Inheritance (8 page)

In those days while we were still cut off by the aftermath of the hurricane, I showed John the notes I had already made about the possibility of a contested will. He had to know. I told him there was a good chance the High Court would find in Gertrude’s favour, but secretly I was not sure. The judge might well want to set a precedent.

‘Do you remember the two young Samoans who danced a welcome to you?’ I asked.

‘Teo and Elena?’ Jeanie smiled at some memory. ‘They were fun.’

Simone cleared her throat loudly. ‘Too clever for their own good, those two. Teo is in trouble already. Back on the island only one month and he runs a child down with his fancy new car.’

Actually I felt rather sorry for Teo. The local paper had roasted the boy who had been more than contrite.
Accidents on the road were common, but Teo had been singled out because of his high breeding and educational achievements.

‘But Elena?’ Jeanie persisted. I had watched Elena charming Jeanie at the feast. Elena would have some plan afoot, you could count on that.

‘Too clever, too smart,’ said Simone, emphatically. I think already she felt some jealousy. Jeanie was her prized newcomer; Simone wanted to be the one to befriend her – introduce her to the palagi community.

I brought them back to the point. ‘Their mother is the one who will contest Gertrude’s right to pass on the plantation.’

‘Oh!’ John looked worried. ‘Will there be un-pleasantness?’

I laughed. ‘Good God no. Land disputes are meat and drink to Samoans. Everyone will follow the arguments with great relish. You will become celebrities. It could be years before the matter is settled, and in the meantime Gertrude will continue to run the plantation.’

John worried at a scab on his hand. Jeanie stilled the movement gently. Her dark eyes watched him for a moment, then she turned back to me.

‘Gertrude wrote nothing of this. In her letter there was no question about her right.’

‘In her mind there is no question. The plantation is freehold land. Her husband left it to her in his will. End of story.’

‘Good.’ John stood. He walked across the room to where Simone was now opening the screens to let the watery sunlight in. He began to help her; his movements quick and neat. I felt that he didn’t want to hear more
– that he wanted to push away any hint of bad news.

Jeanie spoke quietly, keeping half an eye on her father, ‘So what is the other side of it?’

I tried to make it simple. How can you expect newcomers to the islands to grasp the intricacies of Samoan titles and land tenure? Jeanie had a sharp mind, though, understanding much more quickly than her father, I think, whose attention often seemed to drift as he continued to stand, watching the scene outside.

I told them that Gertrude’s husband, PJ Schroder, had two sisters, Maria and Theresa. Both married Samoan men of high rank. Theresa married particularly well, into one of the four ali‘i families whose titles are usually hereditary and highly respected. Her husband, like many of the older men, died in the flu epidemic, but not before she bore him a son, Samuele, who himself became a respected matai.

‘Matai?’ said Jeanie.

‘We would call it chief, a leader. A matai has control over a portion of village land and is the head of the extended family who live on the produce of that land. He (or occasionally she) dictates who in the ‘aiga – the extended family – works in what part of the family plantations, which fale they sleep in, how much they must contribute at feast times and so on. Under our new independence, the matai votes on behalf of his family.’

Jeanie looked at me frowning. ‘That’s hardly democratic.’

‘Well in a way it is. The whole family chooses the matai. Every member has a say. It’s a bit like the American form of democracy where voters choose delegates to vote on their behalf.’

I was about to elaborate on this, but Jeanie clearly had no interest in American voting systems. She cocked an eyebrow and smiled. Not quite making fun of my obsession, but making her point all the same. What an agreeable woman she was! ‘Gertrude’s plantation?’ she prompted.

‘Samuele, Gertrude and PJ Schroder’s nephew, didn’t hold the highest family title, but he ranked well. His title is attached to the village which is adjacent to the Schroder plantation.’

I explained that the matai title is not strictly hereditary. Theoretically, anyone in the family can be chosen. Samuele died while still relatively young, and there was much discussion over who should be take the title. His two children, Elena and Teo, were considered too young, and also their education was still continuing in New Zealand. In the end, the title was offered to old PJ Schroder, who up to that time, had kept to his ‘European’ status.

‘Oh dear,’ said Jeanie. ‘European? Wasn’t he born here?’

‘PJ was ‘afakasi – half caste. His ‘afakasi sisters chose to marry matai and identify as Samoan. PJ chose – as was his right – to retain European status. This entitles him to certain small privileges, buying alcohol for example, and to vote for the non-matai seats in the Fono. But you see, in the last two years of his life he accepted the matai title.’

John had come back to the table and was listening again. ‘But he died and passed the plantation on to my aunt.’ The last two words were spoken with a kind of nervous emphasis.

‘True, he did. But Tiresa, Samuele’s widow, and her ‘aiga claim that by taking the matai title, he was in effect abrogating his European status. They claim that his deathbed wish was that when Gertrude died, the plantation should go to Tiresa and her ‘aiga and be considered customary village land. No longer freehold. Deathbed statements are taken very seriously in Samoan custom.’

‘Are they in the right?’ Jeanie was more interested than concerned.

It would be an interesting case. One would assume Gertrude was in the right. But this was in the early days of independence and there might be a shift in legal opinion. It would certainly help Gertrude’s position if she had family to inherit the plantation. One would expect her to have the right to pass on the land. It was willed to her. But there were other issues to consider: Had the deathbed wish been witnessed? Would Tiresa’s ‘aiga have some claim under the Family Protection Act?

‘I won’t even hazard a guess,’ I said. ‘At any rate the case will be relished by all parties. Don’t expect an early decision.’

‘Enough, enough!’ called Simone. ‘Let us remember please that the aunt is still alive! Hamish you are boring them to death.’

I wasn’t. Of course I wasn’t. They needed to know. Possibly I was boring Simone to death.

She tapped me smartly on the top of my head. ‘We must go out! There is devastation outside and you are chewing away at lands and titles. Let us find what is left of the garden and the town.’

She had a point. The hurricane. This was two days
after the storm, and still radio and power were cut. The only way to find out any news was to go on foot. John and Jeanie came with us as we picked our way over fallen trees and waded through standing water. In the distance we heard the sound of chainsaws, but our own road was still blocked by a fallen mango tree. The sun was out again and the evaporating water made the air almost unbearably humid, even for Simone and me. Jeanie’s dark hair was clinging to her cheeks. By the time we reached the waterfront, John was flushed and panting. I began to think it had been a mistake to come.

‘We will go into Mackenzies,’ decreed Simone, ‘to cool off. It has air-conditioning.’

Not this day. We all gaped to see the windows of the store broken, Beach Road littered with palm leaves, banana boxes, even a canoe or two and chunks of coral flung up by the sea. Waves must have broken right across the road. Three women were sweeping water out of Mackenzies’ door. Simone went to talk to them, then came back with the translation. ‘All the stock’s ruined inside,’ she said. ‘Salt water in everything. And the banana boat so recently arrived.’ She threw her hands about in dismay, ‘Even so, there have been looters. They should know better!’

I think she would have stayed to help guard the ruined merchandise, if I hadn’t pulled her away. Simone’s indignation gets the better of her sometimes.

The water in the lagoon, usually crystal clear and calm, slopped and heaved, awash with debris – whole coconut palms, rubbish from goodness knows where, a couple of dead pigs. Out on the reef, the usual dull roar
of breaking surf was now deafening. Normally we would see a demure frill of white foam out there. Now, two days after the storm, the ocean rollers were still immense, the spume leaping high. For once the barrier of the reef, so often a nuisance, appeared a comforting guardian.

Most of the stores and offices were closed; the windows of the High Commission still shuttered. Town workers would be back in their villages clearing up their own homes. The thatched roof of the open market had collapsed, entombing an ancient bus lying forlorn on its side. The humidity and heat blanketed us, dragging at our spirits. John, particularly, looked ready to drop. No information to be gleaned here. Apia seemed empty. Nothing to be done but to struggle home again.

‘Will this be bad for the island?’ Jeanie asked as we plodded uphill.

Simone flung an arm towards a fallen clump of banana trees. ‘Disastrous. Catastrophic! What will they eat?’ Her white hair, silvered with damp and snaking around her head like Medusa, gave her the appearance of a prophet of doom.

‘We don’t know yet how much of this island, or of Savai‘i has been hit,’ I said. ‘Perhaps our district and Apia suffered the worst.’ I was thinking of Gertrude’s plantation. How ironic if it was destroyed, after all her machinations.

The next day we learned that Gertrude’s plantation had survived remarkably well, but that the old lady herself had died in the storm. Reports of her death
were disturbing to say the least. It seemed Stuart had been negligent in some way. Versions of his behaviour ranged from careless to criminal. I never really learned the truth. The trouble with a small town is that everyone takes an interest and everyone has an opinion. Truth becomes distorted very quickly. One could write a paper on it.

Certainly Roper’s behaviour later, at the reading of the will, was appalling. As Gertrude’s executor, I invited them and Tiresa over for tea at our home. The office rooms I share had been damaged in the storm. Simone laid on home-made liver pâté with breadfruit chips (I would have preferred a good date scone) and it all started pleasantly enough. Stuart had come down from the plantation the previous day. He didn’t look good. I put it down to the strain of the death and the funeral, but Simone was sure he’d been drinking.

Gertrude had been quite cunning. She left a small separate estate – copra and a few cattle – to the Levamanaias. It was negligible as far as income went, compared to the cacao plantation, but might stand in her favour if the will were contested. The rest – the plantation, the plant and both her houses simply went to her nephew John O’Dowd.

Tiresa, magnificent in a flowered puletasi, a necklace of cowrie shells hanging over her ample bosom, flowery woven hat perched on her pile of grey hair, grunted ominously. ‘Let me see, Hamish.’

I handed her the document. I’m not sure the old lady read English but she studied it with great care. Tiresa was no fool. ‘That little coconut plot is worth nothing,’ she pronounced in her deep man’s voice. ‘We will
contest this of course.’

She rose, thanked Simone for the food, which she had not touched – a deliberate insult, according to Simone – and stumped out.

I looked over, smiling, at John and handed him the document. He nodded, read it carefully and handed it back. What a formal fellow he was! At the funeral he had spoken a few quiet words, recited a piece from Robert Louis Stevenson, and then withdrawn into himself.

‘Let me see!’ Roper shot out a hand and grabbed at the will. His face had gone a dark red. ‘That’s not what she promised!’ he positively shouted. ‘It was to be left to all three of us jointly!’

I put on my most formal voice. Roper’s manner was most unsuitable for this occasion. ‘My client believed it safer to leave the entire estate to one person alone.’

‘It’s here!’ the rude fellow ranted. ‘You’ve crossed it out. Look at my name here! This is tampering!’

‘My client requested the change. You will see her signature, and mine and another witness to the deletion.’ I admit I took a small pleasure in pointing out the detail. ‘And the deletion duly dated,’ I added. Simone said I was outrageously smug. Perhaps I was, but the fellow riled me. I held out my hand for the will and had to wait several stormy moments before he complied.

Jeanie put a comforting hand on his, then turned to me. ‘He’s had a hard time recently. The plantation is damaged; there is much to do.’

Such a small woman – so fragile to look at. And yet there was a quality in her that I found hard to pinpoint. As if a fine bright line of unbreakable steel ran through her.

Roper calmed at her words. He was a strange man. Simone declared he needed Jeanie and loved her in a possessive kind of way. I only saw him as a self-centred bully.

‘But can’t you see?’ he said to her, pleading for her to take his part.