Solomon's Song

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘But that will be another twenty, maybe thirty years! You’ll be long dead, Grandmother?’

  ‘Not too long, I hope,’ Mary sniffs, then she lifts her hands towards her granddaughter showing her crooked fingers. ‘But what I did with these, with me own hands, won’t be dead! The Potato Factory, me beloved brewery, must carry on. I don’t care much about the other things, they’s nice, but the brewery, that’s different, that must continue!’ She takes a deep breath and gives a resigned smile. ‘Now tell me, my precious, who is this man you say you love?’

  Hinetitama looks shyly up at Mary and says softly, ‘He’s a Dutchman, from Holland.’

  ‘A Dutchman, eh? Me old man was a Dutchman,’ Mary exclaims. ‘A tally clerk down at the East India docks.’ She thinks of her poor drunken father and how she loved him despite his constant betrayal and state of inebriation.

  ‘He isn’t what you’d call a true merino, he isn’t the right breeding stock and he hasn’t got no . . .’ Hinetitama corrects herself, ‘. . . any pedigree. He ain’t . . . isn’t what you’re looking for, Grandmother.’

  Mary ignores her protest. ‘Tush, go back a generation or two and we’re all scum on this island, even the free settlers come from a pretty dodgy lot, scratch one o’ them and you’d be surprised what you find underneath. How old is this Dutchman of yours?’

  ‘Thirty.’

  ‘How tall?’

  Hinetitama thinks a moment. ‘Six feet and a little bit, I think.’

  ‘Healthy? No coughs in his chest?’

  ‘Yes, he’s healthy, no coughs.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m a nurse, I ought to know.’

  ‘Got all his teeth?’

  Hinetitama laughs despite herself. ‘Last time I saw him, yes.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘When Uncle Hawk found us.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me about no Dutchman?’

  ‘That’s ’cause he kicked his arse and sent him packin’,’ Hinetitama says, her grammar reverting to type.

  Mary can be seen to think for a moment, then she draws a breath and says, ‘Well, never mind, Hawk never were a good judge o’ character.’ She pauses. ‘Do you still love him?’

  ‘Who? Uncle Hawk? Of course!’

  ‘No, not him, the Dutchman.’

  Hinetitama nods her head and Mary sees a sudden tear run down her cheek.

  ‘Does he love you?’

  ‘I dunno, he never said.’

  ‘Men never do,’ Mary sniffs. She looks wan and lowers her eyes as she thinks of Mr Emmett, the man she loved since the first day she set eyes on him when she’d been in the Female Factory. How, after all the years of knowing him, she had been too shy even to attend his funeral. ‘You spend your whole life loving them and never know what they thinks of you,’ Mary says at last.

  Hinetitama looks up surprised. ‘You were in love, Grandmother?’ She breaks into a smile. ‘You were! I knew it!’ she cries, clapping her hands. ‘You were, weren’t you, c’mon own up, tell the truth?’

  Mary pulls her lips into a small grimace as she tries to conceal her smile. ‘Never mind that, my girl, what you don’t know can’t hurt you. Tell me, do you want to have this man’s children?’

  Hinetitama is momentarily taken aback by the question and she thinks for a moment, then nods her head. ‘I suppose? I never thought about it before.’

  Mary’s manner is suddenly all business. ‘Where is he to be found?’

  Hinetitama shrugs. ‘Wellington, I suppose. Somewhere in New Zealand, who knows. Wellington’s where we left hum. What are you going to do, Grandmother?’

  ‘Why find him, of course.’

  ‘Find hum? Go to Wellington?’ Hinetitama says incredulously. ‘What for?’

  ‘Him, not hum,’ Mary now corrects. ‘To bring hum over. Why else would I bother to find hum, my dear?’ she teases smilingly.

  ‘Here? To Hobart?’ Hinetitama says excitedly and then, as suddenly, looks forlorn, her eyes cast downwards. ‘What if he won’t come?’

  ‘He’ll come,’ Mary snorts. ‘Don’t fret your little heart about that. In my experience there is seldom a man money can’t buy, and he don’t sound the sort to be too hesitant.’

  ‘But it’s been over a year? What if he’s forgot me or took up with someone else, he’s very handsome?’

  ‘Forgotten me, and taken up,’ Mary corrects without thinking. She gives a cynical little snort. ‘My dear girl, he’ll be suitably reminded then, won’t he? In my experience, wallets, in particular, are a splendid way to jog the memory, provided they are allowed to grow a little in size. If he has married someone else then it may be difficult, but if he merely enjoys different company, then a considerable thickening of his wallet will soon cause him a remarkable loss of enthusiasm for the pleasure his new partner brings him.’

  ‘You mean you’re going to bribe him, buy him for me?

  I don’t think I’d like that, Grandmother. That’s what you’ve been doing with all the others.’

  ‘Ah, yes, but you didn’t love the others, my precious.’

  ‘But what if he truly doesn’t love me!’

  ‘Don’t you bother your little mind about that right now. We’ll bring him over and you can decide for yourself. If he doesn’t love you there isn’t much I can do about it, is there? Besides you’re not the sort to be easily forgot, my precious little lark.’

  Hinetitama looks doubtfully at her grandmother, she knows enough to suspect Mary’s devious mind is at work. ‘You promise me you won’t bribe him to say he loves me?’

  ‘No, no, of course I promise,’ Mary protests, thinking, if she knows anything about men, how unnecessary it is to make such a promise.

  Hinetitama remembers the circumstances in which Hawk found the two of them. It is now obvious to her that he hasn’t told Mary about their drunken behaviour or the nature of her lover’s profession or their predilection for the grog bottle. She is grateful to Hawk for this, but also finds herself deeply concerned. She has managed to stay clean for more than a year and knows that if Slabbert Teekleman returns she will be lost. Hinetitama senses that Mary’s efforts to bring her lover back to her are likely to end in disaster for them both.

  Hinetitama tells herself she has tried to get over her Dutchman, to forget him, but he has been constantly on her mind. Not a day passes when she doesn’t ache to be with him. Just as she knows that even though she hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since she fought Hawk in Wellington, she still craves the gin bottle every day of her life. There is something, some evil devil, deep down in her belly, that needs it. She knows she loves her Dutchman with the same senseless and destructive passion. She admits to herself that he is, by every definition, a scoundrel, a profligate, a drunk and a gambler, but it makes no difference. She loves him, loves the excitement of being with him, and she cannot cast him from her mind. Hinetitama, her heart pounding, gives herself one last chance at her own salvation.

  ‘Uncle Hawk doesn’t like hum?’ she says to Mary. ‘He won’t permit it.’

  ‘Didn’t expect he would,’ Mary barks. ‘You leave Hawk to me, an’ all.’

  But Hawk won’t hear of a plan to find the Dutchman and return him to Hinetitama. While he doesn’t know the intimate details of their love affair, he has witnessed its consequence.

  ‘Mama, he is a drunk and a gambler just like Tommo, only I daresay not as skilled. I found them in a hovel drunk, with her naked and filthy and him a coward who ran away and left with a curse for her on his lips. I bought him off with two sovereigns. Can’t you see what will happen if she returns to this evil man?’

  Mary is obdurate. ‘Well! If that’s all you can say. Why, if she’s what you say she is, a drunk like her father, has she not touched a drop of liquor since she arrived? She’s a good girl, stubborn as a mule, that I’ll admit, but I don’t believe she’d do anything silly.’

  ‘Mama, there is a weakness in her. He is a drunk and will take her down with him.’

&nb
sp; ‘Nonsense! Besides, men don’t always drink from addiction, often it’s from despair at their prospects in life. As Hinetitama’s husband he shall enjoy the most excellent prospects. He seems from her description to be a strong enough fellow with good teeth and lungs, tall and fair of complexion. He is a musician also, so he may be a sensitive fellow underneath.’

  Hawk cannot believe his ears. Mary, the ever wary, who doesn’t suffer fools gladly and can pick a charlatan soon as look at him, is now carrying on with such inane drivel. ‘About as sensitive as my black arse,’ Hawk says, suddenly angry. ‘He is a gambler as well as a drunk, even if he could be made to reform from the grog he will remain the other. She, Hinetitama, has a fixation, that is all.’

  ‘She’s in love with him, Hawk, same as you were with Maggie Pye.’

  For the first time in his life Hawk turns on Mary. ‘How dare you, Mama! This Dutchman isn’t worth a pinch of dog shit! He’s a useless bastard, and up to no good in every possible way.’

  Mary looks at Hawk and says unflinchingly, ‘You could have said the same thing about our Tommo, now couldn’t you? What about Maggie Pye? She was a whore. I was a whore, reduced to the vilest circumstances. Does that make us bad people? Your Maggie was a fine woman, one of the best I’ve known, but she was still a whore. We can all reform, Hawk. If we are fortunate enough to get a second chance. Hinetitama loves this Dutchman, why can’t we give him a second chance, eh?’

  Hawk, still angry and unaccustomed to defying Mary or even using coarse language in front of her, wheels around again. ‘Mama, I beseech you, listen to me! You don’t know what you’re talking about. The man’s bad, weak, hopeless. He has the look of a gaolbird about him. I simply won’t do this to Tommo’s memory. Christ Jesus, Tommo asked me to take care of his daughter not to destroy her! I brought her away from New Zealand so she wouldn’t ever again have to mix with scum, with rubbish like Teekleman.’

  Mary is silent for a moment and then Hawk sees the anger rise up in her. ‘Now you listen to me, Hawk Solomon. Tommo’s dead, the girl is alive! I can’t go thinking about the sensibilities of the dead where the living are concerned. She refuses to marry any of the local prospects and, I must say, I don’t blame her, they’re a pretty gormless lot. But she will marry her Dutchman and time is runnin’ out, she’s twenty-five years old, not much time left for childbearing and as far as I can see Teekleman has no disadvantages in that particular area.’

  Hawk loves Mary with all of his heart but he now believes her power, wealth and arrogance, taken together with her need to create an on-going, living memorial to her life, has totally corrupted her. ‘Mama, you mustn’t do this, I beg of you. You will destroy your granddaughter, destroy her as surely as you claim Hannah and David destroyed Tommo.’ Hawk pauses and takes a deep breath. ‘If you persist in this, then I will tell David Solomon that we stole Hannah and Ikey’s share of the Whitechapel safe. He will go to the law and I shall testify, admit our guilt and you will be ruined.’

  ‘And you?’ Mary sneers. ‘It were you who did the stealing, who opened the safe and took what was inside. What will become of you then?’

  Hawk shrugs. ‘It don’t matter. If you let that Dutchman have Hinetitama you will have destroyed me and you have dishonoured my twin!’ Hawk sighs. ‘What happens next doesn’t matter.’

  Mary is silent, her hands in her lap, her head bowed. Hawk appeals once more to her. ‘Mama, can’t you see, what you’ve done is wonderful, they can’t take that away from you, but what happens after you’ve gone is of no consequence, you can’t take it with you, it’s all over. Let someone else have the bloody brewery!’

  Hawk hears the sharp intake of Mary’s breath as she looks up at him. ‘Have it? Someone else? A stranger? A man!’ she cries. ‘Now, you lissen t’me, boy! I built it with me own hands, these stupid, ugly, broken claws!’ She throws her hands up in front of her face. ‘I’ve told you how they come to be like this! Men done it, men who wouldn’t let a woman have a job as clerk, they done it! Held me down and broke me fingers with their boots, then raped me!’ Mary is shaking with anger and tears roll down her cheeks and her nose begins to run. ‘The brewery, the Potato Factory, that’s me answer to them bastards who done me in at the East India docks! That’s me answer to the beak that sent me down. To the vile Potbottom who flogged me on the convict ship and the tyranny of the sanctimonious bible-bashing surgeon Joshua Smiles! Not to mention the utter bastardry o’ the male warders at the Female Factory and their soldier friends who lay us on our backs at night and took from us what they wanted! The banks, the fat, pompous bastards in their grey worsted weskits and gold fob chains, in cahoots with the other brewers. “Sorry, Mary, we don’t give credit to women,” they sneered, then not even bothering to get up and show me to the flamin’ door!’ Mary takes a breath, sniffs and then continues, ‘I’m the first woman in the known world to build me own brewery! To make and name me own beer! You hear that? The first! That’s supposed to be men’s work ain’t it? The male perog-a-tive! Men own breweries, doesn’t they? Men with big bellies and bushy curled moustaches!’ She sniffs and knuckles the tears from her eyes. ‘Well, a woman built this one! Long as it stands with its two chimneys, two fingers o’ brick stuck up into the sky for all to see, it says, “Fuck you!” on behalf of every woman what was ever raped and abused and humiliated by a man!’

  Mary now points an accusing finger at Hawk, her voice rasps from the anger and disappointment she feels. ‘And now you want to do the same. The same as them bastards on the London docks. You wish to destroy me.’ Her head jerks backwards. ‘Why?’ she cries, ‘Fergawd’s sake tell me why? What have I done to you? You who I brought up, loved with every breath in me body. I even killed for you.’ She suddenly grows very quiet and speaks almost in a whisper, ‘My beloved Hawk, I never thought I’d live to see this day!’ Mary stops and bows her head and begins to weep softly, ‘I am so ashamed.’

  ‘Oh, Mama! Mama!’ Hawk cries out in anguish.

  Mary looks slowly up at him, her eyes brimming but her voice defiant. ‘Well you won’t and you can’t!’ she chokes. ‘I’m gunna find that Dutchman and he’ll take Hinetitama to his bed and as soon as he’s given her a couple of brats it will be your job to see him off this island. What did you say it cost last time? Two sovs, weren’t it? Well, I daresay it will take a lot more next time, but I don’t care.’ She pauses and shouts, ‘I WANT MY HEIRS!’ Then she brings her hand up and clasps the small gold medal resting, as ever, upon her breast, Ikey’s Waterloo medal. ‘You know what it says on the back, on this, don’tcha? I shall never never surrender! I ain’t never and I never shall!’ She releases the medal and brings both her hands up to cover her face and weeps and weeps.

  Chapter Three

  NEW LIFE AND THE

  DEATH OF MARY ABACUS

  1886–1892

  Slabbert Teekleman simply turns up in Hobart one bright late spring morning in November 1886.

  Martha Billings, the kitchen maid in Mary’s home, hears the bell on the back door and goes to answer it, thinking it must be the butcher boy. She discovers a small man, who looks to be in his forties and is somewhat redvisaged and battered-looking, as if he’s taken a bad licking or two in his time. The hair below his dirty cap sticks out at every angle and is in need of a good wash. At the maid’s appearance he removes his cap and clutches it to the region of his crotch. Martha now sees that he has a bald pate smooth as an egg.

  ‘Whatcha want?’ Martha asks, summing him up immediately as a nobody.

  ‘I’ve a note, fer Miss Solomon, miss,’ the man replies.

  ‘Give it then,’ Martha demands, extending her hand.

  The man shakes his head. ‘Nah, ’fraid I can’t, miss. I got instructions see. I got to hand it to her personal.’ He now realises he is talking to his own social level and his confidence is restored. He returns his cap to his head. ‘Miss Solomon personal.’

  ‘And what if I said that were me an’ all?’ Martha says tartly, feet apart, her hands cla
mped to her waist.

  The man smiles. ‘Whole town knows who Miss Solomon is, brought back by Mr Hawk over a year now on the Waterloo.’

  Annoyed, Martha turns and asks the cook what she must do, explaining the man’s purpose. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Go and fetch Miss Heenie,’ Mrs Briggs instructs, then she pops her head around the door and takes a quick look at the man. ‘He don’t look like he bites.’

  Martha sniffs. ‘Wait here,’ she orders the messenger.

  The man grins slyly, pleased to see the uppity servant girl put in her place by the cook. ‘Thankee, missus,’ he says, grinning at Mrs Briggs.

  ‘I dunno, young folk don’t seem to know their manners no more,’ the cook remarks, ‘Too much lip that one.’ She turns back to the messenger. ‘I don’t suppose you’d mind a nice mug o’ tea and a slice of bread and jam?’

  The man smiles, showing several teeth missing with the remainder blackened. ‘Thankee, much obliged, missus.’

  When Hinetitama arrives he is sitting on the back step with a tin mug of hot sweet tea and a hunk of bread and jam. He jumps up, slopping tea over his hand in his haste.

  ‘Oh dear, you’ve burned your hand?’ Hinetitama cries, concerned.

  ‘Some, not much,’ the man replies, plainly embarrassed for creating a fuss.

  ‘Here, let me see your hand?’

  ‘Me ’and’s fine, miss. No ’arm done.’

  ‘Cook’ll give you another mug of tea.’

  ‘No, miss, it ain’t all spilled.’ He looks down into the mug. ‘Plenty left, thankee.’ Then he stoops to rest the mug on the step beside the hunk of bread, wipes his teasplashed hand on the side of his greasy corduroy trousers, removes his cap and takes a piece of folded paper from its interior. ‘Here, miss, I were told to give it to you personal.’