Song

by Michelle Jana Chan

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Fill it up. That’s what you know how to do.’

  Song breathed out her name with a sigh. ‘Nina.’

  ‘Yes ?’

  ‘I want to say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry ?’ Nina repeated. She sounded disgusted.

  ‘What do you want me to say ?’

  ‘What do you want to say ?’

  ‘I want to say I’m sorry I can’t bring him back. Above everything, I wish I could bring him back.’

  ‘Broken promises. Lies.’

  ‘I know you don’t want me here. But I’m here to make good on the duty he had as a father to look after his family.’

  ‘Blood money.’

  ‘No, Nina. It’s given with love.’

  ‘I don’t want your money-given-with-love.’

  Song looked at this bright, brazen, singular woman standing in the sunlight in front of him and wished she had been born in a different time and a different place. A time in the future when it would be easier to be the woman she was.

  ‘I’m doing what Chi would have wanted me to do,’ Song said.

  ‘You have no idea what he would have wanted.’

  ‘He’d have wanted you to have a good shot at life. You can do anything you want. I know you can.’

  ‘Like what ? Like find myself a pork-knocker, make a baby and wait around for him to come back so I can smile at his little trinkets and shout and yell and starve and make another baby until he comes back again to make another baby, and another, and another. Until he doesn’t come back.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be that way.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be that way for you. You fill up the biscuit tin. You won’t buy me.’

  She was right, Song thought. Filling up a biscuit tin. Leaving a family without a father.

  ‘I know what it’s like to lose a father,’ Song said. ‘Believe that, at least.’

  ‘I don’t have to believe anything.’

  Song heard footsteps. ‘Are you both okay ?’ It was Hannah’s voice.

  ‘Yes,’ Song said.

  Nina snorted. ‘Are you ?’

  ‘We’ll come back another time,’ Song said.

  Nina called after them. ‘You’re not welcome back. You got my father’s blood on your hands, Song Holmes. You’ll carry that all your days.’

  Song and Hannah withdrew. Outside, in the heat of the day, they walked along familiar roads, but could take no comfort in them.

  ‘She’s grieving hard,’ Hannah said.

  ‘I once promised her I’d ask Chi if she could go upriver. I never did. Mostly because I forgot. But also because I knew he’d say no.’

  ‘It’s not your fault Chi died. Accidents happen. Even horrific ones like this one.’

  ‘I’ll carry it all my days, she said. I think she’s right.’

  ‘Time will soften how you feel now, Song. You gave those nineteen men opportunity, that’s what you did. And I bet you none of the others’ll quit because of this. They could have done small-time pork-knocking but they wanted to do something bigger, something greater. Commission on top of a wage, too. There’ll still be a line of men wanting to work at the mine, in spite of this. Everyone wants to work for you.’

  ‘I’m listening to you, Hannah,’ Song said. ‘And wanting to believe everything you tell me.’ But he could not help remembering Nina’s words the loudest.

  As Hannah left in Mimi for Georgetown, Song went to the place he always sought in hard times. Ruby Lou’s cast no judgement on the men who walked through its doors.

  Ruby Lou was on the porch with some of the girls. She beckoned to him to sit down.

  ‘Came here to pay some debts,’ Song said.

  ‘You got no debts here.’

  ‘Half of the miners had no known next of kin. There are women here who deserve to share their last wage.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Song Holmes,’ Dolly said.

  ‘Not today I’m not.’

  ‘Sure you are. You pay debts that aren’t even yours.’

  ‘They are mine now.’

  ‘We miss you here in Bartica,’ Sugar said. ‘When you coming back ? When you coming back to hear your beloved B Boys ?’

  Song felt himself breaking up inside. He knew why he had really come here. To cry.

  ‘You all go inside,’ Ruby said to the girls, ushering them away with a wave of the hand. She drew Song to one side of the porch. ‘You don’t go feeling bad about nothing, Song Holmes, if that’s what you’re doing. Those men died seeking a fortune. With or without you, they’d have gone out looking. You either die in a mine or die washed up on some greasy shore without two bits to rub together. It don’t really matter. That’s the life of a pork-knocker. Short, but punctured with sweetness. That’s the life they choose. Upriver I know it ain’t a picnic but it ain’t that bad neither, or you wouldn’t keep going up all the time, gold or no gold. No responsibilities. No women bugging. Nothing to do but a bit of digging in the sand and making a fire to cook up some fat labba. Then swinging back to town pretending to be rich for a day or two while talking about the hard times. Yeah, right. I’m smarter than that. You gotta end up dead doing something and they ended up dead doing something. Nobody to blame for that. Least of all you, Song Holmes. You’re the best man this town saw.’

  Song shook his head. ‘Don’t, Ruby.’

  ‘Best man this town saw. I’ll say it again. You come over every time you need reminding. Come and listen to some fine music and I’ll make it my business to have you buy me a drink and remind you what’s what.’

  Song feigned a smile. ‘What’d I do without you ? Don’t go dying on me now.’

  ‘What in high heaven you saying things like that to a fine woman like me ?’

  ‘Everyone I love dies.’

  ‘I ain’t dying. Hannah ain’t dying. Mary Luck sure ain’t dying. Even Jingy ain’t dying, though she’s older than the trees.’

  ‘Are you never short of an answer for me ?’

  ‘I’m short of many things but answers one thing I ain’t short of.’

  Song needed a thousand answers, but the most pressing was how to safeguard the mine. It would be under even closer watch after the accident. Song needed to find a way forward to protect his business, to protect his workers.

  CHAPTER 29

  Back in Georgetown Song had received a letter asking him to present himself at Governor’s House. He knew what this meeting would be about.

  ‘Could it really be nineteen dead ?’ The governor said. ‘I made them repeat the number because I didn’t believe it could be right ?’

  ‘It’s a great tragedy.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how insincere that sounds when it comes from the mouth of the man benefiting from the toil of these poor men who gave their lives to line your pockets.’

  Song was outraged by his remark, but wasn’t about to show his real emotions. ‘That is far from the truth. And those men would have agreed with me if they were here to speak for themselves. We all take our chances. They had a good wage. They knew the risks.’

  ‘Is that what you want me to put in my report ? Song Holmes says “they knew the risks”. That’s it. Until the next nineteen bodies get pulled out. Convenient, isn’t it, that they’re not here to speak for themselves ?’

  ‘They earned a good wage. Fifty per cent higher than the government wage for indentured labour, by the way, and with commission on top. They chose to work for me. They signed up to the job. I have a waiting list as long as my arm of other young men who want to work at Omaia.’

  Governor Bolton bristled. ‘You sound on the defensive.’

  ‘Does this office always file a report after deaths in the workplace ? Because if it does, there is a report I’d like to see. You probably don’t know the name of a boy called Jinda. He was a friend of mine at Diamond. We worked alongside each other. One day he was sick. He didn’t have the strength even to lift his machete.’ Song’s voice was calm and in control. ‘For that, he was be
aten and drowned in a canal.’

  A heavy silence hung between the two men.

  Song could recall a similar conversation between Father Holmes and Mr Carmichael when Father Holmes was trying to keep Song at the vicarage. ‘I’m sure you keep a firm hand,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve had word that the children working at Diamond are being beaten.’ Song was trying, like Father Holmes had, to give a voice to the powerless.

  ‘Let’s focus on the matter in hand, shall we ? Not only do I have reports of terrible working conditions at Omaia, I now have hard evidence.’

  ‘Launch an investigation. Speak to the families of the dead men. Come and see the mine. See for yourself how my wages compare to, say, the wages of the boys working at Diamond. Even today, it is a disgrace there.’

  ‘You think you can buy loyalty with commission or compensation ? British law does not tolerate inhumane working conditions. These nineteen men had rights. They don’t die in a mine without a serious investigation. A mine that is helping to make its owner rich. A man who is not paying taxes. I know about rich men. What do rich men want ? They want to be richer. They want to make more money, even if that means breaking the law. You break the law and I’ll shut you down.’

  Song waited until the governor caught his breath. ‘Is that a threat ?’

  ‘That’s probably the first bit of sense you’ve made today.’

  ‘I’d like to get the details of these workers’ rights, sir, so I can be sure I’m doing everything correctly.’

  ‘I thought you were sure. Suddenly you’re not so sure ? Do I detect some anxiety in your voice ?’

  ‘I’d like to compare practices at Diamond and Omaia.’

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have books on how to make a civil society civil. That is something which can’t be taught. I know that might be hard for you people to understand.’

  Song stood up to leave. ‘Was there anything else ?’

  ‘You’ll fall, mark my words. I’ve all the time in the world to wait and watch you fall.’

  Song swore to himself he would never give the governor the pleasure of that.

  Song knew he had a lot to do. He had to think up a clever way to protect the business, to protect his workers.

  He sat in his study, deep in thought, surrounded by the influences of Father Holmes and wishing he was still around to give him counsel. There were all the books they had read together, stirring up memories of them studying alongside each other, turning the globe as they explored the countries of the world, questioning, debating.

  Song looked across the room at the opposite wall and Father Holmes’ painting of Wales. White smudges of sheep dotted a green hilly landscape. The black figure of a shepherd on the edge of a field. Song felt an empty ache. He wanted to watch over his workers the same way he had been cared for, looking out for the men risking their lives to better themselves.

  He knew he must act quickly. He sent out messages inviting to Sugar House anyone who benefited from Omaia, including Mr Ebenezer and Mr Hing. He also called on some of his most closely trusted friends: Jon Swire, Mr Ting-Lee, Dr Patel and Mr House.

  ‘Gentlemen. As you will have guessed this is more than just a social gathering. Although I hope it is that, too.’

  There was a murmur of pleasantries around the room.

  ‘It is a more serious matter,’ Song continued. ‘For a long time now I’ve witnessed aspects of life in Georgetown which I haven’t liked and haven’t believed to be fair. Perhaps you have had similar sentiments at some time or another. What have we done about it ? Nothing. It seems impossible to change things. So we let life continue the way it has for decades. Or, gentlemen, we reach a point when we say “enough”. When we call a meeting of close trusted friends.’

  The room was silent. There was an uneasiness in the air.

  ‘I have a question for you. Is there anything wrong with the sports club ?’

  ‘Not enough domino tables ?’ Mr House volunteered.

  ‘I don’t know what it is but I’m sure I can smell trouble,’ Mr Ebenezer said.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it,’ Song continued. ‘We can’t become members. I am going to build a new club – open to anyone.’

  ‘Told you I could smell trouble.’

  ‘Never were one to choose an easy life for yourself,’ Jon said. ‘You have my support, of course,’ he added. ‘But it won’t go down well.’

  ‘Take out the politics, everyone,’ Song said. ‘Think of it only as an issue of access.’

  Mr House nodded. ‘I like it.’

  Mr Ting-Lee smiled. ‘I’m in.’

  ‘Trouble, trouble, trouble,’ Mr Ebenezer mumbled.

  ‘Exactly,’ Song said. ‘And that’s why I’m enlisting your support ahead of time.’

  ‘What kind of trouble ?’ Mr Hing asked.

  ‘They’ll try to stop me buying the land; try to disallow racing on certain days; try to refuse the bar a licence. They’ll try any means to stop it happening or to close it down. But we must do this, gentlemen. And I need your support. This is bigger than just one person. The club will be owned by a foundation – and I want you to be on the board. A club supported by everyone and open to anyone. We all know there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.’

  Mr Ebenezer made a strange noise.

  ‘Mr Ebenezer ?’

  ‘It doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘They’ll think you’re trying to make a point,’ Dr Patel said.

  ‘I am,’ he said. ‘That in itself is a reason to go ahead. But the real reason we are doing this is because we want a place to relax, a place to play a game of tennis, a place to gather. Which we do not have at present.’

  ‘I’m in.’ It was Mr Hing.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘This is not as simple as putting up a building,’ Mr Ebenezer said. ‘You’re taking on the town. That’s what you’re doing.’

  ‘If that’s how they want to see it, fine. But that’s not how we see it.’

  ‘How can we not support this ?’ Mr Ting-Lee asked the room.

  Dr Patel nodded. ‘How can we not ?’

  Mr Ebenezer frowned. ‘I don’t even play tennis.’

  ‘Then it’s not about tennis for you,’ Song said. ‘But you’d like a place to meet friends, to relax.’

  Mr Ebenezer was agitated. ‘Haven’t relaxed since I met you.’

  Song remembered Father Holmes teaching him how to argue a point. ‘We’ve got to do this, gentlemen. It’s the only way forward. And since we’re in the mood for change, I want to propose we also establish a lodge. As leading members of the business community of this town, I invite you all to be partners. It will be called the Silent Temple, because what we say amongst ourselves will not go further. The idea is simple: when it comes to business, we will think of each other first. We will pull together when times are hard.’ Song remembered how Jingy had put it. ‘Not breaking the chain, that’s the thing,’ he said, echoing her words.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Mr Ebenezer said. ‘Protection, that’s what we need.’

  ‘Protection may be part of it,’ Song said. ‘There will also be a social welfare fund to help families who fall on hard times and to provide education for children who need support. I’m sure we’ll have other ideas, too. What we need now is a place to draw up plans. The club, the lodge, it’s all part of the same vision.’

  There was unanimous support.

  ‘You bring business into it and you got me, too,’ said Mr Ebenezer.

  The seven men talked late into the night. Mr Hing was commissioned to design a seal for the new organisation. Song asked Mr House to start brokering the purchase of land to the north of Georgetown for the sports club. Mr Ting-Lee said his brother would be interested in tendering for the building contract. There was conviction and fear in the room in equal measure. It felt like a new beginning. Song remembered the other times he’d had this feeling: leaving his family to board the boat, moving to Bartica with Father Holmes, bringing Hannah and
Mary Luck to Georgetown. Moments of change when he forced himself to look forwards, rather than reflecting on a more familiar past. He was going to build a new life for him and his family.

  The idea of the club remained a secret until the land was purchased and construction began. Then the news swirled around town.

  Father Francis stopped Song when he passed him in the street. ‘I hear you’re very busy on the north side of town.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You’re building something ?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What ?’

  ‘When it’s ready, you will be invited to come and see it for yourself. It will be open to anyone.’

  Father Francis was growing exasperated. ‘What will ?’

  Song had teased out their exchange, but was now glad to be blunt. ‘It’s a new church.’

  Father Francis looked flustered. ‘Whatever for ?’

  ‘I would think you of all people, Father, would know the answer to that.’

  ‘You need permission for these kinds of things.’

  ‘Find me a reason why I should not build a church.’

  ‘Too many churches can cause divisions. We have plenty of churches in Georgetown already. There would need to be a very good reason why we need another.’

  ‘I have a very good reason.’

  Father Francis’ tone was sharp. ‘Churches aren’t like shops. You can’t just open one. You need to be able to show real commitment to the Christian faith. You need to show you can provide . . .’

  Song interrupted. ‘The reason I am building a church, Father, is because some of the churches in Georgetown are closed to me and – as I have been told – people like me. This church will be open to anyone who has the courage to walk through its doors.’

  Song wondered what Father Holmes might have said. He suspected Father Holmes had known Song didn’t believe in the ways of the church, but he hoped the vicar also knew that he shared many of his values.