Pearls

by Colin Falconer

  Cameron happily accepted another glass of gin.

  Flynn raised his own glass in toast. 'To your health and prosperity,' he said and the gin gurgled down his throat. He held out his glass for another.

  Cameron, who thought he could drink any man under the table, did the same.

  'Where are you from, Mister McKenzie? I've been in Broome nearly ten years and I can't say I've ever seen your face.'

  'I arrived at the beginning of the season. I was lucky to get a crew.'

  'Who's your diver?'

  'His name's Tanaka.'

  'Tanaka? Over the hill, my boy, take it from me.'

  'Aye, and nearly crippled too. I had to take him back to Broome. He got the paralysis.'

  'So who does your diving now?'

  'You're looking at him,' Cameron said, quietly. 'I was a diver for the Royal Navy at one time.'

  Flynn raised an eyebrow and there was a new respect in his eyes. 'Not many white men dive their own lugger.'

  'This one does. I have some knowledge of it.'

  'In what way now?'

  'When I was in the Royal Navy, the Admiralty's Deep Water Diving Commission wanted volunteers for their trials. They thought they had found a way to beat the diver's sickness.'

  'The Japanese reckon their paper charms and some cadjeput oil does the job.'

  'Which is why so many of them end up in the graveyard.' Cam leaned forward. 'You see, down there in the deeps a man's body is under pressure from the water above, and nitrogen is more easily absorbed into the blood, and it bubbles into the joints and the brain when he comes back to the air. In the Navy we learned that to overcome it, you wait at a certain depth below the surface, where the pressure is not so great, until all the nitrogen in the blood is breathed out again.'

  Flynn shook his head. 'They tried that once a few years back. Sent some Royal Navy divers out here with their fancy ideas. One of them died and the other went back a cripple.'

  'I heard about it. To my mind the Japanese sabotaged the trials. They didn't want the white staking over the diving.'

  'So what went wrong with your man Tanaka then?'

  'I don’t know. Perhaps the tide rose faster than we thought. Or perhaps he'd just pushed his body too far over the years. He's been at it thirteen years and most Japs don't last more than five.

  'I hope you have a good tender.'

  'Aye. A man named Wes Redonda.'

  'Wes? And how did you get him now?'

  'The Norma lost her diver second day out. He wouldn't go back on her. Said she was unlucky.'

  'Well, a lot of these blacks are frightened of their own shadows.' Flynn shook his head. 'Well, a man who does his own diving must work up an appetite. The Koepang has one of the best cooks this side of Ceylon, my boy, even if I do say so myself.'

  'Aye, I'm famished. What are we eating?' Cameron said, eagerly.

  Flynn gulped another gin. 'Curry,' he said.

  ***

  Flynn settled back in his chair and belched. There were yellow-brown stains down the front of his shirt. He ate with the same gusto that he drank his gin.

  The Malay steward tried to clear away the plates, but Flynn waved him off impatiently. 'Never mind that, man! Get me another drink!'

  'A fine meal,' Cameron said. Holy Mother of God, it was even worse than one of Curry-Curry's concoctions! He made a mental note to go easier on the boy.

  Flynn took a tin of Egyptian hand-rolled cheroots from the voluminous pocket of his shirt and offered one to Cameron. He blew smoke in a dense cloud towards the ceiling and drummed impatiently on the table with the fingers of his left hand while he waited for his drink to arrive. The creaking of cordage and timbers; above them on the deck the sighing wah, wah! of the Malay crew as they gathered around their story-teller.

  'And have you had a good season, my boy?'

  'It's my first year, so I'm still learning.' He felt the weight of the pearl in the pouch at his neck. 'But aye - not bad.'

  Flynn leaned eagerly across the table. 'Did you find any pearls?'

  'Some small ones.'

  'Let me show you something,' Flynn said. He pushed his plate to one side, reached into his pocket and pulled out a tobacco tin. He took off the lid and tipped the contents on the table. There were a dozen pearls, nothing to speak of, but there was one much larger than the others, a perfect round with shimmering lustre, faintly pink against the white of the tablecloth.

  'Look at that!' Flynn said.

  Cameron leaned forward. He could smell Flynn's breath, an oily mixture of gin and curry.

  'Seventy, eighty grains! Worth a thousand pounds at least! A thousand pounds!' Flynn repeated the words like a benediction. 'That's what you call a pearl!'

  Cameron tried to look impressed. 'Aye, it's a beauty all right.'

  Flynn frowned when he heard the caveat. 'You'll never see another like it!'

  'Aye, perhaps.'

  'No doubt about it! It's the find of the season!' Offended by Cameron's lack of enthusiasm, he scooped the little pile back into the tobacco tin with an imperious gesture. 'The find of the season!' he repeated.

  Cameron could not contain himself. He pulled the leather thong over his head and opened the pouch. He let the pearl drop in his palm and stared at it for a moment, marvelling at its texture, its weight, the roseate sheen that lent it an almost other-worldly beauty. In the manner of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, he grinned and let it fall on the table.

  Flynn's jaw fell open and he stared. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse with admiration.

  'Jesus Christ and all the Blesséd Saints in Heaven. Where did you find that?'

  ***

  The pearl rested again in the leather pouch about Cameron's neck, but Flynn could talk of nothing else. The gin had made him emotional and his eyes were heavy and wet. 'I've been on these pearling grounds nearly ten years and I've never seen another like it,' he murmured. He took another long gulp of his gin. 'The sea makes a pearl like that just once in every lifetime. And you found it, my boy, you found it! That pearl will grace the neck of an Empress or a Queen one day, you mark my words. Maybe even the Queen of England herself.' Then he added, quickly: 'May God bring down hail and punishment on the English and their bloody Empire just the same.'

  'Aye well, it's the making of Cameron McKenzie's empire, I know that.'

  'And good luck to you too, my boy,' Flynn said, and he raised his glass again. He looked around for his steward. 'Mahomet! Where are you, you black bastard? We need some more gin!' He turned to Cameron and grinned. 'It evaporates fast in the heat, doesn't it, my boy?'

  'You'll have to excuse me a moment,' Cameron said, 'I need to do a little evaporating myself.'

  'Fine, you just go and dangle it over the side. But if you feel the end getting wet stand back a bit, my boy. The sharks bite hard on this part of the coast.'

  Cameron grinned. 'It's been that long, I do nae think I'd miss it.'

  'Judging by the look of you, you'd miss it the first hour you were back in Broome. And watch out for that, pearl. Don't go dropping it in the sea!'

  'The Devil himself would nae get it away from me,' Cameron said and he went up the scuttle and Flynn waited till he heard his footsteps on the deck above his head.

  'We'll see about that,' Flynn murmured. 'Mahomet!'

  The Malay steward appeared in the doorway, bobbing his head.

  Flynn spoke in an urgent whisper. 'This bastard drinks like a fish. I'm nearly done and he looks fresh as a Donegal daisy. Get some of that damned opium you're so fond of and stir it into his next drink. And make sure you don't mix up the drinks or I'll flog your arse so hard you'll have to shit through your ears!'

  Chapter 5

  Cameron woke up back in his bunk. He forced his eyes open, groaning at the needles of pain lancing through his eyeballs. He tried to sit up. A shock of cold grease erupted on his skin and the cabin started to spin. The ship rolled and send him sprawling on the cabin floor.

  Wes grabbed his ar
m and sat him upright. He started to retch. 'You orright, skip?'

  'Sweet Christ, what happened?'

  'You got plenty drunk, skip. Jay-sus! I had to carry you down to yo' bunk. You like a dead man.'

  'Flynn and his damned gin,' Cameron groaned. He staggered up the scuttle and lurched across the deck, Wes behind him.

  Curry-Curry bobbed his head. 'You orright, skip?'

  'No, I'm nae all right. And take that stupid grin off your face, you miserable bastard.' Cameron staggered to the port gunwale, taking deep breaths of clean salt air.

  He squinted against the harsh glare of the sunlight; the sky was cloudless and blue, the weather had passed during the night. Cameron felt a sudden unease. The creek was empty.

  He checked the sun; it was almost directly overhead.

  'Dear God,' Cameron groaned, and his fingers felt for the pouch at his throat. It was gone. An invisible hand scooped out his insides and left him hollow. 'Where's the Koepang?' he rasped.

  'Maybe they sail during the night, skip,' Wes said. 'I come on watch close up dawn. She gone by then.'

  'Why did you nae wake me? It's nearly midday!'

  Wes took a step back. 'Maybe more easy wake a dead man.'

  Cameron gripped the rail in an agony of rage and self-recrimination. The bastard! The thieving, goddamned, treacherous Irish bastard!

  Curry-Curry appeared from the galley. He offered Cameron a mug of steaming black coffee. Cameron knocked it out of his hand and sent it spinning across the deck.

  'My pearl!'

  Curry-Curry yelped and raced for the scuttle.

  Cameron smashed his fist on the port rail. 'MY PEARL!'

  No one spoke, or moved. The crew of the China Cloud watched Cameron with huge, frightened eyes, aware that something terrible had happened, not yet understanding.

  When Cameron spoke again, his voice was soft and deadly. 'Hoist sail, bosun. We are going after them. When I catch that bastard Flynn I'm going to rip out his heart with my bare hands

  Chapter 6

  When the China Cloud finally limped into Broome, the Koepang and the rest of Flynn's small fleet were already drawn up onto the beach, ready for repairs and re-fitting during the lay-up. For four days Cameron had railed and cursed his luck; five hours out of Barred Creek they had been hit by another squall that had ripped apart his mainsail and damaged the rudder, and left him with no chance of catching Flynn before he reached port. The pearl might have already been sold snide in some backroom bar.

  As soon as the China Cloud weighed anchor in Roebuck Bay Cameron jumped into his whaleboat and he and Wes rowed to the shore. Cameron jumped out and was already striding up the strand while they were still knee-deep in the shallows.

  That bastard! Ever since he left Edinburgh he had dreamed of that pearl. He headed for Flynn's foreshore camp, a ramshackle cluster of corrugated iron huts and timber lean-to's. The first person he saw was Mahomet, Flynn's steward, no longer dressed in the stiff whites, looking more at ease in a native sarong.

  'Where's Flynn?'

  Mahomet looked up, startled. He started to run but Cameron caught him easily and wrestled the little Malay to the sand. 'Where's Flynn, I said?'

  'Master belong him billiards,' Mahomet stammered.

  'Where?'

  Mahomet tried to wriggle away. Cameron put his fingers around his throat and squeezed. 'Tell me where he is or by God I'll wring your neck like a chicken!'

  And so Mahomet told him.

  ***

  It was lay-up time in Broome and the luggers and their crews were now back in port. The crowded Asian-smelling streets of the Chinatown milled with Japanese, Chinese, Javanese, Malays and Manilamen, their pockets stuffed with the season's profits.

  Wes and Cameron found the billiard hall in Bitter Moon Lane, a corrugated iron shack with two tables and a rough timber-hewn bar. It was stifling hot inside, the air thick with tobacco smoke and the fug of gin and sweat.

  Flynn was bent over a table, attempting a snooker against the cushion. .

  'Flynn!'

  Flynn's ball snickered along the baize and dropped in the far pocket. 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph,' he muttered. He surveyed the newcomer with a frown. Then his face brightened and he held out his hand. 'Cameron, my boy! Back in port already!'

  Cameron ignored the proffered handshake. 'Where's my pearl, Flynn?'

  'Pearl, my boy? What pearl?'

  'You had your shifty-eyed little Malay drug me! Is that nae right? What was it you put in my drink - opium, was it?'

  Flynn stared at Cameron open-mouthed. Then he started to laugh. 'What's that you're saying, my boy? That I drugged you? Now why would I want to do that?'

  'For the pearl!'

  'Your pearl?' Flynn was aghast. 'You lost that beautiful pearl?'

  'I did nae lose it. You stole it.'

  Silence. Cameron was aware of hostile, sweat-glistened faces clustered around him. This was Flynn's town. But Cam had no intention of leaving without his pearl.

  A big white man in a beer-stained shirt barged a path through the crowd. 'Mister Flynn's a respected customer in this establishment,' he said, as if he was the manager of the Ritz. 'I'd advise you to clear out of here.'

  'And I'd advise you to keep your nose out of other people's business.'

  Flynn chuckled again. 'It's all right, Joe,' Flynn said easily. 'It's just a little misunderstanding. Now look, my boy, I'm sorry about your pearl. I really am. It was a fine stone. But I'm an honest man, as my friends here will all vouch. I swear on my mother's grave - God rest her poor martyred soul - I never took your pearl. Now how about I buy you a drink?'

  He reached out to put a hand on Cameron's shoulder. Cameron pushed his hand away. 'I want my pearl or God help me I'll tear you apart with my bare hands, here and now.'

  Flynn shrugged, and seemed about to turn away; instead he pivoted on his right foot and drove the billiard cue with all his force into Cameron's midriff. As Cameron doubled over from the blow Flynn smashed the cue over his head.

  Cameron staggered but he did not fall. He lurched sideways into the jeering crowd, who pushed him back towards Flynn, hoping to see the Irishman finish him off. Instead, Cameron used the impetus to drop his shoulder into Flynn's body. He drove him backwards, spilling two of the spectators onto the floor, and Cameron and Flynn ricocheted off a billiards table and onto the floor, locked together.

  Flynn reached up for Cameron's face and tried to force his knuckles into the younger man's eyes. Cameron grunted and turned his head away; at the same time he brought his knee up into Flynn's groin. Flynn grunted in pain and rolled away.

  Cameron struggled to his feet, panting. 'Get up, Flynn.'

  Flynn struggled to his knees, one hand cupping his crotch. 'That was below the belt. Let's keep it a fair fight.' He hooked his fingers around the edge of one of the tables and pulled himself to his feet, his back to Cameron. His fist closed around a billiard ball. He span around and threw it at Cameron's head.

  Cameron saw it coming and ducked his head; he heard a muffled scream of pain as the ball took one of the spectators between the eyes. The man hit the floor, out cold.

  Flynn had grabbed another ball and was winding up for another throw; Cameron launched himself forwards. His fist caught Flynn on the point of the chin and the Irishman fell backwards, his head striking the carved leg of the other billiards table. Cameron bent down, grabbed Flynn by the hair and pulled him half upright. His fist came from somewhere near his right knee and smashed into Flynn's midriff.

  The Irishman gasped and curled into a ball at his feet. 'Where's my pearl?' Cameron hissed in his ear.

  Flynn's arms flapped in a spastic attempt to push Cameron away. There was dark blood in his hair and his mouth open and closed soundlessly like a beached fish as he tried to get his breath.

  Cameron frisked his clothes. 'Where is it, Flynn? Tell me, or by God I'll beat it out of you!'

  The big man Flynn had called Joe took a step forward. 'Best let him go now, mate.' He w
as holding the broken billiards cue in his right hand and tapping it on the palm of his left hand. Several Malays and Manilamen were ranged behind him - some of Flynn's crew, no doubt - and Cameron saw the glint of a knife.

  The only sound was Flynn snuffling and spitting blood.

  Cameron considered. Even with Wes backing him, they had no chance against this mob. He bent his mouth to Flynn's ear. 'The pearl's mine and I swear to you I will have it back - or you'll pay, Mister Flynn. You'll regret the day you ever crossed Cameron McKenzie!'

  The crowd parted to let him pass and he stalked out into the bright sun.

  ***

  Cameron sat in his cabin on the China Cloud, a bottle of square-face on the table in front of him. He took out a tin of cigarettes and lit one.

  There was an ashtray on the table in front of him - it was a pearl shell, and on the shell was a pearl 'blister'. The blister had been formed by a parasite boring into the shell; in defence the oyster had tried to cover the wound with nacre. Water pressure had caused a bubble to form and this in turn had filled with mud. These blisters were sold for a cheap price in Broome, and were used to make things like hatpins. But this one was the first pearl Cameron had ever found and so he had decided to keep it as a souvenir.

  Now he turned it in his hand, staring at the illusory pearl, thinking of the real one that Flynn had stolen from him at Barred Creek.

  Wes watched him gloomily. 'Maybe he tell you true. Maybe you drop this one pearl, skip. You was powerful drunk.'

  'I was nae drunk,' Cameron said softly, 'I've nae been that drunk in my whole life, and never will be. I was drugged, I know it!'

  Wes knew better than to argue. 'Maybe.'

  'I have to get it back.'

  'If he steal yo' pearl,' Wes said, and he lingered on the word 'if', 'if he steal it, maybe he sell this one pearl already. A man doan keep no snide too long. Plenty dangerous.'