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Bikini: A History of Shame

The author was a man named Micah Sanjay, formerly a civilian official of the Marshall Islands' U.S. military government, now a retired high school principal living in Chalan Kanoa, Saipan.

His story was identical to the one Moreland had told me: failure to evacuate the residents of Bikini and Majuro and the neighboring Marshall atolls. Clandestine nighttime boat rides doling out compensation.

The exact same story, down to the amount of money paid.

Sanjay wrote matter-of-factly but his anger came through. A Majuro native, he'd lost relatives to leukemia and lymphoma.

No greater anger than when recounting the payoff.

Sanjay and six other civil servants assigned the job.

Six names, none of them Moreland.

I reread the article, searching for any mention of the doctor. Nothing.

If the old man had never been part of the payoff, why had he lied about it?

Something else he said the first night resonated:

Guilt is a great motivator, Alex.

Feeling himself culpable for the blast? He'd been a Navy officer. Had he known about the winds?

Was it guilt that had transformed him from a trust-fund kid in dress whites to a would-be Schweitzer?

Coming to Aruk to atone?

Not that his lifestyle had suffered- living in a grand estate, indulging his passions.

Aruk, his fiefdom… but his daughter couldn't be permitted to fraternize with the locals.

Did he want the villagers isolated? So he could enjoy Aruk on his own terms- an idealized refuge for noble savages with good hygiene and clean water?

Maybe I was judging him unfairly- residual anger about the cockroaches.

But it did appear that he'd lied to me about the Marshalls' compensation program, and that bothered me.

I looked over at Robin's beautiful, prone body, gleaming in the sun. Spike slept too.

I was hunched, fingers tight on the magazine.

Maybe Moreland had indeed been in those boats. Another payoff team, not Sanjay's.

One way to find out: talk to the author.

Sanjay had worked for the government forty years ago, then as a school principal, meaning he was Moreland's age or close to it.

Still alive? Still on Saipan?

Robin rolled over. 'Umm, this sun is great.'

'Sure is,' I said. 'Hot, too, and the drinks are all gone. I'll bop over to the Trading Post and get us some more.'

21

I jogged this time, veering from the beach to the docks where Skip and Haygood sat dangling fishing poles. Haygood watched me. Skip kept his eyes on the water. He had his trunks on and a T-shirt, the most clothes I'd seen him in.

Inside the Trading Post, Betty Aguilar was watching a game show and munching a Mars bar.

'Hi. Back so soon?'

'Couple of beers, two more Cokes.'

'You're definitely my best customer- hold on, I'll get them for you.'

'Does the pay phone work?'

'Usually, but if you want to call Dr. Bill's place, I can let you use the one in back for free.'

'No, this is long distance.'

'Oh- do you need change?'

'I thought I'd use my calling card.'

'I think that'll work.' She went in back and I lifted the receiver. Another rotary. It took a while to get a dial tone, a lot longer to work my way through several operators and finally obtain permission to use the card. Each successive connection was worse than the previous one, and by the time I reached Saipan Information, I was speaking through a hail of static and the echo of my own voice on one-second delay.

But Micah Sanjay was listed, and when I called his number an older-sounding man with a mild voice said, 'Yes?'

'Sorry to bother you, Mr. Sanjay, but I'm a free-lance writer named Thomas Creedman, on temporary stopover in Aruk.'

'Uh-huh.'

'I just happened to come across your article in Island World on the nuclear testing in the Marshalls.'

'That was a long time ago.'

Unsure if he meant the disaster or the magazine piece, I pressed on. 'I thought it was very interesting and extremely well done.'

'Are you writing about Bikini, too?'

'I'm thinking about it, if I can get a fresh slant.'

'I tried to sell that article to some mainland magazines, but no one was interested.'

'Really?'

'People don't want to know, and those that do know want to forget.'

'Easier on the conscience.'

'You bet.' His voice had hardened.

'I think some of the most powerful scenes were your descriptions of the compensation process. Those nighttime boat rides.'

'Yes, that was tough. Sneaking around.'

'Were you and the six other men the entire compensation staff?'

'There were bosses who ordered it from behind a desk, but we did all the actual paying.'

'Do you remember the bosses' names?'

'Admiral Haupt, Captain Ravenswood. Above them were people from Washington, I guess.'

'Are you still in touch with the other men on the team? If it would be possible for me to talk to them…'

'I'm not in touch but I know where they are. George Avuelas died a few years ago. Cancer, but I can't say for sure if it was related. The others are gone, too, except Bob Taratoa, and he lives in Seattle, has a boy there. But he had a stroke last year, so I'm not sure how much he could tell you.'

'So there's no one else still in the Marianas?'

'Nope, just me. Where'd you say you were from?'

'Aruk.'

'What is that, one of those small islands up north a bit from here?'

'That's it.'

'Anything to do there?'

'Sun and write.'

'Well, good luck.'

'There's a doctor who lives here named Moreland, says he was in the Navy when the tests went off. Says he treated some of the people who'd been exposed.'

'Moreland?'

'Woodrow Wilson Moreland.'

'Don't know him, but there were lots of doctors, some of them pretty good. But they couldn't do anything for the people even if they wanted to. Those bombs poisoned the air and the water, radioactivity got into the soil. No