Peter Pišťanek - The Wooden Village

When he wakes up again and sits up on his primitive bed, someone in the dark hut says a few words and a beautiful native girl enters, carrying a bowl of rice and spicy vegetables. The girl smiles radiantly at Junec: he assumes that she was one of thirty to whom he dispensed his manly favours the previous night.

Into the hut steps Tioka III, accompanied by several elders.

“How did the mighty Ahuhuai Tahuhuneui sleep last night?” asks the King and sits down on a low bamboo seat.

“Very well, thanks” says Martin. “You promised me a catamaran to Kalalau. Will that be possible?” “Well,” Tioka III says, “events have taken a different direction…”

“What am I to understand by that?” Martin asks, displeased. He has fulfilled his duty. He acted like a real Ahuhuai Tahuhuneui and screwed not ten, but thirty women. The mighty Ahuhuai Tahuhuneui even noticed that some came back for a second, and even a third bout. So Tioka III should now keep his promise.

The king smiles. “You don’t give me credit, my friend,” he tells Martin. “This morning we contacted Kalalau Island by radio. Why should you bother with a catamaran? This afternoon Doctor Gershwitz is coming here by seaplane to pick you up.”

Martin trembles. The mention of Edna arouses the most tender emotions in him.

“I hope that will be acceptable to you,” says Tioka III. “Oh yes,” says Junec. “Very acceptable.”

The monarch claps his dry hands and a native girl enters the hut carrying a clay bowl on a tray. Behind her stands another girl holding a folded piece of fabric. Martin looks at them and suspects that their slender milk-coffee bodies have, as local custom requires, accepted his favours.

“I imagine that your honourable genitals have had quite a seeing-to,” says the King. “So let this girl soothe them with uiopeniauieaua, a healing ointment. It works almost instantly. Also, I think a light sarong will suit you better in our climate than uncomfortable European dress.”

Despite being somewhat embarrassed, Martin gets up and lets the girl treat him. The ointment stings mildly, then cools. The girl’s fingers are very nimble and sensitive. She spreads the ointment into the skin and does not miss a single square centimetre of Martin’s aching genitals. The other girl waits, then wraps the florid fabric round his lower body.

Ahuhuai Tahuhuneui, accompanied by the king and his elders, walks out of the hut.

“By the time Doctor Gershwitz arrives,” Tioka III says encouragingly, “you’ll be fine.”

And indeed, when in the afternoon a small dot appears above the sea and the village hears the sound of a piston engine, Martin gets up and nothing hurts any more.

The whole village gathers by the lagoon to watch the Cessna come down on its floats. Several men launch their long narrow boats and quickly paddle towards the plane, which is rocking on the waves.

Martin shades his eyes from the sun, watching a few passengers get out of the plane into the boats.

“Well, go and meet her,” the amiable king encourages him, and propels him towards the lagoon.

Now Martin can already see Edna sitting in the first boat in her white shorts and blouse. He gets into the water and walks until it is waist-deep.

“Martin!” Edna shouts from the approaching boat and jumps into the water. Up to her breasts in salty, foamy water, she rushes to Junec.

“Edna!” shouts Martin, embraces her, lifts her up and turns her round a few times.

“How did you find me?” wonders the gorgeously fresh, suntanned and fragrant Doctor Gershwitz. “How did you get here?”

“Oh, Edna!” Martin presses her friend to his body and covers her face, neck, and hair with passionate kisses.

“Don’t be silly, Martin!” Edna laughs, freeing herself from his passionate embrace.

“I came to ask you to marry me,” Martin says fervently.

Edna laughs. “So what will it be,” says Martin seriously. “Yes, or no?”

“Is that why you’ve come all this way?” ask Edna.

“Yes, that’s why,” says Martin. “I’ve had enough of modern life-styles. Enough of time spent apart.” Martin Junec will never leave Edna. He will go where she goes. And vice versa. He knows it can work. Each will have to adapt a bit. Each will have to make a few allowances. He worries about Edna and will never again let her go away on her own.

Edna becomes serious. The waves tickle her suntanned thighs. She looks Martin straight in the face.

“Well, what’s it going to be?” Martin would like to know. He’s had enough of his dubious freedom. He wants to marry the woman he loves, yes, loves, and he wants to live with her, sleep with her, eat with her, have children by her, the lot! He’ll be forty in a year and then in ten years fifty, and so on. He wants to experience a little bit of happiness. Can Edna understand? Everything passes, you’re not even aware. Nothing can make up for lost time. Every moment that Martin lives without Edna will be lost forever. Time flows into a great drain and never comes back. He loves Edna as he’s never loved any other woman in his life. And Edna has never been loved as much as he loves her. So what is it going to be? Yes, or no?”

“In that case, yes,” Edna agrees, and for Martin, the whole world begins to whirl crazily round and round.

Then they walk through the shallow surf to the shore. Hand in hand, a handsome couple, like a sculpture of lovers. “What was it like in your country?” Edna asks him. “Tell me!”

Martin sighs. He’d love to tell his future wife everything. About Žofré’s ghost and Hruškovič; about Rácz and Silvia; about visiting his native village; about his miraculous escape from the Hotel Ambassador and his mad journey to Hong Kong, and further. But he doesn’t know where to begin. Suddenly he realises that his command of American English is not good enough to make her understand everything that he’d been through in his old country, or even how he’d got here, to Aumaoua Island.

“I survived,” he finally says and takes a breath as if he wanted to add something.

Edna turns to him, awaiting another sentence, but Martin is silent again.

Together they walk along the beach to the native village looming in the distance. The sea ripples and white albatrosses hover in the air.

From the village comes the melodious sound of Hawaiian guitars.

* * *

It takes Freddy a long time to find a good moment to remind Sida about raising his salary. Finally one night, as they sit at the bar, waiting for a customer, Freddy starts harping on again about money. Sida is in a bad mood, staring dully into her glass. Freddy explains that she had promised to raise his salary to two hundred a day if she was satisfied.

“Yes, if I’m satisfied,” Sida remarks.

That does it for Freddy. “What do you mean?” he snaps. What did his mistress mean by that remark?

Sida grabs the leather strap attached to Freddy’s collar and gives it a sharp tug.

She didn’t mean anything. She only said, “If I’m satisfied.”

Freddy tosses his head in a gesture of resistance; he won’t let her pull him closer. But Sida’s tone suggested she wasn’t satisfied, he says. Could Sida possibly be dissatisfied with him? Could she find anyone else like him? Certainly not!

Sida has no desire to haggle with the fat slob. She just reminds him that she didn’t need anyone; it was Freddy Piggybank who offered her his services. And he knew what he was letting himself in for. Well then?

Freddy lowers his voice. Everything can be settled amicably. He has no objections, the work is fine and he likes it. But he can see how much Sida makes. Not that he envies her, but with takings like those, his slave owner should have no problem giving him another hundred a day.