Pearls

by Colin Falconer

  'How do you catch the oysters?'

  'You dinnae catch them. They're just there, in the sea, like gold.' Cameron took him below deck and showed him the diving dresses and the heavy lead boots and the two sea-greened copper helmets. 'Try and lift one,' he said.

  Jamie grunted and heaved but it was too heavy for him.

  'Is it nae a fierce weight to be carrying to the bottom of the ocean, Jamie? A man has to ken what he's about, or it's his own coffin he climbs into.'

  'You walk on the bottom of the sea with all that weight?'

  'It does nae feel so heavy down below. But you dinnae walk all the time. A canny diver sits in the loop of his lifeline and lets the lugger carry him over the bottom till he finds a likely place for shell. It's the diver who sails the boat, Jamie, he uses his lifeline to signal to his tender which way the boat sails and how fast or how slow, whether to drift or whether to turn into the wind.'

  'Who's the tender?'

  'The tender's job is to keep the air hose and the lifeline taut. He has to be a good man, for he has your life in his hands. Too much line and you risk a snag, too little and you're pulled along the bottom like a dog chained to a cart. Your tender can save your life or lose it. I remember one diver on the Alma who fell through a crevice under the water. His tender could nae hold the weight and the man sank. When they finally got him to the surface the water pressure had squeezed his whole body up inside his corselet and helmet. They had to bury him like that, for they could nae get him out.'

  Jamie felt suddenly ill. Cameron seemed so casual about such appalling risks. Jamie could not imagine dying that way. 'Do you still dive, Mister McKenzie?'

  'Call me, Cam. And I dinnae dive no more. I've got the diver's sickness.'

  'Why do you still go on the boats then?'

  'To keep an eye on the crew. A man cannae be a pearler sitting on his porch in Broome, his crew will rob him blind. You have to keep respect and you cannae do that in an office.'

  Jamie bridled at this blatant criticism of his father. 'I think I should go back now,' he said.

  'Aye well,' Cameron said, realising his mistake. 'I dinnae mean anything against your father.'

  'He's the greatest pearler in Broome.'

  'Who told you that?'

  He did, Jamie thought, but he wasn't about to say it.

  Cameron put his hand on the boy's shoulder. 'I'll take you back,' he said.

  'Thanks. I've enjoyed it.'

  As he climbed into the whaleboat Cameron smiled. He was a fine boy. A man ought to be proud.

  Chapter 50

  When George arrived home for lunch, Jamie was sitting on the veranda drinking a lemon squash. As soon as he saw his father's face, he knew he was in big trouble. George did not even wait to climb the back steps before beginning the tirade. He pointed a finger at him. 'You've been lying to me!'

  Jamie jumped to his feet. How did he find out?

  George stamped onto the veranda. 'What were you doing at McKenzie's camp?'

  'I wasn't doing anything wrong.'

  'I asked you what you were doing there!'

  'I wanted to learn about pearling.'

  'I own the largest fleet in Broome and you go to a man who can barely keep one lugger in the water?'

  Jamie stared at his shoes.

  'I've showed you the whole Niland and Company operation. What more do you need to know?'

  'I wanted to go one of the luggers. I wanted to see a diving dress.'

  'Mitsuki could have shown you all that.'

  'Mitsuki thinks I'm a nuisance.'

  Kate heard the shouting and came outside. 'What's going on?'

  'It seems your son has become a regular visitor to the McKenzie camp.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'One of my divers saw him there and told Mitsuki. You've been there all morning, haven't you, Jamie?'

  'I've only been three times,' Jamie said, defiantly.

  George turned to Kate. 'I thought you were his mother. You're supposed to keep an eye on him.'

  'He's eleven years old. I can't follow him everywhere!'

  'This is absolutely outrageous!' George rounded on Jamie. 'It is to stop immediately! Do you understand?'

  'Why?' Jamie said. ''What harm is it?'

  A look passed between his mother and father. Then George said: 'You are never to speak to that man again. If I ever see you near him, ever ...' The threat hung in the air. 'Do you understand?'

  '... I suppose so.'

  'I said, do you understand?'

  'Yes!'

  'Outrageous,' George repeated and went inside, slamming the screen door.

  ***

  The sun hung low over the pindan and the boabs. The Angelus was rung from the galvanised iron spire of the chapel.

  Cameron groaned when he saw the Ford Essex parked in the dirt outside the house. Niland! He took off his panama and went inside. But it wasn't George, it was Kate. She and Rose were sitting in the kitchen, a pot of tea on the table between them. Elvie was watching from the back veranda, her nose pressed against the tattered fly wire on the screen door.

  Kate got to her feet as he walked in. She had on a pure white muslin dress and white cotton gloves. Her hair was tied behind her head in a tight bun. She looks more like an aristocrat than the daughter of a bog Irish pearl thief, he thought. He looked at Rose, still in her work dress, long fair curls unkempt about her face. She looked furious.

  'Mrs Niland is here to see you,' she said.

  'An unexpected pleasure.'

  There was a heavy silence. 'Well, I have things to do,' Rose said and went outside. Cameron heard her shout: 'Come away!' to Elvie as she went down the back steps.

  Cameron and Kate stared at each other. 'How are you, Cam?'

  'I'm fine.' Kate sat down again and Cameron eased himself into Rose's chair. 'You should nae have come here,' he said, softly.

  'I have something important I need to discuss with you.'

  'You should still nae have come.'

  'She seems like a nice person.'

  'You're nae here to discuss Rosie.'

  'Can we at least be friends, Cam?'

  He didn't answer her.

  She sighed. 'I need to talk to you about Jamie.'

  'What about him?'

  'He's been coming to see you at the camp.'

  'Aye. Does George ken this?'

  'He found out from Mitsuki.'

  'Aye well, it's true. But I never forced him to come. He just showed up one day. He said he wanted to learn about pearling.'

  'Then you have to discourage it.'

  'He's nae my son. I cannae tell him what he can and can't do.'

  Kate looked around the meagre kitchen. Then she said: 'Has pearling made you your fortune, Cam? Has it brought you happiness? Or me?'

  'Nae yet.'

  'And perhaps it never will. All we have is the people that we love.'

  'Aye, maybe you're right. But I don't see what that has to do with it. Like I said, he's nae my son.'

  'But he is mine. And I don't want this sort of life for him. He deserves better.'

  'That's for him to decide.'

  'No, Cam, it isn't. George and I have forbidden him to go anywhere near the foreshore again. Next year he's going to Perth, to a boarding school. Hopefully he'll lose this fascination for pearling while he's away.'

  'Your husband has nae done so badly by it.'

  'He's not a pearler, Cam, and you know it. He inherited the company from his father and all the money comes from the sheep station and the various agencies.'

  Cameron shrugged. 'Aye well, he's nae pearler, that's a fact.'

  'I'm sorry, Cam.'

  'Dinnae be sorry, the boy's near grown now. What would he be wanting with a father like me anyway?'

  She reached across the table and put her hand on his. 'I wish ...'

  Cameron jerked his hand away. 'There's nae point in wishing. It will nae change anything.'

  Kate stood up.

  'You have nae told
him anything ... about me?'

  'I keep ... thinking that there'll be a right time.'

  'A right time? I dinnae think there ever will be.'

  'Yes, you're right.' Her tone became businesslike again. 'I hope you'll respect my wishes.'

  'If the boy comes to the camp, I'll nae turn him away. If you can stop him coming, well, that's up to you. I won't encourage it, that's all I can say. But I think you're making a mistake, Kate. He has the fire in him. He'll nae work in an office and be happy with his life.'

  'We'll see,' she said, and left.

  ***

  Rose had grown a little vegetable garden at the rear of the shack. There was also a chicken run and a goat Elvie had named Brutus - it was actually a nanny but Elvie had not yet mastered the complexities of gender - chained to a post. Brutus was surrounded by a circle of bare red dirt having eaten every blade of buffel grass within the radius of the chain and even a deadly poisonous oleander bush, without apparent ill effect.

  When Kate left, he found Rose headed back from the garden. She had just finished milking Brutus and was carrying a pail of warm milk. 'I'll start our supper,' she said.

  'Do you nae want to know what that was about?'

  Rose put down the pail. 'She's a beautiful woman, Cam.'

  'But do you nae want to know why she was here?'

  'No.' She picked up the pail again and brushed past him.

  He caught her by the shoulders and turned her around. 'Dinnae lie to me. What's that face for?'

  Rose twisted away. 'Look at me! Look at my hands! Working hands, Cam. And my clothes ... I have two dresses ... and she glides up the path in her lace and her cotton gloves, smelling of French perfume and sits in my kitchen and wrinkles her nose at the boiling cabbage and makes me feel like ... like ...'

  'Rosie ...'

  'She still loves you! You can see it in her eyes! If she ever wanted to take you away from me, what could I do to stop her?'

  Cameron reached for her but she backed away. 'I know you still love her.'

  'I dinnae love her, Rosie ... nae more.'

  She shook her head. 'I don't blame you. It's just that sometimes I can't bear knowing that she's still here in the town. How does a whore compete with a lady?'

  'You're nae a whore!'

  'You haven't been to the Tennis Club. Or the Residency. Or the Race Club. The ladies there all know what I am.'

  'Rosie ...'

  She pushed past him, knocking over the pail of milk, and ran inside. Cam turned around and saw Elvie standing there, glaring at him. 'Go on with you and feed the chickens,' he said to her.

  'You do it,' she said, all of five years old and sassy. She followed her mother into the house, slamming the screen door a second time.

  ***

  He found Rosie sitting at her dresser, combing out her hair, her face wet with tears. Their eyes met in the mirror.

  'I'm sorry,' he whispered. He put his arms around her shoulders. 'One day, Rosie. One day you'll have perfumes and dresses and ...'

  She put a hand on his lips to shush him. 'It doesn't matter, Cam.'

  'It matters to me.'

  'Just don't let her come here again.' She wiped her face with her sleeve and forced a smile. 'Next time she sniffs at my cabbage she wears it in her lap.'

  Chapter 51

  Dalziel was escorted through the rows of clerks and accountants to George's office. When he was settled, George had an office boy bring two pots of lemon squash. They arrived in short order, the ice shavings melting on the surface, sweet and cool. George shouted out of the window for his punkah to work harder at the fan.

  The two men exchanged pleasantries, then George leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlocked over his paunch. 'Well, Charles, I've been considering your proposal.'

  Dalziel smiled to cover his nervousness. Winning the Niland account away from the Bank of Western Australia would be a major coup if he could manage it. 'And?'

  'I've decided that you're right. I believe we would be better served by a more progressive bank. So I have decided that we will transfer our accounts to the Commercial Union.'

  Dalziel beamed. 'That's capital news, George!'

  'I am confident that it will be a mutually profitable association.'

  'I can assure you, George, that our bank will do everything-'

  'Of course, this will have to be done gradually. It's a major step for us, and we have certain commitments to fulfil with your competitors.'

  'Of course.'

  'There is one other condition.'

  Dalziel recovered his poise. He studied George's face for clues. An excellent bridge partner, Dalziel remembered. His expression never gave anything away. 'Condition?'

  George gazed out of the window at the brooding mangroves, the lugger skeletons decaying in the mud. 'Well not so much a condition. I'd like to think of it as a favour.'

  'You just have to ask, George.'

  'It's about Cameron McKenzie,' he said.

  Chapter 52

  Cameron kicked open the door of the bank. Several of the customers stepped back in alarm. He leaped the counter, a letter crumpled in his right fist. One of the ledger clerks jumped to his feet and tried to bar his way. Cameron pushed him back into his seat and went straight into Dalziel's office, slamming the door behind him.

  Dalziel was behind his desk, examining a ledger book, his accountant leaning over his right shoulder. When he saw Cameron his face drained to the colour of chalk.

  Cameron slammed the crumpled letter on the desk. 'What's this?'

  'Mister McKenzie, you have no right-'

  The accountant tried to slip past Cameron to the door. He rounded on him. 'You stay where you are!'

  'If you wish to make an appointment to discuss this-'

  'I've nae need to make an appointment, Dalziel. I'm here and we're discussing it. Now tell me what it means!'

  'It's quite clear what it means. The bank is foreclosing on your loan.'

  'Why?'

  'It's bank policy-'

  Cameron grabbed his tie and twisted the knot, choking him. 'Tell me one thing. Is this George Niland's doing?'

  Dalziel made a squeaking sound, his eyes bulging. He didn't answer.

  'Aye well, I guess that tells me all I need.' Cameron released him. 'You little bastard!'

  He threw the letter in Dalziel's face and went out again, leaving the door yawning open behind him, customers and staff gaping at him.

  No one moved for a moment and then a junior clerk put his head around the door. 'Would you like your cup of tea now, sir?' he said.

  ***

  The Japanese Club had been built from corrugated tin and asbestos. Outside the front door hung a Seibe and Gorman diving helmet, the emblem of the Japanese stock in trade. The building housed a function room, an office and a sleeping room at the back for the Club Secretary.

  Grainy black and white photographs of committees past and present adorned the walls. There was also a shrine to Nakimiro-Fudo, the god of the sea, revered by the men of Waikayama Prefecture, home to most of the Japanese in Broome.

  The club served not only as a meeting place for the Japanese, but also a trade union, a symbol of their unity in a foreign land. It was precisely this unity that had enabled them to achieve their domination of the town's pearl industry. Unlike the Malays and the Koepangers and the Manilamen, they were a united force. They had even formed their own credit societies.

  Much of the credit for their burgeoning power lay with Tanaka-san, one of the founding members and now Club Secretary.

  Tanaka was the single most prosperous Asian in Broome now. Tanaka was banker, merchant and financial adviser to almost all the Japanese divers in Broome and there were even rumours that he owned his own pearling fleet, using veranda pearlers as a front. This was supposedly illegal - no foreign national could own a pearling licence - but everyone knew that the practice was widespread. Some whites bought or leased luggers with Japanese money and then allowed Japanese crew to sail them. Some
times they received a share of the profits, more often they just got a yearly stipend and seldom even ventured down to the foreshore on the pretence of checking on their 'fleet'. Because so many genuine pearlers used Japanese crews the practice - known as 'dummying' - was almost impossible to prove or to police.

  'I hear you have bad joss,' Tanaka said.

  'Not bad joss, just bad blood.'

  'Nilan'-san.'

  'I cannae prove it, of course, but what else can a man think? Dalziel had nae other reason to do what he did.' Cameron finished his whisky and poured another. 'Is that why you came to see me, Mister Tanaka?'

  'I have business proposal for you.'

  'Oh aye?'

  'So sorry, but I hear that bank take your lugger. Is true, Camran-san?'

  'What do you propose?'

  ''Perhaps other man can buy boat. You sail as skipper, share profit. Let someone else do the worry.'

  'What you're suggesting is illegal, Mister Tanaka.'

  'I only say someone else buy boat. You still own boat.'

  'I ken this was what you were up to. You're dummying, are you not?'

  'No, no. Is against law.'

  'Thank you for your offer, Mister Tanaka. I cannae do it.'

  'If you do not, bank take Roebuck.'

  'I have my pride. I said I would nae work for any other man, and I meant it.'

  Tanaka was silent. He sipped his tea. 'Many years gone, you save my life. You remember?'

  'Aye, I remember.'

  'I dead now but for you. Now perhaps I pay back my debt.' '

  'You paid your debt, when I came back to Broome. Do you nae remember?'

  'Life worth more than just one boat.' Tanaka ran his stubby index finger across the gritty surface of the table, tracing a faint outline of the coast. 'Look. Barred Creek just here. Here - Malay boat. No licence. What will custom boat do if he find?'

  'He'd confiscate all his shell and throw it over the side.'

  'Yes, that is what he will do. I suppose.'

  'You mean-'

  'Mean nothing. Only think perhaps good for you to know. Always good to know some things others not know.'