South Pacific Affair

Chapter X

I walked back to the quay, feeling jerky, childish... and wonderful. As I approached the Hooker I saw two men standing beside the gangplank. As it was growing dark I couldn't make them out, but a second later Henri called out in his tourist special thick accent, “Ah, Cap-a-tan Ray, there you are!”

He had a tall stout man in tow who looked in his late fifties and everything about him—the carefully brushed silver-grey hair, well-fed pink face, seersucker suit, and thin nylon shirt—shouted money, folding money.

I said, “Hello, Henri. Come aboard,” and walked up the gangplank ahead of them.

In this cockeyed broken English Dubon said, “Cap-a-tan, I am tres glad to zee you. You have been in zee fights?”

“Nothing much. Who's your friend?”

Henri hit himself across the chest and bowed to the stout man. “Excuse my man-hairs I Cap-a-tan Ray, these is most good friend of mine, Monsieur Brad Randall. He, too, is from zee America.”

We shook hands and Randall said, “We Americans sure get around. Thought Dubon was stringing me when he said there was a Yankee running a trading schooner here.”

“Not exactly a schooner but a good enough boat. What business are you in, Mr. Randall?”

“Hardware.”

“Don't say. If you have any goods with you, nails, hammers, pliers, screws—all good for trading in the islands.”

Randall slipped me a deep chuckle. “I also sell sporting goods and you look like a prospect for a headguard—or is the other guy cut worse?”

“Guess it was a draw. Seriously, if you have goods...”

Again the chuckle that rocked his stomach. “This is strictly a vacation trip for me. I was having a drink with Dubon here and he mentioned this island that...”

I cut him off by turning on Henri, asking, “What you telling people about that island for?”

“I do wrong? Monsieur Randall is most interested in zee islands. So I happen to say zee petit island you tell me.”

Randall asked anxiously, “It is true, isn't it—this untouched island?”

“Yes. Nothing there but a few people. No copra or shell to make it worthwhile for trading. It's off a larger island, but regarded as taboo for some reason, so the islet people are rarely visited, and of course never by a ship. I heard about it by pure accident.”

“Have you been there, Captain Ray?” Randall asked.

“I've been to the larger island but never to the islet. As I said, nothing worth stopping for. Why do you ask?”

Randall was one of these direct jokers, especially when in heat. “Can you take me there?”

I gave him an idiotic grin. “Now, Mr. Randall, you're a business man. You understand I have a regular schedule, stops to deliver and pick up cargo, I can't just—”

“But my good friend, Ray,” Henri said quickly with a fine touch, “you say yourself you are between zee cargos now.”

“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 ...”

“Guess he means the old joker is senile,” I cut in, afraid Eddie would overdo things.

Randall handed Jack a pack of cigarettes. Jack belched and asked in Tahitian, “Where is the red ash tray?”—

Of course Brad didn't understand Tahitian and Henri shoved Pund away, told Randall, “I translate. Chief here say be welcomes you to his island as honored guest. He say he hasn't much, and most of his people are out diving. But he say everything on island is yours. Also you must meet his daughter, Heru.”

“Tell him this is... is... wonderful!” Randall blabbered.

Jack Pund and Eddie took the canoe in while the three of us got into the dinghy and rowed ashore, Henri explaining Eddie was sort of an acting chief since Pund was too old to rule. As we stepped out on the sand, Heru came out of the large hut and Randall let out a fierce choked cry. Even I had to gasp.

She was sober and rested, probably had slept around the clock. Heru was absolutely beautiful with a crown of snow white delicate tiare flowers in her black hair, eyes clear and bright, red lips parted in a shy smile, slender body nude except for a bit of cloth barely covering her hips. Her breasts were proud, the nipples glistening with coconut oil. She really looked the part—a dream girl. A sense of tragedy cut into my high feelings; this must have been Heru before she hit the Papeete waterfront.

Randall's hands trembled as he pulled out a string of bright red beads, part of the junk he had purchased on Henri's “expert” advice, and handed them to Heru. She made the proper gushing noises of delight, put the beads around her neck, then hugged Randall. He turned a slight pink as he awkwardly tried to back away, touched her breasts in doing so, and then his face became lobster red. Happily, Heru didn't laugh.

Henri said, “Now, Monsieur Randall, since these people welcomed you, and it is amazing, most natives do not take to whites, I will ask the acting chief where he wants you to to stay.” He turned to Eddie and asked in Tahitian, “Everything all right?”

“Yes, you miserable flea!”

“What's the matter with you? Motion with your hands, like you are giving him the island.”

“He can have this hunk of sand—right up his nose!”

Henri tried to smile. “This is business, you fool!”

“The cemeteries are full of businessmen, remember that!” Eddie said. He turned to Randall and pointed to the sand, then waved his hand about.

Henri told Randall, “I now translate. Acting chief say island is yours. You are to stay in the big hut, as honored guest. He say perhaps you are tired from your trip and like to rest. You go to hut and soon Chief and daughter bring you papaya juice and many cool fruits to eat.”

“He doesn't have to go to any trouble,” Randall said, his eyes trying to stay off Hem's bosom.

“My dear sir, this is not trouble but the real—how you say —hospitality of the old islands. He will feel insulted if you refuse. Cap-a-tan Ray and myself will retire to the boat for a rest.”

“I sure don't want to insult the Chief. Say, will it be all right if I take some pictures?” Randall asked.

Henri told Eddie in Tahitian, “We have his money, don't blow the deal.”

Eddie said, “Tell him he's going to be able to get a picture of me busting your face!”

Heru said, “Talk, talk—it is hot out here.”

Henri looked at me and I told Randall, “They say you can take pictures but—don't be too obvious about it.”

Henri picked up Randall's bag and followed Eddie to the hut, Randall and Heru walking behind them, the air full of the heady scent of the tiare blossoms in her hair. At the entrance Henri turned and called out to Jack Pund, “You, bring the food in from the ship!”

Pund and I got into his canoe, paddled out to the Hooker, the old man saying, “This is crazy business. When we make movie and where is my ash tray?”

“In time we shall make a picture. The ash tray was purchased but by accident left behind in Papeete. You'll get it.”

I gave him the food, told him to give it to Eddie right away and he looked at the case of beer with big eyes, said he would dig a cool hole in the sand to store that at once.

Back on the beach Eddie and Henri waited for the canoe full of food. Eddie helped unload it as Henri rowed the dinghy out and jumped on deck, wiping his face and asking, “That Eddie, he nearly screwed the works. What's wrong with him?”

“I don't know, or maybe it's too long a story to tell you now. I'm turning in. I need sleep.”

“We have nothing to do now but wait. We should have charged more.”

“He would have gone for five hundred but you were so intent on your act, you didn't give him a chance.”

Henri shrugged, said in a grave voice, “One learns by experience.”

I checked the anchor, put a mat in the shade of the cabin, and went to sleep. I slept for a few hours and awoke when the sun hit my face. I moved the mat and while eating an orange, saw Randall in a pair of yellow swimming trunks yelling like a child as Eddie and Heru showed him how to spear the bright-colored reef fish. Eddie seemed to be enjoying it, too.

I knocked off a few more hours of shut-eye and awoke to find Eddie shaking my shoulder. Eddie said, “Your eye looks better. How was the trip?”

“Nothing to it. What did you do to Heru? She looks like something out of a book.”

Eddie smiled. “I didn't do anything to her. Just let her sleep and take it easy. Burns me up, a louse like Henri making money off such a pretty kid.”

I sat up and looked at the islet—no one was in sight. “What's playing now?”

“Randall is sleeping. The sun and running around pooped him. Heru is sleeping—by herself. Jack got to a couple of bottles of beer, and he's sleeping. The pimp is pounding his ear up near the bow. I have cooking stones heating in the fire pit and in a little while I'll shake Jack awake and start the 'feast.' This is sure sticky, us islanders doing all the work.”

“Hell, it's only an act. Tomorrow we pull out.”

“You get the dough?”

I nodded. “Have our half in my pocket.”

Eddie sat down and lit a cigar—a Stateside one he must have got from Randall. “Henri is a boy with real ideas. According to Heru he has an angle working he forgot to tell us. Plans to get the address of a guy like Randall and in a couple of months write him, in Heru's name, saying she is going to have a baby soon—his.”

“Blackmail?”

Eddie shook his head, blew out a fog of smoke. “Not exactly, rather a polite request for money to help out. She supposedly plans to go to a hospital in Papeete. Then maybe a note once a year thereafter, a gift for the 'young prince on his birthday.' With a dozen Randalls kicking in say, a hundred bucks a year, this would be a long-range jackpot for Henri.”

“That's a ratty deal.”

Eddie stared down at me through a crooked smoke ring. “And what does it make us? Cats? More I see of Henri, less I like him and I didn't care for him to start.” Eddie stood up and flexed his muscles. “Guess I'd better get back and start the food going. When do you think this slob will leave?”

“Sometime tomorrow. He isn't a bad sort.”

“This is a slimy deal and you're all smiles.”

“I'm feeling all smiles about something else.”

“That guy you belted?”

“Yeah. I've been wanting to wallop him for a long time. And he isn't a bad sort, either.”

“All the world is one big chum for you, it seems.” Eddie shook his head. “I don't know whether to feel sorry for Randall or bat him in his fat gut. The way he acts, as if this was real, he'd expect the islanders to fall all over him because he's a fat popaa with a few lousy trinkets.”

“Guess he means well. He just read to many phony books.”

“The islanders never read the books but they still get the wrong end of the stick. Got any rum?”

“No.”

“Good,” Eddie said. “Heru is itching for a shot, but beer will hold her. You're right, we're in this and we might as well take the dough. But this is the last time for me. See you when it gets dark.”

“Yes sir, acting chief.”

We both laughed and when Eddie paddled ashore I jumped over for a fast swim, then found more shade on the deck and went back to sleep. Henri awoke me. “The feast is about ready.”

It was twilight and I stared up at his sweaty shirt, dirty tie, the yellowed linen suit, asked, “Don't you ever put on clean clothes, take a bath?”

He swore in French. “What is eating you and your partner? All I get is insults.”

I sat up and slipped on my pants and a light sweater. “I was merely asking a polite question. By the way, don't let Heru lap up the beer. It's supposed to be a novelty to her— according to the script.”

“I will handle that bitch.”

“Bitch?” I repeated, pulling in the dinghy. “No way to talk about your meal ticket.”

Henri waved a modest hand. “Wasn't for me, silly little girls like Heru would be starving. I am her meal ticket.”

“You believe that?” I asked, as we got in the dinghy.

Henri gave me a fat-shouldered shrug for an answer.

Eddie amazed me; his feast was a first-rate job. We sat around palm leaves spread ner the fire pit, stuffed ourselves with tasty roast pig, fish baked in seaweed and lime juice, canned yams, a thick soup of some sort of greens, fish, rice, and shredded beef which was cooked and served steaming hot by the simple process of putting a hot stone into the pot.

Randall had a string of flowers around his thick neck, was wearing his seersucker suit but with the shirt open. He ate and sang and bragged about catching some of the fish we were eating, squeezed Heru's hand, “accidentally” touching her breasts now and then... the picture of a very happy fool.

I'd oiled my phonograph and we listened to scratchy music. When Eddie opened some beer bottles, Randall asked, “Beer? How did they get that?”

“My contribution to the feast,” I said.

“Say, that's right nice of you, Cap,” Brad said as he poured some into a coconut bowl and handed it to Heru. She took a sip, made a face, then spit the beer out as though she had never tasted the stuff before. Randall roared with idiotic laughter, downed the brew in one fast gulp.

Jack Pund, who had been watching Heru as if she was completely nuts, finished a bottle of beer and then stood up and did a crazy dance to the hill-billy record on my phonograph, throwing his arms and legs out as he spun around and around, finally hitting the ground and passing out.

Randall was impressed, said, “Seems an authentic war dance. Is he in a trance now?”

“Yes,” Henri told him. “And on the morrow he will be hung over from his trance. Well, we eat much, now we should sleep.”

Randall got up, went over and touched Jack Pund's heart. The old man immediately leaped up like a zombie, put a finger to his wet lips, then bounded off to return in a few minutes with his bug juice—an armful of fermented coconuts. These nuts must have been cooking since the first day we were on the islet and were powerful. Randall drank one, flushed, and a moment later joined Jack in a stupid dance, both of them lubbering about and trying to fling their feet high in the air.—

Henri, Eddie, and I watched the dance with pained looks —Heru was eyeing the rest of the fermented nuts. After a couple turns of this new dance, Jack hit the sand again, really out. Brad staggered around till Eddie led him to the hut, where he fell into a snoring sleep as soon as he touched the mats.

I tried one of the nuts and it immediately warmed my guts. Henri jerked Jack Pund to a sitting position, started bawling him out in French for making the bug juice. Since Pund couldn't understand much French, even if he was conscious, I thought it very funny—proving how strong the juice really was.

Henri was trying to twist Pund's ears when Eddie came over and said, “Let him go. He was only trying to be friendly.”

“Friendly?” Henri shouted, in Tahitian. “He almost spoiled everything!”

“Cut it,” Eddie said in English, “you give me more of a pain—”

“Watch it!” Henri screamed in Tahitian. “What are you saying?” and clapped a hand over Eddie's mouth.

Eddie pushed him away, sending Henri tumbling in the sand, then wiped his mouth, turned to me and asked, “What you standing like a dressmaker's dummy? Help me with Pund.”

We carried him over to the dinghy and I rowed him out to the Hooker, managed to roll Jack up onto the deck, then climbed aboard myself, full of food and drink. As I dozed off I could vaguely hear the tinny sound of the phonograph ashore, where Heru was sitting by the fire and playing records, marking time when Randall would come to and she could “sneak” into his hut. For a very short moment even in my drunken state it gave me a spooky feeling, a severe sense of wrong-doing. Then I told myself, so what, if he was in Papeete he'd be in her room anyway.

I had a nightmare in which I was arguing with Ruita on the porch of her house and she was saying, “If you go way, I shall go to Papeete.”

“You don't like Papeete.”

“I am still young, I can do things there.”

“What things?”

“You know what things.”

“You don't mean that. You're not like the... well.”

“Not like what?” Ruita asked. “Am I not a full-blooded islander? And is there anything finer for a native girl to do than whore around in Papeete bars?”

“Keep it up—you're saying this to annoy me.”

“Annoy you? You are leaving me, running out, and yet you accuse me of annoying you!”

I reached over and shook Ruita, saying, “All right, goddammit, stop it! Let's talk slowly—with sense.”

In my nightmare we went through this routine several times and when I was shaking her again, I awoke to see Jack Pund bending over me, his fat face almost in my whiskers.

He whispered one word, “Trouble!” As I sat up, I heard screaming on the islet and we both jumped into the dinghy, made for the shore.

It was quite a tableau: a nude Heru was sprawled on the sand, screaming and sobbing, one hand to her bruised face, her right cheek and eye swollen and cut. Eddie was kneeling beside her, trying to comfort Heru, although from the way she was beaten up, I was sure he must have socked her. Wearing his baby blue pajamas, Randall was yelling like an enraged bull at Henri, who was completely clothed as usual in his dirty linen suit.

From what I heard then—and later—it seemed Heru had finally gone to Randall's hut and after she left him snoring again, had lucked-up on a couple of Jack Pund's fermented coconuts. Then she kicked Henri awake and asked for her money. He had stupidly offered her the usual few francs, and she had blown her drunken top.

While she was cursing Henri for cheating her—in plain French and English—Dubon had hit her and she had screamed. The racket had aroused Eddie and Randall. Eddie went for Henri who pulled out his knife, and the two cussed each other out—all cuss words made in the USA. Of course Randall, hearing the three of them swearing at each other, realized he had been taken. Seeing Randall, Henri had put the knife away, tried to go on with the act.

There was something terribly pitiful about Randall's frantic rage as he called Henri every kind of miserable bastard; Brad seemed on the verge of an hysterical explosion. When I told him to take it easy, he turned on me and shouted, “You! You call yourself an American! My God, last night I envied you. You—you're as much scum as this crummy pimp!”

“Aw relax, big boy,” Henri said in straight English, minus the tourist accent. “What you getting into an uproar about? Sure it's all a fake, so what? So much noise is old hat. You wanted 'romance' with all the fancy trimmings, and that's what you got. It cost more than you're used to paying, but we did put on a hell of a show for you, a package deal which—”

Randall drew back his fist, swung like a hammer-thrower. He hit Henri high on the forehead. I was certain he'd busted his hand. The force of the wild blow made Dubon do a rubber-legged dance before landing on his back.

Dubon wasn't out. “It was a deal worth the money!” Henri wailed. He sat up and rubbed his head.

“You lice! You damn perverts!” Randall screamed, his voice breaking as he began to sob. “Who cares about the goddamn money! Don't you see what you've done to me? Don't you see what you've done!” He sprang on Henri and started choking him. Brad may have been an elderly man but he was also big, heavy and powerful. Even in the moonlight I could see Henri's face turning pasty pale as he clawed at Randall's hands.

I pulled at Brad's hands but couldn't get him loose. I grunted for Eddie. He came over and hit him in his heaving gut, a short little punch which not only made Randall let go of Henri, but roll over on the sand, grasping his belly, his mouth open wide as he could possibly get it.

Henri made it to his feet, his clothes a mess, blood streaming from nose and mouth. He stared down at Randall, who was still on his back like an overturned turtle, then sent a glob of bloody spit down on Randall as he said, “You crazy old—”

I pushed Dubon away. “Leave him alone. We've done him enough harm.”

Dubon put a hand to his nose to stem the blood, which started down his sleeve, as he said in Tahitian, “Sorry, something went wrong. But we have his money. And suckers never run to the police or tell others about—”

“Stop talking, you damn fool!” I yelled. If the whole thing had seemed cheap before, what we had done to Randall was now sheer tragedy. I felt crummy; not even thinking about socking Barry could shake the crummy feeling.

While I was standing there, staring at everybody and seeing no one, Randall sat up, his heavy face still wet with tears, lines of pain around his open mouth. I was about to say I was sorry, but no words came out of my dry mouth. Heru came over, one hand to her puffed eye. Her good eye stared solemnly down at Randall.

Henri, who had been stuffing his shirt in his pants, straightening out his clothes, turned on Heru with tiger-speed, shrilled, “You're the cause of all this, you dirty drunken—”

It was an all-around bad night for Henri. Eddie's left hook flicked through the air and crumbled Henri into a heap. No staggering or falling backwards; the clean sound of the fist hitting and Henri went down. It was the hardest punch I'd ever seen. I was positive Dubon was dead.

Randall moaned, “Oh, my, my...” while Eddie rubbed his knuckles and said, “There's something I been waiting to do for a long time. The slimy... slimy—” Eddie walked down to the water and carefully washed his knuckles.

Jack Pund bent over Dubon, said softly, “This one will never arise again.”

I pulled Randall to his feet, told him, “Look, Mr. Randall, there isn't much I can say. I know how you must feel, and I'm sorry. Sorry isn't much of a word but... Well, you'll get your money back.”

“It doesn't matter,” Brad said in a whisper. He rubbed his stomach, looked down at Dubon, muttered, “He's a pug, isn't he?” He nodded at Eddie who was coming towards us, shaking his wet hands.

“Used to be. He had to hit you or you would have murdered Dubon.”

“You're all thugs! Where's my clothes?” Randall turned and slowly walked to the hut, rubbing Henri's bloody spit off the side of his face. Heru shivered and put an arm across her bare breasts. The little cut over her eye had stopped bleeding. Eddie told her to get dressed, added, “I will get some raw fish for your eye.”

Jack Pund was still squatting over Dubon and I told him to move, knelt, and felt of Henri's heart—it was under the wallet in his inside pocket. He was still alive. I took out the wallet, old, sweat-stained, and thick. He had all the francs I'd given him plus a fat rubber-banded bundle of one thousand franc notes and several American twenties. Beside his identity card, there were a few scribbled addresses I couldn't make out, an old army PX card, and a faded hunk of newspaper— an ad for a correspondence course in public speaking.

Randall returned, wearing his seersucker suit over his pajamas, carrying his pigskin overnight bag, sport cap stuck on his head sideways. I held out Henri's wallet. “I'll give you the three hundred we took you for.”

He shoved my hand aside. “How soon can I reach Papeete?”

“Probably by morning. Take the money, please.”

He pushed by me, went down to the dinghy and sat on the stern seat. Heru came out of one of the lean-tos wearing her gaudy dress, high heeled shoes slung around her neck. Eddie was walking beside her, holding a hunk of raw fish to her purple eye. I gave her Henri's wallet, told her to keep it. Then I took a thousand franc note out, handed it to Jack Pund. “Forget what happened here. And when he wakes,” I said, pointing at Henri with my foot, “paddle him to the mainland of Huahine.”

He grabbed the money eagerly, shoved it into his loin cloth, asked, “When you return with my red ash tray?”

“You can buy a dozen of them with that money,” I said.

“You no return?” Pund asked sadly.

“No, the show is over. Don't forget, take care of him.”

Eddie said, “Why not let the louse stay here till a passing canoe picks him up? Maybe he'll even starve!”

“Stop it,” I said, suddenly feeling very weary. “We're as much in this as Henri. Let's get out of here.”

We three walked down to the dinghy and got in, nearly swamping it. As I rowed I faced Randall and I told him, “You really don't know what happened here tonight. I'd like to—”

“Goddamn you, can't you shut up!” he snapped. “You think I Worry about the money, that I was rooked? I don't!”

“I want to explain what—”

“When a fellow is young and has some sense, he dreams, then settles down to hard work, making money,” Brad went on. “When he's too old for living he realizes he should have paid more attention to his dreams, they are important as money, maybe more important. Even if this was a fake, why did you have to spoil it? Ruin the greatest thing ever happened, to me? If I had left there still thinking this was all real, I'd have been the happiest man in the world! But you pimps, this cheap whore....”

“Sure she's cheap—she didn't get any new car!” I cut in. “Look, Randall, Henri isn't any more to blame than we are, and by we I mean all of us, including you. In a sense we're all trying, in our own way, to find the same dream you were chasing, even Dubon. We came here too late—Eddie and Heru should have been born two hundred years ago. All of us are the ugly by-products of too many years of cruel exploitation, double-crossing, and greed. We've been dreaming in a sewer. I thought sailing around in my own boat was clean and good, especially yesterday after I met up with them —the point is, I thought it the best life possible, but now that's dirtied up, too. I don't know if I'm making myself clean and good, especially yesterday after I met up with Kent responsibility for this mess.”

Somehow it seemed terribly important to me to explain all this, as if I had suddenly hit on the core of what was wrong in the islands—for me. But I was talking to myself. Randall was miles away in his thoughts, Eddie was whispering to Heru.

When we reached the Hooker, I stepped aboard and helped Randall on, although he pushed my hand away. Eddie and Heru jumped on deck. I got the motor working and we upped anchor. Eddie took the wheel. Once outside the reef we raised sail and Heru went below to sleep, while Randall sat on a mat in the cockpit, held his head.

He sat like that all night, maybe he was asleep. An hour or so after daybreak-we sailed through the Papeete pass, saw the spire of Notre Dame as we came into the harbor. When we docked Randall stood up stiffly, straightened his clothes and lit a cigar. I offered him his money once more but he brushed by me, jumped down onto the quay, and walked with strong rapid strides. The look on his face was still that of a puzzled, hurt child.

I watched till he was out of sight. Suddenly I didn't give a damn about Randall, or the Barry Kents in the world. I was full of an eager impatience—to get out of here, to never see another face, white or brown, except Ruita's. Even the Hooker or Eddie didn't mean a thing to me; I only wanted the peace and quiet of Numaga with Ruita for the rest of my life. I felt as though I couldn't lose a second, had to start at once.

Eddie said, “The poor jerk. In a way I feel sorry for him. Although I don't know why, all he cared about was having his fun with Heru and the hell with anything else, like my old man. The islands are just a big house to popaas. Let me have my dough, I need a bottle.”

“Eddie, how long will it take you to buy us enough supplies for a three-day sail?”

Eddie stared at me. “What's with you, Ray? A three-day sail? I'm bushed now.”

“Then I'll take the Hooker myself. I have to get to Numaga in a big hurry. Look, sail me there and the Hooker is all yours. You buying that?”

Eddie's battered face seemed to relax into tired lines, making him look old, uglier than ever. He held out his right hand. “Give me some money. I'll be back in an hour.”

“Make it faster,” I said, giving him all the money I had. “If I stay here too long, I'll go nuts.”

Eddie was back in a taxi he dug up somewhere in less than twenty minutes, with baskets of food and fruit. I'd spent the time staring around the harbor like a stranger seeing it for the first time. It didn't look beautiful, it didn't look exotic, or even quaint—it seemed decaying and tumbled down, a dying city. It looked so horrible I shut my eyes. I knew now what Edmond Stewart meant by the final retreat—I was more than ready for it.

As Eddie stored the food, cast off the lines, I started the engine, headed for customs. For some crazy reason it gave me a savage sense of satisfaction to think this would be the last time I'd ever see a customs man.

The sun was coming out, hot and powerful, and either the light or the motion of the boat awoke Heru. Her eye was a delicate purple against the honey-brown of her face. Yawning, she pointed to the quay over our wake, asked, “Where we go?”

“To Numaga,” I said, figuring she and Eddie could live on the other end of the island for awhile. I'd forgotten all about Heru in my haste to get away. “You'll get plenty of rest, a change of air. Later, Eddie will take you back to Papeete, if you so wish.”

“Be the best thing in the world for you,” Eddie said.

Heru turned and stared at the waterfront for a hot second, then jumped down into the cabin. She was out a moment later, her shoes tied around her neck, the wallet in her teeth. She dived overboard, a flash of brown legs, hardly making a splash. We watched her swim the few hundred yards to shore.

Although I couldn't stand the thought of any delay, I asked Eddie, “Shall we put about, pick her up?”

He shook his head. “What the hell do you make of that? Henri will beat the dough out of her when he comes back. Why did she do that?”

“I don't know or care. Maybe we each have to work out our own paradise in this world. Could be Papeete is hers. Some day when I'm rusting my can on Numaga I'll certainly try to think it out, maybe philosophize, grow mellow over it. Right now I don't know the answer to a damn thing, except I'm long, long overdue on Numaga. I don't even know the why Of that. But it doesn't matter now.”