Night Of Error

Piro was very proud of his jeep. 'Best car on Tanakabu,' he announced cheerfully as we winced at the racket.

'Has Dr Schouten got a car?'

'Ho, no! Doctor got not'ing – jus' stomick med'cine.'

We drove past the dark bulk of a copra warehouse and then we were on a narrow track through a palm plantation and Piro waved at it. These trees mine. All us got trees.'

'Has the doctor got trees?'

'Lil one lot, not'ing much. He too busy wit' med'cine and knife.'

We swerved inland and I lost sight of the sea, which seemed impossible on such a small island, but I could still hear the unceasing roar of the surf on the beaches, in between the car noises. After a few minutes we came back onto a beach and Piro pointed ahead. There is hopital.' In the distance was a large cluster of lights – much bigger than the village we had left. I said, That's a big hospital for a small island, Piro.'

'Ho, plenny boys come from other islands – ver' sick. Plenny wahines too. Many lepers there, an' boys wit' swells.'

A leper colony! I felt a shiver of atavistic horror. I knew intellectually that leprosy isn't particularly infectious, but of all diseases it is the most abhorred and I didn't feel like driving into a colony.

Piro didn't seem worried though, and drove blithely off the beach right into the hospital grounds, pulling up in front of a long low-roofed shack. 'Schouten is there, 'he said. 'You wan' I should wait?'

'Yes, you can wait,' I answered. 'I won't be long. Jim, don't come in with me, if you don't mind – but be ready if I call you.'

'Sure thing, Mike.' Jim leaned back and offered Piro a cigarette.

I walked up the two steps on to a long verandah and knocked on the door. A voice said, 'Ici! Ici! and I walked along the verandah to a room at the far end. It was an office, the door open, and a big man was seated at a desk, writing by the light of a Coleman lamp. There was a half-empty brandy bottle and a full glass at his elbow.

I said, 'Dr Schouten?'

He looked up. 'Oui?' 'I'm sorry. I have very little French. Do you speak English?'

He smiled and it transformed his ravaged face. 'Ja, I speak English,' he said and stood up. In his prime, he must have tipped the scales at two hundred and twenty pounds of bone and muscle, but now he was flabby and soft and his paunch had taken over. His face was seamed and lined and he had two deep clefts from the nose to the corners of his mouth, forming soft dewlaps which shook on his cheeks.

He offered me his hand and said, 'It's not often we get strangers on Tanakabu – at least not at this end of the island.' His accent was heavily Dutch but his English was as fluent as the Governor's.

I said, 'We just came in.'

'I know. I saw the lights of your ship as you came through the pass, and then I heard Piro's jeep coming.' He waved towards the window. That is why you see no patients about-sometimes they shock casual visitors, so on those occasions I keep them out of sight.'

He opened a cupboard. 'Will you have a drink?'

I said, 'My name is Trevelyan.'

Schouten dropped the glass he had taken from the cupboard and it smashed on the floor. He turned his head sharply and looked at me over his shoulder. I saw that his face had turned a sickly yellow under the tan and his eyes were furtive and haunted.

'Trevelyan?' he mumbled. He seemed to have difficulty speaking.

'Yes.'

He turned round. 'Praise be to God,' he said. 'I thought you were dead.'

I looked at him in surprise. 'Dead! Why should I be dead?'

He sat at the desk, his hands clutching the edge. 'But they said you were dead,' he said softly. His eyes were brooding and seemed to be looking at something else – something terrible.

Then I caught on – he thought I was Mark! I said, 'Who said I was dead?'

'I wrote out the death certificate – here at this desk. Mark Trevelyan was the name. You died of peritonitus.' He looked up at me and there was fear in his eyes.

I said gently, 'I'm Michael Trevelyan – Mark was my brother.'

He gave a long shuddering sigh, then his gaze dropped to the glass on his desk and he picked it up and drained it in one swallow.

I said, 'Perhaps you'd better tell me about it.' He gave no answer, merely hunching his shoulders and avoiding my eyes. 'You've said too much – and too little,' I pursued. 'You must tell me what happened to Mark.'

He was an old man, rotten with loneliness and drink and the sight of peoples' bodies falling apart and he couldn't withstand a mental hammering. There was a stubbornness in him but also a softness at the core, and I was brutal in my approach.

'My brother didn't have appendicitis – that was an impossibility. But you forged a death certificate. Why?'

He hunched over the desk, his arms before him with the fists clenched and remained silent.

'My God, what kind of a doctor are you?' I said. 'Your medical association isn't going to like this – you're going to be struck off, Schouten. Or maybe you'll be hanged – or guillotined. A man is dead, Schouten, and you're an accessory. The best thing that is going to happen to you is a gaol sentence.'

He shook his head slowly, then closed his eyes as though in pain.

'You're an old man before your time even now, and ten years in gaol won't improve you. They'll take away your brandy and you'll scream for it. Now, what happened to Mark?'

He opened his eyes and looked at me bleakly. 'I can't tell you.'

'Can't – or won't?'

The muscles of his mouth tightened and he remained stubbornly silent.

'All right,' I said. 'You're coming with us – we're going back to Papeete and you'll tell your story to the Governor. I'm putting you under civilian arrest, Schouten. I don't know if that has any validity under French law but I'll chance it. I'll give you ten minutes to collect whatever you want to take with you.'

Something happened inside Schouten and I knew I was getting to him. He jerked up his head and stared at me. 'But I can't leave the hospital,' he said. 'What will happen to the people here?'

I pushed hard. 'What will happen to this hospital when you're in gaol? Or even dead? Come on – get your things together.'

He pushed back his chair abruptly and stood up. 'You don't understand. I can't leave these people – some of them would die. I'm the only doctor here.'

I looked at him without pity. I had a cruel advantage and I had to use it – there was nothing else I could do. 'You should have thought of that before you killed my brother,' I said.

His muscles tensed and for a moment I thought he was going to jump me. I said sharply, 'You may be big, Schouten, but you're old and soft! I'm tougher than you and you know it, so stay clear of me or I'll whale the daylights out of you. I'm sorely tempted.'

His mouth twitched and he almost smiled. 'I wasn't going to attack you, Mr Trevelyan. I'm a peaceful man. I don't believe in violence – and I didn't kill your brother.'

'Then for Christ's sake, what's the matter with you? Why won't you tell me what happened?'

He sat down again and buried his face in his hands. When he raised his head I saw that his cheeks were streaked with tears. He said with difficulty, 'I cannot leave the hospital, but you must guarantee its safety, Mr Trevelyan. You see, they said – they said they'd burn the hospital.'