Papua (11 page)

‘Captain Kelly! Is that you?’

Jack froze. Not because someone had recognised him – there were many former soldiers of the war who had travelled to find a new life on this wild frontier – but because the person who had questioned his identity had spoken to him in German. Jack turned to see a face that brought back memories of a terrible day of hand to hand fighting in the trenches of the Hindenburg Line three years earlier.

‘Major Mann!’

‘It is you, Captain Kelly,’ Paul said as he stumbled forward, almost in a daze of disbelief. ‘I always hoped that you had survived.’

Jack’s expression of shock thawed to a slow, warm smile of welcome. ‘I am pleased to see that you made it,’ he said as he thrust out his hand. ‘But I never thought I would ever see you again. Especially back here.’

Paul took Jack’s offered hand and pumped it enthusiastically. ‘It is good to see you again, my friend.’

‘So what the hell are you doing in these parts?’ Jack asked. ‘I thought that our government took all your lands from you up in New Guinea.’

‘They did,’ Paul replied with a frown. ‘But I was to buy back my plantation from one of your countrymen. However he pulled out of the deal at the last moment. So here I am in Port Moresby on my way up to Finschhafen to see if I can get work as a plantation manager.’

Jack suddenly realised that in their conversation they had been switching from German to English. He was surprised how fluent he still was in his mother’s language. ‘Why don’t you join me at the pub for a drink?’ he beamed. ‘Tell me how things have been since I last saw you.’

‘I would, my friend, except that I have noticed that I am not welcomed by many of your countrymen in the hotel. I was there yesterday and they asked me to leave.’

‘Like bloody hell they will when they know you are with me,’ Jack swore. ‘C’mon, old cobber, I’ll buy the first round.’

‘What is a cobber?’ Paul asked in English.

‘Cobber is a mate – a friend, an amigo,’ Jack laughed.

Paul smiled. He had not smiled very much since leaving his wife and son on the wharf at Townsville with his petulant sister. But the Australian had an infectious friendliness about him and the air of a man confident that he was bullet proof to the world.

As Jack stormed into the bar heads turned curiously to greet him. Without any further fanfare Jack roared above the low babble of men steeped in drink. ‘This is Major Paul Mann, formerly of the German army, and formerly a man who did his best to kill me on the Hindenburg Line. But now he is here with me and prepared to buy the first round. Any man who objects to him being in here can tell me personally of his grievance. But, for the sake of propriety, that will be done outside the pub where civilised men settle their differences. Are there any objections?’

‘No, Jack,’ old Harry the prospector said. ‘If he is a cobber of yours and you don’t object to the fact that he tried to kill ya, then he is okay with us.’

A mumbled ripple of agreement went through the room and Jack guided Paul across the pub to a place at the bar beside Harry.

That evening Sen was disturbed in the office of his house by the sound of drunken men. The voices were coming from a distance and he was puzzled by the foreign words. Although he did not speak German, he did recognise the language.

He rose and went to the verandah to see the chestnut come to a halt and two men spill out of the sulky. Jack collapsed on the ground but rose to his feet with the help of a stranger.

‘I am sorry, my friend,’ Paul said, addressing Sen as he helped Jack by half dragging and half walking him towards the verandah, ‘but we have not met. You must be Mr Sen as Jack has told me much about you. I am Paul Mann from Munich but formerly of Finschhafen in New Guinea.’

The stranger appeared less drunk than Jack and Sen stepped down from the verandah to assist. The German held out his hand. ‘I am Sen,’ he replied as he took Paul’s hand. ‘I must thank you for getting Jack back to my place in one piece. I am not surprised to see him this way. He has had a lot of bad things happen to him recently.’

When Paul let him go Jack crumpled on the step. ‘Good man, this Kraut,’ Jack slurred as he tried to focus the world around him. ‘A bit like old George in many ways. Tried his best to kill me once though. But now he is a fair dinkum cobber. A Papuan like you and me, Sen.’

‘We will get him inside and onto his bed,’ Sen grunted. ‘I think he will be a very sick man in the morning.’

They dropped Jack on his camp stretcher under a mosquito net and left. Sen invited Paul to join him in a drink but the German politely declined the offer with the explanation that he had to get back to his boarding house in Moresby.

‘It is very late and you would be better off staying here for the night, Mr Mann,’ Sen said. ‘I have room and my wife will arrange to make up a bed for you near Jack.’

‘That is very kind of you, Mr Sen,’ Paul replied.

Sen did not correct Paul’s use of his name. He had long realised that Europeans tended to be embarrassed when they were told of their mistake in addressing him. It was similar to the Asian loss of face. So he would remain ‘Mr Sen’ to the German.

‘It is the least I can do for a man who once tried to kill Jack,’ Sen replied with just the hint of a wicked smile. ‘But that was when you Europeans were doing your best to destroy your own civilisation.’

Paul nodded. Jack had told him about Sen and now he was able to see for himself just how remarkable the Chinese man was. His English was fluent with little trace of an accent and Paul sensed that Sen was very much in tune with European thinking. This was strange to Paul, as the only Chinese he had known before the war were labourers or recruiters of native labour, so very different to Sen who could easily be at home in any European house – except that he was Chinese. Paul suddenly had a fleeting thought for the Jewish people of his own land. They were the Chinese of Germany, he thought. ‘I will accept your kind offer to stay overnight,’ Paul said, and once again shook Sen’s hand. ‘It is very late and I am not familiar with the country around Port Moresby.’

‘That is good,’ Sen said. ‘And knowing Jack I will presume that you have not eaten as yet.’

‘No, but I do not wish to impose any further on your hospitality,’ Paul said. ‘You have done enough.’

‘I know most of what happens around Moresby,’ Sen said. ‘But I have not heard of you before.’

‘I am only in Moresby on my way back to Finschhafen,’ Paul replied. ‘I am not from around here.’

‘So what is there in Finschhafen for you?’ Sen asked bluntly. He was warming to the German, there was something about him. Besides, Sen had known many Germans from his time in New Guinea before the war and respected the efficient way that they had governed the northern part of the island under the Kaiser’s jurisdiction.

Paul told Sen his story; of how he had returned to New Guinea with the hope of starting a new life for his family away from the ruins of a war ravaged Germany. By the time Sen’s wife had served up a light meal of steamed vegetables and pork cooked in the Oriental style, Sen had offered Paul a job to help get him on his feet. Paul was stunned by the offer – especially since Sen’s accompanying offer of pay was more than generous.

‘Are you sure that I could be of use?’ Paul asked. ‘I am not familiar with the country you talk about.’

‘Your general knowledge of New Guinea will be a great help to me,’ Sen assured him as they sat on the floor either side of the low table spread with food bowls and condiments. ‘The mission I have in mind is dangerous and most probably will come to nothing. But it is something I must do to appease my wife’s ancestors. I have a feeling that short of Jack Kelly you are the right man to lead the expedition. But I do not want Jack to know what you are to do. If he knew he would insist on going himself and I think it is time that he went south to see his son and make arrangements for his mining operation.’

Paul shook Sen’s hand for the third time that night and sealed the deal. It certainly was a strange and most probably futile mission, but he could not afford to walk away from it. Meeting Jack Kelly under the circumstances of war had been a strange event in his life, and here they were again in the land that they had shared before the war. For Paul it had been New Guinea. For Jack it had been Papua. But both had survived the horror that had been the Western Front. Two men from opposing armies were now strangely bonded in peace.

D
ademo shook Jack awake. The Australian felt as if his head would crack and he had trouble focussing on the houseboy standing over him. He was vaguely aware that it was morning. He could hear Sen’s wife’s singsong voice in lilting Chinese chiding a
haus meri
in the kitchen. Jack attempted to smile. The Papuan girl would not understand a word of the rebuke.

‘I got the arrow.’ Dademo stated it nervously. Possession of such an item provoked fears for its malevolent power. ‘It’s outside, Mr Jack.’

Jack heaved himself into a sitting position. ‘Give me a couple of minutes and I will meet you down in the fernery,’ he groaned, holding his head. He had a nagging feeling that something had happened the previous day and he was not yet sure what it was.

‘I thought you might like a strong cup of tea,’ said a vaguely familiar voice. Jack turned his blurry vision on Paul who had entered the room as Dademo left.

‘Thanks,’ Jack replied, taking the mug of steaming tea from the German. ‘I just hope it clears a few cobwebs.’

‘I have news for you, my friend,’ Paul said with a beaming smile to hide the lie he must tell. ‘Your friend Mr Sen has given me a job working for his enterprises as a recruiter of native labourers.’

‘That’s good,’ Jack replied less than enthusiastically as he took his first sip. ‘Guess you will be around Papua a bit longer than you first figured.’

‘At least now I may be able to get accommodation for my wife and son and my sister Erika.’

At the mention of Erika’s name Jack almost spilled the hot tea on his bare chest. During their drinking session the day before the two men had recounted their personal experiences on the Western Front but family had not been mentioned. ‘Did you say your sister was also with you?’ Jack asked, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘I thought she may have remained in Germany. There is not much to offer out here.’

‘Ah no,’ Paul sighed. ‘My sister will remain with me until she turns twenty-one. I do not think that she should be in Germany during these troubled times. I am afraid that she was falling into bad company. So she is with my wife and son in Townsville. I rented a house for them until I am settled here. Then they can join me in Papua or New Guinea.’

The fog in Jack’s head was rapidly clearing as he remembered the beautiful and angelic face in the photograph that had been with him since the Hindenburg Line. His heart rate had suddenly doubled at the mention of how geographically close he was to her even now. Townsville was a stop for the Burns Philp steamer on its way south. ‘You know, I could drop in and pass on your regards to your family in Townsville on my way back to Sydney,’ he said. ‘Tell them that you are well and looking forward to them joining you soon.’

‘That would be nice,’ Paul replied. ‘I have spoken of you to my wife and I know she would be pleased to finally make your acquaintance. It would be a good omen to have you meet my family – for them to learn that there are Australians who are prepared to extend the hand of friendship to former enemies.’

‘Well, got to try and see if I can walk,’ Jack said putting the mug aside and heaving himself to his feet. ‘Have a lot to do today.’

‘Thank you, my friend,’ Paul said, grasping Jack’s hand.

‘For what?’ Jack replied.

‘For being a cobber.’

Jack burst into a deep laugh. ‘You are learning,’ he said. ‘You will be a fair dinkum Aussie before you know it.’

‘What is fair dinkum?’ Paul questioned with a frown.

‘I will give you language lessons some time,’ Jack grinned. ‘You see, the way we Australians speak English is a bit different to the way the poms speak the language.’

Paul thought he understood. The Australians spoke a dialect of the language just as people did in his homeland in the different regions of Germany.

Jack skipped breakfast. His stomach was not up to food. He found Dademo hovering in the fernery. ‘Okay, where is it?’ Jack asked.

Dademo retrieved the arrow from a niche in the rockery and handed it to Jack. He stared at the blood stained shaft.

‘This is a Kuku arrow,’ he said. ‘It’s not an arrow from around here.’

‘No, Mr Jack,’ Dademo agreed. ‘Looks like an arrow from the wild men up in the hill country.’

‘You think that they would have been down around Moresby at any time recently?’ Jack questioned.

‘Not the wild men from the hills,’ the houseboy replied, shaking his head. ‘I would know if they had.’

‘So it’s a plant, like I figured,’ Jack muttered as he turned the arrow over in his hands. ‘Thank you, Dademo, you did good.’

Dademo beamed at the praise. Maybe the arrow did have strong magic.

There was something Jack knew he must do before leaving for Sydney. He found Sen later that morning. The Chinese entrepreneur was overseeing a stock-take of stores for an expedition to be led by the German. He glanced with some curiosity as Jack approached with the arrow in his hand.

‘I don’t think your sister-in-law was murdered by local natives,’ Jack said by way of greeting. ‘In fact, I think there might be a slight chance that she is still alive.’

Sen let out a long breath of air. ‘I have had my suspicions,’ he said. ‘We did not find her body.’

‘This arrow was found in Iris’s horse,’ Jack said, ‘and it’s not from around here. And one arrow will not kill a horse. My bet is that we would find a bullet in the horse if we went looking. A bullet to match this casing.’

Jack produced the Mauser cartridge case which Sen recognised.

‘O’Leary,’ Sen stated and Jack nodded.

‘As good as any.’

‘But we do not have proof,’ Sen said, shaking his head. ‘He was last reported going west into the Fly River delta on a recruiting drive.’

‘That doesn’t discount the fact he may have done his mischief before he left.’

Sen fell silent and turned away to stare at the pile of trade goods spread out on the floor of his shed. ‘I think I would prefer that Iris be dead rather than in the hands of that man,’ he finally said.

Jack knew what he meant. O’Leary and his partner were men capable of unspeakable cruelty. ‘We have the means to find her,’ he said. ‘O’Leary will return to Moresby and I will get the truth out of him one way or the other.’

When Sen glanced up Jack could see uncertainty etched in his face. ‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘Would you like to partake of tea?’ he offered, suddenly changing the subject. ‘I think you have something else to talk to me about before you go south.’

Jack pulled a pained expression. Sen was a very perceptive man. ‘There
is
something I want to talk to you about.’

Sen sighed in relief. He did not want Jack to doggedly pursue the subject of O’Leary. The evening before he had shared his secret with Paul Mann and sworn him to total silence on the events of his past. There were some matters that he could not include Jack Kelly in and this was one of them.

On the verandah Jack sipped from his mug of steaming black tea. Sen held a dainty china cup filled with what looked like pale green water. He much preferred his green tea to the black brew from India.

‘You think that you have found enough gold to make a large scale mining operation feasible?’ Sen asked.

‘I think I found a mother lode,’ Jack replied. ‘But I am going to need a lot of money to get it out.’

Sen sipped his tea and stared towards the gardens. ‘I know of a man in Sydney who might be able to help you out if all else fails.’

‘That would be appreciated,’ Jack answered.

‘But only if all else fails,’ Sen cautioned. ‘He is a man who has a bad reputation for taking advantage of situations to satisfy his own ends.’

‘Is he Chinese?’ Jack asked and Sen chuckled at his friend’s less than tactful slur on his race.

‘No, he is an Australian like you,’ he replied and Jack felt embarrassed by his thoughtless question. He understood, however, that Sen was warning him.

‘Sorry,’ Jack mumbled. But Sen did not hold any animosity. Jack’s remark was simply a slip between friends.

Before he left for Moresby, Jack said goodbye to Paul who handed over his family’s address in Townsville and a letter for them. As they shook hands Jack realised just how much he owed the Chinese businessman for the hospitality and friendship he extended – to himself as well as Paul. He also knew that he owed it to his old friend George to find the truth about Iris. The guilt of leading the quiet and brave Englishman to his death in the densely forested mountains of Papua haunted the Australian more than he could confide to anyone.

He stood on the wharf with his swag at his feet. Returning to Sydney meant confronting a little boy he felt that he had selfishly deserted. He had been able to console himself with the knowledge that Lukas was better left with his sister who could give him motherly love. But now the last news of Mary was that she was critically ill. To have her die would be bad enough. But for his son to lose a second mother would be worse.

The gangplank rattled down to the wharf. Europeans milled on board. Men from the government service and their families jostled in the queue, happily looking forward to some leave at home. Home for Jack however was the place he was leaving, not the one he was going to. He hefted his swag and made his way to the gangplank.