South Pacific Affair

your own cousins are coming to ask for a few nuts and some fish. Will you turn them away?”

     “No. I cannot. Let them come and we will feed them. It will be for a short time only and—”

     There was an assortment of noises on the dock: the faint boom of the waves on the reef, the sound of the wind, the talk of people—yet the bark of the carbine cut through all other sounds, leaving only a sudden and deep silence. Even the people in the canoes heard it—or saw the flash—stopped paddling.

     Nancy Adams was standing at the end of the village street, holding the rifle. I guess she must have been carrying it around in her bags all the time. She fired another shot, over the heads of the canoe people, then turned the gun on Buck, telling him in a low voice, “I am giving you four minutes, by my count, to get back to your long boat, tell your passengers to return to the schooner with their canoes, then pull anchor and leave.”

     “These people only ask food,” Buck began. “A small—”

     “If one canoe comes ashore, I will shoot your dirty heart out, so help me God!”

     “Mama, be careful!” Ruita cried, walking slowly towards the old woman. “Let the Chief make the decision.”

     “It is wrong to let people go hungry,” Cumber said, eyes on the rifle. Others in the crowd chorused agreement.

     Nancy said, “Then fill several of our canoes with nuts and fruits, take them out to the schooner.”

     “Ah! That is right thing—for all,” Cumber said, relief in his voice.

     “Buck!” Nancy shouted, “You have only three minutes more of life! Start back to your schooner!”

     “Now see here, you have no goddamn right to—” Buck began, then started toward Nancy. As I jumped at the big Swede, Eddie either hit him in the gut or kneed him—all I saw was the giant crumbling to the quay like air running out of a balloon.

     Teng didn't move, but the blonde muscleman jumped up on the dock, started for Eddie, then stopped abruptly when Nancy fired a shot near his head. She said, “I have five more shells left in this clip. And you have less than two minutes left!”

     Kid Marson had stopped so suddenly, as if he had walked into an invisible wall, that the islanders began to laugh and Cumber yelled, “It is decided! You,” he pointed to Teng, “go back to your boat at once. The rest will bring nuts and fruits here and I will get three canoes. Hurry!”

     While Teng and Marson pulled Buck to his feet, Cumber cupped his hands and shouted out over the lagoon to the people waiting in canoes that food was being brought out to the schooner. Ruita told him to add that Buck was taking them to Papeete for medicines. We couldn't hear their response—they were on the lee side of the atoll—but I felt certain they wanted to land, more than anything else.

     Marson helped Buck into their boat, Teng stood on the dock for a moment, as if hesitating. Nancy fired another shot —coral dust jumped at his feet. Teng leaped into the boat, yelled at Marson to take the oars.

     I wondered if Nancy knew the bullet might have easily ricocheted and killed Teng... and I felt a little like a coward. I told myself I hadn't butted in because I didn't want to act the all-wise popaa telling the natives what to do. But at the same time I felt foolish. In actual size I was the biggest man on the atoll, except for Buck and Kid Marson. Yet it had been Eddie who had dumped Buck and a little old woman who threw a gun on them.

     Empty canoes were brought to the beach, and the islanders got busy filling them with nuts and limes, papayas, even a jar of pickled sharks' livers. Nancy came over to me, the carbine cradled in her left arm. Ruita followed, eyeing the old woman with awe and admiration. Mrs. Adams said, “Ray, I want you to write down as much of this as you remember, now, in your shorthand, so we can give Papeete a full report if Buck makes any trouble.”

     I dug in my pocket for my notebook and pencil, thinking —Big Ray, flattening them left and right with shorthand!

     “He's smack in the wrong, won't open his yap,” Eddie said, taking the gun from Nancy's arm. “These carbines are good old rifles—nice and light. Where did you buy it?”

     “In Samoa,” Nancy said, her leather face relaxing as she smiled. “Had some idea I might use it for shooting fish. I'm not as agile as I used to be.”

     “Mama, if they... they hadn't agreed, would you have killed them?”

     Nancy stared at Ruita for a second, squeezed her hand and said softly, “Yes.”

     There was a long dull cough out in the lagoon, followed by a collective wail from the canoes. We spun around to see the Shanghai making for the channel under power, leaving canoes full of sick divers behind in the lagoon.

Chapter VII

     There was a moment of shocked silence as everybody stared at the schooner making for the channel.

     Eddie shouted, “Son of a bitch!” and fired a wild burst at the Shanghai.

     Nancy moaned, “Now we're stuck with them!”

     Cumber said, “Schooner captain pretty bad fellow.”

     This understatement started me giggling and Ruita shook me, asked, “Ray, can you catch them in the Hooker?”

     “We can sure try!” Eddie said, dropping the gun.

     I grabbed him before he could take off, ripping his T-shirt. “The Shanghai is at least several knots faster, and by the time we get under way she'll be out of sight.”

     “At least we can give it a try!” Eddie said.

     “There's only one way of overtaking them Chief, empty your strongest canoe and bring it here. Eddie, get the reserve can of gasoline from the Hooker. Ruita, you find me a bowl or bottle of coconut oil—but fast!”

     “What have you in mind?” Nancy asked as the others didn't move.

     “You'll see. Come on, get moving!” The sudden burst of activity made me feel great, and a little like a horse's end— I wasn't used to giving orders. I ran through the village till I came to the hut with the outboard. The old man wasn't there. I managed to hoist the damn heavy thing on my shoulder and trot back to the dock.

     Eddie was waiting with the gas beside a big twenty-foot sailing canoe, and he asked, “Will that work?”

     “Only one way of finding out. Give me a hand.” We pushed the canoe out into knee-deep water and attached the outboard to one side of the stern. The canoe started to go under. Eddie grabbed the motor, screwed the clamps to one of the outrigger booms, close to the hull as possible. It balanced, but the outrigger went deep into the water. I looked around for a rope to lash the outboard to the boom, couldn't find one.

     Ruita came splashing into the water holding a quart rum bottle full of coconut oil. I mixed this in the outboard tank with two gallons of gas and motioned for Eddie and Cumber to get into the canoe. I stepped in as Ruita and Titi held the sides and got us balanced properly. I motioned for them to push us out as the old guy who owned the motor demanded to go along. I shook my head, and Titi held him from jumping in and sinking us all. Of course the motor didn't start the first time I yanked the rope or on the second or third times. The Shanghai was already in the channel. I wasn't sure if I had the right mixture, or even if coconut oil would work.

     She coughed and smoked on the fourth attempt: I was scared I had flooded the carburetor. But on the next spin of the starter the motor came alive with a roar and the canoe jumped through the water like a speedboat. Eddie shouted, “Watch out for coral heads—hit anything at this speed and we'll be killed!”

     The outboard steered easily: I twisted and turned through the canoes of the sick divers, almost laughing at the frightened look on Cumber's face as he crouched in the bow—which was now completely out of water. Our timing was swell—the Shanghai was just leaving the channel; there wouldn't have been room for our canoe and the schooner.

     I gave her full gas, figured we were doing thirty miles or better as we sped through the channel. Hitting the open sea was like running into a soggy wall. The canoe shuddered as the bow sank, and I was sure we were going to take on water. But Tuamotu islanders know how to build boats; as I slowed the engine, the bow came up and soon we were skimming over the crest of the waves. Within seconds we were circling the Shanghai, the Chief shouting for Buck to stop. Not a soul even came to the rail to answer him.

     I glanced at Eddie—we had to board the schooner! They were towing the long boat and as I circled again and came up behind that, Eddie shook his head. I pointed to the rope ladder hanging down the side of the schooner but Eddie shook his head again, shouted, “The lines hanging from the bowsprit!”

     That called for tricky timing: one mistake and the Shanghai would cut us in two. But we had speed, could turn like a fish. Eddie stood up as I ran the canoe under the bowsprit; he grabbed a line with both hands, was jerked out of the canoe, one of his feet clouting me on the head. Eddie dangled in the air for a moment, then got his legs around the rope, pulled himself up onto the bowsprit.

     My noggin was ringing as I started the canoe in a figure eight, motioned