We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [96]
"Oh, it's not because they're lazier here than anywhere else in the world. A native is a native. I can mention several individual examples of hard work, of course. But it never lasts." He looked at me as if to signal that what he was about to say was of particular interest. "Their families are their curse. When my servants go home for a visit, I make them leave their nice clothes behind. Take Adolf—yes, I give them German names, it makes it easier." He pointed at the servant walking next to my horse. "I gave Adolf permission to visit his family, wearing his fine clothes. He was so proud of them. But he came back in rags. His family had taken over his uniform. I meet them, from time to time, prancing about. There's a cousin wearing the waistcoat, there's a brother in the jacket, an uncle with the shirt, and his dad's wearing the trousers. They'll wear one item of clothing at a time and nothing else—oh, it's a sight all right, eh, Adolf?" He poked the servant with his whip, but Adolf stared straight ahead as if he hadn't heard what Krebs had said, or didn't understand a word. The latter seemed the most likely. "The Samoan doesn't work," Krebs said. "He goes visiting. He's not your industrious ant type. More of a grasshopper."
"A grasshopper?"
"A grasshopper. You see, if a Samoan suddenly grows rich, whether through hard work, which is rather unlikely, or through luck, then his entire clan will instantly come and visit him. Even the most distant branches of the family tree will arrive. I've seen it. A whole village might move. And they'll behave like a swarm of locusts. They won't leave until they've stripped him of everything. Your Samoan has the same word for visit and misfortune: malanga. And you can figure out the consequences. It's a system that rewards the beggar and penalizes effort. Hard work is nothing more than an invitation to be robbed. It's impossible to save. So what does the smart man do? He makes sure he earns enough to cover the bare necessities, so he can put food in his mouth and the mouths of those closest to him, and nothing more. A man like that's no use to me. No: imported labor. Single men who don't need much and, most important, don't have a big family."
While Krebs had been speaking we had left the last houses behind, and only native huts surrounded us. The road had ended and we had to ride around a crisscross of woven fences behind which black, hairy pigs grunted in the mud. A crowd of children encircled us. Adolf gave a warning whistle as though chasing away dogs and the kids shrieked and retreated—but they soon reappeared, and every time they did, their chattering numbers had swelled. Women stared at us from the opening of their huts.
"Well, this is where Europe ends," Krebs said. "Now we're among the savages."
A gust of wind swept through the tall coconut palms and set their tops rustling. I looked up. Their large leaves opened and closed like sea anemones, and I caught a brief glimpse of a man perched in one of them. He was white, with a naked torso and a large gray beard. Then the leaves closed again and hid him from view, as if the palm tree was his home and he was now shutting its door against curious onlookers.
For a moment I doubted my own eyes. Most of all, I wanted to ignore the strange apparition, which seemed to belong to a dream world. Krebs had seen it too. He stopped his horse and turned to me.
"We're here," he said. "So I'll be turning back." He gestured to me to get off my horse. I took hold of my sea chest and dismounted, and he leaned down to shake my hand. "I hope you won't regret it. You're always welcome at my house." He squeezed my hand and turned his horse around. Then he looked back at me. A mocking smile appeared on his face. "Good luck with your father." Then he spurred his horse and galloped away.
I STOOD THERE, with my sea chest under my arm. The children gawked and gestured, but I ignored them until eventually they calmed down and squatted