Chapter 15
Wembly and Gale went over the tax plan with Thompson, who liked the idea as a way for him to meet his contractual obligations to Pacific Copra. But, in reality, he was worried about the implementation of it.
“Percy will take some of your boys tomorrow morning, and teach them how to be Policeboys. For starters, he’ll give them shirts and shorts and a six-foot truncheon. They’re actually quarter-staves like Robin’s Merry Men used, if you recall Little John and that lot. Percy will show the boys how to use them to keep the other natives in line.
“We have to take a hop over to one of the other islands, tomorrow evening, but we’ll come back in a few days to check on their progress. I know it won’t be easy, but you’re an old hand with these people, so we have faith in you.”
“What about McDuff? If ever there was a pain in the arse, it’s him. How about taking him back to Port Moresby with you?” Thompson suggested.
“The Commissioner wants a missionary on all the key islands. I’m not supposed to say why at the moment, but it will be important if the Japs start giving us trouble. Trust me. It will give us some extra eyes. We know what we’re doing,” Wembly reassured him.
Thompson grimaced and said, “How is this plan working out on the other islands?”
“We won’t know for a while,” Gale said. “You’re the first to try it. If it will be successful anywhere, it will be on Christ’s Despair, mainly because you’re here.”
“The problems we’re having on some of the other islands are with this John Frum business,” Wembly said.
“Is that nonsense still about? John Frum, indeed. Who do you think he works for?”
“He doesn’t work for anyone, except maybe the Japs. We think that he’s an American, but no reliable white man has ever seen him,” Gale said. “He stirs up the natives.”
“He sounds like a spook. At least he’s not another missionary like McDuff. There can’t be two of them.”
“Quite the opposite,” Wembly said, lighting his pipe, and leaning back in one of the comfortable chairs. “Remember, even if you don’t like the missionary, theoretically he’s on your side. Frum goes around trying to get the natives to resist the missionaries. He tells them that they weren’t meant to follow the white man’s ways. He is trying to start sort of a ‘Back to Nature’ movement.”
“Don’t worry, there’s no talk about him among the kanakas on my island,” Thompson said.
“Well, we’re cracking down on his followers. On Tanna you can get a one-year jail term — or longer — for talking about him. We figure that since he depends on word of mouth publicity, the best way to deal with him is to discourage the natives from discussing him.”
“The other problem is just the opposite — the Cargo Cults,” Gale said.
“Are they still around? What now?” Thompson said. “I thought they died out.”
“No,” Wembly said, “They’re a perennial problem. You practically have one right here with Dr. McDuff and all his steel tools. I actually saw one of your natives digging shellfish with a steel shovel. What else has he given them?”
“God knows,” Thompson said, “If you’ll forgive the pun.”
Gale, as usual, had a story to tell. “Did you ever hear of the ‘Vailala Madness?’”
Thompson downed a couple more ounces of Scotch, and said with a laugh, “Sure, but that was before our time ... ten or more years ago.”
“Well, it’s broken out again ... in Rigo this time.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you are going to tell me about it whether I want to know about it or not?”
“Because you are starved for news, and want to hear about it,” Gale said.
They refilled the glasses all around and Gale unfolded a copy of the New Guinea Weekly Times and found the story he was looking for.
“July 10 — Colonel Angus MacKensie, Chief Agent for Inter-Island Trading, Ltd., reported to Constable Arthur Dennis yesterday that he wanted to have one of his employees restrained and held for observation. He reported that many of the natives were behaving strangely, but this one, named Kari, was the most extraordinary.
“According to Col. MacKensie, the natives at Rigo were saying that the spirits of their ancestors had appeared to several of them. The message of the deceased spirits was that all flour, rice, tobacco, and other trade goods belonged to the New Guinea people. The white man had no right whatever to these goods. They predict that in a short time all the white men will be driven away. Then everything will be in the hands of the natives.
“Furthermore, a large vessel will also appear shortly, bringing back the spirits of their departed relatives with quantities of cargo. All the villages are supposed to make ready to receive them.
“‘It’s not just idle talk,’ MacKensie said, ‘They’re building platforms in several villages, and these are being loaded up with presents. Self-appointed “big men” seem to be running these preparations.’
“Readers of the Weekly Times may be familiar with the story of how Col. MacKensie runs his organization much like the Army unit from which he recently retired. He has taught his boys how to ‘fall in’ when he blows his whistle, and to perform close order drill. He is annoyed that one of the ‘big men’ has obtained a whistle and also makes the other natives ‘fall in” and makes them salute. The real problem is these bosses are also instructing the natives that they are not to sign on with the white man any more.
“Constable Dennis reports that Kari, the native afflicted with the ‘Rigo Madness’ is well known as being of a very quiet disposition. He is not the least inclined to be impudent. At about midday yesterday he was sent to Col. MacKensie’s house to help Mrs. MacKensie. He walked in smoking a cigarette, and wearing one of the Colonel’s kilts. Although unable to read or write, he had a book in his hand, and also a pencil and paper. He scribbled a number of marks on the paper and told Mrs. MacKensie that it was a letter he had just written.
“When he began trying to sing, and do a Highland Fling like the Colonel has been known to perform in public, she ran from the house screaming. She explained she was afraid to stay there, as the boy seemed to be mad.
“She sought out her husband, and he found Kari acting like a lunatic. He brought him straight to the Police office. When ordered to be quiet he came to his senses somewhat, but could give no explanation for his conduct. All that could be gotten out of him was, ‘I no savvy. God he savvy.’ He was not considered a fit and proper person to be at large, and was detained for a time at the station to be under observation.”
___
Thompson and Wembly thoroughly enjoyed the story, and the plantation manager asked, “Well, was it just the one? Or did the rest of the village go mad, too.”
“They were all acting strange, so the constable went to the village the next day to take a look. Here’s what his report said:
“In open spaces throughout the village were to be seen ornamented flag poles, long tables and benches. The tables were covered with sheets of cotton cloth. They were usually decorated with flowers in bottles of water in imitation of the white man’s dining table. At one of the forms a large number of men were seated with their backs to the table. They were all dressed in new clothing, some in shorts, others in new suits of European garments. They sat quite motionless and never a word was spoken for the few minutes I stood looking at them.
“A tall flag pole was painted with native paint. This is a very typical medium of communication between the shamans and the souls of the dead. There are certain individuals who claim to receive messages from the dead through its use.
“Several natives kept watch for large ship which is to bring back their ancestors in the form of white men. The old nine o’clock curfew was in full vogue, though no doubt its stringency is modified by the fact that no one is in a position to tell the time.”
“Dr. I. Proteus of the B.S.I.P. Medical department said, ‘They believe that their expectations will be realized if they can generate “ahea” or
heat. This calls for the taking of large amounts of ginger which acts like a stimulant while at the same time giving the impression of heat being generated in the stomach. In my opinion the taking of excessive amounts of ginger would be consistent with the symptoms of the cult members.”
“So what the doctor is saying is that the native population is suffering from a severe case of heartburn,” Wembly said.
“I guess you could say that,” Leslie Gale said. “As I think about this story, what strikes me is that we must look just as peculiar to them as they do to us.”
***
By the time the Wombat was ready to shove off for Aku, the next leg of its journey, Percy had completed Phase I of establishing a group of Policeboys on Christ’s Despair. Thompson had given him the same six “rubbish men” who came back to work for him after the village elders decided not to send anyone.
They were delighted to be given some kind of status after a lifetime without it. Before doing anything else, Percy gave them each a khaki shirt and a pair of shorts like his own. Around their waists, a leather rope served as a belt. The clothes alone would have been enough to induce them to do anything that needed doing. The clothes were brand new, and better than the fancy items that Big Man Duff gave out to wear in his church. Most important, these were the kinds of clothes the Patrol Officers and Big Man Tomsin, himself, wore.
While they were getting into the official uniforms, they eyed the large poles Percy had brought with him. It was obvious to everyone that these were intended to be used as weapons. He called them truncheons, but they looked like heavy spears without points. Except for the machining, they would have, indeed, been very familiar to the merry band of men in Sherwood Forest. The island’s war clubs were usually much shorter and heavier, mostly made from gourds filled with sand.
When Percy gave them out, everyone liked the heft of them. They were made in England of oak, a material the islanders had never felt before. With the help of Mr. Gale, Percy demonstrated how they could be used to attack, thrust, parry, and block. He made it look easy, but he neglected to tell them that he had been practicing with the staves for five years, and was the acknowledged champion among the Australian Policeboys in their use.
Percy left them in the afternoon paired off in practice skirmishes that resulted in a number of head bumps, bruises and scraped knuckles. He promised them he would be back in two or three days to see how they were doing, and to teach them more policing techniques.
___
That evening the new Policeboys began strutting about the village in their khaki clothes and threatening women and children with their new weapons. One made the mistake of provoking one of the warriors who was mastering the art of handling his English-made hatchet. In a fit of anger, the man seized the quarter-staff, and with three swift blows turned it into two sticks three-feet long.
The Policeboy was devastated. Everyone in the village witnessed his humiliation and he ran into the jungle to a chorus of laughter. Life for him had not changed with the acquisition of a title.
____
Pastor McDuff’s chills gave way to a fever the evening after he lunched with the Patrol Officers. He was able to diagnose his own symptoms — he obviously was suffering from malaria. He sent Yani to the Wombat to get whatever medicine they might have to help him fight the disease. Mr. Gale, who served as the public health officer, returned with the Churchboy and took charge.
“Quinine is still the only stuff we’re using. Nothing seems to cure the damned illness, but I understand it keeps the symptoms under control. I’ll give you a bunch of these pills. Take them three times a day. Stay in bed until you feel better. Let your boy, here, wait on you hand and foot. Save your energy and drink lots of water.”
“Is it fatal?” McDuff asked.
“It is for the natives if it goes untreated. The quinine seems to hold it in check. I guess we all get it sooner or later. Just rest. We’ll be back in a few days. I’ll look in on you to see how you’re doing when we get back from running up to Aku. We’re leaving within the hour.”
The missionary drifted off into a fever dream. He heard the voice of that stalwart champion of the Christian Way, Reverend Paton, talking as though he were the “voice over” narrating a bad travelogue. McDuff’s overheated brain provided the screen for a grainy black and white movie:
“We’ve got two kinds of people here: clothed (the Christian) and unclothed (the heathen)” the narrator said. “We have to rule with a rod of iron. The natives only understand an iron hand in an iron glove. We have used the mailed fist of evangelism to teach the love of Christ in the Pacific.
“We’ve got our courts and policemen. Everybody’s subject to them, white as well as black. But the whites have to stay on top to run things. Drinking kava gets you put in calaboose. Singing gets you put in calaboose. Dancing and just about anything you do means the calaboose... the calaboose... the calaboose... the calaboose.”
The words went on over and over, like an old cracked record. The fever dream did not have a shut-off switch.
Every once in a while McDuff would regain consciousness during a chill, and shake in uncontrollable spasms. Yani always seemed to be at his side when he awoke. The young man would place his hand over the missionary’s eyes and say something rhythmic in Booga-booga. Whether the chill ran its course, or Yani’s touch had suppressed it he could not decide. In his fever dream, Yani was replaced by Leslie Gale, for whom he felt a great deal of affection. Perhaps it was just the touch of another human being who apparently cared; whatever the reason, the contact quieted the ravages of the malaria.
***
The next day was Wednesday. Not that it made any difference on Christ’s Despair. Although he observed the Sabbath himself, Pastor McDuff had not yet gotten around to discussing the concept of it with Yani. In his fiery torment, followed by dreams of being stuck in a crevasse on a glacier somewhere, the minister heard someone calling to him.
“Dr. McDuff. Can you hear me? Dr. McDuff! Wake up.”
He opened his eyes a crack and saw Jeremy Thompson standing next to him with his huge shotgun resting on his shoulder. “How did you get to Switzerland, Mr. Thompson? Who’s minding the coconuts?” he said.
“You’re delirious, McDuff. You’re dreaming. You’re here on the island with me,” Thompson said in a loud voice.
The minister focused on the reality for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “You’re sure we’re not dead. It’s awfully warm all of a sudden.”
“I’ll see you in Hell, McDuff, but not yet. I just came by to tell you that I want your boy to be one of our Policeboys. But I can wait until he’s finished playing nursemaid to you,” Thompson said.
McDuff thought about the remark for a minute and said, “I don’t know if he wants to be a Policeboy. I think we better ask him first.”
“I don’t care a rat-fuck if he does or he doesn’t. As Governor of this island, if I tell him he’s a Policeboy, he’ll damn well be a Policeboy.”
Yani spoke up and said, “Yani is Churchboy. I work for Big Man Duff. No want to be Policeboy.”
Thompson was taken aback. Addressing himself to the minister, he said, “This bloody bastard speaks English! Have you been teaching him English? You know that’s against the rules. We warned you about that.
“You just wait till Wembly hears about this. He’ll be back in a couple days, and I’ll let him know what you’ve been up to. It’s back to the good ol’ U.S.A. for you, mate.”
Thompson was leaving the hut and turned back to say, “If he’s goin’ to speak English, then he damn well better be a Policeboy. That’s all we need, a subversive among the natives.”
McDuff had passed out again and heard none of it. Yani realized that he had violated Negeb’s instructions. He allowed the Witman to find out that he could understand English. Yani needed to talk to Negeb when he got back to see if there was some way he could save the situation.
Chapter 16
After Thompson left the church, Yani took it upon h
imself to take the stained-glass window of the Ascension of Christ out of its crate. The slot had been prepared in the earthen wall to receive the frame rather snugly, but it would take two people to lift it into place. The Churchboy was sure that Jesus could work his magic better if he was out in plain view, rather than trapped in the wooden box. The pallet of palm leaves on which he had placed the pastor was in just the right spot for him to see the picture standing on the altar when he awoke again.
He wondered why the friends of Jesus had not come by to help them with the church. Maybe they realized that there were no more tools to be had, but since they enjoyed using them he doubted that was the reason.
___
One of the women who had taken a liking to Yani edged around the clearing, watching him position the window. When he finished, she said, “The picture of Witman God looks like it has much power. Can Big Man Duff go up through the clouds, too?”
“Yani and Pastor Duff will go through the clouds to Heaven when it is the time.”
She was impressed.
“Where are the friends of Jesus?” Yani asked. “I thought everyone would come to work with me. Pastor is sick from bad spell. I think Big Man Tomsin is bis” using the local word for sorcerer. “He use simka on him,” Yani said.
“Big Man Tomsin called all men to Big House. Everyone is there. He came to the village and told them to go there,” she said, her words showing her obvious fear of the white man.
Yani saw that McDuff was sleeping well at the moment. “You stay here,” he told her “Give him water if he wakes up. I go hear what Big Man Tomsin says.”
___
When Yani reached the Big House, he stayed around the outer edge of the crowd. He did not want Thompson to see him. In his usual style, Thompson stood up on the verandah, bullying the natives in their own language.
“The Japanese are coming. They have big ships. They have soldiers with guns.” He held his shotgun over his head. “They will shoot the Blackfella if he does not work on the copra plantations. The Witman chief in Sydney does not want the Blackfella to be shot.”
When John Frum Came Page 14
