You've Got To Be Subtle!

Short Story:

By "Amel"

IN the short time at his disposal before the steamer bore him away, Dickson, keeping up a rapid-fire monologue of information, cynical comment and witti cisms, piloted his successor around to points of local interest. He introduced him to the two trading store managers, a priest, the five Hohongi chiefs, Paul Smith, a thin, wiry little half-caste, who was clerk, interpreter and sometimes ad visor at the Government station, and to the native pastor, Jeremiah.

An hour before the steamer sailed, Dickson gave John Farnley some parting advice, over drinks on the verandah of the DO’s spacious bungalow.

“I think you’ll be all right, Farnley.

In a place like Hohongi Island, you’ve got to use a lot of your own initiative, and it isn’t always easy. Be firm with the missionaries, but don’t tread too hard on their corns. Don’t let those chiefs bluff you they’re a wily crowd. Be as severe as you like about refusing to grant per mission to leave the island. The natives are not supposed to go gallivanting in war-time. But above all be subtle.

That’s what you need subtlety!”

And now Farnley was alone, deep in the intricacies of his position, learning how to combine the three qualities of in itiative, firmness and subtlety. As Dick son had remarked, it was not easy.

In Hohongi at that time, a large amount of copra awaited shipment, and copra buying had had to be curtailed until the pressure on storage space had been relieved. An overseas steamer was expected at any time, and, one afternoon the District Officer had a code message to say that she would be at Hohongi within a week. He had a conference with the store managers, who assured Farnley that everything was in readi ness to load the steamer.

Their biggest worry was labour. They were not sure whether the Hohongi natives, who were very reluctant workers, would come forward in sufficient numbers.

Farnley said he would do everything in his power to assist. He called a meeting of the chiefs, who, for once, were without wiles and in agreement. They would supply all necessary labour.

Farnley breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. But something seemed to tell him that there was bound to be a hitch. It was too much to expect that it would be all plain sailing.

Five days later the copra steamer ar rived, and dropped anchor a mile from shore. After preliminary talks with the Captain, loading was commenced. Lorries brought the promised labourers from their villages, and” presently the usually sleepy waterfront at Hohongi was a buzzing hive of activity.

From his office at the Government Station, Farnley could see the lighters chugging busily to and fro. Visions of the vessel being loaded in record time rose dizzily in his mind.

Then Paul came in with a letter. Farn ley opened it. It was from one of the store managers, and said that they were having difficulty in arranging for the labour to work on Sunday. The labourers were willing, the chiefs were agreeable and the priest had given permission for his people to do so but it was Jeremiah, head of the other sect, who refused to fall in with popular opinion. Would the DO please use his influence?

“Influence, is it?” muttered Farnley.

“Since when, I’d like to know? I might use some diplomacy, and persuade Jere miah to be reasonable, but ‘influence’ no. Paul give this chit to a policeman, and tell him to take it to Jeremiah.”

A few hours later, Jeremiah, mounted on his chestnut horse, a straw hat on his head, and a fly-switch in his hand, jogged into the Government compound.

Dismounting with dignity, he tied the horse to a tree and, his stubborn face set in haughty lines, moved unhurriedly into the DO’s office. Paul placed a chair, upon which Jeremiah composed himself, holding his hat and his fly-switch on his lap.

Farnley eyed him with what he hoped was the right blend of diplomacy, autho rity and sympathy. Jeremiah’s gaze was inscrutable. It went past the DO’s left shoulder, and concentrated itself on a large map which hung on the wall.

Farnley decided to go straight to the point. Quibbling would be wasted on this old—on Jeremiah.

“I sent for you, Jeremiah,” he began, “to discuss the matter of members of your church working on Sunday. I understand that you object?”

The minister gave a tight-lipped affir mative.

“What are your reasons?” asked Farn ley.

“To work on Sunday is against the teachings of our church,” stated Jeremiah.

“But this is a special occasion. This is war-time —and it will be to the bene fit of your people if they work on Sun day and help to give the steamer a quick dispatch. The sooner she is loaded, the sooner they can commence to sell their copra again.”

“To work on Sunday is against the teachings of our church,” Jeremiah re iterated.

Farnley was patient, “The people are willing,” he said, “the priest is permitting his people to co-operate and the chiefs have given their consetn. Cannot you give yours also?”

Jeremiah’s eyes left the map and went to the floor. He did not look at the DO.

He pondered deeply for several minutes.

He looked very sulky. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Farnley’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You give your permission, Jeremiah?” he asked, unable to believe his eyes. Again the nod.

“Thank you,” said the DO. Jeremiah departed without another word.

“What do vou think, Paul? Can we trust Jeremiah?”

Paul blinked rapidly, and replied. “He is a minister, sir.”

“Yes, Paul, but even ministers some times have lapses,” Paul, not quite sure what a lapse was, said nothing.

SUNDAY came, and Jeremiah’s flock worked with the rest. Two days later, the copra boat departed. On the following Monday, Paul came to Farnley, in great agitation.

“Sir —” he began. Farnley put his pen down and looked at him.

Paul swallowed, and tried again. “Sir, I can scarcely find the words to tell you.

It gives me much pain that a Minister should play so false. Sir Jeremiah has broken his word. He told the men he would not punish them for working on Sunday, but now he will not let them come to church, and they are very dis tressed. sir.”

Farnley muttered under his breath.

“The men were not allowed into church yesterday, sir. Isn’t it wicked? It gives me much shame, sir —”

“Very well, Paul. Leave me for a while, will you? I want to think.”

Dickson would say, reflected Farnley, that this was an occasion which called for subtlety. Very well, he would be

subtle. He studied a sheet of paper which lay on the desk in front of him. He took up his pen and wrote quickly on a special form. Then he called the inter preter.

“Paul give this to a policeman to take to Jeremiah.” Paul hurried out. a gleam in his eye. He felt pretty certain that Jeremiah would be arrested.

But that did not happen. Instead, a mystified Paul, with wonder in his voice, came to Farnley on Thursday afternoon, and said, “Sir a strange thing has happened. Jeremiah has changed his mind. He says there will be no punish ment for the men who worked on Sun day. What did you say to him, sir?”

Farnley smiled, and shook his head.

He would have been extremely gratified could he have seen Jeremiah, who, at that moment, was chewing his lip, and staring in frustration at a well-thumbed piece of paper which stated that; “Be cause Jeremiah Tolagi is so necessary to. the spiritual welfare of his people, the permission he desires, to travel on the next steamer, cannot be granted.”

Jeremiah recognised subtlety when he saw it.