Solomon's Song

by Bryce Courtenay

  As Hawk approaches his Caulfield home on the morning of Hinetitama’s death he knows that he must somehow force David once again into a corner so that he will be made to capitulate. Hawk knows that Joshua is the key. He must pluck David’s teeth first, whereupon he will see Abraham about remaining as chairman. But first he must talk to Victoria and then get some sleep.

  In the late afternoon of the day of Hinetitama’s death the butler, known simply as Adams, enters the sunlit conservatory of Abraham’s Toorak home where David Solomon, wrapped in a light blanket, is dozing in a bathchair. The butler stands beside the old man and announces, ‘Mr Hawk Solomon has called and offered his card, he requests that he might be allowed to see you, Mr David.’

  ‘Eh? What did you say? Speak up, man!’ David shouts, annoyed at being disturbed.

  ‘Mr Hawk Solomon to see you, sir.’ The butler raises one eyebrow slightly, not that David can see this clear sign of his disdain. ‘A black man, sir.’

  ‘Hawk Solomon to see me? Tell him to go ter buggery!’

  ‘Sir, he apologises for the lack of an appointment but says it is a matter of some urgency.’

  ‘What, his urgency or mine? The only matter of urgency I have is to take a piss. Here, get the bloody chamber-pot.’ The old man brings his legs over the edge of the bathchair with some difficulty and places them on the floor. With hands trembling he begins to fumble with his pyjama pants. He can barely see the chamber-pot which Adams now holds at the correct level. ‘Tell me when it’s pointed in the right direction,’ he instructs Adams, ‘then close yer eyes!’

  ‘It’s about right to proceed now, sir,’ the butler says solemnly. He is a big man with a pronounced belly and appears awkward as he bends to hold the chamber-pot at the right height and angle.

  After what seems like ages, Adams hears the thin trickle of urine splashing into the porcelain pot. He keeps his eyes shut until the sound finally ceases and then allows sufficient time for David’s trembling fingers to return the fly of his pyjamas to a more decorous arrangement. Placing the chamber-pot down, he lifts David’s trembling legs back into the bathchair and tucks the blanket around him. ‘Bastard ain’t worth the piss in that pot!’ David snaps. ‘Is that all he said, a matter of urgency? A matter of urgency about what, man!’

  ‘Just a matter of urgency, Mr David.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you said that before!’ David says impatiently. David thinks for a moment and then decides that he will take this final opportunity to spit in the face of his last great enemy. ‘Tell him he’s got ten minutes and damned lucky to get it.’

  ‘Yes, Mr David.’ Adams bends slowly and picks up the chamber-pot. ‘Ten minutes, it is?’

  David appears to be looking about the conservatory until his failing eyesight spies a large wicker chair. ‘Take that out, make the nigger boy stand.’

  Adams, still holding the chamber-pot, takes the chair from the back and drags it behind him as he leaves the conservatory. ‘He’s not to be offered any refreshment, yer hear,’ David shouts at the departing butler.

  Clasping his rheumatic hands so as to appear completely calm and in control, he waits for Hawk to be ushered into his presence.

  Hawk’s shadowy figure stoops to allow him to enter the doorway into the conservatory. ‘Ah, Hawk Solomon, you have dared to call at my house when you know you are not welcome.’

  Hawk smiles. ‘Would you have met me elsewhere, David?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Well then, how else would I be able to say what I have come to say?’

  ‘There is nothing you can say that would interest me, so be out with it and then be gone, I am too old to waste what time I have left in the company of a nigger.’

  ‘Ah, my tidings, whether from a nigger or a white man, will cause you no less consternation, David Solomon,’ Hawk replies evenly, not in the least upset by the outburst from the old man. He stands relaxed in front of the bathchair, towering above the supine David, who can see him as a soft image, almost a dark shadow, as if he is looking into a badly smudged mirror.

  ‘There is naught you can do to consternate me now, you have been beaten neck and crop these last twenty years. Yer old and yer useless and yer ready to die!’

  Hawk’s voice is suddenly sharp. ‘I have not come to banter, David Solomon, it is you, Sir Abraham and your grandson who have lost, we have regained the voting rights to Tommo’s daughter’s shares, we are again in the majority.’

  ‘We? Who the hell is we?’ David screams. ‘Bah! The boy is not worth a pinch of shit, a bloody hops farmer! And the girlie, the little witch, she is like her mother, nothing but trouble. She and her abacus, opening her big gob and wailing about the conditions of the poor. What does she know about being poor, eh? Tell her to come and see me. I’ll tell her about poor! Jesus!’ He brings his fist up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as though to be rid of a bad taste. ‘Now the boy’s gone to war, you think she’ll take over, do ya? What to do, eh? Count the daily takings with her beads?’ He stabs a bony finger in Hawk’s direction. ‘Now you lissen t’ me, yer black bastard, no old nigger and a girlie from the farm who plays with beads is gunna take over Solomon & Teekleman. You’ve got the proxies, has ya? From that half-caste drunken whore who went walkabout and never come back? You’ve got her will, has ya? And her proxy? Well, well, ain’t that grand.’ He pauses again to take breath and spit a gob of phlegm into a spittoon placed beside his chair, then he continues, ‘So tell me? How you going to do it? How you going to take over Solomon & Teekleman? You are alone and have no one who knows of the workings of the company! Fer Christsake, you’ve been out of it twenty years! You’ll soon be dead yerself and good riddance to bad rubbish! You think that little snot-nose solicitor girl is going to do it on her abacus . . . alone? Ha! Lemme tell you something for nothing, yer full o’ bullshit, Hawk Solomon, and I’ll see you in hell first!’

  ‘Ah, but before I do, I shall take over as chairman. It will be tenure long enough to destroy your grandson.’ Hawk is surprised how well informed David Solomon is about Victoria. It is, he thinks, a great compliment that they should have watched her so closely. He wonders briefly which of the senior partners at Slade, Slade & Hetherington is in David’s pocket.

  Nevertheless the old man has instantly put his finger on the problem and, if anything, has managed to gain the initiative. Hawk is forced to admire him. At ninety-four his mind is still sharp as a tack. The length and content of his tirade alone would have exhausted a man thirty years his junior.

  But David has only paused to draw breath. ‘You think the government will stand by and let the third-biggest company in Australia with a dozen major war contracts be managed by an old fool? Allow you to put the troops in jeopardy because you want to punish a young man, an officer of the King, who has volunteered to fight for his country? You think they’ll stand by and watch my son Abraham be replaced by an old blackfella who ’asn’t done a day’s work in twenty years? Do me a favour, will ya? Go away! You’re fucked, Hawk Solomon!’

  Hawk chuckles, hiding his true feelings. It is pointless, he decides, trying to put his original proposal to the old bastard. David Solomon will not compromise, will never capitulate. To get himself and Victoria back into Solomon & Teekleman will be an enormous fight. They could be saddled with years of litigation and interference from a government bureaucracy protecting its military contracts before they eventually win. And, always, there is the sense of time running out for him. Hawk decides that there is little more he can do but try to bluff his way through.

  ‘All that work for nothing, eh, David? All those years teaching your grandson what you know and Joshua will never again have anything to do with Solomon & Teekleman. Such a pity, such a nice lad they tell me.’ Hawk pauses. ‘Still, you’ve got plenty of money, I’m sure you can buy the boy a soft job with a large income in a nice gentile firm, a sinecure so that he might remain the darling of the social set.’

  But David is not a bit fazed by Hawk’s taunting. He pr
esses the electric buzzer at his arm to summon the butler. ‘Bah! My lawyers will have your guts for garters! Now you lissen ter me, we’ll still be here, still running things, when Joshua returns to take his rightful place. No country-bumpkin, half-arsed female solicitor who uses an abacus to count and calls herself a bloody socialist is going to take his place.’ He cackles suddenly, genuinely amused at the thought. ‘The nigger and the farm girl are going to run the biggest private company in Australia!’ The smile disappears from his face and he sniffs derisively and, with a dismissive flick of his hand towards Hawk, says, ‘Be gone with you, you cheeky black bastard!’

  Hawk, remaining calm, ignores David’s outburst and speaks slowly, his voice raised so that the old man is certain to hear him. ‘I have called an extraordinary general meeting of the directors for tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp when your son will be asked to relinquish his position as chairman and, of course, I shall see that your grandson, upon his return from the war, finds no position in either company available to him.’ Hawk pauses a moment, before adding, ‘Victoria Teekleman will replace him and I daresay will eventually become chairman.’

  Hawk allows all this to register with the old man and concludes, ‘It’s our turn now, David, your side is finished.

  As a director I hope you will be present with your son to witness Victoria Teekleman’s acceptance into the company, its latest recruit, the new Mary Abacus. But I don’t give a shit whether you attend or not. Tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp I shall accept your son’s resignation as chairman.’

  The butler comes into the conservatory. ‘You wanted something, Mr David?’

  ‘Yes, you will show this impertinent fellow to the door at once, Adams.’ David turns to Hawk. ‘Be gone with you, Hawk Solomon, I do not wish ever to see you again.’

  ‘Ah, but you will I hope, David. Tomorrow.’

  ‘Be gone! Damn your hide, nigger!’ the old man shouts, shaking his fist in Hawk’s direction.

  Adams steps up to Hawk. ‘I’m afraid you must go, my good man. Come along now, we don’t want any fuss, do we?’ The unfortunate Adams makes the mistake of reaching up to take Hawk’s elbow and Hawk, not changing his expression, takes Adams’ hand in his own and begins to squeeze so that the butler sinks to his knees, his face turning scarlet and his jowls shaking like a jelly freshly removed from its mould. His expression is a mixture of surprise and agony as his mouth pops open and closed like a goldfish in a bowl as he gasps silently to be released.

  ‘What are you doing!’ David demands, not able to clearly see what’s going on.

  ‘He’s h-hurting me, sir,’ Adams says at last.

  ‘Just a bit of good man-ing,’ Hawk says softly, and looks down at Adams. ‘Come along now, there’s a good man, we don’t want any fuss, do we?’ Still gripping the unfortunate butler’s hand in his giant fist, Hawk says to David, ‘Tomorrow then. Be good enough to be on time. I shall notify Sir Abraham as well.’

  Hawk releases his grip on the poor man gasping at his knees and, bending slightly, takes him by the elbow and helps him to his feet. ‘Thank you for seeing me in, Mr Adams. I shall see myself out.’

  ‘We will have the law onto you for this,’ David shouts, finally realising what has happened to his butler.

  ‘Oh yes, the law,’ Hawk says absently. ‘The guts-for-garters men. If you think they will help you, bring all the lawyers in Christendom to the meeting tomorrow. I, for my part, shall bring only one. She should be sufficient to effectively deal with them all, that is, after first adding up their collective fees on her abacus.’

  With these final words Hawk turns to depart, leaving the hapless butler to nurse the fingers of his damaged hand by means of squeezing them under his armpit.

  ‘Go to hell, you nigger bastard!’ David screams, shaking his fist at the dark shadow he sees as the departing Hawk.

  Hawk pauses at the door and turns back to look at the old man and sees that he is weeping, though whether they be tears of temper, frustration or anxiety he can’t tell. But with a certainty born out of a lifetime of knowing David Solomon, he knows they are not the tears that flow from remorse. ‘Will the wicked old man never die?’ he thinks, as he closes the door behind him.

  David, in fact, weeps for himself, despite his bravado. He is aware that Hawk is a patient but determined foe and that ultimately his enemy will gain control of Solomon & Teekleman once more. He considers briefly having Hawk murdered, but he is too old and feeble to make the arrangements and Abraham would not countenance any such action. Everything is suddenly falling to bits, first Joshua going off to war and now this.

  He has tried so hard to make his grandson everything he himself isn’t. Joshua is his alter ego and he is going to die knowing the boy with whom he has worked so diligently and upon whom he has lavished so much affection will come to nothing. David thinks back to the day of Joshua’s birth which, in his mind’s eye, he sees as clearly as if it were yesterday.

  He is standing impatiently outside Elizabeth’s bed chamber and when he hears the first mewling cries of the infant he turns the knob on the bedroom door, determined to barge in, but it has been locked from the inside.

  ‘Open this bloody door!’ he shouts.

  ‘Sir, I must cut and tie the cord and wash the baby,’ the midwife shouts back.

  ‘Bugger that, lemme in!’ David throws his shoulder against the door. ‘Lemme in, will ya!’ he demands again.

  But the midwife won’t be intimidated. ‘You’ll stay there until we’re ready, sir,’ she shouts back.

  It is a good fifteen minutes before David hears the click of the key and, without waiting for the door to open fully, he barges into the bedroom, brushing the midwife aside. He doesn’t even demand to know the newborn’s gender, convinced that whichever one of the ears of God has heard his request, it has also plainly understood that a male child was a mandatory part of it.

  David simply walks into the darkened room and makes for the velvet drapes which keep the bed chamber in a semi-darkened state. He rips them open to expose the late morning sunlight.

  Elizabeth lies with her infant swaddled and held tightly to her breasts. ‘Righto, girlie, let’s see him. Hold him up, will ya. Take that bloody blanket off. I want to see the lot of him, all of the little bugger, see he’s got everything that should be there and nothing that shouldn’t!’

  The midwife tries to interfere. ‘Sir, she’s wearied, the baby is only just born, the mother is weak from the birth.’

  ‘She’s always been weak and bloody wearied. Look at her, no bloody tits. How’s the boy gunna suckle, eh? Come along, girl, hold him up, let me see the little blighter.’

  Elizabeth begins to cry, clutching her infant even more tightly to her chest. ‘Father, please go,’ she whispers through her tears. ‘It’s my baby.’

  David is genuinely shocked at this idea. ‘Your baby? Oh no, you don’t! You’ll not pull that one on me, girlie.’ He points to the swaddled infant. ‘That’s my child. I got him from God and a pretty penny he cost too!’ He turns to the midwife. ‘You! I’m not finished with you! Hold my boy up, let me see him,’ he demands. The midwife, afraid to confront the monstrous man standing in front of her a second time, takes the infant from the weeping Elizabeth and, removing the blanket that covers him, she lies him down on the counterpane, which is folded neatly at the end of the bed. The tiny infant stretches, then balls his fists, screwing up his eyes against the glare which now bathes him in the light, showing the rubbery reddish-brown colour of the healthy newborn.

  ‘See, making fists,’ David says gleefully. ‘A born fighter already.’ He inspects Joshua minutely from head to toe, then, pronouncing himself satisfied with the front, turns to the midwife. ‘Turn him over, woman, let’s see his tukis.’ Finally, having checked Joshua for birthmarks or any other defect, he looks up pleased. ‘Good,’ he grunts. ‘Wrap him up, missus.’ Turning to Elizabeth he points to her bosom, ‘You’ll not feed him with those, girlie. We’ll get a wet nurse with big tits. I’ll not have hi
m starvin’ to death sucking on a couple of bleedin’ mosquito bites!’

  David leaves just as Abraham arrives, having been summoned from work. Father and son meet at the bedchamber door. ‘It’s a boy and he’s mine,’ David says to his son. Abraham, anxious to be at Elizabeth’s side, only hears the words ‘It’s a boy’ as he hastens to be with his distraught wife. This will prove to be one of the few times when the two parents will be alone with their child. David is convinced that the child is his, prayed and paid for, and that Elizabeth is simply the delivery container who, while she is useful, is Joshua’s surrogate mother.

  At first, Elizabeth objects to David’s complete possession of her child but to little avail. David demands that the wet nurse feeds him in his presence so that he is assured the baby receives sufficient milk. He stands beside the nursemaid they have employed to care for the baby while she weighs him every two days, jotting down baby Joshua’s weight in a small notebook. As Joshua grows older, David so totally monopolises the child that Joshua’s own father seldom gets to play with him. David sees his grandchild as an extension of himself and, from the very first day, he discusses affairs of business with Joshua.

  ‘It’s the sounds, see, the sounds of the words. Course he don’t understand them, but if they’re the sounds he hears about him, he’ll get to know them unconscious like, sounds of words like profit, loss, debit, credit, insurance, compound interest, percentage, negotiation, contract. Them’s all sounds and words he must later think was born into his head. It don’t matter that he don’t comprehend yet, it’s the sounds, see, like litigation, a lovely sound that, lit-ti-gation.’

  ‘Leave the child alone, Father,’ Elizabeth would cry, exasperated at David’s almost maniacal preoccupation with her child. ‘He’s only a baby.’

  ‘Alone? Leave him alone?’ David shows his astonishment. ‘What do you mean alone!’ he yells at her. ‘I can’t take no chances. It’s not my fault there’s only one of him around.’ This last is always said accusingly, guilt is David’s speciality and he never hesitates to use it on his daughter-in-law.