Eventually an arrangement was made between Debe and Jimmy among themselves, by which they spent alternate weeks at cooking and hewing wood and drawing water. There was always considerable jealousy as to who was the better cook; once, when it was Jimmy’s week to cook, and he had brought up some bread of his own making, Debe came in, looked at it, and sticking his thumb well in, blandly remarked, “I call that damper.”
On another occasion, when the mind of the entire island was absorbed in the preparation of a big kaikai (feast), Jimmy Rice went off into the bush to bring back his contribution of yams, bananas, and coconuts, and there became so absorbed in his work that he did not return until after my colleagues had cooked their own dinner. Debe Wali was furious when he heard of his comrade’s unpunctuality. “When I cook, by jingo, I give you proper kaikai (food); breakfast, sun there; dinner, sun up here; supper, sun over there.” That same evening and the following morning Debe forgot to fill the jugs with water.
One nice thing about our helpers was that they never considered themselves as servants. They treated us as equals, much to the amusement and disgust of Ontong. They would come up from the kitchen, loll on our deck chairs, and chatter away always in the most amusing fashion.
Myers also told me the following:—“Debe astonished us one evening by the calm announcement, ‘Milk he no good. Me suck (chuck) ’im away. He full plenty big black pigeon.’ With no little interest we prepared to make the acquaintance of the big black ‘pigeon,’ ignorant at that time that the word ‘pigeon’ is applied by the Murray Islanders to any living thing that is not obviously a four-footed animal. We found an open tin of condensed milk swarming with large black ants.”
Ten years previously, when in Mabuiag, I sent Dick, the boy who used to fetch and carry for me, to a fresh-water pool with a net and bottle to see what he could catch. He returned in high glee crying, “Doctor, I catch ’im pigeon belong water-hole.” The “pigeons” happened to be some small water-beetles.
Very shortly before we left I invited the Mamoose, Pasi, who is the Mamoose of Dauar, and Jimmy Dei, the Sergeant of Police, to dinner. We gave them soup, curry and rice, rice and honey, and pancakes. Judging from the quantities they ate they enjoyed themselves very much. Afterwards we gave them songs and music on the phonograph, and I obtained their autographs, for it is not often that one has two kings to dinner.
Rivers had asked them twice before, when some of us were in New Guinea; on one occasion when Pasi went home he saw his eldest son nursing a very small infant, and he asked him, “What man belong that boy?” “Why, poppa,” was the answer, “he belong you!” His wife had presented Pasi with a baby when he was out to dinner. According to the common practice of the island, Pasi had promised the unborn babe to a native named Smoke, who, having no children of his own, had expressed a wish to “look out for it,” or in other words, to take care of it; a zogo is said to “look out garden.”
I was informed by Myers that at this supper Harry, the Mamoose, and Pasi each asked for three helpings of curry, and three of rice with jam and marmalade. Pickles and marmalade proved an irresistible attraction. Even Pasi, who has travelled as far as Thursday Island, had never met with marmalade before.
When Harry began his third helping Pasi spoke to him in the Miriam tongue, “Only take a little.” The hosts knew enough of the language to understand what was said, and, to the evident amusement of the two guests, persuaded Pasi also to “take a little.”
Cigars were given them after dinner, which they were polite enough to pretend to relish. Harry’s cigar remained almost unsmoked; a New Guinea boy finished Pasi’s. Although smoking was practised in these islands before the white men came, and they grew their own tobacco, they never smoked much at a time.