The Far Reaches (21 page)

“No, ma'am,” Ready replied before slinking off to the stern to mope. “A fool often speaks foolishness, that's all.”

Confused but with more important matters at hand, Sister Mary Kathleen sent up a prayer for the bosun, then turned toward Burubu.

Another hour passed, the sun climbing higher in the sky, and the island, its silhouette low and rounded like a loaf of bread, could be better discerned through the smoky haze. A mile closer and Josh could make out that some trees on it were burning, but the main fire, the one that was producing the crooked column of greasy black smoke, was coming from the western tip, where Nango said the main village was located. Then people, many people, were seen lying on the beach, and Josh's heart sank. “Anchor in the shallows,” Josh advised Nango. “No need to rough up the bottoms of your outriggers. We can wade in and see what's what.”

Nango ignored Josh and kept the sail of his outrigger filled. His fella boys even took up their paddles and drew vigorously at the sea, grunting with each stroke, until the outrigger plowed into the beach. The two other outriggers landed hard beside it, their crews already wailing in anguish at what awaited them. Josh estimated that about fifty men, women, and children lay in the sand. After a quick inspection, the fella boys began to slap themselves on their chests and faces. A few stomped on shells and used the resulting broken edges to cut themselves along their hairlines until blood ran down their faces. “Stop that!” Josh yelled at them, but they would not be stayed. A couple of them even began to scream, and if their wails were meant to wake the dead, Josh thought they might succeed.

“Stay on board,” Josh told Sister Mary Kathleen, and she responded by pulling up the hem of her habit and swinging nimbly over the side of the outrigger and splashing ashore. Josh reflected that he might command this odd company, but certainly he was not much in control of it.

“Come now,” the nun called to Nango and the others, staying an arm holding a sharp shell here and a fist pounding a chest there. “Help me to look them all over. Perhaps someone is alive. Perhaps a child … ”

Her fella boys, their eyes pleading to the nun, stopped torturing themselves long enough to accomplish her bidding. They knelt in the sand and touched the bodies with great tenderness, placing their ears to silent lips and unbeating hearts, then wailing anew as each death was confirmed. They even took some of the bodies into their arms and pressed them close, rocking with them while weeping torrents of tears.

Ready, Tucker, and Garcia came up on the beach and stood beside Josh,
watching the proceedings with various expressions of astonishment and compassion. “How's Sampson?” Josh asked, just to change the subject.

“He's OK, sir,” Tucker replied, “but he said his stump itches something awful.”

“That means it's healing. Tell him not to scratch it, no matter how much it itches. Now, listen, boys, while these fella boys are distracted, I want you to go into the outriggers and search around under the mats and tucked up under the thwarts and take off any rifles, pistols, grenades, and ammunition you find. I think they took quite a lot of ordnance off Tarawa. Bundle it all up and put it in Nango's canoe where I can keep an eye on it. Take Sampson off, too. Lay him out on the beach just down there, away from these poor souls. Place him on a mat and tell him to let his stump air out a bit. After you do all that, arm yourselves and report back to me. We'll have a look around. And be on guard. The gents who did this might still be here. They could be watching us, even now.”

Ready and the marines went off to do his bidding, and Josh approached Sister Mary Kathleen. “A terrible thing, Sister,” he said.

“Aye,” she answered, “but God says he knows when even a sparrow falls. I trust these people are with Him in paradise.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I believe it. Whether it is true or not, only God knows.”

There was little Josh could reply to that, so, with the fella boys, he helped to gather the bodies, placing them together in a long row on the grass be-hind the beach. “They will dig a common grave,” she told Josh, nodding toward Nango and the others. “I would imagine there are shovels in the village.”

“There's likely to be more bodies, too,” Josh replied, and she nodded sad agreement.

Tucker, Garcia, and Ready returned from their chores, the marines with Japanese rifles and Ready carrying an M-1 Garand. They were back in their utilities and boots. Grenades hung from their belts, and their pockets were stuffed with ammunition. They nearly looked like proper American fighting men. “We stowed a few rifles in Nango's outrigger,” Ready reported, “but we couldn't put everything in there. You wouldn't believe all the weaponry in those canoes. These fella boys policed up a ton of stuff, that's for sartain. They even packed up some Jap machine guns and a pile of ammo to go with them. It's a miracle the outriggers haven't sunk under all that gear.”

“Don't let them play with any of it,” Josh replied. “They'll only get
themselves hurt. Now, let's scout the village. Tucker and Garcia, you take up the flanks. Ready, you wait down here on the beach with the sister and the fella boys and try to keep them out of trouble, best you can.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper,” the marines chorused, and off they went with Josh toward the village while Ready waited protectively beside Sister Mary Kathleen as she silently prayed over a dead baby. The bosun cleared his throat and said, “Maybe you ought to wait at the boats, Sister. It'll be safer if there are any Japanese about.”

She raised her head. “And why would I care to be safe?” she demanded. “And where are Captain Thurlow and the marines off to without me?”

“The village,” Ready replied, ignoring her harsh tone. “You are to wait here until they return.”

“I must see what I must see,” she said, rising.

“It might not be pretty,” Ready advised, taking her arm.

She roughly pulled away. “Unhand me! I did not take up my vocation to see pretty things!”

He reached out for her again. “I know that, but—”

“Bosun O'Neal!” she snapped. “It is not right for ye to touch me. Surely ye must know that!”

Ready felt his heart tearing itself to pieces. “I was just trying to help.” “Ye'll help most by remembering always who and what I am!”

With a flip of her habit, Sister Mary Kathleen turned away and walked up the path to the village. Ready followed her at a discreet distance, his mind in turmoil and sorrow.

Along the path, nothing moved, nothing lived. All was death. Five more bodies were found, three without their heads. Mary Kathleen knelt and said a prayer over each. In the village, there was more devastation and murder. Every house was burned, every pot shattered, every canoe stove in. Bodies lay strewn about. Some of the people were shot, most bayoneted, and their frozen postures told individual stories of horror. Terrible bruising of the women's genitalia indicated many of them had been repeatedly raped, and their purpled throats showed they'd been strangled. Some of the men were found beside the raped women with their hands tied behind them, perhaps indicating they'd been forced to watch their wives and daughters being violated. Even corpses of dogs and cats littered the village, and a dozen fat pigs were found in a pen, all killed by gunshot. The hot stink was all but unbearable, and no breeze came to lessen it. It was as if tragedy had carried away the wind along with everything good and decent.

“This was more than a raid,” Josh muttered as the nun and her bodyguard
Ready came up beside him. “It was a deliberate and utterly evil act. But why, beyond mere cruelty? What was the need?”

“Colonel Yoshu needs no excuse for murder, Captain,” Sister Mary Kathleen said. “'Tis his way.”

Tucker and Garcia came in from the flanks. “No Japs, dead or alive, sir,” Tucker reported, “but we found something else.” He glanced at the nun. “Maybe you'd better have a look. I mean just you, sir.”

“What is it?” Sister Mary Kathleen asked.

“It's pretty rough, ma'am. I don't think you should see it.”

She began an angry retort but stopped herself, for she accepted that the marine was only trying to be kind. “I thank ye, Corporal Tucker, for being such a gentleman. But ye must know I have seen many a rough thing since I came out here.”

“She can come along,” Josh said, and it was settled. He ordered Ready to stay with the fella boys, to keep gathering the dead, preparatory to burial. Then, Tucker and Garcia led Josh and Sister Mary Kathleen back to the beach, then along a path that passed through a phalanx of low, thorny bushes, and thence into a grove of palms backed by a stand of thick bamboo. After that, the path ran along a little stream. It was there, in a flat of mud, that Josh saw boot prints going to and fro. He knelt to inspect their tread pattern. “Jap army boots,” he concluded, pondering the implication. “I recognize the tread pattern. A bit of a surprise.”

“How come, sir?” Garcia asked.

“The Japanese navy is assigned the eastern Pacific, the army the west. That's why there were
rikusentai
at Tarawa, and we were up against Imperial army in the Solomons.” Josh thought it over. “Garrison troops,” he concluded. “Bottom of the Japanese barrel. No good for anything but occupation of some near-worthless islands.”

“It is what I have been trying to tell ye,” Sister Mary Kathleen said. “A show of force, and Colonel Yoshu will surrender.”

“It's up there, sir,” Tucker interrupted, pointing to where the path continued, along a steady rise that led to a headland covered with deep bush.

“Do you think you can climb it, Sister?” Garcia asked.

“ 'Tis no problem, Corporal,” she said, then proved it by nimbly picking her way all the way to the top. Impressed, the marines followed, leaving Josh behind. He took a breath, then started after them.

Halfway up, he was winded. His knee also predictably hurt, sweat poured off him in buckets, and he gasped for breath in the thick, sultry air. He wished he were wearing more than a lava-lava, because flies and mosquitoes
were biting his legs. Since he'd stubbed his toe, he also wished he were wearing boots, rather than the pig-leather sandals Nango had loaned him. Finally, thoroughly chewed by insects, and aching in more places than he could count, Josh pulled on a thick root and crawled onto the ridge. There he stretched out on his back, and wheezed.

“You OK, Captain?” Garcia asked.

“No, I'm dying,” Josh said. “Help me up.” He took the marine's hand and was pulled to his feet.

Though he was still wheezing, Josh squared his shoulders and walked ahead. The path continued along the ridge toward the sea. It was well worn and lined by gardenia, the vibrant perfume of its white flowers nearly overwhelming. When they passed a small stack of rocks and shells, Garcia puzzled over them. “What are these for?”

“Shrines for the gods,” Josh explained, taking the opportunity to stop and suck in more air. After a few breaths, he said, “The people of the Far Reaches believe there are many, many gods. Their big god is the sea, but it don't rule the roost, either. Their gods are always bickering and getting humans mixed up in their fights, so they build shrines to this god and that, asking them to calm down.”

“But ain't these people Christians, sir?”

“They allow the missionaries to think so, but their Christianity is only an inch deep. Maybe less.”

“Well, the fella boys sure love the sister.”

“She seems to have a way with them,” Josh acknowledged. “She has a way with all men.”

“Including you, Captain?”

Josh gave that interesting observation some thought and was shocked to discover that, indeed, it did include him. “She's a right fair package,” he confessed, “but it's Bosun O'Neal I'm worried about. I think that idiot has himself believing he's in love with her.”

Garcia frowned. “That's probably not a good idea, her being a nun and all, but I understand it. She's a pretty girl. I wonder why she chose to shut herself off from life?”

“As far as I can tell, she's got enough life for three women.”

Garcia looked at the nun. She and Tucker had stopped, pretending to admire a gardenia bush, while waiting for Josh to catch his breath. “Sir, you ever wonder what she'd look like out of that habit?”

Josh shook his head. “If I wasn't so tired, Garcia, I'd knock your block off for that.”

“But ain't you wondered, Captain?”

“No!” he hissed, though he knew full well it was a lie. “Just leave it be, Garcia, and let's go!”

Garcia shrugged, and he and Josh continued on, catching up with Tucker and Sister Mary Kathleen. Finally, they reached the end of the path, at the tip of a headland over the sea, where stood an impressively large wooden cross. Its base was solidly buried, and it faced the sea. “Here's what we wanted to show you, sir,” Tucker said.

Josh had seen many such crosses erected on prominent points on South Pacific islands. They acted as billboards to any passing missionaries, ones that said, in effect:
Go away. This island already converted, thank you very much.
“Well, what of it, Corporal?” Josh asked.

“You have to go around to the front, sir,” the marine answered. He glanced at the nun. “Ma'am, maybe you'd better wait, let the captain have the first look.”

A faint breeze blew off the sea, and Josh caught the whiff of death. Though he hoped he was wrong, he suspected now he knew what was on the other side of the cross. “Wait here, Sister.”

“Nay, Captain. I'll see it with you,” she answered, and so together they walked to the front of the cross. Sister Mary Kathleen crossed herself and knelt while Josh, to his dismay, found himself trembling, whether from fear or suddenly overwrought nerves or mere exhaustion, he could not discern. He steadied himself and forced himself to look, and to absorb what hate and evil could do.