Beat Not the Bones Read Free Page B

he took me into the long house and showed me what they had hidden away. Very secret. Very hot, it was. This one big nugget, seems to be the prize piece, was hidden under leaves and feathers.’
    â€˜Did they explain why they kept it?’ Warwick asked.
    â€˜They seemed to think the big bit looked like a crocodile. It was quite rough. They hadn’t touched it. But there was a sort of look about it.’
    â€˜Would it be a clan totem?’ asked Nyall.
    â€˜Possibly,’ said Warwick. ‘Something like that. It probably started with the crocodile. Some sorcerer may have found it and made some sort of magic with it and then gradually the material itself – the gold – would be believed to possess the same properties.’ He turned back to Jobe. ‘Did you try to take any away?’
    Jobe’s spirits bubbled up afresh. Everything was going all right. This fellow Warwick hadn’t recognised him. And they were interested, they were quite excited about it all. It paid to put your cards on the table. It wasn’t such a bad show. They couldn’t help it if Australia interfered all the time. ‘I tried to buy some with trade goods, but they weren’t having any. The old boy sold me one of those ornaments for tobacco. But when the others found out about it they got a bit restive, and I had to hop it. One of them pitched a spear at me.’
    He extended for their inspection the underside of his arm. Across the delicate, almost feminine, flesh was scrawled a shallow, red scar.
    He saw immediately that he had made a mistake. Warwick looked up at him, faintly narrowed his eyes and glanced across at Nyall. There was a moment’s silence in which the only sound was of Jobe’s heavy breathing. Then Warwick put the two gold moons carefully on the desk. ‘We’ll have to talk this over, Mr Jobe, and let you know later on. But …’ he paused ‘… I don’t want to hold out much hope for you.’
    Nyall nodded and said nothing.
    Jobe, looking from one to the other, thought he detected a faint, identical expression of satisfaction on their faces. ‘Oh. Why?’ he said loudly.
    Warwick did not look at him. His voice was soft and tired. ‘From what you’ve said, Mr Jobe, this gold is obviously of considerable value to the Eolans. The fact that they keep it secreted away in the long house means that it has ceremonial, to them almost sacred, significance. They wouldn’t sell it to you, they wouldn’t give it to you.’ He paused and shrugged his shoulders. ‘The fact that you value it for a different reason does not give you a right to it.’
    Jobe’s face was crimson. Words choked in his throat. For a moment the probable loss of his gold was a secondary consideration. It was this white man talking about native rights that enraged him.
    Warwick looked at him sharply. This time his eyes were curious. He’s remembering, thought Jobe. It’s coming back. He changed his tone, smiled and said sweetly, ‘It seems to me that we haven’t always been so mighty fussy about the things that natives value.’
    Warwick still stared at him. ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘But you’re speaking of the past. Exploitation has stopped now; at least, we’re doing all in our power to stop it. But there’s more to it than that. If you’d found the gold within patrolled territory, we might have had a different answer for you. But these people have no culture contact whatsoever. They don’t know our law. When you take their gold, they throw spears at you. The whole enterprise might end in a welter of bloodshed.’
    â€˜They’ve had trade contact,’ said Jobe, still smiling. ‘They’ve bartered trade goods from Kairipi. They’re very fond of bully beef.’
    â€˜A few tins of bully beef could hardly be called culture contact,’ Warwick said coldly.
    â€˜I