Ed Lacy - South Pacific Affair

• Название: South Pacific Affair
• Автор: Ed Lacy
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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     Eddie lit an American cigarette he must have chiseled from an islander, took a long pull on the bottle, handed me the heel. “Take some, Ray, you ain't bright today.”

     The stuff did have a bang, wasn't too bitter. “You full of advice today, too?”

     “I'm full of this medicine, feeling high. Ray, he wasn't talking about any island, but about Numaga and Ruita. What's this whole voyage for, except Mama wants to learn the sort of son-in-law you'll make? Make certain daughter isn't placing her chips on a popaa who takes off after a few nights.”

     “Everybody is goddamn busy minding my business!” I said, angry—because Eddie had it about right I was restless, tight as a coiled spring. Pulling in the dinghy, I told him, “Let's go ashore, see how they're coming with the copra.”

     “In this heat? Everybody's sleeping, except on the Shanghai —they're getting ready to sail. Ray, I kayoed Teng again. There's a hard head for you. I was kidding around on the beach with the soccer players, when Teng comes along with that rat-faced Buck. Teng says, 'I have studied ways of countering a blow. I should like to fight you again. Are you willing?' I told him okay. The Chinaman has this Judo book with him, so when he turned to hand it to Buck, I flattened him. Thought the Swede would bust a gut laughing.”

     We rowed by the Shanghai. Mr. Teng was bawling out an islander for not lashing his canoe on deck, but seeing us, he ran to the railing, waved his fist at Eddie as he shouted, “You are a dirty fighter!” The right side of his face was swollen.

     Eddie laughed. “That's me. Read the next lesson in your book. What the hell do you think Judo is but 'dirty' fighting!”

     Mr. Teng waved his fist a few more times, then went back to bawling out the islander. When we beached the dinghy we found two men fooling with a guitar in the shade of a group of stumpy trees that I'd never seen before. They promised to keep an eye on the Hooker, in case she started dragging her anchor.

     We started down the beach and when I asked Eddie, “What kind of trees were those?” he said, “Don't ask me, ask Mama. She knows everything.”

     I didn't know if he was razzing me or not, but I felt too mad to talk. We kept walking till we reached a point where the island narrowed—almost like it was pulled out—and nearly reached the reef. Several hundred nuts had been expertly sliced in half, piled in a small pyramid, meat side down to protect them from rotting in the rains. I picked up one of the half-shells; the pulpy white coconut meat seemed dry. There were some empty burlap bags at one side of the pile.

     The walk had left us both dripping with sweat. We looked around for whoever was making the copra, but couldn't see a soul. Eddie said, “Let's cool off.”

     We stripped and splashed around in the water, but didn't go out far in case there were sharks. The tide was still going out and the coral reef stood rusty red and rough above the water.

     Returning to the beach we shook small crabs out of our clothes as we walked around, quickly drying in the scorching sun. Then we dressed and found some shade and stretched out. Eddie said, “This is a nice island Difference of temperature up on that mountain means they can grow a lot of good fruits and vegetables.”

     I had my eyes shut against the glare of the sun on the sea and didn't bother answering him. I was thinking about Nancy Adams, both flattered and annoyed that she was taking all this trouble with me. And what an odd old woman she was— certainly the most uninhibited woman I'd ever met. Her knowledge of so many things, a sweet old woman with her dough back in the States. And her syph here with her. Did she pass that on to Ruita?

     That was a silly thought. Was Ruita in on this business of pushing me into marriage with her? And what if she was? That was more honest than my fluffing off. I was suddenly full of a terrible warm longing for her—wanted Ruita in the sand beside me ... to open my eyes and see her lovely brown face, the good body, the delicate smell of whatever flowers she crushed into the coconut oil she used for perfume.

     I fell asleep thinking of perfumes—dreamed of Milly, the usual dream, always so sharp and clear ... then the cowardly feeling for having run away.

     I was home, going directly into the kitchen for a snack, as I always did. Must have been twenty minutes later when I went into the bedroom for a handkerchief. Milly was sitting in bed, smoking a cigarette. Barry was lying face down; even his back looked neat and handsome. Milly asked, “Well, Ray?” I didn't say a word. Barry finally turned over and faced me. He wasn't pale nor flushed. He said, “Sorry, Ray. Guess that's all there is to say, in a situation like this.”

     At the time I really didn't feel a thing. I was a stranger folding his handkerchief, watching two people in bed. All that came to my mind was, they shouldn't have done it in my room. The bank book was in the same drawer with the handkerchiefs. I took the book, went out without saying a word; rode a cab to the bank, then another cab to the airport, and the next morning I was on a plane winging toward Hawaii....

     Eddie was shaking me. “We're smart, sleeping in the sun. Feel baked enough to eat. Must be after three. They should be along to sack the copra. We'll need the dinghy to get the sacks back to the Hooker. You go back and row it down— and check the anchor. Ill help make copra here. I could use a little exercise.” He pinched his hard stomach.

     I had to row the mile or so to the Hooker and back three times that afternoon, taking three seventy-five-pound sacks of copra each trip. By the end of the afternoon I was pooped and had drunk so many coconuts and oranges, I had the runs. Eddie went ashore, bought taro and rice at the Chinese store —after he explained his face to the storekeeper who gave him the usual “Lion Face!” scream—and made a thick fish gumbo which seemed to do some good. Then he suggested I try the stomach medicine and we both knocked off a few bottles and got high—and upset my stomach again.

     Eddie and I had our mats atop the cabin and I was keeping an eye on the beach, but Nancy didn't show. Before I fell into a drunken sleep I kept telling myself she had a hell of a nerve. And by God I'd tell her off, let her know she couldn't walk all over me, scheme behind my back like I was a schoolboy.

     I dozed off on this thought and the next thing I knew I was covered with stinking slimy slop. Eddie sat up, sputtering, yelled at me, “What the hell did you turn loose, you slob?”

     “Me?” I managed to say, tasting something terrible on my lips. The night was clear and I saw the whole deck was covered with dripping slop and garbage. The stench was terrific. Eddie stoop up, shaking himself and cursing and as I got to my feet I was knocked flat in all this swishing, ripe crap and slops sliding over our decks ... as our stern gently bunked into the Shanghai, which loomed up over us like a cliff. While I scooped the garbage off the motor hatch, Eddie jumped into the dinghy and rowed like mad, trying to pull the Hooker away from the schooner.

     Above us I heard a polite laugh and made out the flat face of Mr. Teng, heard his soft voice calling out, “Sorry, didn't know you were below us. You must have slipped your anchor.” This was followed by the laughter of the islanders who lined the rail.

     Between strokes Eddie grunted from the dinghy, “I'll bet you didn't, you miserable crud!”

     Eddie could barely move us with the dinghy. The heavy diesel coughed, then roared, and I was smothered with exhaust gas smelling worse than the slop. The Shanghai's anchor came up as she got under way, bumping us again and throwing me flat in the garbage—like a slapstick movie.

     The slime and exhaust stink was making me sick so I dived in, swam over to the dinghy. With the two of us rowing we managed to move the cutter, then Eddie cursed again, said, “Stop rowing! Let's drift over the Shanghai's anchorage— must be a rocky bottom there to hold her.”

     We spent the two hours before dawn huddled in the dinghy, mad and cold, and almost giving up every time we drifted in the lee of the Hooker. Eddie kept muttering about killing Mr. Teng, pushing Buck's pointed face inside out. Finally I said, “Aw, shut up! We're a fine couple of sailors—some anchor watch, both of us sleeping one off!”

     “Ain't all our fault—there was a deck full of people on the schooner. Somebody must have glanced over the rail, saw us drifting toward them. And that was sure more than one pail of slops they dropped. Teng figured this out, all right!”

     “All Nancy's fault for our corning to this crummy island!” I said like a kid. “She has to stick her nose into my business!”

     When the sun came up we went aboard and threw out the mats and blankets we'd been sleeping on, started to clean up the boat. By noon we had her pretty well scrubbed down, although the odor remained. Luckily, nothing had run into the cabin. We made coffee, were just able to keep it down, when Nancy Adams, appeared on the beach, waved to us.

     “Get ready to sail!” I told Eddie, jumping into the dinghy. I made the beach as if racing and Nancy looked at me queerly —I only had on a pair of badly torn, dirty shorts. She said, “I'm so sorry I forgot to send anyone to tell you I was staying the night at—”

     “Forget it,” I snapped. “We're sailing.”

     “Sailing? Edmond is expecting you for lunch.”

     “Mrs. Adams, you're a passenger and as owner of the boat I am hereby informing you we're sailing!”

     She looked startled. “Ray Jundson, you're being rude.”

     “I sure am.” I pointed to the dinghy. “Coming?”

     She went over and told a little boy something to tell Stewart, then I pushed the dinghy back into the water and Nancy took a seat, didn't say a word as I started rowing. Finally she said, “Mr. Jundson, you are an inexcusable boor!”

     “I wouldn't speak of manners, Mrs. Adams. You've lied to us about not being on PellaPella in months—you were here several weeks ago. Also, I am quite capable of making up my own mind about settling down and asking your daughter to marry me without having a talking beard hand me a lot of gas!”

     The old lady simply stared at me with hard eyes, then looked away. She stepped aboard the Hooker and sat on the cabin without saying a word to Eddie. While he tied up the dinghy, I worked on the motor. It took me about twenty minute to get it going, including taking some bits of fish bone out of the carburetor—and don't ask me how they got in there.

     As we headed through the channel, out to sea, Nancy wrinkled her thin nose, announced, “Something smells.”

     “Ray had the runs last night,” Eddie said, with a straight face. “But you're lucky—the copra bugs shut the door and your cabin wasn't touched.”

     “Must you be so crude, Mr. Romanos!” Nancy said, going below.

     Outside the reef a smart wind put the Hooker's port rail under and we sped away like a racing sloop as I cut the motor. Our decks were washed by spray and when I asked Eddie what the hell was the idea of straining the mast, he said, “I'm doing it on purpose—clean the decks.”

     After a few hours the old lady came back on deck and started making lunch. She was humming to herself and seemed to have forgotten her huff. Eddie started telling her now he was going to break Buck's beak and then went into some bull about his ring career.

     Matter of fact I was feeling pretty relaxed myself. The good clean breeze, the singing sound of the Hooker slicing the waves, the fact we had some copra, all made me simmer down and uncoil. It even struck me funny the way the Shanghai people must have watched us inching toward them, and start getting buckets of garbage ready.

     Nancy made a simple lunch of roasted bread-fruit, crab legs, and opened a tin of sweet pears for dessert. As we were eating I told her, “Sorry I blew my top back there. We had an accident last night. The Shanghai dumped garbage on our deck, covered us both with slop while we were sleeping-drunk and—well—I was pretty hot about things.”

     “It doesn't matter, Ray,” she said sweetly, maybe putting it on.

     “Okay,” I said, deciding I could play the game too. Reaching up, Nancy pulled at my red hair. “Worry about such petty things and your hair will grey like mine.” I grinned. “I know, don't tell me—aita peapea.”

Chapter IV

     Ruita was laying atop the cabin, sleeping. She was wearing shorts and a halter made of red pareu cloth. She had a pink flower in her hair, over her left ear—which could mean, according to the island custom, she was looking for a sweetheart; or in Ruita's case that she merely felt like wearing a flower over her left ear.

     Eddie was at the wheel and Nancy Adams was sitting beside him, both of them chattering about rain in general. I was watching the pitching horizon, the clouds, anything to keep my eyes off Ruita.

     Eddie said, “I have some new shampoo I bought off the Chinaman in PellaPella. Maybe I try it now when it rains, although I have heard that to wash your hair makes for baldness. I like rain.”

     Mrs. Adams said, “But only when there is high ground handy. Ever in a tidal wave, Eddie?”

     “Been in a couple of small hurricanes but no tidal wave.”

     “I was in a big one. It was the hurricane of nineteen— What was that year? Nineteen and—?”

     Ruita wasn't asleep; she must have been listening, for she called out loudly against the wind, “The year doesn't matter, Mama.” I noticed whenever the old woman got this blank look on her face, when her memory tripped her, Ruita would step in and ease her over the rough spots. I was sure she knew all about her mother's syphilis.

     “Well,” Nancy went on—bending Eddie's tin ear, “I'd say it was about 1937. We were on Forliga, the very atoll we're headed for now. It had rained hard for several days in a row...”