There was an increased babble and a stocky thickset man with an engaging grin pushed his way to the front. These boys don' spik English,' he said. They spik Franchise. I spik English. I bin to Hawaii.'
I said, 'My name is Mike – what's yours?'
'I are Piro.'
'All right, Piro. Where do I find the doctor?'
'Oh, Schouten?' Piro waved his hand. 'He round the other side water. He in – hopital. Y'un'erstan' hopital?' 'He's at the hospital, over there?'
That right.'
'How can I get there?'
'You come wit' me – I take you in jeep.'
I looked into the darkness. 'How far is it?'
Piro shrugged. 'Not far. Twenny minute maybe.'
'Will you take me now?'
'Sure. You come now.' He was suddenly cautious. 'You pay me?'
'Yes, I'll pay you.' I turned to Campbell among the jostling crowd on deck and said, 'I may as well see Schouten tonight. Tell Geordie to keep a close eye on Kane – don't let him get away. He might try.'
He said, 'I'll come with you.'
'No, I think not. But I will take an escort – Jim Taylor, I think.' I said this because he was the handiest, and grabbing him by an arm I pulled him towards me and briefly told him our errand. He smiled and nodded, and went off to find Geordie and tell him.
Campbell looked closely at me, then gripped my arm. Take it easy, son. Don't go off at half-cock.'
'I won't,' I promised. 'But by God I'll get to the truth.'
We went over the side and dropped into Piro's canoe, a leaky and unstable craft. Once ashore, Piro introduced us to his proudest possession – his jeep. It was a relic of the wave of war which had washed over the Pacific – and it looked it. Most of the bodywork was stripped and the engine was naked and unashamed, very like the naked toddlers who squalled and chattered, their eyes big at the sight of the strangers revealed in the flare of torches. We climbed in and I sat on a hard wooden box, innocent of upholstery, as Piro started the engine. It banged and spluttered, but caught, and Piro threw in the gears with a jerk and we were off, bouncing along the beach and swerving round a clump of palms dimly illuminated by the feeble headlight. It was very noisy. The sudden change from being at sea in Esmerelda was unnerving.
Piro was very proud of his jeep. 'Best car on Tanakabu,' he announced cheerfully as we winced at the racket.
'Has Dr Schouten got a car?'
'Ho, no! Doctor got not'ing – jus' stomick med'cine.'
We drove past the dark bulk of a copra warehouse and then we were on a narrow track through a palm plantation and Piro waved at it. These trees mine. All us got trees.'
'Has the doctor got trees?'
'Lil one lot, not'ing much. He too busy wit' med'cine and knife.'
We swerved inland and I lost sight of the sea, which seemed impossible on such a small island, but I could still hear the unceasing roar of the surf on the beaches, in between the car noises. After a few minutes we came back onto a beach and Piro pointed ahead. There is hopital.' In the distance was a large cluster of lights – much bigger than the village we had left. I said, That's a big hospital for a small island, Piro.'
'Ho, plenny boys come from other islands – ver' sick. Plenny wahines too. Many lepers there, an' boys wit' swells.'
A leper colony! I felt a shiver of atavistic horror. I knew intellectually that leprosy isn't particularly infectious, but of all diseases it is the most abhorred and I didn't feel like driving into a colony.
Piro didn't seem worried though, and drove blithely off the beach right into the hospital grounds, pulling up in front of a long low-roofed shack. 'Schouten is there, 'he said. 'You wan' I should wait?'
'Yes, you can wait,' I answered. 'I won't be long. Jim, don't come in with me, if you don't mind – but be ready if I call you.'
'Sure thing, Mike.' Jim leaned back and offered Piro a cigarette.
I walked up the two steps on to a long verandah and knocked on the door. A voice said, 'Ici! Ici! and I walked along the verandah to a room at the far end. It was an office, the door open, and a big man was seated at a desk, writing by the light of a Coleman lamp. There was a half-empty brandy bottle and a full glass at his elbow.
I said, 'Dr Schouten?'
He looked up. 'Oui?' 'I'm sorry. I have very little French. Do you speak English?'
He smiled and it transformed his ravaged face. 'Ja, I speak English,' he said and stood up. In his prime, he must have tipped the scales at two hundred and twenty pounds of bone and muscle, but now he was flabby and soft and his paunch had taken over. His face was seamed and lined and he had two deep clefts from the nose to the corners of his mouth, forming soft dewlaps which shook on his cheeks.
He offered me his hand and said, 'It's not often we get strangers on Tanakabu – at least not at this end of the island.' His accent was heavily Dutch but his English was as fluent as the Governor's.
I said, 'We just came in.'
'I know. I saw the lights of your ship as you came through the pass, and then I heard Piro's jeep coming.' He waved towards the window. That is why you see no patients about-sometimes they shock casual visitors, so on those occasions I keep them out of sight.'
He opened a cupboard. 'Will you have a drink?'
I said, 'My name is Trevelyan.'
Schouten dropped the glass he had taken from the cupboard and it smashed on the floor. He turned his head sharply and looked at me over his shoulder. I saw that his face had turned a sickly yellow under the tan and his eyes were furtive and haunted.
'Trevelyan?' he mumbled. He seemed to have difficulty speaking.
'Yes.'
He turned round. 'Praise be to God,' he said. 'I thought you were dead.'
I looked at him in surprise. 'Dead! Why should I be dead?'
He sat at the desk, his hands clutching the edge. 'But they said you were dead,' he said softly. His eyes were brooding and seemed to be looking at something else – something terrible.
Then I caught on – he thought I was Mark! I said, 'Who said I was dead?'
'I wrote out the death certificate – here at this desk. Mark Trevelyan was the name. You died of peritonitus.' He looked up at me and there was fear in his eyes.
I said gently, 'I'm Michael Trevelyan – Mark was my brother.'
He gave a long shuddering sigh, then his gaze dropped to the glass on his desk and he picked it up and drained it in one swallow.
I said, 'Perhaps you'd better tell me about it.' He gave no answer, merely hunching his shoulders and avoiding my eyes. 'You've said too much – and too little,' I pursued. 'You must tell me what happened to Mark.'
He was an old man, rotten with loneliness and drink and the sight of peoples' bodies falling apart and he couldn't withstand a mental hammering. There was a stubbornness in him but also a softness at the core, and I was brutal in my approach.
'My brother didn't have appendicitis – that was an impossibility. But you forged a death certificate. Why?'
He hunched over the desk, his arms before him with the fists clenched and remained silent.
'My God, what kind of a doctor are you?' I said. 'Your medical association isn't going to like this – you're going to be struck off, Schouten. Or maybe you'll be hanged – or guillotined. A man is dead, Schouten, and you're an accessory. The best thing that is going to happen to you is a gaol sentence.'
He shook his head slowly, then closed his eyes as though in pain.
'You're an old man before your time even now, and ten years in gaol won't improve you. They'll take away your brandy and you'll scream for it. Now, what happened to Mark?'
He opened his eyes and looked at me bleakly. 'I can't tell you.'
'Can't – or won't?'
The muscles of his mouth tightened and he remained stubbornly silent.
