What he could remember quite clearly was his first adult decision, and his immediate awareness then of its significance. He was fourteen, and the family had taken a rare summer holiday to Nelson, where they stayed with an aunt. Pearly and Richie slept in a room that belonged to an older cousin who had gone elsewhere for the holidays. When alone there, Pearly had looked in the drawers and discovered a wristwatch in a green fabric pouch. An Omega with a black leather strap and gold Roman numerals on the face. Pearly didn’t have a watch, and he felt a longing for it, taking it out when by himself, placing it on his wrist, standing before the wardrobe mirror to see how it adorned his arm, winding it, glancing at it with assumed nonchalance to check the time and aware of his image as he did so. He said nothing to Richie.

On the day the visit was over, Pearly was in an agony of indecision. Twice he went into the bedroom and put the watch in his bag, twice he returned and replaced it in the drawer. He didn’t steal it, and as they drove away he had a growing sense of relief and satisfaction in his own judgement. It had nothing to do with morality, just that he’d prevented himself from doing a dumb thing, the sort of dumb thing that kids did. In time he bought himself an Omega, but it never had the tempting allure of the original in his cousin’s possession. He could remember being in the car as they left Nelson, his mother and father discussing the aunt’s idiosyncrasies, the texture of the seat material against his neck, heaped white and grey clouds like pouting pigeons to the west, his own blamelessness and new maturity.

FIVE

In the robes and chain of office, Pearly stood at the Tuesday evening ceremony in the council chambers to welcome the new citizens and formally present their certificates. In descending numerical order the former nationalities were six Chinese, four Indians, three Fijians, a Dutchwoman, an Irishman and a young Eritrean of indeterminate sex judging by appearance but documented as male. A small audience, mostly relatives. Paul Wrinskley and a photographer were there from the paper, and Esther Hall as she’d promised. Pearly could do this sort of thing in his sleep yet still give the impression that the occasion was a highlight for him. Routine though it was, however, Pearly wasn’t cynical concerning its importance for those involved. He believed in the value of the choice they’d made and in the benefits to them and the nation. Employers told him that new citizens worked harder than most locals and appreciated the opportunity. To give someone a country was surely a significant thing, and Pearly was the magnanimous agent for that dispensation.