Inheritance

by Jenny Pattrick

  So family conference it was. And a disaster.

  On Friday we all assembled in my office. On our side, John, Jeanie, Stuart and my secretary. Isaia Young had brought in Tiresa, Teo and their senior matai, Susuga Lotoifale. I didn’t like the look on Isaia’s face. He had some trump card up his sleeve. He was a bright young lawyer, Isaia, one of the new breed: well educated in New Zealand. No doubt he would be fast-tracked to the bench. And probably rightly so. It was high time the bench acquired a browner look.

  To be honest, there was not a lot more we could produce in the way of affidavits. I again produced copies of Schroder’s will and of Gertrude’s. One of the senior kiln driers at the plantation – not related to the Levamanaias – had reluctantly agreed to signing a statement to the effect that John was a competent manager and seemed interested in continuing Gertrude’s work. As I read the statement, Tiresa muttered and waved her hands around, dismissing Peseta as a worthless traitor who would regret his defection in the months to come. I swore to the fact that John was indeed the son of Gertrude’s sister, Bridget, and waved the birth certificate briefly. So far the Levamanaias had not requested to see it. I produced a new affidavit from John, promising to follow Gertrude’s instructions for the good management of the plantation and to continue the practice of employing members of Tiresa’s ‘aiga. I referred to the fact that Gertrude had left the opposition a small plantation, and that it had been Mrs Schroder’s strong wish that the plantation be managed along palagi lines, not under fa‘asamoa.

  Susuga Lotoifale then banged his carved stick on the floor, cleared his throat, and rose to speak. A big, grave man, lacking the light touch of his predecessor in the title. Dressed formally in white shirt, black tie and jacket, black lavalava and sandals, he launched forth into a prayer for reconciliation between the two sides, for God to guide our hearts, and bring us to a satisfactory conclusion. Nods and amens all round. His ensuing speech referred to the boundaries of plantation and village land, the history of the estate, the devastating flu epidemic which prematurely returned to God so many of the family, the sad loss of Gertrude Schroder, and the wish of his ‘aiga to continue her good work on the plantation. Many of the family had worked there for generations. He named the generations. Many had died while working for PJ Schroder. He named the deaths. Many were skilled in the production of excellent cacao, and although the newcomers were all admirable people and welcome into the family, they surely did not have the skill of his ‘aiga, etcetera. After each weighty pronouncement, he paused to wait for my translation. If he considered my translation too short, he waited pointedly for me to add more detail. This was a spoken affidavit, not a written one as requested, and it proceeded for a good hour. As our good Judge knew well that it would.

  Of course it all went over the heads of John and his family. John and Jeanie waited politely for my commentary but Stuart became restless; several times he looked rudely at his watch. There is an easy rhythm to these affairs that I had learned to enjoy. Stuart would need to adapt if he was to live here.

  Finally the old boy came to his point. He was no fool. He gestured dramatically with his stick. ‘Ta te gase a uluga!’ he cried – literally ‘let us die together’, but in fact a well-worn saying encouraging us to work together for a solution. He proposed that John should retain the house and plant – the kilns, the fermenting vats and drying sheds – while the plantation would be owned by Tiresa and her children who would pay John a fee for processing the cacao and copra. Susuga Lotoifale offered another wise saying, exhorting us to pull hard on the oars together, and sat down heavily.

  Tiresa, who had been fanning herself vigorously throughout the speech, now laid down the fan and applauded with a broad smile. Teo appeared to have gone into a trance. Isaia gave me a cheeky wink, gesturing expansively that I should take up the reins.

  It was a clever proposal, dividing the operation into the two activities that might appeal to either side, but of course I could not advise John to accept. The fee for processing the crops would be far smaller than the income from the crop itself. Nevertheless, I was bound to translate the suggestion.

  Stuart, who had been wriggling and fidgeting for a good half hour, exploded at my words.

  ‘That’s ridiculous! Tell them so! Daylight robbery!’ or words to that effect. Not at all the proper manner of response. John laid a hand on his son-in-law’s sleeve. ‘Let Hamish conduct this. He will represent us fairly. What do you think Hamish?’

  I told them I thought the proposal was unfair but that we should make a counter-proposal. Maybe a small concession: the ten acres of cacao plantation nearest to the Levamanaias’ village, and a commitment to process their cacao without fee. I had had this in mind and had already discussed part of the proposal with John.

  Wretched Stuart would have none of it. Neither Jeanie nor John could calm him down. What a liability the man was! He seemed not to care that Teo and Isaia could understand every word, and Tiresa a good part of it. He demanded that we make no concession, suggested that Tiresa’s ‘aiga were greedy and unscrupulous. That we should walk out of negotiations.

  Naturally, this behaviour distressed me. It gravely undermined our case. I suggested in my most legal voice that John was my client in this matter and that Jeanie and Stuart should retire and leave the negotiation to their father.

  But the damage had been done. Teo jumped to his feet, waving a piece of paper. The young hothead, incensed at Stuart’s slur on his family, shouted that John had no right to the inheritance. ‘Look at the birth certificate! It’s here under our nose!’

  There was a moment of silence. The old matai shook his head sadly. Isaia spoke quickly in Samoan to Teo that they had agreed not to use this information. Lotoifale spoke more harshly, berating the boy for an unchristian act.

  Teo pleaded with them – in English. A calculated act. Everyone knew, he said, that John was illegitimate, the son of a half-wit, raped by a Chinese man who then committed suicide. Surely this undermined the case for inheritance?

  John put out his hand for the birth certificate. In silence I handed him my copy. I believe this was the first time he had set eyes on the document. He read the words.

  He looked at me. ‘You knew this?’

  I nodded. ‘John, I don’t believe it alters your right to inheritance.’

  We all waited in silence.

  ‘My father committed suicide? After rape?’ His eyes contained such pain it was hard to look at him.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Gertrude told me so.’

  ‘She knew? All knew?’ He looked around the room as if a vast crowd were witness to his shame.

  Tiresa rose from her chair, raised her hand dramatically until she was sure we were all paying attention. Then she advanced on poor Teo, gesturing as if to slap him resoundingly once, twice on either cheek. The gesture was not designed to connect and the effect was slightly comic, which I found embarrassing in light of John’s distress.

  ‘Apologise this moment, shameful boy!’ Tiresa shouted in English. ‘We are not need such dirty tricks to show our right!’

  She stood, glowering, until Teo muttered something. I believe Stuart was enjoying the altercation. I heard his chuckle – and no doubt others did too – but John was speaking to me, asking me to conclude the conference as I saw fit. He left on Jeanie’s arm. At the door, Jeanie turned and spoke for the first time. Her words spoke an apology but the anger was sharp and unforgettable.

  ‘I apologise for my husband’s behaviour, which aroused ill-feeling. Together we have possibly destroyed my father.’

  She steered her father out but returned quickly without him. ‘Stuart, you will come too.’

  She was furious; you could see it in every line of her little body. Stuart spread his hands, grinned as if sharing a joke with us at her expense, but he went quietly.

  In the end, we agreed quickly on new boundaries. No one had appetite for further haggling. The house, plant and the Apia house to John, along with half the plantation; the other
half to Tiresa’s children to farm as they wished.

  In some ways the hurricane was a boon to me. My legal practice had been declining with the return to Apia of qualified Samoan lawyers, but now there was extra work to be done at the High Commission – assessing the damage, deciding what help New Zealand might offer, distribution of relief aid and so on. I was in demand because of my local knowledge and ability with the language. Suddenly I was fully employed again and the problems of Gertrude’s family faded into the background.

  Simone kept in touch with Jeanie though. Stuart had hit her a couple of days after the conference. Her face was badly bruised and her hand bandaged. Simone mothered her, expressed outrage. Jeanie didn’t try to hide the fact, but seemed to shrug it off as unimportant. Simone couldn’t understand her stoicism.

  ‘She simply changes the subject. What if he comes back and hits you again, I ask. She smiles and shakes her head. Won’t be drawn about the why of it all. My belief is her husband is jealous.’

  I had witnessed no cause for jealousy, but of course Simone was out and about more than I. She reported that Jeanie was often in town in the company of Teo and Elena. And more than once with Teo alone.

  ‘Jeanie loves his fast car. I fear she loves the man a little too.’

  One would hardly blame her for looking elsewhere, I suppose. But to look in Teo’s direction was extremely unwise. Teo was so noticeable. And in Samoan terms so eligible.

  But of more immediate concern was John’s health. Again, Simone was the one with the information. I suggested ‘Samoa Tummy’. Most newcomers have a bout or two before their stomachs become hardened to the local bugs.

  ‘No nothing like that,’ Simone said. ‘He has become listless, doesn’t eat well. Has lost interest in the plantation. Even his books lie unread. Jeanie is particularly worried about that.’ Simone eyed me fiercely. ‘But surely it is this terrible news of his birth. That poor man will feel shame, Hamish. Perhaps you might speak to him? The least you could do. You were to blame, chéri, over the birth certificate.’

  It’s true. I felt uncomfortable. Simone assured me that it would have been far better had I gently introduced the truth to him at an earlier stage. I’m not entirely convinced that it was my task to do this, but perhaps Simone was right. She usually is.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, eying me fiercely, ‘you might find something local to interest him. Take him to the club.’

  Stuart was often away at the plantation, which had not suffered too badly. Cacao trees are relatively low to the ground; Gertrude’s had been protected by tough hedges, and, being further inland, they had escaped the full brunt of the wind roaring in from the sea. But I don’t think John ever went out to the plantation after the conference. I admit I had not found time to talk to him either, despite Simone’s nagging. Mostly Jeanie stayed in Apia too, working with Elena on the filariasis campaign: eradicating that dreadful, disfiguring disease was Elena’s prime responsibility that year. At any rate, Jeanie was not confiding in Simone, which drove my wife mad.

  ‘Speak to John,’ she urged me again. ‘Let’s have them over for a drink. I’ll take Jeanie out to the garden. You need to apologise you naughty man. He might talk to you – another bookworm.’

  We had our drink and our chat. But he never opened up. I’m no good at that sort of heart to heart. We discussed the hurricane damage and the thorny problem of distributing relief food – important issues – but he wasn’t really interested. I told myself that it would be insensitive to bring up the subject of his birth; that general exploration of local issues would be of more comfort to him. Weak excuses for my own social inadequacy.

  I was shocked at the change in him. He’d been here only a few months and already his skin had yellowed, his face thinned. He had seemed so alive and proud the day they arrived. I wondered whether malaria had got him. But of course I was wrong. Simone, as usual, had the truth of it. He was sick to the core with shame.

  John would not stay after the meal. He pushed away from the table, his dessert untouched, and left, giving some apologetic excuse. Jeanie stayed.

  ‘I’m so worried about him,’ she said. ‘He’s never been this bad before.’

  ‘So he is prone to depression?’ Simone does not believe in discrete inquiry where health matters are concerned.

  Jeanie smiled at her directness. ‘Yes, a little. But not like this. He won’t eat. He won’t look at me properly. It’s as if he suddenly disliked me.’

  Simone shot me a sharp look, but her question was for Jeanie. ‘He has not accepted the truth?’

  ‘It’s true, then, this story of the rape and the half-wit?’ She addressed this to me.

  ‘Something of that sort I believe. Gertrude knew, but didn’t want it known.’

  Jeanie remained silent for some time. We watched her.

  ‘Ma chérie,’ said Simone, ‘no one spoke of this to him back in New Zealand?’

  ‘No. I’m sure not. Granny Stella … I asked her often about his birth parents but she always gave the same reply – a tragic drowning. She adopted him from a convent. She said she never knew the parents’ names.’

  Jeanie suddenly grabbed a handful of her hair which fell that day smooth and dark to below her shoulders. ‘I have that Chinese blood too! From a rape of a defenceless mad woman!’

  I couldn’t let that go. ‘Gertrude was a prejudiced woman, Jeanie. She may have exaggerated the facts. She may well have distorted them.’

  ‘You saw the birth certificate.’

  ‘I did. It stated a young unmarried woman of unsound mind. Rape was not mentioned.’

  ‘Oh!’ She flung her arms wide. I thought of windblown flowers. ‘They would not write it, but surely …!’ Then, more quietly, ‘My father believes it. Yes. Somehow feels it to be true. That is why he is so lost. After the pride and hope of finding his aunt – this. Stuart told him that Gertrude despised him for his bad blood. That she truly wanted Stuart to run the plantation.’

  I sighed. ‘That is not strictly true.’

  ‘Not strictly? But in part? She despised father?’

  How could I hope to answer her probing questions with truth? My dear Simone intervened.

  ‘My husband is too literal. It is the lawyer in him. Gertrude is dead. Your father is the one needs your care. Let us think of him. First he finds a birth family and an inheritance for you. Now he discovers that the aunt despised him for his Chinese blood. And that he is the son of rape.’

  I was cross with Simone for her bluntness. But Jeanie seemed to accept the harsh words. She nodded through her tears.

  ‘Perhaps we should go back,’ she murmured. ‘Poor Dad. You are right, he was so proud.’ She looked up at me. I had stood, meaning to quieten Simone’s wayward tongue. ‘He likes you, Hamish, admires your knowledge. Do you think you can help him? Oh!’ She pushed back her chair, paced the room like a young caged thing. ‘Oh, I have been enjoying it so much here – the place and the people – that I suppose I’ve ignored my father’s misery!’

  Simone held her close, stroked her dark hair. ‘My child, he will be miserable also back home. And you are happy here. We must find a way around this. People will have a new point of gossip next week and John’s parentage will be forgotten. Let us be gentle with the poor man.’ She looked over at me sternly. ‘Hamish will find something for him.’

  I nodded. It would be good to make amends.

  Simone was not finished with her planning. ‘And you, my dear, must take a little care with your friends. Tongues are wagging over you and Teo Levamanaia.’

  Jeanie touched a fading bruise on her cheek. A light brush from those long beautiful fingers. She sighed. ‘He and Elena have been so kind.’

  ‘Kind, yes, but care is necessary,’ said Simone gently. She touched again the long black hair. It was lovely to see them together – like mother and daughter. My wife had always wanted a daughter but we only made two rather difficult sons. ‘You must know, ma chérie, that their mother has plans for Teo, which do not includ
e a palagi girlfriend.’

  Jeanie pulled away. ‘We are just good friends! For heavens’ sake you are as bad as Stuart! Is friendship not allowed then?’

  Oh she was fierce, the little tiger, and blushing. More than friendship in her heart, I thought. And Teo, that wild lad, had a reputation already for his wandering eyes. Tiresa would do well to betroth him formally and secure his matai title. I had seen it so many times before – a high-born lad arriving back from school in New Zealand with his tail high and his criticisms of fa‘asamoa broadcast far and wide. Then, when the mantle of a matai title is laid upon him, suddenly he quietens, steadies, settles with a good Samoan wife and begins to express conservative views. Teo would do the same. I had laid a bet with Giles, who thought the boy would never make a leader. We shall see.

  But Jeanie might be vulnerable. I did not want to see her hurt.

  ‘Of course friendship is allowed,’ I said. ‘Just keep an eye out for the mother. She is protective and ambitious.’

  Jeanie sighed again. ‘The plantation. I don’t really care about it to be honest.’

  Simone snorted. ‘Oho! Gertrude would have washed your mouth with soap!’

  I seem to remember Jeanie growling, then – or am I embellishing the memory? Did she really growl? Certainly there were times when she showed a surprising spirit. ‘Stuart would do more than wash my mouth out,’ she said. ‘He likes the plantation and admired Gertrude. But how can I feel for that dead old lady now? Or her cacao trees? She was a monster!’

  She went home then. Gave us a peculiar, defiant smile, and ran down the steps. I saw her white dress wavering across the lawn in the moonlight, disappearing through the orchids like a trail of mist.

  ‘Jeanie could be a dangerous woman,’ said Simone, watching her too. ‘I am a little fearful for her, Hamish. So beautiful; so sad.’

  Dangerous! Spirited, yes, but surely never dangerous. But then I could never quite fathom Simone’s pronouncements.