by J K Nen
Despite the challenges five years of widowhood presented, Jamie enjoyed being a single mum. The grief was still there, despite time softening its raw pain. Nine-year old Samantha, Sammy for short, was the spitting image of Vincent Maddox, her father and Jamie’s late husband. Even today, her thick bronze curls, pale tan complexion and honey-gold slanted eyes attracted admiration from passers-by. Her seven year old son Randall, nicknamed Randy, had Jamie’s black curly hair and caramel-skin tone, but inherited Vince’s Roman nose and tri-cornered smile. Tomorrow would be the fifth anniversary of Vince’s death, and Jamie did not relish spending the day alone with her memories. Sammy remembered her dad. Randy did not. She was grateful for the trip they were taking up to the Blue Mountains to spend the weekend with Joe and Anna-Maria Rowe.
Tall and husky Joe, with hair and eyes so pale he was almost an albino, taught high school. He was a Wantok Club executive and coached the local rugby league team on the weekends. Chocolate-complexioned and dreadlocked Anna-Maria was as tall as her husband. For a woman in her fifties, she could pull off a bandage dress as well as any woman half her age. Warm and friendly with a ready smile, this popular teacher called herself the “Expat Jiwakan.” She had lived almost thirty years in Australia but maintained ties with her family back home in the highlands of PNG. Even her children had cultural names from her area. The couple met when Joe taught at her district high school, and she was a newly minted teacher fresh out of college.
Take the girl out of PNG but you can’t take PNG out of the girl, Jamie thought.
She met the Rowes at the Wantok Ball last month. Jamie found she had a lot in common with the Rowes. For one, Anna-Maria was from the same village as Vince’s birth mother.
“I was a little girl when Vince was adopted out,” she said, on learning who Jamie was. “It’s tragic that he died so young.”
Vince. The pain of losing him. He was the leader, Jamie his disciple. His death devastated her. The adage “time heals” had not been true for her. The constant sharp, stabbing pain had faded to a dull, persistent ache.
Jamie missed him so much. Vince Maddox was the love of her life. The wedding photo she used as her cover photo on her Facebook page a constant reminder of the wonderful man she married. Meeting Vince transfigured her life. At her hen’s night, Sam referred to this transformation, as “Jamie’s mousy to magnificent metamorphosis.” It was true. Jamie had been the quiet, petite and easily startled waif. After Vincent, she morphed into confident wife, mother and business executive other women envied.
Before Vince, Jamie wished she had a bubbly personality that could change the mood of an entire room. With the pall of uncertain paternity hanging over her, painfully shy Jamie flitted through life like a shadow. Golden-caramel skin tone, a mass of thick, curly black hair and petite hourglass figure with conical breasts added to the beauty she tried to hide. She hated skirts and dresses, anything that made her look like a girl. She wore denim shorts, baggy t-shirts and baseball caps to hide her figure. Sam, her roommate from first year christened her “Bambi” for those large dark eyes fringed with long, dark lashes in a small oval face with its straight nose and heart-shaped lips.
Sam was Jamie’s complete opposite. Tall and voluptuous, Sam wore size 18 caftan tops and jeggings, plus a loud and brash personality to match. While other girls on campus tentatively ventured into multiple piercings along their ear lobes, Sam pierced her eyebrows, tongue, lips and wore a nose ring when she enrolled at university. When the trend was braided hair extensions, Sam added rainbow coloured beads to her dreadlocks. With her purposeful, boyish stride and her easy banter with the boys, she was often mistaken for a lesbian. She loved the notoriety and even encouraged the perception. When she began dating Keith Raga, star rugby player and a catch at that, the skinny, rich party girls began a hate campaign against Sam. They called her ‘Arnette Schwarzenegger.” She took no offence. Sam knew she was no waif and loved the label. Online forums buzzed with the question: “What does Keith Raga see in Arnette Schwarzenegger?” Sam was as tall as Keith was and just as athletic, yet outweighed him by at least ten kilos. The handsome athlete was completely besotted with Sam.
An unlikely friendship flourished between Sam and Jamie. Sam came from a wealthy family and generously helped Jamie when her family could not send her money. She was fiercely protective of Jamie and encouraged her to build her confidence before hooking up with anyone. She had every reason to. The few flings Jamie had in first two years were short-lived. Either the guys had girlfriends she knew nothing about or they wanted to be “just friends” after the one - night stand. ‘Just friends’ meant “booty call.” Jamie despaired of ever finding Mr Right.
When Jamie hooked up with the handsome basketballer Adrian Lohia, even Sam was shocked. Girls drooled over Adrian’s beige complexion, high forehead and cheekbones, narrow nose with slightly flared nostrils and killer smile. He gravitated towards the party girls - high on the social calendar and low on morals. The campus wondered at his hot pursuit of Jamie. He was part of the “cool” crowd, kids from wealthier families who had been to the right schools, vacationed in the right countries and belonged to the right clubs. They were the kids on first names terms with the country’s elite and had money to burn. In fact, Adrian was the leader of the “brat pack,” spoiled, rich kids fawned over and feted like royalty. Although Sam was part of that social set, she shunned them. She hated their pettiness and ridiculed them with offensive one-liners. They, in turn, avoided her like the plague. To her consternation, Jamie and Adrian consummated their relationship immediately.
“I bet it’s like having sex with a blow up doll, except this one’s all puffed up with his own ego and his special brand of stupidity,” Sam opined snidely.
Jamie feigned deafness.
Adrian cheated on Jamie throughout their three years together. After graduation, they lived together. She worked for a beer company and he managed his mother’s travel agency. Eight months later, Jamie discovered he had fathered a child with an employee. She cut her losses and moved on.
Sam and Keith offered her the spare room in their apartment. Despite the pain, being alone was her forte. Jamie was a loner, always had been. Her great-great grandmother, whom she affectionately called Oma, raised her from birth. Uncle Doug and Aunt Judy, her mother’s sister, took responsibility for her once she reached school age.
Jamie’s mother Liz, was unstable. She had six children from different men. Beautiful Liz was immature. Her Greek ancestry endowed her with an olive complexion, small lips, dark hair and eyes, a straight nose and an hourglass figure. She wore clothes that accentuated her large, firm breasts and trim waist. Her outgoing personality had men flocking to her like moths to a light bulb. She aged so well, she was often mistaken for Jamie’s older sister. She lured men but lacked the maturity to work through relationships, walking out when the going got tough. Jamie had six half-siblings, yet Liz still looked like a “freshly plucked daisy,” another one of Sam’s colourful sobriquets.
A childhood scuffle with her cousin outed the terrible truth of Jamie’s conception.
“Your mother is a timber whore. And your father is a Kongkong,” he chanted, the derogatory slang for Asians hurting Jamie more than his colourful description of her mother.
Timber whores, a handle given to local girls who consorted with Asian crew on the logging ships docked on the harbour, rarely had babies. Unfortunately, Liz had fell pregnant with Jamie after a tryst with a Malay Indian. Jamie did not care to know. She wondered why other children like her went to great lengths to find out who their birth fathers were. Oma raised her with unconditional love. She was all the mother and father Jamie needed. She had little contact with her birth mother and half-siblings, preferring to visit Oma every chance she got.
A year later, Jamie met Sam’s ‘hot new boss” despite her protests that she was not ready.
“Don’t be dumb,” Sam insisted bluntly. “He’s the perfect remedy for your pathetic taste in men.”
F
or months, Sam recited his positive attributes. Vincent Maddox was handsome, athletic, sexy, and to top it off, he had solid moral values. He neither smoked nor drank. He was polite and kind, and a perfect gentleman.
“Aren’t they all, before they try to get into your pants?” Jamie retorted.
“He’s nothing like that,” Sam replied. “I know you’re still suffering from Adrian Lohia- induced flashbacks, but Vince is nothing like that airhead.”
“Will you stop it already?” Jamie snapped at one point, exasperated by Sam’s litany of impossible traits in one of Adam’s sons.
Unperturbed, Sam continued: “He’s perfect for you. And you will meet him, even if I die trying”
Sam was right. Vince was everything Sam said he would be and more. Tall, broad –shouldered, and caramel-complexioned with a chiselled body, the lightweight expensively tailored suit he wore emphasised his beautifully tapered torso. He worked out and it showed. With eyes the colour of the palest, golden-molten honey, Roman nose and square jaw, he was ruggedly handsome. His teeth were the whitest Jamie had ever seen on anyone in betelnut-stained PNG. She was too busy checking him out, she did not notice the hand he held out for her to shake, an amused smile playing about his lips. When he opened his mouth to speak, Jamie had watched enough movies to recognise a Southern accent when she heard one. The rich timbre of his voice melted her knees. Adam’s son or not, he was too flaming sexy to pass up. All her resolutions to ‘bitch out’ Sam’s “hot new boss’ went out of the window. By the time the introductions were over, Jamie was mentally giving birth to their first child.
A year later, they married and had Sam and Randall in quick succession, twenty-three months apart.
Jamie later learned Vince owed his exotic looks to a Eurasian Catholic priest and a local girl at the Highlands parish he served in. To save the girl the public humiliation of a child out of wedlock, her family asked Randall and June Maddox, the Baptist missionary doctors to organise a secret adoption. The missionaries took her in as they waited for her baby’s arrival. Things took a different turn when Vince was born. He was a beautiful baby with thick, black curly hair, the largest grey-brown eyes and a winning smile. June took one look at the newborn and fell in love. Her sons Valentino and Vernon were in primary school. Valerie was only two years older than Vincent. June begged her husband to let her keep Vince. He had to agree. The baby had grown on him too.
Months after his birth mother was married off and the bridal wealth collected, Randall and June Maddox adopted Vincent. His mother continued to weave sleeping bags for him and left vegetables from her garden on the back porch of the Maddox’s home. When their tenure ended a year later, his heavily pregnant mother wept as she waved her son goodbye.
Like all conscientious Western parents, June and Randy made sure Vince knew who his birth mother was and where he could find her. He was in no rush though. He graduated magna cum laude, then worked as an investment banker for ten years. Then he left the rat race to buy run-down properties, flipping them and reselling for a profit. When his fiancée cheated on him with his best friend, he returned to PNG to look for work and reconnect with his roots. He had only been managing the Monsoon Hotel on the Marina for three months when he met Jamie.
Vince’s death shocked everyone, especially Jamie. He had just returned from a visit to his birth mother’s village for his half-sister’s bride price ceremony. His mother and stepfather gave him a share of the bridal wealth, befitting his status as the eldest son. He was flattered he had even been included at all.
Jamie and the children picked him up from the airport. Although tired, he decided they should go to the church youth picnic at Laloki River. Vince summoned the energy to drive the church truck loaded with food, sporting equipment and cheering young Christians to the campsite. Jamie followed in the jeep with the children, a picnic hamper and warm clothing packed in the back.
The couple took turns, organising games and the cookout. When the day ended, Vince went for a last swim while the youths packed up. Swimming was his other love.
Growing up, Vince spent almost every summer in Ascension Parish in Louisiana with his grandparents. He took his chances with the mosquitoes and gators in Alligator Bayou, swimming, fishing and hunting. He loved rivers and swamps. Any river he saw, he just had to swim.
Jamie changed her babies into warmer clothes and tucked them in the car. She glanced up briefly to see her husband launch himself off the bank into the water in a knifepoint dive. The guys cheered. Todd Finch, the youth pastor, followed at his heels. Jamie resumed packing.
Then she felt it. An eerie silence enveloped her, rendering her dizzy. She swayed on her feet. In the stillness of the trance, she heard the dirge accompanied by the raucous laughter of the toipo’o bird, the harbinger of death. She knew. She was not going home with her husband that night.
Todd emerged. Vince did not. A frantic search began. Jamie collapsed in a faint. She could not cry. For some strange reason, she knew exactly where Vince was. A tree eight kilometres downstream, with its roots spread out to the water had Vince in its grasp.
Searchers recovered Vince’s body the next afternoon, caught in the roots of the tree Jamie had seen in her trance. They would not let Jamie see him. For the first time, her mother Liz became a real mum to her, preparing potions to help her sleep and taking care of her grandchildren. Jamie sat through the hauskrai in a daze, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sam became the rock she needed. At night, she could hear Liz talking to Oma and Aunty Judy.
On the day of his funeral, Jamie spent a few minutes alone with him. In repose, Vince was dressed in his pinstriped suit with a rose in the lapel. Except for the pall of death, he looked like he was asleep. Jamie’s heart-wrenching sobs did little to ease the terrible pain she felt. She wanted to rip her heart out and die with him. How she loved this man and now, he was gone. The questions almost killed her. Why had he not said anything? How did he expect her to raise the children on her own? He had swum bigger rivers than this.
Then realisation dawned on her. She had known all along. For three long months, the toipo’o visited but she had ignored it as some superstitious belief. Her ignorance cost her husband his life. It was entirely her fault, despite Sam’s protests that no one could thwart fate. She killed her husband by blatantly ignoring a warning generations of her ancestors paid very close attention to.
These days, Jamie lived in Sydney’s eastern suburbs in a tiny two-bedroom flat with her children while she studied for her master’s degree at the University of New South Wales. It was within walking distance of her university and the children’s school. The shopping centre and park were nearby. While her neighbours griped about the Anzac Parade traffic, Jamie enjoyed its sounds. Her bedroom served as her study room and the living room doubled as the kids’ playroom and family room. Thanks to St Vincent’s thrift shop, she had lovely curtains, good furniture and lots of toys and books for the kids to enjoy. Even her pots, pans and most of her kitchen appliances came from Vinnie’s and the Salvo’s second hand shop. It amazed Jamie that items of excellent quality were dirt cheap, like her purchase yesterday.
Jamie’s transition from a happily married executive who had it all to that of a struggling widow on a meagre scholarship stipend was painful. She wiped away the tears. Vince’s death had forced her to grow up. She was always taken care of, but in the last five years, she had been forced to take responsibility for herself and her children. With investments tied to leases that would take years to pay off, the financial struggle was real. Jamie tightened her belt and lived below her means.
The announcement came that they had reached the last stop at Katoomba. The Rowes waited at the train station with their youngest daughter, Yal. The nineteen-year old sandy-complexioned university student had a halo of curly reddish-blonde hair framing her pretty face. Her dark mischievous eyes danced with excitement. Sammy and Randy took an immediate liking to her.
“You can ride with me,” she said, showing the children her vintag
e Volkswagen Beetle, a gift from her grandmother.
“It’s a frog car,” Sammy giggled.
“Frog car, indeed,” Yal retorted, forehead furrowed in mock consternation. “I’ll show you frog car.”
“I bet you can’t drive faster than Uncle Joe,” Randy joined in, casting a meaningful glance at Joe’s Toyota Prado.
“How much you wanna bet? A dollar?”
“Yeah a dollar, cos I haven’t seen one like this before,” Sammy joined in. “Where do they make them? In your room?”
“I’ll have you know, young lady, that this car came all the way from England,” Yal huffed jokingly. “My grandmother bought it with her and she passed it on to me when she died. This little car has been all over Europe.”
“Wow,” Randy stared at the car, eyes as wide as the proverbial saucers. “It’s Herbie.”
The adults laughed.
Jamie fell in love with the Rowe’s homestead at first sight. Nestled against the mountains, the large five-bedroom farmhouse had a scenic driveway. Two Jersey cows, a bull named Pedro, some sheep, free-range chickens, a gaggle of geese, turkeys and a sole rooster named Oscar ruling the roost. Two Shetland ponies named Yaltep and Tengdui provided hours of entertainment for Jamie’s kids. Yal was wonderful. She never once complained or tired of the children. The garden took Jamie’s breath away. In vegetable boxes, the Rowes planted onions, garlic, cabbages, carrots, potatoes, spinach, lettuce and watercress.
