Inheritance (23 page)

‘Yes,’ Jeanie admitted. ‘Yes. But a baby born alive … that’s different.’

Teo nodded then, miserably. ‘I feel it too. I wish I felt like Ma‘atoe but I don’t. I don’t think I could smother a baby.’ He slapped hard at his chest, as if punishing the heart within. ‘I’m too modern, see! Too much palagi learning! But if I don’t she will want to. Or maybe get that old lady to. The old one might do it secretly.’

There was silence in the room. Teo watched her. Jeanie knew what was coming and wanted desperately to avoid the words.

‘Will you take the baby?’ he asked. ‘If I bring it secretly to you, would you take it away – get it adopted, whatever, back in New Zealand? Where my wife would never know?’

He asked such a huge thing simply, as a child might ask a parent. Take this trouble away from me. You deal with it.

‘Teo,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry but it couldn’t be done. Not in any secrecy. People would have to know.’

‘Just think about it,’ Teo pleaded. ‘There’s time yet. After all it is Stuart’s child.’

She wondered when he would get around to that.

‘I don’t know that I could live with ending a child’s life,’ he said, watching her.

Jeanie caught that look – manipulative, calculating. ‘Go away!’ she shouted, too angry to carry on; too
appalled at his demand. ‘You could live with nearly killing Stuart!
That
was not a problem to your precious scruples. Just go away please. And don’t you dare dream of hurting the baby.’

‘Just think about it anyway,’ he said. And was out of the door before she could throw something at him.

But of course she had to think about it. At times she railed against Teo, cursed him for laying this burden at her door. Her new-found freedom, so precious, so fresh and intoxicating was suddenly threatened. At these times she thrust Teo’s request savagely from her mind, tried to recreate the sense of lightness she enjoyed only a few days ago. But the idea, the possibility was seeded and she could not ignore it. Could she somehow smuggle a new-born baby away? Have it adopted elsewhere, where no one could discover its dreadful conception? Its rejection?

She thought, of course, of her father, and wept for him all over again. Granny Stella had told Jeanie how she had adopted little John – the little Chinese orphan nobody wanted. Perhaps Granny Stella knew all the awful circumstances – the rape and the suicide – and didn’t care. Granny Stella had been expecting a child of her own, and yet she had adopted Jeanie’s father and loved him – given him a good life. Jeanie felt an increasing weight of duty and fought bitterly to escape it.

Sometimes the temptation of adopting the baby herself crept in to haunt her. A little half-Samoan baby! But that would be madness. Jeanie was too close to all this
mess. The child must have a start in life that could never be traced back to the night of the tapalolo. If Stuart found out …

No. Jeanie buried that idea.

Elena was standing in the shade of the banana trees calling up to Jeanie. Her dusty Mini Moke parked below the verandah.

‘Come along madam, we have work to do! And bring your cheque book.’

It always lifted Jeanie’s spirits to see Elena. Was that big woman ever downhearted?

‘Quick, no time to waste!’ called Elena, dancing a few steps in her impatience. ‘Already the queue will be stretching onto the pavement.’

Jeanie ran down the steps laughing, ready for whatever new adventure Elena had dreamed up.

‘No picnic today,’ Elena shouted over the growling engine, her hair escaping its usual neat bun in the rush of air as they bounced down to Beach Road. ‘You have a duty to perform, and so do I. A lesson for you on Samoan custom.’

The big stores on Beach Road were crowded.
Matua
had come in yesterday with its usual supplies, but today the pushing crowd was different. Not so many palagi, and many more Samoan women.

Elena, joining in the mêlée on the pavement, guided Jeanie away from the Burns Philp store, where most were heading; decided on Hedstroms. ‘I heard they have something a bit special. Let’s see.’

Jeanie had never seen Elena hurry before. Even in a medical crisis she remained calm. Today the crowd mood seemed infectious. Her friend jostled and shoved, elbowing her way to the Manchester department where a large crowd was gathered. No feeling of a queue. It was every woman for herself.

‘Keep close behind me,’ shouted Elena, ‘or you’ll be trampled to death!’

Jeanie took her point. The buyers were all twice her size, three times her weight, and intent on reaching the counter first.

‘I’ll explain later,’ Elena laughed. ‘Just get out your cheque book and sign for whatever I say.’

Jeanie had no idea why she must buy a whole bolt of white sea-island cotton and another bolt of delicate spotted muslin, also white. But she dutifully paid out the money and watched Elena also buy two bolts. Hedstroms seemed to have an endless supply. Elena hoisted three of the bolts high on her shoulder, leaving Jeanie to struggle in her wake with the final bolt of muslin.

‘White Sunday!’ Elena shouted as they bounced back up to Jeanie’s. ‘Don’t get me started on it.’

But of course Jeanie had no need to prompt her friend. As they unrolled the spotless material and cut it into three-or four-yard lengths, Elena explained. As people with money, she and Jeanie were expected to contribute to the expenses of White Sunday. Elena must supply her wider ‘aiga, and Jeanie should make a worthwhile contribution to the families who worked at the plantation.

‘They’ll do the sewing, thank goodness; we buy what they can’t afford.’

It turned out White Sunday was a special children’s day. Jeanie looked sharply at Elena. Was this some hint? Did Elena know about Ma‘atoe? But Elena was chatting on, serene as usual, directing operations, folding the cut pieces and piling them ready for distribution.

‘Every child must have a new set of clothes – white clothes – and the fancier the better. Wait till you see what our women can create from this material! Ruffles, flounces, ribbons, smart little shirts. Oh the children will look so gorgeous,’ Elena turned to Jeanie, flourishing the scissors fiercely, ‘and I will probably be the only woman in Samoa to fight the custom.’

Jeanie laughed at Elena’s frown. Surely she must be joking. ‘Doesn’t look like fighting the custom to me. Look at all this you’re supplying.’

‘That’s different,’ said Elena, wagging her head back and forth. ‘I have to help, that’s only natural; I’m a salaried woman. I would be a very bad Samoan if I didn’t contribute. Doesn’t mean I have to approve.’

Elena had a doctor’s view of the way children were cared for. This one day of the year the children had new clothes and were served by their elders at a special feast. The rest of the year, Elena said sadly, they came last in the food chain. Many of the children she doctored were malnourished. Oh they had food in their bellies, but all the protein that should be contributing to growing strong young bones and healthy children’s bodies, was served to the matai first, then other men, then the women, and lastly to the children.

‘Then they make up for it one day of the year, with White Sunday. Oh it makes me mad! We should get the Women’s Committees onto it. They are the only ones
who could change it. But would they? I doubt it. White Sunday is definitely fa‘asamoa.’

‘But surely this is a missionary thing? White Sunday?’

‘Oh yes. But we take what we like from Christianity and make it our own. Haven’t you noticed?’ Elena folded the last piece of cloth, looked with satisfaction at the pile. ‘You know Tomasi who works for you?’ she said. Jeanie nodded. ‘He was arrested in the weekend for stealing two watches from Hedstroms. He has four daughters. He was going to sell the watches to buy material for their dresses. So. You must give him some of this material.’

Elena laughed suddenly. ‘But I love White Sunday. It is so beautiful and the children are so excited. You must come to our village and see.’ She smiled at her friend. ‘I’m a mixed bag, eh?’

Jeanie kept thinking that Elena might be hinting at some knowledge, though it didn’t seem so. When Jeanie asked about Teo, Elena simply shrugged. ‘Oh, Teo. He and that precious Ma‘atoe have some problems I think.’

‘Problems?’ Jeanie tried to sound disinterested.

‘You know Teo – big flirt. Now he must settle down. And my guess is his wife is a jealous sort.’ Elena shot Jeanie a sharp look. ‘He hasn’t been hanging round you?’

‘No. I’ve seen him a couple of times at the plantation.’ Jeanie felt herself flushing.

‘Well anyway, he’s got the archaeology bug again. He wants to spend a month or two up there helping at the dig. There’s no one keeping an eye at the moment. Turn your back for a month and the creepers will have covered the mound again.’

‘He’s gone up on his own?’

Again that sharp look. ‘Jeanie. That time is over.’

Jeanie frowned. ‘With me too – don’t worry Elena.’

‘Anyway, his jealous wife has gone too, to keep an eye on him. They’re living in the little fale up there.’ Elena grinned, made a little weaving dance with her hands, ‘So romantic, with the mosquitoes and the ghosts. Good for making babies.’

Jeanie turned away; fussed with the pile of material to hide her dismay. All this talk of children and babies!

Elena sensed it; came close and stroked her arm. ‘I shouldn’t talk so much. You would like a baby too I think? We must find you a good man.’

Jeanie couldn’t speak.

If it hadn’t been for the twinned worries – the unwanted baby and the unwanted return of Stuart – Jeanie would have loved White Sunday. As it was, the spectacle and excitement of it helped her forget. The church in Elena’s village was filled with proud parents and their resplendent, spotless children. One by one, the children trotted up to the front to recite a few lines from the Bible. Elena dug Jeanie in the ribs, pointing to a crouching father, prompting his tongue-tied little son as he struggled with his sentence. Sighs of relief from the whole congregation when the little fellow finally stumbled through. Others – usually the older ones – stood up proudly, strutted down to the altar amid appreciative clicking of tongues if the dress was particularly beautiful, and then reeled off several verses in clear voices. Sometimes a proud
parent stood at the end of a particularly good recital to take a bow along with the child.

After the lengthy service, the children, now dressed in their second new outfits – coloured this time – sat on the ground outside in a big circle while the elders served them a great feast of pork, chicken, pisupo, fish, palusami, taro, soft white bread, cakes, mangoes and breadfruit.

Elena moaned. ‘Look at it all! Spread all this protein over a year and the children would grow healthy! As it is, the elders will have a good feast too on the leftovers. This all-or-nothing sort of thing. It makes me ashamed.’ But she was only half protesting. The children were so happy. The parents so proud.

Jeanie thought of Teo and Ma‘atoe away in the bush, struggling with what was growing inside her. It seemed so much in contrast with this happy day full of loved children. Perhaps they would come to terms with it. Perhaps that ancient place of their ancestors would help them to a wider view. Jeanie hoped that was what Teo had in mind – not simply a hiding place.