Song

by Michelle Jana Chan

  ‘Name the day,’ Edward said.

  Song exited the bar. At the door to the club there were two men on their way in. Song recognised their faces from somewhere, St Andrew’s perhaps, but did not know who they were.

  He tried to pass them, but one of them veered into his path. ‘Who the devil are you ?’

  Song looked him straight in the eye. ‘Song Holmes.’ He did not offer his hand.

  The second man nudged his friend. ‘With the goldmine.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn,’ said the first. ‘What the devil are you doing here ?’

  ‘I’m a guest of Mr Edward Hoare and I came to have a drink,’ Song said.

  ‘Are you leaving ?’

  ‘By chance, I am.’

  ‘A good thing too.’

  Song tipped the bellman heavily.

  ‘Money doesn’t clean your skin, you know,’ one called out from behind him.

  When Song arrived home Hannah was waiting in the front room reading. She was so engrossed in her book that she did not notice him walk through the door. He put his arms around her from behind the chair.

  ‘Scared me.’ She smacked his hand. ‘How was it ?’

  ‘You would have hated the smell of the carpet,’ Song said. He squeezed his wife’s shoulders.

  ‘Did you have any trouble ?’

  ‘A couple of people seemed to take offence at me being there.’

  Hannah turned to look up at Song. ‘Who exactly ?’

  ‘I don’t know their names.’

  ‘Was there a scene ?’

  Song breathed heavily in Hannah’s ear. ‘You sound enthralled at the thought.’

  She laughed. ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘But I would like to hear something more than “we drank whisky”, “we talked about cricket”. Was the governor there ?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘The new one ?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Who else ?’

  ‘Everybody. At least everybody who thinks they’re somebody.’

  Hannah laughed again. ‘And the scene ?’

  Song impersonated their accent. ‘What the devil are you doing at our devilish club ?’

  ‘Did they really say that to you ?’

  ‘We expected it.’

  ‘Did we ?’

  Song slammed her book shut.

  She gave him a half-smile. ‘What ?’

  ‘Stop reading.’

  ‘Little A has left you some dinner.’

  ‘I don’t want dinner. I just want you.’

  Song wrote a letter to Mr Oakden, the secretary of the British Club, and applied for membership. He put down Edward Hoare as his reference. He also sent a cheque with the balance to build the swimming pool.

  He never received a reply, but the cheque was cashed.

  The next week Governor Bolton called Song to his office.

  Song walked towards Governor’s House, wondering if this would be different to his last visit with Governor Johnson. Governor Bolton hadn’t been in his job long enough for much to be known about him. Rumours were that he was worse than the last, but that was almost always the assumption.

  Song was made to wait nearly an hour before he was let into the study. Governor Bolton didn’t look up for another ten minutes. He put down his pen deliberately before raising his eyes.

  ‘You’re here because I have deep concerns about working conditions at your mine,’ the new governor said. ‘I am hearing harrowing stories about long hours and low pay. Here at Governor House we take very seriously the welfare of labourers. If you are breaching any of our rules and regulations your mine will be shut down.’

  Song felt his body stiffen. ‘Any harrowing stories are gossip and lies.’

  ‘Are you doubting my sources ?’

  ‘Absolutely. My team at Omaia take the greatest care of our employees. I have made that a top priority.’

  ‘That is not what I am hearing.’

  ‘I challenge you, sir, to find one man there who is not satisfied with either the conditions or the pay.’

  ‘I don’t think you are in any place to be doing the challenging. This is your first warning. I am watching your operation very closely.’

  ‘I welcome the scrutiny. As I explained to your predecessor, I would be delighted to host a DC up at the mine to carry out an inspection. That is, if and when there is a DC finally appointed to Bartica.’

  The governor’s surprised expression was a giveaway; he probably had no idea there wasn’t a DC in Bartica.

  ‘Alternatively, or additionally, I can furnish you with information on any aspect of my business, including pay and lengths of shifts,’ Song added.

  ‘A man with your history does not lecture a man like me. I know your background. You’re a plantation worker.’

  ‘I was once a plantation worker, yes. And if you want to know about harrowing working conditions, I can tell you first hand. I could recount some stories about long hours and low pay, and worse, on plantations run by co-operatives of the British government. I know of people still in charge of plantations who should be in jail.’

  The governor’s eyes narrowed on Song. ‘Watch your mouth. I’ll shut you down.’

  Song looked back at the governor. ‘If you find a legitimate reason to shut me down, I will not object.’ His voice was firm. ‘That is how confident I feel about the way I operate my business.’

  ‘We will see who wins in the end.’

  ‘It was a Welshman – a man of high ideals and strong values – who taught me to speak out when I saw something wrong or unfair. And I will.’

  The governor laughed. ‘Do you think anyone cares what you think is wrong or unfair ?’

  Song got up to go. ‘Is there anything else ?’

  ‘There is. I hear you’re donating to the racecourse. New stables, is it ?’

  ‘My donation is subject to receiving a second-tier box.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. Well, I thought I’d explain something to you. Donations are not a business deal. Not in the world I inhabit.’

  ‘I see,’ Song said. ‘Then how would you suggest I go about securing a second-tier box ?’

  ‘Try as I might, I can’t think of a way. It sounds like you’ll have to watch from ground level like everybody else.’

  ‘Not like everybody else.’ Song opened the door to leave. ‘Do let me know if you think of a way around this inconvenience. In the meantime, I count your interest in my business as a small victory.’

  The next morning Song raised an idea over breakfast. ‘I had a thought.’

  ‘What thought might that be ?’ Hannah mused.

  Mary Luck had picked up a sponge finger soaked it in hot milk and began feeding it to baby Phillip. ‘Sounds like trouble,’ she said.

  ‘To build a new sports club,’ Song said.

  ‘Trouble,’ Mary Luck repeated.

  ‘What’s wrong with the one here ?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘What’s wrong with the one here is that we can’t join it. We can only visit as guests of a member.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘True.’

  ‘So this would be a sports club for anyone who wants to join.’

  ‘I like it,’ Hannah said.

  ‘I don’t,’ Mary Luck said.

  Song smiled. ‘One out of two is better than my average.’

  ‘Older is wiser,’ Mary Luck said.

  ‘Where would it be ?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘Land is cheaper to the north. There would be a running track, tennis courts, a cricket pitch and . . .’

  ‘And ?’

  ‘And a racetrack!’

  ‘But we can already go to the racetrack.’

  ‘But you can’t see anything.’

  ‘Trouble.’ Mary Luck said again. ‘What do you want all that nonsense for ? Wasting money on land. Encouraging gambling. A racetrack, you say ? I fear it’s going to become a habit with you two.’

  ‘Mama, we’ve only been once and that was over a year ago.’ Hannah looked though
tful. ‘I like the idea, Song, but Mama is right. They won’t like it.’

  ‘I did knock some sense into her after all,’ Mary Luck said to baby Phillip, as if there was nobody else in the room listening. ‘Song Holmes will get us all thrown out of this town and I’ll be forced to move back to Bartica, this time carrying Georgetown rocks and two chickens more disoriented than I am.’

  Song laughed. ‘I’m not doing this to make trouble. I’m doing it because I want you to be able to see a race.’

  Mary Luck snorted. ‘That is the last thing I want to see right now. Just give me another grandchild and this old woman will be happy.’

  Hannah held up a pine tart to Song. ‘Want one ?’

  ‘A child, or a pine tart ?’

  Hannah blushed. ‘Actually, I think I’m expecting.’

  Tears unexpectedly came to Song’s eyes. He moved over to Hannah’s side of the table and held her close. ‘I love you,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘Hallelujah,’ Mary Luck cried out. ‘I’ll see another grandchild before my time’s up.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Mama,’ Hannah said.

  ‘I’m not going to last forever.’

  Hannah turned back to Song. ‘Perhaps you should also build a church for the christening, if you really want to take on this town.’

  Song nodded. ‘There’s a thought.’ He knew what Father Holmes would have thought about that. He flung his doors open wide to anyone. Song could do the same.

  CHAPTER 28

  Song heard the news from Fowl Man, who was on the dock at Parika, before he even reached Bartica.

  ‘I got news I think you ain’t gonna know,’ Fowl Man said.

  ‘What’s that ?’

  ‘You don’t know, do you ?’

  ‘I don’t know until you tell me what you know.’

  ‘They found another seam. All of Bartica’s talking about it.’

  Song felt a tremor of excitement pass through him. But he also felt an unexpected trepidation; with each success would come greater scrutiny of his business. There were new risks associated with finding another seam. He was conscious of the resentment he was generating. There were those who wanted him to fail, or more extremely who wanted him gone.

  He set off immediately, skipping Bartica and travelling through the night by a slender new moon. As he arrived he noticed some changes. There was another jetty. More boats than he remembered were tied up. Camp had swelled with more outbuildings and storage areas. The scar in the land had widened. Most of the workers were not in camp, but down the mine. Yet Song could still sense the rising fever at this latest find. Some came up to him to shake his hand. Others were too nervous to approach and watched from a distance as he moved about the camp.

  He was told Chi was underground inspecting the new string, so Song took himself across to the office. He opened a ledger. As he turned the first page he heard the deep rumble beneath his feet. There were shouts outside. He flung open the door. Men were running towards the mine. A giant cloud of dust hung outside the opening.

  Song didn’t want to believe what he knew had happened. He caught a man by the wrist as he ran past him. He recognised him as Eldo, one of the first men they’d hired.

  ‘What is it ?’ Song asked him. ‘What happened ?’

  ‘A tunnel’s collapsed,’ Eldo replied.

  Someone yelled. ‘Do a count!’

  ‘Get everyone out!’

  ‘Do a count first,’ Eldo cried.

  ‘Everyone to the huts.’

  There were men already scrambling out of the opening coughing. They looked like ghosts in the fine dust. Song could barely distinguish one from another. He shook one. ‘Where’s Chi ?’

  The man shook his head and pointed down the mine. Then his legs buckled under him.

  ‘Fetch some water,’ Song shouted to the others.

  Another man came out choking. Song could see the fear and confusion in his wide eyes, but he shook him in desperation. ‘Did you see Chi ?’ he pleaded.

  The man shrugged.

  ‘Which tunnel were you in ?’

  Another man answered for him. ‘I think it was three. The new one.’

  Everybody was shouting in the confusion.

  ‘Start digging.’

  ‘Which is it ?’

  ‘Tunnel two.’

  ‘No, it’s three.’

  Song grabbed Eldo’s shoulder and turned him around to face him. ‘Do the damn count,’ he said. His voice cracked as he spoke. ‘Send me four teams of ten as soon as you get the first names. We need to work out which tunnel it is.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Eldo raised his voice above the noise and confusion. ‘Everyone by the new huts. We do the count first. Then we dig.’

  Song’s hands were shaking as he scrambled towards the mine opening. He was shouting at the men to get to the huts but there were brothers and fathers and friends down there and everybody wanted to start digging.

  ‘When you’re counted you can come back,’ Song called out. ‘We need to know which tunnel it is. And we need to know how many are missing.’

  Missing. The word echoed around his head. His father missing. All the men from the village. Father Holmes missing. Mr Leigh missing. He went to the opening of the shaft. There was too much dust to see beyond an arm’s length.

  Eldo had been quick. The first team of ten were already back from the huts and at Song’s side.

  ‘Get your shovels,’ Song said. ‘Follow me.’ He pointed at one man. ‘You stay and lead the second group in. Bring barrows to take out the rocks. When I say I want carpenters, you send them in.’

  Song led the dig. They worked as if they were fighting a war. The air was stagnant with dust. They wheezed and coughed. Their eyes watered. Every few minutes Song told everyone to shut up. They stopped their work and held their breath to listen. Nothing. Nothing yet. Song imagined Chi down there in the dark. Choking on the dust. Desperate for a drink. Running out of air. Dead Man’s Bend, that’s what he’d called this place. Was that an omen ? He’d taken a life. Was a life being taken from him ?

  A message came from Eldo. ‘It’s tunnel three, sir.’

  ‘How deep ?’ Song asked.

  ‘Forty feet to the first level. Ten feet down to the second.’

  ‘How many ?’

  ‘Nineteen, sir.’

  The number was far higher than Song had imagined. ‘Keep digging.’

  Nobody flagged. Song also pushed his body hard, thrusting in his shovel, feeling the resistance shudder through him. It was like being back on the plantation again. The same movement after the same movement, like they’d been doing it all their lives.

  ‘We must reach them before it gets dark,’ Song said.

  They worked in shifts, removing rocks, then letting the carpenters move in with supports. There was a heavy rain shower, which made it harder to work. They dug more frantically as the light began to fade.

  ‘Get the lamps ready,’ Eldo said.

  Through the night progress was slower. A message came back from the head of the dig. They had found the first body. Dawn was slipping into the sky. A man was carried out. His arms hung down by his sides. Song knew it was Chi. His body was covered in thick grey dust and his face was battered. Song took him up in his arms like a broken lover. He felt his own chest crack. He remembered Chi’s words. ‘Too much gold can weigh a man down,’ and Song wished he had listened.

  There had never been a funeral like it in Bartica. The town was never short of untimely deaths but there wasn’t always a body to put in the ground. A send-off was usually played out in a bar, a toast to a life cut short, rarely well lived, more likely wasted.

  But this was different. All nineteen bodies were to be buried in St Ethelbert’s cemetery on the same day. The mourners travelled like rivers of black towards the church. Even the children realised they must be quiet and padded alongside their parents with worried looks on their faces. It was an unfamiliar silence for Bartica. Only the birds continued to si
ng.

  There was not enough room in the churchyard for everyone. They gathered in the streets and strained to hear Father Lovett’s service. He read out the names of the men and gave thanks for their lives. There was no burial. Their bodies had already been interred because of the heat. Song felt the grief rising up in him. He had lost his partner. He had lost nineteen men who called him their boss. He reached for Hannah’s arm to steady himself. ‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘Lean on me.’

  After the funeral they stopped by the families of the dead men. During their visits some of the widows even offered comfort to Song and Hannah. Song passed to the widows brown envelopes thick with money. It didn’t feel right, it felt cheap, but he knew they needed it. A body in the ground, and a brown envelope of money.

  Chi’s house was the hardest call. Hannah put her arms around Yan and she didn’t pull away. ‘I’m sorry,’ Hannah said.

  ‘I asked too much of him, Yan,’ Song said, ‘of everyone. I am deeply sorry for that. “Too much gold can weigh a man down”, he once told me. I should have listened.’

  Yan said nothing in return. The children hung back in the shadows, like the first time Song met them.

  ‘You’re family to us, Yan,’ Hannah said. ‘You know that.’

  ‘Chi was a better partner than anyone could have wished for,’ Song added.

  Yan smeared tears from her face. ‘There were better husbands, but he was the one I had.’ She waved her hand around her. ‘And the father of all these.’

  The children were close by. Bibi ran to her. Yan caught her and lifted her up on her lap. The little girl touched the tears on her mother’s cheeks.

  The rest also moved in closer. Only Nina held back.

  ‘We’re all broken up,’ Yan said. ‘Nothing you can do about that.’

  ‘If you need anything . . .’ Song couldn’t finish his sentence.

  ‘I know.’ Yan was perfunctory.

  Song did not want to talk about food or money in front of the children but he wanted to tell Yan she’d want for nothing. He remembered too well how it was to be hungry. A burning hunger kicked him in the belly, even after all those years. He remembered sitting around the fire, poking at embers, with not enough rice to go around. While the women talked Song slipped into the kitchen. He pulled down the red biscuit tin and filled it with money. As he did he caught sight of Nina standing on the back step. She made him feel like a thief.