FOR VALUE RECEIVED

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 205, 30 August 1937, Page 15

FOR VALUE RECEIVED

By BRUCE FAHNESTOCK.

They say that if a traveller sits on the wide verandah of the Cercle Bougainville with a rum punch in his hand and watches the surf beat the roof out beyond the Motu Uta he will eventually go mad. The surf at the reef in that part of Tahiti is quite fascinating and might, In time, drive a watcher goofy; but if you are on the verandah of the Cercle Bougainville drinking a rum punch the chances are you won't go crazy. A mixed crowd is in the street below you. . . . The proud Tahitian women, and the prouder French. . . . And the hop step of the Chinese. . . . And above all the squealing of the pigs and laughing of children. By this time, you are slowly pegging at your drink and, if you've done it many evenings, you find yourself looking for someone in "the passing crowd. Soon, with a quick, pedalling step, he appears. Despite the tropic heat and the fact that a hundred screaming native children are bathing stark naked in the nearby lagoon, this strange little- old man is all bundled up. His bent figure is wrapped to the ears in a heavy greatcoa* which reaches to his sandaled feet. A limp hat covers most of his face, but you see, above his well-kept white beard a. pair of dark glasses. Clenched between his teeth is a pipe which is at least a yard long. He supports this with his outstretched left hand and puffs in time with his step. He is pointed out to awed tourists who come once a month on the steamers from Auckland and Frisco, as on old *rench nobleman who was disgraced or wfl a ", d jilted ' or n,erelv '"fed-up" *ith the fast Paris whirl. There are many variations.

One n.ght, as the last Txmita boat was tying up across the quai and Moorea waited for the sun to fall into her lap, I se t, with the inevitable rum punch in my hand, on the verandah of the Bougainville.* Each evening, now S, r t \T*v!n k8 \ T had COme f0 Bearcl > out the little old man in the crowd ■ and each evening I had raised my to him as he passed. And each evening he had bowed ever so lightly and gone

This night, he moved though to turn in at the club, and I stood up to "reet him. After only a step, though, he "gave Jus usual bow and turned to move on A dozen small native children were Playing in the street and he bumped into one as he turned away. A ten-year-old took offence and spat at the old man, Another tossed a papaya rind upon his coat, and still another pu-ked up a piece of ton and was about to clout the old fellow a good one when I took his elbow and Jed him back into the club. The barometer had taken a dive and in spite of the beautiful sunset, Tahiti was staying home this evening. So we were quite alone in the club as I le,l mv captive to a chair in the far corner o"f the porch. With greedy impatience, I pushed him nvto his chair. Here was mv story. It had taken weeks of politeness to cret him into my clutchee, and here he was I rang for Jules. He huddled there, drawing his coat closer about his small frame, with a shiver.

I rather expected his accent would be French. But it wa« not. It was Norwegian, and he spoke in a whisper: "I have not been in the club for 30 years!" Jules came up before I could ask him why, and I nodded towards the old man. Jules knew what mine would be. And a moment later he came back with a -whisky for me and a Pernod for the old man. After he had left, the old man said: "Have you brought the money?" I I started. "Sure—" but then I wondered what he could mean. j Hβ repeated: "Have you brought the money?" There was something wrong with him. His handis shook and his head wobbled from side to side as he talked. I saw my cue. . . . I'd humour him. I asked him: "How much was I supposed to bring . . . This money you expected ?" .He laughed. It wax more a carkle. "You know how much! It wae more thon me or you ever seen!" "How werie we to split it?" He looked at me sharply and I saw his eyes narrow with suspicion. Then he went on whispering: "You changed a lot in 30 . . . But I would know you with your back turned . . . I've got enough on you to have you hanged!" He laughed, then hissed at me: "Don't pretend you've forgotten." I said: "My memory is bad. That's all." He brushed this aeido and drank half his glass before he .spoke again. Then he said: "Well. I'll make it fresh again . . . Our labour wa« in blood! The reward was to be in gold . . . You were in it worse than me. . . T saw you hold the knife to the captain's throat!" The old man's voice was very matter of fact. "I admit I did my share. I killed the Finn and the two Diibliners . . . And the black cook and Herman. But you got Gregory and. the two poor Swede apprentices. I saw you beat their brains out with a capstan bar from where I held the mate by the jolly-boat. We did it all share and share alike except

(SHORT STORY.)

for the carpenter . . . He went mad with fear and jumped into the sea and was drowned . . . Now do you remember? I did not think we were to mention it ajiain."

Here was my story . . . But ;i bit more than I wanted. I sat back in my chair and felt the sweat cool on my back as the first squall of the approaching storm drummed the canvas blinds at my back.

But he wasn't finished. He weat on in his monotonous whisper: "It's been 30 years, Birch, but I remember every move of it. How we had eat by the foremast swifters in the off watch and planned the thing, day by day, night by night, until we were north of Rarotonga and the time was ripe. How you started the bloody work and together we finished it and tossed them overside, one by one. How in our hist for blood we killed the ship's cat to end it for ever. And, Birch, do you remember ■now how we put water and food in the smallest of the- boats and lashed the little bag with the pearl in it under the midship thwart for fear it would bo lost were we to capsize? It ie clear to this day, Birch, that moment we pulled away at the sweeps and watched the Wench of Plymouth go diving down with her seacocks open.

"The pearl, you ask, a fortune to us. both —but it was you that almost cast us our lives, that day we were picked up by the Auckland mail steamer—you and your mad idea of selling it to the first rich passenger we met on deck! Ah, Birch, if anyone but that bloated eheep man had seen it! . Our weak story would have outed' , —he snapped a bony finger—"Like that!"

Jules came again with another whisky and another tall Pernod. The floor was petting wet under our feet. The wind blew a sluicing cascade in beneath the oanvns. There was a banging crash of thunder and the lights dimmed momentarily. A strange wrinkled expression came over the old man's cheeks and he looked infinitely old. He whispered: "It was on such a night as this that we came into this lagoon. Shipwrecked mariners we were ... It is funny . . . Shipwrecked mariners with a pearl like American consul to send us home . . . Shipwrecked mariners with a peal like an orange in our duffle!" Ho cackled away into his deep glass and then drank all that was left. "Sometimes I've thought you'd never come hack. Birch. Sometimee the little green worms have almost devoured me! TCaten me like we ate the crew of the Wench, Birch!" His whisper was gone. He was speaking in a good shout now. "And I've fooled them, Birch, fooled them! I've eaten the cursed green worms every night for 30 years. . . . S:nQe the day you sailed away to sell the pearl! And now you are back with the money!" He watched me closely. "How much did you get?" I tried not to shake all over as I handed him a 10-dollar bill. He took it, turned it over, then beckoned to me to follow as he walked to the end of the porch.

He turned away and fumbleA in the dcop folds of his coat. "No one will over know!" he cried. "No one will ever find where I've hidden if' T agreed: "Xo one will ever find it." "A receipt. Birch, I've forgotten to pivo you a receipt!" F rang for Jules. He brought a pen and ink and an old shipping circular, Wank on the back side. The old man sat for some minutes, writing slowly. Jules stood by as if eensine drama. The old man pot up, handed me the folded paper, then bowed his slight bow T'd seen so often before and sauntered down the steps a-nd out into the rain. I held the circular to the light and read, from a graceful hand, in a voice like the old man's whisper: "Received in full for value given. It was the best story I've ever told."