“Perhaps, but now I am recovered, and yet Bosun O’Neal refuses my orders.”
“What orders would that be?”
“To gather up our things and leave.”
“You mean abandon us? Including your wife?”
Josh glowered, and he clenched his big fists. “You know what I mean.”
Bucknell shrugged. “Captain Thurlow, the way I see it is you lost control of your men by abandoning them for gin. Perhaps you can regain their trust, but it may take a while. In the meantime, it is obvious you are still exhausted and perhaps inclined to drink again, although I must tell you I have locked up my remaining stock of gin. Anyhoo, Bosun O’Neal told me all that you did on Tarawa, or, more properly, the atoll of Betio, and it is no wonder you require rest.”
“I don’t require rest, you Brit lackey!” Josh thundered, then staggered a little when he thought surely his head was going to tear itself right off his neck.
“Dear me,” Bucknell said. “Captain, I implore you. Rest up, then you may take charge of your men. Until then, let them defend us.”
Chief Kalapa rose and put his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Jahtalo no fight. Jahtalo sleep much. Ficky-ficky Rose. Be happy.”
Josh saw now he was outnumbered, and his show of weakness had also mortified him. Holding his head, he turned and marched out of the boathouse and past the school and up the common road to sit on the mat in front of Rose’s house. There he sat for a long time. Pink clouds floated over the headland where the sun was falling, and the breeze rustled the fronds of a nearby palm and also the tiny leaves of the candlewood tree that shaded the house. Many things passed through Josh’s mind, but he was unable to make much sense of them. Finally, he latched onto the one thing he understood to be true, though he could scarcely believe it. He said it to himself: have no responsibilities.
He must have said it aloud since Rose replied from within the house.
“What responsibilities do you wish, husband?”
“I don’t know,” he answered absently. He continued to sit as the giant red orb of the sun slid down and then sank behind the headland with a spray of purple and gold. Josh suddenly thought that perhaps tomorrow he would climb that hill and watch the sun fall into the sea. Perhaps, he considered, he might even see the green flash, an optical spectacle the sun in those latitudes sometimes managed to produce. Maybe, he also thought, Rose might want to see it, too.
“Yes, I would like to see it with you,” Rose replied from within her house, and Josh realized that he had expressed this thought aloud as well.
After darkness spread across the village, Rose came outside and sat be-side him. She said nothing, just helped him look at the stars. Finally, after a long while, she asked, “Do you fear not having anything to do?”
“Yes,” he confessed. “A man needs to work, else he loses his sense of worth.”
“Then why did you choose to drink when you came here? Surely you knew there was much to be done.”
Josh thought about that, then said, “I was sick. Not sick like with fever or with wounds, but sick up here.” He tapped his head. “I thought drinking would fix things. It didn’t, of course. It only made me drunk.”
“Why were you sick, husband?” Rose asked after what she considered a suitable time.
Josh answered, with sudden insight, “I don’t think I’ve been right since I was on top of that big sand fort on Tarawa.”
“Tarawa?”
“It is a group of islands in the Gilberts. There was a big battle there on a Tarawa atoll called Betio.”
“Tell me about this big sand fort. I want to hear it, and I think you want to tell it.”
Josh looked at her in surprise, then knew she was right, he wanted to tell it very much. “It was one of the last obstacles we had to take. There was this man I met there. His name was Sandy. He didn’t have to be there but he was, because he felt obligated to help out. He organized an attack against the fort and, against all odds, it succeeded. After it was pretty much over, Sandy and I were atop the fort and I was talking to him when he was struck in the head with a bullet, though I didn’t know it at first. When I realized he was dead, I looked up at the sky and a bird flew over me. The thing is, I knew this bird, Rose. It was a pelican and its name was Purdy. It lives on Killakeet and is very old.”
“Killakeet? Is that an island in the Gilberts?”
“No. It’s where I grew up. It’s half a world away from the Gilberts.”
“Then how did this pelican from Killakeet get to Tarawa?”
Josh blinked a few times, his mind aswirl, then shook his head. “You see, that’s just it. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m sure it was him. After that, I felt like reason was slipping away from me. I took fever but then came out of it long enough to hold myself together on the voyage here. I even performed surgery on a man with the help of Sister Mary Kathleen. But then we arrived on Burubu… “ He shook his head. “The people there were murdered, Rose. It was not easy to see.”
“Did you see the pelican there?”
“No. Just a crucified chief and a cry from a crazy man who wants Sister Mary Kathleen for a reason I can’t figure, and she won’t tell.”
“You like her, don’t you, husband?”
Josh sorted through his mind. “Yes, I like her. She is a remarkable woman.”
“Do you love her?”
“Bosun O’Neal loves her.”
“Yes, I know. Every woman on Tahila has figured that out. But do you love her? That was my question.”
Josh considered it. “I think I was falling in love with her. You know, until this second, I didn’t know that. Maybe that’s why I wanted to get drunk.” He looked at Rose and saw her stricken expression. “Oh, Rose. It was only because I was so tired. On reflection, I don’t love her, not in the way you mean.”
“That pleases me, husband,” Rose answered. “It would be most foolish of you to love a woman who cannot ficky-ficky.”
“I wish you wouldn’t use that term,” Josh admonished.
“But I like it. It is a good word.”
“As you wish,” Josh said, giving in.
“What else would you like to talk about?”
Josh found that he enjoyed talking to Rose, and it seemed to be helping him figure out a few things. He therefore continued with his litany. “I guess you know I have been cast adrift by my men. This troubles me, I confess.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “You have been through much. A man deserves every so often to simply rest and recuperate.”
“But I have lost my leadership position.”
“What does it matter? As long as those things that must be done are done, is it important that you are the one to do them? I do not understand why you fret so! From what I was told by Bosun O’Neal, you are a man who has fought in many battles and killed many men. You see? He was proud of you, even while you were drunk. He said the big men of your country look up to you. So why not let it go for a little while? Rest while you can, I say. You may even want to dream a little.”
Josh let his mind wander across the things Rose had said and found no fault in them. “You are an intelligent woman, Rose.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’ve been wondering something. You said you have two children. Where are they?”
“They stay presently with my sister. I have a boy of ten, and a daughter of six. They are not far away, three houses toward the lagoon. Would you like to meet them?”
“Perhaps tomorrow.”
“What would you like to do now?”
Josh wasn’t certain what he wanted to do now except to continue to talk, to unburden himself of all the things that had worn him down. This included clearing the air between him and his new wife. “I must confess two things to you, Rose,” he said. “First, I am possibly engaged to be married, depending on my memory, which isn’t so good right now. She lives on Killakeet, and her name is Dosie Crossan. I think I am in love with her. There is also another woman, a Melane
sian of the Solomon Islands who goes by the name of Penelope although her name is actually Kimba. I might have impregnated her just recently.”
Rose’s hand remained in place on Josh’s shoulder. “I see. Well, I think it is possible for a man to love more than one woman. I see nothing wrong with that. But a man has to choose between them, else there is trouble, much trouble, and only trouble.”
“I know,” Josh replied.
“Which shall you choose of these two women?”
“I don’t know. For one thing, I’m not positive I will ever see either of them again.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t figure to survive this war. I say that not for your sympathy, Rose, but because I have seen so many other men die out here who never thought it was their time. My number will surely come up. It’s simple arithmetic.”
Rose was silent for a while, then said, “I believe your situation has come to this: On this day, this night, and perhaps for the remainder of your life, it seems you have only me.”
Josh nodded. “It is possible.”
“With that in mind, I think we should ficky-ficky”
Astonished, Josh stared at her. “After what I have told you of the other women, and confessed that I am a miserable failure?”
“Why not? You sense death is near. I do as well, to be honest. I understand you do not love me, but here we are. It is night. My children are elsewhere and safe. The air is warm and the breeze gentle, and if you will but use your nose, you will catch the scent of the nightblooming jasmine, which the gods put on these islands to remind us to love one another, and often. I believe it is a perfect time for a man and a woman to couple.” She added, “And very sweetly.”
Rose’s hand left Josh’s shoulder and slid down, trailing through hi chest hair. Then she took his hand and held it. He looked into her eyes for what seemed to both of them a very long time. Then Josh detected the nightblooming jasmine. “It is most sweet,” he acknowledged.
“Yes,” she whispered. “It is.”
Then Rose stood and Josh stood with her. He touched her hair, then kissed her lips and smelled her fragrance, that of her namesake. “But you are sweeter,” he said while she smiled beneath his chin. “Don’t we have a new sleeping mat?” he asked as if it had suddenly occurred to him.
“We do. Might you care to rest on it?”
Josh thought he might, indeed.
37
Two weeks went by, then another. Time on the island of Tahila was fluid and passed like water through a man’s hands. During those days, as the sun rose and set, and the stars streamed overhead, and the sun rose and set again, Ready O’Neal’s stature kept rising until he was among the most respected men on Tahila. Among his accomplishments was the organization of the defense of the island. He ordered stacks of firewood placed at observation points around Tahila, then created a rotating roster of watchmen to light them if the enemy was spotted. He established emplacements for the two machine guns brought from Tarawa, giving them good fields of fire to batter any Japanese barges that might try to enter the lagoon. Once a week, he called the militia of women out to go over their response to an invasion. Everyone was impressed with what Ready O’Neal had accomplished in a very short time.
The people of Tahila also took positive note of the determined but thoughtful manner in which Ready built his house. After mulling over its location and consulting with Chief Kalapa for available properties, he picked a rise overlooking the village and the lagoon. The property, coincidentally, belonged to the chief, who, as payment for leading the defense, ceded it to him for a hundred years. Mr. Bucknell drew up the papers and stamped them at least a dozen times with his big official stamp, and the bargain was sealed. Then Ready drew his plan, wrote out his materials list, and set himself to clearing the site and gathering all that he needed. The marines helped and turned into fair island carpenters.
The houses in the village were simple designs, constructed with a floor of earth, walls of bamboo, and a thatched roof. Ready, however, after studying the situation, raised his floor three feet off the ground, supported by thick palm stilts. The floor was constructed of thin bamboo struts lapped horizontally, then laced with hemp strands at the ends. With a woven palm frond mat over it, the result was a surface that was soft, springy, sweetsmelling, and infinitely pleasing to the bare foot.
The walls of Ready’s house were built from lengths of thick bamboo. He contracted with a woman to weave geometric patterns in the walls with vines. This broke the verticality of the many bamboo pieces and therefore was pleasing to the eye.
The roof of the house, which became known as the Bosun House, was thatched with tightly knitted palm fronds on a bamboo frame reinforced by more hemp. Just as the last sheet of hemp was pulled tight and knotted, a big thunderstorm dropped a deluge of rain, and the Bosun House did not leak so much as a drop.
Put all together, Ready’s house was open, airy, comfortable, liable to creak when blown hard by the wind, but undeniably sturdy. To finish the construction, a cooking house, a miniature version of the first structure, was built alongside it with a lava rock oven installed in the center. Without a doubt, it was the finest house on the island.
One day, Chief Kalapa called Ready to the boathouse. Why it was called the boathouse, since it was mostly used for meetings and ceremonies, no one could say, except that hemp line and other outrigger equipment was stored there. Ready bowed to the totem on the porch and entered to find the chief with a sour expression. “Bosun,” he asked without preamble, “you build too much good house.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
“Good house need good woman. Why you no belong woman?”
“I don’t know, Chief”
“Many wimmins come along me. They say we cook, clean, make house, ficky-ficky along Bosun. But Bosun, he no care. Bosun, he belong work-work too much.”
Ready thought about the women who had come around while he’d built his house, beautiful women who had “accidentally” pressed their soft breasts against his arm as they leaned in with offered bowls of mashed taro root or fried plantains sprinkled with cane sugar or even the odd boiled chicken egg. He thought of their winsome smiles, their big brown fluttering eyes, and their skin that was so smooth. He was stirred by them, make no mistake, yet he’d held himself back.
“Bosun no happy,” Chief Kalapa keenly observed. “You need ficky-ficky woman. Chief Kalapa send woman ficky-ficky Bosun.”
“No, Chief,” Ready answered. “Too much work-work, just as you say.” Chief Kalapa shook his head. “Bosun numbah one ‘merican belong Tahila. Bosun no like Tahila woman. Tahila people too much sad.”
“I like Tahila women very much, Chief.”
“Then you go along one Tahila woman.”
Ready realized he had offended the chief, and all the people of Tahila, because of his steady rejection of the women who had come around. “Please tell everybody I think the women here are wonderful,” he said.
“Bosun love Sister,” the chief accused.
Ready responded with a halfhearted chuckle. “No, Chief.”
“Yes. No good Bosun love Sister. You go along Tahila woman.”
Ready nodded. “I will. Just give me a little time.”
Chief Kalapa frowned. “You go along Tahila woman,” he said, just in case the bosun wasn’t clear on what was required of him, and the meeting was over.
It was on a Sunday, while the villagers were napping during the hottest part of the day, that Sister Mary Kathleen came to the Bosun House with a housewarming gift, a jar of sweet copra soap. Her dog, Laddy, accompanied her. “Thank ye, Bosun,” she said, as she was shown a seat on the floor by the ever courteous Ready. “ ‘Tis a fine house ye have built. Will the marines live here with you?”
“They will stay with their women, Sister,” he answered, sitting crosslegged before her.
“The mores of the women are of concern to me,” Sister Mary Kathleen confided. “They are free with their bodies from about twelve until si
xteen, and then they attempt with every manner afterwards to snare a man into marriage, including pregnancy.”
“Getting pregnant to snare a husband is not unknown in America,” he replied.
“Nor in Ireland,” she confessed. “Several of me classmates used the same tactic, although it sometimes resulted in one less boy in the village, himself run off to America.”
“Well, thank you for the soap,” Ready said in an attempt to close the visit. She was making him uncomfortable since he kept wanting to tell her how pretty she was.
“I must say,” she said, not taking the hint, “that living with the two widows has been most enjoyable. Though they do not keep a clean house, and they snore terribly loud, they have allowed me to sweep and scrub to my satisfaction, plus prepare their meals and look after them in nearly every other way. It is what a good nun does, ye know, be subservient to all who need her.”
“I think the widows may be taking advantage of your kindness,” Ready suggested. “Perhaps you should ask them to do the cooking, at least.”
“Why? Do ye think I’m not a good cook?”
“I didn’t say that. I suppose you’re a very good cook, although I have never tasted anything you’ve prepared.”
She nodded, mollified. “Of course, yer right.” She patted her dog, which was lying on the mat beside her.
“Laddy seems a polite dog, and friendlier than most in the village,” Ready observed, just to have something to say.
“That is because he knows he will not be eaten,” Sister Mary Kathleen replied with a tender smile toward the dog. Then she studied the interior of the house, from corner to corner. “Aye, this is a grand house ye’ve built, Bosun, ‘tis, it ‘tis.”
Ready didn’t reply, because he still wanted her to leave. His heart stayed in his throat any time he was around her, and he was tired of it. He had been thinking about other women, the ones who wanted him, the ones with the soft breasts and the soft skin. But she did not leave, and they sat silently until she said, “Have ye considered building another one? A house such as this, I mean?”
Ready finally understood the purpose of her visit. “Would you like me to build you a house, Sister?”