permission from the Minister of the Interior,the Minister of Marine and the Minister of Fisheries. And even if we were fortunate enough to be granted all those permissions, it still might not be a good thing to do.
’
‘
Why not, Papa?
’
‘
Ernesto, the people who live on those islands are very poor – Arawak Indians from the old days before the Conquest who cannot even now speak our language and who have no schools. There are not very many of them because there is spring water on only one of the islands – the bigger of the two we can see – and not much food any more. Once upon a time the big turtles used to come and breed there, but something bad happened to spoil the sea shore and the turtles stopped coming.
’
‘
Then why do the Indians stay?
’
‘
Because the islands have always been their home and because they have kept their old gods, their idols. This is supposed to be a secret, but the Church knows, of course, and has tried to help them in its own way. A mission was started there and for a time the brothers sent copra to the mainland to earn money for the island. Then the plague came. It was a type of yellow fever but more virulent than any we knew. Our vaccine did not give protection. So a lot of Christians died. There were other diseases too. At the same time our diseases from the mainland killed a lot of the Coraza Indians. So, since neither the Indians nor their islands were a source of profit to our feudal masters, the Corazas were designated a primitive reservation. Quarantine regulations were also made to make sure that the Indians kept their diseases to themselves. Now they are allowed to starve to death in private. Soon, perhaps, there will be no more of them to trouble us.
’
My father spoke bitterly; in those days his social conscience was much in evidence and embraced many causes. Five years later, when he was writing his Party’s manifesto for national progress and social justice, the plight of the Coraza islanders wasn’t even mentioned.
‘So they’re doing something at last,’ I said to Elizabeth. ‘I’ve always thought the Corazas might be interesting, though I can’t see what they’ve got to do with Villegas being in St Paul.’
Elizabeth was negotiating the fish market – always tricky at night because drunks there tend to ignore the traffic. ‘Interesting in what way?’ she asked.
‘Socially and archaeologically I imagine. Medically, too. This Dutchman of yours, what was he? An archaeologist or a biologist?’
‘Neither. He was a geologist.’
‘But there are no minerals in the Corazas. The government would have soon been at them if there had been. There’s not much of anything except guano, and even that’s not in commercial quantities.’
‘The Molinet this man bought was too heavy to go with him on the plane. I had to ship it home to him via Le Havre. That meant documents, so I had a good look at his passport. His occupation was given as petroleum geologist.’
I was silent.
She went on. ‘Talking to him I found out about the others in the party. One of the Frenchmen was a hydrographer. The other two were engineers. He didn’t say what kind. Uncultured types though, not interested in anything but stress calculations, whatever they are. Still they were all experts together, a consultant team.’
‘Did he say what the team had been doing?’
‘Working on a survey vessel. He said that the technicians on board had been British, the crew Jamaicans and the food terrible.’
‘Off-shore oil? Is that what they were looking for?’
‘Oh they already knew that the oil was there. Their business was to decide how best to get at it.’ She gave me an apologetic glance. ‘I’m sorry, Ernesto. I must admit that at the time I didn’t listen very carefully. All I was worried about was that he might change his mind about the Molinet when he found out that it was so heavy. So, though I wasrelieved when he went on talking about his job, I didn’t pay much
’
‘
Why not, Papa?
’
‘
Ernesto, the people who live on those islands are very poor – Arawak Indians from the old days before the Conquest who cannot even now speak our language and who have no schools. There are not very many of them because there is spring water on only one of the islands – the bigger of the two we can see – and not much food any more. Once upon a time the big turtles used to come and breed there, but something bad happened to spoil the sea shore and the turtles stopped coming.
’
‘
Then why do the Indians stay?
’
‘
Because the islands have always been their home and because they have kept their old gods, their idols. This is supposed to be a secret, but the Church knows, of course, and has tried to help them in its own way. A mission was started there and for a time the brothers sent copra to the mainland to earn money for the island. Then the plague came. It was a type of yellow fever but more virulent than any we knew. Our vaccine did not give protection. So a lot of Christians died. There were other diseases too. At the same time our diseases from the mainland killed a lot of the Coraza Indians. So, since neither the Indians nor their islands were a source of profit to our feudal masters, the Corazas were designated a primitive reservation. Quarantine regulations were also made to make sure that the Indians kept their diseases to themselves. Now they are allowed to starve to death in private. Soon, perhaps, there will be no more of them to trouble us.
’
My father spoke bitterly; in those days his social conscience was much in evidence and embraced many causes. Five years later, when he was writing his Party’s manifesto for national progress and social justice, the plight of the Coraza islanders wasn’t even mentioned.
‘So they’re doing something at last,’ I said to Elizabeth. ‘I’ve always thought the Corazas might be interesting, though I can’t see what they’ve got to do with Villegas being in St Paul.’
Elizabeth was negotiating the fish market – always tricky at night because drunks there tend to ignore the traffic. ‘Interesting in what way?’ she asked.
‘Socially and archaeologically I imagine. Medically, too. This Dutchman of yours, what was he? An archaeologist or a biologist?’
‘Neither. He was a geologist.’
‘But there are no minerals in the Corazas. The government would have soon been at them if there had been. There’s not much of anything except guano, and even that’s not in commercial quantities.’
‘The Molinet this man bought was too heavy to go with him on the plane. I had to ship it home to him via Le Havre. That meant documents, so I had a good look at his passport. His occupation was given as petroleum geologist.’
I was silent.
She went on. ‘Talking to him I found out about the others in the party. One of the Frenchmen was a hydrographer. The other two were engineers. He didn’t say what kind. Uncultured types though, not interested in anything but stress calculations, whatever they are. Still they were all experts together, a consultant team.’
‘Did he say what the team had been doing?’
‘Working on a survey vessel. He said that the technicians on board had been British, the crew Jamaicans and the food terrible.’
‘Off-shore oil? Is that what they were looking for?’
‘Oh they already knew that the oil was there. Their business was to decide how best to get at it.’ She gave me an apologetic glance. ‘I’m sorry, Ernesto. I must admit that at the time I didn’t listen very carefully. All I was worried about was that he might change his mind about the Molinet when he found out that it was so heavy. So, though I wasrelieved when he went on talking about his job, I didn’t pay much
Similar Books
