South Sea Gold: Chapter Thirty

Father Simon was now the oldest priest at the mission compound a kilometer off the highway going westward from Madang. His hair was gray, his hands were crippled with arthritis after forty years at the mission school. His duties had been reduced from the full teaching load he once bore.

He was surprised, therefore, when a lone traveler on foot, bearing only a backpack, came up the road from the highway and asked for him by name. The man looked to be in his late thirties, weary, dusty, with a stubble of beard.

"I am Father Simon," the old man said."You look tired, man. Have you eaten? Come and sit down."

The man thankfully took a seat in the chair next to the old priest. "A cup of water would be good, thanks." The priest poured from the clay water jug on the table at his side and offered the cup to his guest.

"And what brings you here, my son? Are you one of my former students, all grown up?"

"Yes, Father." The man drank deeply from the cup, waved away the offer of more. "Twenty-four years ago, you were my teacher. I remember your using the phrase 'God willing' so often, 'We shall do this or do that, God willing'.

"When I grew up, I joined the Constabulary. I was a good cop, and rose to sergeant's rank. Now my world has fallen apart. I come here seeking refuge and guidance."

The old man peered at him. "Remind me of your name, son. And God willing, we shall discover guidance for your distress."

"Joe Moran, Father."

A smile lit the old priest's wrinkled face. "Ah yes," he said, "I remember now. Feisty and bright. Welcome back. When you are ready, tell me what brought your world crashing down."

"I was a cop for ten years, Father. Now I am running from the police."

"Anything you confide to me will be between you and me and God, provided that no one becomes endangered by keeping it secret. Do you have any sin you wish to confess before God?"

"Yes, Father, I have many." Joe recounted his journey from Madang to Lae, his wife's violent death there, his anger that built into rage, his move underground, his recruiting a street gang to "get even" with the world. He admitted being hired by embezzlers to harass the newspaper's campaign against the increasing pollution, so that mining could continue to expand.

"The newspaper wanted the mines to set aside a larger share of' profits to build more schools, hospitals, and roads for PNG. When my wife was killed, and neither the other police nor I could prevent it, I went berserk and wanted revenge. But my revenge is costing me my soul. And I don't know what to do now, Father." It wasn't in Joe's nature to weep, but he appeared grim, and utterly broken.

The old priest was silent for a time, gazing down the road toward the distant sea, thinking. "Losing a member of your family that way must be a terrible blow. Is the rage still there, Joe?"

"Anger, yes. Rage, no, not the way it was at first."

"What is it like now?"

"We were married for more than four years, Father. Sharing our memories, sharing our bed, sharing our work. We became a part of each other. When all that disappears, it's like my right arm has been torn off."

The priest was silent, waiting for more. "Have you a family, Joe?" he finally asked.

"A young son and daughter, staying with Naina's mother," Joe said.

"Let's start there then, by remembering that God cares for them, and they also need a father, all the more, now that their mother is gone. But first let's get you something to eat. You must be hungry. It's time for dinner. Come with me."

"How did you get here, Joe? Who knows you are here?" The priest sat with him after the simple meal, on a favorite hillside with a view over the compound.

"No one knows I'm here, Father," Joe said. "When I saw a man watching the place where I was staying in the capital, I knew it was time to leave. I stayed away from the airport and the boat docks, and walked over the mountains on the Kodoka Trail to Buna. Then took a boat up to Lae and caught a ride on a lorry carrying supplies up to the refinery at Basamuk Walked the last few kilometers―I didn't want anyone on a Madang bus recognizing me. And here I am."

"Aren't you afraid to travel alone?"

"I know how to take care of myself, Father. It's part of my job."

"And did you harm anyone along the way," the priest asked quietly. "Are you armed?"

"I harmed no one since I left Moresby. And yes, I am armed, but I am through fighting now."

"Then will you trust me with your gun, Joe?"

Joe was silent for a long pause. "Yes Father, I trust you." He handed his police weapon to the priest.

"Assault, accessory to rape, deception, accepting stolen money, aiding embezzlement." The priest summed up the crimes Joe had told him. "Have you killed anyone, Joe?"

"No, Father."

"Good. Then first, we must unite you with your children. They need you and you need them. Secondly, we must stop those who are robbing the nation. Thirdly, you must make penance to those you have harmed. Where are your children now?"

"With their grandmother. Tobi Village, outside Madang."

"Tomorrow I will go and see her. It's better if you don't come with me yet. Meanwhile, it takes time for the suffering to fade. Months, usually, sometimes years. That is not uncommon, but it can be unhealthy. Focus on the goals ahead, Joe. You still have work to do, tasks to accomplish."

"I have talked with their father," the priest told Grandmother Maia as he sat on her veranda with a cup of coffee. "He is staying near here now, but he is in trouble. He blames himself and his fellow constables for being unable to prevent his wife's murder, and has committed some vengeful acts that he now regrets. He would like to see his children and talk with you about their care. How do you feel about that?" The children were playing outside with some of their friends as he talked.

Grandmother Maia watched them quietly a few moments. "Does he want to take them away?"

"No, he just wants to see them, reassure himself that they are still here, worth waiting for. He has no way to take care of them right now."

"Then of course he can come. He's a good man. Are the police looking for him?"

"Probably. He had best come here at night, when the neighbors won't see him. I'll see that he gets here.