Pearls

by Colin Falconer

'The police seem to think McKenzie murdered him,' George said.

  'No, boss. Not him.'

  'Who then?'

  'Simeon Espada.'

  'Your young friend? The one who had the pearl?'

  Huey nodded.

  'How do you know this?'

  'He drunk too much last night. He told me.'

  'Did he tell you why?'

  'Something about that pearl.'

  'But he doesn't have the pearl.'

  Huey shrugged. 'Well, I dunno. But that's what he said.'

  'Has your friend told anyone else about this?'

  'Don't know, boss. Shouldn't have told me should he? But like I say, he was too much drunk.'

  'You're absolutely sure he's telling the truth?'

  'Why would he say he done it if he didn't? Have to be something wrong in his head, right?'

  George put a finger to his lips, thinking. Fong was a shifty little blighter, one of those chinaman that could never look you in the eye. Perhaps he was making this whole thing up, because of some private feud he had with this Manilaman. Could he take the chance? This Simeon fellow could ruin everything if it was true.

  George reached into the drawer for his cheque book. 'I need a number one diver on the Ilsa this season, Fong. I'm sure I can offer you more than Lacey ever paid you.' He wrote out a cheque and handed it to him. 'Here's your advance plus a bonus for your loyalty.'

  Huey bobbed his head appreciatively.

  'You can hire your own crew,' George told him. 'Just make sure one of them is your friend, Espada.'

  'Doctors say he can't dive no more, boss.'

  'He'll dive. If you offer him enough.'

  Huey reached for the cheque but George slapped his hand down on it before he could pick it up. 'Just make sure Espada doesn't come back and I'll double your bonus. Do you understand?'

  Huey nodded. 'Dangerous business, diving for pearl.'

  'Yes,' George said. 'It is.'

  Huey Fong put the cheque in his pocket. George came around the desk to unlock the door and slapped him on the shoulder as he left. 'Good man,' he said.

  ***

  Wes looked around the tiny cell and shook his head. 'Bin hyar mebbe hundred time. You?'

  'It's my first time, Wes.'

  'Coppers, dey put me in hyar fo' drinkin' and carryin' on, and dat one time fer puttin' dat Mary in de fambly way. So dey says. Coulden prove nuttin'. It was twins anyways. None of my womens has twins. Never has done befo'.'

  He eased onto the cot beside Cameron, resting his massive hands on his knees. 'So what they goin' to do wid you, skip?'

  'They intend to hang me, Wes.'

  He blew out his cheeks. 'You? No, dey doan wanna hang you, skip. Dat crazy.'

  'They have me trussed and tied like a sheep on a spit. I dinnae think we'll be pearling together again.'

  Wes shook his head. 'Ain't right.'

  'You'd better find yourself another skipper.'

  'Mebbe I get on board dat Ilsa, I reckon.'

  'Who's sailing her?'

  'Dat Huey Fong.'

  'Fong? Well, be careful Wes. Fong does nae have a very grand reputation. He once cut a diver's line when the Donna was caught in a storm.'

  'Mebbe. But de money's good.'

  'Well, just be careful, man.'

  Wes got up to leave. 'Yo' a good man, skip. Ain't right.'

  'Aye, well.'

  Wes seemed about to say something else. He stood there, shuffling his feet.

  'Well, spit it out, man.'

  'Ain't nothin',' Wes said, finally. He banged on the door. When Sergeant Clarke opened it, Wes glared down at him, hands on his hips. 'Ain't right,' he repeated.

  Clarke shrugged his shoulders. 'I don't make the law.'

  'Mebbe I bust his head fer you, skip?'

  Clarke took a step back.

  Cameron shook his head. 'He's right, Wes. It's nae his fault.'

  Wes shrugged and brushed the policeman on his way out, enough to knock him off balance. 'Bye, skip.'

  'Goodbye, Wes.'

  Clarke raised his eyes at Cameron. 'Christ, he's huge,' he said and the door slammed shut.

  Chapter 34

  Chinatown was quiet. It was close to the first neap tide and most of the fleet had sailed for the pearling grounds. For nine months every year, between April and December, Broome slept.

  Tomorrow the Ilsa and the rest of the Niland fleet would head out, bound for the Condon Banks. Huey Fong wondered how he would deal with Simeon. Of course, if the opportunity presented itself, he would take it; if a storm blew up while he was underwater, or if his line snagged on a coral, or ... well, there were a thousand fates waiting for any diver. As master of the Ilsa, he held Simeon's life in his hands.

  But the important thing was it had to look like an accident. Simeon had friends and relatives among crews on the other fleets; the white boss's money was no good to Huey if he ended up with a knife in his ribs.

  He decided he needed some insurance.

  He made his way up Spring Moon Lane to Tanaka's store. It was almost midday, siesta time and the street was almost deserted. A squat Japanese in a snow white singlet and shorts was bending to pick up a bundle of silks from the shop front.

  'Hanaguchi,' he said.

  Siosuki turned. His pug features were hideously disfigured. A broad scar ran across his nose and down his cheek and the skin over one eye was smeared pink, like melted wax.

  'What you want here?' His voice was like the honking of a goose. The Koepangers and the Malays - even the aborigines - laughed at him behind his back now.

  'I wanted to see you.'

  'What about?'

  'How would you like to get even with Simeon Espada?'

  Siosuki hawked the phlegm from the back of his throat and spat in the gutter. 'Close up shut time. More better you come in the shop. We talk then.'

  ***

  Huey waited in the little office at the back of the store while Siosuki closed up the shop. Finally Siosuki pushed the beaded curtain aside and sat down.

  'Okay. We talk now.'

  Holy Mother, Simeon did a job on him, Huey thought. He stared in terrible fascination at the livid pink scar on the other man's face. 'I heard you don't dive anymore.'

  Siosuki pointed to his own face. 'Your friend do this to me, smash nose, smash cheeks, all smash up inside. Doctor say me - you doan dive no more. But I try, just one. One fathom and head feel like it will burst open, like melon. so, no more dive. All finish now. Have to work here in this ... shop.' His chest heaved.

  'You want to kill him finish?'

  Siosuki's eyes narrowed. 'Why you come here, Manilaman?'

  'Got my reason.'

  'You his friend, right?'

  'Maybe. Maybe not. Up to you, Japanese. You want to see him pay for what he do to your face, your whole life?'

  'How?'

  'I am number one on the Ilsa now. Simeon is number two. I need crew.'

  'Crew?' Siosuki said, contemptuously.

  'Anything can happen at sea. Up to you.'

  Siosuki thought about this. 'What crew?'

  'Cookboy.'

  Siosuki jumped to his feet. 'Cookboy? You want me to be cookboy?' For a moment he thought the little Japanese was going to throw him out of the shop. A fleck of spittle hung from his bottom lip.

  'Well, you cannot be his tender. Like I say, up to you, Japanese.'

  He got up to go. It was a bluff, because he was desperate, but it worked. Siosuki grabbed him by the arm to stop him leaving. Huey watched the play of emotions on his face.

  'How?' Siosuki said at last.

  'I'll tell you how when we are at sea.'

  'Must be slow.'

  'You decide. I don't care.'

  Siosuki nodded. 'Cookboy?'

  'Ilsa sail at high tide tomorrow.'

  'Maybe I be number one diver this season, if not for Manilaman.'

  'You make him pay then. Okay?' Huey walked out into the bright March sunshine. The money was as good as in h
is pocket.

  Chapter 35

  The red mud was bare. George had insisted on a marble headstone and that had to be shipped up from Fremantle.

  This afternoon it would rain again, lightning flickered over the ocean behind slate grey clouds. One of the last storms of the season, the Wet would be over soon, and the fleets would head back to sea, leaving the town silent again.

  So Cameron had done it in the end, that famous temper of his had got the better of him. He had said she was worth more to him than any pearl but in the end, she wasn't.

  'Is Grandpa down there?' Jamie asked.

  'Yes darling he is.'

  'Doesn't it hurt?'

  'He can't feel pain anymore. I told you his spirit's in heaven with the angels.'

  Heaven! The last place she would expect to find her father. More likely it was straight to the hot place for the likes of Patrick Flynn. He'd be welcome there and much more at home playing billiards with the devil and finding a way to cheat him.

  'How can he be here and in heaven?'

  'He just is, that's all,' she said and immediately regretted snapping his head off.

  She could not believe what Cameron had done. How could she ever have loved a man like that? Damn Cameron McKenzie, damn Patrick Flynn, damn all men to hell.

  'So what bit of grandad is down there?' Jamie said.

  'His body's there, Jamie, his soul's in heaven.'

  'What's a soul?'

  Her son would ask a question like that. How could she best answer him? 'It's the part of you that doesn't grow old and the part that never ever dies,' she said.

  'Where is it then?'

  'Where's what?'

  'My soul. The bit that doesn't die. You mean like a skeleton. I saw a picture of a skeleton inside us. It's the bit that's left over after you die. Is that the soul?'

  How can I explain it to him? she thought. Do I really believe it or am I just parroting back at him what the nuns taught us at Covent school?

  Yet Cam had been a part of her soul. He had touched the part of her that made her feel alive, whatever it was in her that made her smile or made her feel alive and passionate and curious and aflame and joyous. For now she had Jamie. But one day he would grow up and go away and she wondered just what her spirit would do then.

  ***

  The luggers raced for Entrance Point, vying with each other for the honour of leading the fleet out. Buccaneer Rock stood grey and sombre against the rust-red coast. The white bungalows of Broome disappeared out of sight behind the mangroves.

  Simeon stood at the stern and wondered if he had made the right decision. He had been on the point of surrendering himself to Sergeant Clarke but Huey Fong had talked him out of it. 'You're crazy! You gonna put your head in a noose for a white boss?'

  'But he saved my life.'

  'So now you gonna throw it away?'

  He cursed that pearl, it had brought him nothing but pain. Anna had torn his heart out and now he had Flynn's ghost dogging his every footstep.

  Why did Flynn have to die?

  He had made up his mind. If the white man's court found the skipper guilty, then he would confess everything. But maybe he would get off, then he wouldn't have to say nothing.

  Pans clattered in the galley. He put his head into the stinking kitchen. The Japanese was busy with his pots and bowls. 'So, Hanaguchi, you find a job you are good at, finally!'

  Siosuki didn't even look up.

  Ayeee, it was hot in here! Simeon wiped sweat from his face with the back of his arm. 'Too scared to dive no more?' Simeon persisted.

  Siosuki picked up a bone-handled knife. 'Cannot dive no more. Not possible.'

  'You talk like a duck.'

  Siosuki bobbed his head, like a good cookboy. 'Yes, boss,' he said.

  Simeon was disappointed. He had hoped the little Japanese would give him an excuse to throw him into the water, as Siosuki's friends had done to that Koepanger last season. Perhaps it would help lighten the black mood he was in. But it looked like the beating he had given him had turned the Japanese a little simple. He scowled and turned away.

  ***

  When he had gone Siosuki punched the knife into the bench. He would like to stick it in that Manilaman's guts. He did not know if he could wait a few more days for that kichibu to die.

  ***

  'Can you tell the court your name, please?'

  'Rosemary Kathleen Thompson.'

  Barrington adjusted his gown. 'Your occupation?'

  ' ... Barmaid, sir.'

  Barrington wrinkled his nostrils as if he could smell the stale hops. 'And where do your reside Miss Thompson?'

  'At the Conti - at the Continental Hotel.'

  'At the Continental Hotel.' Barrington organised his notes on the table in front of him. 'At the hotel.' He looked up, gave her a chill smile. 'Now then, Miss Thompson, you say you were with the defendant, Mister McKenzie, on the night of the third of January.'

  'That's right, sir.'

  'But the murder did not take place until the next night. The fourth.'

  Rosie looked flustered. she looked up at the magistrate. 'Well, whatever night it was Mister Flynn was murdered, sir. I don't remember the date exactly.'

  'You don't remember when you were there?'

  'I don't remember the date. But it was the night poor Mister Flynn was murdered.'

  Wingham got to his feet. 'I object your honour. My learned friend is badgering the witness.'

  'Sustained.'

  Barrington bowed to the magistrate. 'My apologies to the court.' More shuffling of paper. 'What were you doing on the Roebuck, Miss Thompson?'

  Rosie looked at her hands. 'I have already explained that to the court, sir.'

  Barrington shuffled his papers again, as if he was checking his notes on Wingham's examination of the witness. 'Ah yes, I'm sorry. You stated you were on intimate terms with the accused.' He looked up at the ceiling fans stirring the languid air. 'How many men are you on intimate terms with, Miss Thompson?'

  Wingham jumped to his feet. 'I object, Your Honour.'

  The magistrate peered at Barrington over his spectacles as if he was trying to see through a thick fog. 'Mister Barrington?'

  'I intend to establish, Your Honour, that the witness is unreliable.'

  'The girl's morals have no bearing on this case!' Wingham shouted.

  The magistrate made a careful note. 'Proceed with caution, Mister Barrington.'

  Wingham glared at Barrington, then slumped down into his seat, the chair legs squeaking on the wooden floor.

  'Thank you m'lud,' Barrington said. He stared at Rosie. 'Miss Thompson ... is it true that you are going to have a baby?'

  Rosie looked at Cameron. His face was a study in pain.

  'Miss Thompson?'

  'I ...'

  'Are you or are you not with child?'

  'Yes.'

  Barrington nodded, thoughtfully. It was suddenly very still in the tiny courtroom. The brass fan turned slowly overhead. She looked at the jury. Two of the men had been to her room above the saloon bar in the Continental.

  'Who is the father of this child?'

  Rosie looked at her hands.

  'Is it the accused?'

  'No,' Rosie said, quickly. 'It's not hi ...'

  'Then who is the father, Miss Thompson?'

  Rosie felt a bead of sweat track between her shoulder blades.

  'I'm sorry, Miss Thompson, would you like me to repeat the question?'

  'I don't know.'

  'I beg your pardon. I couldn't hear you.'

  'I said, I don't know!' The unspoken 'Damn you!' hung unspoken at the end of the sentence.

  'You don't know ...' Barrington consulted his notes again, as if confused by some intricate, mathematical puzzle. 'I see.' He pursed his lips. 'Why don't you know, Miss Thompson?'

  Rosie stared at the ceiling.

  'Is it not true that the accused is the father of the child and you would do anything in your power to try and protect him?' />
  'He's not the father.'

  'Then who is?'

  Rosie spared another glance at Cam; his knuckles were white around the rail of the dock.

  'Miss Thompson, is it not true that you have been working as a prostitute ever since you came to Broome?'

  Rosie nodded her head.

  'I'm sorry, I can't hear you.'

  'Yes.'

  'You realise that it's illegal to engage in immoral acts for money?'

  ' ... Yes.'

  Barrington shuffled through his papers again as if he had not the slightest clue where he was going with his cross. An old trick of his. 'You say you were on intimate terms with the accused, Miss Thompson. Would it be fair to say you were in love with him?'

  Rosie looked at Cameron. He shook his head.

  'Yes,' she said.

  'Could you speak up please?'

  'Yes!'

  'May I put it to you, that any young woman who is willing to prostitute her body might also be willing to prostitute her testimony for someone she thought she loved?'

  Rosie shut her eyes. She realised now the enormity of her error. In trying to save Cam, she had only made his plight so much worse.

  ***

  Cameron did not look at her as she left the dock. He was watching the jury. He knew now that there was only one man in Broome who did not believe he had killed Patrick Flynn and that was the man he had seen running away that night on the beach.

  Rosie walked with as much dignity as she could muster between the gallery of silent spectators. All the men's eyes were turned away, but the women stared her down, their eyes shining with spite. Poor Rosie.

  She deserved better.

  Chapter 36

  Morning over the Condon Banks. A wisp of smoke rose from the Ilsa, buckets splashed into the pearly water as the crew took their morning baths. The Koepangers and the Malays sat around in their sarongs chattering in sing-song voices.

  Simeon leaned on the rail and smoked a last cigarette before getting into his diving dress. Siosuki approached him cautiously, holding a cup of coffee.

  'Here, boss.'

  Simeon span around, knocking the enamel cup out of his hand. It clattered across the greasy deck and landed in a litter of unopened shell. 'Take it away!'