‘Monique does not sleep much during the day so Yvonne has to keep her occupied in the café. Dinah comes sometimes to watch her and my wife can have time to do some housework.’
‘Poor Yvonne - why don’t you find a house girl to do the chores?’
Gerard thought that was a good idea and asked Min if she knew anybody trustworthy and Min suggested that he ask at the college.
There was a lapse in the conversation and Min pursed her lips and looked sideways at Gerard whose fixed smile reminded her of a basking predator savouring the moment before attack. She jumped up and went to the kitchen to get some glasses. She gave her armpits a sneaky sniff and decided that she would take a shower before any love-making happened. Gerard had gone to the small sideboard to find the alcohol and was appalled to find that all that was in there was one bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc which was left over from when Rowan McInerney had sold her his car.
‘Don’t be such a francocentric wine drinker. You’re living in the south Pacific where the new world wines are very good.’
‘But why do you use French names? You should invent your own because it is France which made the wine famous.’
‘Well - maybe we will before long. But if it’s the name of the grape variety - p’raps that’s a problem.’
Gerard took a guarded sip and Min waited to hear his denunciation but perhaps he realised that an argument would be counter-productive to his plans, so he made a surprised face and took a second more normal one.
‘Not bad,’ he conceded and Min just looked at him with a stony face waiting for further comment. He put the glass down on the floor and then took her glass and did the same and she knew that the ritual had begun.
‘I need a shower,’ she said and he smiled as if to say, ‘I know the drill.’ After he had gone home Min sat down and tried to recall a witty little quatrain she had once heard when some British person was lamenting the putative superiority of the French in all things gastronomical. It took her a while before it came back to her and she wrote it in her diary.
“The French have taste in all they do, Which we are quite without.
The Lord Who, to the French gave goût,
To us gave only gout” - or something like that.
Would Gerard appreciate this ironical offering if she copied it for him? Michael would have loved it of course.
Chapter 71
The news of Robert’s “crime” had started to circulate in the town and he thought people were looking askance at him as he did his shopping at the market but Dinah said it was his subliminal paranoia coming to the surface. She had applied for her exit visa and was hoping that Robert’s would soon be sorted out.
In the meantime he went to the High Commission to get advice pending his return to the immigration office. He was surprised to find that the consular officer looked too young to be a diplomatic representative with his blond quiff and unworn, serrated teeth. He put out his small hand and introduced himself as Barnaby and Robert thought he saw him wince when he returned the handshake with the force of experience.
‘Is this your first posting?’
‘Yes - why?’
‘No particular reason,’ Robert prevaricated.
It was not long before his suspicions were confirmed (pretentious handle, for a start, he remarked to Dinah later) and it was clear that our man/boy was cloaked in the mantle of political correctness of “White legs bad, brown legs good”. This working principle put Robert at a disadvantage so he wondered if he would get any help from this quarter. It was bad luck to encounter such a new chum whose ears needed a good towelling, he thought ruefully.
‘If this charge has no foundation why would anybody try and make it stick?’
‘I suggest you put the word bribery into your lexicon old chap,’ Robert sounded tired.
‘I’d rather not think like that,’ said Barnaby reproachfully as if fending off temptation.
Robert shrugged and said he’d try and sort things out himself.
‘See ya mate,’ he said colloquially, ‘I hope someone will visit me in the cooler.’
He needed a good strong coffee so he walked around the beachfront to the French café which was now very popular even though it was not on the main thoroughfare. Polly was sitting by the window reading a letter so he sat down to bore her with the details of his story. She asked how Dinah was feeling.
‘She’s her usual positive self but she’s started the ball rolling for leaving - on her own if necessary.’
‘That’s too bad. Surely it won’t come to that,’ Polly’s genuine sympathy clashed with her new rather cheeky look.
‘I like your new hairstyle. It really suits you.’
Polly grimaced. ‘Thank you - Jim hates it. He’s wrapped my ponytail in tissue - can you believe it? Maybe there’s a market somewhere for blond ponytails.’
Robert described his unavailing visit to the High Commission and she said she hoped they would be spared this do-it-yourself battle with the administration. The Peace Corps did all that thank goodness.
‘Are you serious about going to Hawai’i?’
‘Yeah - I think so. I do want to see more of the Pacific but I’ll miss this place. It’s been such a different experience from what I expected.’
‘What did you expect?’
‘You know - I can’t really remember now that you ask me straight out. I think memory’s like that - you forget your imaginary picture of a place once you’ve seen the reality.’
She said she had just been reading a letter from home asking her to come back for Christmas. Her family made a big deal of it but she wasn’t keen to spend the money for a short time.
‘Maybe I’ll offer them a trip to Hawai’i as a peace offering - if we make it.’
She thanked Jim for the coffee refill and left, while he sat and contemplated his next move. He would have to adjust his mood for the next interview so that he kept his cool and rolled with the punches. He was about to leave when Yvonne came to say hello. They shook hands and she sat down to tell him that it was great to have Dinah to discuss early childhood behaviour with. As she said,
‘Eet’s not easy the first time you know.’
Little Monique toddled over to her mother’s side and looked shyly at
Robert.
‘Dis bonjour au monsieur,’ Yvonne cajoled but the child simply stared. Yvonne said,
‘You see - they don’t always oblige, but Dinah says it is not too important at this age.’
Robert smiled and said hello in what he thought was the correct tone but the child continued to stare. He thought to himself how unnerving that unblinking gaze can be or was it his present insecurity which made him feel exposed? He realised how unused he was to the company of children except at a distance as he saw them here. The local kids did a great line in staring too.
On the way home he made up his mind to toughen up and get his life into perspective. Perhaps there would be a satisfactory outcome to this comedy and if he could see it like that, it might become manageable.
Chapter 72
She was travelling on a very fast train trying to look at the scenery but all she could see was a blur of drab colours which made her feel as if her eyeballs were being sucked out of her head. She began to feel nauseated and gradually the idea that she must find the bathroom grew stronger.
Then she felt the sheet pulled from her body and she woke up just in time to rush to the john and empty the contents of her stomach. Her eyes watered and her nose ran with the effort and Jim called,
‘Are you all right?’
‘Just fine,’ she said as she appeared at the door mopping her face. ‘Just fine.’
Polly tried to remember what she had eaten the night before and she thought of the shrimp cocktail at the hotel which had looked dodgy but she had been starving so she went for it. So did Jim and all the others so maybe he’d be next. She asked him to get her some boiled water from the refrigerator.
‘The salmon
mousse,’ he said as he handed it to her. ‘Mr Death at your service.’
She glowered and took a gulp of water and lay down. She was in no mood for Monty Python.
‘I’m not going to work - could you call in on your way and tell them I’m sick. They won’t mind.’ That was the great thing - her workmates had work/life balance down to a T.
When Jim cycled off she turned on her side and fell into a sound sleep. It was early afternoon when she woke and she felt hungry. She cut herself some papaya, her favourite fruit which had come from Eturasi’s tree. It was food for the gods with its light orange flesh and abundant black seeds tucked inside, a promise of future delights.
Jim came home with some lunch from Gerard’s café and was pleased to see that she had recovered. In a sepulchral voice he sang,
‘The tuna cocktail,’ and Polly burst out laughing and put her hands over her ears.
‘Please don’t,’ she begged, ‘or it’ll start all over again.’ Jim whispered the words again and pointed with a bony finger.
Then they both laughed as they recalled The Meaning of Life when a bunch of American tourists all die from eating salmon mousse and are
led to their fate by the Grim Reaper appropriately equipped with a scythe. They enjoyed some other hilarious bits of the film they’d seen not long before they left home and as they quietened down Jim said solemnly,
‘Perhaps you’re pregnant!’
Polly gasped and groaned ‘Not again,’ but the next morning she was sick again after another strange dream. This time she was surrounded by tiny little figures who had gathered around her, badgering for something she couldn’t remember. She flopped back into the bed and sighed with resignation.
‘Oh, God - here we go again. What’ll we do? Maybe we’ll have to go home.’
‘I think we see a doctor. There are doctors here you know.’
Polly said she needed to talk to her mother but Jim said that she would insist on her returning to California and Polly agreed.
‘I’ve been getting used to the idea of Hawai’i too and now this happens.’ They lay under the sheet contemplating all the implications of this advent. Jim was tempted to ask if he could claim the honours this time but he was sure he could so it would be an indelicate question. Polly was thinking about her relationship with her mother and how much she did want to tell her but how much she would not want her advice.
‘It’s occurred to me that we’re up against a microscopic opportunist and perhaps we should applaud that. Have you thought of that?’ Jim was so impressed by his insight that he turned to Polly and hugged her. She was not impressed however and had a defensive reaction on behalf of the zygote inside her.
‘What an unsentimental person you are James. Anyway, you’re ignoring our contribution to this state of affairs by your choice of language.’ Polly sat up on the side of the bed wondering if she’d go to work later.
Jim got up and punched the air a couple of times on his way to the bathroom and Polly smiled a reduced smile; he was pretty pleased and unwilling to say so.
It was a week or so before the pregnancy was confirmed and in the meantime Polly started every day with the ritual purging of the evening meal. Her late starts at the office aroused nothing more than the customary eyebrow acknowledgements and she didn’t resort to Jim’s suggestion that she say that they had someone staying with them. It was this sort of humour she realised that was cementing their relationship.
She wrote to her mother and got the inevitable question in reply. Did they plan to marry? Luckily Polly’s sister’s marriage plans were in train and would deflect the interest in her lack of motivation to spend money on a wedding. She chuckled when Jim said he expected a dowry instead.
‘Who’s the real opportunist would you say?’ Polly hugged him and felt reassured that things would work out.
Chapter 73
Although nothing was said or hinted at, Michael thought it was time he spared his friend the bleakness of his company unengaged as he was in life around him. He said he would return to the backpackers’ hostel and there was only a lame attempt to dissuade him. Michael felt the significance and understood.
He had already had two consultations with the doctor who had been recommended and had found him empathetic and articulate. Insofar as any one person can intuit the beliefs and consequent existence of another this man was able to tease out many of the strands which contributed to Michael’s present mental state. There was no power imbalance either because it was not a case of expert and disciple. His empathy in regard to Michael’s central dilemma was consoling without diminishing the gravity of the situation. It was decided that talking therapy would be better than medication and Michael agreed; he wanted to stay on the path he had become familiar with in spite of the pain and until there was finality.
Christmas was not far away and the summer was heating up. The discordant hype of a season born of one hemisphere and transferred to its antipodes tended to sharpen Michael’s sense of alienation. When he was a child the synthetic snow and plastic holly thrilled him with promises of booty but now he questioned the part played by such factitious trappings and religion in forming his young mind. There were plenty of cheerful survivors however, so what made him different?
On his way to the hostel he called into one of his childhood haunts. It was a busy market and near the end of the day cheap auctions would be held. The combined smells of the place sent him spiralling back to his weekly visits with his mother to get provisions and to his fear of getting lost in the forest of adult legs. He had longed for the day when he would be able to choose his favourite treats without having to pester someone else for the pleasure. That day had come and with it, disappointment.
He sat on a low wall outside the market and took off his backpack. Little had changed. He could see his mother in her old coat and hat which she seemed to wear for years. He saw her shopping trolley beside her full of healthy fruit and vegetables. He was eating his fantastic ice cream while she smoked a cigarette to which his father objected at home so they were both wallowing in their treat time. Poor Mum, he thought; she probably had to ask for the money to spend on the food but he was as unaware of her problems as he was now aware of his own.
He remembered a girl behind the sausage counter in the old white-tiled food hall where they always bought some of the spicy versions cooked by her Italian parents. She and her brother were young and good- looking while their parents were raddled by hard work and the meridian sun of their homeland. He had a sudden impulse to visit the booth where these people earned what was probably a good living, to see if they were still there and recognisable.
He walked to the hall entrance and through the coloured plastic strips, which he had always found tacky and along the worn floor to where he could observe without buying. He noticed that some of the former booths of European food were now selling Asian delicacies but she was still there! In a series of glances he saw her hair now greying under the characteristic scarf, and her slightly thicker neck. There was a man of about the same age who, Michael presumed, was her husband and not the brother he remembered. He stood with his back to the counter opposite and read their perennial list of smallgoods in between snatching a look at the busy pair. He felt as if he was witnessing contentment with life shaped by the inexorable demands of continuity. And would her parents be basking in the future they had imagined when they set out for the new world?
As he walked away he wondered if he fitted the definition of mentally ill or was he simply made restless by knowledge of life’s possibilities. The old stereotype of mental illness and its accoutrements of strait jackets and shoes without laces might be based on a narrow understanding of human responses to the world. Pharmaceutical drugs used to stupefy and sequester solved the problem short term for the majority. As for Michael he was sure that he was responding to an ontological shift in his perceptions which caused him to ask deeper questions. One question he wrestled with was why in Judeo-C
hristianity was it such an original sin to want to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge? Why was humanity endowed with a thirst for knowledge which, according to the story of Eden, was its undoing? Following the logic of this theory the human species was inherently damned.
With similar reflections scurrying around in his head he made his way through the outer market where the ground was littered with the detritus of fruit and vegetables. Already the busy stall holders were packing and sweeping in readiness for another day of buying and selling. This industry had a momentum all of its own. He managed to buy a bunch of bananas for a rock bottom price and he ate two to pump up his energy level. He should have bought some sausages but he had been too shy to risk recognition.
At the hostel there was a group of German tourists poring over a map of the state. After a while one of them asked if he could give them any advice about where to go in the hinterland and he said that he was thinking of going into the mountains; in fact he had not formulated any ideas of where to spend some time before the hearing with the Medical Council, so it was a surprise to hear himself specify a place. There was something about mountains which attracted him and he was able to sound genuine in his recommendation. They thanked him politely and continued their discussion.
Chapter 74
The stifling air of the immigration office and the incessant rain sheets hitting the open louvre windows were taking their toll on Robert’s resolution to stay calm. Dinah’s exit visa had been granted after completing the usual formalities so she wanted to book her ticket and she urged him to try and sort out his problem.
He was about to confront the immigration officer again and was hoping that the customs mystery had been “solved” after his request to see a copy of the bill of lading which they had not produced on the spot. He and Dinah agreed to find out what it would cost to obtain the exit visa and ‘to hell with it,’ she said.
When the office door opened and a stout petitioner came out Robert’s heart gave a small thump of expectation and he organised a bland smile on his face. The door had been left ajar so any minute the immigration officer would appear to usher him in. He was the only person in the waiting area. Minutes ticked by and the relentless drumming of the rain filled the room while his facial muscles began to resume their customary position and his smile faded. What was the fucker doing? Writing a case history? Preparing a submission for the minister?
Another Throw of The Dice Page 24
