Colour

A Story by Lorna Crouch

IT was hot in the sun that poured down on the dingy tin houses of the post war village. The men were away at various tasks at which the Govern ment employed them, but there were still hundreds of people—old men, women and children milling around the small spaces in between the crowded dwellings.

Vagi has almost forgotten the open spaces around the airy native house in the village where she had lived before the Japanese had made war. As she sat on the broken door step in the mid-day heat she saw two white people pass along the road in front of her. The houses of the white people were not far from the village, but they were smart and new.

She had clothes like the woman had; but she was content, most days, with her grass skirt.

Vagi was feeling hungry. It was the end of the month and all the money had been spent. No one went fishing these days. But tonight the men would bring home their month’s wages, and they would go to the store and bring home food—lots of it, tinned meat, cake and large loaves of soft white bread. In the meantime it would be nice to have some taro, or some bananas, but they had little native food. She sighed as she hoped her brother would not gamble away his money, as he had once. Of course, he might win ten pounds! She sang softly to herself.

Two trucks bumped over a break in the road. Someone in the next house turned on a radio. Music blared out, a fine orchestral piece, drowning her native song. She looked across at Marie’s house.

It was a small wooden house with a garden of bright flowers in front. Marie liked the white people. But, then, she was a half-caste.

Vagi watched the couple saunter along the road and around the bend. Sud denly a scream rent the air. In a split second hundreds of natives rushed up the road. From the slum houses young women with babies in their arms joined the throng with naked children of all ages running ahead of them. Vagi joined with the small brothers she was mind ing, and pushed her way to the front of the crowd. The white woman had been knocked down by one of the trucks. She lay on the side of the ditch with the man bending over her.

A native policeman, with his hand cuffs ready, as always, for an emergency,

strode around the crowd, shouting and gesticulating. The native driver of the truck stood trembling beside his vehicle The police-boy spoke to him and he drove off. Gradually the crowd quietened The orchestra was still being broadcast to the village. Vagi was well to the front. The poor Sinabada! The police b(py was talking to the white man. The Sinabada groaned.

“Take me out of this heat, Bill, or I’ll die.” she said. The man wiped his fore head with a spotless handkerchief.

“A car will be here in a moment, Margaret. I’m afraid your leg is broken.” The woman shielded her face with her arm.

“I can’t stand it here a moment

longer.”

The man turned to the police-boy.

“Can I take my wife into that house?

Is it clean?” He pointed to the house that was Marie’s.

“Yes, yes,” answered the boy, “I know the woman, and she is clean.”

“I’ll take my wife there until the car comes.” He turned and knelt beside the woman. “Quick, Bill, I don’t care what it’s like, only get me out of this ditch and this heat.”

The man, because he was short and stout, lifted his wife with great effort.

She cried a little and the police-boy held her legs gently. She closed her eyes and then Vagi noticed what pretty hair the Sinabada had.

A number of children followed the pro cession. Vagi ran forward and picked up the Sinabada’s hat and walked with them towards Marie’s house. Marie was aware pf what was happening and stood wait ing calmly to receive her unexpected visitors. The children hung around the door and with them was Vagi’s small brother. She made a grab at him, but he clung to the doorstep, so she sat down beside him.

Marie became very busy. In her cotton frock and bare feet she hurried about, bringing a clean sheet and spreading it on the small white-enamelled bed. Marie, with frangipanni in her carefully-combed hair, was looking very beautiful to-day.

The white woman lay on the bed.

Vagi, clutching her brother, missed nothing. The husband stood at the side of the bed, and asked the Sinabada if she would have a glass of water. The Sinabada was in pain. She did not speak.

The man turned towards Marie and spoke to her. He looked very tired. “Yes, bring a glass of water.” Marie turned slowly and gracefully and left the room. Then the woman opened her eyes and looked about her. “Bill,” she said slowly, “this is a nice house. Do you know, this bed seems familiar. We had two like this in the children’s room. Don’t you re member?” The man patted her hand.

“Don’t try and talk Margaret. You’ve had an accident. God! When will that car come?” He stood up and paced

anxiously about.

“Bill, you remember, you enamelled the bed, and I said you were putting it on too thick —”. He interrupted her. “I can’t remember —not at a time like this.

I sold the contents of the house to some army chaps when you went South. I told you that.”

“But I thought you said most of our things were looted.” The man gazed anxiously out the door. “Did I? Of course, some were —some were not. I’m too worried to know exactly what hap

pened then.” He came back to her.

“How are you feeling now?”

The woman sighed. “Don’t worry, the pain isn’t so bad really.”

“But a broken leg—That’s a terrible

thing.”

She smiled. “Serves me right for com ing so soon. I should have waited until you wanted me to come. Although I don’t mind the house not being quite finished.”

He found one of Marie’s chairs and sat down.

“That’s a silly thing to say.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Bill,” she said suddenly, “that is the wardrobe I had in the spare room.”

He moved restlessly in the chair. “I’ll talk to you, Margaret, when you are fixed up comfortably in the hospital. Do be quiet now.” “And oh! Those two chairs.”

Marie entered the room. The girl handed her the glass of water and she drank it gratefully. She smiled a little at the light-skinned, native girl. She observed the beauty of the brown eyes set wide apart, and the smooth forehead, and the perfectly formed chin and lips. Her frock was brightly coloured and w'as drawn tightly in at a slim waist and fell in folds to her bare feet.

Margaret held out the empty glass.

“You are very kind to me,” she said. The girl smiled softly and nodded her head.

“Your husband, he very good to me,” she replied. The man turned to her. “Go, and bring another glass of water.” As she turned away obediently, the man paced the room. There were groups of snapshots of soldiers in cheap frames hanging on the walls.

“Bill,” Margaret’s eyes were following him, “what a lot of photos. I wonder who they all are. I hardly care to think.

What a pretty girl she is. She’s a half caste, isn’t she, What did she mean, Bill, when she said you had been good to her?”

“Oh, I gave her some money when I came in. The natives want money for everything they do for you.” The woman looked at her husband across the small

tidy room, and there was a tight ex pression around her eyes. “She seems so nice—l’m sure you need not have given her the money. I think she’s glad to help me.”

There was the tooting of a motor horn.

Turning away from the interesting scene inside the house, Vagi saw a car draw up and the police-boy and the driver came up the short path with a stretcher.

Between them they carried the woman to the car. The husband walked beside her, shielding her face from the sun.

Marie watched them from the door way. Robert would soon be home, and she would give him the money. He had given her so much, a home and furniture, and now she would be able to give some thing. Then she saw her husband, in his white suit and helmet come along the road. He broke into a run as he saw the group by the car. The man was slap ping Robert on the shoulder, and saying excitedly, “Good Heavens, it’s Robert Harrison! My wife’s just had an acci dent —”

Marie shrugged her shoulders and went back into the house. Perhaps the man was an old friend of Robert’s. Perhaps they had known each other in the army.

She wondered if Robert would tell him he had a half-caste wife.

Vagi held tightly on to her small brother and pulled him towards home.

She would be able to tell the others what she had seen. Soon it would be four o’clock, and then the man would come home and they would buy the tins that stood in bright coloured rows on the shelves of the store.

Miss Freda Gwilliam, Assistant Educa tional Adviser to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, was on a visit to Fiji in October. She is particularly con cerned with the education of women and girls in the Colonies, and while she is in Fiji she will visit a number of Girls’ Schools and other educational in stitutions. Before returning to the United Kingdom Miss Gwilliam will also visit the British Solomon Islands Pro tectorate and Hong Kong.