“Might it not be leftovers from the war? The place is littered with them,” Manchester said.
“Could be,” Sam agreed.
A bucket brimming with ice arrived, and Sam positioned his second beer in it. Manchester finished his and signaled for another. Vanya gave Remi a gentle roll of her eyes as if to say “What can you do with the big lug?”
“But enough about our little hobby,” Sam continued, then changed the subject. “What’s all this about setting up clinics?”
Vanya beamed at him. “It’s been a long time in the planning. I’ve given up on the government doing anything for its people but robbing them blind, so I’m taking matters into my own hands. Children are getting sick and not being treated. People are dying who could be saved. All for want of some remedial care. It doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m saying in the twenty-first century it shouldn’t be that way. We have the knowledge, all we need are the resources. Which is where our generous donors come in.”
“Sounds like a worthwhile cause. Do you already have many contributors?” Remi asked.
Manchester guffawed as the third beer materialized and the empties were whisked away. “I’ll say. She’s got every pharmaceutical company she can shame into pledging something.”
“Would that it were enough, Orwen. It’s just scratching the surface. Reality is, nobody much cares about our people, and, at best, I’ve been able to get them to commit to token charity. Any of these groups could easily write a check and solve most of our infrastructure issues with the stroke of a pen, but they don’t. Because we’re not high visibility. We’re stuck in a corner of the world nobody knows exists. So they commit to some crumbs, which is better than nothing, but not much.”
“How much do you still need to raise?”
“My target’s half a million U.S. dollars for the first year and then two hundred thousand every year thereafter. The first year will pay for simple buildings and some primitive equipment, but those costs won’t recur.” Vanya shook her head. “These companies spend more on a slow day advertising tooth whitener. But like I said, we’re not a revenue source, so we don’t matter. So far, I’ve marshaled a hundred and fifty of the first year’s requirement and a soft fifty for the second.”
Remi looked to Sam, who had a small smile on his face. “We’ll take it under advisement. Do you have a plan? A budget written out?”
“Of course. An entire presentation.”
“Could we get a copy?” Remi asked.
“I’d be delighted. Is it really something you think your foundation might be interested in supporting?” Vanya asked, her tone excited.
Sam finished his beer. “No promises, but let’s see what you have. I know the foundation has funded other worthwhile causes.”
Steaming platters of fish arrived, and Manchester made a point of studying his silverware for blemishes before digging in. By the size of his bites and the speed with which he ate, it was clear he was a man who didn’t miss any meals. Silence reigned at the table until the fish was gone. Sam sat back. “That was wonderful. Like they just caught it.”
Vanya nodded. “I’d be surprised if it was more than a few hours old. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of marine life here. One of the ways we’ve been blessed.”
“That and the mineral riches we can’t seem to get organized enough to pull out of the ground,” Manchester chimed in, sounding bitter.
“Really?” Sam asked. “Like what?”
“Good gracious, man. Oil. Tankers full of it. And every kind of rarity you can imagine. Gold by the truckload. Emeralds. Rubies. And on and on. We should be richer than the bloody Saudis, but instead all we do is bicker with each other and chase our own tails.”
“Don’t get Orwen started. It’s one of his pet peeves,” Vanya chided as the plates were cleared.
“We’ve had a history of corruption and of foreigners coming in and taking anything of value. How much do you know about our history?” Manchester asked with a slight slur.
“Not enough, obviously,” Sam said.
“We were a British protectorate for years and then the Japs invaded and took over the islands. Then the Yanks fought them off, only to hand us over to the Brits again after the war. We’ve been passed around like a pack of smokes at a rock concert, and, up until recently, nobody, including ourselves, thought that we might actually be entitled to self-determination rather than being somebody else’s possession.” He barked a humorless laugh. “Fat lot of good it’s done us. We might as well be destitute. We’re sitting on a fortune in natural resources and we can’t make a go of it. Saddest story you’ll ever hear.”
Vanya sighed, obviously having heard all this many times before. “Next, he’ll be railing about the gold mine.”
“So there’s still gold?” Remi asked.
“Of course there is. But you wouldn’t know it to look at us, would you? And as Vanya alluded to, people get frustrated at all the jockeying and ineptness, so they kick their administration out with regularity, so the mentality of most politicians is to grab what you can while you’re in office because chances are you won’t be much longer. It’s a vicious circle. One I’ve lived in the last twenty years.”
Vanya eyed the big man with a gentle gaze. “Orwen here is one of the last good ones. Don’t let him sour you on Guadalcanal. It’s got its share of problems, but it’s a beautiful place filled with warm-hearted people.”
Manchester drained his beer. “And crocodiles. Can’t forget them. Maybe we should let them have a turn at running the thing. Can’t do much worse than we have.”
The conversation stalled, and Vanya did her best to bring it back to center. “It’s confession time. I haven’t been co