Matupit’S First Businessman

Short story

By Walter Darius

MY uncle, Pius Tomaana, was the first man to start up a small busi ness in the island of Matupit in Ra baul harbour, New Britain. Without the help of his brothers, Tomaana had been always busy with his plan tation of copra and cocoa. He was a hard-working man. Time was always more important to him than to any other ordinary village man.

After nearly seven long years of hard work, Tomaana was able to save up a few dollars which he used to buy a new Toyota truck for his taxi business. When he finally bought his brand new truck everyone on the island was pleased with him. Most of them, especially his brothers, were surprised. For many years back, the people had been either walking to work in the town or using canoes as their only means of transport. Now they were able to ride for a few cents a day.

The day Uncle Tomaana bought the truck was on a government fort night Friday. I was out in town with him for the last time as I was just about to leave home to go back to school. We walked up to the garage after withdrawing some money from his savings account in the New South Wales Bank and I waited for him as he approached the salesman.

“Yes big man, yu laikim wanem?” (What do you want?) The young European salesman greeted him with a tap on the shoulder. My uncle did not know how to speak English nor even clean Pidgin, but somehow he managed a few understandable words to the seller and he pointed at the truck for sale. He was a typical vil lage man, I must add, and I felt a bit sorry for him but I was late in talking for him.

“Oh yes, that’s $2,759 and that’s $9,000”. The salesman pointed at the two trucks and asked, “Which one do you want.” My uncle looked at me for an answer and I nodded my head to the $2,759 one. I was not an expert in trucks but I picked the $2,759 one only because I liked its colour.

He told the salesman and they walked off into the office. After waiting for nearly half an hour they came out and I could see my uncle smiling.

“But yu mas look afterim good truck ya, papa,” the saleman said.

“It is guaranteed for 10 years’ service if you follow all the regula tions of the manufacturers. So you must always keep this truck in good condition and you won’t get any trouble from it, OK?”

My uncle nodded happily then curiously asked, “Ah. . . . masta . . . a wanem toktok ‘kondison’? Yu inap tokim me gen, tenk you? (What is this “condition”? Please tell me again). He struggled hard with his Pidgin words, but the salesman un derstood him.

“Oh well,” said the salesman, “You must always see that the truck gets enough petrol in the tank every morning, enough water in the radia tor and clean distilled water in the battery before you drive it.” The salesman stopped and pointed at the different parts he had named while my uncle followed his hand with curiosity.

“Another thing too,” he continued, “you must always use the right kind of chemicals in the right places. Don’t put petrol in the water tank and water in the petrol tank, because this will only ruin the engine and it won’t last long. You must always clean and wash the truck every day after work ing it, OK?” Again Tomaana nodded happily pretending he had understood everything that had been said.

“Bai me bihainim olgeta samting yu toktokim pinis i kam long mi, masta, tenk yu tumas.” He finally

thanked the salesman and took the driver’s seat then indicated me to take the opposite seat beside him. I could see that he was impatient to drive. He could not waste any more time. Two weeks before he had received his driving licence and now he was going to show me how good he was at dri ving. He threw his right hand out of the window and shook hands for the last time with the young salesman and we took off.

I knew he had not really under stood all that the salesman had told him and I was expecting a long con versation from him during our drive around the town but no, he did not bother. He thought he had learnt everything. But he was only fooling himself. We drove into nearly all the well-known streets in town, and I could easily see that he was very proud of his truck. We drove home late in the evening and a crowd of admirers grouped around the new truck and started gossiping over it.

Two weeks went by and his little business was quietly taking shape. He was making good money out of the people who were working in town.

He kept up with the few instructions he was given when he bought the truck. He was the happiest man on the island, as his name came out both in the papers and the radio. But suddenly, things got changed on his way to success. He was too careless to look after the truck. By this time I was already in school but my father kept informing me about Tomaana because I was still thinking about him.

He completely ignored the instruct ions and took things into his own hands. Pride was quickly taking over in the long run.

“I don’t care long kar bilong mi.”

Tomaana said one day after getting himself drunk and coming to my parents’ home.

“Mi gat mani pinis long pocket ya, papa.” (I have plenty of money).

But he forgot the fact that he was fortunate to be the first man on the island with a good little business like this. He did not care very much now.

It was a new world for him. The truck was only five months old but here its service was being totally neglected.

One day he drove to his copra plantation and found that his radia

tor was boiling hot. He was surprised, but instead of filling it up with fresh water, the fool decided to use some rusty old water from a nearby drum.

After doing this he looked at the battery water level and it was also low. Again, he took some water from a green coconut and filled it up.

He did the same to the petrol tank.

Instead of using petrol, he ran out of it one day and decided to use fuel mixed with kerosene. He felt guilty after doing all these things but no one saw him, not even the salesman.

Oh what a foolish uncle he was. My parents tried their best to tell him all the advantages he had in possess ing the truck and even his real bro thers tried to encourage him, but no. the man would not listen to anyone.

“Yupela i bin stap we bipo taim mi no bairn trak yet?” (Where were all of you before 1 bought the truck?) This was all he had to say for his answer to anyone who tried to bother him with his truck.

One morning he woke up early and was going to do some very early trips to town when he discovered that his truck would not go. He was scolded by the islanders. Many of the people working in the town were let down, in fact most of them had to walk all the way to work. My uncle called in the salesman and a mech anic to check over his truck, but the only answer he got from both of them was, “Papa, we’re terribly sorry, but your truck can never be repaired again. It is now out of use for good.

We cannot repair it nor can any other firm. It is far beyond repair.

Either you buy a new one or don’t bother if you cannot look after trucks and follow instructions!”

Tomaana shook his empty head and dropped it without saying any thing. The salesman tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Papa, we have given you instructions to follow. But you have failed to do it, and your truck has refused to work for you.

There’s nothing else we can do now but leave you to fix it yourself. Bye now man!” They walked off quietly and drove off with a loud roar.

These last words struck Tomaana’s heart like a sharp knife driven into him from the back. He was shamed in the face of the crowds who had come to gather around the truck. My little sister was there to witness the scene and she wrote to me two days later and told me everything. I felt sorry for my uncle but I was glad because he had now learnt his lesson the hard way. Not only himself but many other people who were still planning to buy trucks did have a chance to learn something from my uncle’s failure.