Ed Lacy - South Pacific Affair

“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?”