Papua (22 page)

‘I think you should drop off the supplies and leave immediately,’ Lukas said calmly. ‘What has happened here will remain on the beach. There are no hard feelings but you have to understand that, as Karl said, no one goes around hitting Dademo. He’s a bit like family here.’

Fuji rose warily from the sand to assist his father. Dademo had also recovered and quickly unloaded the last couple of boxes from the boat, the blood still streaming down his face from his smashed nose. Fuji went to his father who greeted him with a silent glare of pure contempt. Fuji recoiled from the unspoken rejection for not saving face in front of the barbarians. With his head lowered he commenced to push the dinghy out to sea. ‘I will come back one day and kill you, Mann,’ he spat as he clambered aboard followed by his father. ‘I will never forget this.’

Both boys gave the Japanese boat builder and his son distance as they departed. Watching as Fuji guided the boat back to the small coastal trader anchored in the bay. ‘What do you think will happen now?’ Lukas asked.

‘Nothing,’ Karl replied as he rubbed one badly swollen knuckle. ‘Fuji is all talk and I doubt that his old man is going to complain about being done by a kid like me.’

Lukas smiled at Karl’s description of himself. He was hardly a kid and he had the build of a young bull.

Dademo glanced up the beach. ‘I think Master Paul is coming down,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you, Mr Karl,’ he added quickly, but Karl’s shrug dismissed any more need for thanks. It was just something that was expected when defending the honour of friends and family.

Paul frowned when he came close enough to see Dademo’s injuries. He could sense from the quiet behaviour of the two boys that something had occurred. ‘What happened?’ he asked calmly. ‘How is it that Dademo has blood on his face?’

‘Dademo fell over and hit his face on the side of Isokihi’s boat when he was unloading stores,’ Karl replied, wanting to nurse his hand as it throbbed with pain. ‘Nothing much else.’

Paul glanced at his boss boy to confirm Karl’s story. ‘That is all, Master Paul,’ Dademo said but could not look Paul straight in the eye.

Paul turned his attention to the coastal trader in the bay. Whatever had happened on the beach had been settled here, he thought. If Karl was concealing the truth it was because he was old enough to make such decisions. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing the matter – at least not for the moment. ‘Well, let’s fetch some of the boys from the shed to come down and get these supplies up to the house,’ he finally said.

Only that evening did Paul learn all that had happened on the beach when Dademo came to him with the truth in case Isokihi laid a formal complaint with the authorities in Port Moresby. Paul listened quietly and thanked Dademo for his honesty before dismissing the boss boy for the evening. It had taken a lot for him to come forward but Dademo’s concern was for Karl who had intervened on his behalf. Paul would let the matter drop. What was done, was done.

J
ack’s leave with Lukas in Papua went all too quickly. Although Lukas was missing the beautiful Miss Sarah Sullivan he found plenty to entertain himself with in the company of Karl. They spent their days riding into the hills, swimming in the warm waters of the Gulf of Papua and hunting pigeons. And there was also the distraction of the Moresby social set to tempt two young men from any thoughts of fidelity to their respective girlfriends in Sydney. Visits were made to neighbouring plantations where the young ladies wore formal dresses and danced to popular songs on the gramophone, passing the night amidst the frangipanis and hibiscus that filled every room with their heady fragrance.

In the men’s tennis doubles the young men teamed up and proved unbeatable. The singles competition was a cliffhanger as the boys were pitted against each other and both fought hard to win. In the end Karl was declared winner with a final ace in front of an audience of admiring young ladies, the daughters of planters and government administrators. Lukas accepted his defeat with grace. Although he had lost at tennis he won in love and danced that night away in the arms of the prettiest of the spectators.

Meanwhile Jack had taken time out from the tennis tournament to visit his old friend Kwong Yu Sen at his house on the outskirts of Moresby. He was greeted warmly and surprised to see that the Chinese businessman was now the proud father of twin girls and a son. Although he had lost contact with his old friend, he thought that such important events would have been transmitted to him. The girls were aged six and Sen’s baby son gurgled contentedly from his cradle.

‘When they are older I will return to China,’ Sen said with a sigh as Jack poked at the chubby little pride of his father.

‘You have everything here,’ Jack replied in his surprise. ‘Why would you want to leave?’

‘Everything but the respect of you Europeans,’ he answered with an edge of bitterness. ‘All the money I have cannot buy respect here.’ Jack accepted what his friend said. Sen was wealthier than most Europeans in the Moresby district and they resented him for that as much as for his race. ‘And this country has taken Iris from our lives. My wife has never been the same since we received the news that she was O’Leary’s captive all those years ago. She insists that her sister still calls to her from over the oceans for her help. It has caused a rift between us,’ he added sadly.

At the mention of Iris’s name Jack ceased playfully prodding Sen’s son. He too often had recriminations on the matter. ‘You should have told me what you were planning when you sent Paul on that expedition up the Fly River. I should have been with him. Didn’t you have any faith in me to find her?’

‘I could not tell you, Jack. I feared that you might be killed,’ Sen replied, hanging his head. ‘Mr Mann was not as close to me as you and I rightly judged him to be a very competent man capable of carrying out the mission.’

Jack had to concede to his point about Paul’s competence and was touched by Sen’s concern for his welfare. So much for the inscrutable reputation of the Chinese, he thought. ‘You haven’t heard if O’Leary ever returned to Papua?’

‘Not a word,’ Sen replied. ‘I suppose he knew that if he came back Sir Hubert would have hauled him in for questioning about his recruiting methods. The missionaries received reports on the way he was going about it and have a lot of pull with Sir Hubert in such matters as the welfare of the natives.’

‘Maybe one day we will get lucky,’ Jack mused. ‘And when that day comes O’Leary will answer for what he has done in the past.’

‘Maybe,’ Sen echoed, but without much conviction. He would still have to live with an emotionally disturbed wife who continued to speak to her half sister as if she were in the room. For all that he knew Iris could be dead. ‘Come, we will have tea,’ he said to distract them from their gloomy thoughts.

Jack followed him to the verandah where they were served tea by a
haus meri
. They sat and drank for a while in contemplative silence. Finally Sen opened the conversation with what was on his mind.

‘I have had word from Sydney that Quentin Arrowsmith is out to get you, Jack.’

Jack merely smiled. ‘We have crossed swords on more than one or two occasions,’ he replied. ‘It seems that Arrowsmith is a man who keeps a grudge.’

‘You must have caused him a great loss of face to be so intent on destroying you.’

‘I think I once made him feel real fear. I don’t know that he had ever before considered his fate at the hands of a man with nothing to lose.’

‘Then be careful,’ Sen said quietly. ‘He is a man who will stop at nothing to destroy those who he dislikes. And it seems that you are his number one enemy.’

‘Probably because I have cost him a lot of money in our latest transactions. I went under him in a big purchase that it seems he had spent quite a bit of money on. He thought he had it in the bag until I used a couple of my own contacts in government to cut him out.’

Sen nodded. He feared for his friend. Quentin Arrowsmith was also a man with contacts. He even suspected that Arrowsmith was capable of considering murder as a business option.

Jack bid his old friend farewell and was driven back to Moresby. There he stopped off at the hotel and shouted a round of drinks for all in the bar. He was cheered and repaid in shouts by the old timers who remembered the brash young man who had crossed the border into German territory before the Great War. And now he was a successful miner and generous to friends to boot.

Jack was very drunk and happy when he was dropped off at Paul’s plantation the next day by a couple of prospectors in their truck. He sported a black eye and a split lip but could not remember whether he had fallen over or had been knocked down in a fight at the hotel. Karin shook her head and called Dademo to fetch a couple of the boys to take Jack down to the surf for an involuntary swim.

Many hours later he sat on the verandah with Paul who grinned at his friend’s sorry state. ‘Would you like a schnapps?’ he asked mischievously.

Jack leaned forward in his cane chair with a groan. ‘Bugger off,’ he replied ungraciously.

‘You were just unlucky that Karin saw you first when you got home,’ Paul said as he lit the most pungent cigar in his possession. The thick and acrid smoke drifted towards Jack.

‘No sympathy for a dying war veteran,’ he said. ‘Just gave me a ten minute dressing down about setting a good example to the boys after Dademo had been given instructions to drown me. Hell, I would rather face a bunch of enraged Kukus with poisoned arrows than your wife again.’

Paul burst into a gale of laughter that hurt Jack’s head. ‘My friend,’ he finally said, ‘why do you think you have never seen me drunk?’

‘What’s this I hear about you planning to go to Germany?’ Jack countered. He was not sharing his friend’s good humour in his present state and got the response he wanted. Paul grew serious and stared at the coconut trees, waving in the last onshore breeze for the day.

‘Karin told you,’ he said. ‘I have to go. I know that Erika is in some sort of trouble and she is still my sister, despite everything.’

‘You know that I will be going with you,’ Jack said quietly. ‘And Karin thinks that is a bloody good idea.’

‘What reason would you have for going with me?’ Paul asked with the raise of an eyebrow.

‘Always wanted to see the country of my mother’s people,’ Jack answered. ‘And I promised that I would take Lukas to see it too.’ He was lying but knew that his son would be ecstatic at the opportunity to visit Europe. ‘Might even drop over to Ireland to visit my old man’s relatives while we are at it.’

‘That the only reason you would go with me? Or is it that you would want to see Erika again?’

‘Karin said she is married with a kid,’ Jack casually countered. ‘Nothing more than that.’

‘It would be good to see the old country one more time,’ Paul reflected. ‘Good for the boys too. I have read that there are great changes in Germany today. It seems that Germany has once again taken its rightful place with the other western nations of the world.’

‘What about this Hitler bloke in Berlin and his Nazi party?’ Jack asked.

Paul frowned. He had followed the former German corporal’s rise to power with some interest. ‘He and his ideas concern me a bit,’ Paul said. ‘I met him once when I was just back from the war. He came to my place and we sat one evening discussing the future of Germany. I got the impression that the man was a very disturbed individual. But possibly I was wrong. He seems to have the people on his side. I read that his party took a lot of seats in the Reichstag in the July elections this year. He must be giving the people what they want.’

‘From what I have read about him, the bloke worries me a lot,’ Jack said.

Paul looked away. He did not totally agree with his friend. How could he know what it had been like for ordinary German citizens at the end of the war? The world did not care about the starvation and humiliation at the hands of the arrogant French, British and Americans. Despite his personal misgivings about Hitler, Paul conceded that the man had returned pride to the German people. And if he did eventually gain power but failed to deliver on his promised slogan of ‘Germany Awake!’ then the people would vote him out. After all, no German would ever allow a man to rule as a despot again, not after the bitter experiences of the Great War at the Kaiser’s hands.

Jack realised that he had touched a raw nerve. It was a subject he and Paul had never broached before. He dropped it and sat quietly in his alcohol-induced pain. Christmas was just around the corner and he looked forward to being with the only people who he could call family – the Manns.

Christmas 1932 came and went. In true festive tropical style a suckling pig was roasted on a spit and the tender white meat served up with baked yams, pumpkin and a spinach-like vegetable known as abika. It was all washed down with beer and schnapps to the blaring of the gramophone. Karin danced the foxtrot and tango with both Jack and Paul until she was exhausted. The boys disappeared after the gargantuan lunch to visit a neighbouring plantation that had as its main attraction two very pretty sisters about their own age.

Ten days later Jack and Lukas stood on the deck of a coastal steamer to travel to the port town of Salamaua in the Huon Gulf. There Jack had arranged a meeting with one of his trusted employees who was returning from Christmas leave in the north Queensland town of Cairns. Jack was reflective on the journey, knowing this was a meeting of such importance that his – and his son’s – futures may be decided by its outcome.

Lukas was impressed by the town of Salamaua on its sandy finger of land flanked by Bayern and Samoa bays. Stately palms and colourful but prickly bougainvillea added colour to the tropical jungles backing the township. Since the establishment of the gold fields inland, the little coastal hamlet had provided both comforts and necessities for the miners returning from the inland fields. It even sported a hotel: a long tin roofed building with a comfortable verandah to take in the cooling tropical breezes of an afternoon. Salamaua was an oasis of European tropical culture providing facilities not common in this new land.

After docking, Jack booked into the hotel and got settled. Sitting on the verandah that evening with Lukas, he could not help thinking how much gold had changed this part of the world. Years earlier he and George had made their landing nearby on the Morobe coast to trek inland in search of George’s fabled Orangwoks and Jack’s real gold. Then the coast had been without any established signs of western civilisation, just the occasional isolated police outpost or missionary station. But amongst many things, gold had brought a meat freezer and cold beer to the coast – welcome fixtures at the Salamaua Hotel.

Lukas badgered his father for a beer.

‘You have hardly started shaving,’ his father growled gently. ‘I don’t think that gives you the right to start drinking.’

‘How old were you when you started?’ his son shot back with a cheeky grin.

Jack shifted uncomfortably. His father had been a heavy drinker and Jack had well and truly acquired a taste for beer by fifteen. ‘Go and order a beer for me and you can have a shandy.’

Lukas leapt to his feet and went off to the bar. Returning with his lemonade and an added dash of beer for flavouring, he was not about to admit that he and Karl had indulged in a bout of drinking at a friend’s house during a break from school just before the final examinations. The result had been two very sick boys who had looked with some newfound respect upon the sermons concerning the evils of alcohol.

‘Ah, Dougal has arrived,’ Jack said as a stocky red haired man in his forties walked down the verandah towards them. ‘How was your Christmas leave, Mr MacTavish?’ he asked as he held his hand out to the Scottish engineer.

‘Canna get a good drop of malt whisky in Cairns,’ he snorted in his thick Glaswegian burr as he gripped Jack’s hand. ‘But it’s good to see you, mon. And who would this wee lad be then?’ he said with a grin.

Lukas stood straight and took the Scot’s hand as it was offered. ‘Lukas Kelly, sir,’ he replied and felt the crushing strength of the Scot’s powerful clasp. ‘I am Jack’s son.’

‘Thought as much,’ MacTavish said when he let go Lukas’s hand. ‘Has the same blarney as his old man.’

‘Got you something when I was down in Sydney,’ Jack said, producing a bottle of expensive aged whisky from beside his chair. ‘Knew you might want a drink for what you have to tell me.’