Poor Fellow My Country

by Xavier Herbert

  Then that final humiliation, soon after breakfast the second morning, to be found within five miles of his HQ and on the wrong side of it, that is the seaward side. Not that he showed any resentment at first, the way he danced in a clearing, waving his shirt to attract the aircraft. But he must have felt it, to see his two enemies grinning down at him. There was no landing to pick him up at once. Fergus took a bearing, and went back to give it to Denzil, who went out on horseback with two blackboys. The relief party took with them water and a thermos of tea and sandwiches of stalish bread spread with raspberry jam.

  However, it wasn’t any poor old Fabers who turned up at his HQ a couple of hours later, despite his appearance, his being shrunk to positively flabby bags, spotted with insect bites, torn and sunburnt, his clothes in rags and only able to hobble when he slid from his horse. It was still the Coot, the unsinkable Napoleon. Ignoring greetings and outstretched hands, heaving with indignation, he cried hoarsely, ‘I demand an apology.’

  All stared at him, except Denzil, who knowing the score, hung in the background, drooping.

  General Esk broke the surprised silence: ‘Apology, man . . . what for? Gad, we’ve been worried stiff about you.’

  The Coot swung on Fergus, pointing a peeled red finger at him. ‘I demand an apology from this . . . this racecourse lout . . . and . . .’ The finger swung on Prindy, ‘. . . from this up-jumped half-bred little beast who’s . . . who’s caused nothing but trouble . . . everywhere . . .’ He ran out of breath.

  ‘Apologise for what?’ asked Fergus. ‘For finding you? Did you want to win ultimate glory by dying walking round in circles like Ludwig Leichhardt?’

  The Coot got his breath back: ‘For the filthy lies you told the other night.’

  ‘For chrissake . . . what lies?

  ‘The lies you put that kid up to telling . . . that I vomited.’

  Fergus and Prindy looked at each other. ‘Well?’ demanded the croaking voice.

  Fergus asked Prindy, ‘That really true he been barcoo?’

  Prindy nodded. ‘That true all right. I watch him.’

  Again the Coot flew into a rage, as the other night, but with scream cracked now: ‘You dirty lying little black bastard . . . I’ll . . .’ But Fergus stopped him as he lunged to hit the boy.

  Fergus struck him in the chest, and as he reeled back, struck a fighting attitude, snapping, ‘Deal with me, you bullying bastard!’

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen!’ General Esk protested.

  The Coot turned on him. ‘General . . . I demand that you make these two apologise.’

  Esk looked dismayed, exclaimed, ‘I say, reahlly!’

  ‘I’m demanding it. If I don’t get it, you don’t get that Appreciation . . . and what’s more, I won’t have your men continue with me.’

  Esk went crimson, but answered coolly, ‘Reahlly, Dr Cootes!’

  ‘I mean it!’

  ‘But this is ridiculous, man! It’s a matter between you and these two . . . and a pretty petty one, if you ask me . . .’

  ‘I’m not asking you. I’m demanding that you order an apology from these two who have damaged my prestige. This . . . this Ferris fellow, he’s your employee. The boy’s just an Aboriginal waif he’s using to undermine me. But he’s got to be put in his place. If you value my prestige . . .’

  ‘Reahlly, old man . . . aren’t you rather over-valuing it yourself?’

  ‘My prestige can be of the utmost importance to your plans . . .’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Cootes!’

  ‘I warn you, General . . . that I happen to be in a position, with Government people and others, to make what you want to do in this country a success or a dismal failure. I know how you stand . . . even if you don’t . . . although I guess you do . . . and that’s pretty precariously. If you make an enemy of me . . .’

  The General exploded: ‘Damn your enmity, Sah . . . and you yourself for a conniving rogue! Goodday to you!’ He turned about with almost military precision, signalled to his aides, snapping, ‘Pack your kits, gentlemen.’

  They clicked to attention, answered together, ‘Sah!’

  At Fergus he snapped, ‘Be so good as to prepare for flight, Mister Ferris.’

  The Coot, physically and emotionally exhausted, fell into the arms of Professor St Clair, who supported him to a tent.

  The General’s indignation lasted till he was packed and about to go, when suddenly, turning to his aides, he said, ‘The fellow’s insufferable, I know. But perhaps he’s even a bit deranged now by his ordeal. Go and ask the Professor to come and see me.’

  St Clair came, looking as miserable as a man could be. No, he said, he didn’t think his colleague was deranged — only mortally offended. If only he could have some sort of apology. Impossible, the General declared. He was sure the boy was speaking the truth, because he himself had seen that the man looked sick that night. No doubt it was due to Ferris’s uncouthness. But that was a matter between the two of them. Still, as for himself, he didn’t want to cut the fellow off like this. Not that he was afraid of him, by jove! ‘Tell him, Professor, that there’s no one sorrier about the whole wretched business than I . . . and what about coming to Lily Lagoons for a few days . . . or the Beatrice . . . and having a bit of a spell. Then he can whip back here in the aircraft, and carry on . . . eh what?’

  The Professor came back looked as miserable as ever, to say, ‘He wants straight-out apologies . . . and one from you, too, for calling him a conniving rogue.’

  The General fairly shouted, ‘God damn the man for a pompous ass! That settles it. I’m off.’ He was marching off, when he turned back to the Professor. ‘I can’t take you along with me, old man?’

  The Professor sighed, shook his head.

  Perhaps the Professor was prevented from doing so; for he was not out to wave as the Junkers flew over the camp in departing. Only the blackboys were out. A little later, there were the other blacks, still at the foot of the Plateau, but somewhat further westward, waving. Fergus dropped down to them, did a turn or two — then up, up — to scatter the falcons and challenge the eagles, to defy the signs on the red wall that marked it off as a region of wahji; then to sweep on over the grey waste of rock, with only that for horizon, with only the compass to steer by, according to the pilot-in-chief, unwitting of the fact that there are some who don’t need clever instruments to show them the way home, no matter how far the going.

  VII

  Although everybody at Lily Lagoons was out to greet the Junkers in the sky, only Jeremy came to receive her company as earthlings. He was his usual self: polite, restrained, watchful. Still, it was evident that his response to General Esk’s frank show of affection was something more than politeness, rather like an elder brother’s meeting with a younger, whose need of him he did not share, but accepted out of regard for him. Quite readily he agreed to Esk’s suggestion that they let the others go in the utility, and they themselves walk. ‘To stretch the old legs,’ said Esk, ‘and hear about your Jews, before they can pull the wool over my eyes.’ When Jeremy showed surprise at the remark, Esk added, ‘Jews never really like us, Jeremy. They might even want to. They might even love us to a degree . . . but only for our not hating them. But that’s not liking. In my experience, ultimately they don’t trust us.’

  ‘But you’ve been a kind of policeman amongst them.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Many of the Jews I knew in Palestine had reason to want my friendship. Then, I’ve known some very high placed Jews at home. They’re included in our aristocracy now, don’t y’know. Eager to make friends, even . . . but always that quality of distrust.’

  ‘How do you account for it?’

  ‘Ah . . . I see you’ve become aware of it! I suppose, ultimately, it’s because we don’t belong, and . . . well, they’re shrewd enough to know we resent it. Anti-Semitism is, of course, primarily due to resentment at their exclusiveness. I’ve observed that the more Jewish Jews are, which means to say the more exclusive, the less disposed
they are to be friendly with the Gentile. But the average Jew will act in the way he shrewdly judges you want him to. Hence what I mean by being prepared to have the wool pulled over my eyes.’

  ‘What you say hardly applies to this lot.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘They’re not very Jewish, really . . . certainly not in a religious way . . . the opposite. If they have any resentment, it’s against conceding that they’re Jews . . . I mean in the matter of food and things.’

  ‘That could be a defence . . . and a concession to you, their host.’

  Jeremy made a mocking little sound: ‘I’m afraid they regard me rather as the innkeeper. They insist on paying their way. They see me when they’ve got time to notice me, that’s all.’

  ‘But surely they want your expert knowledge of local conditions?’

  ‘They don’t need any expert knowledge at all. They’re all experts in some line to do with development of wild poor country. They can buy and sell me in everything. They could do in a year, what I’ve spent most of my life only fiddling with . . .’

  ‘That’s Jews, my friend. But to ignore your local knowledge . . .’

  ‘Kurt had it all on paper for them.’

  ‘I see. And are they really going to settle hereabouts?’

  ‘I’ve told you I’m not very close to them.’

  ‘Knowing my Jeremy, I’d hazard a guess that that was more his doing than theirs. From what I understand, from pumping young Prindy, that your son Clancy is more their mark.’

  ‘Yes . . . he’s pretty thick with them. As a matter of fact, they’ve only just come back this morning from Beatrice Homestead . . . been entertained there, no less . . . some of them.’

  ‘Naturally the Vaisey interest would come first with them. Anyway, that suits you well enough, doesn’t it? You don’t want them despoiling your part of the country, do you?’

  ‘They wouldn’t do that . . . at least not as other settlers could be expected to. I mentioned the matter pretty early . . . to their boss, a big fellow named Ernest.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Ernest. I heard about him from Prindy and Fergus. Odd name for a Jew, I must say.’

  ‘He’s an odd type. Anyway, he just cut me short, saying, “Spoil ze land and kill ze bird and animal? Vot you think ve are — Schlemiel?” You know the expression?’

  The General chuckled, ‘Yes . . . but I haven’t heard it in a long while. Very meaningful, really. Means so much more than Fool . . . rather Born Fool, Fated Fool, Fool Without End . . .’

  ‘Yes . . . I’ve gathered that from Rifkah.’

  ‘By the way . . . how’s the dear girl? In her element now, I take it.’

  Jeremy answered, a little stiffly, ‘In the kitchen, as usual. The settlement business doesn’t interest her.’

  Esk shot him a glance. Jeremy had his eyes on the horse-yard not far ahead, where there was some kind of struggle going on between horse and man.

  Esk remarked, his tone dryish, ‘I expect it came as something of a surprise to your visitors to find a virtually Jewish household awaiting them?’

  Jeremy coloured slightly, and was constrained in his tone in answering, ‘As I’ve said, they’re not so keen on the kosher business.’

  ‘I’d judge that a bit of a pose. I’ve yet to meet the Jew who doesn’t prefer kosher to treife, no matter how renegade he might be. As our redoubtable Dr Cootes remarked, just before the bust-up, food prejudices are primary and the hardest to eliminate.’

  ‘Tell me the facts of the Cootes business while we’ve got the chance.’

  Esk told it drolly, so that Jeremy laughed a lot. However, Esk concluded wryly, ‘Ridiculous fellow, of course. Still, I don’t like the situation. From what old Malters tells me, he’s got an eye on military command of the country in the event of hostilities. Cheek of him! The only pretension he has to a military background is as a Boy Scout. Hence that Appreciation he wanted me to submit for him. You can imagine the private indignation of old Malters. But, according to Fergus, who seems to know his background pretty well, he’s in with the politicians . . . both sides. Well, the Coot made that evident enough in what he flung at me. He’s the type that politicians go for in dealing with military maters: the opportunist, through whom they can undermine the real soldier, with whom they can never get along. Then there’s the matter of the rivalry for power between the local military brass. He could be useful to either side there for political leverage . . . perhaps in levering me out, as he pretty bluntly hinted. If you don’t mind my harping on it, dear boy . . . more than ever now do I . . . and Australia . . . need your military services.’

  Jeremy was silent. Esk let the silence hang, perhaps in the hope of breaking something in Jeremy with it. They were coming through the mangoes now. He gave up with a sigh: ‘Perhaps it may turn out to be a matter for Jews to defend the land. They’re quite capable of it. Historically they’re a warrior race. Do you think this Big Ernest of yours might make something of a Joshua? From what Prindy and Fergus told me, he sounds like true officer material . . . Prussian, no less!’

  Jeremy chuckled, ‘How Hitler ever got a man like that on the run beats me.’

  Indeed, as so much a military man did Ernest strike General Esk on introduction, with his heel-clicking, that he remarked on it frankly. Ernest replied, ‘Haf not ve all military man been zis generation, Excellency?’

  ‘That’s a melancholy truth,’ said the General. ‘But please don’t call me Excellency. It’s not a title we bestow on mere generals. By the way . . . with what army would you have served? I saw something of you fellows on the other side during the Occupation, don’t you know.’

  ‘I like not to spik of it, General. I vos not ’appy in defeat.’

  ‘Understandably, my good chap. My apologies.’

  On the other hand, Mendelewitz, every bit as military as his boss, confessed to having been a subaltern with the Polish cavalry and after hostilities to have done a spell as an airman. ‘Then you were on our side, of course!’ cried Esk, and wrung the lean brown hand like that of an old comrade.

  Wool was certainly being pulled over eyes now, if what Jeremy reported of the guests’ preoccupation with their business to the point of ignoring him were not an extension of his own withdrawal. Not only were they most amiable with the newcomers, but also with Jeremy, of whom Ernest spoke to Esk as Our Host, Our Patron, Our Wise Counsellor. Anyway, their immediate task was just about concluded, according to what they said in answer to the General’s curiosity about their business. It seemed that they had been assured use of the old Russian Settlement site as an initial step to an establishment of their own, but also wished to be permitted to do some experimental work here at Lily Lagoons. ‘Ze dog-fish farm,’ explained Ernest, grinning.

  Conditions for amiability were greatly improved by the first serving of Rifkah’s mango wine before lunch, and then by the lunch put on by her and the fat Catherine and Nanago. Speaking of the wine, Ernest addressed the maker very much as her boss: ‘You vill learn chemistry from Catherine, and be ze brewery of our settlement.’ However, so far from appearing to be bossed was she, that her answer was a wink at the others.

  In fact, such was the change in conditions as had been reported by Jeremy, that Ernest even permitted his crew to join the household in what formerly he had denounced as the practice of savages, namely siesta, and retired along with them. Maybe it was the mango wine.

  Rifkah herself forewent siesta, as always of Friday afternoon. Catherine joined her in the fish-fry. There would be chemistry in what they did between them, since it is the very basis of cooking; and no doubt the learnt Catherine would know about all the chemical processes taking place; still, it was not a bit like a chemist that she gave herself to her share in the intricate proceedings, but as a true daughter of Sarah acting under angelic instructions, her great eyes shining with the joy of it.

  There was a general tendency in the company to pair off, beginning with their congregating after siesta.

  Jeremy became invol
ved with the elderly Zangwill, who now revealed himself as being much less interested in the practical application of Geology, his speciality, as in the pure science of it. Over in the laboratory, he expressed himself as envious of Jeremy’s freedom to give himself to science completely as he chose, saying with a sigh, when Jeremy suggested that it shouldn’t be long before he had a lab of his own and leisure to conduct the research he so eagerly talked of, ‘I am afraid it vill nefer be for me, my frient. So mooch zat iz of first importance to ze human race moost accomplished be. Ah . . . but for ze moment, let me live in ’appy private vorld of science mit you. Zis strange rock formation ’ere . . . ze Trias. It moost produce unusual mineralisation. I haf specimen tek from ze Rainbow Pool, vich I am sure is Lime Uranate. If only ve haf time to mek ze scintilloscope . . . sure I am ve vood find radioactive mineral in limestone region . . . alzough theoretically absurd, zey vood say. But so much before called absurd in theory is revealed as logic in practice, and vice versa. Our Einstein! Radioactivity now is ze great interest of best brains of geological vorld . . .’

  Fergus found a kindred spirit in Mendelewitz, since learning that he had been concerned with aviation. He said to him, ‘You’re a dark horse. Why didn’t you tell me before and be my co-pilot?’ Mendelewitz merely shrugged his shoulders, screwed up his handsome face, as if to say there were things one doesn’t talk about. That’s how the gesture must have struck Fergus, since he protested, ‘I’ve never yet struck a flying man who made anything of a secret of it. Most of our flying time’s spent flyin’ ’em in talk . . . usually holding a bar up.’ They went out to the Junkers together and took to the air, to do things with her away up in the blue that everybody came out to watch — except the two ritualists in the kitchen. Prindy, forgotten by Fergus, looked forlorn. Ernest looked annoyed, and expressed it, demanding to know what his party was going to do if the verdamt thing fell apart, and whether he would have to pay for the flying time being used up so recklessly.