Fishing for Stars

by Bryce Courtenay

  We loaded our bags in the Toyota four-wheel drive and I noticed that Jimmy had washed it in our honour. I visited Honiara often enough that the way into town was as familiar to me as the roads around Port Vila, but when you have someone with you who is seeing everything for the first time – Anna had never visited the town – it’s as if you see things in a fresh way yourself: Chinatown on our right, a motley collection of buildings of every type of construction with a predominance of corrugated iron and an insufficiency of paint; the pot-holed tarmac; the one-lane Bailey bridge across the Mataniko River built by the Yanks to last a year or so, now unpainted and weary-looking but still doing duty more than twenty-six years later. We approached the sprawling markets, at this hour relatively quiet after the early-morning mayhem where each islander seems to generate twice or three times the noise and laughter that Europeans in a similar environment might create. The morning market is a happy, generous-spirited place, attended as much for its fraternity, laughter and gossip as it is for shopping for food and the miscellanea of domestic life. Groups of locals were still standing around as if reluctant to go home to their villages to tend their vegetable gardens.

  Anna knew and loved the islands but had only passed through Honiara and never seen beyond the airport at Henderson Field. She immediately noticed the three distinct racial groups – Melanesian, Micronesian and Polynesian – remarking on the Western Islanders, said to be the blackest people on earth, whose skin was blue-black, almost purple. I explained that there were over eighty ethnic and cultural groups on the island, and Anna, noticing people with light coffee-coloured skin and blond hair, said dryly, ‘Yes, and I can see that the Europeans have been having a good time fraternising with some of them, Nicholas.’

  ‘Not so,’ I laughed. ‘That red-blond hair occurs naturally amongst the Malaitan Islanders; it’s a sport, that is a genetic mutation. It’s common enough to be accepted as quite normal, even typical.’ I pointed to another group of Asiatic-looking people and explained, ‘They’re Gilbert Islanders, transported from barren and unsustainable islands by the British after the war, who had unsuccessfully attempted to settle them on the Line and Phoenix Group in the mid-Pacific before the war.’

  Jimmy pulled up outside the Mendana Hotel on the waterfront, where our bags were taken to our beachside suite. I could be transported blindfolded from anywhere in the world to a hotel room with the blinds drawn and I would immediately know I was in the Pacific Islands just by the smell of mould and mildew mixed with the sharp taint of a spent mosquito coil. I explained as a matter of no possible interest to Anna that the hotel was named after Alvaro de Mendana, who had discovered the island group and claimed it for Spain in 1568. She sniffed, moving towards the drawn curtains. ‘And they haven’t opened the windows since then?’

  We grabbed what we could find from the smorgasbord counter at the late end of lunch in the hotel dining room and then set off down the street to one of the few two-storey mildly imposing buildings in town for our two-thirty appointment with Joseph Minusi.

  ‘Look,’ Anna cried, pointing to the pavement, which was stained with hundreds of red splatters from betel nut, the mild narcotic chewed by Solomon Islanders. ‘Must have been a big gathering.’

  I looked down at the vivid red blotches on the cement. ‘Nah, you see it outside every public administration building, people spitting as they wait outside.’

  ‘It’s not a pretty habit, but when it comes to narcotics, who am I to speak?’ Anna conceded.

  ‘Damned nuisance, if you ask me. When one of our ships does the Solomon Islands or New Guinea run, the streaks of red running from the scuppers over the white paint make it look as if there’s been a massacre on board. Takes some getting off the deck as well.’

  We entered the building and were greeted by a pretty light-skinned young Malaitan receptionist who’d taken her fuzzy blonde halo several shades lighter at the local hair salon. ‘Mr Duncan, the Department Secretary Mr Fitzgerald wishes to see you before your appointment with Joseph Minusi,’ she smiled.

  ‘Uh oh, trouble is it, Olive?’ I asked, having met her on several previous visits.

  ‘No, I just think he wants to say hello,’ she laughed.

  I glanced at my watch. ‘Will you let Joseph know where I am?’ I asked, not wishing to be late, even though island time is fairly lax and a delay of fifteen minutes wouldn’t be regarded as rude.

  ‘Oh, he already knows,’ Olive said, thus indicating that Joseph had been circumspect enough to discuss my appointment with his expat superior.

  Gerald Fitzgerald was a lanky, freckled Englishman whose thinning ginger hair was peppered with grey. He had an easy smile and, unlike many of the other expatriate civil administrators, was invariably well-mannered and agreeable. He liked the islands and the islanders and they him, and he seldom stood on ceremony; he was just as likely to grab a couple of kids in his arms when visiting a village as not. ‘Him belong England also belong Solomon Island,’ they commonly said about him.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Nick,’ he said, rising from behind his desk, then turning to Anna he said admiringly, ‘And you’re Nick’s partner, Miss Til? Well, well, how nice, welcome to Honiara.’ He indicated two chairs. ‘Have you a moment or two to spare? Tea?’

  ‘No, no, we’ve just had a late lunch, but thank you,’ I declined. We sat and he took a third chair, crossing his lanky Ichabod Crane legs.

  ‘Mind if I smoke?’ He lit a cigarette, leaned back, took a puff, exhaled and said, ‘Fish, eh?’

  Anna glanced at me and I nodded. ‘Yes, Mr Fitzgerald, we —’

  ‘No, no, call me Gerald, and may I call you Anna?’

  Anna gave him one of her knockout smiles that leave men’s knees rubbery. ‘Yes, please, Gerald, I’d like that very much,’ she said in a throaty voice, then, ‘As I was about to say, we hope to apply for a licence to fish in your coastal waters on behalf of a Japanese syndicate I represent.’

  ‘Yes, so Joseph tells me. Jolly good. Don’t see too many problems there. One small thing, though . . .’ We waited. ‘The island government’s share . . . forty-nine per cent?’

  ‘Oh?’ Anna asked, smiling.

  ‘We thought it generous,’ I said quickly. ‘I am aware that no foreign-owned businesses working here have partnerships with the island government – our own shipping line for instance, or Levers with their vast copra plantations and their timber operations at Kolombangara.’

  Gerald Fitzgerald took a casual puff, squinting through the smoke as he exhaled. ‘A British company, Levers, have been here a long time,’ he said lazily. ‘Things are changing fast as I feel sure you are aware, Nick. It won’t be long before we Brits are gone. First Fiji and then I imagine here. My job now is to lend a helping hand.’

  ‘Of course,’ Anna replied. ‘That’s why we are determined to set a precedent. We have built in a significant share beyond the separately negotiated initial licensing fees so that any future government has a continuing source of income.’

  ‘Extremely generous, my dear.’ He paused and looked up at the ceiling, then, as if thinking aloud, ‘It’s just that one little missing unit, the one per cent difference. In my experience it’s small enough to seem insignificant, but on the other hand large enough to cause a great many future problems.’ Before either of us could reply he straightened up, seemingly in sections, and rose to his feet, indicating that the interview was over. ‘Very well then, I’ll leave you in the more than capable hands of Joseph.’ He smiled, extending his own hand. ‘I feel sure you’ll sort it out between yourselves. Perhaps you’d like to join Maggie and me for a drink. The Resident Commissioner has invited us to his home and has asked that we bring you along. Shall we say I pick you up at your hotel at six o’clock?’

  We duly agreed and said our goodbyes at the door. ‘Well, what was that all about?’ I ventured to Anna.

  ‘The forty-nine–fifty-one split in favour of the Japanese, he’s gently warning us it’s not on. It’s equal shares, so that Konoe Akira
’s people don’t have the majority in future if there’s a disagreement,’ Anna replied.

  ‘And the invitation to the Resident Commissioner’s place? Can’t say I’ve had too many of those before.’

  Anna grinned. ‘That very much remains to be seen, but it’s a good omen, I should think.’

  We walked the length of the long corridor to Joseph Minusi’s office, where his serious-faced secretary rose to greet us. ‘Mr Duncan, Madam, Mr Minusi is waiting; to follow now please,’ she said formally, indicating to me that she was already rehearsing for independence. It was unusual for island-born secretaries to refer to their native-born boss formally, the friendly islanders usually called their own people, even their superiors, by their Christian names. She took the three or four steps to the door, knocked and opened it immediately.

  Joseph must have heard us arrive because he was already halfway to the door. ‘Nick, welcome, come in!’ he called, his hand extended. Then to my surprise he dropped my hand, looking surprised and delighted to see Anna. ‘Missus Anna! I didn’t know it was you who was coming with Nick!’ he cried enthusiastically.

  I glanced at Anna, who looked equally surprised. ‘You two know each other?’

  ‘Of course!’ Joseph laughed, ‘I don’t think Missus Anna would remember.’ He turned back to her. ‘It was fifteen years since you came with Uncle Joe to Noro.’ Joseph took Anna’s hand, holding it in both his own. ‘You paid my school fees through King George School.’ He turned to me. ‘If it wasn’t for her generosity I wouldn’t have won a scholarship to university in New Zealand. My brother, Wilson, she paid for him also. He went to Queensland University, now he’s Deputy Secretary of Finance.’ He released Anna’s hand. ‘This is a very nice moment for me, Missus Anna,’ he beamed.

  ‘And a very nice one for me too, Joseph. I apologise for not recognising your surname. I knew you only as a boy called Joseph, a very bright one as I recall Uncle Joe telling me at the time, but now you’re a big man. I’m glad I was able to help you and your brother, although, from what I hear from Nicholas, you’d have got here under your own steam.’

  ‘Please,’ Joseph said, indicating two chairs set out in front of his desk. ‘Lily, bring tea, hey!’ he called, before seating himself behind his desk.

  The office was humid and a desultory ceiling fan stirred rather than cooled the torpid afternoon air. The sound of a truck banging over potholes filtered through the dusty pink louvres, momentarily drowning the laughter and the snatches of singing from a group of islanders we’d seen squatting in the shade under the wide eaves of the building.

  ‘You’ve read the contract, of course, so I’ll be brief.’ I explained that Anna was representing the zaibatsu, the Japanese syndicate interested in procuring a fishing licence and establishing a joint venture, and that she would explain further shortly. Then I proceeded briefly to outline the aspects of the proposed deal we – that is Joe, Kevin Judge and I – would be responsible for, in particular the fish factory.

  Lily then brought tea (milky and too sweet), and I sat back and let Anna get on with her presentation and was again struck by her calm, forthright negotiating manner. I noted that her voice had an almost hypnotic quality, assured and convincing without ever appearing overenthusiastic, strident or honeyed. ‘The Japanese are keen to be seen as partners rather than as foreign exploiters,’ she said evenly, not stressing the last two words so that they passed almost unnoticed, although I knew they wouldn’t be. ‘They are conscious that their reputation has been damaged by their behaviour during the war and they want to emphasise that they come as friends and equals.’

  ‘Equals?’ Joseph said quickly. ‘I notice there is a difference of one per cent in the two shares . . .’

  Anna smiled. She had been correct about Fitzgerald. ‘It seemed reasonable as my client is supplying all the capital to build the infrastructure for the project as well as supplying the pole and line fishing boats and the equipment for the cannery and freezing works.’

  ‘With a general fishing licence this might be reasonable,’ Joseph said evenly. ‘But did you not request an exclusive licence to fish our coastal waters?’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct, and if this requires equal shares I feel sure my client will understand,’ Anna said in an accommodating voice.

  ‘Thank you,’ Joseph Minusi said quietly. ‘I will await their decision.’

  Later Anna would explain that she’d already settled on a fifty-fifty deal before she’d left Japan. ‘It was just a little leverage I built in, a bonus if you can get away with it, but invariably you can’t. Everyone wants a little something extra. My grandfather had a Dutch saying about negotiating – I think he claimed it was Jewish – “Always remember to leave a little salt on the bread,” he’d say.’

  At the conclusion of Anna’s presentation Joseph turned to me. ‘Nick, what locations have you considered for the harbour and the cannery building?’

  ‘Ah, obviously we haven’t made a detailed survey, but several good locations spring to mind, pending your decision of course. Why? Do you have a suggestion?’

  I waited. Nothing had changed and I hadn’t expected it would. He paused for effect. ‘I think Noro would be a particularly good choice for the building of just such a large project.’

  I grinned to myself. ‘Your people, eh?’

  Joseph didn’t even look embarrassed. ‘Yes, my father is the paramount chief in the area and if you should choose Noro I can guarantee the project will have the government’s full support.’

  ‘This will need the support of your Department Secretary though, won’t it?’ I now saw clearly why Joseph had taken the project to Gerald Fitzgerald.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, not batting an eye.

  ‘And you’re confident?’

  ‘Extremely,’ he assured me with a shrug.

  Later Anna would tell me that it hadn’t been necessary to ask Joseph if he was confident he had the approval of the Department Secretary. ‘You were gilding the lily, Nicholas, and besides, it was almost patronising.’

  ‘Hang on!’ I protested. ‘What about that friendly hands across the sea bit, remorseful partners and not foreign exploiters? That was spreading it on pretty thick!’

  ‘Nicholas, Nicholas, have you ever heard of James Thompson, the extreme leftwing professor of business studies at Auckland University where Joseph studied? No, of course not. Thompson constantly brainwashed and indoctrinated his island students about the iniquities of their exploiting colonial masters and the rapine of the islands by big business, French, British and Australian. Joseph practically purred when I came out with that little gem!’

  ‘Oh, so you did know who he was when he first greeted us?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And all those years back, with the scholarships? You knew then?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nicholas. I was simply casting my net for future stars. They won’t all make it. When you’re fishing for stars even some very bright ones fall through the net. I got lucky with Joseph. I’m also keeping an eye on Wilson, his brother. Not quite as bright, but ambitious and a good accountant.’

  ‘But how did you know he’d gone on to university and was now in the government over here?’

  ‘When you mentioned his name and told me to send the contract ahead, I looked up my list.’

  ‘List? You keep a list?’

  Anna nodded. ‘I make it my business to follow their educational progress and their careers. Joe keeps me in touch, lets me know what’s needed. Who do you think paid his scholarship to Auckland University?’

  I guess I’m never going to make the big league. My life has too much immediate action and not sufficient forethought. ‘Humph. I personally felt I’d handled it all rather well in there,’ I lamented.

  ‘You did, Nicholas, almost all of it.’

  ‘Now who’s the one being patronising?’ I grinned, knowing I was never going to win.

  The day wasn’t quite over. We were duly picked up at six o’clock by G
erald and his plump, no-nonsense wife Maggie, who was equally loved by the locals. In the car on the way to the Resident Commissioner’s house, the Department Secretary said casually, ‘Nick, I think the Commissioner and his lady wife would very much like to visit Japan.’

  Anna didn’t even pause to take a breath. ‘Of course! The Japanese Government will be honoured to welcome his delegation, and I do hope you and Maggie can find the time to go, too. Perhaps Joseph? And I daresay there will be several others who are necessary to finalising the negotiations. You may have to put up with a day or two of formal welcoming, but after that, perhaps a week of sightseeing? Though it’s starting to be a little cool at the moment. I recommend somewhere around, but not before, April – cherry blossom time. Let me know and I’ll make the necessary arrangements with the Imperial Hotel. Any personal shopping will be at your own expense, of course, but I’m sure you can leave the rest in my care. I speak adequate Japanese and I’ll enjoy being your guide.’

  Well, I guess there’s something to be said for negotiating a deal with a man recovering from an acute angina attack who is captive in a hospital bed in Tokyo. Anna would have anticipated all the necessary protocol and negotiated it with Konoe Akira and he, in turn, would have dealt with the Japanese government. By the time we’d returned from the Resident Commissioner’s home it was game, set and match; the rights to a five-year exclusive fishing licence for the territorial waters controlled by the Solomon Islands together with an automatic renewal clause appeared to be all but certain.

  Now, looking back, I can only sigh wistfully. A few free overseas trips, a couple of posh hotel suites and expensive dinners were all that was necessary sometimes for any agreement. They were the days when basically honest and disinterested administrators would assess a proposal on its merits and always in the interest of the majority of the locals. Now, as I write this, they have been replaced for the most part by a bunch of greedy indigenous political thugs who won’t consider anything unless there is a significant cut from any deal for them, be it mammoth or minnow. Today, on any of the self-governing islands in the South-west Pacific, you couldn’t hope to open a roadside chicken brazier without a politician or a nepotistic civil servant getting his cut on the chicken, the charcoal and a rent for the shade under the poinciana tree.