Part 5 (2/2)
”I don't want your job. You'll get all right.”
Walker shook his head wearily.
”I've had my day. Treat them fairly, that's the great thing. They're children. You must always remember that. You must be firm with them, but you must be kind. And you must be just. I've never made a bob out of them. I haven't saved a hundred pounds in twenty years. The road's the great thing. Get the road finished.”
Something very like a sob was wrung from Mackintosh.
”You're a good fellow, Mac. I always liked you.”
He closed his eyes, and Mackintosh thought that he would never open them again. His mouth was so dry that he had to get himself something to drink. The Chinese cook silently put a chair for him. He sat down by the side of the bed and waited. He did not know how long a time pa.s.sed. The night was endless. Suddenly one of the men sitting there broke into uncontrollable sobbing, loudly, like a child, and Mackintosh grew aware that the room was crowded by this time with natives. They sat all over the floor on their haunches, men and women, staring at the bed.
”What are all these people doing here?” said Mackintosh. ”They've got no right. Turn them out, turn them out, all of them.”
His words seemed to rouse Walker, for he opened his eyes once more, and now they were all misty. He wanted to speak, but he was so weak that Mackintosh had to strain his ears to catch what he said.
”Let them stay. They're my children. They ought to be here.”
Mackintosh turned to the natives.
”Stay where you are. He wants you. But be silent.”
A faint smile came over the old man's white face.
”Come nearer,” he said.
Mackintosh bent over him. His eyes were closed and the words he said were like a wind sighing through the fronds of the coconut trees.
”Give me another drink. I've got something to say.”
This time Mackintosh gave him his whisky neat. Walker collected his strength in a final effort of will.
”Don't make a fuss about this. In 'ninety-five when there were troubles white men were killed, and the fleet came and sh.e.l.led the villages. A lot of people were killed who'd had nothing to do with it. They're d.a.m.ned fools at Apia. If they make a fuss they'll only punish the wrong people. I don't want anyone punished.”
He paused for a while to rest.
”You must say it was an accident. No one's to blame. Promise me that.”
”I'll do anything you like,” whispered Mackintosh.
”Good chap. One of the best. They're children. I'm their father. A father don't let his children get into trouble if he can help it.”
A ghost of a chuckle came out of his throat. It was astonis.h.i.+ngly weird and ghastly.
”You're a religious chap, Mac. What's that about forgiving them? You know.”
For a while Mackintosh did not answer. His lips trembled.
”Forgive them, for they know not what they do?”
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