by Mudrooroo
‘After this I was taken to the office of the head of ASIO and the PM watched as I was sworn to secrecy forever and warned that any disclosure of government secrets would end in a long prison term. Then he quickly shook my hand and left me to stew in the knowledge that I had been duped again. If I now sought to disclose any information about him and his dealings, I would find myself up on a charge of treason before a secret court. I was still fuming as I rushed to the airport. But I was off on a Pacific paradise holiday. I wanted to meet a banker with development funds. Money was romance enough for me. That, at least, was what I thought as I embarked. Oh, that it had been so ...’
SESSION THREE
‘So you see, I was a constant victim of political chicaneries which pushed me from pillar to post. Perhaps I should have hesitated; but I was in the grip of forces which kept me off balance, and these forces were being manipulated not only by the PM, but by Jackamara too. I’m almost sure of this, and if there was any justice in the world, a Royal Commission should have been convened to investigate these matters. The oath of secrecy has bound me all these years and it is only now that I dare speak out. I see you smile again, as if you think I am a victim of my own paranoia. Well, think that, and as for your man, Jackamara, I am not libelling him, God forbid, but I believe that he did have a hand in knitting the net of deceit and trickery in which I became entangled. Whether you believe it or not, you as a, more or less, impartial investigator may form your own conclusions, but beware, beware ... the forces arrayed against us are powerful, extremely powerful, too powerful to buck without ... Oh, forget it. You are less than I am; you will never become as much as I have been. No one is interested in you and, and, perhaps, not even in me now. A lowly clerk without any political pull at all, chained to his desk by the Official Secrets Act. To speak out is to become a criminal, but I have ceased caring. Then who would believe me ... except my enemies?
‘At the airport, I was ushered through with the minimum of fuss onto one of the smaller jets, a Boeing 727D or some such designation I believe it to have been. At the time I was less interested in my aircraft than in the sudden lightening of my mood. I felt I was at last escaping from the net of subterfuge in which I had been entangled since that accursed election, and moreover, I would be out of reach of my creditors. I became exultant. I was on an official mission, no matter how dubious a ploy it was to get me out of the way.
‘The Prime Minister wasn’t such a bad chap after all. He had come through for me after the chips were down. “Don’t you worry about that.” I muttered this famous Queenslander expression as a hostess personally escorted me to my first-class seat, rushed off for the latest Business Weekly, then returned to do up my seat belt. I was sitting in an aisle seat and what was more beside a striking woman with red hair who, when she glanced at me, had the greenest eyes flecked with gold. Her skin was golden too, hinting at the tropics and the South Sea paradise to which I was allegedly bound. As the rich aroma of her perfume filled my nostrils, I could not help but think: “My dear, you are just right for me. My kind of development.” Yes, yes, I know, I was foolish to think that my past was safely behind me and that at last my luck had changed; but I thought so then. I checked the share market in that magazine. I noted that my little flutter was fluttering upwards and would necessitate a fax to my stockbroker. Yes, I was on the rise again.
‘Thus I was perfectly in the right to be elated, and if I had then been capable of the slightest poetic description, I might have jotted down a poem on the miracle sitting beside me; but then I had no such gift. The so-called beauties of nature passed me by. I considered such things as aspects of real estate which might go to inflate the prices of hillside properties. “Such a barren soul,” you might exclaim, and with good reason; but all this would change with the coming of love into my life. Poetry and the gift of verse would follow. I wonder if that Jackamara of yours has a poetic soul, for his story certainly stuck in my mind—is that the attribute of a good storyteller?—and it stuck to me. In fact, eventually, I would feel myself becoming such a creature, a Kwinkan, a spirit-stick of nature without the supernatural powers to change myself. In fact I would be imprisoned within this persona and I would find myself regretting the loss of my humanity though filled with exaltation as I wallowed in the romantic suffering of it all. But all this came later, much later. Now I was still the crass entrepreneur, content in myself as the engines rose into a whining scream which flung us off the earth and straight through the air until in a matter of minutes we were over the splendid harbour of Sydney. There below hunched the bridge, beside it the dazzling white sails of the Opera House and the blue waves of the Pacific curling in a froth of, of sperm against the land. The coast fled behind me, and I was thinking that I needed a drink to relax my nerves. Flying raises anxiety in me. I need the clefts and crevasses of, of well, of a city about me. Surrounded by masses of man-made rock, I am at home and can hide away from all that I feel I must hide away from; but, but, I drag the world in after me, and my misery is exposed on a stage for all to see. Gloomy, aren’t I? I force a smile up from the ultimate depths. Sir, I was the brightest spark on the Gold Coast. What functions I held. I burnt the candle at both ends and blazed from dusk to dawn, while my companies languished, my debts grew and the vultures gathered. Enough, enough, I digress ...
‘As the plane lurched a little as it crossed the edge of the continental shelf, I sipped on my whisky and soda. As it threaded its way through huge white clouds, I finished my drink and relaxed in the mellow glow of the alcohol. I rubbed my hands together as I contemplated how my luck had changed. “Yeah, yes,” I whispered, as the plane entered the pass between the serrated peaks of a high cloud mass. It was then that I offered the beautiful woman at my side a drink. Not only did she accept, but drew my attention to her companion. I did a double take, for it was Miss Riyoko Tamada, the manageress of The Hitaka Resort on the Spit. She was considered to be an astute businesswoman, though I could not verify this as unfortunately I had been repulsed when I tried to inveigle my way in to see her. From all accounts, not only was she in charge of the resort, but she had a pipeline to the directors of the giant Kitsune Corporation which had unlimited funds at its disposal. Well, well, she was a find, and in other circumstances I would have ignored the other woman and concentrated on the Japanese, but I was drawn to that beauty in spite of the pot of gold sitting next to her. But then, I quickly learnt she too was a catch: the founder of the Smooth As Satin company whose well-known Sas Shops collected the loot in many major and minor cities across the world. I was in excellent and rich company, and female. I sat back to enjoy myself.
‘As we sipped and conversed away the tedious hours, I felt myself coming under the spell of my beautiful seat mate. Thankfully, Miss Tamada kindly consented to bury her face in her personal computer, and by bury, I mean bury, for she kept her face almost on the screen so that it could not be seen by us. Still, it left the way clear for me to attempt to clinch the deal. Having had much practice in eliciting valuable information from gullible clients and not so gullible business associates, I quickly found out that she was 28, was a seasoned traveller who had seen most of the countries on the globe, was unmarried and belonged to a rich family which had plantations on the very group of islands to which I was proceeding. If I had not been feeling so, well, so high, I might have questioned this coincidence, but I knew that my luck had changed and this led to my lamentable lack of caution. In fact, I even failed to enquire why she was travelling with Miss Riyoko Tamada. I merely accepted her as a chance acquaintance. A moth to her butterfly, so to speak. As a businessman, ready to seize the first opportunity, this was a mistake. What excuse? I was dazzled by the beauty beside me. Why, even the PM had been known to fall. We’re all mortals, mate, and when the old sap rises a pair of pretty eyes has more appeal than an unlimited expense account.
‘As the aeroplane whined its way over the blue of the Pacific and Miss Tamada’s personal computer now and again beeped, we became more and more intimate
in our conversation, or at least she did. On the whole I managed to say very little. It was my motto to let the sucker blab and although I did not see her as a sucker, she did blab. Her name was Carla and she explained the German derivation by explaining that she, on her father’s side, belonged to an old Hanseatic family which had arrived in England with George III, or some such number. She had just been in the UK. The registered headquarters of Sas was on the Isle of Wight, though the nerve centre of operations was in London. Now she was on her way home, having had to detour through Australia as no airlink existed, as yet, between London and her group of islands. She did not mention her companion, and I did not ask why she was travelling with perhaps the most powerful woman on the Gold Coast. It was an omission I should have rectified, but I was infatuated with Carla. As we sipped on our sixth drink, she confided that more and more she found not only Britain, but also Australia stuffy with a stuffiness of the spirit which depressed her and made her hurry home. She shrugged as she said that it made her feel that her body was physically restricted as if by a girdle. “And the Lord knows I have no use for such a contraption,” she added, laughing as she arched her back to show her perfect lines. I returned the laugh as I boldly admired her. Was it any wonder that I believed that my luck had changed? “Smooth as satin” indeed!
‘I enjoyed her displays of femininity. I luxuriated in the aura of her shining red hair, in the golden light from her jade eyes, in the silver laughter from her full red lips. She was brimming over with well-being, joy and radiance. Was it any wonder that I fell under her spell? How could anyone, any man, not be taken in by her decisive manner, the freedom of her life, her way of talking randomly and slightly twisting meanings so that a bizarre shape emerged which hinted at things unsaid?
‘It was then that I gained, or found, what I now consider to be my poetic soul. She called to mind the primeval freedom of virgin forests and the intensity of the burning tropics cooled by lagoons of sweet, sweet water. I imaged her as the Eve of the marvellous paradise to which I was bound, not as some sort of shady spy, but as a defender arriving to watch over the interests of her soon-to-be-independent nation. The desire arose to tie the fortunes and destinies of both our countries together. It was then that Miss Tamada called for another drink, pointed at something on the screen to Carla, then smiled and lightly caressed her arm. And it was then that I should have pulled back and queried why the representative of a major Japanese corporation was travelling with the woman, especially one who appeared on intimate terms with her. I didn’t, not just then. Being besotted does not make for alertness in business. She flashed a smile at me and the lotus flowers of intoxication bloomed as I watched the play of her features and I wanted that hand on her arm to be my hand. How smooth her skin looked. I imagined her running naked along a wide, white beach as natural as her Sas models appeared in TV ads. Her company specialised only in the most rare and natural oils and unguents uniquely and purely prepared for the most extravagant of women, who strangely enough were imaged also as the most natural. When she squeezed past me to go to the toilet, I wanted to set her free of her restricting skirt which urged attention to her rounded buttocks. It was then that Miss Tamada turned her narrow eyes on me and wrinkled her tiny nose. “You are so and so”, she said. “Once we were considering that piece of land you controlled on the Spit. Now it is ours.” Her eyes then shifted from me to watch Carla returning to her seat. There was a covert form of hostility in her words, but I ignored them. After all she was not only a woman, but a very slight one, and at the moment I wasn’t in the market for investment funds. “So up you, sister,” I whispered loud enough for her to hear, then my eyes and attention switched to Carla.
‘As we settled into what appeared to be a friendship far different from the casual acquaintanceship usually struck up on long flights, our conversation settled on our coming destination of Fiji and the next leg of our journey. I was surprised to learn that there was, as yet, no airport on the island. I had not been informed of this and I could not but wonder why. All my suspicions concerning the Prime Minister returned, and I could not help thinking that I, having become an embarrassment, had had to be rushed out of Oz on any pretext. I doubted if the powers that be would even care if I reached my designated station. In fact, it was only a convenient spot in the universe to steer me towards. My absence from Australia had been accomplished with little fuss and bother. Perhaps the PM in his wisdom, counted on my being in funds and rushing off to greener pastures, to America for example. I admit that the idea was pleasant. The Land of the Fast Buck and boundless opportunities beckoned; but what stopped me was that bloody oath and the piling of a further crime on top of my already high stack. It was unwise for me to skip out, especially when gazing into those green-goldenflecked eyes and that full, rich mouth which promised a sweetness of fresh strawberries. I lowered my gaze to those ivory fingers so tantalisingly long, moved a little up to that body swelling beneath the rich cloth, swelling with an urgency which called me to duty ... and besides she was rich!
‘As we replenished our glasses, I took her a little into my confidence and told her of my predicament: that I had no way at present of reaching my post. To cloak my mission, I had to invent an occupation. I had been idly flipping through the airline magazine and my eyes rested on an article. I found a profession. I became an embryologist on my way to the islands to study pelagic jelly, to hunt among gastropods, corals and what have you for the primordial cell of life, a tiny spot of slime reputed to linger on in the warm waters of that island chain.
‘Carla received my series of measured lies as if they were the truth, or as if she understood what I was talking about. I hoped she hadn’t read the article, as I absurdly and vainly embroidered the few lines I had read. I became a scientist of renown with a career of academic success which needed to be fleshed out by field-work. This voyage of mine, or rather flight, was to be the crown of my work, perhaps leading to the Nobel Prize. But, but I had to reach those islands, I had to embark on my researches as soon as possible. Why, it might, it should lead to the understanding of the origin of life on our planet. She listened to most of my words and I saw that at least she detected the passion beneath them. At last I paused to judge the result, and calmly she informed me that there was a vessel, a schooner called Tui-tui which sailed between Fiji and the islands regularly. This vessel would be waiting for her, and as the captain was a good friend, there was no doubt that he would find room for me.
‘We were such mates by now that I touched her arm as I thanked her. The Boeing swooped down to land at Nadi and she took the time to phone through to confirm our passages on the schooner which was sailing next morning. It was only natural that we were booked into the same hotel where I arranged to meet both women for dinner. I would have wished to have Carla for myself, but Miss Tamada clung to her and could not be excluded. As I showered in the air-conditioned coolness, I exulted at how things had worked out. Indeed, my luck had changed. Feeling absolutely refreshed I went down to the foyer to send one fax signalling that I had arrived and then another to my broker ordering him to sell my shares and to invest the proceeds in The Smooth As Satin Holding Company.
SESSION FOUR
‘I suppose we all have our visions of South Sea island paradises. I thought about palm trees, banana trees, breadfruit trees, coconut trees—a plethora of trees—languid lagoons, whitewreathed islands, necklets of bright coral, swaying beautiful women eager to please. Ah, that old black magic of the colonial masters, or European sailors. See, I am not racist, nor am I that naive. Cynicism, my usual weapon for dealing with the world and its too many illusions, is a superior weapon often able to shoot down all fond dreams. But it is fragile, so fragile, one which easily runs out of ammunition, or spare parts. Once, and once only, let yourself believe in beauty and love all encircled by a South Sea island paradise, and the weapon shatters in your hands. Disarmed, I could only surrender to suffering ... but let that be, I continue. The hotel was as any other hotel—we had better in Sur
fers’—but at least it was modern and was shut tight in air-conditioned coolness against the heat and smog of tatty Suva. In such confinement, seated at the bar or lazing about the enclosed pool, it was easy for me to dream about paradise, especially as I exchanged smiles with brown-skinned natives eager to satisfy most of my whims. At a price, it is true, for life there was every bit as hungry as a Queensland tycoon ready to clinch a deal with the latest Western Australian upstart. Yes, even there, human nature would not and could not be denied ...
‘Carla did not appear for breakfast, but Miss Tamada was there coolly informal in shirt and shorts. The dapper conservative businesswoman style had been dispensed with. Now I saw a doll who might even be fun; but she shot me an unpleasant glance, and I fell into confusion.
‘ “Ah, Miss Tamada, you are on holiday,” I exclaimed, trying for a smile.
‘She wrinkled her nose at me, and then sipped her coffee. I thought that she was going to ignore me, but then she said: “Suva is not very pleasant, but some of the resorts here are first class.”
‘ “And you should know,” I gently needled her, for the Kitsune Corporation owned more than several.
‘ “Of course, it is my business, but enough of business,” and she smiled a smile as cold as that of the PM, then tugged at the side of her shirt which had slipped off her shoulder. She had nicely rounded flesh, and at other times I might have been greatly interested, for here was sitting not a woman, but a business opportunity, though Japanese corporations were impossible to break into. They kept all to themselves politely.
