Ed Lacy - South Pacific Affair
“Yeah, things are a little light at the moment, but I can't take off a couple days to go to a worthless island.”
Randall cleared his-throat, “Captain, the island is not worthless to me. I am talking about chartering your vessel. As I understand it, this island is about a day away and as you know, the cruise ship sails in four days. Now, what would it cost to hire you and your boat for, say, three days?”
I pretended I was doing some figuring in my noodle, felt so gay I almost suggested he get Barry and split the costs. I finally said, “On a trip like this, to little-known parts, there's always a risk of piling up on unchartered reefs and all that. Three days—five hundred bucks.”
Randall didn't even blink. He would have forked over the five hundred there and then except Henri went into his song and dance. He slapped his face, took off his dirty straw hat and pulled at his thin hair as he pleaded and moaned I was betraying his friendship, Randall was a dear friend of his and therefore a boon buddy of mine.
I said I would do it for four hundred dollars.
Henri was so busy hamming it up I couldn't catch his eye, tell him the mark was more than willing. When I told him in Tahitian to cut the act, he didn't listen but shouted in his best broken English we were both old Pacific hands and who the hell was I kidding, four hundred bucks was an outrage!
I said, “I didn't ask for this, it's Randall's idea. I don't like to haggle—three hundred and that's final.”
“That's good with me,” Randall said. He went down into the smelly cabin and wrote out three travelers checks. “I'd like to leave tonight I can return here within the hour. Have to explain this to my wife. You see, she's a poor sailor and could hardly take a trip like this.”
“I'm sure she couldn't,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. “Let's try to leave before midnight. We have a long sail ahead of us.”
“Yes sir, Captain!” Randall said, excited as a kid.
There was only one place I could cash the checks and I practically ran all the way to Olin's, doing a little broken field running among the drunken tourists. Olin was going over his books and didn't ask where I'd got the money from but only how much did I want to pay on what I owed him?
“Nothing. I merely ask you to do me a favor and cash these. Most of this money isn't mine.”
Olin gave me a flat noncommittal look as he opened a desk drawer and counted out thousand franc notes. He said, “I know. You keep very odd company, even for a cockroach trader. Although I did not hear you had a fight.”
“That's something. I didn't think a man could change his socks here without the whole town talking about it.”
He handed me a stack of bills, telling me, “I say this as a friend: a fool can never see himself in the mirror of life.”
“I feel too good to argue with you.”
“Drunk?” Olin asked.
“Yes, but not on wine. I have erased a ghost of my past who's been spooking me. Look, I need this at once—two baskets of assorted fresh fruits, vegetables, a case of beer, good Australian export beer, a few tins of rice, coffee beans.”
“They will be at your boat before you return,” Olin said, figuring the bill. “Some rice wine and cookies?”
“No time, but thanks,” I said, paying him and heading back to the Hooker. I wasn't used to having my pockets stuffed with francs, even if they weren't mine. I stopped to have a beer and a couple of sandwiches, wondered where Barry was, and by the time I reached the Hooker, the supplies were neatly piled on the deck. I put them away and the stars were out bright and clear, so I knew the weather would be okay. I went to get a drum of gasoline and when-I came back a taxi was waiting. Randall was there, along with Henri and a fat old woman who had the skin and figure of an uncooked jelly doughnut.
It wasn't necessary for Henri to hiss in my ear, “This monster is his wife!”
Randall said, “Captain, I want you to meet my better half, Erestine.”
I shook her damp hand for a second and she asked, “Is that little boat of yours safe?” Mrs. Randall must have thought her lips were too large so she only painted part of them which gave her mouth an odd look.
“Don't worry, this cutter could take you to California.”
“You are an American although I don't know why any sane man would want to hang around this dirty place. My —you have a black eye.”
“Now, Erestine, the Captain enjoys living here. As I have often tried to tell you, we are all not made of the same molecules. You go back to the boat and tomorrow take the guided tour, play bridge with the other women. Don't worry about me.”
“I still think it's crazy,” she said. “And you'll be sick as a dog in that little boat. But, if that's what you want... Bradberry, just don't forget our agreement.”
“Yes, dear, the new car as soon as we reach home.” Randall kissed her and she got back into the taxi which took off like a racing car. Randall grabbed his pigskin overnight bag and hurried on board. I got the motor going and Randall came out of the cabin wearing a cap and heavy white turtleneck sweater which made him look a little ridiculous. He insisted on helping Henri with the mooring lines, and as we headed for the pass, one of the customs men on the isle of Motuiti waved at us. I waved back and kept going. When we hit the open sea and started to bounce, Randall took it like a sailor; spread his feet apart for balance, took a deep breath and announced, “This is wonderful!”
“But expensive, or has the price of cars tumbled since I was Stateside?”
He smiled. “You know women.”
“I doubt that I do,” I said, almost to myself.
“Erestine is a fine woman but can't possibly understand what this means to me. She was against going around the world, wanted to spend the time in New York or Palm Beach, but for once I insisted. How long have you been in the islands, Captain?”
“Over a year,” I said, setting the ship on course.
“You're a lucky man. You have the world by the tail.”
“Have I? I couldn't even buy the hub cap of a car.”
“But you don't need a car here,” Randall said, taking out a pipe. “Captain, you must think me an old fool. I know Erestine does. But ever since I was a kid I've dreamed of the South Seas. I've read all the books of O'Brien, London, Stone, Hall...”
“And Edmond Stewart?”
“Especially his. Is he still alive?”
“Half alive last time I saw him. Take you to see him instead of where we're headed.”
“No. The trouble is when you're finally able to travel, you're either too old, or the dreams of youth have been distorted. Honolulu was miserable. Papeete—Coney Island in the Pacific. When I heard of this untouched island, I simply had to see it.”
We were safely beyond the reefs and Henri started hoisting sail. Randall gave him a hand. Soon as we were racing ahead of a stiff breeze, I shut the motor, asked if he wanted to take the wheel. “Give you something to tell the Rotary back home.”
“Don't make fun of me,” he said, holding the wheel as I shut the gas cock. “Not doing this for any bull session. For the first time in my life I'm living!”
Closing the motor hatch, I asked, “What do you expect to find on this island beside crabs and rats?”
“Merely true simplicity, native charm.”
“You'll find the charm,” I said, trying not to smile.
Henri made a pot of coffee and we had a hot cup. Dubon bedded down for the night sleeping in his clothes of course. After awhile Brad said, “Sailing this boat is wonderful but perhaps I ought to get some sleep too. If I can sleep. I don't want to miss a second when we reach my island.”
That “my” island gave me a laugh. I took the wheel and Randall went below. Henri immediately left his mat, came over to whisper, “My share of the money.”
I gave him a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of francs and he counted it. He said, “You had me worried. A fine time to get into a fight.”
“I ran into a very good friend of mine.”
Pocketing the bills, he said smugly, “You see how easy it is to operate in a big way? One needs only to use brains, a little daring, and—”
“Knock off, Dubon. I have a long night ahead of me.”
“But admit this was my idea and it is a tremendous one.”
“Okay, you're a tremendous one yourself.”
He ate a banana and went back to his mat. I sat by the wheel and listened to the sloshing sound of the boat cutting the waves, a kind of song of contentment. I felt like singing myself. There was not only the business with Barry Kent taken care of, but this was the second time I'd ever sailed the Hooker single-handed and I was both pleased and confident. For a fast second, like a kid showing off, I almost wished we'd run into a little rough stuff. Then I remembered Eddie saying, “You always got to respect the sea, be a little afraid of her. Once you stop respecting her, she'll get you.”
What the hell, there was something to this life which was clean and good, as Randall said. He envied me, so did Barry. What more freedom could a man want than a strong boat under him? Hell, I'd been thinking only of Ruita's happiness. How about my own, why should I give up a life I loved?
About one in the morning I lashed the wheel down and made some more coffee. Henri was sleeping with his mouth open, his bad teeth making it a living sewer. Brad Randall suddenly stuck his big head out of the cabin, looking unreal in baby blue pajamas. I asked if he was sick and he said no, turned, and raised the back of his pajamas. The hard shell of two-inch roach was embedded in his fatty back. I pulled out the shell and he bled a bit. Randall got a first aid kit out of his overnight bag and I put some iodine and a band-aid on. He slipped on his sport jacket, said, “Sure cool at night. Roaches are nasty buggers, aren't they?”
“The bugs, the copra stink, coral poisoning, and a few other things, the movies always forget.”
Randall laughed and lit his pipe. “I don't mind it, Captain. I suppose we Americans think of heaven as a place with first class toilet and brass plumbing. Wouldn't a spraying of DDT get rid of these bugs?”
“Sure—for a day or so. It's easier to get used to them. Want some coffee?”
“I'd—uh—-rather have a nut.”
I got one and took out my knife and he asked for the knife, punched a clumsy hole in one of the eyes of the nut drank it, then tossed it overboard with a today-I-am-a-man air. We talked for a couple of hours about taxes back in the States, the chances of war, a depression, and other things making me want to shout, “This is where I came in!”
As he was in the midst of baseball session, some birds flew over and I got a little worried. According to Randall's wrist watch we'd been sailing for over seven hours and should be near Huahine—and reefs. I couldn't see a thing except waves and swells ahead of me, so I swung the boat at right angles to our course, began tacking back and forth, taking about twenty minutes on each tack. I sent Randall up to the bowsprit to listen for the sound of breakers, as if he could tell, and every few minutes he would call back, “Don't hear a damn thing, Cap.”
I felt kind of silly about it, could picture myself tacking back and forth in the middle of the ocean. But when it started to grow light, there was Huahine about fifteen miles off our port!
“That the island?” Randall asked, getting out his camera.
“No, that's the big island. Ours is a spit of sand and coral off that. We'll be there in about two or three hours.”
Henri got up and added a little water to the ocean, then made more coffee. He asked Randall how he felt and added, “I am almost as anxious as yourself to see this wonderful isle. Fifteen years I have spent in these waters and this is the first unknown island I have heard of.”
The sun was coming up strong when I sighted the islet. I let Randall take the wheel while Henri and I lowered the sails. Starting the motor, I made it backfire several times— to wake Eddie up. As we closed in, a canoe shot out and soon Eddie jumped on board, bright pareu cloth wrapped around his ridged middle like a diaper. He glanced at my black eye with interest, then bowed low as Henri and I went through French, pidgin English, Tahitian, and a lot of outright nonsense, telling him we were friends. Eddie played his role like a true actor, asked suspiciously, “No trade, taboo island. Why you come?”
“This popaa,” I said, pointing at Randall, “want be bon ami you.”
“He—bon ami—me?” Eddie repeated, a stupid look on his face which nearly made me break up with laughter.
Henri took over and after a two-minute oration of gibberish, Eddie came forward very solemnly and shook hands with Randall, who immediately handed him a new penknife. Eddie pretended he didn't know how to open it, and with a patronizing smile Randall showed him. Eddie clapped his hands, went nuts with joy. Then he said, “Me welcome great popaa friend. Me pilot boat—very danger—here,” and he took the wheel.
Randall went down to the cabin to dress. I whispered to Eddie, “Hollywood needs you—what acting!”
Over a sneer Eddie whispered, “Me, no understand big boss talk. What means Hollywood and who gave you the clout on the eye?”
Henri nodded at the cabin, glared at us as he held a finger over his lips.
Eddie took the Hooker in over the reefs and when we had the anchor down, Jack Pund swam out. He was almost staggering drunk. Eddie introduced him as, “This one old man. Old, old.” He pointed to his head. “Him old chief, Chief-Lushie. Now ...”
