Two Ways Of Life

THE “sun-kissed son of the South Seas” (quotation from new book) ceases his day’s labours, has a swim in the creek to wash all traces of a day’s work from his system, and bursts into his peculiar way of expressing himself in song—a cross between Bing Crosby and an Australian yodel. He wends his leisurely way to the communal kitchen, to participate in whatever is going, be it rice, wheatmeal or a few dead cus-cus.

When he has dipped deeply into the kai-kai pot, and his “bell” has become extended to the right proportions, he goes to his own dwelling, fills his mouth with betel-nut and rolls his ‘‘smoke”. He lies on his back and thinks what a really great gift life is.

Someone spins a yarn or two—maybe a little exaggerated, but well worth listen ing to, so why worry. Someone else has one to beat it, and gets a good hearing.

Gradually, as dreamland captures its victims, the contestants drop out, till finally the best story-teller is left talk ing to himself. He gazes round the sur rounding hills and sees the dim-dim houses lit with electric lights. Before joining his companions in sleep, he mar vels at the super-minds of the dim-dim, who can produce all these lights and who has radio to listen to. How he would love to have been born a white man and be able to do all these things!

We then take an inquisitive peep into one of the dim-dim homes. We won’t mention any names, for obvious reasons.

The great dim-dim is sitting at his table, which is littered with letters. They all have the same beginning: “To account rendered”. He tears at his hair and glances now and again at a cheque which he has drawn for wages. He is apparently trying to decide to which “account rend ered” he will apply the cheque. He curses his radio, which, since the war news, has been beefing out the advantages of Bil lingham’s food for Bonnie Babies, and so forth.

Finally, after a terrific tug at the fore lock, he places all the letters in a hat, shuts his eyes and takes one out. He places this and the cheque in an envelope together, throws the rest in the fire, switches off the radio, winds the clock, sets the alarm and goes to bed, trying not to think of all the troubles he has thrown in the fire, and wishing with all his heart he had been born a native.

L.H.W.