‘When ?’ Song repeated. ‘I’ll be in Georgetown more now. We’ll have time. We’ll find time.’
‘We’ve been reading the books anyway,’ Flo said. ‘We’ve read lots of them already.’
‘I’m glad,’ Song said, but he wasn’t. It made him feel all the more like he had been absent. That he had let them down.
‘I like the world atlas,’ Phillip said. ‘Have you read it ? It’s an account of every country.’ He pulled it out from the shelf and started flicking through the pages. ‘The number of horses in Australia, the income from train tickets in India, the number of languages spoken in Sudan.’
‘I love that book, and I loathe it,’ Song said. ‘It’s all about how much each colony is worth.’ Song walked over to the large yellowed globe. ‘Come over here. This is how the world really looks. I travelled from this point to Guiana,’ he said, pointing out China, then turning the globe on its axis, following the route with his finger. It looked far, even on a miniaturised sphere this size.
‘It’s a long way,’ Flo said. ‘Why did you leave ?’
‘If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here now.’
‘You were so young.’
‘Much younger than you are now, yes.’
Flo shook her head. ‘You left your family, Papa.’
‘It was a different, difficult time.’
‘You’re always leaving,’ Flo said.
‘Don’t say that,’ Phillip said to his sister.
How different they were, Song thought. Phillip, the diplomat, the daydreamer. He stared at the clouds, at the rain, at the birds: the dark silhouettes of macaws flapping overhead in an open sky; bright shimmering tanagers; hummingbirds hovering at the head of a stamen. The way Song himself used to. Phillip could be so quiet, you might not even notice him. He remembered that both Amalia and Father Holmes used to say the same thing about him.
Florence was impossible to overlook. Her voice rang out as she moved from one room of the house to another. She was whip-smart, like her grandmother. After Song taught her to play dominoes she could soon beat him. Song watched her eyes, planning every move, one step ahead, just like people accused him of being. There was something about the way she thought things through that reminded Song of himself.
Hannah had been right. There was so much he didn’t know about these children, so much he wanted to understand about them, so much he wanted to share.
Bartica seemed older on his next trip. The houses seemed to have wilted in the heat. No one had bothered to buy a lick of paint to smarten up their street. In fact, nobody seemed to be around. Dogs moseyed up and down the streets. Perhaps the town did need a DC and a PC after all.
His friends had aged. Big Bronco seemed stooped. Yan looked tired. Even Jingy was moving more slowly.
‘You making fewer and fewer visits to us in this old town,’ Jingy said. ‘But it’s always good to see you. Father Holmes would have been so proud, you know that.’
‘Maybe. I don’t know what he’d have been proud of. I don’t suppose Omaia would have much interested him except that it was upriver. Perhaps the Lucky Sports Club or the church, open to all. Or if I was a good father, maybe he’d like that most of all.’
‘You’ve always been too hard on yourself. Don’t suppose Father Holmes was proud of everything he did neither. You taking in Vivi, that’s what he’d have been most touched by.’
Song looked up sharply. His and Jingy’s eyes met knowingly.
Song went on to see Old Man Kuros, who was wracked with pain.
‘Bones giving up,’ he said. ‘Eyes gave up and now bones giving up.’
‘Can they not do anything to ease the pain ?’ Song asked. ‘I have a good doctor in Georgetown.’
The old man grimaced as he shifted in his seat. ‘I’m not going all the way to Georgetown to die there instead of here.’
‘Long way to go to die, it’s true. So, how’s business ?’
‘Slow. No one trusts Farad, least of all me. That boy’s more crooked than a mata-mata and lazier than a sloth. I sometimes wish I’d sold the shop instead of handing it over to him. That boy stole his mother from me and then been stealing from me ever since.’
‘He’s all you have.’
‘Is that why you came ? To lecture me about what’s important and what’s not ?’
Song shook his head. ‘I’m the last person to know that. Or perhaps I’m just finding out.’
‘Are you ?’
‘Maybe. Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing all this for. I have more than I need. So is it greed ? Promises to dead friends ? To try to live a life that is a story worth telling.’
‘Ah, the dead. We do more for the dead than the living.’
‘True enough. I’ve spent more of my life upriver than I have with my family.’
‘You giving yourself a hard time, boy.’
‘Guess I’m learning late what’s important.’
‘Not too late.’
‘True. I thank Hannah for telling me how it is.’
‘You got away with it then. Just. Hannah saved you.’
Song looked at his blind crippled friend and thought how much this old man could see.
As he made his way to Josie’s, someone called out his name from behind.
Song turned around. It was Edward Hoare. He was pointing towards his office and Song walked back to join him.
‘Let’s go inside,’ Edward said. He locked the door behind them.
He looked at Song. ‘You didn’t hear this from me.’
Song nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘The governor is moving in on Omaia. It’s not about tax loopholes or working conditions. He can’t get you on that. He’s claiming back your land.’
‘The land ? How do you know ?’
‘Says it was undersold by a DC who took backhanders.’
‘William Wright ?’
‘He’s willing to drag down a British civil servant to do this. He’s got all the DC records in Georgetown already. Wouldn’t be hard to add in something. He’s bent on you going down.’
‘We’ll be all right.’
‘Don’t be so sure, Song. He’s asked me for records of all your declarations. Right back to the beginning. Even to Jesus. He thinks he’s finally found a way.’
‘It’s okay, Edward. I’m giving Omaia to the Silent Temple.’
‘Well, I’ll be blown,’ Edward said. ‘Am I the last to know ?’
‘You’re probably the first.’
‘Would I like to be there when he finds out ? He is going to be one angry man. And there I was thinking he’s one step ahead of you.’
One step ahead. He now needed to be one step ahead again. Father Holmes. Josie. Vivi. He had to do the right thing.
Vivi was waiting for Song on the doorstep of the bar, clean and pressed, as if he was turned out for church. He clutched a new leather case in his hand.
‘Mama’s not here,’ he said. ‘She didn’t want to say goodbye. She said she sends her regards.’
‘It’s not a goodbye,’ Song said.
‘I told her I’d be back often and regular. Told her I’d pull them all out of here as soon as I could.’
‘That’s a good plan.’
‘I’m going to. I promised them.’
Song had heard those words before.
Maia’s voice interrupted them. ‘Hey, Song.’
He looked up to see her framed at the window. She was smoking a cigarette and her hair was draped about her face. Song could see her bare shoulders beneath her locks.
‘You taking Vivi ? All the best men are leaving town today.’
Song’s voice was tender. ‘Hello, Maia. How are you ?’
‘Better with both of you around. Not so good once you’re gone.’
‘Vivi’ll be back and forth. You’ll see him soon enough.’
‘And you ?’
Song hesitated. ‘I’ll be in and out.’
‘Don’t let the wind blow you around too much,’ she said. ‘You’r
e your own man, Song Holmes, more than any other I know.’
Song could not help but be held by Maia’s gaze longer than he wished. He turned and started heading in the direction of the dock.
Vivi tried to keep up. He called back to his sister. ‘See you, Maia. You send word if there’s anything you need.’
Song could hear the smoke held in the back of Maia’s mouth as she replied. ‘You take care, baby. And you take care too, Song Holmes. Neither of you go forgettin’ us here.’
Song raised his hand but did not look back. As Vivi caught up with him, Song felt a wave of relief that he was finally taking the boy away.
‘You might miss home at first, Vivi, but you’ll get to like Georgetown.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Song recalled those were the first words Hai had taught him on the ship. ‘You don’t need to call me sir.’
Vivi nodded. ‘What should I call you ?’
‘Call me Song.’
‘I’ll do that, sir, Song.’
‘Tell me, Vivi, the things you like to do the most in this world ? Fishing ? Studying ? Cricket ? Being on the river ? I want to know what makes you happiest.’
‘Stories,’ Vivi said. ‘I like stories.’
Song thought about Jinda’s stories, how he could taste them. And Hai’s stories: how they gave him strength to travel right around the world.
‘I like stories, too. From your head or from books ?’
Vivi hesitated. ‘I don’t get to read much. I like telling stories. I listen to the customers at the bar and mix up their stories to make new ones. Like rum and lime mixed up and poured on sharp ice.’
Song smiled. ‘We have a long journey ahead of us. How about a story on the way ?’
Vivi looked flustered but pleased. ‘About anything in particular ?’
‘You choose. It can be as blue as Josie’s or as clean as a sermon.’
Song had not realised how quickly Vivi had grown up in the last year or two. He was tall and lanky, like Father Holmes. He even stooped in the same way to try to conceal his height. If Song only saw his silhouette out of the corner of his eye, he swore it could have been Father Holmes by his side.
Song recalled the journey – a reversal of the one he was doing now with Vivi – when he and Father Holmes left Georgetown together and struck out to take up the new posting in the interior. He felt a blow of sadness.
Vivi interrupted his thoughts. ‘Do you know about the woman with red eyes ?’
‘I’d like to know more about her.’
‘The patron of pork-knockers,’ Vivi continued. ‘She lives in the river. You will have seen her at night and thought, ah, a caiman. A flash of red eyes disappearing beneath the inky water. But you are wrong, my friend, for that is the woman with red eyes.
‘You need not be afraid at night. She cannot do you harm in the darkness. But if you see her in the day,’ Vivi paused and lowered his voice, ‘then you are doomed. She will dazzle you with the golden jewellery draped about her naked body; chains looped around her waist; rings on every finger; strands of charms on her ankles; earrings so heavy they sit upon her shoulders.
‘Blinded, a pork-knocker cannot resist. He will slip into the river and let her carry him downstream, cool water running over his skin. Enthralled, he gives in completely. She releases the gold from his pockets and pouches, snipping with golden scissors any nuggets sewn into the seams of a shirt.’
Song caught himself holding his breath. He thought about Jesus’ body being carried down the river, his pockets empty.
‘So I warn you. Remember this story on the day you strike gold.’ Vivi was almost whispering now. ‘Because the woman with red eyes will be already searching for you. If she finds you, your luck is over, my friend. You will give her everything you have found, the woman with red eyes.’
‘Phew,’ Song said. ‘That’s some storytelling.’ He promised himself to put Father Holmes’ books in Vivi’s hands. Perhaps Vivi would read or tell his own stories to Phillip and Flo. He felt a deep inconsolable regret Father Holmes would never see that. Their children together. And as he pictured the three of them, he thought how unimaginable it was. Stirring too, knowing there was something of Father Holmes left in the world – in Vivi, and imprinted in himself.
‘Did you like it ?’ Vivi asked.
‘Like it ?’ Song asked, thrust back in the moment. ‘Your story ? I hated it. Won’t want to go upriver again after that.’
Vivi laughed.
He thought how much Vivi brimmed with the traits of his parents. The easy laugh of Father Holmes. His optimism. His warmth. Here was a part of Father Holmes right here, and Song felt choked. But there was also Vivi’s mother in the mix, he could see that strongly too. Her forthrightness. And a vulnerability beneath the grit. Yet Vivi was also very much his own character. Shaped in the confines of Josie’s lightless bar, overhearing the stories of customers drunk and desperate. A mixed-up kid caught in limbo between boy and man. Song wanted life to be better for him now. A delayed childhood. A delayed education. When he was Vivi’s age, he had read all the books in Father Holmes’ study. Now it was Vivi’s turn to have a chance at life, and Song would make sure he helped him.
*
As they approached Georgetown, Vivi confided in Song. ‘I’ve never been anywhere but Bartica, you know. Never been to Georgetown.
‘I guessed,’ Song said. ‘You’ll discover it for yourself. Nothing to be afraid of. Jingy would say “folks is folks”.’
‘I’m not afraid. I’ve been dreaming of leaving Bartica all my life.’
‘I’m glad I could bring you here, Vivi. I wish I could have earlier.’
Song watched Vivi taking it all in as they rolled into town.
‘We’re going to make a stop before we head home.’ Song had pulled up in front of Ebenezer’s.
Vivi got up as if to join him.
‘Wait here; I won’t be long,’ Song said. Vivi looked disappointed. Song wondered why he didn’t invite him in, as if he was ashamed of what he was doing. He headed up to Ebenezer’s room and handed over the weight of the satchel. The old man howled. ‘You’re going to kill me.’
‘Enjoy it,’ Song said. ‘This is the end for me, Ebenezer. It’s time.’
‘Time for ?’
‘I’ve passed on the mine.’
Ebenezer looked horrified. ‘Passed it on ? What in heavens does that mean ?’
‘To the foundation. It doesn’t cut you out. But it cuts me out.’
Ebenezer suddenly looked older. ‘This keeps me going, remember that. You’re killing me in other ways now.’
‘Nothing’s going to change. You’ll just be dealing with the foundation, not me.’
Ebenezer pulled himself out of his chair and he walked over to the painting of the goatherd on his wall. ‘You know this painting ?’
‘I do. A lesson against greed.’
‘Is that what this is all about ? You better than the rest of us, Song Holmes ?’
‘My partner once told me how too much gold can weigh a man down. I need to be home now. I need to be free of it.’
Vivi was waiting outside. He smiled when he saw Song reappear.
‘I’m all done,’ Song said, with greater meaning than Vivi would have understood. ‘We’re going home. You ready ?’
Vivi nodded.
‘It’s not far. We’re just down here.’ Song pointed ahead of them.
Vivi looked at the big house. ‘Why do you ever come to Bartica when you have this ? Why do you ever go upriver ?’
‘I have this because I go upriver.’
‘I’ve only seen such a house in my head, in my stories.’ Vivi read the sign on the gate. ‘Sugar House.’
‘Hannah named it. That’s how I started, more or less. I worked on a sugar cane plantation when I first came to Guiana. That’s a long time ago.’
Speaking of Hannah made Song long for her even more. He felt anew, freed. He moved swiftly towards the front door, wanting urgently to tell Ha
nnah about his decision. To tell her everything – like when he first met her. But she was out.
Instead Flo was standing in the hallway. He went to her and cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘You’re looking beautiful and determined. How are you, Flo ?’
‘Who’s this ?’
‘This is Vivi. He’s the son . . . of a friend of mine,’ Song stumbled as he spoke. ‘He’s going to be staying with us. I’m hoping to get him into Queen’s College.’
‘Hello,’ Flo said. ‘How old are you ?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘I’m thirteen. And Phillip’s nearly fifteen. But I’m smarter than him.’
Song thought how much older Flo came across.
‘Let’s be nice, Flo. Vivi’s new to town. I remember when I was new to Georgetown, it was terrifying.’
‘I’ll look after him,’ she said.
‘Thank you. Now where’s Mama ?’
‘Out.’
‘Where’s Phillip ?’
‘Out.’
‘Where are they ?’
‘I don’t know where Mama is. Phillip’s out looking at birds.’ She turned to Vivi. ‘Phillip spends a lot of his time looking at birds. That’s his thing. What’s your thing ?’
‘Stories.’
‘That’s good.’
‘How about you ?’ Vivi asked her back,
‘I don’t have one thing. I’m interested in masses of things.’
‘Tell Little A that Vivi is here, Flo,’ Song said. ‘Then, Vivi, you can tell Flo some of your stories.’
Song was just heading to his study when the front door opened and Hannah walked in.
‘You’re back,’ he said. He fell into her arms and buried himself in her smell. ‘I missed you. Over and over.’
Hannah held him, then whispered softly. ‘Song, my love. Is everything all right ?’
‘I missed you, that’s all.’
‘That’s all ?’
‘Yes. It felt longer.’
‘It wasn’t. It was shorter.’
‘Time feels more marked. Perhaps that’s what happens as we get older.’
‘How was the trip ?’
‘I’ve brought back a lot of gold. More than we need. Diamonds, too. For you. I’ll have Mr Hing make you something.’
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