“Trust you? I don’t even know who you are!”
She was startled. “What do ye mean? Ye know who I am.”
“I don’t know that I do,” he answered, squinting at her, as if perhaps he could see into her mind, even though, in truth, his vision had become a bit blurred. “There are things left out about you. For instance, I have no clear idea how you spent your time on Ruka before your escape. It’s also not clear to me how you escaped and who exactly your fella boys are and why they are so devoted to you. And, of course, I don’t understand why Colonel Yoshu is so bound and determined to get you back.”
“This is neither the time nor place to talk about that,” she retorted. Josh laughed again, which made her wave her hand in front of her nose, so strong were the gin fumes.
“Well, that’s fine, Sister. On the voyage back to Tarawa, you can tell me everything. I’ve pretty much convinced Mr. Bucknell and Chief Kalapa to gather up the people on this island and come along.” He drank up, then refilled the tumbler, thus emptying the bottle. “What do you think of that?”
“I think you’ve had enough gin,” Sister Mary Kathleen answered.
“Do you? Well, I shall take your opinion under advisement.” Then Josh tossed the gin down his throat and happily smacked his lips, island style. He lifted his eyebrows at her and grinned, though it was not a friendly grin, more a baring of his teeth.
She stared at him in disgust, then bit her lip and forced an expression of calm and outward humility. “I’ll take me leave now,” she said.
Josh shrugged. “ Vaya con Dios, Sister.”
“I usually do, Captain,” she snapped, then left.
Josh frowned after her. “God save me from all women!” he swore, then took another bottle of gin from the cabinet, unscrewed the cap, tossed it away, and discovered he was in a mind to get good and soused. He deserved it, after all, considering all he’d been through. The problem was gin had never been a friendly drink for him. He recalled hitting it a little hard in Alaska, in the little frontier town of Petersburg, and wandering around half out of his mind for two days. Also, if he got drunk, how would the bosun and the marines get along without his sure and certain leadership? They’d be in one pohunky stew, he concluded, and poured himself just one last drink and, soon thereafter, another.
32
It was nearly midnight before Sister Mary Kathleen sank to her knees in the little house that belonged to the two widows who had invited her to spend the night beneath their thatched roof. Both were asleep, snoring peacefully, and so she prayed silently for guidance, grace, strength, and, most of all, forgiveness, though her heart told her such was not possible. She crossed her-self at the end of her prayers, including in them even Josh Thurlow, the big lout, and kissed the medallion of her order and wiped the inevitable tear of regret and sadness that always came to her at the end of each day. For it was only then she allowed her thoughts to drift toward Ruka and the unbearable joy and disgrace that was there. will find a way, she swore, even as she accepted that for some days or weeks, Tahila would be her home.
After removing the corona, veil, and wimple of her habit, she placed them carefully aside and lay down on the large straw mat that served as a sleeping area for her and the two women. Lying there, staring into the darkness, she felt dirty, tired, and ugly and wished she had insisted on washing both her garments and her filthy body before taking to bed. But everyone in the village, it seemed, wanted her to visit, and no time had been allowed for anything else other than the sociable. She had found the homes of Tahila kept neat and clean, and the ladies of each were eager to show off their various treasures. This one had a Bible to show, though it was in Spanish, which no one in the village could read, and that one had fashioned artistic fired clay pots, which Sister Mary Kathleen admired too much, it seemed, as the woman had pressed on her several. Other women showed her their gardens and even their chickens, dogs, cats, and pigs. Sadly, none of them introduced her to their children, since they were considered too low to be brought forth to a holy person. So she contented herself with sidelong glances at them, almost always rewarded by shy smiles. She so longed to swoop them up and hold them in her arms, but she resisted the urge and instead cooed over everything shown to her, all the while allowing her smiles to seep out to the boys and girls hiding in the shadows of their houses or peeping out from behind trees and bushes.
The evening had brought a meal with Chief Kalapa and his several wives. It was a sumptuous meal of rice and yams and chunks of boiled chicken and fish. She had eaten appreciatively, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then belched delicately, all in the island style, and pronounced everything more than satisfactory.
Although the chief started to speak to her in pidgin, she apprised him of her knowledge of the dialect, and he inclined his head, accepting her offer to speak in his language. “I understand Captain Thurlow has convinced you to leave Tahila,” she said.
“That is not true,” he answered. “Mr. Bucknell and I heard the captain out, but we are still thinking the best course.”
“I am pleased to hear it. If you agree, I should like to stay here.”
“Nango and the Ruka fella boys are welcome, but it is my understanding you are coveted by the Japanese colonel. Perhaps it would be better for Tahila if you went elsewhere.”
“I have nowhere else to go.”
“You could go back to Tarawa with Captain Thurlow.”
“I cannot, sor. I must find a way to force the Japanese to leave Ruka.” “Why?”
“The people there suffer terribly under their rule.”
“I am certain that is true. Our fishermen encounter Ruka fishermen. They say their families are kept hostage so they will bring fish back to the Japonee. They say many, many have been killed. They say they are treated as slaves.” Chief Kalapa thought for a while, then said, “Still, I confess I do not entirely understand your position. Why have you taken such a responsibility upon yourself? Could it be, like most Europeans, you look upon us as your children and therefore you must save us?”
“ Tisn’t that! I just think …” She hesitated before saying, “I regret much of what we Europeans have brought to yer islands. Except the word of God, of course.”
The chief nodded, noticing that she had changed the subject, then tossed a chicken bone over his shoulder and licked his fingers. “Well, Sister, the first white men who came here brought both good and bad. I think we were ripe for change, anyway. It didn’t take long before we wanted to be as much like them as we could.”
“You thought their way of life was best?”
“Best? What is best? We knew no other way than our own, that’s all. When we found ourselves rubbing up against a different people, we were bound to change. Once, we had an American woman stay with us for a year. She was a student, she said, and we were her teachers. But if we were her teachers, why did she keep asking us things we had not put into words before or did not know? Where did your people come from? How do you travel without maps? Why do you build your boats this way? Why do you have sex without shame? She bedeviled us with her incessant and rude questions about things we had always taken for granted. She forced us to put into words these things and made our most cherished customs seem silly. At the end of her year, we were happy to see her leave, but it was too late. She had already changed us by making us answer her questions.”
Chief Kalapa thought a bit more, then added slyly, “You Europeans reject our religion as fairy tales but say Christianity is all true. This is strange, be-cause Christianity does not match most of your thinking. It is an ancient religion, filled with impossible things such as men raised from the dead, Jesus walking on water, the lame throwing away their crutches, and God Himself plotting the terrible torture and death of His own son. It does not square with your otherwise logical beliefs. Can you explain this?”
Sister Mary Kathleen leaned forward. “Faith is not easy to explain, ‘tis true, but if a man does not believe in miracles, how else does he explain
himself? Is it not a miracle that a man exists at all? If there is a watch, is this not evidence of a watchmaker? We are the best proof of the hand of God.”
Chief Kalapa nodded understanding, if not agreement, then looked at his three wives, who had been pretending not to be listening. “What do you women think of these things?” he asked. When none answered save with a shrug, he smiled with satisfaction. “You see? Here is a strange thing. The women of the Far Reaches are satisfied to be wives and mothers and cooks and gardeners. They do not think the deep thoughts such as I and the other men do. Yet you European women, you think like men. How did that come about?”
“I cannot believe your women don’t have deep thoughts,” Sister Mary Kathleen answered. Then she spoke to Mori, the wife who seemed to be the first among the three. “Mori, do ye ever think why things are as they are? Why ye as a woman can never be a chief, for instance?”
Mori, who had a streak of silver in her long ebony hair and was maturely beautiful, pondered the question, then replied, “It is true we women do not exercise authority, but we are allowed to own land. When we are married, we carry our land into the marriage but retain control of it. This is the way it has always been and allows a balance between men and women in our affairs. It also causes the best lands to be mixed around the various families, never always and forever in the hands of one.” She glanced meaningfully at Chief Kalapa and added, “I am quite capable of thinking deep thoughts, husband, though I choose to let them run toward family, such as when our sons should be allowed to go out to sea on the outriggers, or when our daughters are ready for sex. You have no inkling of these things.”
Chief Kalapa grunted dismissively at his wife’s pronouncements, but Sister Mary Kathleen noticed he chose not to argue with them, either. Instead, this time it was he who changed the subject. “Sister, our children need a school. Would you be their teacher?”
She was as pleased as she was astonished at the proposal. “Faith! It has always been a dream of mine, to be a teacher.”
“Yet you became a nun.”
“I did, yes, sor, but I hoped some day I would also be able to teach. I love children.”
“I noticed that you were enjoying their company,” Chief Kalapa said approvingly. “Since the missionaries left two years ago, the children’s education has suffered. They need to learn to read and write, as well as our language, our history, the history of the world, English, and arithmetic.”
She could hardly breathe, so pleasurable was the idea to her. “I would do me best, Chief Kalapa. I thank ye!”
“But none of your religion,” he cautioned. “We have no use for your plaster saints. We are Christian, but we also love our old gods. You must not interfere with our beliefs.”
“I understand,” she said. “Where will me school be located?”
“I shall have a suitable structure built for you beside the boathouse.”
“’Tis a fine chief ye are,” she said, “to care about the children’s education.”
“What he cares about is that they not make too much noise while he is trying to sleep,” Mori said, as the other wives tittered.
Chief Kalapa frowned. “First wife, you should speak only when spoken to.”
“I shall try to remember that, husband,” Mori answered, smiling triumphantly.
After the meal, as the wives were taking up the plates and cups and feeding the dogs and cats with the leftovers, Chief Kalapa leaned forward with his hands on his bare knees and contemplated Sister Mary Kathleen for so long that she began to feel uncomfortable. Finally, he said, “I should like very much to speak with you further, but not here. Would you join me on the beach?”
She agreed, and so they strolled down the common road toward the lagoon. “You should pray, Sister,” the chief said. “Make a show of it. It is not seemly for an unmarried woman to be walking alongside a married man after dark, even you. It will be believed that we are going somewhere to have sex. If you pray, and loudly, they will assume you are trying to make me into a good Catholic, you see.”
Sister Mary Kathleen complied, praying an Our Father while taking note of the eyes watching them from the huts as they passed. At the beach, before the shimmering lagoon, the chief said, “I have talked to Nango and the other young gentlemen who came with you. Of course, I know them all very well. They are of royal blood from the house of Ruka. Nango, as I’m certain you know, is the first son of Chief Namu, who he said died at the hands of the Japanese. By the way, I have given them permission to bury Tomoru’s bones on this island until he can be moved to Ruka.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “As for Nango, I saw his father murdered. Colonel Yoshu used a sword to take off his head. Chief Namu died bravely with the name of his people on his last breath.”
“Is that so? Nango did not provide that detail.”
“That is because he was not there. What else did Nango tell you?” she asked, fearing the answer.
Chief Kalapa waved his hands dismissively. “Very little. He said everything I wanted to know was better told by you. Now, Sister, I bid you tell me what happened to the royal fella boys, and to you at the hands of the Japonee. As chief, these are things I should know.”
She took off her slippers and walked ankle-deep into the surf, letting the clean sea water flush across her bare feet and drag at her tattered, grimy habit. “Nango and the other young men of the royal families were rounded up by Colonel Yoshu. He wished to humiliate, disgrace, and dishonor them so that his authority would be unquestioned. He turned them over to his troops who … wanted them.”
“Ah,” the chief said and went directly to the heart of the matter. “Nango and the others were the object of debased sexual practices, then. I feared as much. And what of you?”
“What of me? I am a nun.”
“Does that mean you are immune from being debased by others so inclined?”
“They left me alone.”
“Why?”
“Because Colonel Yoshu so ordered.”
“You were not tortured? Not at all?”
“Not in the same way.”
“Why would he show any kindness toward you? Did he not order the other nuns to be killed?”
“Yes.”
“But not you? I do not understand.”
“It is not decent for me to say more.”
“How did you escape?” Chief Kalapa pressed.
She studied the lagoon and then looked up to the stars. There were mil-lions lying athwart the edge of the galaxy, a river of light. She wished she could rise into the sky and dance along the celestial stream. But such was the playground of angels and, she hoped, her sweet Saint Monessa. The sea washed heavily against her knees, the tide inexorably coming in. She backed out of the water and stood in the dry sand. “One day,” she said, “Nango secretly visited me and told me that he and the other fella boys planned to take some outriggers and leave, even though it was under the penalty of instant death if caught.”
“That was brave of him, was it not?”
“Yes. Very brave. When he offered to take me with him, I agreed.”
“Had you tried to escape before?”
“I had no opportunity.”
“You were in prison?”
“I was in Colonel Yoshu’s house when Nango offered escape.”
“What did you do in his house?”
“Existed. I was locked in my room much of the time.”
Chief Kalapa frowned. “Your story is odd. I think there is something wrong with it. But what I need most is to know why Colonel Yoshu is chasing you.”
She said nothing, her lips pressed together, and kept studying the lagoon and the black, star-strewn sky above it.
“Do you have nothing more to say?” Chief Kalapa demanded.
Her reply was a sad whisper. “What does it matter, after all? I am here now. What is, is.”
Chief Kalapa pressed a finger against his lips, an expression of frustration, and said, “I do not know if I should let you teach our c
hildren. You harbor a terrible secret, of that I am certain. I shall have to think on it. Now, Sister, I must bid you a very good night. Here are Nanura and Palula. They are widows without children and have room for you in their house.”
The two women, who had obviously waited in the shadows for the chief to give them a signal, appeared and urged her to follow them, and this she had done.
Now Sister Mary Kathleen lay on the mat beside the sleeping sisters, and tried to stop thinking, to let sleep take her into the oblivion she desired. She was suffering, and it occurred to her that perhaps that was what God wanted from her most of all. Would you ask Him why, Saint Monessa? she prayed, and, as if in response, she heard somewhere, far into the jungle and the night, a creature screaming, whether in pain or fright, she did not know. She prayed for that creature, and for all the creatures on earth who were in pain or frightened, and then, unwillingly, she allowed a prayer to escape from her lips for a man she was certain was also suffering, though he was evil and corrupted and had taken from her that which she wanted more than life itself.
33
She woke at sunrise to the crowing of the roosters that stalked the village, all seeking dominance over everything they encountered, and sometimes losing their heads at the hands of disgusted villagers as a result. Sister Mary Kathleen arose, noted that the two widows were still asleep, and poked her head outside. Pale blue smoke from the remnants of the evening cooking fires, mixed with a steamy mist off the lagoon, gave the village the washedout quality of a faded photograph. She smelled a smoky, woodsy perfume and found herself inexplicably enchanted with the little town.
She also decided she could no longer stand being dirty. She studied the items scattered about the house and discovered a little pot that was filled with a soft white jelly redolent of coconuts. She dipped her finger in it and put it to her lips and was rewarded with the sharp taste of raw copra soap. Thrilled at the thought of a bath, she drew on the headdress of her habit, then slipped through the village. No one challenged her save the roosters and hens, which clucked in fright and scurried away on their stiff legs, and the dogs who growled low. One of the dogs, a small brown mutt, came up to her with its tail tucked between its legs but its nose raised in apparent hope of a little kindness. She stroked the offered snout, and its tail came out wagging. “Come with me, laddy” she said. “Pertect me from the roosters.” He did, and she had herself a dog.