thing this morning the bastards refused to go into the bush to saw trees down. They wouldn’t give me any reason.’
‘You probably didn’t ask them in the right way,’ said Kella. ‘Wait here. And tell your men to put their rifles down. If the Malaitans rush you, they won’t get off more than a couple of shots before you’re all overwhelmed.’
Michie hesitated, but nodded. Without another glance at the hapless technicians, Kella walked across the sand-dusted scrub to the labourers. He had been recognized. A murmur of greeting tinged with awe reached him. He had already picked out the probable leader of the Malaitan workers, a slightly older man with greying hair and a steady gaze. He stopped in front of him.
‘Hello,’ he said respectfully in the Lau dialect. ‘My name is—’
‘Everybody knows the
aofia
,’ said the older man. ‘I am Zoloveke. You are a long way from the artificial islands. Have you come here to do whitey’s work for him?’
These Malaitans were a particularly tough and cynical bunch. Their itinerant lives kept them away from their homes for months and even years at a time. They would treat many oftheir traditional leaders and authority figures with scepticism, and would not be easy to convince.
‘If you know that I am the
aofia
, then you will know that my duty is to keep the peace among Malaitans,’ said Kella. ‘That is why I have come to Alvaro, just in time, I think, to see you preparing to chew on rifle bullets. What is the problem? Why haven’t you started work yet? Are you so tired that you have decided to work the white man’s hours?’
The Malaitan snorted contemptuously at the implied jibe. ‘The first work party that left to go into the bush this morning met a kwisi bird,’ he explained. ‘It spoke only once. Do you know what that means?’
‘Of course,’ said Kella, comprehending the problem with some relief. The matter was serious, but not as grave as he had feared. ‘I may have spent many years away from Malaita at the white man’s schools, but I still remember our customs. Leave this with me.’
He walked back to the big Australian. ‘They have had a custom sign warning them not to work this morning,’ he said.
‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’ exploded the big man. ‘What those
kanakas
want is a boot up the backside!’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Kella. ‘Those men are Malaitans, the fiercest warriors in the Solomons.’ He raised his voice so that the technicians could hear him.
‘You lay a hand on just one of them, and you and every one of your men will be dead on the beach before the sun rises further over the trees, and I’ll have a hundred forms to fill in afterwards. I doubt if you’re worth it.’
The panic-stricken technicians started muttering. Kella raised his voice to explain. ‘The first Lau party to leave the camp this morning saw a kwisi bird flying towards them. That’s a grey bird about the size of a blackbird. It’s always chattering. But this particular bird cawed only once. That was the sign that worried them. With reason.’
‘What bloody sign?’ asked an exasperated Michie.
‘A single note from a kwisi bird means “No!” or “Turn back!” It’s a warning. In the old headhunting days, if a war party came upon a kwisi bird that spoke only once, they would abandon their expedition, no matter how important it was nor how far from home they might be, and turn back and refuse to fight. That still applies today.’
‘Then how the hell am I going to get them back to work?’ demanded Michie. ‘So far this year we’ve been delayed by rain, mechanical breakdown, shortages of materials and a bunch of so-called skilled workers who don’t know their arses from their elbows.’ He glared at the unkempt white men behind him. ‘I’ve got a schedule to keep!’
Kella took his opportunity. ‘I might be able to help,’ he told the Australian. ‘Of course, I would expect your cooperation with my investigation
‘You probably didn’t ask them in the right way,’ said Kella. ‘Wait here. And tell your men to put their rifles down. If the Malaitans rush you, they won’t get off more than a couple of shots before you’re all overwhelmed.’
Michie hesitated, but nodded. Without another glance at the hapless technicians, Kella walked across the sand-dusted scrub to the labourers. He had been recognized. A murmur of greeting tinged with awe reached him. He had already picked out the probable leader of the Malaitan workers, a slightly older man with greying hair and a steady gaze. He stopped in front of him.
‘Hello,’ he said respectfully in the Lau dialect. ‘My name is—’
‘Everybody knows the
aofia
,’ said the older man. ‘I am Zoloveke. You are a long way from the artificial islands. Have you come here to do whitey’s work for him?’
These Malaitans were a particularly tough and cynical bunch. Their itinerant lives kept them away from their homes for months and even years at a time. They would treat many oftheir traditional leaders and authority figures with scepticism, and would not be easy to convince.
‘If you know that I am the
aofia
, then you will know that my duty is to keep the peace among Malaitans,’ said Kella. ‘That is why I have come to Alvaro, just in time, I think, to see you preparing to chew on rifle bullets. What is the problem? Why haven’t you started work yet? Are you so tired that you have decided to work the white man’s hours?’
The Malaitan snorted contemptuously at the implied jibe. ‘The first work party that left to go into the bush this morning met a kwisi bird,’ he explained. ‘It spoke only once. Do you know what that means?’
‘Of course,’ said Kella, comprehending the problem with some relief. The matter was serious, but not as grave as he had feared. ‘I may have spent many years away from Malaita at the white man’s schools, but I still remember our customs. Leave this with me.’
He walked back to the big Australian. ‘They have had a custom sign warning them not to work this morning,’ he said.
‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’ exploded the big man. ‘What those
kanakas
want is a boot up the backside!’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Kella. ‘Those men are Malaitans, the fiercest warriors in the Solomons.’ He raised his voice so that the technicians could hear him.
‘You lay a hand on just one of them, and you and every one of your men will be dead on the beach before the sun rises further over the trees, and I’ll have a hundred forms to fill in afterwards. I doubt if you’re worth it.’
The panic-stricken technicians started muttering. Kella raised his voice to explain. ‘The first Lau party to leave the camp this morning saw a kwisi bird flying towards them. That’s a grey bird about the size of a blackbird. It’s always chattering. But this particular bird cawed only once. That was the sign that worried them. With reason.’
‘What bloody sign?’ asked an exasperated Michie.
‘A single note from a kwisi bird means “No!” or “Turn back!” It’s a warning. In the old headhunting days, if a war party came upon a kwisi bird that spoke only once, they would abandon their expedition, no matter how important it was nor how far from home they might be, and turn back and refuse to fight. That still applies today.’
‘Then how the hell am I going to get them back to work?’ demanded Michie. ‘So far this year we’ve been delayed by rain, mechanical breakdown, shortages of materials and a bunch of so-called skilled workers who don’t know their arses from their elbows.’ He glared at the unkempt white men behind him. ‘I’ve got a schedule to keep!’
Kella took his opportunity. ‘I might be able to help,’ he told the Australian. ‘Of course, I would expect your cooperation with my investigation
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