South Pacific Affair

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...”

     I was too restless to listen to tidal wave stories. I went forward, sat beside Ruita. “What about you, Ray, how do you stand with rain?” she asked, watching me through half-closed almond-shaped eyes. She looked all the adjectives—from exotic to sensuous.

     “Never thought about it. Since I've been in the islands I like rain because it means a bath. Back home it merely meant rubbers, cold, and taxi cabs.”

     “I love to watch the rain clouds building up; a dull angry grey, so threatening and clumsy—and often such a big empty bluff'.”

     She had one arm near my leg and I touched her fingers, told her, “Now that we've covered the weather, let's get down to something interesting. You have lovely hands, long strong fingers.”

     “Have I, Ray?” she said in an almost listless voice. “Sometimes I paint my nails, as in the fashion magazines. That's such a vain idea, a peacock idea. But I think on my hands it does look good because of the contrast, the red and my brown skin. However, on a popaa woman with pasty pale skin, I imagine it must look rather gaudy.”

     “That's like with the rain—hard to say,” I said, not sure if she was needling me or not. I wasn't sure of anything with Ruita.

     When we had reach Numaga I was wondering what sort of reception she would give me, what I would say to her when we were alone. But we weren't alone—no sooner had we raced over the reef and dropped anchor when Ruita came out in a canoe, told Nancy her half-brother was being married on the Forliga atoll, and there was to be a big party. They had sent word that they were holding off the ceremony till Nancy and Ruita could attend. Mrs. Adams said they certainly had to go to the wedding, so we refilled our water tanks and took on food while waiting for the next high tide, then sailed out with Ruita aboard.

     Ruita's greeting to me had been both warm and merely friendly. I felt sure she was wearing the flower over her left ear for me, and when we shook hands her hand had been warm and demanding in mine. Yet all she had said was, “I am glad to see you again, Mr. Jundson,” which could have been the truth or politeness.

     I had a little speech ready in the back of my mind, something about