Peter Abrahams - Lights Out

The woman swam straight out, passing close enough to splash him with her kicks. She swam energetically, even powerfully, but not efficiently. Eddie, watching, had a notion to swim after her, to simply flash by; but realized just in time that it would not be cool. He was considering various lines of conversation, or perhaps going back to the cabin before conversation became necessary, when she circled, swam back, and stopped a few yards farther out, treading water.

The woman smiled. With her hair plastered to her head she looked younger, almost like a kid.

“Another nature boy,” she said.

None of Eddie’s lines adapted to that opening. He heard himself making some sound; she took it for incomprehension.

“Jack’s brother, right?” she said.

“Right.”

“Freddie?”

“Eddie.”

“Much better. You don’t look like a Freddie.”

“What does a Freddie look like?”

“Stick-out ears. Goofy grin. Not you.”

Something in the way she spoke those last two words, a deepening in the tone of her voice perhaps, unsettled him, delaying the arrival of the next obvious remark.

“What’s your name?” It came at last.

“Mandy,” she said. “Short for Amanda.”

He nodded. Short for Amanda. Great. We could move on to surnames, he thought, or…

“What’s Eddie short for?”

“Edward the Seventh.”

She started to laugh, that same unrestrained laugh he had provoked by falling in. Eddie laughed too. Then came a silence, as though their conversation had run out of supplies, like an army advancing too rapidly into unknown territory.

“Going to be here long?” Mandy asked.

“The summer,” Eddie said, thinking: maybe much longer. “What about you?”

“On and off. I work for Mr. Packer.”

“What as?”

“What as?” Her voice was sharper.

“Your job.”

“I’m his secretary.” A wave came in, raised her above him. “Did you meet him yet?” she asked. The wave lowered her back down, a little closer to Eddie.

“Last night. I flew over with Mrs. Packer.”

“What fun.”

Eddie didn’t know how to take that. He was forming a reply when another wave rose, bigger than the others, lifted Mandy up and threw her forward, against him; a lot like the way Mrs. Packer had fallen on him on the plane. Sea and air were conspiring to hurl women at him. For a moment he felt Mandy trying to squirm away. Then her body relaxed around his. She made a sound in his ear, much like the sigh he’d heard before, except now it was full of promise, like the introductory chord of a beautiful piece of music.

The plug was pulled at once.

“I see you two have already met.”

Eddie jerked around, saw Jack standing on the beach.

“Adios,” said Mandy, and slipped away.

Eddie swam in. Jack was smiling. “I’ve been waiting all my life to say that.” He put his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, walked him toward the cabin. Eddie glanced back, saw Mandy about twenty yards out, swimming parallel to the beach.

Jack said: “Bro?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I give you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“Stay away from her.”

Eddie didn’t say anything: he wondered if Jack was interested in her himself.

“You weren’t with her last night or anything, were you?” Jack said as they entered the cabin. The cockroach, or another one, was feeling its way across Eddie’s pillow. He flicked it on the floor, raised his foot to stamp on it. The cockroach was too quick: it skittered under his bed, out of sight.

“Of course not,” Eddie said. “We just went for a swim at the same time, that’s all.”

“Good,” said Jack.

“Why good? Is there something wrong with her?”

“Far from it. She’s taken, that’s all.”

“By you?”

“I’m not that dumb. She belongs to Brad.”

That should have been obvious as soon as he’d seen them come out of the same cabin; for some reason the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Don’t look so surprised, Eddie. This is the grown-up world.”

“You mean Mrs. Packer knows?”

“Not that grown-up,” Jack said. He smiled to himself. “But close. The fact is, Evelyn doesn’t know Mandy’s here. Brad’s careful. He hides her at the fish camp when Evelyn’s on the island, moves her down to cottage six as soon as she’s back on the plane to Lauderdale.”

“How can he hide her? She’s the secretary.”

“Was. Evelyn fired her two months ago.”

“Because she was suspicious?”

“Because she found a better typist. She said. The new one looks like that funny little actor. You know.”

“Peter Lorre?”

“Yeah. Except Peter Lorre didn’t have a mustache, did he?”

Outside, Mandy was still swimming, farther out now, probably pulled by the tide. Eddie watched until she looked up, saw where she was, swam in closer.

“Packer’s not as careful as he thinks,” Eddie said.

“No?”

“He wasn’t careful this morning.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Did he go jogging?”

Eddie nodded.

“One day Evelyn’ll start wondering why he never gets in shape. That’s the way this whole thing’s going to unravel.”

“What whole thing?”

“Galleon Beach. The treasure of.”

“What treasure?”

“You saw the plans.” Jack gazed out the window at Mandy. “No feel for the water,” he said.

“She could be all right.”

Jack turned, gave him a look. “He didn’t see you, did he?”

“No. But what difference would it make? Does he know you know?”

The expression in Jack’s eyes changed, as though he was thinking about something. “I don’t know what he knows.”

“How can he expect to keep it a secret, in a little place like this?” Eddie asked. “What happens when the staff gets here?”

“I guess he’ll worry about that when he has to.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“Isn’t that when the cook arrives?”

“The cook won’t be a problem.”

“Why not?”

Jack didn’t answer. Out on the water, Mandy kept swimming.

“Interested in herb, man?”

Eddie, screwing new planks on Fearless ’s dive platform, looked up at the dock. A man on a bicycle was watching him, keeping his balance with one bare foot.

“No, thanks.”

“With your hair like that, I could only aks myself.”

“I’m not in the market.”

“Market? Who be speaking of market? I just want to show you somet’ing interesting, man, if you be interested in herb. In the most friendliest way, since you and me be colleagues.”

“Colleagues?”

“Sure. Meet JFK, the new cook.”

JFK leaned down, extended his hand, fingers pointing up for a black handshake. They shook hands.

“I didn’t hear your plane.”

“Was no plane. I carry myself on this fine made-in-Japan bicycle.”

“From where?”

“All the way down to Cotton Town, on the very tip of this earthly paradise,” said JFK, waving toward the south. “The famous Cotton Town Hotel and Villas. Diving. Tennis. Sailing. Happy hour. Goombay smash. Push-push. When there be guests. Not now.”

“You work there?”

“Formerly, man. Now Mr. Packer has sweetened my pot.” He chuckled. “You Jack’s brother.”

“Right.”

“I have two brothers. They both’s in jail. Franco in Miami, Dime in Fox Hill.”

“What did they do?”

“Lost their trials.” There was a pause while JFK stared out to sea and Eddie waited for elaboration. Then JFK spoke: “Destiny, man. Destiny be rulin’ the fates of humanity.” He raised his hands slightly, as though summoning divine forces.