Leje Ijjirik said, "They just want to use the lagoon for a while. What harm is that? I think they will pay us much money, then we'll come back in two years and everything will be the same. They will give us many things, as they have already done."
Abram shouted, "I didn't hear them offer to pay anything, just move us!"
Chief Juda said quietly, "They will pay us, I'm sure."
Abram said, "Ask them!"
Finally, sighing, Juda said, "We must vote. They are waiting."
Nine alabs voted for nine families to move. Sorry and Jonjen cast a vote against; one Makaoliej family, to which Abram belonged, voted against. It all occurred in less than an hour.
Juda sent an Ijjirik girl to summon the Americans back to the meeting place and then said to them, "If the United States government and the scientists of the world want to use our atoll for further development which, with God's blessings, will result in kindness and benefit to all mankind, my people will be pleased to go elsewhere for a while."
Sorry thought, Poor Chief Juda. He is not accustomed to dealing with authorities.
Abram said bitterly, "You've made a great mistake, Juda. You've made a great mistake."
As Azakel translated, the governor congratulated Juda and thanked the people, saying he was certain everyone would like their new home, that the navy and the U.S. government would do everything humanly possible to help them resettle.
Tara took Abram's hand and said, "You tried..."
He sighed. "But I didn't win."
Sorry looked at the faces of the villagers sitting there on the matting. They did not know what had happened to them in less than two hours. A few were frowning, but most faces were blank as the governor and his staff hurried back to their rafts.
***
Sorry sat side by side with Abram in the sand and watched as the blue Catalina built up speed and lifted off the lagoon, heading west again. His mother and Lokileni sat a few feet away, near Tara, Jonjen, and Yolo. No one was speaking. Sorry was proud that he'd voted against the white men and their bomb.
The other villagers watched in silence, too, standing in little family groups as the seaplane disappeared. As the afternoon went by, Sorry thought he sensed remorse setting in, and a sudden sadness. Slowly, slowly, all the fine words about them being the children of Israel led to the Promised Land, and how the bomb drop would result in kindness and benefit to all mankind, sank in. Some of the people now realized they'd voted to leave their place of birth, to have their dwellings torn down, to have the island destroyed, to go live on another island, which they'd probably never seen and probably knew nothing about.
Tara said, "The Americans didn't say where we'd be sent."
At last, Abram sighed. "You know, our people agreed to this just because the white men asked them to. They don't know it yet but they'll leave behind the most important thing of all—home."
He seemed worn down as well as sad. Lifeless. Was he ill?
"Do you know what happened here? We see the Americans as so great and powerful that we can't say no to them, and the governor used our belief in God against us. I cry for our people, Sorry. They think they'll be back in a few years and everything will be the same. It won't, Sorry. It won't ever be the same. Once that bomb is dropped it will never be the same here. They lied to Juda and to all of us."
Sorry said thoughtfully, "Uncle Abram, why is it that the Americans want to test bombs when the war is over? Isn't the outside world at peace now?"
"I don't think it's quite that simple. America still has enemies."
"Why can't everyone live in peace, the way we used to have it here?"
"Sorry, if I could answer that question, I'd be the most important man on earth."
Ruta Rinamu nodded in agreement.
"Well, how can we stop the test? What can we do?" Sorry asked.
"Yes," Tara said. "What can we do?" Jonjen echoed her.
Abram thought awhile. "I'm not sure. Something, perhaps. When I was a seaman, I learned about strikes. Do you know what a strike is?"
Sorry shook his head.
"A strike is when workers fight back against bad treatment, low wages. They refuse to work; they protest."
"Can we do that?"
"I don't think it would do any good to strike. But we can protest. That means 'fight against.' In the other world, there are many newspapers and magazines and radio stations. If we can get to them in time, maybe we can force the navy to make another choice, find another atoll without people on it."
"What are the chances, Uncle Abram?"
Abram took a long time to answer.
"Not very good."
Then silence fell upon them again.
Vice Admiral William H. P. Blandy, commander of Operation Crossroads, told the international press that the Bikinians could be returned to their island in a matter of months.
3
Heart thudding, Sorry sat strapped in, life jacketed, along with Chief Juda, Abram, Jeton Kejibuki, and Manoj Ijjirik, who held tightly to the seat piping, eyes closed. The engine noise mounted to a fury, and the seaplane began its takeoff run across the lagoon, slamming into low waves until it rose into the air.
All the other members of the council had refused to go, frightened by the white man's flying machine. The navy had offered to fly Juda and the council in search of a suitable island to temporarily replace Bikini as home. A four-engine aircraft, larger than the usual Catalmas, was being used.
Once they were in the air, Sorry began to breathe easier. His heartbeat slowed. Never in his life had he thought he'd be sitting in a roaring, vibrating airplane.
Soon the sailor in the cabin told him he could remove his seat belt and look out one of the window ports. Below were the sea and drifting clouds, a new and exciting view of them.
A naval officer, pudgy, red-haired, freckle-faced Lieutenant Hastings, the military governor's representative, accompanied them. He shouted above the engine pound, "We'll go to Ujae and Lae first."
The plane finally swooped low over Ujae and Lae, islands much smaller than Bikini. The people there waved as the winged shadow rumbled across their sands and palms.
Sorry still couldn't believe he was actually up in the sky, and now enjoying it. But Chief Juda, whose face was almost milk white, sat grasping the seat-frame pipes.
Abram said in English to Hastings, "The council decided against any island that is already inhabited."
Juda, vomiting into a bag hurriedly given to him, finally gasped, "Rongerik." He'd been told that Rongerik, 120 miles east of Bikini, had no residents.
The name, for some reason, bothered Sorry. Long ago, he had heard bad things about the island from Yolo, and 120 miles seemed halfway around the world to him.
Abram said that the navy really didn't care where they went, just so long as they soon left Bikini with their pandanus mats, outriggers, chickens, and dogs. It was up to them to select a new island.
Jeton Kejibuki was also sick and throwing up. Sorry himself felt a little queasy as the plane drummed on for another two hours. Then it descended a bit and Lieutenant Hastings, coming back from the cockpit, said, "Rongerik."
Chief Juda staggered out of his seat to look down.
"Do you want to land?" Lieutenant Hastings asked, and Abram interpreted for Juda, who shook his head.
"We should land," Abram said, but Juda refused.
To Sorry, the atoll, much smaller than Bikini, did not look too bad. There weren't as many palm trees or pandanus, but the beach of the main island was wider than Bikini's.
Sorry saw sudden tears in Manoj Ijjirik's eyes; Jeton Kejibuki stared down at the aircraft floor. Abram was clearly frustrated. They were all unhappy with Juda's decision not to land.
Sorry took another look below. The lagoon was less than half the size of Bikini's, and some of the islands in the ring were mostly bare sand or low brush with vines on them.
"Go home, go home," Juda said weakly to Abram, and Abram, in turn, told the lieutenant.
Juda sat with his head down, defeated.
"It is not a good island!" Abram shouted to him over the thunder of the engines.
Juda didn't even raise his head to answer.
***
The villagers gathered expectantly a few minutes after the plane landed, and they waited for the rubber boats to bring Chief Juda and his party to the beach.
Face still pale, Juda climbed out and walked unsteadily toward the people.
"What happened?" asked Jonjen.
"We decided on Rongerik, where no one lives."
"I've heard bad things about Rongerik. That's why no one lives there," said Jonjen.
"It's temporary; we'll be home again in two years," Juda said. "That's what the navy has promised."
Two years is a very long time, Sorry thought.
Jonjen demanded, "Why didn't you go to more islands, south of here?"
"Because I knew everyone wanted to stay as near home as possible. We already know that almost every atoll south of here is too small or is inhabited."
Standing at the back of the group, Abram said quietly and sadly, "Juda, I don't think this island will be our home again for a long, long time, if ever. It will be poisoned by the bombs."
Leje Ijjirik turned swiftly toward Abram with annoyance, shouting, "We've heard what you said before! We're very tired of hearing it. We'll benefit by leaving here. The navy will give us money sooner or later. They'll take good care of us on Rongerik. They'll give us food and medicine. They have doctors."
That was like Leje, Sorry thought. He would argue with a goony bird.
"Wait until you see Rongerik, Leje! Just wait!" Abram shouted back, his face stormy.
They'd always been such gentle people, seldom raising their voices to each other. Now there was dark tension in the air. Villager against villager.
"You are crazy, Abram! You are insane!" Leje shouted, raising a fist.
"He is telling the truth, Leje," Tara said loudly. "I've been to Rongerik. I was born eighteen miles away. Remember?"
There was murmuring in the crowd, then the meeting broke up. Most of the people went unhappily back to their houses. Only Leje and a few others were still pleased about the week-old decision to leave Bikini. Sorry believed most villagers had already changed their minds and wished they were staying.
Lokileni said, her thin face dark with anger, "Uncle Abram isn't crazy."
Leje ignored her and walked away.
Outraged, Ruta Rinamu called loudly after him, "My brother is not crazy!"
Abram stood silently, an odd expression on his face. There was a grayish tone to it now, over the brown. He did not look well.
"Are you all right?" Sorry asked.
His mother repeated worriedly, "Abram, are you all right?"
He took two pills out of the small bottle that was in his pocket and placed them under his tongue. "I'm all right," he said, taking a deep breath.
Elderly Jibiji Kejibuki, trying to soothe tempers, said to Abram, "Tell us about Rongerik."
Abram finally nodded. "The main island is not nearly as large as this one. The lagoon is probably less than a quarter the size of ours. It is a very meager atoll. Leje is wrong about the money. The navy offered to move us into temporary houses away from the island. That's all they offered. Nothing else. I understood every word the governor said, and he never mentioned money."
Abram suddenly seemed exhausted and sat down on a palm bole. Sorry and his mother exchanged looks.
***
At the evening meal, Lokileni repeated, "Rongerik," to herself, as if learning a new foreign word. Nothing soft or musical about it, Sorry realized. Bikini was musical, he thought.
Abram, who had been mostly silent since the afternoon meeting, finally spoke about the day. "All the way back here Manoj and I talked about making the navy find another island, letting us keep this one. Juda opened his mouth only once. 'We are so small and they are so large,' he said. That's true, but I know one thing: We gave up without a fight. We could have said no. Maybe nothing would have changed, but we could have said no."
"Were there any schools of fish?" Sorry's mother asked.
"Not many," Sorry admitted. "But we did see some tuna break water."
Without fish, they'd starve.
Juda had ordered the women to start making roofing and wall panels tomorrow, the men to strip the pandanus trees of all mature leaves to take to Rongerik. Grandmother Yolo and Lokileni would help with the plaiting; Sorry would strip leaves.
"And pandanus on the other islands?" his mother asked.
"Not very many. The atoll is shaped like the palm of my hand." He added, "As if that makes any difference."
"We can survive for two years." She was always optimistic.
"Can't we call another meeting?" Sorry asked.
"Yes, but the navy might not show up," Abram replied.
Jonjen said, "'God will be pleased if you move,' the governor told us. How could the navy know what pleases God?"
***
Later in the evening Sorry sat with Lokileni, Abram, and Tara on the beach in front of their dwelling. The lights of the Sumner cut the velvet curtain of darkness over the lagoon. That old ship was a constant reminder of what was going to happen. When the wind was blowing onshore, her loudspeakers could be heard, with sailors' shrill piping or recordings of reveille or taps. The villagers could not escape the sounds. Less than a month ago only the surf and cries of unseen birds were carried on the night wind.
"Uncle Abram, you said you had a plan."
"I do," he answered quietly, eyes focused on the Sumner's lights.
"What is it?" Sorry asked, looking at his uncle's profile in the pale moonlight.
Abram didn't answer for the longest time, then said, "I'll tell you later."
"You heard Grandfather Jonjen say Yolo wouldn't go because of Libokra," Lokileni said.
Abram laughed softly. "That silly tale. Yolo will be slung across somebody's shoulder like she's a sack of spider lilies. The navy won't leave an old woman here to watch the bombs go off."
Long ago, according to island legend, an evil spirit named Libokra stole Rongerik from the southern atolls and placed it in the north. She tried to steal Bikini but was chased away by a friendly spirit, Orijabato, and finally had to settle on Rongerik. She was murdered on a stormy night and her body was thrown into the lagoon, poisoning all the sea life. After her death, the coconuts and pandanus clusters were fewer and smaller; water in the few shallow wells tasted strange and caused sickness. No one had lived on Rongerik for years, supposedly because of Libokra.
"That's pure nonsense," Tara said. "But I admit that my people don't visit Rongerik very often. And never at night."
"Is that when the dead witch flies around?" Lokileni asked.
"Believe it if you want," Tara said, laughing.
"If it's all nonsense, why doesn't anyone live there?" Sorry asked.
"I don't know," Tara admitted.
Abram said, "Simply because it's a worthless atoll. I heard that years ago. Why people won't live there has nothing to do with Libokra, whatever Yolo thinks."
Grandmother Yolo was more than half-crazy, Sorry often thought. She had been that way before Sorry was born. But he still loved her.
He'd done something terrible to her when he was six or seven and still regretted it. She never wanted to look at herself, afraid she'd see a spirit. So he borrowed a piece of mirror from Manoj Ijjirik's house and waited until she was sound asleep in the afternoon, then held it about two feet above her face and woke her up. She saw herself and screamed. His father chased him far up the beach.
There was a big barrier beach rock that Yolo usually sat on. There she would be, stiff backed with her eyes closed, hands on her knees. Once Sorry asked her what she was listening to. Her eyes moved around under the lids and her toothless chin worked. That was when she would still talk. She told him she was listening to voices from the ocean, all the people who had died off of the barrier beach for a hundred years. For
a while, he really thought she heard them.
Had she talked to his father? She wouldn't say.
What began as a few Pentagon orders in early January 1946, had become a paper flood that would eventually involve more than 250 ships; over 150 aircraft; 42,000 personnel; 25,000 Geiger radiation counters; hundreds of still and motion picture cameras. Approximately 160 journalists from around the world would soon be headed for Bikini.
4
With the early sun again climbing to erase the night's dew and the usual fluffy clouds adrift over the far horizon, Sorry and Abram sailed the Eniwetok canoe out to the USS Sumner.
After asking permission, they tied up alongside the wooden landing pontoon. Sorry didn't know the reason for the visit, and Abram hadn't volunteered any information.
There were times when Sorry's uncle was as open as the sea and sky; other times he closed himself off like a clam. This morning he was a clam.
Abram spoke to the petty officer in charge of the gangway watch. He asked to see the chief boatswain. The bo'sun always bossed the deck crew and was responsible for deck maintenance.
"For what reason?" asked the sailor.
"We're going to tear down several buildings, and I need some red paint to mark the supports we'll take to Rongerik."
Abram later told Sorry what had been said at the gangway.
Lieutenant Hastings had decided it would be best if both the church and the council-school buildings were dismantled and transported to the new island. Both were part of community life and might help ward off homesickness. The lieutenant had promised Juda that the navy would cooperate in every way.
The sailor shrugged and said into the loudspeaker system, "Chief bo'sun to the quarterdeck! Chief bo'sun to the quarterdeck." The bo'sun was always in charge of the paint locker.
Sorry looked along the length of the gray, riveted hull, wishing he could board it; see, up close, all the things on the white man's ship. He could smell food being prepared and wondered what the sailors would eat this day. The smells were completely different from those that came from the beach fire pits.