Ed Lacy: South Pacific Affair

Somehow it seemed terribly important to me to explain all this, as if I had suddenly hit on the core of what was wrong in the islands—for me. But I was talking to myself. Randall was miles away in his thoughts, Eddie was whispering to Heru.

When we reached the Hooker, I stepped aboard and helped Randall on, although he pushed my hand away. Eddie and Heru jumped on deck. I got the motor working and we upped anchor. Eddie took the wheel. Once outside the reef we raised sail and Heru went below to sleep, while Randall sat on a mat in the cockpit, held his head.

He sat like that all night, maybe he was asleep. An hour or so after daybreak-we sailed through the Papeete pass, saw the spire of Notre Dame as we came into the harbor. When we docked Randall stood up stiffly, straightened his clothes and lit a cigar. I offered him his money once more but he brushed by me, jumped down onto the quay, and walked with strong rapid strides. The look on his face was still that of a puzzled, hurt child.

I watched till he was out of sight. Suddenly I didn't give a damn about Randall, or the Barry Kents in the world. I was full of an eager impatience—to get out of here, to never see another face, white or brown, except Ruita's. Even the Hooker or Eddie didn't mean a thing to me; I only wanted the peace and quiet of Numaga with Ruita for the rest of my life. I felt as though I couldn't lose a second, had to start at once.

Eddie said, “The poor jerk. In a way I feel sorry for him. Although I don't know why, all he cared about was having his fun with Heru and the hell with anything else, like my old man. The islands are just a big house to popaas. Let me have my dough, I need a bottle.”

“Eddie, how long will it take you to buy us enough supplies for a three-day sail?”

Eddie stared at me. “What's with you, Ray? A three-day sail? I'm bushed now.”

“Then I'll take the Hooker myself. I have to get to Numaga in a big hurry. Look, sail me there and the Hooker is all yours. You buying that?”

Eddie's battered face seemed to relax into tired lines, making him look old, uglier than ever. He held out his right hand. “Give me some money. I'll be back in an hour.”

“Make it faster,” I said, giving him all the money I had. “If I stay here too long, I'll go nuts.”

Eddie was back in a taxi he dug up somewhere in less than twenty minutes, with baskets of food and fruit. I'd spent the time staring around the harbor like a stranger seeing it for the first time. It didn't look beautiful, it didn't look exotic, or even quaint—it seemed decaying and tumbled down, a dying city. It looked so horrible I shut my eyes. I knew now what Edmond Stewart meant by the final retreat—I was more than ready for it.

As Eddie stored the food, cast off the lines, I started the engine, headed for customs. For some crazy reason it gave me a savage sense of satisfaction to think this would be the last time I'd ever see a customs man.

The sun was coming out, hot and powerful, and either the light or the motion of the boat awoke Heru. Her eye was a delicate purple against the honey-brown of her face. Yawning, she pointed to the quay over our wake, asked, “Where we go?”

“To Numaga,” I said, figuring she and Eddie could live on the other end of the island for awhile. I'd forgotten all about Heru in my haste to get away. “You'll get plenty of rest, a change of air. Later, Eddie will take you back to Papeete, if you so wish.”

“Be the best thing in the world for you,” Eddie said.

Heru turned and stared at the waterfront for a hot second, then jumped down into the cabin. She was out a moment later, her shoes tied around her neck, the wallet in her teeth. She dived overboard, a flash of brown legs, hardly making a splash. We watched her swim the few hundred yards to shore.

Although I couldn't stand the thought of any delay, I asked Eddie, “Shall we put about, pick her up?”

He shook his head. “What the hell do you make of that? Henri will beat the dough out of her when he comes back. Why did she do that?”

“I don't know or care. Maybe we each have to work out our own paradise in this world. Could be Papeete is hers. Some day when I'm rusting my can on Numaga I'll certainly try to think it out, maybe philosophize, grow mellow over it. Right now I don't know the answer to a damn thing, except I'm long, long overdue on Numaga. I don't even know the why Of that. But it doesn't matter now.”