Devil-Devil by G.W. Kent

Author:G.W. Kent
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781849017800
Publisher: Robinson
Published: 2011-07-03T23:00:00+00:00

20

LABOUR LINES

Sister Conchita came out of the chapel after evening service and joined the throng on its way to the refectory to eat. If she skipped the meal she would have several hours before she would have to take the older sisters to the beach for the blessing of the fishing boats. No one would miss her for that amount of time. The headquarters building was not run on the same lines of discipline as the mission stations. Too many itinerant priests and nuns were constantly coming and going on their way to postings out of the Solomons or to different areas of the island. Some stayed only a few nights before catching a ship or aircraft to their destinations.

Before leaving the house she hurried out to the back yard to examine the batttered Bedford faded red van that had been placed in her charge since her arrival in the Solomons. She had done her best to bring it up to scratch, but it was being held together largely by faith and rust. She hoped that it would survive long enough for her to be able to take her consignment of elderly sisters on their long-anticipated evening expedition.

For a moment she wondered if she dared appropriate the vehicle to take her on the immediate journey she had planned that evening. Firmly Sister Conchita put the thought out of her mind. She had been greeted with concern and sympathy upon her enforced return to Honiara but all the same she felt that she was being regarded with suspicion by the mission hierarchy. Too many inexplicable things had been occurring at Ruvabi mission lately for the peace of mind of the mission administrators, who were trying to pursue a policy of masterly inactivity. No one would tell her anything about Father Pierre and she had been emphatically denied access to the radio sked to talk to the old priest.

In that case, she decided as she slipped out of the side door into the gathering gloom of the evening, she would just have to use the bush telegraph instead.

Sister Conchita hurried down to Mendana Avenue where the stores and shops were mostly closed this late. She crossed the Matanikau Bridge over the river. Here there were no lights. She reached the Labour Lines, the long breeze-block buildings in which itinerant workers were housed. There were a dozen of these constructions, each one reserved for the workers of a different island. They were situated well apart from one another.

Sister Conchita headed for the block in which the Malaita men stayed when they were working in the capital. Shadowy figures glided about the dormitory buildings and she was aware of many eyes on her, but no one challenged the authority of her habit.

She approached a group of Malaitans huddled around a fire in the compound. In her halting pidgin she asked if she could see the latest arrivals from Ruvabi mission station. Without a word one of the men stood up and walked into the building.

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