Brother Fish (69 page)

Jimmy looked surprised. ‘My ancestry?'

Cuffe cut in quickly. ‘I notice that your, er, skin is a honey colour, and I was just wondering what proportion of you is European and what proportion is, well, other?'

‘Dat a hard question, sir. I's an orphan, born and bred.'

‘It is African, isn't it?' Cuffe persisted.

‘I suppose,' Jimmy said, bemused. He glanced at us. ‘Most American Negro, dey come from Africa long time back.'

‘I see,' said Cuffe, now coldly correct. ‘I must ask you to do a dictation test.'

Jimmy smiled, obviously relieved. ‘Sure, I guess that's pretty normal under the circumstances,' he said, his grammar and enunciation correct so that I was forced to smile.

‘In English?' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan asked, frowning.

‘In the language of our choosing,' the immigration official replied, and spoke into the intercom. ‘Send in Helmut, please.'

Helmut entered the room and greeted us with a pronounced European accent. Mr Cuffe handed Helmut a folder and pushed a notepad and a freshly sharpened pencil in front of Jimmy. ‘Would you please write down what you hear, Mr Oldcorn.'

‘Sure,' Jimmy said, sounding confident as usual. He picked up the pencil and waited as Helmut began to read slowly.

‘Das Urteil
Es war an einem Sonntagvormittag im schönsten Früjahr. Georg Bendemann, ein junger Kaufmann, saß in seinem Privatzimmer im ersten Stock eines der niedrigen, leichtgebauten Häuser, die entlang des Flusses in einer langen Reihe, fast nur in der Höhe und Färbung unterschieden, sich hinzogen . . .'

Helmut looked up at last, just as Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan said, ‘
Er hatte gerade einen Brief an einen sich im Ausland befindenden Jugendfreund beendet . . .
That's terribly unfair, Mr Cuffe. That passage is German – Franz Kafka's opening paragraph to
The Judgement
.'

Cuffe looked surprised, but quickly recovered. ‘I was not aware that you were taking the dictation,' he said officiously, and then looked over at Jimmy who lifted his pencil from the paper in front of him.

‘Hey, man – yoh guys really do yo' homework, sir. How yoh know I live wid dem German folk?' He handed his paper to Helmut.

Cuffe looked concerned and then confused as Helmut handed him Jimmy's dictation with a nod. As for me, I sat there dumbfounded.

‘How'd I go?' Jimmy asked. ‘I might have missed one or two o' dem dots, but I think da rest's okay.'

‘You seem to understand German,' Cuffe said, giving Jimmy a mirthless smile. ‘But I'm afraid we require you to take another dictation test.'

‘This is iniquitous!' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan exclaimed. I could see she was close to losing her cool. ‘Then there'll be a third, until . . .' her angry voice broke off.

Cuffe shrugged. ‘It's the law, madam,' he said.

‘You mean the White Australia Policy, don't you?'

‘There is no such thing – only the dictation test,' Cuffe said evenly. Then, handing the pad and pencil back to Jimmy, he nodded to Helmut, who began reading.

‘Le Colonel Chabert
Allons! encore notre vieux carrick—'

‘Those are the opening words to Balzac's
Colonel Chabert
,' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan interrupted with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘Perhaps, Mr Cuffe, you'd like James to do Cantonese next. Perhaps the Chinese
Communist Manifesto
?'

Jimmy could probably do Cantonese
, I thought to myself. But Helmut continued to read the passage from Balzac, the French words coming from his mouth sounding like complete gibberish to me, but then so had the German. Later, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan would tell us that while Helmut spoke good German, his French pronunciation was so bad that any Frenchman listening would have had difficulty understanding him.

Jimmy placed the pencil down on the blank pad. ‘I don't speak no French language, sir.' He glanced at Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan and smiled. ‘Hey! Maybe Cantonese I can do.'

Cuffe actually had the temerity to look relieved. ‘I'm afraid you have failed the dictation test, Mr Oldcorn, and, in accordance with the law, you are ineligible to remain in Australia when your visa expires. Should you remain in Australia after that you will be a “prohibited immigrant” and liable for deportation.'

‘You bastard!' I shouted, jumping to my feet and grabbing him by the front of the shirt and pulling him halfway across the desk, his fat stomach jammed against the far edge so I couldn't pull him any further. ‘I fought for shitbags like you!'

Cuffe looked terrified, though I wasn't near his size. But then I felt Jimmy's hand on my arm. ‘Dat okay, Brother Fish. Take it easy, man.'

I released Cuffe, who pulled back, smoothing the front of his shirt. ‘I'm only following instructions, Mr McKenzie,' he whined.

Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan rose, her voice icy-cold. ‘You ought to follow your conscience, sir. That's exactly what the SS officers said at Belsen and Treblinka. “I was only following instructions.” Ha! You perfidious and shameless excuse for a man!'

But by this time Cuffe, realising he wasn't going to be physically attacked further, had regained his composure. ‘I'm a busy man, madam. Please leave my office,' he said, with a peremptory wave of the back of his hand, not bothering to rise from his desk.

But it wasn't over yet. Jimmy, still standing and towering above Cuffe, now bent over and placed his huge hands on Cuffe's desk, leaning over the bureaucrat. The immigration official pulled back hastily, the back of his chair banging into the wall behind him.

‘Dese folk, dey been lovin' and kind to me, sir. Dey done show me more love den I evah done have before in mah life. Yoh and yo' kind cain't take dat away from dis yella nigger – not now, not evah!' Cuffe shuffled in his chair, and in the process scattered the papers from his desk all over the carpet. Jimmy turned away with a grim smile. ‘Come, we leave now. Dis honky, he need to change his britches.'

So much for remaining strong and resolute. What was it again? Something like ‘
We must never let them see us emotionally affected and must remain strong and resolute at all times
.' Or my pathetic version – come what may, we must keep our cool and never give up.
What a joke!
We'd failed at the very first hurdle and Jimmy was the only one among us who'd kept his temper and remained calm.

With both of us fuming on the footpath outside, Jimmy said quietly, ‘Brother Fish, maybe we got to make ourselves some dif-fer-rent plans.'

‘Whaddyamean?' I yelled. ‘Mate, it's not over yet!' I pointed up at the window of the insurance building. ‘That fat fuckwit's not gunna get the better of us!' For once Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan didn't pull me up for my language.

Jimmy shook his head sadly. ‘I had me a good, good time on yo' island, Brother Fish. It time now to go home.'

‘James, you're sounding mawkish,' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan said sharply. ‘Jack and I disgraced ourselves in there. We let you down, I'm afraid. I apologise, and promise it won't happen again. So both of you pull yourselves together, please.' Then she smiled, her tone of voice changing. ‘Come along, you two – we have a morning tea to go to, and there's no time to lose.'

We looked at each other. ‘You'd like a cup of tea?' I asked. In my mind I was thinking more of a beer – or ten.

‘No, of course not! We've been invited to morning tea.'

‘By whom? Where?' I asked, puzzled.

‘Curiosity killed the cat, Jack. You'll just have to wait and see.' She turned to Jimmy. ‘James, do you think you could find a taxi?'

‘Yes, Nicole ma'am,' Jimmy said, moving away to look for a cruising cab.

With Jimmy out of earshot I fell to pieces and started to weep. I didn't mean to – I didn't even know it was coming. I just fell apart. ‘But he's my mate – without him I'da been dead. Fair go, you don't let a mate down like this. You just
don't
do it!'

‘Pull yourself together please, Jack. James has found a taxi.'

The taxi pulled into the familiar drive leading to Government House. Before I could open my mouth to ask what the hell was happening, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan said, ‘We're having morning tea with Lady Louise.'

‘Who?'

‘The governor's wife, Lady Louise Cross.'

‘How'd you manage to swing that?'

‘Manage? One doesn't
manage
, Jack. Occasionally one has to use a little judicious influence.'

‘You know the governor's wife?'

‘Yes, we met at your ceremony.'

‘Does that count?' I asked, surprised.

‘Hardly, but in this instance, we're proving useful to each other. Besides, she strikes me as a thoroughly nice person.'

‘I see,' I said, but didn't. The morning had already been strange. First I'd discovered Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan could speak German and French, and now we were going to tea with the governor's wife.

Jimmy was seated in the front of the taxi and Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan and I shared the back seat. She turned to look directly at me. ‘Jack, I don't know what might happen. You are going to have to leave this to me.'

‘Is this about, you know, Jimmy?'

‘Perhaps. It wouldn't do to get our hopes up too far.'

Jimmy had remained silent throughout. Now he turned to the back.

‘Nicole ma'am, yoh gone done all this foh me?'

‘James, don't be silly. The White Australia Policy as we know it, and the parody known as the “dictation test”, is plainly wicked legislation that preys on fear and ignorance, deliberately inculcated into the belief system of the Australian people by our politicians. I was born in Russia, but spent a lot of my childhood in Manchuria and early adulthood in Shanghai. In Shanghai I was regarded as a stateless person but eventually obtained Chinese travel papers, so technically I was Chinese.

In fact, I feel more Chinese than Russian, and even used to dream in Chinese. But my hair is blonde and my eyes blue so I am excused the dictation test and happily accepted as a citizen of this country. I am ashamed to say that until you came along, like so many others, I chose to remain silent – hidden away on a little island where I wouldn't be confronted by racism, and where my conscience wouldn't bother me unduly when people such as you are refused admission on the basis of a wickedly devised trick!'

Chinese! Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan Chinese! If she was Chinese, then I was a Hottentot!

We'd arrived at Government House and Jimmy was looking in his wallet for change to pay the taxi driver. I could hear the butler's feet scrunching on the pink gravel driveway as he approached. There wasn't time for any further questions. Then, just as I went to open the taxi door, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan said, ‘Do you have your harmonica with you, Jack?' I nodded, too confused to think why she would ask me – she must have known I always carry it.

If you're a woman then you must know that women think differently from men. They can be deadset cunning and manipulative. They can make end results come about by taking the most obscure and circuitous routes most men wouldn't even think of attempting, let alone even think of in the first instance. Patience is yet another weapon they employ, sometimes taking years to achieve an objective – which they never lose sight of. Paradoxically, it has been my observation that having finally achieved what they want, it turns out they don't want it after all. But that's by the by.

If Jimmy had a way of making people see things his way, making them do things they might not otherwise have done, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan had a way of making things happen without people knowing they were doing what she required of them. That wasn't to say she couldn't be openly persistent and decidedly didactic, as she had been with me when she'd scooped me up off the library floor and decided I was worth the trouble of attempting to educate so many years before.

However, in her role as justice of the peace, a mere witnesser of signatures, she often managed to calm family feuds on the island, prevent cruelty to wives and children, shame the greedy and rapacious into behaving decently, and persuade young blokes who'd got a girl up the duff to walk down the band of gold to the altar. She knew more about land entitlements and fishing rights than anyone on the island, and could untangle a quarrel between two fishermen over a cray lease better than the Tasmanian Fisheries Department ever could, although never by direct interference. Now she was at it again, and I for one hadn't a clue how we'd found ourselves on the steps of Government House for the second time, with the governor's butler hurrying around to open the taxi door for us.

Morning tea took place in the music room, home to two pianos. The butler served Earl Grey tea and hot scones with strawberry jam and cream. After the disastrous session with Cuffe I guess we were still pretty upset, which in my case made me ravenous. Jimmy must have felt the same only more so, and we tucked in while Lady Cross and Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan talked about things women always talk about. You'd have thought they'd known each other for years.