‘Who told you all of this ?’ Song asked.
Little A took a letter out of her pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Song. ‘Signed by Mr Carmichael. The boss. Doesn’t say anything about the grave but the boy who delivered it told me it’s a real cemetery. Course it would have been nicer to have him here in town but Mr Carmichael writes we can come by.’
Song scanned the page and handed the letter to Hannah. He felt the cover of the book of history lifting, and a decision being made inside. He left the room without another word and went to his study. His breathing had quickened. He thought of Jesus, of Kiddo. He pulled out his shirt and reached behind to run his fingers over the skin of his back. He felt the ridges of scars: smooth soft stripes and a puckering at the edges. There was little sensation now. His back could feel nothing of his hands.
Song was waiting in his study. The hours were passing slowly. There was a tap on the shutter. Song went to it and levered it open. A squeak of wood on wood.
‘I’m Booker,’ the man said.
That was the right name. Bronco had informed Song that Booker could do whatever was needed. Song didn’t know if this was the same man who had gotten rid of Kiddo, and he didn’t want to.
‘There’s a grave at Diamond,’ Song said to him. ‘It’s new. The soil will be fresh. A young boy’s buried there. About twelve years old. I need you to dig it up. Do it tonight. I want to know how he was killed. Look for any marks on him. Rebury him at St Saviour’s.’
Booker returned in the early hours, as it was getting light. Song was still up; he heard the same tap on the shutter.
Song opened it. ‘Yes ?’
‘The body’s rotting but I could see the marks. Smashed up bad. Battered to death.’
Song drew a long breath. It was by no means the first time he had wanted someone dead. He thought back again to his time on the Dartmouth. Willing two people to die every night so he could head up the ladder with Li Bai in the morning. He had been a boy then, and unknowing, forgivable. But then there was Jesus; dead, knowingly killed. Two wrongs. Was that unforgivable ? And Kiddo, too. Now, Mr Carmichael.
A few days later Father Collins received a letter from Mr Carmichael, which he showed to Song. Mr Carmichael was furious about the removal of Tots’ body and his reburial in St Saviour’s cemetery. He said the dead boy had been buried on private property. The act was theft, he said, and whoever had removed the body was also guilty of trespassing. In the last line, Mr Carmichael said he would not take it further if the vicar agreed to draw a line under this very unfortunate affair. Nobody should mention it again, he said.
‘Don’t reply,’ Song said. ‘All I’ve done is right a wrong.’
The last time Song had seen Mr Carmichael was at the service at St Andrew’s. He was standing between his wife and grown-up daughters. Song pushed the image out of his mind.
News of the accident spread quickly across town. Mr Carmichael had been found by the side of a road near the plantation with a broken neck and a blow to the head. His horse was whinnying nearby. The planter who first came upon the scene said Mr Carmichael must have been thrown. His body lay twisted on the ground.
Rumours had already started circulating. After church the following Sunday, it was all anybody could speak about.
‘Dangerous business riding in the dark,’ Mr Ting-Lee said. ‘Always prefer to walk myself. Especially after a drink or two.’
‘I did hear that the coroner noticed a strong smell of whisky on his breath,’ Mrs Ting-Lee said. ‘Not that he wrote that on the certificate.’
Father Collins had joined them. ‘Whisky on his breath ? So it was an accident ?’
‘Ooh, what are you suggesting, Father ?’ Mrs Ting-Lee asked. ‘Murder ?’
‘The man had enemies, that’s for sure,’ Mr Ting-Lee said.
‘Did he ?’ Mrs Ting-Lee asked. ‘Like who ?’
‘Anyone who had ever worked at Diamond. Isn’t that right, Song ?’
Hannah shot him a glance.
‘Men in business always have enemies,’ Song said.
‘Did you hear the wife had the horse shot ?’ Mrs Ting-Lee said. ‘She and the girls are returning to England with the next boat.’
‘Probably the best thing,’ Father Collins said. ‘Too many memories here.’
‘Too many memories,’ Song repeated.
Hannah looked at Song. Song knew she knew.
Song withdrew to his study. He was tired. Hannah had told the children to be especially quiet and the house felt still and lonely.
He heard a soft knock on the door. Hannah came in with the front of her skirt gathered together as a bowl. Inside the cover of cloth were Brazil nuts. She let them fall on to his desk.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Hannah said.
‘I’m fine.’
She shook her head. ‘Can we not talk ?’
She picked up a Brazil nut and cracked it in a vice. It splintered open. She handed a piece to Song. ‘We can’t be as bad as them.’
‘As bad as them ? That, Hannah, we are not.’
‘Don’t let them change us. I don’t want you to change.’
‘I’m not changing. This has always been me. I fight back.’
‘There are so many ways to fight. This is not the way Father Holmes taught you.’
‘I know.’ Song thought back to his years with Father Holmes. He did fight back. He did speak out. But he didn’t kill.
‘What would he have done ?’ Hannah asked.
‘I’m no saint. I’ve never pretended to be.’
‘If you choose this path, where will it take us ?’
Song felt like he was on that path already, a path that had already taken him to some dark places. Yet oddly, he didn’t feel like a murderer or a cheat or a sinner. ‘Sometimes wrong and right can be the same thing,’ he said.
‘It won’t bring Tots back,’ she said.
‘It won’t bring Jinda back either. But now no one else is going to die at Diamond.’
Hannah cracked open another nut. ‘I don’t want you to go forgetting who you are.’
‘This is who I am.’
‘This is not the Song I know.’
Song could see the pain on Hannah’s face. He bent down to pick up the stray nut on the floor. ‘I need to head back up to Bartica and check on things.’
Hannah nodded. ‘I know.’
‘It’s already been a couple months.’
‘I know how long it’s been.’
Hannah leaned on Song’s desk and their eyes met at eye level. He wanted to say sorry, but he wasn’t sorry, and he stopped himself from telling a lie like that.
He reached for her hand; she let him take it and Song brought it to his lips.
CHAPTER 33
The first thing Song did when he arrived in Bartica was to visit Josie’s. It had been a long time since the day he promised himself never to walk through their door again. But he wanted to make this last visit to see Maia to explain, not just disappear.
‘Maia. I came to tell you I can’t see you any more.’
‘You’re seeing me now, ain’t you ?’
‘From now.’
‘You don’t want me any more ?’
‘I can’t. That’s all.’
‘Have a baby with me then. One more time to have a baby together.’
‘Maia, I can’t see you. Let alone have a baby. What are you thinking ?’
‘I’m saying ain’t it time I had a chil’? ’
‘If you want a child you should find yourself a man and start a family the proper way. You deserve no less.’
‘You been with me ’bout all my life. Making sweet love to me.’
‘I’ve been coming to you and leaving you, Maia. That’s what I’ve been doing. I’m not proud of that. I’m sorry.’
‘Aw, Song, don’t be so hard on me.’
‘That’s how it’s been.’
‘It wouldn’t be no different. Just that there’d be a baby.’
‘I can’t have a b
aby with you, Maia. I have a wife and family.’
‘That’s all right. I don’t want nothing but a baby.’
‘There are a dozen men who’d scoop you up. Make you a decent husband. Give your baby a good father.’
Maia pouted. ‘I hate it when you talk so hard.’
Song put his hand on hers. ‘I know what it’s like to grow up without a father. You do, too. We’re both too smart to embark on something like that.’
‘You sure that’s the truth ?’ Maia asked. ‘You ain’t going off me because I’m getting older ?’
‘No, Maia.’
‘Will you make love to me one more time ?’
‘No, Maia, I can’t.’ Song leaned over to put an envelope of money in her pocket. Blood money, or something like that, he thought. It didn’t feel good.
‘You wanna know something ?’ she said.
Song could feel the air thicken. It suddenly felt hotter in the room. ‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘You do.’
Song stood at the door. He was filled with dread. ‘I don’t.’
‘Vivi,’ she said.
He had always liked Maia’s little brother. Another good kid having to grow up in the surrounds of a drunken bar. He remembered what Vivi said to Maia on the day they finished school, that he believed her when she said she was going to see the world.
‘What about Vivi ?’ Song asked.
‘Do you know who his father was ?’
Song shook his head. He knew something was coming that would take him by the throat, but he had not a shred of an idea what it could be. ‘I think I don’t want to know.’
‘Father Holmes.’
Song could hardly breathe. He did not know if his face showed the shock he felt. He tried to picture the boy. He was probably about sixteen years old now. A mixed child, no doubt, but his father could have been any one of a hundred men.
Song’s voice was trembling. ‘Is that really true ? I don’t want you to lie to me to hurt me.’
‘I ain’t lying.’
‘I don’t want to hear about made-up nonsense Bartica gossip.’
‘Ain’t that neither. Mama says I was never to tell you but I think it’s high time. Guess you and I both discovering not everyone is like they seem.’
‘You are hurting me, Maia.’
‘So ? I’m hurting, too.’
‘Your mama was right. There are some things we wish we never knew.’
Song turned and walked out of Josie’s. The sun seemed sharper than usual. Everything was different. Father Holmes was not the person he thought he knew. A man first, a vicar second. But was that so terrible ? Song had never cared about him being a vicar. A father, yes, but not a vicar. Had he let him down as a father because Song had a brother he didn’t know about ?
He was confused, devastated, obsessed. Bartica, the town where he grew up, that he thought he knew so well, had changed. Song lifted the palm of his hand against the sunlight, as if he was protecting himself from life falling around him. He remembered seeing Josie and Father Holmes outside the bar. Laughing together. Father Holmes not noticing him waving at him. It could be true. He remembered the strength of Josie’s conviction that Father Holmes was coming back. And how she had looked after Song when he fell apart after Father Holmes’ death. It was true; Maia hadn’t lied.
He made his way to the river. It felt like the last time he would take this road. The river was high. It was good to be flanked by the folds of dark forest. The paddles dipped into the soft water. There was a swish of lapwings skimming the water. A bellbird’s call rang out. Song felt consoled, more than he could be anywhere else. How far he had come, that little boy standing on the dockside of Guangzhou to the man who’d owned swathes of land on the banks of the great rivers of Guiana amid towering forests and the cries and screams of the world’s most beautiful birds. He had found sugar, then gold and diamonds, just like he had hoped.
Inside, Song felt an ache for the memory that this journey would become. He knew in his heart that this was his last trip upriver.
He thought back to his first trip with Father Holmes, the man who he believed had given him everything. He had taken him in when he was a plantation boy. Standing up to everyone to do it. An unconventional man. Even more, an unconventional vicar – who had never wanted to enter the church. But he’d lived out its values of compassion, of generosity, more than anyone he’d known. Father Holmes had taken Song in. Song must now take in Vivi.
When Song reached the mine, the scar in the earth had doubled in size again. He picked up fifteen pounds of gold and two handfuls’ worth of diamonds. It was heavy. Too much can weigh a man down, that’s what Chi had taught him. He was beginning to believe that now.
He no longer felt the tussle: the desire to stay and give into the gold fever pitted against the compulsion to return. He only wanted to be home. He knew his responsibilities now more than ever. A growing family. Vivi, too. He couldn’t take a risk that might leave any of them abandoned. Like Vivi had been at Josie’s, not that Song could judge Father Holmes for that. After all, Song was coming to the realisation that he and Father Holmes had followed similar lines of behaviour. Josie. Maia. Father Holmes was a better man because he had probably loved Josie.
Song turned his boat around. There would be no further need for him to return to Omaia.
CHAPTER 34
‘You’re back so soon,’ Hannah said, as Song came through the door.
‘You’re not disappointed, I hope ?’
She came to him. ‘I wish you always came back so soon.’
‘How are you ? How are the children ?’
‘The children ? Well, happy, busy. They’ll be home soon from school. You can ask them yourself.’
‘Before they come back I want to ask you something. Hannah, can I bring Vivi here to live with us ?’
‘Josie’s Vivi ?’
‘Yes.’
‘For school ?’
‘For school,’ he hesitated, ‘but not only.’
Hannah was flustered. ‘I think you need to explain.’
He understood Hannah would only know him as Josie’s fatherless son and the younger brother of Maia. He had to tell her the truth.
‘I can barely say it out loud. I don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. Vivi is the son of Father Holmes.’
Hannah gasped. ‘How do you know ?’
Song didn’t want to say. Even now, he couldn’t be straight. ‘I heard when I was in Bartica. I’ve been turning it over ever since. There are days it makes sense; I remember things and it all falls into place. Then there are times I shake my head; it cannot be true. But I only have to picture him and I know. I see him and I see Father Holmes.’
‘Father Holmes,’ Hannah said wistfully. ‘If it’s true of him . . .’ Her voice wandered off.
Song knew it was his chance to confess and he wanted to, but he didn’t have the courage. He was too afraid of losing Hannah, of losing everything that mattered. ‘I wish it wasn’t so,’ was all he could say.
‘I wish you hadn’t told me.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to, but I want Vivi to come here. Father Holmes gave me everything. He made me who I am today. I have to give Vivi the same.’
‘If you need to do this . . .’
‘You don’t sound happy.’
Hannah’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. ‘You need to know your own children.’
Her words cut. ‘Don’t I know them ?’
‘Perhaps you don’t know how to know them. You didn’t have a father for very long. Perhaps that’s why. Give them time, Song. They are both so wonderful and they’re growing up so fast. You’re missing out. That’s all I can say.’
Song felt churned up by Hannah’s truths. ‘You know I was just trying to make sure we had enough. So we were never short. That’s what I wanted to do. That’s why I’ve always gone away.’
‘I know.’
‘I know what it’s like not to have enough. To feel the burning
in your stomach.’
‘I know, too.’
‘I don’t want my children ever to feel that.’
‘They won’t, Song. Not ever.’
‘You never know what will happen tomorrow.’
‘That’s also why you need to get to know your children.’ Hannah paused. ‘And we’re having a third.’
Song reached out to her. ‘You always surprise me.’ He held her face in between his hands. ‘I love you, Hannah. I think I can’t love you any more than I do and then you turn to face me and I love you even more.’
Song called Phillip and Florence into his study. They hung about the door.
‘Aren’t you coming in ?’ Song asked.
The pair moved into his room but stayed near the door. Song looked at them both and thought how he didn’t fully recognise them. Phillip had grown; he had a faraway look in his eyes. Flo also looked taller, leaner, than he remembered. Hannah was right. They were growing up so fast.
‘How are you both ?’ Song asked. ‘How’s school ?’
‘Are we in trouble ?’ Flo asked.
‘What makes you say that ?’ Song asked.
‘Why are we here ?’
Song was choked. ‘I want to see you.’
‘So we haven’t done anything wrong ?’
‘No.’ Song was lost for words.
There was an awkward pause.
‘How was upriver ?’ Flo asked.
Song was relieved at the question. ‘Good. A shorter trip than I expected. It’s good to be home. It’s good to see you both.’
The children stared back at him.
‘When I was a little boy, Father Holmes used to ask me to come to his study and we’d explore the room together.’
‘How so ?’ Flo asked.
Song got up and went to a bookshelf. ‘These are the same books that were on his bookshelves,’ he said, running their fingers up and down the leather spines like he used to with Father Holmes. ‘We read hundreds of books together. I’d like to read more with you two, if you’d like that.’
‘When ?’ Phillip asked.
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