37. Captain (Rtd.)

I would not wish anyone to think that my disagreement with Bahla regarding what testimony should be admitted to my records was acrimonious in any way. In fact, it was an ongoing debate over the whole time that the book developed and I was happy to consult him on each new interviewee.

We decided early on that I should attempt to speak to Captain Hasiki, recently retired from the Guardians, but finding a suitable representative to speak for the Gardeners was more problematical.

“You could apply to speak to Lomu,” Bahla said, “and I am sure that he would be eager to talk to you. You would, however, probably have to give him complete control of the output. I think your book would be even shorter than if you only put in things you could prove. In fact, I think it would spell the end of your ideas of allowing anyone else at all to say something.”

“Who else might I consult, do you think?” I felt that some reflection of the Gardeners was an important element in the story but, as Bahla had surmised, I wanted to preserve some balance and objectivity.

“I don’t know,” Bahla answered, “you’ve been living in Our Granny’s house and you know far more of them than I do. The only other Gardener that I have had contact with in the last few years was Manla Kulu, Iliva’s husband, and even if you could have interviewed him, his views would have been limited to what went on in the taverns and drinking clubs.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead.” Manla Kulu’s overused liver had finally given up the unequal struggle against a Gardener’s unlimited supply of rum and corn liquor so the suggestion was purely academic. “Isn’t there anyone else you can think of?”

“How about Manaku Jim?” Bahla said thoughtfully. “He may not be a Gardener, but he has had his fingers in an awful lot of pies over the years.”
“Manaku Jim! What a stroke of genius. And I’m not female, so I won’t even have to sleep with him!”

“Don’t count on that. From what I hear it’s not a given. But thinking about it, there might be another option for a Gardener. I haven’t come across him since the Trading Expedition, but there was a second Gardener there as well as Lomu. He never said very much but he struck me as a thoughtful type. I can’t remember his name; Nemmo, Nerrow. Something like that.”

“Might it have been Netto?” I asked. “I’ve met someone called Netto in Our Granny’s gardens. Quiet as you describe him and I think he has quite a senior position in the Gardeners’ court system.”
“Yes. Netto. That was the name. How about him?”

So it was agreed that I would attempt to speak to Hasiki, to Manaku Jim and to Netto. We talked at some length about the Shadows but without reaching a conclusion. I felt that their point of view needed some explanation but, as Bahla pointed out, they had probably not forgotten that it was me, immediately after the fire, who had identified Senn.

I didn’t fancy the idea of finding out whether he was right or not. In the end, we decided to make do with the explanation that Bahla had received in the jungle from the man captured by the Trading Expedition.

With nothing to be gained by delay, I made my way next morning up the hill to Hasiki’s mansion at the top of the Village. It was a pleasant walk, although I could not help noticing that several houses along the way were boarded up or burned out, the result of sporadic attacks by the Shadows, even in the heart of the town.

Looking back down the hill, it was clear that the regular cultivation of the land had been disrupted. The Tractor was ploughing a field beyond the derelict shell of the hangar and I could see the heavily armed platoon protecting it as it worked. Further off, some of the fields were now fallow because resources had been diverted from farm work to the military effort.

I had not spent any time up in the plantations since I collected my things after the fire and moved into the Guardians’ accommodation at Our Granny’s house. I wondered how my palm trees were surviving. If we could not protect the fields near the Village and keep them cultivated, it seemed improbable that the much more vulnerable areas reclaimed from the jungle would have survived the war unscathed.

Hasiki lived in a walled compound reserved for the very wealthy. When I knocked on the gate, a cover slid aside and a voice from inside asked me for my name and business. When it emerged that I did not have an appointment I was almost sent away but, after explaining that this was a personal call, I was told to wait, which I did for perhaps half an hour. I had brought my notebook with me and spent the time checking through the questions I intended to ask and planning in my mind the explanation that I hoped would persuade Hasiki to speak to me.

When, eventually, the door in the gate opened, I entered a grassy space around which neat houses stood, each with its own distinct garden. Trees had been planted at intervals around the edges of the square and a servant with shears was trimming the rich, green lawn.

On a bench at the top of the square, Hasiki himself was waiting for me. He was dressed in sports clothes, short and slim, and he stood to greet me with a smile.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Tommu.” He said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone and I’ve just got back from my run. I try to make it a rule to do five miles every day and I don’t like to break the routine.”
“Yes. I haven’t been about much. I kept my head down while I was up at Our Granny’s house, and with my father’s health not what it was, I’m living down with him now.”

“How is the old man?” Hasiki sounded genuinely concerned, “He must be getting on a bit.”
“He turns seventy next birthday and the last five years haven’t been kind. His legs are going and he’s prone to minor illnesses – colds and such – that seem to turn into more than they should. But his mind is still sharp as an arrow. He sends his regards to you.”

“Return mine to him.” Hasiki smiled. “Now tell me what I can do for you. I’m sure that your visit isn’t just an accident.”
“I’ve started writing a book, sir. It’s a type that the Americans call ‘history’ and it tries to tell the story of our island. My friend, Bahla, has told me about the Trading Expedition and we thought that you would be the person who could tell us most about the war and particularly the last five years.”

“Hmmm. Interesting idea; but I’m not sure that it would be wise to go on record with some of the things I’ve seen. Even now that I’ve retired from the service, I think that our friends in Our Granny’s Garden might be a bit sensitive if I were to say something that could be interpreted as criticism.”
“I wouldn’t be asking you for opinions, sir. Just facts – things that no-one could dispute or argue about.”
“How old are you, Tommu?” Hasiki looked at me curiously.
“Just fifty, sir. Why do you ask?”

“Two years older than me.” Hasiki laughed, “and yet you obviously have a lot to learn about politics. To a Gardener, facts are the most dangerous things there are. People have a tendency to believe them.
Even half truths are powerful weapons, and the whole truth is sometimes unstoppable. I’m not sure that it would be safe for either of us to trust you with actual facts.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see how the Gardeners, dedicated as they are to Our Granny’s Truth, could possibly object to facts and truth if that is what someone tells people.”

“I’m not sure how to explain this, Tommu.” Hasiki thought for a while, then continued, “You must have thought a lot about Our Granny?”
“Not really. She has always been there, I suppose, since before we were born. One doesn’t have to give her much thought. That is the work of the Gardeners.”
“Exactly. And according to the Gardeners, Our Granny is very wise and what she says is always right and correct. And yet, sometimes things happen because of what She has said that look far from wise.”
“Yes sir. I suppose that is because the Gardeners sometimes make mistakes in interpreting what She has said.”

“Spot on, again, Tommu.” Hasiki was reaching some sort of significant conclusion. “Now I want to be very clear that what I am about to say is not my own opinion. Quite the contrary. But there are people, much more cynical than I am, who have suggested that sometimes what the Gardeners say has very little to do with Our Granny and what She thinks. It will probably shock you as much as it shocks me to know that there are even some people who think that the Gardeners make up the judgements and decrees that they say come from Our Granny. People who say that, since She is no longer available to ask, the Gardeners can say anything they like in Her Name, and that no-one can tell the difference.”

“I see.” I looked at Hasiki thoughtfully. “You’re right. If that idea was widely believed, the whole life of the Village might fall apart. No-one would listen to the Gardeners or know what to do.”
“Indeed. And we’ve just agreed that the idea is a complete fabrication. But if a fantasy like that could be so destructive, think about what an inconvenient fact might be able to do. It should be no surprise that it is facts that are most to be feared.”

“Very well, then.” I countered. “I can see that you might not wish to talk to me about the facts of our island’s recent past. As you say, that might be something people could object to. But what about stories? Perhaps it might be possible for us to discuss how things might have been; things that are not true, or that you have not seen but that you might speculate about. Would you be able to tell me about them?”
“Interesting thought, Tommu, interesting thought.” Hasiki chuckled. “Are there any particular areas that interest you?”

“I’m not sure, actually. I thought I was going to ask you for facts and figures on the Guardians, the development of the service over the course of its history and so on. I’d have to think again about the sort of things we could cover under these new rules.”
“You’re right,” Hasiki said, “perhaps we both need to think this over. Why don’t you come back tomorrow, a bit later so that I can get my run out of the way, and let’s see what we’ve come up with.”