The Far Reaches (30 page)

“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 Melanesian 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.

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 sixteen, 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?”

“A house for me? But what would me widows do? They depend on me!” “I see. Well, it was just a thought.”

“I saw more bamboo piled on the beach, that was all.”

Ready smiled. “Sister, I have a confession to make. The bamboo is for your house. I planned on surprising you.”

She smiled back. “I will make a confession, too. As much as I love me widows, I won't mind being quit of them. 'T'would be nice to have me own digs, as it were. If I might compensate ye in some way … ”

“No charge, Sister. Call it a gift.”

She frowned. “I would prefer to pay you, in some manner. I have no money, but I would be willing to come here, to do housework for ye.”

“No. I don't think that would be a good idea. Just be my friend, that's all.”

“I am pleased to be yer friend, Bosun,” she replied sternly, “but if ye build this house for me, I will be grateful to a friend, but a friend only. Ye understand this, do ye not?”

“Of course, Sister.” His smile turned crooked.

“Yer sure?”

“Yes, of course.”