“Chief Kalapa says she is.”
Josh’s voice was low and dangerous. “Chief Kalapa ain ’t no preacher or priest, last time I looked.”
“No, sir, but he ’s a chief, which, I guess, is sort of like the captain of a boat. He married you. I know. I was there. Besides, you said you wanted to be married.”
“I was under the influence. Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I tried, sir, but you said you knew what you were doing. At least, I think that’s what you said. You were as drunk a man as I’ve ever seen.”
“I never could drink gin. It is a failing.”
“Yes, sir. I could see that.”
Josh tossed back the coffee, draining every drop, then put the mug to his forehead, its smoothness somehow comforting. He gave Ready a careful eye and said, “You better get back on my side, boy.”
“I am on your side, sir, but somebody had to step up to the plate when you couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.”
Josh gave the bosun his best glare, though he could sense it wasn’t having much effect. “Already planning your defense at the court-martial, is that it?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
Josh’s mind wandered. He was still very tired. “Where did you get the coffeepot?”
“From Mr. Spurlock.”
“Don’t make me ask you a bunch of questions, Bosun O’Neal. I ain’t in the mood. Who the hell’s Mr. Spurlock?”
“He’s an American Irishman who lives across the mountain near an abandoned gold mine. He’s got two wives.”
Josh gave that some thought, then said, “Keep going.”
“Well, sir, just that this is a nice place to live. The men fish when they want to, and the women do everything else like gardening and picking coconuts or killing the occasional pig or chicken or odd dog for supper. Me and the marines are pretty happy, except for the dog meat.”
“The marines are happy?” Josh asked, dismayed. “I suppose this means they have women.”
“Yes, sir.”
Josh frowned, though it hurt his face. “It’s a good thing I am getting back to normal,” he said. “Things are clearly out of control. Do you still have the weapons or have the marines traded them for nooky?”
“All secure, sir, and I taught the women how to shoot.”
Josh thought he’d heard the bosun wrong. “You did what?”
“Taught the women how to shoot the rifles, sir. Even Sister Mary Kathleen. These Tahila fella boys weren’t interested. When we tried to teach them, they just acted silly, yipping and running around. They prefer to use their spears and machetes, which ain’t likely to be much good against the Japanese. So I got the idea to teach the women, like Amazons. They do all the work around here anyway. We trained twenty of them all day yesterday, and they did pretty good.”
Josh hung his head. “Any sign of the Japanese?” he sighed.
“Nothing. All quiet.”
“Well, at least that. How about the nun? What’s she up to besides shooting at targets?”
“She’s teaching the children.”
“Teaching them what?”
“Reading. Writing. Arithmetic. That kind of stuff.”
“I thought she wanted to gear up an assault on Ruka. What happened to that idea?”
“She’s still got it, sir. Of course, I told her there ain’t no way that can get done.”
“That’s the one thing you’ve said that makes sense.”
“Thank you, sir.”
After a long ponder, Josh said, “All right, Bosun, here’s my orders. I want you and the marines to gather up your traps, including a rifle apiece and appropriate ammunition, and pack it all on an outrigger. Don’t matter which one. We will leave for Tarawa in the morning.”
“No, sir,” Ready said.
Josh’s eyes narrowed. “Surely I did not hear you correctly.”
“I don’t think you’re in condition to travel, Captain.”
“It is not up to you to determine my condition, Bosun. By the way, you’re busted down to basic seaman.”
“Thank you, sir. And thank you for not yelling at me. I figured you’d bust a gut.”
“If I raised my voice, my head would surely detonate,” Josh replied. “Will you follow my orders?”
“Not those orders, sir.”
“Then go away. The sight of a mutineer makes me sick.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ready left, and Josh drank more coffee while a white-hot anger mounted him. Then Rose reappeared, dipping inside the low doorway of her house. “Did you miss me, husband?”
Josh took a moment to study her anew. All in all, he reflected regretfully, she was indeed pretty, as was his first impression. She had very nice, round breasts and wide shoulders and good legs. Her most attractive feature was her skin, which was so smooth and golden it appeared to have been poured on her from a honey jar. Josh also noted, with some dismay, that the intelligent expression on her face he had earlier discerned seemed even more intelligent now that he could see her more clearly. This meant trouble since Josh had always been a fool for bright and pretty women, a predilection inherited from his father and likely the entire line of Thurlow men in his family tree. If, as he reflected further, he allowed his natural proclivity to proceed, it wouldn’t be long before this intelligent lovely with two children would have her legs wrapped around him, and that wouldn’t be all she had wrapped around him, no, not by a long shot. Here before me, in a honey-skinned package, he thought with sudden clarity, is nothing but trouble. He congratulated himself for recognizing this irrefutable fact and then, uncharacteristically, proceeded with caution. “Now, Rose,” he began.
“Yes, husband? Do you wish food?”
“Yes, in a bit. But first, we need to establish some rules.”
“Of course. May I sit in your presence?”
“Yes. You may do anything you like in my presence.”
“Very good. I should like to embrace you.”
Which she did, in the Forridges style, holding his shoulders while nuzzling first one side of his face, then the other, and sniffing his cheeks. “You smell just a bit,” she said disapprovingly, “and your whiskers are prickly. A bath is in order and a shave. I suggest the pond. I have Australian soap, and I will borrow Mr. Bucknell’s razor.”
Josh had taken the opportunity to smell her, too, and she did not smell, at least in a negative way. Quite the contrary, she seemed to have the perfume of roses about her, though he did not recall that they grew in the Far Reaches. In any case, her appropriate scent, considering her name, had taken his breath completely away. He worked to regain it, then said, “Yes. Thank you. I will bathe shortly as well as shave. But first, you see, although you are a very pretty woman, and intelligent, for sartain, and any man would be lucky to have you, I’m afraid it’s my duty to tell you that I’m in no position to have a wife. I’m in the Pacific to wage war and only war, you see, not take up a family. Do you understand?”
“Then why did you marry me, husband?” she asked, lowering her eyes.
“I was clearly out of my head,” he said. “Why in God’s name would you marry me? Surely you saw how deranged I was!”
“That is a good word. You were indeed deranged. Chief Kalapa and his first wife, Mori, said your only chance was to be cared for, night and day, and that the best way I could do that was to be your wife. So I agreed.”
“That was very something of you. I can’t think of the word.”
“Altruistic?”
“Maybe. Now, Rose, here’s the thing. I shan’t stay in the Far Reaches long, and therefore it would be unfair to you and your children to have the likes of me, as a husband and father. So what I’m getting to is asking how divorcements are accomplished here, that is, without any form of sadness or hysteria, I mean whereby everybody is left happy.”
Even as Josh spoke, he sensed his words were not being well received. In fact, Rose’s expression had darkened completely, and her eyes had become a bit damp, and there was a subtl
e trembling of her lower (and undeniably luscious) lip. “It is not credible, that which you ask,” she said, “unless you abandon me for at least a year.”
“Well, there you have it, then!” Josh said, grasping at the straw. “Let the abandonment begin! Although,” he was quick to add, “if there is anything I can do for you and your children, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“How can you do anything for me if you are not here?”
“Well, I don’t guess I’m going to leave right away. First, I have to bring that idiot Bosun O’Neal and the marines back under my command. Until then, I’ll still be around if you need anything.”
Her expression changed to one of confusion. “But abandonment requires actually leaving. As long as you are in the village, and certainly if you offer me assistance, that is not abandonment.”
Josh thought a bit. “Look. How did Chief Kalapa marry us with me unconscious?”
“You were not unconscious! You were singing. Something about Spanish ladies. And when Chief Kalapa asked you if you were willing to take on your responsibilities as my husband, you said,’ Oh, for sartain!’ I remember you saying it exactly that way in your peculiar accent.”
“It was the gin talking,” Josh supposed.
“The bottle in your hand was quite silent as I recall, although you were not. ’Farewell and adieu, ye fair Spanish ladies,’ that was part of the song you kept singing. Then, to everything Chief Kalapa said, you said, ’Oh, for sartain!’ Ask Bosun O’Neal if you don’t believe me. He was standing beside you.”
I shall murder Bosun O’Neal, Josh swore silently, forgetting that he’d busted the man to basic seaman, then made another attempt to convince the woman what the situation was. “Perhaps,” he said, “it has worked out that we are married, at least according to your customs, but isn’t there a younger and better man you’re attracted to?”
“Oh, well played, sir,” Rose answered sarcastically. “You at once reject me and try to fob me off on someone else. Perhaps you should abandon me. There are, of course, many other men who would be pleased to marry me.”
For the first time, Josh saw a glimmer of hope, a sliver of opportunity, and a slice of possible salvation. “If such a man pleased you, would it be possible for you to divorce me through some procedure and marry him?”
“Yes, if I loved this hypothetical man more than you,” she said forthrightly “At this moment, I think I would love a pig more.”
“Very well!” Josh cried with great satisfaction. “Then while we look for a better man, one that you will love, our marriage will be one of convenience and formality and not consummated.” Josh stuck out his big ham hand. “Is it a deal?”
Rose looked askance at the big hand, then answered, “I suppose so. But before I touch you again, even to shake your hand, I wish you to bathe.”
Josh smiled. He would have laughed, but he feared it would split his skull. “Then we are in agreement. Take me for a scrubbing. And bring along that Australian soap.”
And so Josh and Rose, husband and wife, ventured to the lagoon, there to bathe him with the Australian soap. Rose also provided Josh with a straight razor borrowed from Mr. Bucknell and a toothbrush a missionary had given her long ago. She smiled at him as he washed and shaved and brushed. She thought he was a bit rough but salvageable, and so set her course to snare the man she had already married.
36
Once the jad cleaned up to Rose’s satisfaction and was fed and rested, Josh sat on the mat outside Rose’s hut and worried about all the things he had to worry about. The mutiny of Bosun Ready O’Neal and the marines, he decided, had to be his first priority. He called to Rose. “Do you have paper and pen?”
She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “I do, of course, since I am literate.”
“Might I borrow such? I will pay you back.”
“What is mine is yours, husband,” she replied in a tone that made it sound like a rebuke, then disappeared inside only to quickly reappear with a stubby pencil and a tattered spiral-bound notebook. “Will this do?” she asked.
Josh took the items, inspected them, noted that the notebook, besides being tattered, was only faintly mildewed, and said, “Yes, it will do very well. Thank you.” Then he began writing down a list of charges against the bosun and the marines, ones he figured to scare them with, although he was a bit distracted by Rose, who was standing very close, so close the hem on her lava-lava brushed his arm.
Josh deliberately moved his arm, frowning and clearing his throat to indicate that he was preoccupied. Rose, taking the hint, went back inside her house, where the sounds of housekeeping continued. Josh jotted a few more words, then stood and, ducking low through the doorway, went inside to see what Rose was doing. He saw that she was rearranging her few simple sticks of furniture—a battered trunk and several wooden boxes with kitchen supplies—to place a large mat on the floor. “What’s this?” he asked.
Rose pushed the hair out of her eyes. “It is customary that a justmarried man and woman sleep on a new mat. I purchased this one from Malua, who lives four houses toward the beach from us on the second row. She is a fine weaver.”
“It is very nice,” Josh said. He stood for a moment, trying to think what else he should say, but after nothing came to mind said, “I am going to see Chief Kalapa.”
“Please feel free to go where you wish without asking my permission,” she said.
“I wasn’t asking permission, just telling you. It is the polite thing to do, you see.”
She smiled and then got down on her hands and knees to smooth out the mat. “You need not do even that,” she answered from that position. “It is not customary for a man in this village to concern himself with his wife’s feelings.”
“I will keep that in mind.” He watched her for a moment longer, her fetching hips wiggling as she worked over the mat, then said, “Even though we sleep on the same mat, we will not sleep together, if you get my meaning.”
She sat up, again pushing her long hair from her eyes. “I do get your meaning very well, but it does not matter. Who in this village, who indeed of your men, will believe that we do not ficky-ficky?”
“Ficky-ficky? What kind of word is that?”
“The women say the marines taught it to them. It means coupling.”
“It is not a word, even in the marine lexicon. They made it up.”
“That does not change that you and I know what it means. Nor does it change the fact that everyone will assume we are engaged in it.”
“We will know we aren’t, and that is what is important,” he said and walked out of the house, bumping his head on the doorway as he went. He thought he heard her laugh, then decided it was his imagination. He walked down the common road until he reached the chief’s hut. One of Kalapa’s wives was grinding up a root of some sort, and he asked her to relay his wish to speak to the chief. She pointed. “Chief along boathouse.”
Josh tipped an imaginary cap, his being lost on Betio, then walked down the sandy road, where he encountered a new structure, a simple thatched roof covering a few rows of benches, which were filled with children. In front of them stood Sister Mary Kathleen pointing at a chalkboard, no doubt left behind by the missionaries. Apparently she was teaching the children, and then Josh recalled Bosun O’Neal had mentioned that fact. Marveling at how quickly everything had changed in just a few short days, he climbed inside the boathouse, where he found Chief Kalapa seated on a log bench and looking thoughtful. “What-what?” the chief demanded.
Josh opened the conversation casually. “Good morning to you, Chief. A great day, is it not?”
The chief inclined his head in agreement but squinted suspiciously since he doubted this was a friendly call. “How is it, Jahtalo? No more drink gin?”
“No more drink gin, Chief,” Josh agreed. “It made me do things I wish I hadn’t. For instance, marrying that woman.”
Chief Kalapa smiled. “Ah. Too much pretty, that Rose. She make you happy man, Jahtalo.”
“No, she won’t,” Josh said. “She’s put me in a pickle, that’s what she’s done.”
“Pickle I no savvy.”
“She’s trouble. You savvy that well enough, don’t you?”
Chief Kalapa was all surprise and innocence. “What-what? But Rose too much good woman. She make baby belong you.”
“I don’t want baby belong me. I want to leave Tahila, go back to Tarawa.”
“No baby?” Chief Kalapa shook his head slowly from side to side, as if unable to bear the news.
Then Mr. Bucknell entered the boathouse, bowing first as was the custom to the totem at the entrance, which, Josh reflected, he had failed to do. “May I enter this house?”
“Come,” Chief Kalapa answered gruffly.
Bucknell greeted Josh. “It’s good to see you up, Captain.” Then he sensed the tension in the room. “Am I interrupting something?”
“I’m trying to make the chief understand why I can’t be married,” Josh replied, tamping down his irritation. “I suppose I’m not explaining it well. Maybe if I used the local dialect I could do it better. I used to know it but I’ve forgotten it over the years.”
“Perhaps your wife could help you learn it again,” Bucknell proposed with a bit of a smirk.
Josh glared at the diplomat, then gave up on that particular subject. He had bigger fish to fry. “Yes, perhaps she can,” he agreed. “Now, Mr. Bucknell, Chief. I need to let you know something. Bosun O’Neal and the marines are engaged in a mutiny. I intend to put it down.”
“Mutiny?” Bucknell breathed. “I’m stunned.”
Josh regarded him and doubted that the Britisher was stunned at all. “You and Chief Kalapa must not interfere,” he said. “This is a matter of the United States, which I represent as ranking officer.”
“Chief Kalapa and I would never think to interfere, of course,” Bucknell replied, “but, from my observation, Bosun O’Neal and the marines simply agreed to help us while you were sodden with gin. That is scarcely grounds for a charge of mutiny.”