South Pacific Affair

boat and tomorrow take the guided tour, play bridge with the other women. Don't worry about me.”

     “I still think it's crazy,” she said. “And you'll be sick as a dog in that little boat. But, if that's what you want... Bradberry, just don't forget our agreement.”

     “Yes, dear, the new car as soon as we reach home.” Randall kissed her and she got back into the taxi which took off like a racing car. Randall grabbed his pigskin overnight bag and hurried on board. I got the motor going and Randall came out of the cabin wearing a cap and heavy white turtleneck sweater which made him look a little ridiculous. He insisted on helping Henri with the mooring lines, and as we headed for the pass, one of the customs men on the isle of Motuiti waved at us. I waved back and kept going. When we hit the open sea and started to bounce, Randall took it like a sailor; spread his feet apart for balance, took a deep breath and announced, “This is wonderful!”

     “But expensive, or has the price of cars tumbled since I was Stateside?”

     He smiled. “You know women.”

     “I doubt that I do,” I said, almost to myself.

     “Erestine is a fine woman but can't possibly understand what this means to me. She was against going around the world, wanted to spend the time in New York or Palm Beach, but for once I insisted. How long have you been in the islands, Captain?”

     “Over a year,” I said, setting the ship on course.

     “You're a lucky man. You have the world by the tail.”

     “Have I? I couldn't even buy the hub cap of a car.”

     “But you don't need a car here,” Randall said, taking out a pipe. “Captain, you must think me an old fool. I know Erestine does. But ever since I was a kid I've dreamed of the South Seas. I've read all the books of O'Brien, London, Stone, Hall...”

     “And Edmond Stewart?”

     “Especially his. Is he still alive?”

     “Half alive last time I saw him. Take you to see him instead of where we're headed.”

     “No. The trouble is when you're finally able to travel, you're either too old, or the dreams of youth have been distorted. Honolulu was miserable. Papeete—Coney Island in the Pacific. When I heard of this untouched island, I simply had to see it.”

     We were safely beyond the reefs and Henri started hoisting sail. Randall gave him a hand. Soon as we were racing ahead of a stiff breeze, I shut the motor, asked if he wanted to take the wheel. “Give you something to tell the Rotary back home.”

     “Don't make fun of me,” he said, holding the wheel as I shut the gas cock. “Not doing this for any bull session. For the first time in my life I'm living!”

     Closing the motor hatch, I asked, “What do you expect to find on this island beside crabs and rats?”

     “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