Ed Lacy - South Pacific Affair

Nancy and I walked through the short village main street lined with well constructed huts, each with paths and flowerbeds bordered with empty beer bottles. Most of the islanders had bicycles and in front of one hut there was a 1947 Buick without tires, in various stages of rust. A young man told us rather proudly it was his.

It was about a half a mile of sharp uphill, zigzag walking to reach Stewart's house and while it was a kick to be climbing a hill after all the months of living on a deck, we had to rest several times. I was puffing harder than the old lady.

An old man came along carrying a pole with a hook on one end, pulled down a nut for us to drink. He had a wrist-watch on his left arm and a gold flexible watchband on the other. As we started up the mountain path again I asked Nancy where the people got all the beer, the car, the many bicycles, broken and running, and the wristwatches.

“When they dive they make good wages, sometimes as high as two hundred dollars a day for a very, very good day. Of course they are swindled out of the money. I'm sure that schooner in the harbor is loaded with cycles, fancy jewelry, and other trash, all of which will be sold at fantastic prices. Have you ever visited an atoll during the diving season, Ray?”

I shook my head.

“It's quite a sight. A carnival of cheating. The divers return —or are towed for fancy fees—with their canoes full 6f mussels and right at the edge of the beach are merchants hawking all kinds of junk—from ballpoint pens to bicycles and tins of food—along with gambling, prostitutes, rum, candies, shoes and clothing. The divers seldom return with any money but they all consider they have had a grand time.”

“It's a shame to exploit them that way.”

Nancy winked at me. “Whether we return with money or not makes little difference in our lives for money is not a necessity here, only a trinket.”

“Sometimes Eddie and I miss those 'trinkets,' but it doesn't worry us too much.”

“Money can be a burden. I am the last of my family—in the States—and from various inheritances, some from people I've never seen, I have almost a half-million dollars back in Boston. That will be Louise's some day, but lawyers constantly write me and are puzzled as to why I never invest.”

I stopped walking. “You have a half a million bucks?”

She looked at me sharply. “Why? Does that make any difference? If it was waiting for you in the States, would you give up all this peace, rush to get it?”

“Well ... I don't know.”

She suddenly laughed and reached up and ran her hand through my wild red hair, knocking my cap off. “I like you, Ray, you're honest—I think. Now, let's stop talking about a silly thing like money and start walking. Another turn and we'll be on the other side of this stupid hill, in view of the house.”

When I had my first up-close view of Stewart's house it was breath-taking. The house was made of hard pine wood, all bleached grey-white by the sun, and built like a Swiss chalet. It had three stories and how it clung to the sharp slope of the mountain was a puzzle. From the rear porch one could spit several hundred feet straight down.

“A monstrosity of conceit, isn't it?” Nancy said.

“It must have cost a fortune.”

“Indeed it did. Edmond sold two of his silly books to the motion pictures for a fantastic price back in—can't recall when. Sometime in the twenties. He spent it all on this—much like the islander who has the car below. Unfortunately he has been forced to live in one room for the last several years—he's bedridden. I am anxious for you to meet him, like him.”

We walked through a large and well-cultivated garden with pear and peach trees, along with mangoes and other tropical fruits, and reached the entrance of the house which was on the middle floor. A fat islander in clean white drill shorts came out to greet us, followed by several young girls dressed in pareu cloths. They greeted Nancy with great delight, hugging and kissing her and I could make out enough of their dialect to hear the man say, “We are pleased you return to us so soon, Mama. What is new in Papeete? Did you bring the cigarette holder I want?”

The “Mama” was merely a form of greeting, but the old lady had said she hadn't been here in years and now I wondered why she lied to me. She got a bit flustered and stopped their talk by taking out small gifts from her handbag.

I was standing in the doorway, lost in all this chatter. One of the girls asked if I wanted some cold beer. Before I could answer yes, a deep, bull-like voice roared through the house with mild thunder.

“Nancy Adams! Lord God, what are you waiting out here for? Come to me at once. And bring the young man for me to examine!”

The girls giggled and Nancy sighed. She took me into another room while I wondered how this Stewart knew I was coming.

The room was tremendous, the entire width and depth of the house, with great sliding windows giving a complete view of the harbor and the ocean. In a large bed near the windows a thin little man was propped up on two pillows. He had a crazy white beard starting below his eyes and going half way down his chest, where it was neatly tied with two red ribbons. His long face seemed all hair, but the eyes were sharp and alert, and what little skin could be seen was transparent and wax-like. The beard around his mouth was stained a dirty tobacco brown.

He waved a scrawny hand with two large black pearl rings at us, and his shoulders were bare, sickly and pale. He had a thin blanket over him, and an open book lay upon it. Books were also piled on the floor all over the room. As he waved his arm at us again, the covers fell back a Utile and I saw the butt of an automatic lying beside him.

This almost comic deep voice came out of his shriveled body as he roared, “Well damn it, young man, take a seat! You, Nancy, you look trim and young and if I was able I'd pull you down into bed with me.” This was followed by deep laughter which shook his little body. He had some kind of pillow under his legs for the lower part of the thin cover bulged.

Mrs. Adams laughed coyly, a shrill little laugh. “You must be getting senile, Edmond, you sound like one of your horrible characters.”

This snappy line seemed to amuse the old boy, who looked like he was at least a hundred, and he sent out more waves of bull-laughter. Then he asked, “How long are you staying, Nancy?”

She looked at me and I said, “A day or so, depending upon what trading we can do.”

His eyes brightened and from under the tobacco stains in his beard he said, “A sweet sea boat, Mr. Jundson. I watched you coming through the channel hours ago. A very pleasing boat, indeed. There is not much trading here. We don't bother with copra except the old men make some when they feel like it. Mostly the men go in for diving and naturally that filthy scoundrel, Buck, bleeds them out of every sou. If you were collecting junk and scrap, this would be the island for you.”

Nancy suddenly stood. “Edmond, if you are about to lecture on mankind, I think I'd rather spend the time taking a tub. Hot water working?”

“You know I haven't left this cursed bed for a year. How would I know if the blasted hot water is working? Go, go, wash yourself with smell soap, be a silly female. We men have talk.”

“I know,” Nancy said, heading for the door like a hammy actress murdering an exit line, “and man-talk is so boring.”

When she left, Stewart chuckled in his beard, told me, “Isn't it wonderful the way she is still a child at times?” His eyes were staring at me and I didn't know if I was supposed to answer, or not. So we both were silent for a while, as I tried to figure the old duck out. Then he asked abruptly, “How long have you been in the islands, Mr. Jundson?”