The Claws of Mercy

by John Harris

  He let it be known that Gotto was behind a movement to acquire farms in order to expand the mine and they accepted his words without demanding proof. From then on, it wasn’t hard to convince them that wages were too low, and that the house tax should be removed. Fortunately, it came to nothing more frightening than noise with the exception of a few fights between the men who had been sacked and the men they accused of stealing their jobs; between the skilled and the unskilled; between the lowly labourers and the higher-paid drivers and mechanics between whom Assissay was driving his subtle wedge.

  The Mende labourers, normally living in peace with the Temne men in the town, were now at loggerheads to a degree that was fantastic in a colony not noted for its passion. Small quarrels had always regularly broken out between them and heads had been occasionally cracked, fingers bitten or ears torn. But these were part and parcel of normal village life and no one had ever taken much notice of them. Now, however, at the first suggestion of a dispute, all the annoyances that Gotto had caused flared up and relatives were dispatched for reinforcements while the quarrel was still in its shouting stage.

  As it happened, nothing much ever came of these quarrels either, because Sergeant Asimani was intelligent enough to know where the blame really lay and both Temne and Mende disliked Gotto more than they disliked each other.

  But Gotto had sewn thickly the seeds of unrest and several shady people began to arrive in the town from the more sophisticated coast, prepared to use his stupidity for their own unscrupulous ends. Every one of the imaginary affronts and offences by African workers that Gotto so diligently nosed out at the jetty or in the workings were passed round for inspection over the rice bowls and round the fires and where men sat in their dim little huts at night.

  Christmas came and went, a hot sun-sodden Christmas without a great deal of cheer. Jimmy, in an excess of noisy Christmas spirit, draped the bungalow with pieces of foliage from the bush and lengths of red paper bought in Indian Joe’s store. In this he was helped by a wildly excited Amadu, who sheltered behind his enthusiasm from Gotto’s disapproval.

  The celebrations in Amama Town started several days before Christmas with fires and dancing and drums, and Clerk Smith came daily to the mine with sad bloodshot eyes and a piece of string round his head to indicate a headache.

  On Christmas Eve, the crowds moved about the town in procession carrying lanterns and torches, and the sound of dances and drumming became as natural to everyone as breathing. On Christmas Day, the Swannacks threw a party for all the white people in the neighbourhood and a few of the black ones. Earnshaw sang a ribald song and gallons of Mrs Swannack’s home-made wine were offered and refused – Earnshaw had a crate of beer and a couple of bottles of gin hidden in the withered grass at the bottom of the mission garden. They played games which made them far too hot and the party was notable chiefly for the noise and the speed with which the hymns were sung – Earnshaw’s gin and beer had started to take effect by that time; for Jimmy kissing Stella in the garden in the dark; and for Gotto, who stumbled on them, losing his temper and going home in a jealous huff.

  As a result, over New Year, with the dry Harmattan winds slamming the doors and filling the eyes and ears and mouth with dust from the Sahara, the mine bungalow was a cold, unfriendly place and as the New Year advanced into January Jimmy found himself leaving the mine at the first possible hour whenever he was free.

  Sitting on the hot sand at Mansumana, Stella found herself playing the role of confidante, adviser and balm to his angry spirit all at the same time as she listened to the accounts of the councils of war over the iced beer in Romney’s surgery. Every sun that rose and every moon that faded among the palms seemed to have brought some new foolishness, some fresh insult to Alf Momo or the workmen, some new outrage to Jimmy’s sense of justice.

  “Hell,” he said plaintively, “why aren’t we nearer to Freetown so that someone could find out about him without me having to carry tales and do the dirty on the poor misbegotten clot – without Twigg having anything to do with it?”

  “Jimmy, the man’s becoming a monster.”

  “You’re telling me. And the future, with no prospect of relief from him, looks pretty bleak, believe me. Why doesn’t his ticket home come through? It can’t be far away.”

  “It must be rugged living with him.”

  “I don’t live with him. I share the bungalow. That’s all. I never speak to him if I can avoid it and he does the same for me. Meal times are marvellous.”

  “The conversation must be sparkling.”

  “It’s easier not to bother. In the evenings I fiddle with the garden or sit on the veranda watching the sun. He stays inside.”

  “What does he do?”

  “Get on his own nerves. Chiefly he rattles old newspapers, thrashes about in his chair like a wounded whale and reads and rereads his letters from Doris, hoping against hope he’ll find some affectionate bit he’s missed.”

  Jimmy turned to Stella. “Honest, Stella, he’s got everybody on edge. Sargy Asimani came to see me yesterday. He’s worried. ‘Boss,’ he said. ‘Soon I get every black man in Amama Town in calaboose.’ He’d like to report Gotto but as it’s Gotto who’s doing all the complaining he’s a bit stuck for something to report. He thought perhaps I could fix it.”

  Stella took his hand silently.

  “Everybody expects me to fix things,” Jimmy said indignantly. “I told him to go ahead and report him to the District Commissioner or whoever it is he reports people to. I don’t care any more. But he won’t. He’s got nothing to report. Gotto manages to be on the right side of the law.”

  “So what did you do in the end?”

  “Told him to push him under a lorry.”

  “That’s not very helpful, Jimmy darling.”

  “I know. But I couldn’t think of anything else and he’s got to wear his saddle like the rest of us. You’re lucky. You’ll be leaving soon.”

  “I’m not going,” Stella reassured him.

  Jimmy sat bolt upright. “The dry season’s nearly over,” he said. “I’ve been spending all of it getting used to the idea of you disappearing out of my life. You’ve no right to let me down like this. Why aren’t you going?”

  Stella turned and stared at him, smiling. “I’m staying because I’ve found a niche for myself in the school here. I’ve quite a talent for teaching little black boys.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Have it your own way. When I first came here, it was always part of the plan that I might stay and help my folks.”

  “You said you hated the idea.”

  “I did. But I don’t any more.”

  “I think you’re staying because you enjoy being with me.”

  Stella, blushed. “You’ve got a big opinion of yourself, Jimmy dear,” she said.

  “No, I haven’t.” Jimmy was becoming aggressive and dominant. “But I’m a bit older than you and I know more about people. I haven’t spent practically every evening with you since I came here without knowing something about you. I’ve watched you – I’ve never taken my eyes off you – I’ve listened to you. I’ve talked to you. And I know you enjoy being with me.”

  “Of course I do, Jimmy.”

  “Then that’s why you’re staying and the other reason’s merely an excuse.”

  Stella laughed. “Dear Jimmy. My Jimmy. You look so cute when you’re laying down the law. Anyway, you can rest assured that I’m going to be right behind you against Gotto. I’ll be like a big sister.”

  “I don’t want a big sister. That’s the last thing I want just now.”

  Stella’s laughter died away quickly. “I know, Jimmy. I’m only teasing you. I couldn’t ever be just a big sister to you.”

  Jimmy looked up quickly. “Do I detect a faint breath of hope for me?” he asked.

  “Jimmy, there’s always hope. But I’m being careful. I’m still young and being married’s like being dead. It lasts an awful long time. And if you make a mistake i
t’s worse than being dead.”

  Jimmy returned her hand to her lap. “This is yours, I think,” he said heavily. “I don’t know what I’m holding it for. It doesn’t seem to be any good to me.”

  “Jimmy dear,” Stella said patiently. “Neither of us is very old and responsible and this isn’t the best place to judge emotions. After all, it is rather unusual with no other men about–”

  “I suppose you want to be queen of the campus” – Jimmy took refuge from his disappointment in sarcasm – “with a lot of little college boys in Yale jerseys and crew cuts round you.”

  “Thanks for all the understanding,” Stella said more coolly. “You’ve been seeing too many films. You need to grow up, sonny boy. I’m only trying to be sensible.”

  “You don’t ‘be sensible’ when you’re in love. Listen, I’ll take you down to Freetown for the day and propose to you in the lounge of the only hotel. Or in a club. Or on a railway train. I’ll propose on the steps of Fourah Bay College if you’ll feel at home. Anywhere you like, so long as it seems civilised. I’m serious, Stella.”

  Stella sighed. But her anger had gone again before his desperation. “Jimmy, we know so little of each other.”

  “I like the way you wrinkle your nose. We could get along on that till we do.” Jimmy looked at her for a while and sighed. “OK. You win. So long as you’re not far away I’ll keep on hoping. Why are you staying, really?”

  Stella blushed again. “I sort of thought you needed a woman’s intuition. Men are a bit hopeless when they have to deal with something a bit different. It was you, really. You looked so lost, you persuaded me that while my folks would have me I might as well stay. So, OK, since I’d got to support myself, I’d got to get a job. So I teach little black boys in the Mission school. Satisfied?”

  It so happened, however, that it was Jimmy, not Stella, who eventually disappeared from Amama. He was told to report down to Ma-Imi for a month for a short course on new methods and it was very obvious that Twigg was overlooking Gotto in sending for him.

  He was met at the landing-stage as before by Twigg with the jeep.

  “Thought I’d send for you instead of Gotto, old boy,” Twigg said. “I’m not having that miserable clot down here, dripping round the place. How’s the beautiful Stella?”

  “She’s all right,” Jimmy said gloomily. He looked at Twigg for confirmation of what had always been Earnshaw’s opinion and was now becoming his own.

  “Sir, is that the reason you sent Gotto up to Amama? – because he didn’t fit in down here?”

  Twigg, staring along the dusty road as he drove towards the Ma-Imi workings, gave him a sidelong glance. “Of course it is. You only just realised that? That’s one of my privileges and your misfortunes. I’m sorry for you, old boy, y’know, but it was either that or everyone down here being upset. Honest, the way he drooped around the place, rubbing everybody the wrong way! He upset the foremen and got the other chaps’ backs up. He didn’t play cricket. He didn’t play hockey. He didn’t even play cards. He was no good at anything except mining and not much good at that. All he did was complain. What’s he doing at Amama?”

  “The same,” Jimmy said dispiritedly.

  Twigg grinned. “I thought it couldn’t go on much longer with you living in peace and joy with him. It hasn’t been done yet. Thank God you’ve got him, not me.”

  Jimmy waved his hat to drive away the red dust that was blowing in. “Sir, he’s becoming a damn’ nuisance.”

  “I thought he would,” Twigg said cheerfully. “There wasn’t any real need for two of you up there, y’know. Any youngster fresh from mining school could handle that place easily. Jarvis did and spent most of every day shooting. You could run it, couldn’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose I could.”

  “Well, we were one over establishment here so I took the opportunity of getting rid of Gotto. Sorry you’ve got to put up with him, Agnew, old boy, but he was becoming a damn’ troublemaker down here.”

  “He’s becoming a damn’ troublemaker up at Amama, sir.” Jimmy was irritated by Twigg’s cheerful assumption that Gotto was safely out of the way.

  “Trouble? Trouble?” Twigg cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, he can’t cause trouble up there, old man. You’re too far from the port. No fuss from unions and things up there. Besides, he’s harmless, really.”

  “There’s plenty of trouble, sir,” Jimmy insisted. “Samuel Assissay’s still around the place.”

  “Is he, by Jove? You want to keep your eye on him.”

  Jimmy felt depressed by Twigg’s indifference. “And what about Gotto, sir?”

  “Oh, hell, man, he’ll be going home on leave before long. He’s only about three months to go now and you can bet your boots I’ll put nothing in his way. I don’t want to sack the man. I’d rather wait until his tour’s up and then get the London office not to renew his contract. Besides, there’s always the chance he’ll knock himself up. I’ve seen his type before – they work themselves to death or go home suffering from the sun. Just look out for the first outburst of temper.”

  “We’re long past the first, sir.”

  Twigg seemed surprised. “Oh! Are you? Oh, well, London will look after him. They set him on. They can knock him off. I don’t want to be held responsible. He’s likely to cut his throat if I sack him. He’s just the sort of damned idiot to do something foolish if I get rid of him.”

  “He’s the sort to do something foolish if you don’t, sir.”

  Twigg laughed. “He’s getting you down, old boy, isn’t he? Stick it a bit longer and I’ll have you down here and send someone else up to handle him for a bit till he leaves.” He flashed his brilliant smile at Jimmy. “I’ve a new chap coming out in a little while. We’ll let him have a go. Introduce him to Africa.”

  “Sir, he’s going to cause trouble up there,” Jimmy persisted miserably.

  “You’re keen on that idea, aren’t you? Well, we’ll soon have him out if he does.”

  “It might be too late then, sir.”

  Twigg laughed again. “Don’t worry, man. Now, how about the cricket team? How’s it going?”

  “We haven’t got one,” Jimmy said, too annoyed to lie about it any more.

  “Haven’t got one? But I thought you were organising it.”

  A phrase of Twigg’s occurred to Jimmy. “The bastards prefer football,” he said shortly.

  Jimmy’s fortnight at Ma-Imi was shared between the face of the hill where the mechanical diggers ripped out the ironstone, the offices where he learned something of the wider methods that made the amateurish efforts of Clerk Smith at Amama look silly, the laboratory, the loader down at the wharf, and finally the cricket field.

  Twigg seemed to have arranged half a dozen matches especially for him, though the thought of cricket in the evenings appalled him. He had intended using all his spare time writing passionate letters to Stella in the hope of working some change in her mind.

  “Don’t let the fact that you haven’t played for some time worry you,” Twigg said. “We’re all a bit rusty really. But I like to see a youngster have a chance at the wicket when he comes down here. I can usually fit him in.”

  Not half you can’t, Jimmy thought to himself. He had noticed that all the older hands were expert at dodging the cricket fatigues.

  “Fancy that clot Gotto down here,” Twigg went on cheerfully. “He’d have complained to some blasted authority that I was making him play cricket – making him.”

  And he’d have been right, Jimmy thought sourly.

  When his stay at Ma-Imi came to an end, Twigg threw his usual party to see him off.

  “Got to see the boys safely back to the outposts of Empire,” he said. “We river folk can’t sit in plush-lined offices down in Freetown. We’ve got to make our own amusements.”

  The party began soon after the evening meal and went on late into the night. The same people as before were there and they all talked fifty to the dozen, all of them seeking some common denomin
ator with each other, some town they knew, some book they’d read, some film they’d seen. Twigg got rather drunk and sentimental about the British Empire and its outposts, and a little envious and bitter about the people in Freetown, and their lot compared with that of the bush and river folk. The evening grew more stifling and Jimmy, desperate to get back to Amama and Stella, found his only interest was in manoeuvring for a place under the fan revolving slowly in the centre of the ceiling.

  He went to bed, conscious of the silence of his room and the jettiness of the dark after the noise and the smoky glare of Twigg’s house. Outside, the African moon, filling the whole sky and flooding the room with its light, seemed to balance on the mountain tops and Jimmy climbed under his net sobered by a sudden unexpected thought that came from nowhere of the wretched Gotto alone at Amama, afraid of the fishermen and the dark, conscious of failure and friendless, anxious to make good and desperate for the affection that his personality denied him. As he lay back on the pillow he determined for the umpteenth time to be kinder.

  By the time he had been back in Amama an hour, however, he had forgotten all about it.

  It was evening when he climbed on to the catamaran from the boat and up the ladder of the rickety jetty. Earnshaw was there, waiting for him, a scorched cigarette end between his lips, his leathery face expressionless.

  “Good time?” he asked flatly.

  “All right.” Jimmy glanced at him quickly. “What’s wrong, Archie?”

  “Seen my jetty?” Earnshaw nodded in the direction of the pile-driver. Not a single pile had been driven into the mud since Jimmy had left for Ma-Imi. The place was deserted.

  “Gotto?”

  “I’ll give him a smash in the chops one of these days. Straight up and no half larks I will. He’s got everybody in the blasted place on edge. It wasn’t for Alf Momo, nothing would be done ’ere at all.”