“Husband,” Rose whispered into Josh’s ear, “why do you Europeans put up with taxes?”
“It’s our way of paying off the crooks we elect, Rose,” Josh explained. “Sometimes, they even do good things with our money, such as build roads, but not usually. One way or the other, it ends up in their pockets.”
“All right, then. Why do you elect crooks?”
“Because it’s better to elect them than to have them try to take over. You see, in our world, crooks always end up running things, one way or the other. So we have elections to pretend we agree they should be in charge.”
“I find it odd the manner in which you rule yourself,” she said.
“Me, too,” he replied while thinking what he ought to do was to go over and politely ask the marines, the rotten mutineers, to at least carry around their rifles, although such might seem a bit strange at a Christmas celebration. He worriedly looked up at the moonless sky. It was a perfect night for an invasion.
“And this shall be a sign unto you,” Mr. Bucknell went on, remarking about the shepherds above Bethlehem, another alien concept since none of the villagers had ever seen a sheep, although there were wild goats on the leeward side of the island. “Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and… “ The dancing girls started swiveling their hips most provocatively and raised their hands to the sky. The villagers cheered, glad that at least the angels knew how to dance.
Mr. Bucknell read on until he got to the visitors from the East, which the villagers especially liked since they figured they might be island folk. From the crowd came three fella boys, each carrying presents. One of them had a basket of mangos, one bore a monkeypod carving of Juki (who was the main goddess of Tahila), and the last fella boy held a boar’s tooth necklace. They placed these most reverently at the knees of the woman holding the babe, then backed off to receive congratulatory bowls of mangojack from the marines. They knocked the drink back instantly.
With this accomplished, the choir and the drums went back to work, and Mr. Bucknell, accepting his own bowl of mangojack, was obliged to quit the story and descend to join the great feast. Using palmetto leaves for plates, the people of the village queued up at tables groaning with food. Just inside the shadows of the bush behind the boathouse, kava was also being dispensed, as well as more mangojack. Some of the men drank both, and it wasn’t long before they were lying wherever their knees chose to buckle.
“This is a good party, Sister,” Josh said to Sister Mary Kathleen, who, he noted with surprise, held a cup of mangojack. “I thought you never touched that stuff.”
“I am merely sipping it, sor, to be sociable,” she answered with a wink that astonished Josh, who reckoned she was close to being drunk. She had the Christmas spirit, all right, and so did the Ruka fella boys, who were barely able to stand. At least the women militia were probably not drunk, since most of the women were too busy as food servers to imbibe. Still, the village was undefended. Josh guessed even the lookouts had sneaked in to join the party.
Josh was worrying about the Japanese and watching the crowd and sip-ping a little mangojack himself when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and saw that it was his very own Turu rushing breathlessly into the light of the torches. The boy’s eyes were huge, and he was looking all around. Josh called out to him, and he ran over. “Jahtalo, four men in a rubber boat just came ashore!”
Josh allowed the all-encompassing Marine Corps curse to escape his lips before he knelt and clutched Turu’s bare shoulders. “Where did they go?”
“Behind those houses. Over there!” Turu pointed across the common road.
Josh peered at the houses and saw nothing unusual, though behind them was a bush-covered hillside, an excellent place to hide and observe the celebration. “Find your mother and Manda. Tell them to go home, and if they hear gunshots, head up the path to the cave. Then, bring me two rifles. You know where they are. That’s an order, soldier.”
“Yes, sir!” Turu saluted and scampered off.
Josh scanned the celebrators and saw Ready sawing away on his fiddle while people danced around him, including, he was amazed to note, Sister Mary Kathleen. She had apparently gotten more thoroughly into the mangojack. Then he spotted Mr. Bucknell, who looked reasonably sober. “We have company,” he said after pulling the diplomat aside.
“What do you mean, old man?”
Josh gestured over his shoulder. “My boy said a landing party just came ashore.”
“We must send the marines to the machine guns!” he yelped.
“Put drunks behind machine guns? I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. Apparently there are only four intruders. Most likely a scouting party.”
“But perhaps more are coming behind.”
“I sent Turu after rifles and ammunition. One for you and one for me.” “Good show, my boy. Four chaps, eh? We’ll show our mettle.”
“I just want to chase them away, Mr. Bucknell. No heroics.”
It only took a long minute before Turu raced back carrying the two Japanese rifles and bandoliers of ammunition that Josh had stolen from the boathouse and hidden. A few of the celebrators looked at Turu but then went right back to their fun.
Josh and Mr. Bucknell crept down to the lagoon, seeing nothing. Behind them the drums were booming, and gales of laughter floated across the village and the lagoon. “There could be an aircraft carrier out there and we wouldn’t hear it,” Josh fretted.
“Where is the boat they used?” Mr. Bucknell wondered.
“Good question. But first…” Josh was going to say that they should first check behind the row of houses, but then he saw someone move there in the shadows. It was certainly a man, and he had taken a deliberate sideways step to keep from being seen. “Get down!” Josh hissed. Then Josh noticed that it wasn’t Mr. Bucknell beside him. “Turu! Go home!”
“No, father, I will fight the Japanese with you.”
“Stay down and stay back,” Josh growled; no time to argue with the boy. “Mr. Bucknell?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I’m going to get closer. If I draw their fire and you see a muzzle flash, shoot at it.”
Josh didn’t wait for Mr. Bucknell to respond. He threw himself forward, dashing all the way to the side of the house where he’d seen the figure. He put his back to the bamboo wall. Mr. Bucknell soon joined him, then Turu, breathless with excitement.
Josh knelt and peered around the house. The torches allowed a little light, as did the partial moon, though it was obscured by a passing cloud. The dense bush swayed in the breeze off the lagoon, and the shadows danced. Josh heard a thump in the darkness, as if someone had fallen, and then a man muttering angrily.
“I believe they have managed to get themselves tangled in the devil vine,” Mr. Bucknell mused. “Beastly stuff.”
“Do you know enough Japanese to tell them to surrender?” Josh asked. Mr. Bucknell took an inordinately long time, in Josh’s opinion, to answer, but finally he did. “No.”
“Do you know any at all?”
“A little.”
“Well, give it a try, anyway”
Mr. Bucknell shrugged and threw out a few Japanese words, one of which was sayonara. “What was that?” Josh hissed.
“I think I said, ‘Pretty girls, we have had a delightful evening, but now I must really tell you good bye.’ ”
Josh shook his head. “That ought to do it.”
There was no reply, in any case, no gunshot, nothing but silence from the shadows. “Perhaps they have run away,” Mr. Bucknell suggested.
“Or died laughing at your Japanese,” Josh said. “If they’re in that devil vine and tried to move, we’d hear them.”
Josh was pondering what to do next when Turu crawled up to the edge of the hut and called out in the Far Reaches dialect. “Come out, fella boys! Do not fear!”
There was no response to his ca
ll, either. “Maybe they speak European, Jahtalo,” Turu suggested.
Josh called out in English. “All right, boys. We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up!” They were lines right out of a Gene Autry movie.
A voice in the darkness called back. “Is that you, Josh?”
Josh hesitated while surprise and not a little consternation washed across his mind. “It’s me, all right! And you sound like…” He stopped, unwilling to get the name out of his mouth lest it be proved true.
But it was true. The bush parted, and a man emerged, a short, stubby man dragging a scrap of devil vine behind him. Cursing, he kicked at it, then stomped on it. The triumphant weed still clung tenaciously. Another dark figure emerged, then two more. Josh and Mr. Bucknell and Turu came out into the clearing behind the house. “Tell me you’re not who I think you are,” Josh said.
“Oh, it’s me, all right, Thurlow,” the man with the devil vine on his leg replied. “Come to make amends.”
“Who is it?” Mr. Bucknell asked.
Josh didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he did neither. Instead, he did a proper though reluctant introduction. “Mr. Bucknell, meet a United States Marine Corps legend, at least in his own mind: Colonel Montague Singleton Burr.”
44
“Why, Thurlow, such a greeting,” Burr said, finally kicking off the vine, which flew over to stick to one of the men standing beside him. “Who are these two fellows with you? Did that one call out in Japanese? I nearly told my crew to fire off a fusillade when I heard him.”
“Mr. Bucknell is the representative of His Majesty’s government in these islands, Montague. The boy is, well, my boy, name of Turu. It’s a bit of a story. Now come out into the road where we can see each other better by the light of the torches.”
This was accomplished, and Josh got a look at the colonel and his companions, three sailors wearing dungarees, denim shirts, and tub caps, gripping pistols and looking a bit frightened. “Gentlemen,” Josh said, nodding to them. “You can put your sidearms away This is a friendly village. Now, Montague, I’d surely like to hear how you got here, and why.”
Burr holstered his pistol as did the sailors. “We’re off a submarine, Josh, the Scorpionfish, commanded by Captain Taylor Wells. His sub sits out there, maybe a half mile off.” Burr gestured toward the lagoon. “These sailor boy volunteers and I decided we’d paddle ashore to see what was up. Our raft is right over there, hidden amongst those canoes.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“It was that nun we knew where to find, old son,” Burr replied. “She gave detailed instructions to a Cat-licker Holy Joe who’s also aboard the sub and can’t wait to see her.”
Josh was dubious. “It must have been in a dream, because she didn’t know we’d end up on this island.”
“She told him to look on an island named Burubu or perhaps here or perhaps Ruka, though to be careful because Ruka was occupied by the Japanese. Since Tahila was closest to Captain Wells’s planned patrol, we started here.”
“It was a good choice. No one lives on Burubu now, and as far as I know, Ruka’s still occupied. The question is, why did you come at all?”
Burr took off his helmet and ran his hand through his sandy hair, then plopped it back aboard. “To make amends, Josh, like I already said. I shipped you out here and I regret it. In my defense, I had fever at the time, not to mention I was aggravated that you tried to murder me.”
“I was beginning to think that was a dream,” Josh confessed.
“Not at all. You tried to brain me with an entrenching tool. You were buck naked at the time.”
“But didn’t you try to shoot me with a pistol?”
“Yes, I did,” Burr said, then shrugged. “Anyway, it turns out some folks up the chain of command was wondering where you were.”
“Frank Knox?”
Burr sighed. “Yes, Josh, the high and mighty secretary of the navy himself still looks after you.”
“So in other words, you were ordered to get your butt in gear and find me.”
Burr smiled grimly. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. Now, if you’ll get your traps, we’ll paddle you out to the sub. After the priest sees the nun, we’ll be on our way.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Colonel. This island is my home now.”
Burr did not appear surprised. “You always turn Turk, don’t you, Josh? It was that way from the first I knew you, way up there in the Bering Sea. Captain Falcon recognized that about you. Even admired it, I think, though God knows why. But it don’t matter. Knox wants you back, and I’m bound to bring you, willing or no.”
“I’m not going without my family, Colonel.”
“Your family?”
“I’m married, got a boy and a girl.”
“My goodness. You do work fast, don’t you?”
Burr rested his palm on the butt of his holstered pistol, and his fingers played across it as if he were contemplating a display of force. But he didn’t, mainly because Josh held a Japanese rifle. “Well, Josh, we’ll talk it over after we’ve all calmed down a bit,” he said. “Anyhoo, the Holy Joe came all this way to talk to the little sister. I think I saw her dancing over there. Boys, paddle out to the sub, wait for morning, then bring the good priest ashore.”
“Captain says we shove off at dawn, Colonel,” one of the sailors said.
“You tell him there’s some talking has to be done first. As a matter of fact, ask him to come in with that priest. All kinds of talking needs to be done, I expect. Josh, can you put an old pal up for the night?”
Josh could, although reluctantly. “Would you like some mangojack, Montague?” he asked as hospitably as he could manage. “It’s like applejack, only made from mangos. Turned out three marines came along with me, and they’re the brewmasters. I suspect you’d like to have a word and a drink with your fellow frat boys.”
Burr’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Are they deserters?”
“No. They were shanghaied, just like me.” He decided to leave out that they were also mutineers, at least for now.
Burr, however, sniffed out Josh’s evasion. “Let me guess,” he said as the sailors crept off to their raft. “They’ve been good marines, meaning they’ve taken up with the native women and thrown off all discipline.”
“Yes on the former, but sort of mixed on the latter, Colonel. They are the mainstays of our defense. They even trained a cadre of Amazons.”
“Then I should very much like to discuss the situation with them.”
“Tomorrow morning would probably be a better time. I think they’re a little busy right now.”
“Oh, I can wait. I expect when they see me, it’ll be a shock to their systems.”
“Oh, I’m certain it will,” Josh answered, relishing the moment when the mutinous marines encountered Colonel Montague Burr.
45
Sister Mary Kathleen woke in her beloved treehouse at the first glimmer of dawn, then climbed from her bed to her knees to say her morning prayers. This was Christmas Day, and for this she gave special thanks and made a decision to burn celebration candles along the ledge of the windows that overlooked the lagoon. She had three votive candles, a gift of Mr. Bucknell, given some weeks ago and kept for a special occasion. She would burn them for ten minutes, maybe fifteen, but no more, so they would be available for other special days. As she carefully placed them on the ledge of the window at the foot of her bed, she saw the submarine.
At first, she thought her eyes deceived her, that what she saw was a school of fish, or perhaps just a passing shadow of a cloud drifting by. Then she accepted that it was indeed a submarine lying just outside the entrance to the lagoon. She also saw two rubber rafts being paddled toward the beach.
As the rafts drew nearer, she recognized one of the passengers. “Dear Mary, Mother of God, pray for me,” she whispered. For now it had come to this, the answer she had given up hope of ever hearing, the answer she had lately decided she did
n’t want to hear, the answer that would finally make her account for the terrible sin she had committed on Ruka.
Nervously dressing, she willed her slippered feet to move across the matted floor, noticing with distracted joy the pleasing creak of the bamboo so carefully laid down by Bosun O’Neal. She gave thanks to God once more for giving her such a friend. Then, taking a deep breath, down the winding staircase she went, and thence along the stone-lined path that went past Bosun O’Neal’s house, which was silent. She kept going until she reached the village and then the beach. A United States Marine Corps chaplain in utilities and helmet, the priest she had confessed to so many weeks ago on a bloody Tarawa beach, watched her approach. “A joyful Christmas to ye, Father,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “Thanks be to God. Ye have come. Ye have come at last.”
“Sister,” he said, his tone cold and formal. His granite features were arranged in a grim visage, not angry but stern, as if he were a headmaster and she an unruly student requiring punishment. He held a manila envelope in his hand. Without further preamble, he lifted it toward her, though it was clear he had no intention of immediately handing it over. “Is there somewhere we might go for privacy?”
“Merry Christmas, Sister!” came a booming voice behind her.
She whirled about and saw to her astonishment Colonel Burr striding toward her, a big grin on his wicked face. “Colonel,” she replied coolly, before remembering her humility. “It is so good to see you.”
Burr opened his arms as if to envelop her, but her rigid posture dissuaded him and he dropped them. Josh followed with Turu, both nodding a greeting. Burr said, “Your instructions to the Holy Joe here were enough for me to find you, Sister. I am distressed to hear, however, the Japanese have not yet surrendered in these islands, even with Captain Thurlow’s august presence.”
“Perhaps you will persuade them, sor,” she answered, her courage, shaken by the priest, returning.