Tears of the Moon (18 page)

The next day the Koepangers and Ahmed began work on the unopened shell before they went off to the foreshore camp. They had barely started when Olivia arrived, unannounced and unexpected. The three men stopped work when she pushed open the galvanised iron sliding door and stood silhouetted against the bright sunlight outside. For a moment she could see little in the dark interior, but as her eyes adjusted she took in the frozen tableau in a far corner of the shed—three men, some large metal drums, and a small mountain of bagged shell. The
men were sitting on tiny stools surrounded by piles of shell, some unopened. They stared in surprise at the sight of a white woman in their domain.

‘Apa kabar,’ said Olivia brightly, a greeting she had picked up from Ahmed before he had set out on the trip.

‘Ah, baik, baik, saja,’ responded Ahmed with delight. ‘Please come. Come see your shell.’

Olivia was instantly overwhelmed by the smell of stale oyster, then as she reached the group became aware of a fresher, saltier smell of the live oysters being opened. Ahmed offered her his stool and she sat down, looked over the pile before them, then picked up one of the oysters.

‘Good shell, mem.’

‘I’ll take your word for it, Ahmed.’ She turned the shell over in her hand, marvelling at its size. Most of the shells were the size of saucers or small dinner plates. She stroked it, feeling the roughness of the uncleaned shell that had nestled undisturbed in the muddy waters, marvelling that her life was now so closely linked to such an unlikely object. Whatever would they think in London, she thought and smiled. ‘Hard to imagine, looking at it now, that inside might be a lovely pearl.’

Ahmed took the plump shell and, using a broad flat knife, inserted it deftly into the muscle that held the two halves of the shell tightly together. Rolling his fingers into the rubbery visceral flesh enclosed in the fold of tissue known as the mantle, he pulled out a small, odd–shaped pearl. Being a baroque pearl, it was of little value, he explained but, nevertheless,
Olivia was delighted and fascinated by the strange creature revealed to her. She paid rapt attention as Ahmed identified the parts, using both the Malay and English words, which Olivia repeated carefully and committed to memory. The Koepangers began to feel relaxed with the white woman and chuckled at her studied repetition of the Malay words. Ahmed showed her the strong adductor muscles that joined the two half shells and the fringe of fine hairs which strained the water flowing into it, capturing the plankton and oxygen.

She tried her hand at opening a shell, an effort that reduced the crew to laughter as the shell remained stubbornly and tightly shut. This failed attempt caused several cuts to her hands, which she, too, laughed about.

‘Nothing serious,’ she said, wiping them with her handkerchief. ‘All part of the learning process, but I think I’ll leave this part of the operation to you.’

Olivia took to visiting the foreshore camp each day, sometimes bringing a tiffin carrier of food from her Chinese cook for the crew. It was an uncommon gesture and news of her deed travelled quickly through two communities. The whites who heard about it raised their eyebrows and pointed to the sun and muttered about ‘spoiling them’. The Asian pearling community accepted the gesture with puzzlement but respect; the new white lady in town was certainly a curiosity.

As part of the daily routine she arranged to pass on to Conrad the tally of the day’s work and the little bag of fairly ordinary pearls, mainly baroque, that
the shells yielded. The onshore work was completed a week after they arrived back in port. As Olivia left the shed that day, she wished the crew as much success on their next trip. While walking her to the door, Ahmed noticed an unopened oyster amid the debris on the floor and absently picked it up. He thanked her, as he always did, for the food.

‘Think nothing of it, Ahmed. It gives me an excuse to stay a little longer in the shed in the hope of being there when you find a really worthwhile pearl.’

‘Sorry, mem. Maybe next time,’ he said consolingly. He turned to walk back into the shed, then paused and pulled out his knife to open the oyster. He probed the flesh and knew the moment his fingers touched it that this was no ordinary pearl … it was a real gem. He rolled it around in his palm … a beautiful mellow gold–toned pearl of at least twenty– four grains, glowing with what seemed to be an inner light.

‘Ah, Allah is great,’ he whispered, then ran to the door and was about to call to Olivia, who was now down the track that led back into town, when he hesitated, pocketed the pearl, and threw the shell in a bag. The Koepangers exchanged glances, but said nothing.

Conrad was elated at the figures in his ledger and the collection of pearls which he kept in a small locked cash box that he took home each night.

‘On paper at least we’re doing nicely,’ enthused Conrad as he and Olivia made their way to the Continental Hotel where they often took lunch. ‘Of course, we have a lot of expenses coming up, crew
wages when they are paid off, boat repairs, and so on, but I must say things are looking up.’

Over lunch Conrad broached the subject of her visits to the camp. ‘It’s not really necessary, you know. Ahmed can be trusted to bring me the figures and so on.’

Olivia very deliberately took a spoonful of soup before replying. ‘I know he could, Conrad, but as I’ve said before I’m part of this business and I’m learning quite a lot. The men have taken to telling me a lot of stories about pearling and pearlers. Some of them are funny, some of them very tragic. It’s really fascinating, Conrad, and I want to keep doing it.’

Conrad felt awkward. Some chaps at the club had made a couple of remarks about her visits to the shell camp which clearly indicated that town gossips were at work. ‘It’s just that, well, some people find it a bit odd, dear.’

‘I imagine they do, but they will have to get used to it,’ said Olivia determinedly, then changed the subject. ‘That Ahmed is an impressive man. I’d trust him with my life, I think.’

Conrad took up the theme, glad to avoid any further tension with his wife. ‘He’s certainly devoted to John and works very hard. Funny business though, he doesn’t seem to want much for himself. Probably has something to do with being a Muslim. He’s always praying. Bit off–putting, I must say. John saved his life, you know. I suppose that’s why he is so devoted to him.’

During the following week Tyndall and Ahmed made changes to the rigging and storage on the lugger, innovations they devised from experience at sea and actually working the boat for the first time. Before setting out on the next trip Tyndall and Conrad asked Olivia to join them at the Continental for lunch.

‘An unexpected pleasure, Captain Tyndall,’ said Olivia after they had ordered and the waiter had poured glasses of champagne.

‘For me as well, it’s a special occasion.’

‘Oh, then that explains the champagne. But what is the excuse for such a midday extravagance?’

Tyndall reached into his pocket and passed a small cloth pouch to Olivia. ‘The first return on your investment,’ he said nonchalantly.

She looked at Conrad who was smiling. ‘Well, open it,’ he urged her.

Olivia picked up the bag and shook out into the palm of her hand a large pearl set in a gold ring. She gasped.

‘Ahmed found it. Said it was in the last shell he opened,’ explained Conrad. ‘We all agreed that you should have it.’

Olivia looked at them both in gratitude, momentarily lost for words. She slipped the ring on to her right hand, admired it, then looked at them both. ‘It’s so lovely. Thank you both very much. And Ahmed.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

O
livia had taken to walking along the seafront at sunset, watching the red ball of the sun slip into the brilliant turquoise waters of Roebuck Bay. The colour of the water fascinated her as did the activity around Streeter’s Jetty, a straggling long wooden wharf, built by the English pearler of that name, through the mangroves near the path that led to the three native wells east of Dampier Creek when the town was still a bush settlement. It was here that the luggers offloaded their hauls. When the great drop of the tide ran out, the luggers rested on their rounded beams. To Olivia it was as if some hurricane or tidal wave had swept through, tossing the sturdy boats to one side as it passed.

There was always activity around the area as the crews swarmed about the boats either unloading or preparing for sea. Olivia knew she was being watched with suspicion and curiosity by the many
races working, shouting and singing as they went about sailmaking, repairing, sorting shell, loading and offloading cargo. But they gradually became used to the beautiful white lady who, unlike the other white women, wandered amongst them watching everything with interest, exchanging shy smiles with them and greeting them in Malay.

One sunset on the full tide she saw the
Bulan
sail back in with Tyndall at the helm. She walked the length of the jetty as they moored. Seeing her, Tyndall raised his skipper’s hat, giving her a salute and a thumbs-up sign. ‘How did you know I was coming in? You just knew I’d made a good haul and thought you’d check up on your investment, eh?’

Olivia laughed. ‘Pure coincidence, I can assure you, although Ahmed did say this morning that you were due any day now. He’s kept tabs on the shed, the sorting and packing and all the other details. Though I think he missed being at sea this trip. How did you do? Is there reason to break out the champagne?’

He hauled on one of the mooring lines to get the boat closer to the jetty, then extended his hand to help her on board. ‘We did well enough. Conrad will be able to write up another tidy profit in those immaculate records of his.’

Not wanting to accept any implied slight on her husband, Olivia leapt to his defence. ‘Immaculate they should be. That’s the only way to run a business. Efficiently.’

Tyndall threw up both hands in mock defence. ‘I’m sorry. No slight intended. You are right of
course. It’s just that I’ve never been that keen on bookkeeping. Come have a look in the hold.’

The two Koepangers had already unlashed the canvas over the hold and on a word from Tyndall quickly removed the thick planks that made up the hatch. The hold was packed with bagged shell but the smell made Olivia put a hand to her nose.

‘We found a good patch of shell but I think we’re on to the last of it. One more trip should clean it out.’

They moved aft and went below into the cabin.

‘My goodness,’ exclaimed Olivia in surprise, ‘It’s remarkably tidy.’

‘The only way to run a ship, I reckon.’ He grinned, then added mockingly, ‘Efficiently.’

Olivia stiffened slightly and turned to find him smiling at her. ‘Point taken,’ she said graciously and sat on one of the two bunks. ‘I rather think I would like to come on the next voyage.’

Tyndall was stunned. ‘Whatever for? It’s … ’ He was momentarily lost for the right word. ‘Well, it’s boring … uncomfortable … not the done thing.’

‘Not the done thing,’ she echoed. ‘My goodness, you sound like Conrad in one of his conservative moods. But I have heard of pearling masters’ wives going to sea at times and in any case I don’t think it would be boring and I can quite easily cope with discomfort … as you well know, Captain Tyndall.’

Tyndall changed tack to what he confidently believed was a safe course. ‘All right, if Conrad agrees, then you can come. Now, let’s get ashore and
let the crew get on with the unloading. I want to get back to sea in a few days.’

Conrad was bemused at Olivia’s suggestion that she sail on the next trip of the
Bulan
and was taken aback when he realised she was serious. ‘Out of the question. Dangerous, uncomfortable and not the done thing. Not the done thing at all.’