8. In Our Granny's House

It was a very sober group of villagers, many nursing sore heads, that gathered in the afternoon to hear what had been decided following what became known as the Great Football Riot. I think that most people expected stern measures, so the actual announcement made by the Head Gardener was greeted with incredulous cheering and celebration. News had come that Bahla remained incapacitated, so I continued in the role of scribe, with the task of recording the names of those volunteering to work on the projected new ball park.

For me, it was a great opportunity, coming soon after the end of my probationary period as a Reader. It was really my first opportunity to observe the hierarchy of Morakeewa at first hand and, as I told my father later, I found it entirely confusing.

“I could not see,” I said to him, “How Lailavu, no matter how close he was to Our Granny, could decide in the meeting to make this great gift to the people on her behalf without first speaking to her. The land by the river is a swamp that will require an enormous effort to turn it into a football park.”

“Ah! Lailavu.” He replied. And then he used one of our traditional sayings. “Lailavu knows where the monkeys feed.” Translated, this expression can have a range of meanings. One could render it as “He knows how to make things happen.” And, at the time, that is how I interpreted it. On reflection, however, I later thought he might have used it in the alternative sense of “He knows which side his bread is buttered.”

“You say that Our Granny will build a new ball park for the village?” he smiled. “Do you expect her to drain and dig over the site and plant the grass herself?”
“Why, no.” I replied. “I have spent the afternoon taking lists of names of people who are to help her to do the actual work.”
“So Reverend Lailavu was not really making any great promises for Our Granny herself, was he?”

I thought about this. “I suppose not. But then it is even stranger than I thought. Lailavu has made a gift in the name of Our Granny and the people who will work to supply it are the people who think they are to receive it. The villagers have agreed to do an immense amount of work and yet they seem happier and more enthusiastic than when they sit around in the sun and enjoy themselves.”

“Indeed. Sometimes people don’t really understand what they are taking on. Or why. Sit down,” he said, “And let me tell you about the way we built Our Granny’s house:

You must remember that when the Americans left us we were still living mostly as we always had. We had The Tractor. We were growing more food, like when they were here but we weren’t doing well. Men thought that anything to do with crops was women’s work. They didn’t need to hunt in the forest because there was enough food. All they were interested in was drinking and fighting.

I joined the Guardians because they ate well. There must have been about ten of us and when we walked through the village they would shout after us. The old hunters were starting to sit around in the village and drink. They gave us a hard time. If you walked past a group of them they would whistle and shout. ‘Hey, Darling!’ they’d shout. ‘Don’t want to go into the forest and get your skirt dirty, now.’ Or ‘Marry me, Darling, and I’ll bring home a nice fat monkey for you to cook.’

We knew that we had the guns from the Americans. We could have finished them in a minute, but that didn’t help us at all to deal with the problem. Even beating them up did no good. In the end, the Captain said he would punish anyone caught fighting. Which made it worse, of course.

Our Granny lived where she always had, in the village. When she needed a new roof nobody cared. Even then, people understood that she had brought us prosperity but she had no husband so she was on her own. She had one man then, who looked after her. It was his idea that we should find a piece of land and build a house for her.

He spoke to Manaku Apu, her son who managed The Tractor in those days, and they agreed that we should ask the villagers to build her a house. They decided that they would change the way that food would be distributed. Those who helped with the building of the house would receive food first. Other people would only eat if there was food left over. I can tell you, we had to crack a few heads when that was announced.

In the end, though, they got used to the idea. No work, no food. Manaku Apu and Piero, the first Head Gardener decided. And they began to see there was more to life than hunting and drinking. They learned to work with wood. To cut down trees and saw them into planks; to build houses and to grow plants. The Gardeners say that Our Granny taught us to work in the fields. I’m telling you. It was Our Granny’s house.

Even the Readers helped to build the house. They looked in the books and saw what sort of house was possible in America. Then they had to devise ways to build such a house. We did not have tools and materials and the readers had to devise ways to make them.

These days you know that a Gardener will eat well. Our Granny takes care of them and everyone wants to be their friend. You think that Lailavu took a risk in announcing a building project? He did nothing of the sort. The Gardeners know that the more people work for them, the more people respect them. And if Our Granny did disagree with the decision, how would the world know? She hasn’t spoken to anyone who isn’t a Gardener in ten years. You get nowhere by questioning the wisdom of the Gardeners. Much safer: shut up and listen.

But let me finish the story of the house. When they started to build the house, it was not going to be especially big. After a couple of months it was completed. Then the builders came and asked what they should do next. At first the Gardeners said they should go home. The work was finished. Then the people started crying. ‘What shall we do for food?’ They asked.

So the work expanded. Our Granny’s house became far bigger than she would ever need, with houses built for the Gardeners and their families. The gardens were planted with grass and flowers and trees and today there are dozens of Gardeners living there. The people who had learned to work with wood and to thatch and to pave and to plant began to work on their own houses and the village itself became comfortable.

One day I walked through the village and a group of youngsters came towards me. They seemed to be looking for trouble and they clustered around me so close I could hardly move. I was pushed with my back to the wall. There was no help in sight and I started to wonder if I would need my club. Then they started to interrogate me. ‘How do I get to join the Guardians?’ ‘What is it like to drive the Tractor?’ ‘Would ten men be able to pull against the Tractor?’ ‘Is it true that Guardians can get any girl they want?’

Every one of them wanted to become a Guardian. Before we built Our Granny’s house, no one would ever have believed that. You were only a child. You didn’t understand what was happening but building the house brought peace to the village. Now we have every thing we need. Food, clothing, houses, everything that one could want, we have.

Since that time it has been great to be a Guardian. Before we built the house, nobody respected us. Afterwards, you could walk through the village with your head held high. Everyone knew that if they wanted to eat, they had to work with the Guardians. And the Gardeners. Boys line up to join them too. The villagers want to take care of Our Granny. Since we built the house, the villagers all take gifts to Her.”

“And you think that building a ball park is the same?” I asked my father. “Surely, if we have everything that we need, then why would people want a new ball-park?”
“I don’t know about that.” He answered. “All I can say is that people have everything that they need but still they want more. I can’t say where it stops. People see how the Gardeners and the Guardians live and they want to be like them. The Guardians and the Gardeners compete for bigger houses and better clothes and food. The Tractor makes that possible.
If we lost The Tractor, who knows what would happen? But as long as we can use it to keep up with what people expect, things continue and go well. Our Granny is there to resolve the bigger issues and we can trust her to deal with any questions we may have.”

“But what if something happened to Our Granny?”

“We rely on The Gardeners. They care for Her and keep Her alive. Everyone needs Her. If she were not there, nobody would know what was right. You have been brought up in a respectful home and you know that no one is allowed to question Her decisions or the Gardeners who loyally serve Her.”

7. ... And Circuses

“The people that once bestowed commands, consulships, legions, and all else, now meddles no more and longs eagerly for just two things — bread and circuses!”

Juvenal – Satires X, line 78;*

The morning after the disturbance I was late in to the office but the place was still deserted. As I settled at my table, the Chief Reader came into the room.

“Where is Bahla?” he demanded. “I need him for an urgent meeting.”

“Not here yet.” I answered. “He was hit on the head at the match so I’d be surprised if he was fit for work today.”

“What? He wasn’t involved in the riot, I hope.” The Chief’s voice showed very little sympathy as he looked round the room at the empty chairs. “Well you’d better come with me. I need someone to take notes.” He left the room and I picked up a note pad and followed.

We walked though the village to the Guardians’ hangar and into a meeting room. I recognised Lailavu, the Head Gardener and Paitor, Captain of the Guardians, each surrounded by a group of acolytes. Across the room, another group was in earnest discussion with their backs to the door and it was only as they turned round and took their places at the meeting table that I recognised the trainers of the Hill and the Field football teams.

The proceedings were opened by Paitor. “Gentlemen,” he commenced. “I would like to thank you all for attending this meeting at such short notice. Clearly, we have to recognise that yesterday’s disgraceful events represent a new low point in behaviour for our people. We need to decide how we will discipline those responsible and what actions are necessary to ensure that this is never repeated.

It is essential that we send a clear message to everyone on the island that we will never tolerate the type of disorder we saw then. We must find those responsible and we must make an example of them that the village will never forget. At the same time, this illustrates once again the foolishness of staging volatile events on prime farm land so close to the village.”

“If this is just another suggestion to plough the sports ground, Captain, ” The football coach from the Hill interjected, “then I can only say that we have been over that before. We have already agreed that a sufficiency of food and clothing is not sufficient for a healthy society. Our people need heroes they can emulate, exercise to keep them healthy and interests to keep them occupied. Without that, there is chaos.”

“So football prevents chaos?” Captain Paitor rolled his eyes. “Last night we saw the chaos that football is supposed to prevent and I say that we have to break a few heads and move the sports ground further from the village. If it had not been for the rain last night, we could well have ended up without a village to protect because of your football.”

“Excuse me!” the coach replied quickly. “My understanding was that it was the responsibility of the Guardians to protect players and keep order at football matches. I have a player who was knocked unconscious because of poor crowd control.”

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” the Chief Reader intervened “I don’t think there is any reason to point fingers at one another. We all accept that there has been a problem. Let us please focus on what needs to be done to prevent recurrence in the future, not on apportioning blame for the past.”

“Very well.” Paitor turned to face the Reader. “We have collected a list of people involved in last night’s affray. My proposal is that we round them up and give them a lesson that they won’t forget. This is just a small number of irresponsible young ruffians who need to be shown that they are not as important as they think they are. In the longer term, we should show them that we mean business by ploughing up the football ground and moving the location of the games down to the river. We have discussed this in the past and now is the time to take a firm stand.”

“We have indeed discussed this in the past.” The coach of the Field team interjected. “And every time we discuss this we come to the same conclusion. The people of the village value the football games and they build character, discipline and spirit among them. They are used to the football park that they have and we know they would be upset if they felt that it was being taken away from them.”

“In that case they should be taught how to show that character and discipline; a lesson they will learn more quickly by having to walk to the river to play football. This is a very serious situation,” the Captain of the Guardians replied quickly “ The Reverend Gardener, Lailavu has indicated that Our Granny agrees that now would be a good time to move dangerous, non-essential activities further from the Village.”

“If that is what Our Granny decides,” The Hill coach took up the argument, “Then clearly that is what we will do. But I think that we all need to be aware of the risks in that direction as well. Yesterday we all saw the consequences of just an interruption to a game. I hope that the Guardians can assure us that they can deal with the results of taking away the Football ground itself.”

“Our men are ready for any contingency.” Paitor looked belligerently round the table. “They are tough and they are trained.”

“I don’t think we want to start a war, Captain.” The Chief Reader sounded alarmed.

“Yes! I believe the job of your Guardians is to protect people, not attack them.” Added the coach.

“The job of the Guardians is to protect the village.” The Captain responded. “And that includes protecting the village from itself as well as from others.”

“Stop, please.” The deep voice of the Head Gardener brought the room to silence. “We will move the football park and we will have no riots. Our Granny has decided.”

“The villagers feel very strongly that they are entitled to their football.” The coach for the Field was indignant.

“And we have to be prepared for trouble.” The Captain added.

“On the contrary.” Lailavu was emphatic. “Our Granny has decided that the village needs a new football park, bigger and better than the one we use today. When the new park is ready, there will be a great holiday, with a feast to celebrate.

It will have seats for people to watch the games. There will be a ditch between the spectators and the playing field in which we will plant thorny bushes. And the viewing area for notable personages will be properly protected so that they are less vulnerable to, shall we say, assault.” He looked glanced significantly at the Captain of the Guardians who looked down at the table in front of him.

“But, reverend Father,” the Field coach protested “If we put a barrier between the spectators and the game, how will we be able to encourage our people to take part?”

“Now why would we want to do that, I wonder?” The coach from the Hill muttered.

“It is sometimes good” the Gardener added “To create a little distance. It increases respect. In this case, the spectators will learn that those who play the game are individuals they should look up to and emulate in their skill and dedication.

And Paitor,” he continued. “Do we have any idea who it was threw that thing?”

“I believe there is a name, Lailavu.”

“Well I don’t want any wholesale arrests. But I think it would be very good if the person who attacked Abakono were to spend a few weeks enjoying the hospitality of your men. And the other person, as well.”

“Very good.” The Captain responded. “Very good. Whoever they are, we will find them.”

“And young man,” Lailavu turned to me. “I want your notes this afternoon for the public announcement about the gift of a sports park that Our Granny will make to the village. Of course, they should contain nothing about the punishment of whoever threw the coconut. You understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.” I replied. “I believe that I do.”

---

* Needs a quote and citation from a pre 1941 translation

6. The Match

“Points are usually scored by running the ball or receiving it from a pass above, on, or across the opponent's goal line for a touchdown (six points) or by kicking the ball from scrimmage by place kick or drop kick (a virtually obsolete technique) above the crossbar and between the uprights for a field goal (three points). A touchdown may also be scored by a defender who intercepts a passed ball or a fumble and carries the ball into the opponent's end zone.”

American Football: Play of the Game – Principles of Play[1]

Over the course of the weeks and days before the championship match tension had run high throughout the village. Supporters had begun to wear their team colours from the moment of the final eliminations and arguments on the street and even outbreaks of fighting were frequent as the day of the contest drew near.

The teams had withdrawn to separate training camps and each day groups of supporters would go out to watch them practice for the game. If one of the players appeared in the village for any reason he would be surrounded instantly by groups of excited fans, swarming and jostling so that the Guardians had to clear a way through the crowd.

Abakono, the star player for the Hill, had to be rescued when he was almost attacked by a hostile mob shouting threats and insults as he tried to return to the Field to visit his family. Large and well built as he was, the hostility of the crowd left him pale and shaken as he was pulled away to safety.

The mob followed him back to the training camp, shouting “Traitor!”, “Coward!” “This game will be your last!” “Our boys will tear you to pieces!”

The Guardians too, were preparing fiercely for the event, with drills on how to immobilise unruly fans and special hardwood clubs in case it should be necessary to crack any heads. And of course, the Guardians themselves were split between Hill and Field, so there was a good deal of banter and argument as they prepared for the big day, some of it not particularly good natured.

The night before the match saw a spectacular thunderstorm. Lightning cracked the sky in the small hours with a continuing roll of thunder that made sleep impossible. The morning was soggy, with plumes of steaming vapour rising over the soaking ground and water pooling in the potholes. By mid-day, the way to the ground was thronging with fans wearing their colours and singing the team songs. Every boy was a would-be quarterback. The girls dreamed about the heroes on the team.

Even the Readers had abandoned their Books and were on the way to the match. The Hill was my team but I was going with a friend who supported the Field. That fraternisation would have been thought of as treachery by some, so neither of us was wearing our colours openly.

We arrived at the ground half an hour before the start of the game but the sloping banks overlooking the playing area were already crowded to capacity. The crowd were chanting and singing as they waited for the teams to take the field.

At last, they arrived, the Hill wearing sky-blue shorts, shirts and helmets; the Field wearing green.  The crowd found its voice with whistles and cheers, songs and chants as they ran onto the centre of the field. Lailavu, the Head Gardener, now even larger than when I had met him years earlier, stepped out onto the field wearing his intricately dyed ceremonial sarong and called the teams to order. At this point I should mention that the number of players on each side has gradually been increased since the departure of the Americans so that our football games are played by twenty players on each side (although we do not permit substitutions).

The Gardeners began to deliver Our Granny’s blessings but beyond the first words, they were completely drowned by the hoots and whoops of the crowd. The match ball, by tradition the largest coconut harvested in the year, was shown to the crowd, the whistle sounded and the game was under way.

The Field were the stronger team, both in the number of good players and in their individual abilities but as the game started, the Hill had the better of it with Abakono, their star quarterback marshalling his men and distributing passes right and left. He swung the heavy coconut from side to side, hurling it with pinpoint precision to his receivers so that they were soon encroaching on the Field’s end-zone.

Whether running with the ball or passing, he seemed able to move wherever he wanted to on the field and, after the first quarter, the Hill had scored three touch downs and the Field only one.  I think I have mentioned that, because of the hardness of the ‘ball’, kicking it is no longer a part of our game so the score stood simply at three to one. The second and third quarters were more equal, with two touchdowns from each team so that, at the start of the final quarter of the game the score stood at five points to the Hill and three to the Field.

The fourth quarter opened with the Field on offence and, as they gradually made their way up the length of the field, rushing the ball through a series of first downs, it was clear that the momentum of the game had altered in their favour. The genius handling of Abakono was to no avail as the ball remained obstinately in the possession of the opposing team and, towards the middle of the quarter, was rushed into the end zone to bring the scores to within a single point.

Supporters of the Field were ecstatic, especially as the restart resulted in an interception so that they were once again in possession of the ball and immediately recommenced the slow march towards another goal. It was at this point that the referees noticed that the Field had more than the normal number of players and the game had to be halted. The players and the team managers denied all knowledge of the two extra men who were duly removed by the Guardians and the game restarted with the ball in the hands of the team from the Hill.

As the game restarted, the crowd became restive and the Guardians had to charge into the banks of spectators to arrest some fans for throwing objects onto the pitch. With these disruptions, the crowd was becoming increasingly vocal. Several more invaders had to be ejected from the pitch and, just as the ball was snapped to Abakono a missile flew out of the crowd.

It was a coconut. Not quite as big as the match ball but hurled with deadly accuracy and it struck Abakono on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground where he lay crumpled and unconscious.

As the Guardians strained to hold back the crowd, the match referees conferred with the Guardian officers and the Gardeners and, after ten minutes the Head Gardener announced from his raised viewing platform that, as it would be too dangerous to continue, the game was ended and the Hill were declared the winners because they had been leading the scores at the end of play.

I will not attempt to debate the rights and wrongs of this decision. In principle, it should have been referred to the Book of Rules for football – we have a copy left by the Americans –  but I concede that this reference would not have been easy or, probably, practical in the heated context we are discussing. What is clear is that no one had properly thought through the consequences of this action.

As Abakono was carried off the field (he recovered from the injury but this game proved to be the high water mark of his football career) hundreds of disgruntled fans stormed onto the field, shouting and ran towards the Gardener’s viewing stand. Head Gardener Lailavu, tried to speak to them but, even with his loudhailer, we could not hear what he was trying to say.

The crowd pressed on all sides and the Guardians surrounding the platform were forced backward, brandishing their clubs to keep some measure of control. It quickly became clear that they could not hold the situation for long and Lailavu looked anxiously round for the Captain of the Guardians who was behind him on the podium.

The Captain marshalled his men into close formation and they pushed and clubbed their way through the press with the Head Gardener’s portly figure in their centre, as far as possible from the crowd. Not far enough, as it turned out, for a hand reached from the throng and snatched his beautiful sarong so that all were treated to the unedifying sight of the Gardener’s portly buttocks wobbling their way to safety.

There was indignation on all sides. The normal rules by which football is played on the island mean that injury to a single player, however caused, would not be allowed to interrupt a game and the supporters of the Field were convinced that the tide had turned in their favour so that they had been robbed of certain victory. This was hotly disputed from the Hill, who were thirsty to avenge the felling of their hero. Individual fights among the crowd began to coalesce into a single battle and soon the pitch was a melee of fists, feet,  teeth and sticks.

The Guardians were hopelessly outnumbered and, although they tried manfully to impose order, in the end they were forced to withdraw as the writhing mob moved up into the village. Soon doors and windows were being broken down and choking clouds of smoke gusted down the streets as fires were set by the rioters.

Fortunately, the day had clouded over and as the afternoon storm broke, both the fires and the spirits of the mob were cooled. The Guardians were able to arrest some of the ringleaders and, by the evening, apart form the lingering smell of smoke, the village was peaceful.

---

[1] Encyclopaedia Britannica 2004 –needs a proper reference to the relevant 1941 rule book.

5. Hama Batu

I remember Hama Batu as a child. He was no more than a year or two older than me and he would sometimes speak to me, almost at random, since he and I were never close. He would come up to one and put his hand on their shoulder.

“Have you heard,” he would say “what the wind in the trees is saying?” or

“Did you know that the sea is deeper than the land is high?”

He used to frequent the Book Room in those days, listening to the conversation of the Readers and we all expected that he would join their trade but, in the event, he was called to be a Gardener. I can remember his first sarong, dyed plain green. He seemed destined for great things and rumour had it that Our Granny was especially fond of him. Or perhaps people just believe that because it is a part of the stories that surround him now.

One of the Readers I work with has a brother who is a Gardener. He says that none of the stories are true. For example, he says that the flowers that Hama Batu grew in Our Granny’s garden were never any larger than normal and that it would be unthinkable for a junior Gardener to take them in to Our Granny’s house and arrange them in vases for her. The Gardeners who were there at the time say that Hama Batu never took even one meal alone with Our Granny, let alone sitting with her night after night and listening to her conversation.

On the other hand, no Gardener would ever admit that Hama Batu had any knowledge of Our Granny’s mind now, or then, or ever. In their view, the Fundamental Truth society and its founder are liars and renegades who will never be forgiven. As they tell it, Hama Batu was strange from the beginning. He refused to eat with the other Gardeners and remained as thin as a stick all the time that he lived in Our Granny’s house.

He allowed weeds to grow in the lawns and flower beds and his crops of beans and pineapple were never up to the expected yields. He would spend hours alone, sometimes talking to himself. At some point he attacked the Head Gardener and threatened to burn down the gardens with Tractor fuel. This precipitated his expulsion and only then did he start to speak of the Fundamental Truth that he had discovered. It was even later, they say, that he began to claim that this Truth originated from Our Granny.

When Hama Batu first left the gardens, he disappeared from view for many months. This is the famous time in the wilderness when his followers say that he went about every part of the island, from the rocky shore of the South point to the swamps of the North. He spoke to the people he met and to the birds and the animals. He listened to the voice of the wind and the rain. When he returned to the village he began to tell people that they should live more simply. He said that the beauty of our island was spoiled by the fields. He told anyone who would listen (and many who would not) that we did not need to cultivate so much land in order to live.

I met him again at that time and much of what he said sounded very reasonable. He believed that with only places for a fixed number of Guardians, Readers and Gardeners the island needed to find a role for the rest of the people who had nothing to do with themselves but drink and cause trouble. He wanted to encourage young men to learn to hunt as their fathers had and to teach them about the wild fruit and food that could be gathered in the forest.

It did not take him long to run foul of the Guardians of course. They held him locked in their shed and it is easy to imagine that the stories that he was not treated well are true. In the end, I suppose, they got tired of having to feed him and put up with his strange views for it is certain that whatever they did, they could not change his mind. In fact, it appears that his opinions were only made more extreme by his period in captivity. His hatred of The Tractor seems to owe a good deal to his hatred for its Guardians.

When he was released he began to say that Our Granny had come to see him in jail and explained that the Guardians and their Tractor were to be destroyed. If they could have, I think that the Guardians would have caught him and killed him at that point, but he had returned to the forest and it seems that he was living there with the savages. He only returned to the village under cover of the night to speak to the young men who had failed to find a career in the Guardians or the Gardening and try to recruit them.

At first, of course, no one was particularly interested in or worried by Hama Batu and his doings. Most people thought that he was a little mad and, at the time, we had worse problems to deal with. The Tractor had broken the left radius rod of the front axle. The Guardians made replacements of the hardest wood they could find but even though they were much thicker than the original metal, they lasted only a few hours each so that The Tractor was out of service for much of each week and the ploughing and planting were severely reduced each time a new rod was laboriously cut by hand.

This episode underlined how much the village depended on The Tractor. Even though the Guardians co-opted the unemployed and issued them with picks and hoes, they were not used to the work and could not cultivate the fields in time for a successful planting season.

Of course the Readers came in for much criticism when they could not provide a way to repair The Tractor. I remember sitting in the Book Room working at my table while an angry mob of drunken villagers and Guardians shouted taunts and insults and threatened to break in and burn us out.

It was, fortunately, at the peak of this crisis that we gained our understanding of the transformer needed to revive the arc-welding equipment. Our initial attempt was very experimental and patched together. It is a miracle that no-one was blinded by the arc but, following the instructions, we were able to link the belt of the electrical generator to the power off-take of The Tractor and to weld the broken radius rod so that The Tractor was once more fully operational.

The vindication of the Readers who had achieved this coup was complete and even the Guardians were prepared to concede that the Books were of some use. For Hama Batu and his renegades, however, this was the evidence that the Books and The Tractor were as bad as each other. This was to be a problem for us all as time passed and their influence grew stronger.

In some versions I have heard of this story, the Fundamental Truth society even claim that they were responsible for the original damage to the radius rod and that the Readers were acting directly against them when they repaired it. I know this is not true because the original damage was a simple crack caused by a collision with a tree stump and the rod actually broke in the workshop as it was being straightened but the story has its power, nevertheless, among the ignorant in the village and beyond.

Thinking back to this period, the mechanical reliability of The Tractor was not the only thing that distracted attention from the activities of Hama Batu. The other topic may seem less important, but to most of the population of the village it was of much greater interest: football.

The Americans were great sportsmen and they had dedicated a section of their airfield as a sports ground, on which they played football and baseball. When they left, baseball gradually became less common but the popularity and intensity of football games increased and grew.

In the absence of the elaborate equipment used by American players, the game has changed and adapted. In many ways, the game we play today is far more robust than what the Americans left. Children who grew up have practiced their passing using coconuts and this is now the most popular form of the game. Naturally, without boots, the idea of kicking has disappeared from the game and the focus is on carrying and passing a coconut from one end of the field to the other.  The original complex rules have been radically simplified and the game is now much more continuous, with players carrying and throwing the ball at will and fierce battles taking place for position all over the field.

The hero of the hour is the one who carries the ball (we still use the term, in the American language) across the opponent’s end line and rivalry between different sections of the village is actively encouraged by the Gardeners, who will bless the different teams in the name of Our Granny  at the start of each session. Particularly successful players are rewarded with the finest food and clothing and youngsters tend to follow them around in the hope that their ability will somehow transfer to them.

At the time that Hama Batu started to recruit his band of ‘Shadows’, two major Football issues absorbed the village. The first was the championship match on Our Granny’s birthday. The second was the Football ground itself.

When I was a child, a picnic was held each year on Our Granny’s name day at which everyone joined in to play games and celebrate. Over the years, this has developed into a much more organised event and the Football game played on that day is now very much the climax of the year for the island. All the village teams are eligible to compete and, during the course of the year, all but two are eliminated so that the winners of this one game are the champions of the island for that year.

Naturally this is a great occasion for celebration for everyone – players and spectators alike – with the whole population coming down to the ground to watch the spectacle. Even the least partial person is expected to turn out wearing the colours of one or other of the teams. For those who have followed the contest throughout the season, this is the moment for which they have waited a year. Their support for their team is likely to be quite reckless, with arguments between the different groups of spectators perhaps more likely to result in injuries than the game itself.

Our village comprises a number of sections or fractions, each with its own team. By the end of the year, all but two of the teams will have been eliminated. In this particular year, the two teams remaining were the team of the Field and the team of the Hill. They represent the opposite extremes of the village. The Hill is the preferred location, cooled by the sea breezes and close to the hedges surrounding Our Granny’s garden. The Field is near to the Tractor shed and therefore inhabited by people who are unable to live elsewhere.

The Hill is accustomed to recruiting the best players from other fractions while the Field must generally rely on its own resources. When these two teams meet at the year end, the rivalry and animosity both on and off the sports field reaches great heights.

The Hill, at that time, relied on a player called Abakano, who had been born and brought up down in the Field.  After initial success playing for their team, he had been recruited to the Hill so that he was regarded by some supporters of the Field as something of a traitor. In spite of this loss, the Field were able to boast a number of players of extraordinary capability so that they were expected to win the match on this occasion. The resulting tension had intensely absorbed the minds of everyone in the village in the weeks leading up to the game.

The other element that was unusual in that year was one of our periodic land crises. From the time of the Americans, it has always been the case that, over the years, the productivity of a particular piece of land tends to decrease. Today, as we learn to live within the constraints of the resources available to us, we know more about how to refresh the land than we did at that time. Even now, we are always in search of ways to bring more land under cultivation but, then, we were very dependent on continuously finding new spaces to farm.

For some years, therefore, the Guardians of The Tractor had had their eye on the Sports Ground, a prime piece of fertile land right near to the village itself.

4. The Tree of Knowledge

As a child, I never had any hope of becoming a Guardian. My friends could run faster and fight harder than me. Although I was fascinated by the stories of the Guardians and how they protected and cared for The Tractor, when it came down to doing things, I was happier with the idea than the execution.

I suppose, in a way, I was always destined to become a Reader. My father was a Guardian and when I was old enough, he spoke to someone who knew someone and it was agreed that Our Granny would be asked for permission for me to learn the Books.

This was quite soon after Our Granny separated herself, when even relatively insignificant issues were still dealt with at Our Granny’s house so it was necessary that I go there myself to ask for her blessing. It was, of course, a great event for which much preparation was required.

Both my father and I needed new, clean clothes and I attended a number of discussions between my father and the Chief Reader regarding the exact details of the expedition. In addition to the gifts of a straw mat and a chicken for the Chief Reader, my father provided a jug of corn liquor and a roast pig for presentation to Our Granny and I was coached with answers to question I might be asked in the course of the interview.

Then, as now, Our Granny’s house was on the hill overlooking the village although the gardens were not as large as they have now become. We all knew that behind the rich green of the hibiscus hedges the gardens, even then, were splendid and I can remember as if it were yesterday the sense of trepidation as we set out that morning from our home.

It was still early, before the heat of the day, with dew on the grass and a clear blue sky. The parakeets chattered in the palm trees and the shrill whistle of the cicadas filled the air at the edge of audibility. Our route took us down to the Book Room where we met the Chief Reader and, having presented him with his gifts, we started our walk up the hill to Our Granny’s House. It would only have taken perhaps half an hour – the Chief Reader was not a fast walker, but by the time we reached the gate, the sun had risen so that we were hot and sweating.

At the gate, we were greeted by one of the Gardeners. I had seen them in the village, of course, dressed in their colourfully dyed sarongs, but I was not prepared for the girth of the man who met us. While he was not very tall, I could immediately see by his glistening hair and skin that he was one those who enjoyed the privileges so generously provided to Our Granny’s household.

Having established our identities and purpose and presented our offerings, we followed him along a path lined with hibiscus, syringa  and poinsettias. The lawns were immaculately trimmed and we arrived after a short walk at a thatched arbour where we waited in the shade on benches built onto the rush walls of the building. The elevation gave us a magnificent view of the village and the fields and sea beyond.

At last, another Gardiner arrived and escorted us to a larger thatched building where a group surrounded a tall, striking man wrapped in a rich purple and green sarong.

“We greet you.” He said in a deep bass. “Our Granny has given to us the task, today of meeting with you and of hearing your case. She thanks you for your gifts. Let us sit down and reason together.” He gestured to an intricately woven straw mat and the four of us seated ourselves in the shade of the building. The sea breeze gave us respite from the heat of the day and the Chief Reader, who seemed to know the Gardener quite well, presented our proposal on my father’s behalf.

“First and most importantly, we bring greetings and wishes of long life and good health to Our Granny. Would you, Lailavu,” he inclined his head respectfully, “Would you please convey them to her.”

Lailavu replied in the same tone and some minutes were spent in compliment  and counter‑compliment before they reached the business of the day.

“This boy,” the Chief Reader gestured towards me, “is Tommu. His father is a loyal Guardian of The Tractor but we believe that Tommu’s path does not lie in that direction. He is very able in languages and with words and we would wish that Our Granny should  grant that he joins the Readers of the Books, to study the wisdom of the Americans for the good of our people.”

Lailavu examined me closely. Finally he spoke to me:

“Tommu,” he said, “What is it that makes you believe that you should study to read the Books of the Americans?”

“This seems to me,” I replied, “a heavy task that will bring great benefits to our village. While it may not be as glorious an assignment as that of the Guardians who care for The Great Tractor, I believe that it is where my talent lies and that is why I wish to undertake it.”

He thought a while and then asked me some further questions. My father too was examined, mostly with regard to his commitment to Our Granny and eventually, our interlocutor appeared to reach a conclusion.

“I believe,” he said gravely, “that you are suited to the learning of the Readers. I will recommend to Our Granny that your appointment should be approved for one year’s trial and if, after that time, you receive a positive report from the Chief Reader, you shall continue to work with him permanently.”

With that, we were escorted back through the gardens and I was able to begin my work in the Book Room.

Many people are under the impression that the Books relate only to the details of caring for The Tractor but that is a very small part of the thousands that we have. The Americans brought with them Books of many different types. Some, like the instruction manuals for The Tractor and the Weapons are very practical, with direct relevance to the daily work of the Guardians. There are also manuals of discipline and health with stipulations regarding the daily habits of the American troops and we try to follow them too.

Even among these Books, there is a considerable amount of material that is not directly useful to us. The operations manuals of the Airplanes are there in abundance but, since the Americans left us no functional airplanes, they are of theoretical interest. Some of our people believe that we could, if we spent enough time, construct an airplane but that is generally thought to be unrealistic.

But determining which Books are relevant and which are not is never simple. Indeed, one can never tell in advance when some volume that appears to deal with topics a thousand miles from the concerns of our island will throw up a hint that, when properly investigated, proves crucial to our understanding of the world.

Crucial to the problems we have is the fact that The Books are all written in a foreign language. After studying them for so many years, of course, we have begun to understand  many of the words but there are still difficulties that result in a good deal of debate and discussion.

One of the great imponderables relates to the pronunciation of the words. We know some words because they were used by the Americans so words like ‘Tractor’ or ‘Gasoline’ are at the core of what we know about speaking the American language. Other words are much more difficult.

‘Plough’, for example, is a word that you would expect to know well. After all, something so close to The Tractor must have been spoken of by the Americans when they were here. Unfortunately, however, no reliable account remains of how they said the word. The result is that today the correct pronunciation is a source of quite acrimonious dispute in certain circles. Some experts maintain that it should rhyme with ‘Gouge’ while others maintain with absolute certainty that the ‘h’ at the end should be silent.

For myself, you will find that I do not incline to taking strong positions one way or the other and I believe that this is something we shall never know for certain unless we should, one day, encounter a living American.

Another issue is one that I alluded to earlier. The Books are not all equal. Some are solid and reliable. If they are difficult to understand, then we can usually find clues to what they mean either in the world outside or in other of The Books.

An example: the description of a transformer refers to ‘copper wire’. When this was first read, it appeared very mysterious. We had no indication of what these two words might signify. The first breakthrough came when we were able to connect a word inherited from the Americans, ‘waiyer’ with the word that we had thought of as ‘wirreh’. This allowed us to realise that ‘wire’ might be a thin strand of metal. But what type of metal was ‘copper’ wire?

It was several years before, in another, completely different Book we found a picture of a transformer. At this point, we knew what we were looking for and a small transformer was identified in a derelict machine that we had brought in from the jungle. We were able to take it to pieces and find the copper wire of which it was made. Now we had the information we needed to interpret more of the description and we could ultimately construct our own transformers, more or less as we needed them, to repair the arc welding equipment which, up to that point, had not been usable.

This was an example of what I have called a ‘reliable’ book. The information may be difficult to interpret or understand but it relates to the real world and can be checked and tested objectively. In the end, it either works or it does not. Also, if it does not work, then it is as likely to be a failure of understanding on the part of the researchers as an inaccuracy in the Book in question.

The other type of Book is much less predictable. Books of this type contain stories or beliefs. It is often not clear from the content what the meaning of the story is or whether it is true. Some of the stories are clearly incorrect. They contradict themselves and it is clear that they contain errors. Some are internally consistent yet remain entirely improbable, even though (in some cases) the Americans appear to have believed them to be true.

Some are both consistent and probable, are not believed in and yet appear to have been written to illustrate the way people typically behave. Some are reflections on the past, with accounts of what seem to be real events. It is reading these Books that made me think of writing down the material that you are reading now. Why should only the Americans have written down stories? The story of our land is as important as any other and I decided to write it.

This seemed an exceptionally fine idea at first and I considered that I would be the ideal person to take on this task. To my dismay I find, as I write, that it is far more difficult than I thought it would be; and for a strange and unexpected reason. The problem is words. My assumption had been that my experience working with The Books and the love of words that implies would be a great asset in finding the right words to describe our story.

Six of us labour daily to decipher The Books and to build our own picture of the world, taking account of the learning and wisdom of the Americans; sifting out their errors and inconsistencies and building our own knowledge. All of us have a love of words, their history and their meanings, both of our own words and those of the Americans. Our objective is exactness. To find out the truth that reveals how things work.

That is the barrier to the writing of this book. Some can take words and turn them into weapons: line them up and march them into battle with a single, undisputed purpose and meaning. That is what a person who loves words cannot do. A mother understands her son’s strengths and weaknesses, sees every side of their nature and still thinks of them as the child of her womb. Sending her children to fight requires closing off that wide view and reducing them to expendable icons that can be sent out to fight or die as things may turn out.

A person who is absorbed, some would say obsessed, by words sees them with so many meanings that they are as likely to turn and bite the speaker as to go out and conquer the world. Every sentence is full of ambiguities with meanings proliferating with the senses in which the words can be used. When is a sentence just its literal meaning? In real life, every sentence is somehow a metaphor.

The name of our island is Morakeewa. It comes from two words: Moru means wildness or wilderness, forest or jungle. Akeewa means unconquered, or perhaps unconquerable. Until The Tractor, no-one ever questioned this name. In relation to the island we were always survivors – never conquerors. But The Tractor calls into discussion the very name of our home. Can we perhaps conquer the wilderness as we have cleared and planted the southern plains. Does Morakeewa stand before us as a challenge ‘unconquered’ or as an immovable barrier – ‘unconquerable’. The partisans, on both sides, claim to understand the answer to this riddle.

The north part of the island is ‘hathan’ – swamp. The word ‘hathan’ also refers to being trapped and eaten by the swamp. An object that is stolen is ‘hathan’ in the old language. The Americans did not come to the island with just one Tractor. They took many tractors away with them but there are stories of other Tractors hathan in the swamps. Tractors that dared to challenge Morakeewa and were never seen again – neither the tractors nor their operators.

The swamps hold other terrors beside. There are crocodiles as long as a man and snakes so poisonous that they can kill a man if they spit in his eyes (so they say). Worse than all of these is the lizard of the swamp, Shai-hathan. These animals are not so large as a crocodile but they stand taller from the ground and they can move as quickly as a man can run. And like a snake, they are venomous, stealthy. Standing only as high as a man’s knee they lurk in the mud, half buried like an old decaying log and when an animal, a monkey or a man strays into the swamp, they come from behind and administer their poison so that the doomed creature is paralysed. Trapped in the mud, sometimes fully conscious, they are consumed by the Shai-hathan.

My father spent some time in the northern swamps and he saw a great monkey trapped in the swamp. It had been paralysed by the Shai-hathan and three of them had gathered and were feasting on its living flesh. As he was going to a remote camp he was alerted by its screams. On his way back the next day, the animal was still alive but it could no longer make any sounds. Its arms and legs had been eaten and one of the Shai-hathan was eating the inside of the great ape from the back end so that its head and shoulders were lost inside the body of the animal.

To our people, the Shai-hathan is the ultimate symbol of evil. The word ‘shai’ means the soul of an animal or plant. So the literal translation of the name of the Shai-hathan is swamp of the soul or perhaps soul-thief. The word is surrounded by many taboos and to call a person ‘Shai-hathan’ is so offensive that it almost inevitably results in a fight to the death.

Even today, it is rare to hear the word used in this way and I know that some will be offended by the explanation I have given above. As a well-brought up child, I do not think that I ever heard the word used as an insult until I was an adult.

The Guardians of The Tractor had decided they had need of a new field. There is a river running in a deep valley about five miles from the village and the land on this side of the ravine had been brought under cultivation. On the other side was a wild meadow lined with trees where people had always been able to gather mushrooms and to find all kinds of wild fruit.

Granny was consulted and it was decided to build a road and a causeway so that the meadow could be ploughed and planted. As you can imagine, some of the people who still lived beyond the river were not pleased by this idea and a group of them, with bones in their noses and ears and paint on their faces came to protest. They were brought in to the Guardians’ meeting hall and given a sumptuous repast. There was corn bread, ground-nut paste and bananas. This was followed by pineapple and mangoes as a desert with guava juice to drink and (this may have been a mistake) corn liquor and rum distilled from locally grown sugar cane.

At the end of the meal, the Head of the Guardians made a speech. He explained that The Tractor had brought this bounty to the village and that with the new road The Tractor would bring the same to our visitors. The leader of the tribesmen stood up.

“I thank you for this food and drink.” He said grandly. “I see what it has made in the village. I see men who no longer hunt or spend time in their natural state. This is not our way. This is not the way of Morakeewa.

You may call yourselves Guardians but I see men whose souls have been eaten. You may bring your Shai-hathan across the bridge to us but if you do we will destroy it before we will be eaten by it.” And one-by-one they left the shed and went away.

Of course this is not how things turned out. The road was completed, and the causeway and I believe that some of those very savages now work as Guardians. And some are among the ones who do nothing but consume the corn liquor produced by virtue of The Tractor.

3. Care and Maintenance

“Operating the Tractor

TWICE DAILY BEFORE STARTING THE TRACTOR

In the morning and after dinner, the following operations must be carried out, with the engine stopped and the tractor standing level (full details of each of these operations will be found under its proper section):-

1. See that the radiator is full of soft clean water. Do not remove the pressure cap, if fitted, until the engine has cooled down.

2. See that the engine is filled to the F mark on the dipstick. If it is necessary to add oil, use a good grade of S.A.E. 30 viscosity in Winter and SAE 40 viscosity in Summer. See page 3 for oil to be used in climates having extremely hot or cold temperatures.”

INSTRUCTION MANUAL OF THE FORDSON MAJOR TRACTOR

When the war ended and the Americans left the island, Our Granny knew that our future prosperity depended on the health of The Tractor so she established the Guardians to care for it, under the command of her own son, Manaku Apu. Their organisation was modelled on that of the American Army and he was given the rank of Captain.

There is no record of what her original instructions to him were but the duties of the Guardians have always been a combination of the care and maintenance of The Tractor and its physical defence. The daily routine of the Guardian corps is a mixture of mechanical tasks, checking tyres, oil and water, recording hours used and ensuring that the cans of fuel taken to the fields are brightly polished. During the day they also clean and oil the armoury and they are, at least in theory, all experts in the use of the rifles.

Over the years, the balance between these various duties has varied. For many years, the need to defend The Tractor physically was not given much importance. Until the dispute with the Truth Foundation, most of the Guardians paid little attention to their military role and interest in the rifles tended to be limited to a few enthusiasts who used them to hunt wild pigs in the north island swamps.

Becoming a guardian with access to the best food, housing and women on the island has been an aspiration for young boys from the beginning. The tough time at the beginning of a Guardian career is well rewarded later when it is the turn of the senior members to send newcomers out into the forest to gather worms and crawl though swamps all night and then to carry tools and heavy burdens during the day. The hierarchy is strict and it takes many months before the junior guardian is allowed to approach The Tractor and many years before he is allowed to use even a screwdriver.

As you can imagine, this strictness internally is reflected externally by the attitude of the guardians to the rest of the population of the island. Litter is sternly disapproved of and Troopers (as the junior ranks are known) can sometimes be somewhat arbitrary in dealing with the general population.

Another side effect of this is that conservatism as well as conservation pervades the organisation and they are sometimes reluctant to take new approaches in dealing with problems. They are exceptionally good at the routine and regular tasks of maintenance, eagerly undertaking the daily tasks of oiling and greasing, polishing, fuelling and so on. In an unfamiliar situation, however, it sometimes takes time to resolve a new problem.

On one occasion, the Tractor was ill, coughing and spluttering, weakened to the point that it was almost unable to plough and even sometimes stopping altogether and unwilling to start. Langanipa, a young (at that time), and therefore junior, mechanic watched as the older men tried all the routines they knew. They added fuel, changed the oil, air filter and tyres, cleaned the spark plugs and warmed the carburettor with a blow lamp but to no avail.

While he helped the senior mechanics, carrying oil and materials as he was told, he noticed a discoloration in the fuel line. To him, it was clear that this was dirt and sediment that would interfere with the flow of fuel and he asked for permission to speak. This was denied. He tried to explain his thoughts but the older men refused to listen to him so that, after several days, he was completely frustrated.

That night, while the senior men were in a meeting reviewing procedures and conferring with the readers of the Books, he went out to the tractor and, without permission, disconnected and flushed out the fuel line. Just as he completed the reassembly, he was caught in the act and arrested.

The fact that the problems with The Tractor were solved and that it now operated perfectly made no difference. He was disciplined severely with a week on short rations and extra menial duties and not allowed to go near The Tractor again for many months. Even though, when he was subsequently returned to Tractor duties, he proved to be one of the most able of the mechanics, his lapse has never been forgiven him. Langanipa remains a junior mechanic. He is consulted when difficult problems arise, but credit for his solutions always seems to end elsewhere.

The Guardians have always had to keep a record of the hours worked by The Tractor for the purposes of scheduling maintenance operations. At the start this was a fairly simple process, involving noting each day whether The Tractor had been used in the morning and in the afternoon. Over time, however, the recording has become progressively more detailed so that a modern log entry will occupy more than a page for each work session, with the time work started and ended, details of the work done, classified by type of activity and an account of any incidents or significant occurrences. A complete record is kept of the weather and the names of any Guardians who operated, serviced or approached the machine.

Maintenance scheduling is carried out on a long and short term basis so that, in addition to the prescribed daily routines, at each prescribed interval of operating hours, The Tractor is taken out of service and the maintenance operations described in the operating manual are meticulously carried out. If an oil change is required, the precise quantity needed is issued from the stores and the amount is measured again before it is poured into the filler pipe.

Much of this rigour results from the personality of Manaku Apu and his relationship to Our Granny. He was a very precise and authoritative man who would brook no deviation from his orders. His word was law among the Guardians and his officers and subordinates behaved in the same way. People were prepared to accept this because the Guardians had a direct link to Our Granny.

It was made clear that, if anyone fell foul of the Guardians, the full weight of Her anger would descend on them. Not that it was ever necessary: the Guardians were quite capable of enforcement on their own. The Troopers experience a stern discipline in which deviation is severely punished and they are more than ready to share it with others who cross their paths.

In general, this is very positive as people know that they must behave themselves. A person in the village caught stealing a chicken, for example, knows exactly what to expect if they get caught. Very few chickens are stolen in our village.

Occasionally, of course, this can go too far and that is very unfortunate. Drinking too much corn liquor is one of the persistent problems in the village. Some of the men who used to spend their time hunting find themselves with more time on their hands now that fields have replaced so much of the forest and they have a particular tendency to this vice. One of them made the mistake while drunk of arguing with some passing Troopers and, to cut a long story short, he died later that night of a ruptured spleen.

His family were very upset, especially as he was a very skilled hunter and normally a very quiet and peaceful person. They complained to the Head Guardian (this was after the death of Manaku Apu but the ethos of the Guardians has not changed). They were told that his wound was essentially self inflicted and that, in any case, he could not be brought back to life.

The Guardians sometimes come over and try to visit the Book Room. Officially this has not been permitted since that time that two young Troopers disagreed over one of the American magazines and a picture of Mae West was destroyed in the resulting fracas. It is, however, quite difficult to refuse them entry if they do turn up and the process for complaining about anything they do is, as one would expect, very complex.

Usually they do not cause any trouble and since the magazines have been locked away so that no-one except the Head Reader would be able to give them access, even these unofficial visits have become less frequent. A negative aspect of this is that their attitude to the Books has, if that is possible become even more dismissive.

I once attended a meeting between the Head Reader and the Guardians to present the translation of a passage on crop rotation.

“So. You say that the Books speak of rotating corn, beans and clover.” The Troop Lieutenant leading the Guardian contingent said. “Do we know any of these alternative crops?”

“The point is a more general one, I think.” The Chief Reader replied cautiously.

“Generalities are not what we require.” The Lieutenant was unimpressed. “If you have something to tell us about what to plant, then say so. You always come up with obscure and useless irrelevancies when what we need are facts.”

“The point is,” the Chief Reader answered patiently, “That this particular Book relates to a state called the Midwest where the crops they mention would thrive. We need to understand what the equivalent crops are for our climate and our fields.”

“Well as long as you don’t understand that, I do not think you should disrupt our important work with irrelevant and pointless meetings.”

The meeting came to an unsatisfactory conclusion, without the planting tests the Readers had hoped for. Of course, as yields decreased, something eventually had to be done. Over a period of years, the necessary experiments were carried out on a small scale and a satisfactory rotation of ground nuts, corn and pineapples was arrived at. The relationship between the Guardians and the Readers, with their different objectives and points of view will never be entirely smooth but, sicne each depends so much on the other, I am sure that they will always find a way to get along.

2. Halcyon days

The island was a wonderful place when the Americans were here. The old people tell how the Americans brought wonderful new types of food and drink to the island. The women were able to work for the Americans, in the fields and in their homes and tents. They were given jewellery and cloth.

The men had no need to go out to hunt in the jungle unless they wanted to. Our Granny sent her sons to work with the Americans too. At first, of course, the other men thought that this was madness. Our men had never worked in that disciplined way. Their time had been spent in the forest, hunting birds, preparing weapons, fighting with the other tribes on the island.

So when Our Granny’s sons went to the Americans and helped to clear the jungle and to care for The Tractor and the other machines the Americans had, it seemed to the other men like women’s work. Our Granny persisted. After a time it became clear that working with the Americans was a good life. A new age had come to the island.

Things were simple because, once our people had accepted the Americans, they had no worries. Their food was provided, their time was arranged, and their health was cared for. We were like the children of the Americans and they looked after us. We learned to sow crops and to reap the harvest and we learned some of the things that the Americans knew.

Our people started to care for The Tractor. They helped to wash it and to carry fuel from the underground storage tanks that they had helped to dig. They carried material to the airplanes as well and they built fires and helped to turn the forest into a stone road for the airplanes to run on before they took to the sky.

Perhaps the most important things that the Americans gave to us were new types of food. We had always gathered plants that grew on the island, but they taught us to plant  gourds and vines that were more tasty and appetising and grew in greater abundance so that some people thought they were new because they had never seen them before. Many of the plants they brought were really new, brought from their own country. Today we can eat bananas, coconuts, passion fruit, mangoes, pumpkins, yams, sweet potatoes, taro, corn, and sorghum. The fish we have always caught, but our people keep chickens and pigs now so that, with the help of The Tractor, our people need never be hungry.

In the days when the Americans were here, of course, there were far fewer people on the island. Much of the food that they gave to us was brought to the island by them so that the gardens we helped them to plant were not so important in those days. Our Granny could see, however, how important the gardens were and She was the one that saw how The Tractor turned over the soil to bury and kill the jungle plants that would otherwise grow in the garden and strangle the food plants before they could mature.

Even when I was a child myself and Our Granny was older, and then when She was gone, our life was much simpler. I think that childhood is always one-dimensional. Our parents care for us and protect us from the complexities that adults have to deal with and we all remember a time when life was purely good or bad. I remember taking lunch to my father as he worked in the fields with the Guardians of The Tractor. The crops were rich with corn taller than a man. The only questions in those days were how to make The Tractor more reliable.

Knowledge of The Books of Words that described how to operate The Tractor was limited and our people had not learned to decipher the text so that they relied on the pictures of the parts to maintain it. In many ways it is a miracle that, in those times, we did not destroy the riches we had inherited. Sometimes people say that they wish that the Americans had never left and that they were still here to look after us. I am not sure that I agree with that because if they were still here then we would still be children. In taking care of us, they would prevent us from standing as men in the world.

For many years after the Americans left, Our Granny was with us. She kept alive the knowledge that they had given to us directly and she made sure that we did not destroy The Books that were to be the key to the future as we learned to understand them. She ensured that the gardens were maintained – not the complete area that had been cultivated, but enough to keep the knowledge of the plants and how to grow them. Later as the population grew the gardens expanded again until, today, we have much more land under cultivation than ever before.

Our Granny knew that, when the tractor was sick, the operators looked at the pictures of the parts and saw how much oil to put into the sump and gearbox. She saw that the pictures were becoming dirty and faded and she ensured that they were copied. She understood that it was necessary to understand the words that were written in The Books. It was She who rewarded Ramus, the young man who first saw that the word ‘fuel’ was the same in The Books and on the filler cap of The Tractor and on the pump from the underground storage tank, by giving him the task of finding other words in The Books.  We owe everything to Our Granny because she kept our knowledge alive.

When I was a child everyone had his or her place. Each person knew what was expected of them and if there was doubt, the answers were much clearer when she could be asked directly. The operator knew that his job was to drive The Tractor and to plough and harvest. The fuel carrier knew that he was responsible for ensuring that it never ran out of fuel. The Guardians were prepared to defend it with their lives.

The crops flourished and gradually the island was brought under cultivation. People whose fathers and mothers had lived under rush shelters in the forest had comfortable houses in the village. There was food to eat and there were regular festivals to celebrate the new life on the island. I remember that the sun shone more in those days. Of course it must have rained, but I cannot say that I really noticed it.

You can say that it was not like that and I would have to agree with you. There must have been problems but childhood is always one dimensional. It is only as adults that we recognise the complex ramifications of life and that we understand that our parents protected us from what they must have faced themselves. We were kept safe by the structures of society so that maybe the issues that we face ourselves, unprecedented as they appear, are no more daunting than those that surrounded us, unseen, in the time we think of as being perfect.

As children, all we saw was the annual Thanksgiving picnic on Granny’s name day, when the corn had been harvested and it was time to celebrate. The Tractor, with its trailer, decked out in garlands of hibiscus flowers would come past the houses in the village to pick up the kids and take them to the newly mown field by the river. Every family brought its picnic and there were corn cakes and bananas, pineapple juice to drink and then games for the children; the foot races, the egg and spoon race and the sack race. 

A tarpaulin would be laid out over the dusty ground and the ritual of the blindfold bush would play itself out. Two at a time, the bigger boys would be blindfolded and lie on the green canvas. On the island we have an aromatic plant – by that I mean that when crushed it has a sweet smell like basil – with soft stems and leaves that grows in stalks about two and a half feet long. Each of the combatants is armed with one of these and the rules of the game are simple.

The lads must link their left hands. By turns then, one must shout ‘Here I am’. He may then move. Judging by the sound of his voice and the angle of the wrist, the other will try to hit him with his switch. There was no possibility of doing any damage. The leafiness of the plant prevented any serious contact. A direct hit could sting and the antics of the contest – attempts to crawl or roll out of the line of fire without moving one’s wrist or to make a sidelong blow along the ground always made it a popular spectacle.

There was singing and corn liquor so that someone always disgraced themselves and had to face the music next day. The dancing went on late into the night. Even I, who was no good at running and came last every time in the sack race thought that it was the greatest day of the year. All of the kids looked forward to the picnic for weeks before it came and talked about it for days afterwards.

A picnic like that would be impossible today of course. There are too many people of all types and a field that remote would not be considered safe from attack. I am not even sure that a modern child would enjoy it very much.

1. The Creation

When I was a small child, I was always told that the first wheel my grandfather saw was on an airplane.

At that time, a great war was being fought. It stretched over unimaginable distances and it touched our home and passed on. The airplane belonged to the tribe called the “Americans” and all the airplanes that we see today as they pass high overhead belong to them as well.

Today it is difficult to imagine the island as it was when the Americans were here. They took away with them nearly all of what they brought and even the giant stone slabs they laid for the airplanes have mostly been torn up to make way for crops or to build houses in our villages.

In some ways it is easier to think of the island as it was before the Americans came because there are still some parts of it that have not changed. Places too difficult to plough, where the forest grows uncontrolled and wild animals remain in the jungle. And you will see that these areas now have a significance to some of our people that far outweighs the space that they occupy.

The arrival of the Americans and their leaving are what created the island we know today. That and Our Granny. I need to explain, of course, that Our Granny is not literally our grandmother, the mother of one of our parents, although there are people on the island who claim that, for them, She was their actual grandmother, or at least the grandmother of one of their parents.

Our Granny was already a mother of adult children when the Americans came to us. It was She who learned to speak their language and decided who would work with them and who would learn from them. In the end, Our Granny was responsible for the decision to keep The Tractor on the island. One can only wonder, today, at how a woman who had never left her home could have managed the contact with a culture so foreign and imposing.

I have a photograph from that time. It lies on my table as I write, its edges charred by the fire, and it shows a lone American soldier surrounded by a group of women from our island. Their breasts are bare and they wear traditional paint on their faces. One of them might be Our Granny as She was on that day, it is not possible to say which. They range in age. Some are young girls; some look as if they are already old. There are three women of about forty years old, smiling and one must presume that, if Our Granny is shown in the photograph, She is one of those.

What we do know is that one of her sons was old enough to be the first of our men to learn to operate The Tractor. We know that when the Americans came and wanted help to clear the jungle and make the field for the airplanes, the men hid in the forest. It was Our Granny who first spoke to the Americans, who brought the men out of the forest to clear the airfield and who decided to learn their ways.

At this point, I know that you will be asking how I know all this. As a reader of this story you certainly wish to know whether what I am telling you is true or not. And here, I am afraid that I have to disappoint you. If, by truth, you mean something that correlates with objective external reality, then what I tell you in this account is certainly not all true.

Much of what I tell you comes from people’s memories of events that happened long ago. Some of them have a clear point of view that influences their recollections. Some of it is pure fantasy. The stories I have collected contradict each other so, almost by definition, some must be untrue. And yet each story, no matter how improbable, represents the truth for someone. Each story has its own consistency.

You should avoid the conclusion that because, somewhere along the line, the facts are wrong, the story is not true. Each story has a part of the truth and, adding these parts together, they somehow add up to a truth that goes beyond the facts; a truth that is deeper than the individual components.

That is the bargain that I make with you. I undertake to produce the best approximation to truth that I can. I will try to give you the means of finding your own truth in the stories I have collected. Beyond that you are on your own.

But I digress. The Americans came to our island. They found a place inhabited by hunter gatherers, living in the stone age, on the edge of extinction. To them, we were a ‘primitive’ people. Our women had never discovered the brassiere. Our men had never cultivated a crop or domesticated an animal. We had never found a use for the wheel. One woman, Our Granny, understood that the Americans had found a way to control their environment and She carried the rest of our people along with her and led them to the future.

How did She make contact with them? It is said that sex played a part in this. We have traditions of hospitality to strangers. After hundreds, perhaps thousands of years of isolation on remote islands, the view that bringing foreign fathers to island children was part of the recipe for survival. Certainly She had a child fathered while the Americans lived among us and he was different from the rest of the islanders. But his story comes later.

All that everyone agrees about is that Our Granny was the catalyst, that She was the one person who made it all happen. She was the first person to recognise that the Americans were human beings. The other thing that we have are the stories that we were told by our parents.

When the Americans first came nobody could tell what they were. They did not look like people. They were covered all over with a strange green colour and they came out of the sea in canoes that no one paddled. They had two legs but their bodies were distorted by boxes and lumps. Their heads were a different shape and their faces were a different color. They did not look like any person we had seen before.

They began to attack the trees and to set fire to the forest. No one had ever seen anything like that before either. Trees that had been in their places since before the oldest islander could remember were suddenly brought down by the onslaught. Our people could not believe that a tree that was as thick as three men could be defeated in a day.

The noise that they made was like nothing ever heard before. Thundering roars from engines and the sound of blows struck against the wood. The men hid in the forest and watched as the trees were hacked down like vines. Our Granny also watched. She saw that at least one of the Americans was a dark color like her. She thought that he looked like a human and when She saw that his face was like a person and not the strange shape it had been in the beginning, She realised that he was not a strange animal or another species.

Granny was the first person to speak to the Americans. She was wise and She saw that the power to bring the trees to the ground came from the axes and saws that the Americans had. That was her understanding.

So, after some time, She stopped hiding in the bushes and She went close to them and watched them and they did not harm her. They gave her food and She brought her sons and, eventually, her family to the Americans. They helped the Americans to move the trees and to bring the first airplanes to the island.

That is what the old people say.

They also say that Our Granny found an American hanging in a tree. They say that She was not afraid of the Americans because She was alone in the forest and She heard a voice and there was a man hanging in a tree. He had come down from the sky and he had ropes that, they say, still tied him to it. He was trapped in the tree but Our Granny cut the ropes and he fell from the sky and She helped him. He had been injured in the sky but She save his life. That is why She was not afraid of the Americans.

They say that Our Granny understood that the power of the Americans lay in axes and saws and that She saw they could change the land. Before the Americans, people would burn some forest and plant some vines. Our Granny knew that we would be able to plant fields with crops. That is what our parents told us. That She spoke to the Americans and knew all their ways from the beginning.

Others say that She lived with the Americans and that they made a field for the airplanes. Only when She saw that the American made gardens and learned how they planted vegetables did She understand the power of The Tractor. She brought the women to work in the fields with the Americans and She saw that The Tractor could do the work of a hundred of them. She had a black American lover and he taught her to plant aubergines and sweet potatoes and corn. He told her that The Tractor could turn the forest into food.

No one knows for certain what Our Granny knew. No one knows when She knew it. She saw that The Tractor was what gave the Americans power over the jungle. She persuaded her black lover to teach her son to operate The Tractor. She hid The Tractor in the jungle when the Americans left. Her lover left The Tractor when the Americans went away. And The Books that explained how the Tractor could be maintained and fed, with the pictures of The Tractor and how the plough and the generator and the blades could work with The Tractor.

Granny found the men who could learn from the Americans. She asked her lover to teach her sons to operate The Tractor and to understand The Books – at least the beginning of the Books. All began with Our Granny. She made us what we are. She allowed The Tractor to stay on the island to save us from hunger. And when we are no longer hungry, they say, The Tractor will go. Our Granny told us that The Tractor would be with us for a short time.

So the wise ones say.