Elianne (25 page)

‘But Pavi has a family, a daughter who was born here –’

‘As do many. It makes no difference –’

‘Namou,’ she interjected triumphantly, quite sure that she’d caught him out. ‘Namou is a family man like Pavi, but he has been in the country for only six years, less than half the length of time Pavi has been here. Namou has received his certificate of exemption.’

‘Namou’s wife is an Aborigine,’ Big Jim said. ‘He married a Bunda woman, Pavi’s wife is a Kanaka, therein lies the difference.’

‘Then for goodness’ sake what
are
the requisites?’ Ellie demanded as panic once again started to set in. Her husband’s apparent indifference to the situation was frightening her. ‘Pavi and his family must surely qualify somehow.’

‘Sadly no.’ Jim said and he rattled off the list of necessary qualifications. ‘He is not infirm, he has not been here the required length of time, he is not married to a local woman, his life would not be threatened by repatriation and he does not own freehold land. So there you are, my dear.’ He shrugged, indicating a
fait accompli
. ‘I’m afraid there is nothing we can do.’

‘Of course there is. There must be. You can declare his services essential to Elianne – you’re an important man in the community, Jim, a man of authority, they would listen to you . . .’ Already he was shaking his head. ‘Then we can give him acreage,’ she said desperately, ‘we can make him a freehold landowner.’

But the more frantic she became the less impact she made.

‘As you have remarked, Ellie, I am a man of some standing in the community,’ he said, ‘and as such I cannot be seen to flaunt the new government’s regulations. Men such as I must set an example to others.’

His tone was cold, his eyes expressionless, and Ellie knew that any further protestation on her part was useless. Big Jim Durham had no intention of helping Pavi Salet and his family, despite the fact that it would most certainly be within his power to do so. Keeping her emotions in check, she attempted to reason with him, to present the one logical argument that surely he must recognise.

‘You will not find another with the natural skills of Pavi,’ she said, ‘and your horses remain among your most valuable assets.’ It was true. Since the purchase of the steam locomotive, the mill had seen a huge increase in production and the horses were essential for transporting the cane to the train’s pick-up points. ‘Malou as you know has inherited his father’s talent with animals,’ she said fighting to keep her voice steady, ‘and he is now a strong young man. You will be losing two valuable workers.’ She would have gone on to mention Mela, who was also a hard worker, and fifteen-year-old Sera – he would be losing a whole family of workers, surely he must see that . . .

But he interrupted. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it is regrettable to lose my most valued Kanakas, particularly one such as Pavi. Ah well, we must blame the government for that.’

They said their goodbyes outside the Salets’ cottage on the dusty dirt track with the driver and the horse and dray standing by.

They were self-conscious, all of them, for also standing by was Big Jim, his presence casting an added pall over the proceedings.

Ellie and Pavi shook hands.

‘Goodbye, Pavi,’ she said.

‘Goodbye, Mrs Ellie.’

They both knew they would never see each other again.

The families shook hands in a solemn ritual, starting with eighteen-year-old Edward and Malou. Then Bartholomew and George shook with each of the Salets and finally Sera, fighting back tears but determined to be as stoic as the boys, shook hands with her three white brothers and the woman who had been her second mother. No one addressed Big Jim and Big Jim addressed no one. He stood silently by like a giant referee.

‘Goodbye, Mrs Ellie.’ Mela waited for her handshake.

But Ellie did not offer her hand. ‘Goodbye, Mela.’ Surely one hug is permitted, Ellie thought; and as she embraced Mela, she embraced the entire family.

The women looked into each other’s eyes as they parted. ‘Thank you,’ Ellie said.

Mela nodded, remembering that time long ago after the baby had died and the Boss had gone away, how Mrs Ellie had come to her distraught. She’d comforted her and said all the right things. The Boss didn’t mean to be cruel, she’d said, he just didn’t understand women’s feelings – some men were like that. But Mela had secretly believed the Boss had killed his baby daughter. She still did. Such things happened. In her village an uncle of hers had killed a deformed baby his wife had borne him. Others before him had done the same thing. They were poor. They could not afford to feed a child who would grow up incapable of work or unable to be sold into marriage. But the Boss was not poor. And Mrs Ellie had so loved her baby girl. The Boss is a bad man, Mela thought. She felt sorry for Mrs Ellie, being robbed of her daughter like that.

‘Your sons will be a comfort to you, Mrs Ellie,’ she said, looking at the Durham brothers, her eyes resting briefly on each one. ‘They are fine boys.’

Ellie stood and watched as the dray drove off down the track, its wheels kicking up the midsummer dust, the family waving their last goodbyes. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she waved back. My friendship has cost them dear, she thought. Then she glanced at her husband. Standing beside her, steely-eyed and emotionless, Big Jim too was watching the dray. Perhaps it is best after all they leave Elianne, she thought. When Jim’s jealousy is aroused, there is no telling where his madness might lead him.

I have learnt a lesson, she told herself. Never must I appear to neglect Big Jim. Never must I give him cause to believe I may favour others over him, even my own children. Dear God, she thought, least of all the children. For the safety of her family, Big Jim must always appear the very centre of her existence.

D
uring her Christmas holidays at Elianne, Kate had done some sleuthing. Eager to discover someone who might know what had happened to Pavi and Mela Salet, she’d asked around among the several islanders who worked on the estate. It was the proud boast of one farm labourer that his ancestors had been in the region since 1870 and that members of his family had worked at Elianne from the mill’s first days in the early eighties. As he was a Solomon Islander Kate presumed he may well be a descendant of Old Willie and she proved right, but neither he nor others of his family had any knowledge of the Salets. Nobody did.

Bartholomew would of course remember Pavi and Mela, Kate thought, he’d have been around sixteen years of age when they’d left Elianne. But she was not prepared to reveal her knowledge of the past to her grandfather. Besides, Bartholomew would have no idea what had happened to the Salets. Ellie had written in her final ledger that there had been no further communication of any kind between the families.

Kate’s other attempt at sleuthing had also proved fruitless. Bundaberg Cemetery on the outskirts of town had been in its present site since 1879 and she had hoped to find Beatrice’s grave. But search as she might, she had discovered nothing. The headstone appeared to have crumbled into dust, obliterating any sign of poor little Beatrice’s existence. Clearly the grave had not been tended – a further poignant comment, Kate thought, on a sad story. Ellie had said in her diaries that Big Jim had forbidden her to continue visiting the grave for fear it would upset her. How unjust that after suffering the pain of her baby’s inexplicable death Ellie had received neither sympathy nor support from her tyrant of a husband.

Kate returned to Sydney in mid-February, once again with a sense of relief. In the city she would continue her laborious translation of the diaries, writing everything out by hand, one ledger after another, then typing the pages up on her faithful Olivetti. But there, in the living room of her little Glebe house, the exercise would become academic. Here at Elianne, the diaries and their revelations were an obsession that threatened to engulf her.

She drove over the bridge and into town, but before setting off on the long trek south, she called in at the post office.

Neil Durham found a quiet spot in the canteen, or rather a spot that was a little less noisy than elsewhere, and sat down to read his mail. He ripped open the first envelope, recognising his sister’s handwriting. As always, Kate’s letter was chatty and amusing. He smiled when he got to the end.

By the way, you owe me ten dollars. Dad and I didn’t have a barney. Peace was maintained, but I have to admit with the greatest of difficulty. As a matter of fact I nearly lost the bet two days after you left. I shall expect ten dollars or five quid, whichever is most convenient during this period of dual currency, by return mail.

In the meantime, stay safe, and I mean really safe. Keep me posted won’t you, Neil. I want to know when I need to start worrying.

Lots of love,

Kate

Less than three months later, a letter arrived from Neil, who closed with the news Kate dreaded, although he made light of it.

We’re off to Vietnam shortly. But don’t start worrying yet. I’ve heard the task at hand is to build a military base before leaping into battle. Do you reckon I should tell them I failed carpentry at school? Anyway I don’t think we’ll be seeing any action for a while.

Love always,

Neil

The chosen site for Nui Dat, the Australian Task Force Base in Phuoc Tuy Province, was ten miles north of the coastal township of Vûng Tàu. Built from scratch, mainly by men of the 5th and 6th Battalions, Royal Australian Regiment, the base was completed by July 1966 and was to serve as the principal headquarters for all Australian operations.

During the building of Nui Dat, the nearby port town of Vûng Tàu, attractively situated at the tip of a small peninsular and flanked by beautiful beaches, became a favourite haunt for the Australians, as it was for the American support units that had arrived the previous year. The locals, who had been quick to embrace the Americans, now embraced the new arrivals with equal fervour. Australian soldiers roaming the town’s streets and exploring the roadside markets were eagerly welcomed by hawkers and shopkeepers plying their trade, and at night bargirls enticed them to enter the open doors of clubs and bars where prostitution abounded. New clubs and bars were already springing into existence to accommodate the men’s needs, and many more would follow as the war ground relentlessly on and Vûng Tàu became the favoured in-country R & R centre. Soldiers were known to spend up big. For the Vietnamese, there was money to be made in Vûng Tàu.

‘G’day, girls, can we buy you a drink?’

Neil’s mate Bobbo was an out-and-out larrikin with an insatiable lust for women, and his other mate Phil although less obvious wasn’t much better. Like Neil they were ‘nashos’. Bobbo was a fellow Queenslander, from Rockhampton, loud and sometimes vulgar, but eminently likeable, and Phil was a Sydneysider with a veneer of style, but a recently discovered predilection for the seamier side of life. The two frequented brothels with alarming regularity and thought nothing of picking up street prostitutes. Neil, although happy to get drunk with his mates, baulked at the idea of indiscriminate sex – the thought of disease frightened him off. At least it had so far: he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. He was starting to feel toey, and it only got worse when Bobbo raved on as Bobbo was wont to do.

‘Seriously, mate,’ Bobbo would urge, ‘you should give it a burl. You’ve never had sex like this, I’m telling you. These girls offer a whole new ball game, pun intended.’

Neil didn’t doubt for one minute that Bobbo was right. His own sexual experiences had been limited to the back seats of cars and once a hay barn, but he nonetheless managed to resist temptation.

Bobbo teased him mercilessly about his celibate state.

‘Don’t be a wowser, mate,’ he’d say when Neil refused to negotiate with a bargirl or do a deal with a mama-san. ‘What are you, a bloody virgin?’

‘Give it a rest, Bobbo.’ Phil would invariably come to Neil’s defence. ‘He’s smart, that’s what he is. At least there’s one of us who won’t get the clap.’

Neil didn’t actually need defending. Bobbo’s teasing didn’t bother him in the least, although there was the odd occasion, he had to admit, when Bobbo’s crassness made him cringe. Today was one such occasion. It was late afternoon and they’d been wandering the downtown markets when out of the blue Bobbo had accosted the girls. He was leering at them as he offered to buy them a drink, clearly implying he wanted to buy a great deal more. But these girls weren’t prostitutes. No more than eighteen or nineteen, pretty all three, they’d been innocently browsing the markets’ wares. Neil felt embarrassed; he hoped they weren’t insulted.

Phil to the rescue, playing it with his customary debonair style. ‘We’re going to the Sand Bar to watch the light fade over the ocean, ladies. We’d be delighted if you’d join us for a beer.’ He gave a slight bow and offered his arm to one of the girls, on the presumption that if she didn’t speak any English the body language would suffice. She would certainly have understood the reference to the Sand Bar. Everyone knew the Sand Bar. Built primarily of bamboo, thatch-roofed and with a verandah fronting onto the beach, it was a colourful and popular meeting place.

‘OK.’ The girl put a hand to her face and gave a light giggle. ‘Sand Bar nice,’ she said and returning his bow she took his arm.

‘Excellent,’ Phil beamed at his friends, ‘you speak English. And what’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Kim,’ she said, ‘my name, Kim.’

‘I’m Phil. This is Bobbo and this is Neil.’

As the girls introduced themselves, Neil silently blessed Phil’s intervention. He didn’t doubt for one minute that Phil was hoping to see some action, but at least he hadn’t treated the girls like whores.

He offered his arm to the third girl, who said her name was Yen. She was extremely pretty, but seemed a little shyer than the others. Perhaps she didn’t speak English.

Upon arriving at the Sand Bar, they crammed themselves into the corner of the verandah at the last remaining table, which looked out across the beach to where the light would shortly fade over the South China Sea. More soldiers, some with girls, were pouring in to prop themselves at the bar. The Sand Bar was crowded at any time of day, but particularly at dusk.