the room.

  ‘Took your time,’ the old man said without turning around.

  ‘Most people tell me I’m moving too fast.’

  ‘How much ?’

  ‘Seven pounds on me.’

  Mr Ebenezer slapped his hand on his chest. ‘What do you expect me to do with all that ?’

  ‘Take it off me,’ Song said. ‘Right now.’

  Mr Ebenezer looked out of the window. ‘Let’s have a look then.’

  Song pulled an ingot out of the bag. ‘There are fourteen like this.’

  Mr Ebenezer took it in his palms, handling it like a newborn. ‘Twenty-four carats ?’

  Song nodded.

  Mr Ebenezer seemed lost for a minute. He let the weight of the metal rest heavy in his hands.

  ‘I don’t need any money yet,’ Song said.

  ‘Good thing, too,’ Mr Ebenezer said. ‘I’ll need a wheelbarrow to pay for this in paper. You’re going to be the death of me.’

  ‘And me,’ Nanny said, as she walked in the room with a tray of tea. ‘What’s the use of being rich if you’re always worried about dying ?’

  Song smiled at her. ‘I can’t stay, Nanny. I’ve got a wife to see.’

  ‘This is my kind of man,’ Mr Ebenezer said. ‘Sees his buyer before his wife.’

  Nanny put the tray down hard, spilling tea from the spout of the teapot.

  Mr Ebenezer continued to turn the ingot over in his hand. ‘This is no goldmine. It’s an El Dorado.’

  Song left Ebenezer’s to make his way home. It was a short but uneasy journey, with thoughts of his time with Maia playing about in his head. ‘Every man’s entitled to lose his way,’ that’s what Jingy had said after Father Holmes’ death, when Song couldn’t pull himself out of Josie’s. Could Song fall back on that sentiment again ?

  As he approached the house he searched the windows for a movement but did not see anybody. There was a new sign on the gate reading ‘Sugar House’. Hannah and all her thoughtfulness, Song reflected. Reminding him where he came from. That she didn’t care about his past. He walked up the path, studying the changes he knew she would have overseen in the garden. There was every shade of hibiscus, just like there had been in her front yard in Bartica with tangles of bushes in red, apricot and flamingo pink.

  At the end of the path, he pushed open the door. Hannah appeared in the shadows of the hall, dressed in sky-blue. Song saw how her body had changed in his absence. She looked ready to give birth soon. He stepped towards her and she came to him.

  ‘I missed you,’ she said.

  Song buried his face in her neck. He thought of Maia because he was not able not to. Heavily, in the way Chi said gold could weigh a man down. And yet here was Hannah smelling so sweet – of soap and scent. Holding him, speaking to him as softly as ever.

  ‘Every day,’ she added. ‘I missed you every day.’

  ‘Did you ? Say you did.’

  ‘I did. Sometimes feeling afraid, as I do when you’re gone. But also happy knowing you’re doing what you love doing.’

  He held her back to look into her face. ‘I missed your morning smile, your heavy footsteps on the stairs, your mismatched eyes. I love you.’

  Hannah smiled. ‘Still ?’

  Song could see the innocence in her eyes. The trust. ‘Always.’

  She took his hand and rested it on her belly. ‘I have news. The doctor thinks it might be twins.’

  Song felt a fear rise up inside him for Hannah. ‘Two ?’

  She raised two fingers and laughed her melodic laugh. ‘He thinks he can feel two.’

  Song looked at his wife’s radiant face and tried a smile. But he was being carried away to a place where he could see his sister Xiao Mei’s sad little face while his mother shouted at her about the lost brother.

  ‘What is it ?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘Nothing, my love. I just want you to be safe.’

  Hannah’s hand reached up and held Song’s face in her hands. She spoke softly. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Song took one of her hands and pressed something into its palm. She turned it over in her hand. In the dull light it looked like a small black rock.

  ‘What is it ?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s for you,’ Song whispered back. ‘It’s our first diamond.’

  Song stopped at the top of the stairs when he heard the voices in his and Hannah’s bedroom.

  ‘Do you know the name, child ?’ It was Mary Luck speaking. ‘He named it after that girl.’

  Song did not move.

  He heard Hannah’s reply. ‘Yes, Mama, I heard the name.’

  ‘Have you said something ?’ Mary Luck asked.

  His wife’s voice sounded tired. ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Are you planning to ?’

  ‘Yes, Mama, of course.’

  There was silence between the two women.

  Mary Luck’s voice was barely audible. ‘Let it go.’

  ‘You don’t mean that, do you ?’

  ‘Listen to me on this one.’

  ‘You’re asking me not to ask him about it ?’

  Mary Luck’s voice was steady. ‘I am.’

  ‘But – but it’s so obvious.’

  ‘He chose to marry you, not her. She was before your time.’

  ‘I hope so. I don’t know . . .’

  Song wished he could undo what he had done with Maia on this last trip. Had Hannah guessed ? Yet mixed amongst his guilt, his shame, he felt some relief, too. If she knew, she could forgive him.

  ‘I’m warning you, child. Don’t go there.’

  ‘Mama, you scare me when you speak that way.’

  ‘You can put a broken plate back together but you will always be able to see the cracks. It will never be the same again. You bring that up and your marriage will be cracked forever.’

  There was another long pause between the two women. Hannah finally spoke. ‘He could change the name of the mine.’

  ‘He’s a good husband, Hannah. And he’ll be a good father too.’

  ‘But everyone knows he’s named it after her.’

  ‘Is that what this is about ? What everyone else thinks ? Have I taught you nothing ? If that’s your worry then also remember that everyone also knows that he chose you to be his wife, not her.’

  ‘But it’s shattering.’

  Hannah’s words caught Song’s breath. He was heartbroken to be hurting her. It had been so easy to be with Maia but how hard it was now.

  ‘Don’t be dramatic,’ her mother said. ‘Better you’re shattered than the plate. Maintain the sanctity of what you have.’

  ‘You’ve always taught me to stand up for what I believe in.’

  ‘You believe in him. Stand up for what you two have together.’

  ‘He says he still loves me.’

  ‘Of course he does. Hold on to that. The mine is named already. He’s not going to un-name it because you throw a tantrum.’

  There was silence. Song held his breath. He remembered Mr Leigh telling him that women were the wiser ones.

  ‘I just wish he—’

  ‘Don’t wish, Hannah. Forgive him his past without even mentioni
ng it. You’ll be stronger for it.’

  Under his breath Song thanked Mary Luck, and swore to both women he would never visit Maia again. This man, he promised, would stick.

  Among Song’s mail was a letter from Governor Johnson requesting a meeting. It was dated over a month earlier. He immediately sent over Little A with an apology stating that he was now at the governor’s disposal. The governor replied requesting he come to his office at four o’clock that afternoon.

  Song showered and dressed in a suit. The tone of the letter had been perfunctory. He could only guess at what Governor Johnson might want to see him about. There was more than one flashpoint for the pair of them. The church, the land upriver, tax.

  On arrival, the maid showed him to Governor Johnson’s office. Along the corridor were drawings: a scarlet ibis, glossy ibis and green ibis, and one of Song’s favourites, the roseate spoonbill. Jon’s work. Song could still hear Father Holmes telling Jon about the job; he and Jon had been so young then. It felt like another life.

  ‘All grown up, I see,’ Governor Johnson said, as Song walked through the door. He pointed at a chair.

  ‘At some point we do that,’ Song said.

  The governor took a cigarette out of a box. He didn’t offer one to Song. ‘Life’s changed a lot for you, hasn’t it ? The plantation. Shining shoes for a vicar. Why don’t you tell me how you’re making a living these days ?’

  ‘I bought some land, sir. I’m looking for gold, along with most of Bartica.’

  ‘How much have you found ?’

  ‘I was doing all right at the start. Beginner’s luck, perhaps. Now it’s gone a bit quiet.’

  ‘Quiet, eh ? Should I ignore all these stories about a goldmine, then ?’

  ‘A man finds some gold. A town starts talking.’

  ‘You’ve bought fifteen thousand acres.’

  ‘I’m speculating,’ Song said. ‘I bought land because I can read a set of deeds. Most pork-knockers can’t write their own name. If they could they’d be buying land, too.’

  The governor lit his cigarette and took a first draw. ‘Let’s get some numbers down, shall we ? How much gold is coming out each month ?’

  ‘Not enough to warrant the kind of stories that it sounds like you’re hearing,’ Song said.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

  ‘A pound after the first three months.’

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that ? A pound ?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘There’s a law against undeclared gold.’

  ‘I’m declaring it. In Bartica. Ask Edward Hoare.’

  Governor Johnson leaned forward in his seat. ‘I need monthly reports on what’s going on. I’ll be sending a DC. We want to look at workers’ conditions. There’s a big push from London on that right now. We’ve seen it dozens of times. Out of sight, and you start treating people like animals.’

  Song knew how much more he understood than Governor Johnson about workers being treated like animals. Inside he was simmering.

  ‘Send a DC, sir. He’d be most welcome. Or I could take you myself.’

  ‘I want this office to receive monthly reports. Accurate monthly reports.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Father Holmes might have taught you to read and write, but he was a man of the church and not a man of business. This kind of work goes way above your head.’

  Song continued to keep his cool. ‘Father Holmes taught me more than church matters. Please credit him with that.’

  ‘What do you think he’d have thought about you choosing the life of a pork-knocker ?’

  ‘He was the one who introduced me to the interior.’

  ‘Not looking for gold, though.’

  ‘Pork-knocking isn’t just about gold. It’s about the river, the forest.’ Song looked pointedly at the governor. ‘The birds.’

  The governor laughed mockingly. ‘Ah, so that’s it. You go upriver for the birds.’

  ‘It’s part of it.’

  ‘And the rest ? I know the rest.’ The governor paused. ‘I’ll be leaving this all in someone else’s capable hands. I’m heading back to England soon. A Mr Bolton replaces me. He has a formidable reputation.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to meeting him.’

  Song was pleased to see Governor Johnson’s exasperation with him. The man’s tone was becoming increasingly irate. ‘Tell me everyone you are in business with. I want a list.’

  ‘It’s a one-man list. A man called Chi. A pork-knocker from Bartica.’

  ‘I mean here in Georgetown. Where are you selling your gold ?’

  ‘I’m still working on that.’

  ‘I don’t think you have any idea what you’re up against.’ The governor spat out the words.

  Song held his gaze. ‘Perhaps neither of us do.’

  CHAPTER 26

  Hannah was coming to the end of her pregnancy. She had taken to lying down in the afternoons.

  ‘I’m so heavy now, I’m going to take a rest,’ she said to Song and Mary Luck, slipping upstairs after lunch.

  Song was in his study when he heard her call out for help. He met Little A in the hallway. ‘What is it ?’

  Little A was out of breath. ‘We need the doctor.’

  Song could hardly remember leaving the house. The streets were empty as Song ran for a doctor. Only a stray dog wandered into his path. It felt as if he might be the only person left in the entire world. His head was a blur. There were thoughts of his mother and Xiao Song; the babies born down in the darkness of the ship; a mother’s screams; the first yelps of newborns. Song was shaking as he arrived at the Patels’ home. He found both Dr and Mrs Patel there, which momentarily calmed him. But while he waited for them to prepare to leave the house, his fears heightened. He thought about the ship doctor sent down to help the woman bearing twins. The lost twins. The lost mother. He tried to push the sound of her dying out of his mind.

  By the time the three of them arrived at Sugar House, Hannah was in labour. Her groans rose and fell like the evening cicadas. Little A was running up and down the stairs with bowls of boiled water. Mary Luck was mopping the sweat on her daughter’s forehead.

  ‘Baby’s already coming, Hannah,’ Dr Patel said.

  ‘Push with me,’ his wife said.

  Hannah’s deep resonant groans had turned into waves of high-pitched screaming. Song left the room. His whole body had begun to shake. He leaned his head against the frame of the door and held his breath to listen hard while simultaneously trying to block out the sound. He couldn’t bear to see the woman he loved more than anything in the world suffering this way.

  Mrs Patel was speaking softly. ‘Hannah. Listen to me. You know when you stop and say you cannot go on, that is when you must be strong.’

  Song could hear the initial consonant of Mrs Patel’s ‘push, push, push.’ Hannah’s wailing had become unearthly.

  Song could hear the woman on the ship in labour. He could hear the echo of her husband’s howls. An image flashed into his head of Li Bai carrying up the three bodies of the mother and her two small still babies.

  Mrs Patel’s voice brought him back. ‘The baby’s getting tired,’ she said. ‘It has to be this time, Hannah. Once more.’

  Song heard a baby cry and he flung open the door. He looked at Hannah’s face. Her eyes were on the tiny baby in Mary Luck’s arms. Mary Luck was wiping away strands of blood and milky film from its skin.

  Song went to Hannah and grabbed her hand. ‘Are you all right ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank God.’ He buried his face into her neck. Into the smell of her fresh sweat. Her skin was hot and alive. ‘Are you sure ? Tell me you’re sure.’

  ‘We lost one.’

  Song looked again at the baby Hannah’s mother was holding up.

  ‘A boy,’ Mary Luck smiled.

  ‘There was a girl,’ Hannah said. Her voice cracked.

  Song pictured a little girl running through their garden. She twirled around an
d around letting her skirt float out. A daughter lost.

  ‘It’s hard for twins to survive on a first,’ Dr Patel said.

  Song reached out for Hannah’s hand. ‘We have one, Hannah,’ he said, ‘and we have you.’

  They decided to have the christening only a few days later so they could hold the funeral of the baby girl on the same day. Song had been forced to give up on St Andrew’s. They chose St Saviour’s. Song would rather have chosen neither.

  ‘We must christen him, Song,’ Hannah said. ‘Otherwise we will draw even more attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Even if we were to do everything the way Georgetown would like us to, we will always be doing it wrong in some people’s eyes. I can see that now.’

  ‘Well, do it for Mary Luck then. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.’

  Hannah had made him smile. ‘That is a reason,’ Song said.

  They invited their closest friends. Jon and Rose Swire. Mr Ebenezer politely declined the church service but promised to come to the reception afterwards. The Ting-Lees with all their family could almost fill a church themselves. Dr Patel and his wife came, of course. Mr House arrived late and hot. Mr Hing filed quietly into the back. Father Collins conducted the service for both children. The baby was named Phillip Alwin. And then the baby girl, unnamed, was buried. Song closed his eyes as the tiny coffin was lowered into the ground. It was at that moment Phillip began to cry – as if for his sister. Song put his arm around Hannah. Silently he promised her he would take care of their family forever.

  Those first few months Song and Hannah stayed close to home. Sometimes Hannah chose to nurse Phillip in Song’s study, and he read her long passages from her favourite book, Wuthering Heights, as well as the poems of Coleridge, Kipling, and the sonnets of John Donne. When Hannah slept or chose to feed Phillip in their bedroom, Song spent the time alone in his study, declining visitors.

  One evening there was a knock on the frame of his open door.

  ‘Sir, can I trouble you ?’

  Song heard the worry in Little A’s voice. ‘Yes. What is it ?’

  She hesitated at the door. ‘It’s my little brother. I was wondering – he was wondering – if he might come and work at Omaia for you ? He’s here now. Please could he have a word ?’