Gerrard said, to the other boss ones, ‘Better have a meeting soon.’ Just them mob but, eh? He say, very calm and clever, ‘So we can work things out. Talk about the problems here, and how we can work together best. In other places, communities like this, I’ve done it. It helps.’
So they sitting there in Alex and Annette’s house, drinking coffee, hiding faces behind cups, eyes looking round quick like they nervous animals; looking here, there, this way, that way. Sip the coffee; slurp, slurp. Who we got here? Gerrard, Father Paul, Alex, Annette, Murray, Liz. Ah yes, we not there maybe, but we know that mob, we hear things.
Gerrard makes his chair look too little. He too big that one. Long legs up next to his ears like a grasshopper maybe perched there, ready to hop in. Father Paul, sleeves rolled up over his strong arms. He gripping his cigarette tight, laughing loudest. He gunna work with all these new ones, he gunna be patient this time. Murray fidgeting, he move little bit this way, little bit ’nother way. Then he find a nice comfortable place, and he sit still with his legs apart and his beer belly resting good there. He looking at his scrubbed red fingers, eating his fingernails. Alex and Annette sitting together; they glad they all in their house. Alex’s legs crossed. One foot swinging swinging, fingers tapping. He a clock, you know, trying to make time his way; this second begins ... Now! Another one ... Now! Little round Annette sitting right closest next to him, sideways, hands in her lap. Liz writing their words down in a little book.
So. They having a hard time here in Karnama. Maybe this is not the place for them.
Gerrard would have shifted in his chair. ‘Well, let’s make a start then. I’ve run these sorts of meetings before, where the senior personnel get together. Perhaps we could take turns chairing them from here. I’ll start, today. The idea is just to throw things around; talk about what’s bothering you, problems, who’s causing trouble, what’s not getting done. That sort of thing.’
‘Where to start, eh?’ said Father Paul, sympathetically. Laughter. Alex and Annette held one another’s gaze for a moment.
Gerrard made a suggestion, and they all said ‘Aye’, and put their hands up in the air.
Gerrard talked. He named some people. He said he was having trouble getting people to work punctually, or arriving at all. Getting them to finish jobs, even halfway properly, was impossible.
Annette elbowed Alex. ‘Exactly,’ he said, slapping the back of one hand in the palm of the other. ‘Exactly. Our cleaners, our gardener, our AEW...’
‘Using the terms loosely,’ interrupted Annette.
‘The problem,’ continued Alex, ‘is to get them to work on time, turning up regularly enough to learn how to do a decent job.’ He sighed.
‘And, the kids. Half the time—no, more than that—they haven’t been fed or cleaned, and they fall asleep in class. What are their parents doing? Playing cards? Drinking?’
Father Paul dragged hard on his cigarette. He pulled it from his lips like it was a bullet caught there, and crushed it in the aluminium ashtray. Annette wrinkled her nose. Father Paul leaned forward.
‘Before, ten years ago, the way we used to do it was with vouchers. That way you made sure there’s enough for food, for the kids, clothes ... Then what’s left over, the cash, they can use for cards, or whatever. But we can’t now. The church is out of it. It’s self-determination now.’ And he shook his head.
Murray shifted his buttocks on the vinyl chair. Gerrard turned to him, but he dropped his head.
Alex, wrinkling his brow and turning his hands palms up, said, ‘Why not? Why can’t we do it that way now?’ He suddenly put his forefingers together and pointed forward. ‘That’s the way to go, surely? Gerrard, you could give each of us the wages for our workers, and we pay them. We could pay them, or not pay them, daily. Immediate positive reinforcement. They’d see the consequences, immediately, of not turning up. We could dock their pays.’
Gerrard squeezed his nose between thumb and forefinger, and his face showed pain. ‘Can’t do it. Ab Affairs, DAA—whatever they’re called this week—fly money out once a month. We’re accountable, and it’s for the previous month. Anyway, we can’t.’
Father Paul snorted, and, leaning forward so that his elbows were supported by his knees, contemplated his cigarette.
Annette looked at Alex, who drew himself up straight in his chair and said, ‘But you, or your girls, are always getting the timesheets mixed up anyway. Can’t we just fiddle it somehow?’
Gerrard ticked something on the list before him. ‘We’re not getting anywhere here. Alex, Annette,’ he gave her a smile, ‘what other things do you want to say? This is the place to get it off your chest.’
Annette decided this was her chance. ‘It’s just not good enough, that’s all. We work like slaves for their kids, and they’re just leaving it all up to us. They don’t care. And what about the power? The powerhouse breaks down—every second day or whatever it is—and there’s no air-conditioning. It’s hell in those rooms then. Talk about hot. And the smell! And the school seems to be the first to lose power as well, and last to get it back. How come? It’s all wrong.’
Murray spoke. All eyes turned to him. ‘Actually, we gotta turn the power off at the moment because number three engine is the only one working well. The SEC are coming out next week to upgrade the lot. But, the school, and your houses ... It’s a big drain on power. All those air-conditioners. If you could turn them off when they’re not necessary.’
Annette could not be stopped. Her cheeks were flushed. ‘But the kids must be most important! What are our priorities? And what about the water then? What about that? I’ve gone over to the store when the school has no water, and seen taps just running, wasting water, and we’re over here, with little kids, and we can’t even use the toilets. Now, is that right? Is it fair? I tell you, we’re getting sick of it. What we should do is shut the school every time the power goes off, or the water.’
Alex seemed about to deny that they would do this, but Murray got in first. He spoke softly, but his voice was tight. ‘Try to understand. I’ve tried to explain about the power, and the water ... The river—that’s where we get our water from—the river is a long way from the school. You’re last in line. Because you have the newest buildings and homes, and there’s nearly always work to do on the pump, like everything here.
When I turn it off, to fix it, or just run it down if I can, then it might be that some taps are left on somewhere, and no water reaches the school. They’re very thin pipes. I can’t be going spying, turning off taps everywhere. You can’t blame me.’
‘But Murray,’ Alex was trying on authority, ‘surely the school is most important, we’d all agree on that.’ No one said anything. ‘Can’t there be a diversion across, so that the school is not last. Or so you can cut the water off to the camp only.’
Murray’s chin was up. ‘You do it then. You’re an expert? How are we gunna do that? Who? You know all the other jobs that need doing around here? You gunna help me train people?’
Annette seemed swollen with anger, and choking. ‘And the power! We’ve been sitting here at night, sweating in the dark, and there’s been lights on at the mission. So how come? Tell me that.’ Tears welled in her eyes.
‘Maybe once,’ said Murray. ‘Only once. The mission is on a different line. But what are you saying? Just say it. Do I tell you how to do your job? Do I tell you how to teach? There’s plenty of things going wrong on that score, that I keep hearing about.’
Ah, yes. So they have this big meeting so they can get things off their chest? They gunna have big chests then. And that Annette, she have biggest milk. Big ones out here, eh? She look like little tank with big guns right out front then.