Ed Lacy - South Pacific Affair

Ruita was laying atop the cabin, sleeping. She was wearing shorts and a halter made of red pareu cloth. She had a pink flower in her hair, over her left ear—which could mean, according to the island custom, she was looking for a sweetheart; or in Ruita's case that she merely felt like wearing a flower over her left ear.

Eddie was at the wheel and Nancy Adams was sitting beside him, both of them chattering about rain in general. I was watching the pitching horizon, the clouds, anything to keep my eyes off Ruita.

Eddie said, “I have some new shampoo I bought off the Chinaman in PellaPella. Maybe I try it now when it rains, although I have heard that to wash your hair makes for baldness. I like rain.”

Mrs. Adams said, “But only when there is high ground handy. Ever in a tidal wave, Eddie?”

“Been in a couple of small hurricanes but no tidal wave.”

“I was in a big one. It was the hurricane of nineteen— What was that year? Nineteen and—?”

Ruita wasn't asleep; she must have been listening, for she called out loudly against the wind, “The year doesn't matter, Mama.” I noticed whenever the old woman got this blank look on her face, when her memory tripped her, Ruita would step in and ease her over the rough spots. I was sure she knew all about her mother's syphilis.

“Well,” Nancy went on—bending Eddie's tin ear, “I'd say it was about 1937. We were on Forliga, the very atoll we're headed for now. It had rained hard for several days in a row...”

I was too restless to listen to tidal wave stories. I went forward, sat beside Ruita. “What about you, Ray, how do you stand with rain?” she asked, watching me through half-closed almond-shaped eyes. She looked all the adjectives—from exotic to sensuous.

“Never thought about it. Since I've been in the islands I like rain because it means a bath. Back home it merely meant rubbers, cold, and taxi cabs.”

“I love to watch the rain clouds building up; a dull angry grey, so threatening and clumsy—and often such a big empty bluff'.”

She had one arm near my leg and I touched her fingers, told her, “Now that we've covered the weather, let's get down to something interesting. You have lovely hands, long strong fingers.”

“Have I, Ray?” she said in an almost listless voice. “Sometimes I paint my nails, as in the fashion magazines. That's such a vain idea, a peacock idea. But I think on my hands it does look good because of the contrast, the red and my brown skin. However, on a popaa woman with pasty pale skin, I imagine it must look rather gaudy.”

“That's like with the rain—hard to say,” I said, not sure if she was needling me or not. I wasn't sure of anything with Ruita.

When we had reach Numaga I was wondering what sort of reception she would give me, what I would say to her when we were alone. But we weren't alone—no sooner had we raced over the reef and dropped anchor when Ruita came out in a canoe, told Nancy her half-brother was being married on the Forliga atoll, and there was to be a big party. They had sent word that they were holding off the ceremony till Nancy and Ruita could attend. Mrs. Adams said they certainly had to go to the wedding, so we refilled our water tanks and took on food while waiting for the next high tide, then sailed out with Ruita aboard.

Ruita's greeting to me had been both warm and merely friendly. I felt sure she was wearing the flower over her left ear for me, and when we shook hands her hand had been warm and demanding in mine. Yet all she had said was, “I am glad to see you again, Mr. Jundson,” which could have been the truth or politeness.

I had a little speech ready in the back of my mind, something about how sorry I was for what had happened on the beach the last time, and was glad I never had a chance to say it. For even now, as I sat beside her, my eyes eating her up, I still had a vague feeling this wasn't for me; I would only wreck the both of us. As that old goat Stewart had said, maybe I wasn't ready for the paradise “rut” although what the hell I was ready for I didn't know.

The rain came down swiftly, a sudden warm driving sheet of water. Ruita jumped up and ran for the cabin. She came out in a moment with a blouse of her mother's, a red pareu cloth, some panties plus two cakes of soap. She gave a cake to the old lady as Eddie shouted, “Take the wheel, Nancy. I'll go first and try out that shampoo.”

I grabbed the wheel and Eddie jumped down into the cabin, came out as Ruita and Nancy stripped and thoroughly soaped themselves in the fresh water. Eddie slipped off his shorts and started whipping up a lather on his head. He seemed to be having a big time.

Meanwhile Ruita washed her face and her breasts and her hips; then her clothes, using one of her slender thighs as a washing board.

“Civilized” people regard sex as a sin—whether they admit it on the couch or not—and nudity becomes sex and thus wanton and sordid. The islanders look upon nude bathing, or washing in the rain, as something very convenient and practical. I am sure they weren't giving it a second thought, but not having lost all of my “civilization,” I was gaping at Ruita's brown nakedness like a schoolboy at a keyhole.

While Ruita and her mother hung their clothes on the rigging—for the sun that would be out in a few minutes— Eddie came back and hung his shorts on the boom, said the shampoo was wonderful, and to take my bath. I shook my head—not out of false modesty, but to save myself a lot of embarrassment.

Mrs. Adams said, as the sun began streaking through the grey rain clouds, “Have the towels ready, Louise. More people get colds because they wait for the sun to dry them than—”

I said, “I'll get the towels.”

“Hurry,” Nancy said, running a hand over her sagging flat breasts. “Too much wind.”

Down in the cabin I took three towels, shook them free of roaches, then stood on the steps and tossed a towel at Eddie, handed another to Mrs. Adams, and stepped back into the cabin.

Ruita called me and I didn't move. I heard her feet at the top of the cabin steps, then she stood before me, her skin a soft wet golden brown. “You forgot my towel, Ray.”

“I didn't forget.” I held out the towel.

“What?” she asked, coming nearer, and I realized I was talking in a whisper.

She reached for the towel and I pulled it back. “Let me dry you?”

“Ray...”

“Please,” I said and ran the towel over her shoulders, gently dried and blotted every inch of her body. Neither of us looked at the other, the hot stillness of the cabin a protecting blanket about us.

When I finished I saw sweat running down her sides and even through the rough towel I could feel the rapid beat of her heart. Her eyes were closed and for a moment I stood and stared at her naked beauty. Then I said the thing which was deepest in my heart. “Dearest, forgive me for not... on the beach... that time.”

She said, “Ray,” like a tiny sigh and when she opened her eyes they were warm and soft. Taking one end of the towel, she started to dry my shoulders. When I took her in my arms, kissed her, her arms circled my back and pressed me to her with such wonderful strength.

I awoke to find her still sleeping at my side. I let my hands explore the firm softness of her body. I kissed her full lips and she moved in her sleep; her hands caressed my body and her eyes actually opened like two dark pools of softness. The sunlight pouring in through two of the portholes spotlighted the blackness of her hair, the strong curve of her throat and shoulders. She placed both my hands on her breasts and we kissed as fiercely as possible, our lips pressed together tightly.

When I awoke the second time, she was propped up on one elbow, smiling down at me. We had a light blanket over us and the cabin was almost dark. There was a slight buzzing sound in the cabin and glancing through a porthole I saw a star on the pale horizon.