The Birthmark

  Beth Montgomery grew up in Melbourne.

  She worked as a teacher in the

  Pacific Islands and is married with

  two children. The Birthmark

  is her first novel.

  the birthmark

  beth montgomery

  text publishing melbourne australia

  The Text Publishing Company

  Swann House

  22 William Street

  Melbourne Victoria 3000

  Australia

  www.textpublishing.com.au

  Copyright © Beth Montgomery 2006

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  First published in 2006

  Design by Chong

  Map by Bill Wood

  Typeset in 10.5/14.7 Minister by J&M Typesetting

  Printed and bound by Griffin Press

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Montgomery, Beth, 1965– .

  The birthmark.

  ISBN: 1 921145 33 1.

  ISBN 13: 978 1 921145 33 9

  I. Title.

  A823.4

  This project was assisted by the Commonwealth Government through

  the Australian Council, its art funding and advisory body.

  To Jezeloni, in memory of Yesterday

  THE ISLAND OF TEVUA, PACIFIC OCEAN

  Table of Contents

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  acknowledgments

  one

  Anbwido District

  30 August 1942

  Tepu disliked them from the moment he saw them. They had pale faces and thin bones. Their uniforms were light brown and contrasted with their black boots which had separate big toes. It made them look cloven-hoofed, like devils. They shouted at him, rushed at him, told him to get off his bicycle, at least that’s what Tepu thought they were saying.

  He jumped from the frame and let the bike weave and wobble towards them. The first soldier caught it just as it was about to fall. He righted it, then mounted the bike himself and rode off in jerky movements in the direction Tepu had just come from.

  Tepu picked himself up from the road and shouted out after him, ‘My bicycle! It’s my bicycle!’

  His insolence was met with a sharp blow to the face. The other two soldiers shouted at him and forced his head down.

  That’s how Tepu learnt to bow.

  Rumours spread all over the island. Some said the soldiers were marines who had come for the phosphate. Others said it was to do with the war and that Tevua was to be a strategic Japanese outpost in the middle of the Pacific. Tepu doubted that story. They were too far away from other islands for a start, and it was unsafe for ships; the reef was broad and treacherous, without easy access to the shore. Lacking a natural harbour, Tevua was worthless as a military centre.

  It was true that their island was full of phosphate, so Tepu thought this rumour was more likely. He hoped they would just take what they needed, then go. After all, what would the Japanese want with the people here?

  Tepu knew they were dangerous. He decided to visit the leper colony to warn Edouwe and her family about the evil invaders and to tell her to be vigilant.

  The colony was only ten minutes walk from his village, Anbwido. Set above the sloping beaches of the southeast of Tevua, at the edge of Baringa Bay, it consisted of twelve small bush huts and a clinic. Coconut palms and beach almonds fringed the camp and large coral pinnacles stood at the tide line like ancient stone statues.

  He’d first met Edouwe on the beach there last year. Her shy smile had captivated him. Like most Tevuans, she was short and thickset with soft, rounded features. Her thick wavy hair fell to her waist, but was always held back from her face with a shell comb.

  Tepu wondered if she would ever take any notice of him, a foreigner. Tepu’s family were from the Gilbert Islands, a thousand miles east, and the physical differences were obvious. The Gilbertese were taller and leaner than the Tevuans, their noses more prominent, and their hair was straight. There had been marriages between the two groups before, so Tepu thought he might have a chance.

  Over the months, he’d made a point of fishing near the leper camp regularly, and they’d begun to talk. She was only fifteen, and even though she was not a leper herself, she was staying at the camp to look after her grandparents who had been sick with leprosy for many years.

  Tepu had few relatives left alive on Tevua since the drought in the mid-1930s. Most had returned to the Gilbert Islands during those long years of hardship. Now his mother and younger brother were all that remained after his father had been lost at sea in a storm two years ago. Neither his body nor the canoe had ever been found.

  In recent months Edouwe’s grandparents had become like a second family to Tepu, sharing their stories, food and tobacco. He brought them fresh fish whenever he was successful with his net.

  As he neared the leper colony, Tepu could see smoke from the kitchens rising against the background shimmer of the sea.

  ‘Tepuariki, come and eat!’ Edouwe’s grandmother called out from the shade of one of the huts. He waved and hurried towards her. The old woman greeted him and offered him some dried fish. Even in the shadows he could see the gnarled pink knobs that were once her fingers, clasping the bowl awkwardly.

  Tepu knew leprosy was the natural consequence of offending the island spirits. It was known on Tevua as the sickness of rotting flesh and it was a sad fate for those who had been cursed with it, but it was nothing to fear.

  He smiled at her and ate some of the fish. He couldn’t imagine what she had done to earn the island spirits’ wrath.

  ‘What news, Tepu?’ she asked.

  He told her about the Japanese, how they had stolen his bike and shouted at him. ‘Many more have now come to Tevua. They have guns and swords and some of them have beaten people, rounded them up and forced them to move to the other side of the island,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe, Mele,’ he warned, looking around as if the enemy were nearby. ‘Where is Edouwe? She must stay with you all the time and not walk to town alone.’

  ‘She’s gathering coconuts on the far side of Anbwido. She’ll return soon.’ The old woman nodded to reassure him.

  Tepu hoped she was right. He didn’t want anything to happen to Edouwe, not just because he admired her, but especially since he had begun to think that she was also fond of him. He had seen the shine in her eyes, caught the gentle smile she sent his way and his heart swelled.

  Lotus Restaurant

  Anbwido

  Friday 25 June 2004

  Hector hunched over his plate of meat and rice, shovelling it into his mouth in neat handfuls. The Chinese couple who ran the tin shed restaurant watched him from behin
d the counter. Oblivious to their attention, he wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

  He wanted to hunt for chickens in the forest between the restaurant and Government Settlement. He knew the area well: all the bush tracks, who lived in which house, all the rocks, trees and coral pinnacles that formed natural hiding spots. Some would say he knew the area too well. It was a great place to catch chickens because the ‘expats’ were hardly ever home, and if they were, they didn’t lay claim to any of the chickens wandering around. It was unlike other parts of the island where an angry householder would catch you by the neck if you poached one of their fowls.

  Footsteps at the restaurant entrance made Hector look up. It was Lily Fasiti, the girl he’d thought about too much lately. She strode in and made her way to the counter, her thongs slapping loudly on the worn lino.

  ‘One fish rice!’ she called to the cooks, then turned and surveyed the room, stark with its pale blue walls and scrubbed laminated tables. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Hector in the corner.

  ‘Looking for flies in your black bean meat?’ she asked.

  Hector chuckled and felt his face blush. Why was she talking to him? He hardly knew her, except as an easy target to throw things at on the school bus. He was even more surprised when she slumped into the bench opposite him and sighed. Too afraid to look directly at her for long, he glanced up and noticed her eyes. They were heavy and bloodshot.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he asked, unsure of what else to say.

  ‘Same as always.’

  Hector nodded, even though he had no idea what she meant. He was aware of her watching his thin fingers picking at the rice. He wondered what to say next. He’d never really had a conversation with a teenage girl before. They all thought he was hideous. The scar on his face made sure of that; everyone winced the first time they saw him. His grandfather always said it was because people imagined the pain he must have endured having his face savaged by a dog. Hector knew it was because he looked revolting.

  More and more self-conscious, he stared at his food in an effort to hide his scar from Lily. But she didn’t seem to care. Perhaps because in her own way she was just as disfigured as he was. Her left hand was stained purple, all the way to the elbow. Hector used to think it looked weird, but after seeing it so often he’d almost forgotten about it. No one, however, got used to his face.

  Lily shifted uneasily on the bench, looked around and drummed her fingers against the tabletop.

  ‘What’s wrong, you hiding from someone?’ he asked. She took a long time to answer. ‘Yeah, maybe,’ she said finally in an amused tone. ‘Maybe you can help me escape.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Are you going looking for things today?’ she asked him quietly.

  Hector was startled by her question. What did she mean, looking for things, thieving maybe? ‘I’m looking for chickens,’ he said defensively.

  ‘Who with?’ she asked. It was a dumb question. Everyone knew Hector was usually alone.

  ‘Just me—want to come?’

  ‘What would I do with a chicken?’ she laughed. ‘Yeah, why not? Let’s go.’ She slid out from the bench and walked to the entrance.

  ‘Don’t you want your food?’ Hector said.

  ‘Forget it.’

  Hector pushed his plate aside and ran after her.

  The cook scurried out from behind the counter waving a wooden spoon. ‘Pay! Pay! You no pay!’ she howled as she charged to the door. But the two of them had vanished into the protection of the forest.

  ‘Hurry, she’ll catch you!’ Hector shouted. He’d overtaken Lily in just a few strides, his skinny legs used to fleeing. ‘She’s right behind you,’ he teased, knowing full well that the Chinese woman had given up pursuing them. Lily crashed through the undergrowth behind him, a look of terror on her face.

  Hector stopped running and doubled up with laughter. ‘What’s so funny?’ she screeched, almost bowling him over in her effort to escape.

  ‘She won’t follow—they never do.’

  She pushed Hector so hard that he toppled sideways. ‘Ngaitirre! Don’t trick me—ever,’ she swore.

  He was still laughing when he hit the ground and Lily laughed too then.

  ‘Where are we going, chicken boy?’ she asked, breathless.

  ‘Along the Witch Track. If you cut through the bush you come out near Government Settlement.

  ’ ‘Why go there? White people don’t have any chickens.’

  ‘No, but that’s where all the best Tevua chickens go.’ ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they like the white people, they like vanilla better than chocolate.’

  She laughed at his little joke as they walked along the track. Hector listened to her throaty chuckle. It made him feel good to think that she accepted him. She didn’t treat him like dog shit. She could look him in the eye and not turn away.

  After a few minutes he led her off the trail onto a thickly forested rise. Bean trees heavy with drops of moisture hung over the main canopy of tree hibiscus and the occasional coconut. Inside, the light was dim, and Hector could only see specks of blue through the forest above. He stopped at the base of a bean tree. The spreading buttress of the tree was like the back of an armchair; he sat and leant against it.

  ‘Sit first,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To listen. You have to listen and be still. Then you know where they are.’

  He looked up at her legs, marked with scars. He’d often admired their strength and tone. He liked the chains of colourful beads and the black rubber rings from oilcans that covered her ankles. He liked her honey-brown skin; it was a shade lighter than most Tevuans. He liked her round unblemished face and he liked her fearlessness. He liked a lot about this girl. If only she knew. He turned his head before she could see his face darken.

  Lily moved away from him, crouched to pick up a small stick and started to scratch in the black soil.

  ‘Sssss,’ he hissed at her, ‘can’t hear them scratch when you’re scratching, too.’

  Lily spat in the dirt, then curled her top lip at him. Just like her mum, Hector thought, that mean woman from the Works Department.

  ‘Bastard!’ she said laughing, and she threw the stick at him.

  ‘Suh! Sit down and shut up.’

  She sat and pulled her skirt tightly over her knees. Knees for me, Hector smiled, then turned away. He had to switch from looking at her to hunting.

  He stared into the scrub behind the buttress. Black and copper shadows and outlines of tangled forms whispered to him. He watched for falling leaves above and the movement of small black crabs in the dappled undergrowth below. Silence grew easily between them.

  ‘Listen to the forest,’ he murmured.

  Soon, into the silence came the gentle rhythmic flicking of black soil onto dry leaves. Hector rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a coil of string and a pocketknife. Lily frowned at him. He tilted his head towards the scrub, indicating the approaching quarry.

  ‘They’re here. Go get a young coconut,’ he whispered, pointing to a nearby clump of shoots. ‘But quiet, and hurry.’

  She uprooted the nearest seedling and shook the soil away from the husk.

  Hector set to work unravelling the string to make a snare. He crept into the clearing and placed the trap on the ground, covering it with dead leaves and loose soil.

  As Lily brought the coconut over, the scratching noises stopped. The hens were suspicious. Hector took the coconut from Lily and prised open the brown husk with his knife. He stuck his blade in the pale yellow spongy kernel and discarded the rest of the seedling. He snapped off a chunk of kernel then held the rest out for Lily to take some.

  ‘Spit it out, don’t eat it all,’ he whispered.

  ‘It smells like soap, but it tastes so sweet,’ she said as she chewed. Then she copied Hector and spat the tiny shards onto a large curled leaf he’d found at the base of their hiding tree.

  Once they’d produced enough bait, h
e spread most of it in the snare and sprinkled a trail near the bush where the chicken noises had come from.

  They hid again and waited for what seemed like hours. Hector’s knees burned with pain as he squatted behind the bean tree.

  Soon he was rewarded. Three chickens emerged into the clearing, following the baited trail. They moved steadily along, peck, peck, pecking. Closer and closer they came until the red one in front reached the hidden snare. She scratched at the soil, unearthing the end of a stick and a section of the twine. She paused, turned, then rushed at the main heap of coconut in the centre of the snare.

  Hector held his breath. He could feel a surge of excitement in his chest. One, two, three…now! He pulled the string line down hard over the buttress. A flurry of feathers and squawking filled the air. Hector held the line taut with an expert hand. The red hen sprawled and twisted, screeching her protests. But the other two birds had left her, vanished into the shadows of the jungle.

  ‘Now I got my girl,’ he said to Lily, winking.

  She laughed at him. ‘Is that how you catch girls?’

  ‘Eh, no,’ he grinned, watching her laugh. ‘I think they catch me.’

  ‘Well yeah, you got legs like a chicken.’ Lily pointed at his knees.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said smiling at her. His legs weren’t like Tevuan legs, but he was only thirteen. His grandfather said he had lots of time yet to catch up.

  The hen cowered as Hector knelt to pick it up. He tucked it gently under his arm and was about to stand up when an unusual shape caught his eye. He poked at the soil where the snare had been. ‘What’s this?’ he said, unearthing a long metal object.

  ‘A bit of iron,’ said Lily.

  Hector stood up and wiped it against the tree buttress to clear off the leaf litter, then turned it to catch the light. ‘It’s shiny. Well, not that rusty anyway.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a bush knife.’

  ‘No, it’s too long,’ he said. He guessed it was as long as a softball bat, probably longer. ‘No, I think it’s…it’s a sword.’

  ‘A sword? Show me?’ Lily pulled at his shoulder, trying to get a better look. The chicken squawked then settled again in Hector’s armpit. ‘It can’t be a sword, there’s no handle.’