20. The Feast

Bahla had been allocated a seat on the Gardener’s platform so I attended the inaugural match with Langanipa and his wife, Fasi. We had arranged to find seats in the Barbecue area and Bahla would join us when the formal drinks were over so, as soon as the trestle tables had been set up, Langanipa and I grabbed some chairs and bagged places at the end of one of the corner tables.
Langanipa was in high spirits because of the success of his generator. The whole project had been a challenge, from making sure that the water wheel was ready in time to the procurement and reconditioning of the generator itself. It had been abandoned when the Americans left and he had had to do a great deal of research (with Bahla’s help) to find the correct techniques to get it working. The two of them now knew more about electricity than anyone else in the village.

His wife took a far less sanguine view of the proceedings and was consumed by the injustice of Langanipa not having been mentioned in the course of the demonstration.
“That little pipsqueak Bambafama” She declaimed loudly “Wouldn’t recognise a generator if he fell over one. And as far as connecting it to a spotlight, he is as ignorant as a newly hatched chicken. I cannot believe that they would have that whole show, listening to the tractor and everything and not even mention your name.”

“Calm down, Fasi. Calm down.” Langanipa responded. “You know that having one’s name mentioned is not significant. The important thing is that they have done something positive. You would not believe how many parties and dinners Bambafama will have had to attend to get his name mentioned. Can you imagine all those boring evenings spent buttering people up? Far rather him than me. And anyway, they did give credit to the team at the river. That’s us, you know.”

“But the whole Village thinks that Bambafama was the one who did it. That just isn’t fair.”
“And I care what the Village thinks?” Langanipa laughed. “The only people I care about know the part I played and the rest can think what they like. I wonder what’s keeping Bahla. It’s not like him to hang about at a reception and we had better stir ourselves and get some food before the termites finish it all. Come on Tommu.”

We set off for the barbecue pits where plates were being piled high with slices of roast pork, taro and sweet potatoes. We collected a cob of roasted corn and pitchers of beer and as we walked back to rejoin Fasi, Langanipa told me how well the generator was performing.
“The Americans used it to create power for the whole airbase, you know. But with no engine to drive it, it had been mouldering away outside. We had to rebuild the bearings and clean up all the electrical contacts with fine sand. They had left a stock of electric lamps in the hangar and I can imagine a time when a good proportion of the houses in the Village can have electrical lighting. And all without consuming any fuel at all.” He winked at me mischievously.

“And the famous Lieutenant Bambafama?” I asked. “Exactly what did he have to do with it?”
“In practical terms, nearly nothing.” Langanipa smiled. “But tonight’s little show was entirely his achievement and he was the one who convinced Paitor to let me have the generator. So Fasi is not being entirely fair when she says he doesn’t deserve any credit. And he is my bosses’ boss so if I can generate some trophies for him, he will keep letting me do good things.”

We arrived back at the table and sat down. Bahla was still not there but, about ten minutes later, he arrived.
“Sorry to take so long.” He apologised.
“The chief’s rum more attractive than us, eh?” Langanipa teased him.
“Not at all.” Bahla replied. “On the contrary, there was general consternation up their. Lailavu has collapsed with a heart attack. He’s dead.”

“Oh My Granny” Fasi exclaimed. “But he looked so big and healthy.”
“Big isn’t always better, you know.” Bahla replied. “The Gardeners live far too well and all that weight puts a strain on the heart. They don’t live long, in general, and it seems that Laialavu has been having pains in his chest for months. Anyway, Tahmo Lukuni has taken over and is organising everything. He has already said that Our Granny’s plan to drain the wetlands by the river will go ahead, and that no-one is to worry about their jobs.”

“That’s pretty quick off the mark.” Langanipa looked up from his plate.
“Well Tahmo isn’t one to hang about. Once he has made up his mind, things happen.”
“Wouldn’t they have had to ask Our Granny? Appointing the new Head Gardener is her decision, after all.” Fasi seemed quite worried by the speed of events.
“I gather that Our Granny generally approves things after the event.” Bahla smiled. “The Gardeners will tell you that they have been trained by Her, perfectly to anticipate her wishes and wisdom. In any case, Tahmo Lukuni is very much in charge.”

We ate for a while in silence then, just as we were finishing our meal a noisy band of young football fans joined our table. They had been drinking and were carrying pitchers of corn beer and plates piled high with food. They were discussing the merits of some young woman.

“Did you see her?” One of them was saying. “She’s had one too many. She can hardly walk. I’m going to go over and see if I can get in there.”
“Only because she wouldn’t talk to you if she was sober.” One of his friends laughed. “Even when she’s had a few, you don’t stand a chance. No one could get drunk enough to look twice at you.”
“Speak for yourself.” Came the answer. “She wouldn’t be seen dead with you and that shows she’s got good taste. She was talking to me this afternoon and she told me to come over and say hello. I’m in with a chance now. And they’re draining the swamp, so there’ll be cash to pay for things next year.”

“You think they’ll take you on to drain the swamp? After they fired you from the stadium?” One of the other boys interjected. “They want people who will work, not people who lie about the whole day.”
“They took me back, didn’t they? They should be grateful that I’m even thinking of applying.”
They looked around belligerently and began to gobble their plates of food, shovelling meat and potatoes into their mouths at a great pace. One of them sat slumped over on the bench, leaning on one side against his mates. Suddenly he half rose to his feet.

“I don’t feel very well.” He mumbled, leant forward and vomited onto the centre of the table. His friends leapt out of the way, shouting.
“You filthy pig.” “How do you expect us to eat now.” “We’ll have to find a new table.” They stood up. Leaving their half eaten plates on the table and, taking their beer with them, they weaved drunkenly away.

“Time to call it a night, I think.” Said Langanipa. “Let’s take a slow walk back to the Village.”
We set out across the fields for home.
“What a complete waste.” Langanipa continued. “And that is the sort of person that Lailavu – and now Tahmo – are making work for. Pay them this money and all they do is get drunk and disgusting!”

“Better than not paying them and having them running round stealing and beating people up.” Said Bahla. “You can’t let them starve and at least it will give them something to do with themselves.”
“I suppose so.” Langanipa agreed. “But I wish they’d have the decency to learn how to behave.”
“Yes.” Fasi concurred. “I suppose we have to feed them but, as long as they are getting the benefit of The Tractor, they could at least show some respect.”

“It’s a big problem.” Bahla added. “A lot of the families that have come into the Village have no concept of living in a group. The parents know about hunting and finding food in the forest and perhaps growing a small patch of taro. They come here and there is nothing for them to do. The Guardians can only take on a limited number. There’s only so much work in Our Granny’s gardens and most of them don’t know how to do that. The men don’t want to plant things – they think it’s beneath them – and yet we have to look after them.

If we don’t want them to spend their whole time drinking and fighting then we just have to find things for them to do. Clearing the swamp is as good a thing as any. I’ve listened to this discussion in a hundred council meetings.”

“Well they should make them do something useful.” Langanipa growled. “Send some down to me and they can help build dams and dig ditches.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Langanipa.” Bahla cautioned. “I’m not sure you’d be all that happy with the responsibility for managing a dozen assorted delinquents.”
“Well just send me the good ones.”
“That’s what everyone says.” Bahla patted his friend’s shoulder. “But I’ll do my best not to send you the worst ones when the time comes.”

We reached their house and Langanipa and Fasi bade us good night and went indoors. I turned to Bahla.
“Fasi seemed a bit out of sorts tonight.” I said. “Is there something wrong?”
“Nothing we can help with, I’m afraid. She’s worried about her niece and the court case.”
“I’d heard something about that, but why is she so concerned?”
“She’s closer than a normal niece.” Bahla replied. “More like a daughter really. Langanipa and Fasi brought her up after her mother died. Everyone was very happy when she married one of Our Granny’s Gardeners but now that everything seems to have gone wrong, it seems as if that makes it even worse.”

“How so? I thought that, as a Gardener’s wife she would have the best of everything. As much food as she can eat, the best clothes. What is the court case about?”
“I’m not sure of the exact details. You’d have to ask Langanipa or Fasi. But in essence, I believe that it is really about whether she is allowed to own her own property and work or not.”
“But surely,” I said, “There are dozens of women who work in the fields weeding and hoeing and bringing in the crops.”
“Yes. But not Gardener’s wives. And they don’t want to become Readers.”