Chichester Greenway

by Alton Saunders

  Chapter 23:

  THE PRICE OF PEARLS

  Without surprise, Mr Vanu watched the skimmer gliding in over the waves. He watched it nudge its way onto the shingle beach. He saw five people get out, three pale-skinned children, a black-skinned girl with curly black hair, and a tall brown man in shorts whom he thought he recognised. Yes, it was Hirri Tatembi from whom he bought excellent pearls at a ridiculously low price. It was as if he had known this moment all his life and finally here it was, enacted before his eyes.

  Mr Vanu had not always been greedy. There had been a time when he would return to his island thinking only of the pleasure in store as he greeted his wife and his two little girls and showed them the rice and vegetables he had bought for their evening meal. Their hut under the palm trees was more than adequate for their needs and he was content with the income he earned from buying local goods such as woven reed mats, cowry shell necklaces or coconuts, and selling them on neighbouring islands for a modest profit.

  He had eventually earned enough to buy an outboard motor for his rowing boat and had then been able to extend his trade to further islands, increasing his income accordingly. He did not think of it as his income, though. It was money for his wife and family, money for their happy life together.

  That was before the great wave changed everything for ever. Now there was no little family to come home to and no one to work for except himself. A fierce anger had welled up inside him. All his thoughts and all his energy were diverted into his growing business. Deep inside he knew that this was a device to avoid the pain and loneliness of his existence and the appalling memory of the empty beach, washed clear of everything except a few splintered palm trees where once his hut had stood. As he stood there surveying the desolation, he had resolved that he would work to the very limit of his capacity. Nothing would stand in his way.

  And he had worked to considerable effect. On a hill at the southern end of the island, higher he hoped than any wave could reach, he now lived in a small concrete bungalow. He had a proper bed, not a reed mat like the other islanders. He had tins of meat from Australia stacked neatly on a shelf, and packets of noodles from China. He had an electric light and a radio, powered by a diesel generator. He had more things than anyone else he knew, but he was never satisfied. The moment he had made some new purchase or completed some new project, he would start scheming and planning for something even better.

  He was aware that the people he bought from were very poor and had to work extremely hard for the little he paid them, but he refused to let it trouble his conscience. He had been poor himself and had worked his way out of poverty. They could do the same. And here was that Hirri Tatembi coming up the beach towards him. Although Hirri lived on the next group of islands, Mr Vanu had heard that his son was ill and urgently in need of medicine. Well, if he had worked harder at his pearl diving he would have been able to afford the treatment.

  That was what Mr Vanu told himself, but as Hirri and his young companions drew closer he felt something weakening inside him. It was as if a great defensive wall he had built up was crumbling away. He hardened himself. He would not be stupid.

  Hirri squatted down on the shingle and held out his one pearl in his cupped hands. He had little hope of being paid enough to bring his savings up to what was needed for the medicine. If he had managed to find four or five more it might have been different, but the girl called Vonn had said they should go and sell the one pearl anyway, and somehow he trusted her.

  The four children sat down next to Hirri. Mr Vanu reached out his hand to inspect the pearl. It was a particularly large one. The Chinese merchants who visited him every two months to see what he had to sell would probably pay at least thirty ley for one this size. He paid Hirri Tatembi two ley for each pearl he brought, regardless of size. Yes, he could make a good profit from this one. “The shape’s not very good,” he said, but as he spoke, it was as if his tongue was trying to say something else. “It’s a big one, though.” What was he saying? This was not the way to get a bargain, but a feeling of happiness was bubbling up inside him and suddenly he could not fight against it any longer.

  “Mister Tatembi, this pearl is worth a lot of money. I lied to you just now. The shape is excellent. I should be able to sell it for thirty ley, possibly even more. I would like to pay you twenty five ley. Would that be a fair price, do you think?”

  Hirri could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was Mr Vanu making fun of him? And he had called him Mister. He had never done that before. Usually it was just Tatembi and sometimes he did not even bother to use his name at all. And then suddenly the tough merchant, Mr Vanu, was crying.

  “Mister Tatembi, I have been buying pearls from you for more than a year. They have been good pearls but I have not paid you a fair price. I apologise. I want to pay you the money you should have had. I can’t pay it all straight away, so I will give you four hundred ley now and every two weeks I will pay you some more until you have received a fair reward for the difficult and dangerous work you do.”

  And then the dam really did burst and Mr Vanu sat on the beach with tears streaming down his face. As with Vicky’s tears back on the atoll, Andrew did not feel awkward. He sat there with the others in the peaceful atmosphere that Vonn and Akkri seemed to carry about with them, perhaps, he thought, without even realising that they did so. He hoped they would be staying on Earth for a long, long time, but somehow he knew that their visit was drawing to a close. It was a sad thought, but it did not dispel the lovely peaceful feeling inside him.

  As Mr Vanu’s sobs subsided he found a tranquillity in his feelings that he recognised from long, long ago and which he realised he had been searching for all his life. He had had reminders of it in quiet evenings under the palm trees with his family, but now, even though his family was no longer with him, he was aware of its presence more clearly than ever before. “Thank you,” he said. He did not know who he was saying thank you to, but he wanted to say thank you, anyhow.

  He sat and watched as the little group walked back to the skimmer. They seemed to just dissolve into it as they got there and then the skimmer glided off into the air and in the blink of an eye had disappeared from sight.

  Back on the atoll, Andrew and Vicky and Akkri and Vonn waved goodbye to Hirri Tatembi as he paddled off, back to his island with the packet of money from Mr Vanu – more than enough to buy the medicine for his dear son Tekto.

  “I want to try now,” said Vicky.

  Andrew had been wondering about the time. He had not brought his watch and it seemed as if they had been away for hours. The momentary anxiety dissolved away and the peaceful feeling of being with Akkri and Vonn reasserted itself. It would be all right. Probably something to do with crossing the International Date Line. They had been told about it in Geography, but only Albert and Caroline had looked as if they understood it.

  “Try what, dear?” asked Vonn.

  Vicky liked it when Vonn called her ‘dear’. It gave her a sort of warm glow inside.

  “I still want to try and fly,” said Vicky.

  “All right, then,” said Vonn.

  Vicky walked a few steps into the water. The sun was low on the horizon now and the atoll was a tranquil golden pond. Far off she could hear the sound of the breakers. She stood on tiptoe, took a deep breath, and let herself fall forward as she had seen Vonn do. Without thinking she stretched her arms out in front of her as if she was reaching for the further shore and pushed off with her feet. And then she was gliding across the water, firmly and gently, just above the surface. It was like a dream, so strange, so wonderful, but it was real – she was actually flying. And she knew how to do it. It was like some knowledge from long ago that she had somehow forgotten, wonderful knowledge from long, long ago. She banked round, the reddening sun almost blinding her as she did so, then allowed herself to sink gently back into the warm water by Vonn’s feet. “I did it!” she said. “Come
on Andrew, let’s fly together!”

  Andrew got up from the sand. His heart was thumping but he knew he had to do it. He walked into the water next to Vicky, closed his eyes tight, and launched off just as she had done. He had a strange, stretched-out feeling inside him. He could feel the breeze ruffling his hair. He knew he was flying. Cautiously he opened his eyes. He was high above the atoll, bathed in sunshine, and he felt completely safe. Vicky was close by on his left hand side and Akkri and Vonn were ahead and a little below them. Like Vicky, Andrew felt as if he had recovered a skill he had always had but had somehow forgotten, something as natural as walking or eating or breathing.

  “Down now?” asked Vonn.

  Yes, it was enough, Andrew thought. It would remain in his memory for ever as one of the most amazing experiences of his life.

  The four children banked round like a small flock of birds and gently glided down towards the golden beach, landing in the water in a spray of white foam. Andrew and Vicky swam the short distance back to the shore and clambered out onto the sand, followed by Akkri and Vonn.

  “Hungry?” asked Vonn.

  Andrew nodded. His feelings were so unprecedented he could hardly speak. He knew that something inside him had changed for ever. He had risen to a great challenge. He had always looked on himself as a bit of a coward. Now he knew for sure that it was not so. A picture of J, Cart and Paulus homing in on him in the playground came into his mind unbidden. It was strange to think of them as he settled himself down on the warm sand. It seemed like a memory from a different world. He knew that if they ever menaced him again he would be able to deal with them and not let them get the upper hand. But somehow he knew that they had changed too, just as he had changed, just as much else besides had changed.

  “Let’s eat, then.”

  Vicky had again quietly noted that the food laid out on a blue cloth beside the skimmer had not been there a moment before. As he tucked in, Andrew, for his part, was once more wondering about the time. Was this lunch or tea? What time was it back home? Was his mother worrying about him? No, he told himself firmly, it was all right. There was nothing to worry about. That was how the Vikans lived their lives. He hoped that he would be able to learn to do so too.

  After the meal Akkri stood up and looked at the little waves lapping on the sand and listened to the far off sound of the breakers. He would remember this moment when he was back home on Vika. “Time to go now, I think, don’t you?” he said.

  The skimmer seemed to take only a few minutes before it settled on the pavement outside Andrew’s house. Mrs Canadine came out of the front door. “Hallo, dears, back already? I hope you’ve had a nice time. Do you want to come in and have some tea?”

  Akkri and Vonn declined the offer, and Vicky did too. She thought she ought to get back home.

  Andrew and his mum stood on the front step and waved as the skimmer lifted off, quickly disappearing into the clouds, and Vicky set off up the road. She wondered what sort of a mood her mum would be in.

  The flat seemed unusually quiet as she let herself in. Her mum lowered her newspaper and looked up. Vicky’s heart sank. Was she going to make one of her cutting remarks?

  “Had a nice time on your day off from school, have you?”

  Vicky decided to say as little as possible. “I’ve been out with some friends.”

  “We’ve been busy today. Auntie May has got a flat at last. A man came to help her move her things, so you’ve got your room to yourself again. You’ve been so good putting up with Rose and Violet all these months. I’m really proud of you.”

  Vicky went through to the corridor. There was no sign of Auntie May’s bed or the big cardboard box with her clothes and other things, and in Vicky’s bedroom no sign of Rose and Violet, just one little pink sock underneath her bed. Even the bunk beds had gone. Had Mum really said she was proud of her? It did not seem very likely. Perhaps she was being sarcastic.

  Shortly after Vicky’s return, Mrs Warbloff left school at the end of a long day of meetings. She felt tired but happy – happier than she had felt for a long time. It seemed that things at school were going to change for the better at last. Mrs Faighly had announced that she wanted all their pupils to have more opportunity to find out what their real talents were and as far as possible to pursue and develop them. “And this applies to us teachers as well as to our pupils,” she had said. “I am sure we each have things we are interested in that we can share with our pupils and some of our pupils may well have things they know and care about that they can share with us and with one another. In that way we can all learn and make progress together.”

  Mrs Warbloff sat down at the table Ernst had made. It had been a good day. She would sit there for a while and then make herself a cup of tea.

  Mrs Faighly was also feeling tired and happy. She knew she was going way out on a limb in a direction that in no way fitted with the government’s orders, but she felt sure that somehow or other it would be all right. Some of the teachers had been uneasy about the proposed changes, but then three children had walked into the staff room, two boys and a girl. “I’m Eedo,” the girl had said, “and this is Yask and this is Sumar.” They sat down as if they belonged there and the strange thing was that it felt as if they did belong there, although nobody had ever seen them before.

  After their arrival the meeting proceeded smoothly and those with objections began to be really enthusiastic about their head teacher’s new ideas for the school. “It’ll be real education at last!” one of them had said. At the end of the meeting the three children were nowhere to be seen.

  Mrs Faighly had another reason to be happy. For the first time in months her husband had not been to the betting shop and he had come home with an ordinary evening paper, not his usual racing paper.

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