THE FLOATING ISLAND
PHILIP FITZPATRICK
Copyright © 2014 Philip Fitzpatrick All rights reserved. ISBN-10:1502344424 ISBN-13:978-1502344427 Cover Images: Staffan Lindeberg.
DEDICATION
For the Beachcombers and Dreamers of the South Seas.
“...war creates situations in which the moral framework of peace time ceases to be of any practical use. In looking at the acts of individuals caught up in such extreme situations it is imperative to remember that guilt and innocence, the status of the perpetrator and that of the victim, are often indissolubly intertwined.” Gillian Nikakis, He's Not Coming Home
CONTENTS
1 Escape 1
2 Seduction 19
3 Motive 39
4 Voyage 58
5 Recruited 72
6 Mission 88
7 Sojourn 105
8 Fair Wind 140
9 Quest 170
10 Fortress 201
11 Captives 230
12 North 271
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Floating Island is a work of fiction but much fact is interwoven into the narrative. The Tokwai, under various local names, are well-known in the islands of Papua New Guinea. There is a degree of reticence about discussing them, because of their relationship to sorcery. I am therefore grateful to the old men and women who shared their secrets about the little people of the forest as well as other supernatural matters. The interpretation of this information is mine alone.
1 ESCAPE
HE HEARD a gunshot echoing behind him. He tucked the rifle carefully under his right arm and began to cross the road. Halfway across a bullet struck his left thigh and knocked his leg out from under him. He didn’t feel any pain and thought that he had tripped over something. The rifle was still tucked under his arm but his glasses had fallen off. He sat back against the haversack and picked them up and awkwardly cleaned the lenses on his sleeve before replacing them. Then he looked down at his leg and saw the wound and the widening pool of blood. He glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t see anyone. The rickety bamboo watch tower was still fuzzy in the early morning light. Perhaps someone up there was awake and playing games or just shooting at shadows. The soldiers seemed to blaze away at anything and from that distance he probably looked like a villager. He hoped it was a random shot and there would not be another one. Maybe the soldier on guard outside the Chinese trade store has woken up and was shooting from somewhere nearby? He dismissed the idea, it would have been physically impossible for such a fat man to have caught up to him already. He guessed the shot would have woken the other soldiers but resisted the urge to panic and placed the rifle gently on the crushed coral surface and sat still for a moment and then loosened the straps on the haversack and freed his arms. He pulled his old cotton jacket over his head and tied it tightly around the wound. He readjusted his glasses and slipped his arms back into the haversack straps and
1 The Floating Island heaved himself upright. He picked the rifle up and tucked it back under his arm and continued on his way. On the other side of the road he descended into a grassy ditch and then broke into forest. His leg began to throb as he hobbled through the trees. The diffused light under the trees confused him for a moment and he had to stop to reconsider the direction in which he was heading. A tremor had also crept into his movements and he guessed it was shock from the wound. He scanned the many tracks and paths among the trees and breathed deeply before moving off again. After a while he picked up the scent of the sea. He stopped twice to rest and to tighten the soggy makeshift bandage on his leg. He thought he must be moving too fast to make the wound bleed so much and slowed down. It was only then that he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A grey shape seemed to have appeared and then faded into the shadows. He began to move quickly again. He was glancing over his shoulder when he came across the woman. She was sitting against a tree in a patch of sunlight. She seemed to smile at him as he edged past but didn’t turn her head. Her dress was on the ground beside her and she was sprawled with her arms and legs outwards as if to catch as much sun as possible. She blinked and quickly brought her arms and legs together. “It’s been a hard night and I’m just sore,” she said, “The sun helps. But you must hurry or they will catch you; the path to the beach is that way.” He put his head down and kept going. He could hear something coming through the undergrowth behind him. When he got to the beach the dinghy was still there. He leaned the rifle against the transom and heaved the haversack into the boat. His shoulders ached and he stretched several times before hobbling to the edge of the mangroves and retrieving the oars that he had hidden in the branches. He pushed the dinghy into the water and climbed aboard. He let it float on the outgoing tide while he adjusted the bloody jacket around his leg. He then put the oars into the oarlocks and pulled hard on the port side until the dinghy swung round and its bow was pointed out to sea. He began to pull towards the channel. Once on board the boat he undid the bloody jacket and inspected the wound. The bullet seemed to have gone through cleanly; there was a small entry point and a jagged exit. The exit wound was the one that was bleeding heavily. He guessed that the bullet had missed his femoral artery by about two inches. He cleaned the wound and
2 Escape bound it with a proper bandage. He stowed the goods from his haversack in the locker in the galley, coffee, tea, sugar, cooking oil, rice and tins of bully beef. He then limped to the bow and wound up the anchor. By the time he had the mainsail up he was feeling quite weak. There was very little wind and the boat worked its way slowly along the channel between the coral. He looked back towards the shore where smoke from a thatched house was curling lazily into the sky and noticed a large grey dog swimming in the wake of the boat. He watched it for a while and then looked up at the slack sail. The dog was valiantly keeping pace with the boat. Once beyond the mouth of the channel and the shelter of the headland the wind would pick up and he would be able to leave it behind. It would eventually drown if it wasn’t first taken by a shark. He thought about this for a while and then picked up the rifle. He nudged the mainsail slightly to port to steady the sway and drew a bead on the shaggy head. He wondered whether a shot would attract attention. He then put the rifle down and swung the helm hard to starboard. When he fished the dog out of the water it collapsed on the deck panting with exhaustion. Its ribs were still visible when it stopped heaving for breath. When he had the boat back in the channel he went to the galley and fetched a bowl of water and one of the tins of stolen bully beef. The dog looked up at him with large bloodshot eyes and then the shaggy head slowly bent to rest on its paws. “Maybe later?” he said and put the tin away and returned to the helm.
The man and the shaggy grey dog sailed west along the coast. By then the bully beef had gone and the dog had developed a taste for fried fish. The man’s leg failed to heal well and left him with an awkward limp. They passed the days staring at the horizon. The man had no idea where they were going. “Just away,” he told the dog. Sometimes they talked. Or at least the man talked and the dog, with its shaggy head tilted to one side, listened. They talked about nothing in particular and nothing of moment. The dog nodded sagely at these ramblings and the man fell silent. After a while he said, ‘It doesn’t really matter does it?’ and they both resumed staring at the horizon. Islands appeared off the coast in the distance and slowly drifted
3 The Floating Island towards them. If there were people on them he traded for food with the bolts of coloured cloth, fishing line, hooks and the other goods he had stashed forward in a tin trunk. The food was mostly local produce but sometimes he got battered old tins of meat and fish and musty packets of navy biscuits retrieved from the depleted island trade stores. Sometimes in the night he would hear the knock of a canoe against the side of the boat followed by the pad of bare feet and the rustle of a discarded grass skirt. More often it was the sound of a lithe wet body pulling up onto the deck. He guessed that those ones hid their skirts in a safe place on the beach. Occasionally he was awake when they arrived and could admire the sleek, seal-like body, flashing smile and halo of droplets shining in the moonlight around a head of fuzzy lime-dyed hair. They were invariably gone in the morning when he awoke. Nothing was ever stolen; he presumed that they took the scrap of coloured cloth or small knife and fishhooks that he gave them and either paddled silently away or slipped quietly into the water and swam to the beach with the presents tied on their heads. The dog took the visits in its stride, neither barking nor making a fuss; somewhere it had learned the wisdom of silence. Besides, more often than not the visitors brought good things to eat, sometimes a half rind of juicy coconut meat and on rare occasions a pig bone with lumps of fatty gristle still clinging to it. The man looked in the villages for the faces of his visitors but he never saw them again. Those faces that stared back at him had amused expressions but no hint of recognition. Often when he sailed out of a lagoon or small bay he wondered whether those nights had actually happened or were merely the product of his feverish dreams? If there were no people on the island he foraged for coconuts, wild taro, plantains, breadfruit and yams. If there was fresh water he filled the boat’s tanks. The dog always stuck close to the man but its first action after the dinghy had grounded was to piss against the trees. On one occasion the bemused man adjusted his glasses and followed suit but he ran out before the economical dog had finished.
Although the wound on the man’s leg had healed it now inexplicably erupted with infection. The man washed it in sea water but it got slowly worse. The veins on the inside of his thigh turned a
4 Escape spidery red and the pain grew each day. He grew less able to get around the boat and finally furled the sails and let it float wherever it wanted. Slowly the wind took it away from the coastal islands and south into the Solomon Sea. He spent the days on his bunk, only venturing out to wash the wound with sea water. After a particularly painful night he crawled back to his bunk and fell into a deep sleep. The dog watched him for a while and then went to the bow. It trotted back to the cabin once or twice and then resumed its watch. A long mountainous island had appeared on the horizon and the dog watched it draw closer. After a while it could see trees and the froth of the surrounding reef. Nightfall came quickly but the dog continued watching. The moon rose and lit everything with a ghostly sheen. The boat was caught in the thrall and drifted closer and closer to the island. The wind began to pick up. A grey squall that had been following the boat for most of the day made a sudden rush for the island. Waves reared up like black dragons and the dog nearly went overboard scrabbling to the cabin. Light and thunder crashed around. The island disappeared and the dog licked the water streaming off its nose. The man briefly woke and ran his hand through his beard. He slowly closed his eyes. He was beyond care. He woke again when the boat slammed into the reef. He was rolled off the bunk in the darkness and staggered towards the hatch but was thrown sideways when the boat hit again. The sodden dog went to the back of the cabin. The man tried to rise but the boat heeled over on its side and threw him against a bulwark. He slid to the floor and crawled to the hatch and tried to shut it but the effort exhausted him and he eventually slipped into a stupor. Somehow the boat, waterlogged and surfing on its side, was borne on a large wave over the reef and bumped and scraped into the lagoon where it bobbed half sunk but more or less upright. The squall lifted over the island and the rain was sucked away with it. Scudding clouds collided with stars. The boat slowly settled in calm, moonlit water. The dog emerged from the cabin at first light and stared at the beach. It cautiously sniffed the air and looked back at the man slumped in the cabin. He was propped in the hatchway in waist deep water. He had tried to stand but the effort had defeated him and he had slumped back to hang onto the step. There was light in his eyes
5 The Floating Island but when he tried to speak nothing came out. He had a purple bruise on his forehead. The dog swam to the beach, walked up and down, cocked its leg here and there and then sat down. It looked across at the swamped boat and gave out a low, sonorous moan which gradually built into a howl. It kept calling for almost an hour, punctuating it with the odd querulous bark. It only stopped when an old man wearing a faded sarong appeared at the end of the beach.
The man drifted in and out of consciousness. When he finally woke and the fuzziness had gone the clarity of the day took him by surprise. The sun was just beginning to slant under the thatch of what appeared to be a veranda. From outside came the smell of wood smoke mingled with some sort of cooked vegetable. He was lying on the floor on several woven mats and was covered by a faded yellow sheet. He wondered how long he had been there. He lifted one arm but the effort exhausted him and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was met by the doleful gaze of the dog sitting in the doorway. The man turned his head and looked around. A low wall of woven split cane surrounded the veranda. Six bottles, worn opaque by the weather sat along the top of one of the walls. The man thought that he could see a faded letter in one of them. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. An elderly man, barely five feet tall with prominent ears and twinkling eyes appeared on the veranda. The building shook slightly as he walked over to him and knelt down. “I have some taro if you like,” he said. When the old man went down the stairs to fetch the food the man realised that the pain had gone. He felt along his leg until his hand came in contact with a damp pad of leaves held in place by some sort of binding. He tried lifting his head to see but the effort was too hard. The old man came back with a small wooden bowl and a battered metal spoon. The man smelled the food and realised that he was ravenous. “It is taro, fish and bush cabbage mixed with coconut milk,” the old man explained as he carefully ladled a spoonful into the man’s mouth. The man held his head up and ate greedily until the food was gone. He then sank back on the bed of mats, closed his eyes and
6 Escape burped. “Excuse me,” he said and the old man smiled. “I’ll come back and change the dressing on your leg later; it’s probably best if you rest now.” “My name is Michael, people call me Mick; thank you very much for helping me.” “I am Ba,” “Where am I by the way?” “This is Tano Island.” The man nodded, it was not a name he recognised. He watched the old man and the dog descend the stairs.
Ba brought things from the boat; one by one. Things he thought Mick might need, clothes, a book, a toothbrush and on one particular day a half bottle of Jameson’s whiskey. The old man had sniffed it and thought it might be some sort of medicine. Mick, who was now hobbling about outside, took a small dram mixed with coconut milk that evening and dreamed in the night in a comforting but vague and disjointed way. Nightmares came easily to him but dreams were luxuries. Finally he felt fit enough to go to the boat by himself. The cautious dog preferred to sit on the beach while he swam out. Mick kicked awkwardly, his bad leg held out stiff and the other thrashing in and out of the water. He pulled with one arm and adjusted his course with the other. Such was his crazy stroke that he had to rest at frequent intervals from the effort. When he finally made it to the boat he hung on to the side for several minutes before attempting to pull himself aboard. After a while the dog saw splashing as the man baled water out of the boat. With the water gone the boat sat on an even keel. The effort left Mick exhausted and he rested on the deck with his feet dangling over the side. He stared idly at the tiny myriad coloured fish scooting just above the speckled muesli sand on the lagoon bottom. Eventually the dog swam out and he hauled it on board. “You figure it’s safe to come back now?” he said as it shook water everywhere. “I hope you’re right. A few scrapes and scratches is all I can see, nothing serious, bloody amazing really. I reckon I can repair the mast, might be a bit shorter though, all the rigging is there and the sails aren’t too bad; I can stitch them up. It will take a while but we’ll get there. We haven’t got much choice anyway. What do you
7 The Floating Island reckon you poor old dog?” He scratched it behind its ears and then went back to watching the fish. After a while he said, “I’ll get the rigging off and take the mast down tomorrow.”
Mick floated the damaged mast ashore. He had taken down the rigging, untangled it all and stowed it safely on the boat. Ba cut a fallen coconut trunk into six logs and they laid the mast on top. He sat athwart the middle while Mick rolled it round and carefully cut out the shattered section with a handsaw. When he had finished he stood up and leaned backwards with one hand in the small of his back and the other dangling at his side with the saw. “That mast isn’t the only thing that’s split.” Ba scratched his head, “How are you going to fix it?” “If you help me find some nice hard pieces of springy wood I’ll use them as splints and wrap them around with a rope bandage. I’ve got some bolts that will help hold it all together.” “There’s some black palm on the other side of the island; it’s what the people make bows and arrows out of, it’s really strong and springy but you’ll have to double it up a bit,” “Like a laminate; that’s even better. When can we go get some?” “It might be best if I go cut it. It’s a long way, you need to watch that leg of yours; you don’t want it breaking open again.” “Don’t you need help carrying it?” “I’ll be okay, I’ll take it easy.” Mick looked at the old man and smiled. “You’re being very good to me Ba, I really appreciate it.” “It’s nothing!” “Don’t you believe it; where I come from people will knock you into a gutter sooner than walk around you.” “That must be a very bad place.” “Bad and hungry and mean; you wouldn’t like it. Which reminds me; where the hell is Tano anyway? I lost track when I got crook and that dog isn’t much of a navigator.” Ba considered the question and when Mick thought he wasn’t going to answer said, “This island is on top a bit; the mainland is out that way somewhere to the southwest, it might be that you come up to the mission at Wanigela in a couple of days, a week maybe. If you go south you’ll come to Goodenough Island, Kiriwina is to the east. North is New Britain, where you came from.”
8 Escape
Mick looked at him. “Have you ever been to any of those places Ba?” The old man smiled; wistfully Mick thought. “Sometimes but not so much now.” “Is that where your people live?” “My people have always lived in these islands.” “Have the soldiers been here?” The old man shook his head. “I’ve never seen any soldiers.” Mick thought he detected a hint of concern in the old man’s voice but he let it go and got back to cutting the mast. In the afternoon Ba walked down the beach and then out of sight. He appeared a little later on the lagoon paddling a small dugout canoe with an outrigger and mast. He ran the canoe up onto the beach and loaded his sleeping mat and a palm basket of yams and a few green coconuts. The canoe had a small platform of lightweight sago palm ribs lashed between the outrigger and the hull. “Is that how you got me ashore?” Mick asked pointing to the platform. “I wondered how you did it. My dinghy must have been smashed on the reef.” “It was easy. Then I carried you up to the house on my shoulders. You struggled a bit but were quiet when I laid you down.” “I don’t remember any of it.” “There’s yams in the house; you know where the stream is for water; I will only be gone for one or two nights; the wind is good at this time of the year.” “I’ll stay here and stitch the sail. I brought the gear from the boat.” “The dog can eat yams; I might get us a nice goura pigeon if I’m lucky; I’ll take my bow and arrows.” “You can take the rifle if you like.” “No, I don’t need it; the arrows will do. The axe for firewood is under the house, I’ll just take my bush knife.” Mick and the dog watched the old man paddle out into the lagoon and raise the small pandanus leaf sail. The canoe lifted slightly in the water as it gained momentum. Soon it had disappeared around the headland. “He might have to paddle against the wind on the way back unless he goes all the way around,” Mick said to the dog as they walked back up to the house.
9 The Floating Island
He tried not to think of anything while he worked on the ripped sail. It was a cultivated habit. He still found the events of the past couple of months too difficult to rationalise and the future, as far as he could see, had become largely irrelevant and not something he cared to speculate about. Thinking about nothing was safe. He could let images play across his mind like a silent film, briefly there and then gone forever. He had perfected the trick of heading off anything serious that wormed its way into his mind with something of no account. Immediacy was useful; he could stare at a tree or cloud for minutes on end. The present had become his natural habitat; he guessed he had developed the mindset of an island fisherman and it served him well. Live for the moment and let tomorrow take care of itself. He had wrapped a piece of scrap canvas around the palm of his hand and was using it to push the heavy needle through the sail. With each stitch jigged and tightened he looked up at the lagoon and wondered where there might be a gap in the reef through which to fit the boat. He didn’t know how long he would stay on the island or if and when he might leave but a gap in the reef might be important. He was sure that the soldiers would come sooner or later. Ba would be able to hide but he knew that as a white man he would be tracked down and killed. The lagoon in front of the beach where the boat floated without its mast was only a few fathoms deep and he guessed that any gap would lie in the direction in which Ba had paddled. Then the thought occurred to him that there might not be a gap or that it might be too narrow for the boat and he gave his head a quick shake. No point in wrestling with a problem that might not exist he thought.
Ba furled the sail just before the lagoon began to narrow and paddled towards a low coral cliff jutting out into the water. He pulled in under the shade of the overhanging trees, tied the canoe to one of the exposed and dangling roots and slipped overboard into the shallow water. He left his sarong in the canoe and waded along the base of the cliff until he found a tell-tale patch of iridescent green moss. He pulled a large leaf from the branch of a tree above and folded it lengthways and pushed it into the spongy green mass. A trickle of clean fresh water flowed along the indented surface of the leaf and spilled into the sea. He drank deeply and filled his cupped
10 Escape hands and splashed water on his face. He left the leaf in the moss for the small birds that had gathered in the branches above him and waded back to the canoe. He sat in the shade for a while munching on a piece of cold yam before picking up the paddle and pulling the canoe out towards the reef. He had no trouble finding the narrow gap but it took all his strength to get through the froth and bubble to the open sea. Once he was clear of the breaking waves he unfurled the sail and turned the prow westwards. The canoe ran swiftly along the outside of the reef and the nuggetty shoreline beyond. The sail provided shade from the sun that was now low on the horizon ahead of him. Its position told him that he would be well inside the next lagoon before nightfall. The lagoon would take him around the lee of the island to the place where the black palm grew. He had been thinking about the white man all day. When he had pulled him out of the waterlogged cabin and laid him on the deck of the boat he had noticed three metal trunks. They were padlocked but he was guessed that they contained the trinkets that were used to trade for copra in the coastal villages. When he looked in the overhead lockers he also saw the bolts of coloured trade cloth. The distinct smell of copra that came from both the forward and aft hatches confirmed his suspicions. The man was only young and of short stature but compared to the old man quite heavy and it took him some time to get him into the canoe. To make matters worse the man started mumbling and struggling whenever Ba touched him. It took the old man all of his strength to get him out of the canoe and up the beach and onto the veranda of the house. When he had pulled the sodden clothes off him he had felt something in one of the pockets of the man’s shirt. He had carefully removed the glasses and placed them on the shelf with his collection of bottles and other jetsam. When the man had recovered enough to talk Ba had wanted to ask him about why he was travelling in a boat with only a skinny dog for company but most of all he was intrigued by the wound in the man’s leg. It looked vaguely like an arrow wound but the jagged flesh on the inside of the leg was like nothing he had ever seen before. They were able to converse reasonably easily in island creole but he did not ask the man about either his journey or the wound because it would have
11 The Floating Island been impolite to do so. Ba was also curious about the rifle. When he had regained consciousness the man had insisted that he go back to the boat and bring it ashore. As soon as he was able he had dismantled it, carefully cleaned each component and then rubbed coconut oil over each one before reassembling it. He had propped it against the wall of the veranda and explained to Ba where the tin of brass cartridges was hidden on the boat. Ba had brought them back with the bottle of whiskey that he found in the same locker. Ba had heard about rifles but he had never seen one before. When the man demonstrated its power by shooting straight through a palm log Ba realised that it had been a rifle that had caused the strange wound on the man’s leg. He even showed Ba how to use it but after a few shots said they shouldn’t waste any more ammunition. In any event the man seemed to relax a lot more when he had the loaded rifle close by. He was clearly afraid of something but what that might be eluded the old man. Perhaps he would explain all of these things before he left. Something else occurred to the old man. Even though the white man had been with him for only a few weeks he wasn’t looking forward to his leaving. This was an unusual thought. He was pondering this strange thing as he worked his way along the outside of the reef on the edge of the second lagoon. When the canoe ran abreast of the gap in the reef all his attention was diverted to running through the suck and pull of the swirling waves. Once inside the wide lagoon he set the sail again and tacked steadily into the wind. When the setting sun was directly behind him he saw the green tops of the coconut palms and the gleam of white sand and he made his run to the shore.
Mick finished repairing the sail in the early afternoon on the second day that Ba was away. The final job was functional if not pretty. He took it down to the beach and washed it in seawater and then stretched it out in the sun to dry. He then went to the small stream behind the house to bathe. He waded into the pool that Ba had created by piling a loose wall of round river stones across the flow and lay on his back in the water. He idly contemplated the dappled green canopy hanging over the water. His hands were sore from the stitching and despite his best
12 Escape efforts he had two round blisters the size of shillings in the palms of both hands. The cool water felt good. He turned on his stomach and allowed the flow to carry him into the deeper wash near the opposite bank. In doing so he noticed a small path leading upstream. He guessed that it led to Ba’s garden and climbed out of the water and up the bank. The filtered sunlight felt good on his back and he decided to investigate further. He left his clothes on a branch overhanging the water. The dog, which had been dozing on the shingle beach of the pool, splashed through the water to join him. It took them just over an hour to find the garden. It was like a place that he had many times imagined. There was a rocky cliff covered with rambling greenery and a narrow waterfall tumbling into a deep pool that overflowed at its lip and burbled across a shallow stretch of coloured stones and into the overhanging forest. On a slight slope a fenced garden grew and beyond it among ferns and vines covered in crimson flowers stood a neatly thatched house. It was at once magical but also strangely unsettling. He stepped through the open door. The floor was covered with fine white sand from the stream. A hearth ringed by river stones sat in the centre. Two posts and a blackened cross beam provided support for a large copper pot hanging over the cold ash. There were several net bags hanging on the walls and at one end a broken piece of mirror had been wedged into the woven cane. A well-worn metal spade with a long black-palm handle leaned against another wall along with several sharp digging sticks. Around three of the walls wide shelves for sleeping had been erected a couple of feet off the ground. They were covered with sleeping mats. Mick counted the mats. There were four of them. An old and faded grey blanket bunched on a cane string suspended across the room looked like it was used to divide the mats into twos for sleeping. He scratched his beard and wondered who slept there.
Ba returned the next day. The dog saw the canoe first and ran down to the beach. Mick followed him and they sat on the sand together and waited. There were long strips of black-palm lashed across the arms of the outrigger and behind Ba a collection of sprouting coconuts waving in
13 The Floating Island the breeze. Beyond the coconuts a woman knelt on a woven net bilum of taro. She was pushing the canoe forward with strong paddle strokes. Mick waded into the water and caught the bow of the canoe and pulled it up onto the sand. Ba waved and laughed when the dog plunged into the water to greet him. He helped Mick pull the canoe higher up onto the beach. The woman remained in the canoe with the paddle lying across her lap. Mick glanced at her and then quickly turned his attention to the black-palm. He ran his hands over the smooth outer skin of the carefully split wood. “This is perfect Ba, and you’ve got young coconuts to plant too!” Ba smiled and began to un-lash the black-palm. The woman rose in the canoe and dipped her head to take the band of the bilum across her forehead and picked it up and slung it across her back. She stepped into the shallow water. She was much taller than the diminutive Ba and several inches taller than the white man. She took a bundle of the split palm and hefted it easily onto her shoulder and walked up the beach towards the house. Her grass skirt hung low on her hips and swung rhythmically as she walked. “That is my wife,” Ba said with a shy grin. Mick heaved the rest of the palms onto his shoulder and Ba tucked the shooting coconuts under his arms and they followed her to the house. Ba’s wife reminded Mick of a Red Indian. Not that he had ever met one, but he had seen their pictures on the covers of books in the public library in Rabaul and had watched them on the flickering screen at the cinema. Her face was flat and inscrutable. There was a hint of stoicism in it and the impression that she had suffered over some vaguely remembered event in the last. She seldom spoke and rarely smiled. The rest of her was built in sympathy with her face. Her body was spare and hard. Her skin was dull except in bright sunshine and when she gleamed with sweat in the garden along the freshwater stream. She had small firm breasts and a flat stomach and carried noticeable muscle in her arms and legs. Together these attributes made her physically attractive. If Mick had been asked for a word to describe her he would have offered ‘handsome’ in preference to ‘beautiful’. Her appearance was in marked contrast to her husband. He was
14 Escape short with big ears, an overly wide mouth filled with betel nut stained teeth and a protruding round belly above skinny legs and large splayed feet. His wife’s presence seemed to accentuate these features, a fact that they both found amusing. They floated the mast to the boat and hauled it aboard and bolted it into place in the stand. It was about two feet shorter than before but it had been a tall mast anyway. Mick was pleased with the result. The boat and mast were old and had had a hard life and its timbers were brittle requiring much caulking. The springy black-palm and rope sleeve would give the mast back some of its original spring and it would probably weather the next storm much better Mick thought. They brought the sails and rigging back in the canoe and Mick set about adjusting it all. Ba helped where he could and seemed genuinely interested in its intricacies. His outrigger only had a simple mast and crosspiece, which he controlled with a single line but he recognised the same principles in the bigger boat and marvelled at the ingenuity. When it was all finished Mick leaned back on his heels to admire their handiwork. “Tomorrow I might borrow your canoe and go look at the passage in the reef,” he said. “The reef can be dangerous; I’ll come with you,” Ba replied. “The passage is quite narrow but I think you will get through. It is also shallow and you will need to be careful getting around the coral heads. It will be safer if we both go and you can work out the best way through.” Mick fingered the scar on his thigh and nodded.
That evening Ba’s wife returned from the garden carrying a large bunch of green bananas on her shoulder. Mick had developed a taste for them baked and sprinkled with sea salt. The banana grove was beyond the freshwater stream on rising ground. There were also pandanus palms with the rich red marita nuts hanging down. Higher up several breadfruit trees had big green footballs hanging off them. There was papaya too and on a levelled patch below the trees pineapples grew. Mick and the dog had gone up there out of curiosity one day and had helped her to snap off the unwanted young banana shoots and wrap the new bunches in leaves to keep the flying foxes away. There were many bunches and it took them a couple of hours. When it had
15 The Floating Island been done she lit a fire in front of the small lean-to under the pandanus palms and set several sweet potato to roast. While they were waiting for the food to cook she pulled a bamboo tube with a pith plug out of her bilum and passed it to him. He drank his fill and then she took the tube and poured water into his cupped hands for the dog. When the dog had had its fill she drank herself. They waited in silence until the sweet potatoes were cooked and then she handed him one wrapped in part of a banana leaf. She broke another in half and began to eat herself. When the other half had cooled she tossed it to the dog and it picked it up gently and took it a few yards away to eat. “You are very self-sufficient here; you seem to have everything you need. It’s strange that there are not more people on the island,” Mick said while eating a second piece of sweet potato. “There used to be a village on the other side of the island but the people are all gone now.” Mick still didn’t know what the woman was called or whether she had a name at all. Neither she nor Ba had volunteered one. He guessed that it had something to do with the fact that he was a stranger; either that or because of some sort of superstition. Many people in the islands had multiple names that were used with different people. Maybe they hadn’t decided what category he fitted into yet. “Was that your village?” he casually asked, trying to sound like he wasn’t prying. The woman looked at him and seemed to be thinking. “I come from another island, further to the east. Ba came one day and offered to buy me from my father. I was only young, maybe ten years old. My father refused and Ba came back in the night and stole me from my bed. Now I am here!” Mick frowned. “Have you been back to your home since then?” “No, we lived on other islands and then came here. I am happy on this island, why should I want to go away?” “I was just wondering, that’s all,” Mick replied with a smile. What the woman had told him wasn’t unusual in the islands. “Ba already had two wives. One was older than the other. I called them aunty and they taught me everything I needed to know about being a wife. They gave me my name, which is Sakiata.” It’s nice to meet you Sakiata,” Mick said and the woman looked at
16 Escape him with an amused smile. “And you are Mick; I’m pleased to meet you also.” What happened to Ba’s other wives; where are they now?’ “After a few years my breasts began to grow and I bled for the first time. That was when I went to Ba’s bed. He was very gentle. Sometimes there was just me and sometimes there was me and the other younger wife. The old one watched and gave us advice. We laughed a lot. The old one died but the other one is still alive; she is an old lady now and is back in the other village.” “Ba must be very old too,” Mick said. “We were not his first wives; he had many more before us; I think too many to count. He had wives from the other islands too.” “He must have many children then.” ‘Over a hundred I think; they live on the other islands but they are all old now.’ “But you live with him?” “This is a special island; I am the only one who came here with him, me and my daughters.” “A special island; why is it special?” “You will see later or perhaps Ba will tell you,” Sakiata replied cryptically. Mick waited for her to elaborate but she said no more. She had collected several ripe pineapples and a large marita stem and had knocked four ripe bread fruit to the ground with a long pole kept by one of the trees for the purpose. She placed everything in her bilum and strung the band across her forehead and hefted the load onto her back. Mick took the metal spade and bushknife and followed her down the slope. The sun was hot and they were sweating when they got to the stream. The dog plunged into the flow and stood up to its shoulders lapping water. The woman slid the bilum to the ground and deftly dropped her grass skirt with the pull of a single cord. Mick watched her ease gratefully into the water and when she was settled he slipped off his shorts and paddled further upstream before lowering himself into the cool extremity of the large still pool.
The passage through the reef turned out to be a lot shallower than Mick expected. He had worn his canvas plimsolls and slipped over the side of the canoe and waded ahead. He carefully worked his way between the coral heads until he was too close to the sea to go any
17 The Floating Island further. At least it widens and drops off well before it reaches the surf he thought. He pulled himself back into the canoe. “I’ll have to wait for a king tide I think and then it will be touch and go. Even then I’ll need to tow it through; I might have to impose on your hospitality a bit longer old friend.” “The next high tide comes at night but the moon will be bright and you will be able to see which way to go.” The old man’s voice sounded slightly sad. “At least if the soldiers come they won’t be able to get through,” Mick said in an attempt to cheer him up.
When they returned Sakiata was in the shallows with the dog cleaning fish. She often took a small cast net into the lagoon and standing waist deep in the water threw it out in a series of arcs. She hadn’t bothered to put her grass skirt back on and when she stood to greet them Mick involuntarily inhaled. He was still getting used to the casual attitude of Ba and his wife to clothes. Ba caught the gesture and smiled at him as if to say, ‘Isn’t that a magnificent sight?’ They landed the outrigger and the woman shook the sand out of her skirt and slung it around her hips before picking up the rough coconut palm basket containing the fish. When they got back to the house she rinsed out a wooden bowl and filled it with the milk from two freshly cut coconuts. She added several different green leaves to the mix and took it to a large block of coral sitting in the sun. Mick walked over to the bowl and sniffed it appreciatively before heading for a shady spot and an afternoon nap. When he woke Ba and his wife were sitting together on a log grating coconut into a bowl of sago talking earnestly. They didn’t look up when he went to get a bamboo tube of water. That evening, after they had finished their meal of sun-cooked fish and sago, Ba coughed politely and said, “Tomorrow I will go back to the other side of the island and bring back our children.” Mick looked up in surprise and Ba smiled. “My wife will stay here with you and I won’t be long, maybe a couple of days if the wind is good. There is no need to worry, the high tide is many days away and Sakiata will look after you.” Mick looked at the woman and she also smiled.
18
2 SEDUCTION
HE WOKE in the early hours of the morning and lay staring through the trees towards the beach. The moon was still only a sliver in the night sky and it took a while for his eyes to adjust. He sensed, rather than saw, the figure on the beach. He rolled off the sleeping mat and wrapped the thin sheet around his waist. Sakiata was standing by the edge of the gently lapping tide. The air was still, with only the occasional cool waft from the southeast. She seemed to be listening to something. “What is it?’ he asked when he reached her. She looked at him and shook her head. “A strange noise; coming from down there.” She jutted her chin in the direction from which he and the dog had come to the island. He strained to hear but there was nothing he could discern. “What does it sound like?” he asked with a perplexed expression. “A sort of ‘put-put-put’ sound; what is it?” Mick shrugged. He could hear nothing. There the realisation swept over him. “It’s the soldiers,” he said, “They’re coming in their boat.” He stood still a moment longer and then with a slight lift in the breeze he heard the distinct chugging of an engine. He glanced back towards the house but it was invisible behind the line of trees and probably far enough back not to be noticed. The mast of the boat, however, was clearly visible in the night sky. “I’ll have to move the boat and throw some brush over it,” he said with a sense of rising panic. “We might be lucky but I’d better do it
19 The Floating Island quickly.” “They are only men. Why do you want to hide from them? Are they looking for you? What have you done wrong?” “They are not just men. They are very dangerous. They could kill us if they see us.” The dog was sitting on the sand between them listening. It could not understand what they were saying but picked up the urgency in Mick’s voice and whined. Sakiata looked down at it. “I’ll help you, show me what to do,” she replied, still sounding only half convinced. “We’ll have to tow the boat up the lagoon and moor it under the cliff opposite the channel and cover it with brush. If they come back again and see the boat it will take them a while to find the channel and they’ll come ashore in a small boat. That will give us time to get away but I’ll lose the boat.” “What about Ba.” “We just have to hope that he hears them and hides too,” Mick replied. “I’ve told him about the soldiers and he knows they are dangerous.” “You will tell me too I think?” “Afterwards. We must hurry.” They swam out to the boat with the dog splashing behind them. Mick lit the small kerosene lantern hanging from the cabin ceiling and hauled in the topsail rigging. While he was doing that Sakiata slipped over the side and swam back to the beach to cut branches. When she returned they began to haul the branches aboard that she had dragged out and left floating in the water nearby. Mick had doused the lantern and they stumbled against each other in the dark. “I saw a light from the beach, a long beam waving around,” she said as they hauled the last soggy branch aboard. They were standing together and were sodden from the wet and slippery foliage. “It must be a searchlight. They must be looking for something. If they shine the light directly on the boat they’ll recognise it straight away but if they don’t the branches will blur its outline and it will look like a rock in the lagoon.” “Maybe they are looking for women,” Sakiata replied moving closer to him and Mick saw her brown eyes and the line of her white teeth in the dark before he felt her hand run across his bare thigh and grasp the erection that he had hoped she wouldn’t notice. She
20 Seduction worked her hand quickly back and forth and he tried to hold in the quick gasp as he ejaculated. “I’m sorry, it was because we were so close.” “It’s good. You are a young man, that’s all. When Ba gets back it will be better.” “Better?” “You can see the light now, look!” “We’d better get ashore so you can put your skirt back on,” Mick said. The drone of the boat’s motor was quite audible now.
By the time they got back to the house the boat had appeared off the reef and the spotlight was playing across the beach. They could hear the voices of the men on board wafting in on the breeze. There was much shouting and laughter and when the beam of the light swung across the stern they could see men who appeared to be fishing with handlines. The dog whined with apprehension and Sakiata put her arm around it. The light flashed past them very quickly and blinded them momentarily. She pushed the dog’s snout into her grass skirt to stop it barking. When the light shone back over the lagoon it momentarily caught the boat. The swing of its arc stopped and swung back looking for it again. Just as it came to rest on the branch-festooned boat there were shouts from the stern of the boat. The men had hooked something large and wanted the light to see what they were doing. The beam hesitated for a moment and then swung over the stern. Mick and Sakiata watched as they hauled in what appeared to be a big rock cod. There was much shouting and laughter. By the time the big fish had been landed the boat was well beyond them. “That was bloody close,” Mick said. “They are strange men,” Sakiata replied. “Small, like Ba, with a language that I’ve never heard before. It’s not like English or German.” “Do you know English and German?” Mick asked with surprise. So far they had been communicating in the island creole, which was very similar to Pidgin English. “A little; sometimes, when white sailors came.” “To this island?” “No, not this island, to other islands.”
21 The Floating Island
“Other islands? I thought he said that other people used to live here.” “We are the only ones here now,” Sakiata replied in a vaguely defensive tone. Mick didn’t push the point. There was much more to Sakiata than he had originally thought. They were quiet for a while watching the receding light. Then she said, “Tell me about those yellow men; why are you so afraid of them?” “I am, or at least I was, a trainee manager on a copra plantation. We came back early one morning after a copra buying trip up the coast. There was just me and the two boat boys, Jacob and Tom. We tied up at the small wharf near the drying sheds and then walked along the path to the house to organise some labourers to unload the boat. “There was a large motor boat with a ramp on the front tied up at the house wharf and there were men in uniforms standing around. At first I thought it was the local kiap and his police but when we got closer we could tell they were different. “It didn’t seem right, something was wrong, so we slipped off the path and crept closer through the coconut trees. The sun was straight behind us so the men in uniforms hadn’t noticed us. When we got closer we could see that they were Asians, they had slanty eyes and yellow skin. At first I thought they were Chinese but the boat at the wharf was flying a red and white flag in the shape of a rising sun and I realised they were Japanese. None of the labourers were anywhere to be seen and neither could we see Mr and Mrs Shaw and their daughter Lilly. “The boys stayed hidden behind some croton bushes and I circled around until I could see the front of the house. There was a man who must have been an officer standing on the veranda watching some of the soldiers on the lawn. The soldiers had Mrs Shaw and Lilly spread out on the ground. They had no clothes on and the soldiers were taking photographs of them. They were holding their legs apart and one of them was pushing a long curved sword into Mrs Shaw and she was screaming. Some other soldiers were holding Mr Shaw by the arms and whenever he shouted one of the soldiers would hit him in the chest with the butt of his rifle. “Mrs Shaw started to bleed badly and then she stopped screaming and struggling. The soldier with the sword then walked over to Lilly.
22 Seduction
She was only ten years old. When he did that the officer shouted at him and came down the stairs. The soldier with the sword began to argue with him and then stepped back and the officer held out his hand for the sword. The soldier tried to push him out of the way but the officer took out his revolver and pointed it at him. He then took the sword and stabbed Lilly several times in the chest. When she stopped moving the officer signalled for the men to bring Mr Shaw over. Mr Shaw had collapsed and they had to drag him to the spot where the officer was pointing. “One of the soldiers went around the house and came back with a bucket of water and threw it over Mr Shaw. When he tried to stand up they forced him down so that he was kneeling. One of the soldiers pushed his head down and the officer gave the sword back to the soldier that he had taken it away from and pointed at Mr Shaw. The soldier was smiling and he swung the sword and cut off Mr Shaw’s head. It rolled on the grass and the soldier with the sword kicked it. Another soldier kicked it back and they kept kicking it around and laughing while the officer went back onto the veranda. “I was terrified and couldn’t move. I took a deep breath and then crept back to where I had left Jacob and Tom but they had run away. I worked my way back to the copra sheds and untied the boat from the wharf. I didn’t know what to do. I just set the sail and headed out to sea. “When I was far enough away I threw all the bags of copra overboard. The boat was sitting pretty low in the water and I thought that would be best before going much further. I thought about sailing to Rabaul but decided that might be too dangerous. I then thought about sailing south to the Vitiaz Strait and then around to Samarai and Moresby but I came across some men in a lakatoi and they told me that the Japanese had taken Rabaul and had killed everyone there and that they had patrol boats out everywhere looking for white people. “I didn’t have much experience sailing. I was just a clerk who bought the copra; Jacob and Tom were the sailors, they did everything. They knew the coast and all the islands. They could use a sextant and a compass but I didn’t have a clue. I decided that the best thing that I could do was follow the coast and then try crossing to the mainland and following it around to Moresby. “I didn’t have much food and water because we’d used it all up on
23 The Floating Island the copra buying trip so I called in to the Catholic Mission at Lusa. There were Japanese soldiers there too and I waited until the early hours of the morning when the moon was up before sneaking ashore. I managed to break into the store and get some supplies but someone shot me on the way back to the boat. I think it was the fat guard who had been sleeping under the store veranda. I don’t think he realised he had hit me because he didn’t come after me. I saw a strange woman in the mangroves and that’s when the dog followed me. The woman said she was one of the teachers at the school but she seemed to be quite mad. I think the Japanese were using her as a prostitute. “After that I just worked my way south and then west stopping at islands. After a while I got used to sailing and just kept going. I still didn’t know where I was going but I had worked out how to sail the boat. The people on the islands were all friendly. When I asked them about the Japanese they just shook their heads, as if they were deeply sad. At least I didn’t feel scared any more. Then I got sick and washed up here in the storm and Ba found me.”
In the morning Sakiata swam out to the boat. She located the broad leaf among the rigging into which she had folded her palm full of Mick’s semen and pushed it into a small bamboo tube which she plugged with a small piece of coconut pith. Mick slept late but when he woke and came out to the cooking fire he noticed that her hair was damp. He said nothing and assumed that she had been to bathe in the sea. The small bamboo tube was hanging around her neck by a coloured woven string but he didn’t notice it. Sakiata went into the house and when she came out she wasn’t wearing the bamboo tube necklace. There was a faint smile on her face when she handed Mick a banana leaf containing a roasted yam for breakfast. She tossed the dog a piece that had been cooling on the edge of the fire. “Will we move the boat today?” “I think it’s a good idea, the soldiers might come back this way again.”
When they swam out to the boat Mick kept his shorts on and Sakiata carried her grass skirt in a bundle tied to the top of her head.
24 Seduction
Once on board she wrapped it around her waist. They brought two of Ba’s spare long handled paddles with them and after pulling up the anchor began the long haul across the lagoon and to the cliff opposite the reef entrance. It took them until well into the early afternoon to get there. They manoeuvred the boat against the cliff under the canopy of hanging branches from the trees above. Mick left the anchor up but secured the boat fore and aft by lines to exposed tree roots. While Mick worked Sakiata and the dog went off to the garden. When she returned a few hours later the day was lengthening towards dusk. She had a bilum of vegetables strung from her forehead and Mick joined her on shore. They set off along a well-defined path through the forest towards the house. About halfway along Sakiata stopped and held her head on one side listening. Mick looked at her but the dog knew what she had heard. “Ba is back,” she said, “he must have come through the reef just after we left the boat.” “Thank goodness for that,” Mick replied; meaning that he was happy that Ba had avoided the soldiers. “It will be good,” Sakiata said. Mick looked slightly puzzled, scratched his head and followed Sakiata and the dog as they picked up pace along the track.
A light rain had begun to fall as they came up from the creek onto the rise near the house. The sky out to sea had turned a pearl grey and the lowering sun had a greeny-yellow glow. All of the trees and leaves had a damp luminous sheen and the droplets on the dog’s coat shimmered in the light. Mick looked up and heard a delighted squeal and then a terrified scream. When he topped the rise to stand beside Sakiata he saw Ba standing on the veranda of the house; beside him stood a younger mirror image of Sakiata. Both Ba and the young woman were smiling and Mick looked around for the source of the scream. Sakiata turned to him and pointed to a nearby coconut palm. An elfin face peered out from behind it. “That’s Little Sister,” she said. “She wasn’t expecting to see you.” She beckoned to the girl and after a moment of hesitation a slim figure emerged from behind the palm trunk. Her skin and grass skirt
25 The Floating Island had also been brushed by the gentle rain and shimmered like the dog’s coat as she slowly circled and ducked beneath Sakiata’s outstretched arm. The elfin face sat just above Sakiata’s breast and the big eyes watched Mick with quick furtive glances as they walked to the house.
“The yellow men came ashore on the other side of the island and searched through our garden house,” Ba said. “We hid in the bush and watched them. They lit a big fire and cooked some fish and rice. They seemed afraid to go too far away from the fire. They all had rifles and never put them down, not even to eat. They all went back to the boat to sleep and left early in the morning. When we came out of the bush we discovered that they had shat inside our house. When I saw that I was glad I had come for my daughters.” “They are evil men,” Mick replied softly. “I saw them do terrible things to my friends.” Sakiata nodded and touched Little Sister gently on the shoulder. The girl was still using her mother to hide behind and regarded Mick with serious eyes. The firelight gave her face an ethereal quality but there was something else there that suggested supressed mirth. Mick wondered whether she was play acting. It was raining heavily outside and an odd drop of water had leaked through the sago leaf roof and fallen on her arm and she rubbed it away with her hand. The other sister, who was called Teone, was more matter-of-fact. She had befriended the scruffy dog almost immediately and it was now resting its head in her lap. “Will they come back?” she asked, looking directly at Mick. He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, perhaps they have a base somewhere nearby.” The young woman’s directness unsettled him and recalled the frank visual appraisal she had given him when he had reached the foot of the house stairs. “It would be best to assume they might and we should be very careful I think.” “You will leave us now I expect?” Ba said scratching one of his big ears. “It might be dangerous if I stay. If they spot the boat they’ll come ashore to search.” “But if you go they will surely see you,” Teone suggested. “There is that too,” Mick replied.
26 Seduction
When the rain eased he rolled up his sleeping mat and lit a palm frond torch and made his way along the path to the boat. The dog trotted along beside him but he had noticed its hesitation when they had emerged from the house. Sakiata had given him a leaf package of roasted yams and gently touched him on the arm as he went down the stairs and that had seemed to reassure the dog. That night on the gently rocking boat he dreamed that he was running through the coconut palms on the plantation pursued by something that he could not see or hear.
Two days later Teone landed on the deck of the boat like a wet fish. She shook herself and untied the faded piece of trade cloth around her head. Her black curly hair fell across her shoulders and she teased it with her fingers before wrapping the cloth sarong around her waist. Out on the lagoon her mother and sister were in the outrigger canoe trolling for fish. Mick was in the forward hold adding extra caulking to a patch of damp timber. The sudden rocking of the boat made him lose his balance and the caulking knife fell from his grasp. He picked himself up and searched for the knife in the dim light. A shadow passed quickly over him but he spotted the dull blade. When he looked up he saw Teone’s face peering at him. She was leaning over the open hatch. Her hair gleamed in the strong sunlight and a bamboo necklace around her neck was swinging gently to and fro. She stepped back and he placed the knife where he could find it again and pulled himself up onto the deck. He was sweating from the warm confines of the small hold and smelled vaguely of old copra. The young woman wrinkled her nose and moved to the rear of the boat. He dropped a kerosene tin bucket over the side and pulled it up and dumped the water over his head. He shook himself and padded along the deck to join her. She was sitting on the transom stroking the dog’s ears. “Good morning,” she said in perfect English. “And a good morning to you too!” Mick replied in surprise. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your fine company today madam?” She looked at him with a bemused smile. “My English is not so good.” “Welcome to my boat.”
27 The Floating Island
“That I understand. Can I look inside?” “Certainly, but there isn’t much to see.” She raised her eyebrows as if to say, “I’ll be the judge of that” and stepped through the companionway. Mick watched her as she moved through to the small galley and the bunks beyond. She picked up some of the small things that he had left lying around, including one of the books that he was reading, examined it and then carefully replaced it where she had found it. When she got to the forward locker she turned around and asked, “What’s in there?” “That’s where I keep the trade goods that I use to buy copra.” Satisfied, she came back to the galley. “I have some black tea leaf and sugar, would you like a drink?” She nodded and he pumped up the pressure in the small brass stove and added methylated spirits to the cupola under one of the burners and lit it with a match. When it was hot he slowly released the valve and the burner spluttered and came to life. He placed a small saucepan of water over the flame. “I took on a lot of water when the boat was washed into the lagoon but everything in the top lockers and the trade boxes stayed reasonably dry,” he said sprinkling the leaves into the bubbling water. “Ba sometimes brings sugar and tea back with him. I like it and flour too.” “I’m afraid I haven’t got any flour; it got too mouldy and I had to throw it to the fishes.” She nodded and picked up a pair of scissors lying on the table beside a small coil of caulking rope. “What is this?” she asked with a puzzled look. “Scissors,” Mick replied. “For cutting things; be careful they are sharp.” “Show me,” she said handing them to him. He cut off a short piece of the rope and handed it to her. “You could cut off your beard with it I think.” He ran his fingers through the matted hair. “Possibly.” “Let me see.” She picked up the scissors. He stepped back and she laughed. “Let me try; I won’t cut you.” He leaned forward and pulled a patch of hair out from his chin. It was a patchy beard and a missing piece wouldn’t look out of place he
28 Seduction thought. She jiggled the scissors awkwardly until she had her fingers right and closed the blades together. “Ouch!” he said and put the little patch of hair on the table. She picked it up and took the pith cork out of the bamboo tube around her neck. “I will keep this,” she had a mischievous smile. Mick gave her a puzzled look. “When you go away we can remember you,” she said with her head turned on one side. They sat on the transom and sipped the sweet tea. When they had finished she put the enamel mug down and stood up. “I will go back and help catch fish now.” Mick nodded and she undid the faded cloth sarong and wrapped it around her hair in a neat bundle. Mick looked away and she touched him gently on the shoulder before slipping over the side of the boat.
The women were bathing in the creek below the garden house. They had spent the day planting a new plot that Mick had helped Ba clear. The men had hacked and chopped at the forest for two days, clearing away the tangled undergrowth and bringing down several trees, which they had cut into manageable lengths and used to build a garden fence to keep out wild pigs. Then came the women’s turn. They had dug drains to run water away and mounded the earth for planting sweet potato and melons. Now they were washing off their sweat and dirt with much jollity and splashing of water. Ba was in the creek at a special rock grinding the cutting edges of his precious steel axe and bush knife. Mick, who was still sore and covered in scratches from the clearing work had a book, Stephen Crane’s Red Badge of Courage, and was reading passages to Ba, who was listening intently as he worked. The tribulations of Private Henry Fleming on the battlefield during the American Civil War intrigued him greatly and he occasionally stopped Mick to ask a question. “This is a strange war. These young men don’t seem to know why they are fighting. Are they fighting for land or women perhaps?” “I think they are fighting for an ideal which they don’t quite understand. Our wars always seem to be like that. Ordinary soldiers don’t really understand why they are fighting and yet they still do it. The last big war was like that I think and I guess this new one is the same. Only the old men understand the reasons.” “These yellow men, they are after land I think.”
29 The Floating Island
“Perhaps, I’m not sure.” “Because you are also a young man. How very strange,” Ba went back to his sharpening.
Mick held the book closed for a while and watched the cavorting women. He had reassessed his sense of modesty since being on the island and his gaze was less about prurience than about enjoying their obvious glee in their raucous bathing. Looking was fine he had discovered, the women enjoyed being looked at and they took great delight in titillation. Their attitude was in marked contrast to his experience in the villages where he had traded for copra. There men and women had separate bathing places and were never seen together unclothed. Perhaps it was missionary influence or maybe on this island they were more relaxed because it was just within the one family. In any event, they were three magnificent examples of the female form, quite beyond his previous experience, including the urgent grappling in the dark that he had experienced on the plantation with village girls and on his way to the island in the boat. The litheness of the women was accentuated by the fact that they were devoid of body hair. He had noticed the same thing on some of the other island girls and gathered that it was an old custom that was dying out under the influence of outsiders and missionaries. He recalled the first time that he had beheld the naked female form as a youngster. It began when he was climbing on a chair to retrieve a box of old books stored on top of a wardrobe beside a window in his parent’s bedroom and he had accidentally discovered that from that position he had a clear view into their next door neighbour’s bathroom. The lower panes of the window were frosted to obscure the view from ground level but the upper horizontal casement was clear and he could plainly see the sink and mirror. He had bided his time with eager anticipation until one evening when his parents were out and he had seen a light in the bathroom. Mr and Mrs Bushnell had two buxom twin daughters about sixteen years old and the twelve year old Michael had often wondered about them as they laughed and giggled through the fence in the backyard. With the bedroom light out he had carried a chair to the bedroom window and carefully climbed on it. He steadied himself before peering around the curtains. There was definitely someone in the
30 Seduction bathroom, perhaps they were actually in the tub or under the shower. The twins were always hard to tell apart and he guessed that would also be so in their unclothed state. He waited for several minutes, hoping against hope that his parents wouldn’t come home early and catch him. Then a figure appeared at the sink. He gasped in horror. It was neither of the twins but their matronly mother instead. She stood before the mirror towelling her hair. Because of the acute angle of his position he had a clear view of her from the tops of her thighs to the top of her head. Her large flat breasts fell like two rubber hot water bottles all the way down to her navel. The beefy nipples appeared like two rubber stoppers. A girdle of grey flesh around her waist hung over a vast mat of black hair between her legs. Mick was appalled and fascinated. When she turned around and bent over to towel her legs and feet a great puce gash stared up at him like some hideous Cyclops. He fell off the chair and his head slammed into the side of the bed. The following morning he explained to his parents that he had banged into the kitchen table by accident while skylarking with the dog. His mother had looked at him quizzically and then smiled and pulled him towards her bosom. He had broken free and run out of the room. His father had glanced at his mother and shrugged. “He’s nearly a teenager now, you mustn’t forget that dear.” His mother had sighed and gone back to making breakfast. Ba was watching Mick staring at the women and chuckled. He was clearly proud of his three beauties. When Mick realised that Ba was watching him he returned to the book. The old man cocked his head to listen. Mick had always been a reader. It was partly a product of being an introverted child who preferred his own company. On the plantation he had generally been too tired to read at the end of the day. Now that he had the time on the island he was making good use of it. It helped that Ba had also become fascinated. The old man seemed to have a reasonable grasp of English and if Mick read slowly and explained the difficult passages he understood well enough. Since being on the island Mick had also noticed that his eyesight was changing. He had been short sighted since childhood and had worn glasses from an early age. He was now finding that his glasses were blurring his vision and that he could see much better without
31 The Floating Island them. He wondered whether it had something to do with his diet. He was now eating mostly vegetables and fruit with the occasional fish or crustacean. His diet in Australia had consisted mostly of cheap cuts of meat, potatoes and overcooked greens with tin fruit for dessert and slabs of white bread and jam in between. On the plantation this had changed to tin meat and rice with the occasional can of peas or beans. Occasionally there was fresh banana, papaya and pineapple. He had grown to loathe the taste of coconut, surrounded as he was with the odour of drying copra. Now he had started eating it again, especially as the women used plenty of it grated and as creamy milk in their cooking. Whatever was working the magic on his eyesight seemed to be permanent, or at least he hoped that was the case, and he had relegated his glasses to a locker on the boat. When he also discovered that he could read without them he had set about drying some of the remaining soggy paperbacks from his trunk in the sun. Ba had seen them arranged on a log near the house and had asked him about them.
The moon grew and together with it a spring tide began. Mick and Ba paddled out to the reef to inspect the channel early in the morning. “I think that if we’re very careful it will be possible to get the boat through,” Mick concluded. “The next spring tide will come with the new moon but it isn’t usually as high; it’s got something to do with the land here; the tide is much lower on the other side of the island then too. If you miss this tide you might have to wait for another full moon in a month’s time.” “I’ll get the boat ready and try to catch the high tide when the moon is completely full.” Ba nodded. He had a strange look in his eyes Mick thought. Mick walked back to the boat after eating breakfast with Ba. Sakiata and the girls had eaten earlier and had left them some sago warming by the fire. Ba headed off towards the gardens. When he got to the boat he found Teone and Little Sister sitting on the deck dangling their feet over the side. They were both wearing new sarongs made from the trade cloth that he had given them from his stores. The dog was sitting between them. "Shouldn't you be helping in the garden?”
32 Seduction
“The tide is rising; will you be leaving the island now?” Teone asked. “I think so; otherwise I’ll have to wait another month.” “A month is not long; what will you do if the soldiers see you?” “I can’t stay here forever; it’s a chance I have to take.” “I am afraid for you, we both are,” Teone said and her sister nodded in agreement. “The Japanese soldiers seem to be spreading everywhere. Soon they will be on Australia’s doorstep; they will need everyone to fight them.” “You would fight them?” “Of course; it is my duty.” “You are not a soldier.” “I will be soon I think.” “It is very sad, this war,” Little Sister said and stood up. She stepped ashore and the dog followed her. “I will go up and help in the garden.” She looked at her sister but when she didn’t respond shrugged and set off along the path. The dog padded along behind her. Mick stepped onto the boat. “I’ll get things ship shape and try to get out in the next few days,” he said. Teone looked up at him and he noticed tears glistening in her eyes. He knelt down and took her hand. “It is the only thing to do,” he said gently. She bowed her head and the tears flowed silently down her cheeks. “But before I do anything else I’m going to cool off; it was very hot out there in the canoe.” He stepped out of his shorts and slipped over the side of the boat and ducked his head under the water. His hair was long now and he had to flip it out of his eyes. “Come for a swim,” he said, “the water is beautiful.” Teone rose slowly and gave him a wan smile. Then she let her sarong go and dived into the water. Mick watched her sleek figure circle underwater and come back towards him. She surfaced behind him and pushed him in the back. When he didn’t respond she put both hands on his shoulders and pushed down. He went under and came to the surface spluttering. She giggled and pushed him under again.
33 The Floating Island
“If I drown you, you won’t be able to go,” she said. It was then that she noticed his erection. She had not played with him like this in the water before but his reaction didn’t surprise her. She swam around and faced him. “Perhaps I can change your mind another way,” she said. “Don’t do this,” he said softly. There was a lack of conviction in his voice however and she moved closer until their bodies touched. Then she rose in the water and hooked her legs behind his knees. “Hold my arms,” she said and lowered herself onto him. He slipped easily into her and she gasped. He looked alarmed and she smiled reassuringly. “It only hurt a little bit,” she said. The revelation of what she had said came home to him but he couldn’t help himself. They moved together in the water. He felt a small shudder in her shoulders and he moved quicker and then pulled apart at the last moment. A thin spiral of semen rose in the clear water between them and was joined by the gossamer red of her blood. The two fluids mixed and surfaced and then dispersed. Mick and Teone joined their bodies again and floated together in the warm sea.
The body washed into the lagoon that night and Ba found it on the beach. It was unmarked and wore the uniform of an Australian soldier. One boot was missing and the man had a shock of reddish blond hair. Mick helped the old man haul the body to high ground and they dug a hole and buried it. Mick took the identification tag and the man’s wallet. He fashioned a rough cross and wrote the man’s name and rank on it with decking tar. By the time he had finished the tide was ebbing. Over the next few days they found debris on the beach, including part of a life ring. The name of the ship had broken away. Two days later they found another body bobbing in the lagoon by the channel. This one had no legs but they buried the rest of the body alongside the other one and Mick made another cross. There was no wallet on this one and the cross remained blank. When he had finished he put the man’s identification tag in his pocket and looked across to where the women were standing in a
34 Seduction solemn group. “I will go on the spring tide next month,” he said; “there are things that I need to think about.” The women turned and walked together towards the house. He looked at Ba and the old man gave him a sad shrug.
“I will show you,” Sakiata said to Teone and beckoned for her to follow. Little Sister came along behind them with the dog. They climbed to the top of the hill beyond the garden and then descended into a small valley. Sakiata picked her way along the small stream periodically looking into the fringing trees. Finally she stopped. “There,” she said, “see the little purple berries, that is the right tree.” They climbed out of the stream and forced their way through the dense undergrowth until they stood at the base of the tree. Sakiata carefully examined the leaves on the lower branches and eventually rose on her toes and plucked a leaf from the branches. “This is a good one, see how it curves in on itself like a little cup?” The two girls nodded. “You bend it inside out like this and then split it at the tip here and bend the two pieces into a cup. You have to turn it inside out so that the glossy side of the leaf touches your skin. Leave the stalk on because you need that to pull it out; just strip the outer edge of it off so it is soft.” She unfastened her grass skirt and let it drop to the ground. “Now watch what I do closely.” She took the leaf, spat on the glossy side several times and with two fingers in the inner cup pushed it into her vagina. “It’s important that the outside of the leaf touches your skin because there is a magic juice in the leaf which will drive away any spirits that might go into your belly and turn into a baby.” “What is it called?” Teone asked. “The leaf is called tisia and the tree is called tisiana. Only women know about it; you must keep it secret: if the men find out about it they will cut the tree down. Now watch me.” She slipped her fingers into her vagina until she could feel the stem of the leaf. She gripped it with the tips of her fingers and extracted the leaf in one deft movement. “It is important to do it quickly so that the semen in the cup
35 The Floating Island doesn’t spill into you.” “Don’t the men see you do it?” Teone asked. “You can take it out later when they are asleep. You must hide it and bury it or put it in the fire when no one is looking; that way the child spirit will go back to the forest to wait for another chance.” “They live in the forest?” Little Sister whispered. “They are everywhere. You must be careful where you sit in the forest. Now you try it; I want to see that you get it right.”
Teone invited Mick to the garden house by the stream one afternoon after they had returned from a day working to clear another garden plot to cultivate. It had been a hot day and they were all grimy with sweat and itching from insect bites. “Come when it starts to get dark; I will meet you at the boat; I want to show you something,” she said emerging from the stream and tying her sarong about her waist. “What do you want to show me?” Mick asked cautiously. The girl had an air of intrigue in her voice and Little Sister, splashing in the water with the dog, seemed to be in on the conspiracy. “You will see,” Teone replied glancing at her sister with a smile. The younger girl collapsed into the water in a fit of giggles. Sakiata, who had been bathing further downstream looked up and shook her head slowly as if to say what are those girls doing now? Ba, who had been rubbing wet sand on his muddy legs simply smiled to himself. “I’ll wait for you to come,” Mick replied slowly.
On most days Mick ate with Ba and his family at the house but occasionally he cooked his own dinner on a fire he had set up in a small cleared space by the boat. He was sitting by this fire when he heard the girl coming along the path. The dog rose to greet her and she patted it on the head. It was nearly dark and he was surprised that she had ventured away from the house. She was carrying a small bilum and was wearing a newly made grass skirt which accentuated the swing of her hips as she walked. In one way he regretted giving them cloth for sarongs because it deprived him of the sight of their lithe gait. He suspected that was why Sakiata had declined his offer of cloth. They had worn the sarongs in the garden and he guessed they had been washed and hung out to dry overnight.
36 Seduction
“Will you bring the light?” she asked. He nodded and retrieved the kerosene lantern from the boat. He had been frugal in its use because he was running out of fuel. She turned down the path to the garden house and he followed her. He looked around the single room of the house half expecting to see Little Sister there but it was empty, although he did notice several new sleeping mats on the shelf above the floor. Teone pushed a dry leaf against the wick of the lantern and when it flared set the fire going in the centre of the room. Then she opened her bilum and pulled out what looked to be a dark green leaf. She held it out for him to see. “It’s a leaf. Did you bring me here to see a leaf?” She smiled. “This is a special leaf, watch.” He scratched his beard. She folded the leaf back on itself and split and bent the upper tip and stripped away the rough skin of the stalk. She held it out for him to see. “See, it is a cup.” “Do you want a drink? It’s only a small cup?” “Yes, I want to drink,” she answered with a serious look on her face. She undid her grass skirt and stepped up onto the sleeping shelf and lay down on the new mats. “Turn out the lantern, the firelight is enough now.” Mick watched her insert the leaf. A vague memory of his mother’s bedroom and the day that he had found the powdered rubber half sphere in a box on her chest of drawers came back to him. “What’s this?” he had asked and she had rushed over to him from where she had been dressing flustered and red-faced. “It’s something for Mummy and Daddy,” she had said quickly retrieving the thing and putting it back in its box. It was only later that he found out what it was for and he had shuddered at the thought that his mother and father did such things. Now he understood and went to join the girl on the sleeping mats. Afterwards she told him about the spirits in the forest and the magical properties of the leaf which kept them at bay and how Sakiata had explained this to her and her sister. “So she knows about what you are doing?” Teone smiled. “And no doubt your sister knows too; what about Ba? I hope he’s
37 The Floating Island not in on this too.” Teone nodded; a look of delight on her face. “So it’s a conspiracy to trap me on this island?” Teone shook her head. She wouldn’t tell him about the magic that her mother and father had worked with the things in the bamboo tube necklace. Instead she put her fingers to her lips and sat up. “You must tell no one about the leaf, only the women know about it. Sakiata told us to tell no one.” “So why have you told me? Besides, there is no one else here to tell. I imagine Ba knows all about it.” “You are different, you are a white man. Anyway, I meant if you leave,” she said and put her finger to her lips again. He lay back with his hands behind his head. If I leave he thought. It was then that she rose up on her knees and straddled him. She took him in her hand and guided him inside and then pushed down and squeezed her muscles tightly. He was surprised by the strength inside her. She then pulled back until he was only just inside her and then relaxed and quickly pushed down hard again. When he eventually came it didn’t feel like he had impregnated her but rather like she had drawn something out of him. She moved quickly to climax before he shrunk. When that happened he noticed that there were tiny droplets of clear liquid oozing from both of her nipples. He lifted his head and pressed one of her breasts so that the liquid fell into his mouth. It tasted like nothing he had ever tasted before.
38
3 MOTIVE
AMBITION HAD never formed a part of Mick’s life. Not that he was unaware of the phenomenon; he had no trouble recognising it in other people but it never really appealed to him. “He’s a bright kid but he doesn’t seem to want to apply himself,” a teacher told his parents when he failed for a second time to matriculate and gain a place in university. “I don’t really know what can be done to motivate him,” the teacher added with a shrug. Mick didn’t seem to be bothered by his failure. He liked to think of his life as a random journey where he could wander at leisure while admiring the scenery but never really being sure where the end point was. This attitude increasingly frustrated his parents as they watched him lose several jobs in succession. They were wondering whether they would be stuck with him for the rest of their lives. It was a big bold world out there and now that the economy was looking up there were opportunities for bright young men, educated or not. “He just seems happy to watch the world go by,” they told a visiting uncle. “He works well enough and he’s thorough but he lacks any spark. The bank had high hopes for him but he was so inefficient they had to let him go. They wanted their business balanced and signed off at the end of each day, not the next morning or afternoon. We don’t know what to do with him.” The uncle, the brother of the mother’s father, listened attentively. He was an old sea captain who had spent his life knocking around in out of the way places up north in the South Pacific. He now lived in Port Moresby in Papua but he must have done reasonably well
39 The Floating Island because he now spent several weeks of each year in a leisurely circumnavigation of his many relative’s homes in Australia bestowing the occasional largesse and leaving behind a trail of flaky pipe tobacco and the faint smell of rum. “Let me think about it,” he replied. “I’ve still got some friends in the trade who might be able to help.” “Oh, I don’t think Michael would be any good as a sailor,” his mother said. “He keeps to himself a lot; I’m not sure he’d cope very well; we thought about enlisting him in the army but he doesn’t work well in a group.” “You mean he’s a loner? I wasn’t thinking of getting him a berth on a ship, what I had in mind was plantation work up north in the islands.” “Wouldn’t that be lonely? I understand those places are very isolated and only get a ship visit every few months.” “Didn’t you just say he keeps to himself? People like that are surprisingly hard to come by. They have a high turnover on the plantations because people can’t cope by themselves for long periods of time. There’s also a different attitude to time up there. No one is much fussed if things don’t happen on time as long as they eventually get done; the kanakas are slow because of the heat anyway. Your Michael would fit right in I reckon.” A few days later the uncle found Mick in the back garden idly pulling out weeds in the family vegetable patch. “You like growing things do you Mick? I tried it for a while when I retired but everything I planted died.” Mick looked up and smiled. He liked being called by the Irish- sounding diminutive. It was something his parents had never condoned. “It’s not really hard and if something dies you just plant something else in its place.” “What do you think about growing coconuts?” “It’s too cold here; they’d probably not do so well.” “They do well in the islands.” Mick looked up again, a spark of interest in his eyes. And so it was that he was apprenticed as a trainee manager to one of Burns Philp’s smaller plantations on the east coast of New Britain. BPs had been established fourteen years ago as an island trader operating out of Port Moresby in Papua and was rapidly expanding
40 Motive its interests beyond shipping into stores and plantations. The plantation manager was married with a pretty Eurasian wife and a young daughter. The man was largely taciturn and only spoke when necessary or when he had had a few too many rums but the woman welcomed Mick’s company and the almond-eyed daughter, who was ten years old and precocious, quickly formed a teasing relationship with him. He had his own small house with native material walls and a tin roof and although he had a detached kitchen he ate many of his meals with the manager and his family. Their door was always open but they never interfered in his life outside work. If the occasional village girl spent the night in his house they never acknowledged that they had noticed and he never felt the need to explain. The languid pace of island life suited him perfectly. He learned to fish with the villagers and was learning to sail the small copra buying boat. In dealing with the villagers and labourers Mick discovered that he had a knack for deciphering motives. Even though he was relatively open and guileless himself he discovered that what other people presented to him as an argument for doing something often stemmed from an entirely different agenda. When this was mixed with beliefs in sorcery, magic and spirits he found the resulting intricacies and machinations intriguing. An entreaty to make an urgent trip along the coast to collect new labourers or a fresh batch of dried copra might have nothing to do with either workers or coconuts but might have everything to do with seeing a special old sorcerer who could supply charms whose applied potency as love magic on one of the line foremen’s latest amorous interests was imperative. Mick quickly developed a second sense for these harmless subterfuges and enjoyed them immensely. Once he had them fathomed he considered them on balance and decided whether or not to make the trip. The offset of a load of fresh copra or replacement for a departed labourer was always there too. When the manager’s wife complained about the house girl mooning about and forgetting to make the beds Mick wondered at the skills of the old man who had surreptitiously passed the small bundle to the foreman as they loaded the copra. It was this second sense that had put him on alert after his night in the garden house with Teone. Their subsequent trysts didn’t lessen
41 The Floating Island that sense. This didn’t mean that he wasn’t enjoying their time together. In fact, he was in thrall to and marvelled at her new found skills in lovemaking; clearly Sakiata had a hand there somewhere and he wasn’t about to complain. He also wondered about his increasing affection for the girl; it was an emotion new to him and he didn’t quite know how to handle it. Even if he was being skilfully manipulated he was of half a mind to simply enjoy the new-found intimacy. However, her request a few days later after another night in the garden house caught him completely by surprise. They were sitting together on the beach. “She doesn’t want it inside her she just wants to feel it against her.” “That’s impossible,” Mick replied, “how can that happen?” “I’ll show you.” “Is it a good idea?” He was watching Little Sister at the edge of the lagoon casting her mother’s hand net into the shallows. The hot sun had made her skin glisten and her movements were lithe and uncomfortably sensual. “She watches us when we go to the garden house and she says her body aches when she thinks about what we are doing. She is like a ripened fruit with no one to pluck her from the tree. She will come to you sooner or later. When she does it will become a secret and its darkness will envelope us all. It will be better this way.” “But she is so young; she must only be fourteen or fifteen years old.” These islands are places of hot sun; you know that, fruit ripens quickly here.” “And you don’t mind?” “We are sisters, we share the same blood and we eat the same food.” Just then they heard Little Sister’s delighted laugh and looked up. She had two dazzling fish in her net and was coming up the beach towards them. She looked at them both and frowned slightly. Her sister nodded imperceptibly and when Little Sister turned to Mick her expression was serious. She leaned over him and placed her fingers briefly on his chest. The sweat on her shoulders and breasts combined and ran down to her nipples and the droplets landed on his stomach just above his navel. Then she pushed him back onto the sand and turned with a giggle and headed off towards the house with
42 Motive her catch, her hips swinging provocatively. Her sister shook her head slowly and smiled while Mick wiped his hand across his damp belly.
That night as they lay on the soft mats in the garden house they heard the sound of footsteps outside. A coconut shell cup filled with oil with a floating fibre wick cast a faint smoky light. It was enough for them to see Little Sister duck her head and come through the doorway. A moment later they heard a rustling sound as her grass skirt fell to the floor. “Are you definitely sure about this?” Mick whispered to Teone. “Sshh!” came the reply and he felt her hand sliding down his torso. It stopped momentarily to caress a nipple and then moved over his stomach and rested briefly on his thigh. He jumped slightly at the pressure on his balls and then breathed deeply as his foreskin was eased back along the shaft of his penis. He could see Little Sister’s eyes shining in the faint glow of the lamp and then her face as she drew closer. “It’s hard now, come round and put your leg over him,” Teone whispered. Little Sister did as she was told and Mick felt her legs on either side of him. Her body glistened and he could see the yellow moon outside the door. Her head was above him and her hair brushed his chest. “Now do as I showed you,” Teone said. Little Sister used her right hand to find him. She exhaled quickly. “It’s big!” she whispered. “Do as I said,” her sister whispered and Little Sister slid her left hand between her legs and used her index and second finger to part the lips of her vulva. “Are you wet?” her sister whispered. “Rub it; you need to be wet.” “I’m wet, look, my fingers slip inside easily. Can I do it now?” “Do it.” Mick’s rigid member was standing at forty five degrees to his stomach and Little Sister lowered herself pressing against his body and began moving slowly back and forth. He could feel her on either side of the shaft. A warm liquid began spreading across his stomach as she increased the rhythm. “Don’t worry, she’s very wet,” he said to Teone and she smiled and patted his arm.
43 The Floating Island
Little Sister pressed down harder and lingered on the upward stroke when her clitoris reached the little valley between his glans. He was wondering how long he could hang on as she increased the rate of her stroke. Then, just as he thought that he would burst, she shuddered several times. More liquid ran over his stomach and a moment later he ejaculated. Little Sister was panting and collapsed on his chest. She then slid backwards until her head was between his legs and looked up at him and smiled. She rubbed her fingers in the mixture of semen and fluid pooled on his stomach and put them in her mouth. “It’s salty,” she said. “Was it good?” her sister asked. “Oh yes! Can we do it again?” “Later perhaps. He needs to rest and then I want him.” “Inside you?” “Inside me!” “We have to find another man.” “Be patient, you are too ripe, you have to be careful.” “We can share him?” “Perhaps.” “Look, he’s gone to sleep.” “You sucked him dry, he has to rest.” “Can you do that?” “Do what?” “Suck him; with your mouth, I mean.” “Perhaps, I haven’t thought about it.” “Would that make a baby?” “I don’t think so, I’ll ask mother.” “Look, he’s awake.” “When you’ve finished discussing what you’re going to do with me we need to talk,” Mick said sleepily. “In the morning,” Teone replied. ‘Yes, in the morning,” Little Sister said with a giggle.
“I need to talk to you about this island and your daughters,” Mick said to Ba and Sakiata after the two girls had taken the outrigger out on the lagoon to fish. They were sitting together on the coconut palm log after breakfast idly watching the clouds building up on the horizon.
44 Motive
Sakiata placed a hand on Ba’s thigh and said, “It will rain this afternoon I think.” She then looked at Mick and smiled gently. Ba scratched his belly. “I want to go over to the other side of the island to bring back some small things; if you come with me we can talk then,” he replied. “We will have to wait for them to finish catching fish then?” Mick said. “No; we can walk, it only takes a few hours and we can get back by tomorrow. There is a path but it is steep. I only use the canoe if I have to carry anything heavy back. You can see the whole island from up there and I can show you some other things too.” “In that case I will stay here,” Sakiata said. “I’ll get you some food to take.” She stood up and stretched; a faint smile on her face.
The path was indeed steep. They crossed the stream and set out along the garden path until they came to a junction which Mick hadn’t noticed before. Ba pushed the foliage aside and after a few minutes walking the path widened and became more evident. Mick wondered whether the start of the passage had been deliberately left overgrown. They followed the stream for an hour or so and then broke off and began to climb. By the time they reached the summit they were both glistening with sweat. Mick saw blue sky through a distinctive saddle. On one side the forest rose steeply but on the other side there was a gentler slope. A small cleared area lay in the saddle and there were the remains of a fireplace and a small lean-to off to one side. They gathered wood and started a fire to heat the food they carried. Mick had also brought tea and sugar and two mugs and his small saucepan and Ba poured water into it from the bamboo tube he carried. “I’ve decided that I want to stay on the island,” Mick said sipping his tea, “but my people are at war and I have to go and help them; it is my duty and I cannot fail them. Your daughters want me to stay and I have tried to explain it to them but I don’t think they understand.” Ba scratched his belly, an indication that he was thinking, and leaned back on his elbow. “They are young; so are you. I have seen your people and they have great wealth and many things that an enemy would like to steal.”
45 The Floating Island
“It is not that so much; this enemy is very cruel and brutal; I’ve seen them at work and I don’t want my people to suffer like that. The wealth doesn’t concern me; it takes greed to accumulate wealth and I just haven’t got it in me. Besides, when I look at the rich people and sometimes envy them their wealth I think that if I had the same things I would just become like them and that is not something I want to do. This island has all anyone needs and I could be happy here if you would let me stay. I must first make sure that my people, my mother and father and their friends and relatives, are safe. Can you understand that?” “Of course, and you are welcome to stay; my wife and I were hoping you would and my daughters need a husband. I know that your people frown on marrying more than one wife but I have had many wives at the same time. On this island it would not matter.” “That’s good to hear Ba. I feel better now. I will come back as soon as I can; perhaps they will wait for me?” “They will wait. Now; we need to go down there, I want to show you something,” Ba said pointing to the steep slope falling away from the saddle.
There was no path and Ba used his bush knife to cut their way. After a few minutes they came to the first of several large outcrops of dark brown stone which Mick guessed was basalt. Ba worked his way purposely through and around the outcrops as they descended even more steeply. Finally they emerged onto a wide and slightly sloping stone platform jutting out over the surrounding forest. Behind them two pillars of dark stone framed the sky and in front of them the treetops curved down to the beach and sea like a green ski slope. From this vantage point they could almost see the entire island as well as several other smaller islands spreading out to the horizon. Ba pointed to the nearest island. “That is Anu; it is a lot flatter than this island as you can see and the only way to get fresh water there is to dig for it.” He pointed to the next island, which had a distinctive peak in its centre. “That is Kosia; there are good fresh water streams there.” He waved towards the other islands, which were tiny by comparison, perhaps each only a few acres in size. He ran through the names in the order of their distance away. “Poi, Tisin, Kas, Owa and Sia; they have no water at all.” “Does anyone live on any of them?”
46 Motive
“Not now but there used to be two villages on Kosia.” “What happened to them?” “There were wars and then ships came and took most of the men away.” “Probably labour recruiters; maybe for plantations or for the cane fields in Queensland; they were called blackbirders in the old days.” “I think so; the men never came back though, maybe they liked it where they went.” “What happened to the people left behind, the old men and the women and children?” “The missionaries eventually came and took them away.” “Is that what happened to this island too?” “No, this island is different, come, I’ll show you.” They clambered back up the way they had come, crossed the clearing in the saddle, and followed a faint path up towards the other peak. They eventually came to a large overhang that formed the entrance to a wide but shallow cave. An area of sandy soil stretched out from the cave mouth to the edge of the forest. The roof of the cave appeared to be blackened by smoke, or it could have been natural mould, Mick couldn’t tell. When they stepped inside he noticed red hand stencils on the ceiling and other strange ochre paintings which he couldn’t decipher. The trees beyond the sandy floor cast shadows and dappled light ran among the paintings. At the back of the cave, perhaps thirty feet from the entrance a natural shelf ran along the whole rear wall. The shelf was about three feet up from the floor and about sixty feet long. Ba ignored the paintings and went to it. “These are my ancestors,” he said in a hushed voice. Mick moved forward to look and saw many neat bundles of bones wrapped in decaying tapa cloth. Most of the bundles had skulls lying on top. Some of the older bundles looked like they had been disturbed and skulls were missing. A few had necklaces of cowrie shell and dog incisors mixed with the bones; others had stone axe and adze blades and large moon-shaped pearl shell ornaments. There were the skulls of dogs with some of the bundles. Mick walked along the shelf looking at the bundles. Towards the back of the shelf were drifts of fragmented bone. There are many people and they have been here a long time he thought. But there was something else about them that struck him as unusual.
47 The Floating Island
“They are very small skeletons,” he said to Ba. “They could almost be children.” He glanced up at the ceiling and noticed that the hand stencils were small too. The old man placed his hands on two of the more intact bundles. One of the bundles contained bones that were much larger than the others. Ba slowly and carefully said, “These are my mother and father; they are Tokwai, this is their island.” Mick gave him a puzzled look. “Tokwai; what are Tokwai; are they like a pygmy or something, you know, little people?” “That’s right. They are the little people of the forest.” “Not pygmies but like Pinari? The boys on the plantation told me about Pinari; they were afraid of them; they said they lived in the forest and made mischief, sometimes they caught people and ate them, they said they could change shape and used to come into the village and kidnap children. They said they weren’t human but something else.” “They are the same,” Ba said. “I thought they were just trying to scare me, sorcery and all that sort of thing. And you say they are your ancestors and that is your mother and father?” “There used to be a big village on the island. My human mother was taken by the Tokwai as a child. They didn’t eat her but looked after her and when she got older she married a Tokwai man and they had me; I’m half Tokwai.” “Which is why you are not very tall?” Ba nodded. Mick thought that he should be afraid. He was in the presence of a man who might only be half human in a cave in the centre of an island that was mysteriously deserted. But he didn’t feel afraid at all. In fact, he felt safe and somehow privileged to be there. He also found himself believing the old man. Or at least, if he didn’t believe him, he was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was an attitude that he had noticed among some of the Europeans who had lived in the islands for a long time. He also wondered whether he was under some sort of spell that the old man had cast over him; not just now but since he had been on the island. That could explain a lot. But that was absurd. Or was it? Maybe he was just confused. “What happened to them all?” he finally asked. “There were tribal wars, as I said. The people from Kosia killed all the people on this island and ate them. And then the ships came and
48 Motive took them away too. Some of the Tokwai hid on the ships and went too; others went away to find new islands. I was eventually the last one here. That was many, many years ago. I eventually went to another island and lived there for a long time. I am very old and I have had many wives and countless children but I always craved for my home island so I came back.” “Sakiata said you had other wives; did you bring them back here?” “No, only her; when the last two died I came back and she came with me.” “And Teone and Little Sister – where were they born?” “They were born on the other island; they came with me too. They were very young and probably don’t remember.” “Do they know about the Tokwai?” “They know.” “And do you have Tokwai powers? Can you change shape and cast spells?” “I can do some things but I am very old now and it gets harder all the time.” “The boys told me that the little people of the forest live forever.” “I wish that were true; we live for a very long time, much more than a human but as you can see here, we eventually die too and turn to dust.” “Why have you told me this Ba? You know I’m going away. I said I would like to come back but there is a war and I might be killed.” “You will not be killed.” “How can you be so sure?” “Trust me. You came to my island did you not?” “That was just by accident. I was tossed into your lagoon in a storm by chance.” “Perhaps; perhaps not!”
The dog sat patiently at the entrance to the cave and when Mick and Ba had finished followed them back up to the stone platform and down to the clearing and the path. It didn’t seem interested in the bones at all. They continued along the path until they came to the sea and then walked along the beach to the garden house. Ba seemed to be agitated and when they emerged into a clearing Mick saw why. The garden house had been burnt to the ground and nothing remained
49 The Floating Island except black ash. “They’ve come back,” Ba said. “Perhaps they were hoping to catch you here; burning the house down seems to be an overreaction though.” “They went this way,” Ba said pointing towards a path branching off into the trees. “That’s where our garden is." They followed the path and it became obvious even to Mick that the soldiers had been back and forth several times. The garden had been stripped and dug up and the small lean-to had been deliberately pushed over. Ba walked among the ruins pushing aside the drying vegetation with his big feet. There was nothing there that was salvageable. He went over to the lean-to and turned the remains of the roof over. “I had a bush knife and a spade in the thatch to keep them dry but they are both gone,” he said morosely. “I was going to bring them back with some taro cuttings to plant in the other garden.” “It looks like destruction just for the sake of it. If they were hungry and wanted food they would have left the garden to regrow. It’s hard to know what they were thinking.” “We had better go back, the women are alone.” “What will you do if they come there?” “We can go into the forest and wait until they leave; even if they follow us it will be easy to lose them. There are other caves and places to live; we will be alright.”
The old man’s spirit lifted on the way back. The dog ranged ahead of them and routed a bush pig with a clutch of piglets. It drove them back down the path towards the two men barking all the way to alert them. The large sow thundered towards them and they had to leap for their lives but Ba was very quick and scooped up one of the trailing piglets. Mick tried to gather in another straggler but it slipped out of his grasp. The dog leapt for it and lifted it off the ground. Ba slammed a foot down on top of it and Mick managed to get a better hold. The dog was panting and grinning at the same time. Ba expertly tied up the piglet’s legs and put them both into his string bag. He laughed happily and gave Mick his other gear to carry. They continued on along the path to the tune of muffled grunts and the occasional squeal. The dog ranged ahead again but kept coming back to the men to sniff at the bilum.
50 Motive
“He’s checking to see that we still have them,” Ba chuckled. When they got back the women gathered around Ba and peered into his bilum. He pulled out the piglets one by one. After they had fussed over them for several minutes Sakiata mashed yam and coconut milk into a paste and fed them. After a day or so they were following her around as if she was their mother.
“I understand now. Ba told me everything. You and Little Sister have been bewitching me with your Tokwai charms.” Teone laughed. They were sitting on the foredeck of the boat dangling their feet over the side. Little Sister was on the lagoon in the outrigger casting for fish. “I’m serious,” Mick said with a belying smile. “You and your mother and your little sister have cast a spell over me.” Teone looked at him and frowned. Then she prodded him playfully in the side and said, “We have no magical powers; it is Ba who has the power. It was he who brought you to the island; not us.” Mick shook his head. “It was a storm that brought me to the island. It was only when I got here that you set out to bewitch me; I know all about your cunning Tokwai ways.” “It is not true; it was Ba. Did not the sisia edeseni guide you to the island? Ba told us these things and we know they are true.” “What is this sisia edeseni? No one guided me; there was just me and the dog on the boat.” “That is the dog, sisia edeseni, he was the guide; he brought you to us.” “I find that hard to believe. And for what reason? I don’t understand.” Mick was becoming intrigued. He wondered why the girl believed this fanciful story which had obviously been made up after the fact. “For the Tokwai of course; we are the last ones with their blood in our veins. All of Ba’s other children have grown old or died. There is just me and Little Sister to carry on the line but to do that we need your seed. Don’t you understand?” “Then why did Sakiata tell you about the tisia leaf and how to stop getting pregnant?” “We had to be sure about you. We didn’t know how you would react when you learned the truth. But now that you have said you will come back to the island. That is good.”
51 The Floating Island
Mick stared at the water. “I will come back if I can but where I’m going will be dangerous.” “Will you come to the garden house tonight? The moon will be full in a day or so and the tide will be high. There is not much time left for us and then we will have to wait until you return.” “I see you are avoiding the question and bewitching me again. I have no will to resist; I can feel it already.” Teone placed a hand on his thigh. “It is not us; it is that demon there; I can see him stirring already.” She giggled. “You are shameless,” Mick said taking her hand away. If he wasn’t bewitched he was more than beguiled he thought.
As they sat eating in the flickering light of the fire in the garden house Mick contemplated the two girls. He had become quite used to them both joining him on the sleeping mats. They were learning together he thought. As he and Teone experimented Little Sister looked on like an eager apprentice. Occasionally she offered advice; some of it obviously gleaned from her mother. When she grew frustrated Mick allowed her to explore his body with her mouth and then with Teone’s encouragement brought her to climax with his tongue. That evening they chatted for a while longer than usual. The girls were playing with English words and giggling at their fractured efforts. Mick enjoyed the banter but thought that he detected a note of sadness in Teone’s voice. She had been right that morning; it would only be a day or two before he left; perhaps she was despondent. He also felt the weight of his impending departure and could not blame her. He wondered if he had fallen in love. In love with two women at the same time. Is that possible? The more he thought about it the more he suspected it was true. He was also more determined to return to the island. Finally Teone turned to him and said, “Little Sister will take you inside her; it is time.” “Are you sure?” he said quickly. “We can do it the other way if you wish.” “It is time,” Teone said again and smiled. Little Sister stood up and took his hand. She led him to the sleeping mats and unfastened her grass skirt. It was a new skirt, dyed red and with tassels hanging from the belt. He had wondered why she was wearing it when they came to the garden house. Now he
52 Motive knew; it was a special time for her. She ran her hand across his bare chest and tugged at the buttons on his shorts until they fell away. “We are ready,” she said to Teone, “hurry up!” The older sister came over to them. She had a small bamboo vial and opened it and poured coconut oil into her palm. “Sakiata said this will make it easier,” she said rubbing the oil along the shaft of Mick’s erection. She motioned to Little Sister to lie down and then poured the rest of the oil across her thighs. “Massage it inside you,” she whispered in a husky voice. “I’m really wet already!” Little Sister giggled. “Sakiata said this will help you stretch better,” Teone replied.
Little Sister had learned well and she took them both to a resounding high. It was only after the second time that Mick noticed the blood on her thighs. When they were lying exhausted on the sleeping mats Teone leant across and kissed Mick on the lips. It was something she had not done before and it was the first time that he had been kissed that way. He sat up and she kissed him again. “Sakiata said that is something that white men do; I think I like it though.” Mick didn’t really know how to respond. “May I try too?” Little Sister said and without waiting for an answer kissed him too. Their noses collided and she sat back licking her lips with a look of puzzlement on her face. Mick put his hand behind the back of her head and drew her towards him and gently pressed his lips to hers. This time she closed her eyes and didn’t pull back. He put his arms around both girls’ shoulders and pulled them both to him. They sat that way for some time before lying back and going to sleep. In the night when he woke Teone whispered in his ear. She had not brought tisia leaves to the garden house that night, and not for several nights before.
The passage through the reef was shaped like a funnel with the wide mouth on the seaward side. With a normal tide water rushed into the mouth and then into the narrow neck gaining speed as it went and making it a dangerous place to be. During high tide the pressure in the funnel was diffused as the water welled up over the
53 The Floating Island reef and the passage was much deeper and calmer. This window of opportunity was short, perhaps just over an hour and had to be finely judged. Getting caught in the narrow neck on the outgoing tide would be disastrous and it was crucial to get the boat through and into the calmer water of the mouth as quickly as possible. Mick donned boots to avoid cutting his feet on the sharp coral but Ba eschewed the plimsolls that he offered and went barefoot. They had attached lines fore and aft and planned to walk and swim the boat through the many coral heads before raising any sail. They had positioned the boat on the inside of the reef before dawn and when the time was right Ba gave the signal and they set out into the passage. Getting past some of the larger coral heads involved shunting the boat back and forth several times. This slowed their progress and resulted in some minor scrapes to the hull. When the tide began to ebb Mick thought they wouldn’t make it. The water was getting deeper as they moved towards the sea but it made moving with the lines between the coral heads more difficult. In desperation he pulled himself aboard and ran up enough sail to catch some wind. The added momentum got the boat going faster but also made for more bumps and scrapes. When the boat lurched against an especially large coral head Mick panicked and ran up more sail. The boat swung athwart of the coral head and plunged towards an even bigger one. Ba pulled on the bow line and held it with all his might. The combination of his effort and the wind seemed to work and Mick took one last desperate chance and ran the sail all the way out. The boat shot forward and spilled into the wide mouth of the funnel. Mick tacked slightly to port and the boat ran ahead. Ba let the line slip through his fingers and watched the boat plunge out of the mouth and into the sea. He waved at Mick to keep going and turned to swim back to the lagoon before he was caught by the outgoing tide. By the time he reached the lagoon the boat was bobbing on the open sea. Mick raised more sail and turned to watch the tiny figures on the beach. He waved to them and saw them wave back. The girls were holding the piglets and waving with their other arm and the dog was running along the beach barking. He turned the bow into the wind and ran along the coast until he was well clear and then swung to the south east.
54 Motive
He looked back towards the island and clearly saw the two central peaks where the ancestral cave was located. On one side was the two pronged basalt sentinel. On the other was the lower rounded peak. Off to the west lying in the sea like the disconnected supine feet of the larger island was the distinctive peak of Kosia. A couple of the other islands were also visible as low swatches of green on the horizon. He studied the two main islands for a while trying to imprint their outlines in his mind. He wished that he had a camera. When the boat had settled down he fixed the helm and took off his sodden clothes and boots. He had bruises and grazes from the coral all over him. He lit the stove in the galley and boiled water for tea and dabbed some of his precious methylated spirits on the worst scratches. By mid-afternoon he had lowered the sails and put out a sea anchor and was asleep in his bunk. His last thoughts before going to sleep were of Teone and Little Sister.
Sakiata lifted her head to listen. It was a week since Mick had left the island. A light inshore breeze had carried the sound along the narrow stream valley up into the garden. Tiny blue and green forest birds skimming over the pool by the garden house chasing dragonflies chattered and the fronds of the banana trees above her chafed and rattled together. She listened a moment longer and then ran her hand under her breasts, flipping the moisture away, and went back to work with her digging stick. The breeze that played across her back was pleasant. Then the sound came again. She quickly sat upright, alert and listening. It was clearer now and she recognised it. She looked down towards the garden house to see if Ba had returned but couldn’t see him. He was still deep in the forest with the dog and his bow and arrows. She quickly shook the earth from the last piece of sweet potato and dropped it into her bilum. She swung the string bag over her head and set out along the stream path, her digging stick in one hand and the bilum bouncing on her hips. Teone and Little Sister were on the lagoon fishing from their outrigger canoe. She hoped they had heard the sound and hidden. She began to trot. Sweat formed on her brow and stung her eyes. She brushed it away and began to run, the bilum of sweet potato abandoned on the path. She heard voices, one of them high-pitched and demanding.
55 The Floating Island
“Australia man where? Where, where! You show, hurry up, quick time!” Sakiata slowed to a walk and moved cautiously towards the beach. She saw the shouting man. He was wearing a peaked cap, a light coloured uniform and brown riding boots. He had a long-bladed knife in his hand that glistened in the bright sunshine. She crept closer. The girls’ canoe was pulled up on the beach and alongside it was a small dinghy with a motor on the back. Lying beside the boat in the sand were the bloodied bodies of the two piglets. Then she saw the girls. They had been forced to their knees on the sand and men with rifles were standing behind them. The man with the long knife pointed at Little Sister. “You show, where Australia man!” He signalled to the soldier behind the girl. The man hauled Little Sister to her feet. The shouting man strode off along the beach and the soldier pushed Little Sister along ahead of him. Two of the other soldiers followed in their wake. They were heading towards the main house. Sakiata didn’t know what to do. She gripped the digging stick tightly and watched. Teone had dropped her head. The soldier behind her stood watching the beach for a while and then leaned his rifle against a nearby coconut palm. He began fiddling with his clothes. He glanced up the beach and then pushed Teone hard in the back and she fell on her face in the sand. The soldier quickly straddled her and yanked her grass skirt away. Sakiata launched herself through the bush, swinging the digging stick. The surprised soldier managed to jump to one side before stumbling with his trousers around his ankles. His erect penis bounced and quickly shrank. Sakiata leapt at the man with her digging stick and sent him sprawling with a blow to his head. She then swung the sharp end of the stick into his groin. She pulled Teone to her feet and snatched up her skirt. The two women ran into the forest. They worked their way through the undergrowth towards the house. A pall of yellow smoke was blowing along the beach. Out of it came the shouting man and the three other soldiers. Little Sister was nowhere to be seen. Teone rose but Sakiata held her still. When the soldiers had passed they ran towards the burning house. Little Sister was sitting beneath a coconut palm. She was naked, her skirt burnt in the fire. Sakiata rushed to her.
56 Motive
“Are you alright?” she said kneeling in front of the sobbing girl. Little Sister nodded. Sakiata enfolded her in her arms. Then came a rifle shot. “Ba has come back?” Sakiata gasped. The three women ran back along the beach. They saw the boat sitting outside the reef. The men in the dinghy were making their way through the narrow passage towards it. The soldier who had attacked Teone was lying face down in the sand, the back of his head blown away. His trousers were still around his ankles. There was no sign of Ba.
57
4 VOYAGE
MICK WOKE in the early hours of the morning. The full moon sat high in the night sky and cast a silver shimmer across the sea. There was a light and slightly chilly wind but the sea was calm. He pulled on his battered jumper and then hauled up the canvas sea anchor. When it was safely stowed he raised the mainsail and slipped the line holding the helm. He tapped the compass and swung the helm until the boat was on a south, south easterly heading. He fixed the helm again and went below to make tea and cook food. When a large land mass appeared on the horizon he guessed that it was Goodenough Island. He spread the charts for the area on the galley table. They were battered and blotched and wrinkled from the soaking in the lagoon but the central peak sitting in the clouds had to be the massive 8,419 foot Mount Vivigani.. In any event he figured that if he ran westward along the coast he would either come across Moresby Strait, which separated Goodenough from Fergusson Island, or Ward Hunt Strait between Goodenough and the mainland. In either case they would both lead him south towards East Cape and then China Strait from where he could follow the mainland west to Port Moresby. He could possibly call into Samarai on the way for news of the war. He found the sight of the island reassuring and a relief because he knew that there were patrol posts, mission stations and big villages all along the coast which he could call into if needed. It was as if he had come out of the unknown world and into the known. He also thought that it was unlikely that the Japanese had made it this far
58 Voyage south yet and the lessened possibility of running into one of their patrol boats cheered him. He nevertheless kept the boat a good distance offshore as he ran along the coast. There was no point in risking running onto a reef or sandbar. By the following morning he hadn’t come across Moresby Strait and he was fairly sure that the land that he could see was Goodenough Island. He was now heading roughly southwest so he must have rounded the island. He expected to see the mainland around Cape Vogel soon and would cross Ward Hunt Strait and follow it south. He was contemplating this when he saw the black spiral of smoke on the beach. He assumed it was villagers burning off for gardens but trained his binoculars on the spot anyway. It was then that he saw the two white men running along the beach waving towards him. He hesitated. They appeared to be in distress but the natural caution that he had developed since the incident at the plantation made him careful. He heard the faint crack of a firearm and saw a puff of blue smoke. One of the men had discharged a revolver into the air. As Mick watched the man fired again. He took a deep breath and swung the bow towards the shore, trimming the sail as he went.
The man who had fired the gun waded out towards the boat. He stopped when the water got too deep and watched Mick swing the boat around and set the anchor. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “We thought you hadn’t seen us.” Mick waved back and when he had the boat secured slipped over the side and swam to the beach. The man waded towards him holding out his right hand. He was grinning and wearing the remnants of an Australian army uniform. “Are we glad to see you cobber,” he said shaking Mick’s hand. The man introduced himself as Reg Anderson. The other man was Colin Baker. They were both young and sunburned. “The Captain is up in the shelter,” Reg said. “He’s a bit crook.” Mick followed them up the beach. “Me and Col got away from Rabaul when the Nips came ashore. We walked down the beach to a missionary’s place and he had the captain there; the Nips have cut him up a bit.” “Nips? Who are the Nips?” Mick asked. “Them little yella fuckers; you know, Nip, from Nippon or
59 The Floating Island wherever it is they come from.” “Japs you mean?” “Japs, Nips, whatever, the evil bastards.” “So how did you get here? It’s a long way from Rabaul.” “The missionary give us a sailboat. Them bastards was combing the coast and we would’ve been goners if they caught up with us. They was shootin’ and bayonetting anyone with white skin they could find. I reckon we got away just in time.” “And you sailed down here?” “We was doin’ alright but we hit a reef out there, broke the boat up into little bits. You’re lucky you didn’t hit it.” “Are you alone here?” “Pretty much; there’s some boongs hangin’ around; they knocked up the shelter for the Captain and they bin givin’ us tucker but we keep ‘em away if we can; never know what might happen, they could hand us over to the Nips. That’s what happened on New Britain.” “There are Japanese on the island? I didn’t think they were this far south.” “Them boongs reckon there’s some round the coast a bit. It’s hard to tell with that bastard English they speak. Much as we can work out they are stuck like us. The boongs reckon their boats was sunk by aeroplanes.” “I wonder where they were going?” “Moresby, the Captain reckons; anyhow here he is, he’ll tell you.” Reg ducked under the shelter and Mick followed him. An older man was lying on a rough bed of mats. He pulled himself up on one elbow when he saw Mick. Reg handed the revolver to him. “I had to use two bullets sir; otherwise he wouldn’t of seen us,” he said. “That’s alright Reg,” the captain replied and took the revolver and slipped it into a webbing holster hanging from the low frame of the roof. Mick noticed two .303 Lee Enfields with bandoliers propped against the shelter wall. The man introduced himself as Peter Egan. “I got chopped up a bit I’m afraid,” he told Mick. “The recent tumble in the surf didn’t help. Anyway, we had orders to disperse into the bush and harass the enemy, no surrender. Bloody stupid really. We decided to give ourselves up anyway. The Japs were all friendly until they had our weapons. Then they tied our hands up and bayonetted everyone. I played dead and managed to crawl away when they were gone. Father Murphy found me wandering along the beach
60 Voyage and untied my hands. He was looking after me when Anderson and Baker turned up. I told them to keep going but the silly buggers stayed with me. “It took me a couple of months to heal up and Father Murphy looked after us the whole time. The Japs cruised past a couple of times and we had to hide in the bush. I was getting better but it was still hard to walk. There’s something still not right inside; it just takes a bit of a knock and I go down again. “We’d heard that some of the survivors from Rabaul had managed to get further down the coast and had been picked up by Jack McCarthy and Ivan Champion and some of the other kiaps and taken to the mainland and then on to Moresby. We were hoping someone would call in to check at the mission but we were probably too close to Rabaul and no one ever came. It didn’t seem to bother Anderson and Baker; they said they were in no hurry to get back to the fighting. “Then the Japs turned up one day. Some of the locals had told them we were there. We hid again and when we figured they’d gone we went back to the mission. We found Father Murphy down by the wharf. It looked like they’d beaten him to death and then chopped off his head. The locals had scarpered and the mission house had been looted. Father Murphy had hidden the mission pinnace up one of the creeks. Luckily the locals hadn’t found it. We took it and headed south. He had a pile of fuel and supplies stashed on board. I guess he knew he’d have to leave and make a run for it one day but they got to him first. Luckily he’d sent the sisters away when Rabaul was evacuated. Just thinking that he might have stayed on because of me still gives me nightmares. “That must have been about the end of July and it took us about two weeks to get down here. We could only travel on good days and had to lay up when the weather got bad. It was only a little boat. We’ve been here a couple of weeks so it must be late August or early September by now. Like I said, when we hit the reef I got knocked around a bit and the thing inside me got worse and my legs went numb. I told those two blokes to leave me again but they insisted on staying. They said that they didn’t feel like walking and something would turn up and here you are.” “The Japs have got Rabaul then?” “And Kavieng and Lae and Salamaua, now they’re on their way to Moresby,” the captain replied. “Haven’t you heard about it?”
61 The Floating Island
“They raided the plantation where I worked but I’ve been on an island north of here for a while.” “So where are you headed?” “I was on my way to Moresby to enlist but I didn’t realise that the Japs might be there already.” “If it’s anything like the rout at Rabaul they’re probably settled in quite comfortably by now. However, I doubt whether they are that far yet.” “That would really make it difficult; we’d have to keep going to Australia.” The captain picked up Mick’s inclusive remark. “Do you have room for us?” “There’s room; she’s a trading ketch with a couple of holds but I’ll need to get some more food and fresh water I reckon. I’m not a born sailor but I’m getting the hang of it and I’ve got a compass and a few charts. We’ll probably have to run at night and hole up during the day if there are Japs about though. That could be tricky but I’m game if you are.”
A canoe arrived off the beach early next morning and sat in the water fifty yards from the boat. Mick signalled for it to come closer. He looked towards the shore but there was no sign of activity. There were three men in the canoe and they paddled towards the boat. Mick greeted them and invited them aboard. They sat warily in the cockpit while he heated water for tea. He loaded each mug with plenty of sugar from his diminishing supply. He hoped it might make them more comfortable so that they could tell him what he wanted to know. The three men explained that they had tried to help the soldiers as much as possible but were afraid of them. “They kept pointing their guns at us,” the oldest man explained. “We wanted to move them down to the village where we could look after them but they refused. Now the Japani are coming and they will be killed.” “You know about the Japanese?” “They have come in their ships; there is much fighting on the mainland. We see the flashes from their guns at night and hear the rumbling.” Mick questioned them further. This war was running faster than
62 Voyage he expected. He showed them his charts. The men came from Moratau village and pointed it out on the map. As far as he could work out the fighting seemed to be concentrated in the area of Milne Bay. “But they are here too,” the man explained. “They came around this side of the island but the aeroplanes sunk their boats; now they are walking along the beach and coming here. They have stolen food and shot people. They killed the priest at the mission and did terrible things to the sisters, even the old ones. We are afraid. We do not understand why they have come.” That was a question that Mick was unable to answer. Perhaps the captain might know he thought. “Is there a patrol officer on the island?” he asked. “The kiap and police at Bolubolu, on the other side of the island, have gone into the mountains; we don’t know where. What do you think we should do?” The three men were obviously very worried and Mick was at a loss about what to advise them. “Perhaps it would be wise to take your people inland and wait to see what happens. I think the Australians will eventually drive the Japanese away.” This seemed to satisfy the men and they began talking together in their own language. Mick waited until they were finished and then said, “I will take the soldiers to Port Moresby but I need to get some extra food and some more fresh water. I have some trade goods if you can help me.” “We will get it all now,” the older man replied. “The Japani will be here very soon and you must go as soon as possible. If they catch you they will take your boat so they can get to their friends on the mainland. You must tell the boss kiap in Port Moresby that we will wait until he comes to drive the Japani away.”
The men returned an hour or so later with an extra canoe loaded with fresh yams, green bananas, pineapples, pawpaw and a squealing piglet. Another canoe arrived a few minutes later with an old 44 gallon drum with the top cut off filled with sloshing fresh water. Two more canoes hove into sight carrying more villagers. Mick went ashore in one of the canoes and with the villagers help built a stretcher for the captain. They carried him to the beach and
63 The Floating Island used one of the unladen canoes to carry him out to the boat. Reg and Col, both clutching their rifles, went with him. Mick brought one of the bunk mattresses into the cockpit and made the captain comfortable there. When the food, water and piglet had been stowed in the forward hold Mick opened his trade trunks and carried a collection of cloth, mirrors, axes and knives onto the deck. At first the villagers refused to accept the gifts but he persisted and they eventually took them. He also bought a small, lightweight canoe with an outrigger but no sail and lashed it over the forward hatch. He then shook hands with everyone. The men stood about on the deck and it took a moment for Mick to register what they wanted. “They want to say goodbye to you,” he told the soldiers, “you had better shake their hands.” Reg hesitated but Col came forward with a grin and held out his hand. The captain offered his from his bed. Reg relented and there were smiles all round. The men wished them luck and climbed back into their canoe. Mick weighed anchor and set the sails. “They are nice coves after all,” Reg observed as they made their way out to sea. “Just needed someone who could speak their lingo.”
They hugged the coast until they saw the big village at Kilia. The village seemed to be deserted and they didn’t land. Beyond Kilia Mick knew that they would soon be crossing Moresby Strait, the passage between Goodenough and Fergusson Islands and down which, according to the Moratau villagers, the Japanese were running their ships. He guessed that the landing barges that had been sunk had somehow missed the northern entrance to the passage and had followed the west coast round. They would have been a lot more exposed and that was probably why the planes had found them. The captain was of the same opinion. “The Nips are just as disorganised as us but there are a hell of a lot more of them,” he explained. They found a small bay beyond Kilia and Mick carefully maneuvered the boat through the shoals and anchored in the lee of a small islet. They launched the outrigger and Reg and Col took the piglet and some of the yams ashore. Mick and the captain heard the pig squeal once and then saw the puff of smoke from a fire.
64 Voyage
“I hope no one notices that,” the captain said. “They’re good blokes but they haven’t had much experience in the islands. They came to Rabaul from the Middle East as part of the 2/22 Battalion Lark Force. They are seasoned soldiers and put up a bloody good show but we were overrun. Terrible planning all round I’m afraid. Did you tell them to cook that porker well? We don’t want a case of pig bel to make matters worse.” Mick nodded. The captain had explained that he was part of the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles raised locally in Rabaul in 1939. Until the Japanese invasion he had not seen any action. He was a manager with Burns Philp. “So you and I are fellow company men,” he explained. “We’ll make the run across the strait as soon as it gets dark,” Mick replied. The captain nodded. He had senior rank in the company and by virtue of his army rank should really have been in charge but he seemed happy to let Mick make the decisions. Perhaps it’s because he’s wounded Mick thought. In any event, Mick was surprising himself with his own confidence.
They ran across the strait that night with only one minor incident. At about 2 am in the morning Mick heard the dull throb of a ship’s engine. He quickly hove to and lowered the mainsail before nudging the captain awake. They sat together in the cockpit on the calm water and watched the ghostly outline of a large landing craft running with no lights drift past. When it was out of sight Mick set the sails again and they continued on their way. At 3am Col came on deck and relieved him at the helm. He showed the soldier how to use the compass and gave him their heading. He then went below but found that he couldn’t sleep. Reg’s snoring didn’t help. He went back on deck. The captain was also awake and they talked until dawn when Reg surfaced. Col occupied himself by singing The White Cliffs of Dover over and over again in a cracked and out of tune voice. The captain seemed to be in less pain. Mick had noticed that every once in a while he would lean over and grit his teeth but these incidents now seemed further apart. He explained to Mick that he had joined the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles in 1939 because everyone else in Rabaul was doing the same thing and it seemed like fun. After a day playing soldiers
65 The Floating Island they would retire to the club and discuss their tactics if the Germans arrived. No one had any idea at that stage that they would be fighting the Japanese. He explained that he had attained his rank of captain purely because of his position as a manager at Burns Philip. Otherwise he had no military experience or aptitude. When the Japanese landed he had tried to maintain order but eventually joined in the rout. When his men asked him what to do he didn’t have a clue. His first inclination was to run and then to surrender. During the whole sorry episode he had seen no Japanese and only heard distant gunfire. Reality dawned on him when they eventually surrendered. He was still in awe of the fact that he had survived and escaped. “But don’t tell Reg or Col any of this,” he said, “they think I know what I am doing.”
The sun rose over a large island which Mick assumed was Normandy Island. As they ran along in the effulgence of the morning light he spotted a small inlet with a tiny island at its entrance. He guessed that it was Sewa Bay. “If we run in there behind the island for the day we won’t be visible from the sea but if anyone spots us we might be trapped. We’re only a few miles from East Cape now and tomorrow night will be the most dangerous. The villagers reckon the fighting is taking place in the bay south of there. I think I’d sleep happier in this little bay than outside. What do you think?” The others agreed with him and he ran the boat through the narrow headlands and anchored in the lee of the island. He was pleased to find that there was just enough room for the boat to run on the landward side of the island and that would give them an advantage if they were surprised. They paddled the outrigger to the tiny island beach and cooked breakfast. The captain had managed to stand and with help got into the canoe. With Col’s help he even made it into the bushes to relieve himself. By 9am they were all asleep on the sand under the shade of an overhanging palm. By late afternoon they were back on board the boat getting ready for the run across the entrance to Milne Bay. Reg and Col took great care cleaning their rifles. As soon as the light began to fade Mick
66 Voyage weighed anchor and they set sail. As is the way in the tropics, the sun set quickly and by the time they were in the open sea it was dark. They had several hours before moon rise. The first few hours were uneventful but a bit later they heard the sound of heavy guns and saw flashes on the horizon. “Why are they firing at night?” Mick asked. “They can’t really see much at all.” Then the guns stopped and there was an eerie silence. “Just keeping everyone on their toes,” Reg replied. “They’re ships guns; the Nips must be trying to get in close and do some damage before it gets light and the planes drive them away.” A short time later the guns started up again. Mick guessed that they were about halfway across the bay and would be out of harm’s way by daylight. None of them slept and they were all feeling jaded when the first rays of the sun began to light up the sky. Mick was inclined to keep going. He figured they would soon be in China Strait and suggested that they try to get there as soon as possible. Once inside the strait they could land at Samarai. From there he hoped it would be plain sailing to Port Moresby. The others demurred and he altered course. At about 7am they spotted debris in the sea and a short time later saw two oil stained figures clinging to a large piece of floating wreckage. “They’re Nips,” Reg said. “You may as well run over them.” “I can’t do that!” Mick protested. “Why don’t we pick them up and make them prisoners? We can hand them over to the kiap on Samarai.” Reg shrugged and glanced at Col. “It’s your boat,” he replied. Mick hove to and waved to the two men. Neither of them responded. Undeterred he threw a life buoy and line in their direction. There was still no reaction and he made a beckoning signal with his arm. Eventually one of the men swum to the buoy. A moment or so later and the other joined him. Mick started to pull on the line. As he pulled he noticed a look of panic on the men’s faces and was immediately deafened by the sound of two simultaneous rifle shots. The heads of both men exploded in a lathery mess of red. Mick stood open-mouthed with horror. A huge red stain was expanding in the water around the buoy. As the gorge rose in his throat he heard Reg say, “Not bad
67 The Floating Island shootin’ pardner.” Col chuckled and Mick heard the bolts of their Lee Enfields snap open and the sound of empty cartridges clattering onto the deck. When he turned around he noticed that the captains face had turned an ashen colour. He pulled in the buoy. Reg and Col watched him carefully as he spun the wheel and got them underway again.
Mick had called into Samarai on his way to his new job on the plantation. He remembered it as a thriving little town in an idyllic South Seas setting. There were about 150 Europeans living there and they were served by several good stores, hotels and churches. There were a couple of desiccated coconut factories and a 240 foot wharf behind which sat the rambling Burns Philp store. his time the town presented an entirely different perspective. “It looks like it’s had the living hell bombed out of it,” Mick said as they climbed onto what remained of the wharf. “I don’t think so,” Reg replied as they carefully made their way along the waterfront. “It’s been deliberately burnt. If it had been bombed there would be craters. I reckon it was evacuated and then destroyed so the Nips can’t use it.” He slipped the safety catch on his rifle but still kept it in an alert position. “What a waste,” Mick said. “It’s not much use to us; we may as well keep going,” Col said slinging his rifle over his shoulder.
The run to Port Moresby was uneventful. There were no major settlements along the coast and they spent the nights in one of the numerous small bays dotted along the way. They saw no Europeans, not even when they passed some of the larger plantations. Occasionally an aeroplane flying east would dip low over them but invariably kept going. The four men were subdued. Col voiced their thoughts when he said, “If they are destroying places like Samarai they probably haven’t got much faith in their chances of beating the Nips at Milne Bay. I wonder how long it will take them to get to Moresby?” None of them had an answer. “As long as we’re not there when they arrive,” Reg said. “I’m not real keen on gettin’ run over again.”
68 Voyage
They rounded Paga Point in the early hours of the third morning and entered Fairfax Harbour. Mick headed for the Burns Philp wharf. There wasn’t much activity at that time of the morning and they had the boat moored before it began to get light. As the sun came up they noticed a ship lying on its side off Elevala Island. Then they heard a laconic voice from the wharf above. “G’day there mate. Whatcha doin’?” The speaker was a bare-topped and chubby individual in shorts and boots and a slouch hat. He had a Lee Enfield over his shoulder. “We’ve just arrived from Rabaul. I’m Captain Peter Egan of the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles.” The man ignored the information about the Captain’s rank and did not offer to salute. “Jesus, you blokes are a bit late; that was over seven months ago.” “What do you mean late?” The captain didn’t push the issue of the salute; for all he knew the shirtless individual was an officer too. “They picked up a couple of big boatloads in February and then a few dribs and drabs came in until March or April then it petered off. The last lot was back in June I reckon. After that we figured the Japs had finished everyone off or taken them prisoner. Where the hell have you been all this time?” “It’s a long story mate,” Reg interrupted. “We’ll tell you later. The captain here is pretty crook, messed up inside, he needs to get to a doctor.” “I’ll go see of the Sarge is up yet and see if we can organise a car. He’ll want to talk to you fellas anyway. Don’t go away. I’ll be back in a wink.” “I wonder if anyone has told them there’s a war going on?” Col said. “More to the point, is there any beer in this town and if so, is it cold and where is it?” Reg replied. A car turned up about 20 minutes later. It was an old Chevrolet which had been given an inexpert coat of khaki paint. The driver got out and said, “The Sarge said to take you all up to the hospital, they want to check you over. Then the Major will want to talk to you I reckon. Jonesy has gone off to organise some clothes and a billet for you. You haven’t got any Nips hid down there have you?” “Naw, we left ‘em behind,” Reg replied glancing at Mick. “The young fella here is a civvy; he’ll need looking after too.”
69 The Floating Island
“That’s okay; there’s still a few civvies about. There’s an old skipper and his woman just over there on Paga Hill that refuses to leave.” “Do you know his name?” Mick asked. “Thompson; Bert Thompson; everyone calls him Captain Tom. They were going to force him to leave but he knows the coast and islands real well and the Major has kept him around. Besides, his missus does some handy stuff too.” “Well, I’ll be!” Mick said. “Do you know him mate?” “He’s my uncle.” “Right then, problem solved. I’ll drop you off on the way; unless you want to get checked over by the doc too?” “No, I’m fine,” Mick replied staring across at the house on the hill.
“Did they say his name?” Ba asked as he patted the sandy mound under which he had buried the body of the Japanese soldier with his shovel. “I can’t remember,” Teone replied, “I was too afraid.” “You were very brave.” “Not as brave as Mother; she attacked that man, otherwise he would have raped me.” “Mick told me about the yellow men,” Sakiata said. “He saw them kill the family from the plantation where he worked. I don’t think they were especially looking for him, just white men in general.” “Nevertheless, I think we are in danger.” “Do you think they will come back, this is the second time they have come to the island?” “I don’t know, but we must assume that it is possible.” “What can we do, must we go and live on the mountain?” “What do you think Little Sister?” Ba said looking at his youngest daughter. The girl shrugged. She had withdrawn since the visit of the soldiers, the happy, mischievous girl had gone. She had yet to tell them what had happened to her at the main house on the beach. Ba had been immediately suspicious but Teone and Sakiata had warned him against pursuing the matter. “She will tell us when she is ready,” Sakiata had said.
70 Voyage
“You think she was assaulted?” “I don’t know, she had bruises and her skirt had been burnt; I suspect so.” “I must do something,” the little man said looking up towards the mountain.
They lived in the garden house while they built a more substantial house further upstream. It was hard work and Ba finished each day exhausted. His wife and the girls laboured with him and worried about his health. “I am becoming an old man,” he said wistfully as they sat around the fire in the evening. “You are a Tokwai, you will live forever,” Sakiata replied. “The bones in the cave on the mountain tell otherwise; everything eventually dies, even Tokwai.” “You must not die; must he?” Teone said placing a reassuring hand on her sister’s thigh. The girl nodded but said nothing. Ba looked thoughtfully at her across the flickering light of the fire. “I will not die; not just yet Little Sister, I must look after you and Teone and your mother. Is that not right?” He turned towards Sakiata. “It is so.” “Tomorrow we finish the new house, then I will go to the mountain. You will all come with me, it is not safe here even if the new house is in the forest.” “What is on the mountain?” “I must talk to my ancestors.” He said no more. He yawned and lay down on his sleeping mat. Teone put her arm around her sister and Sakiata stoked the fire. She would not sleep until the early hours of the morning, when the danger was least.
71
5 RECRUITED
“HAS THIS tub got a name?” Captain Tom asked. “You know it’s bad luck not to give a boat a name don’t you? Suzy will have a fit if she finds out. She’ll be down here with her billy and some tucker shortly.” “Her name is Jade,” Mick replied. “She had a brass nameplate but it must have been scraped off when I got washed into the lagoon.” “Maybe them masalai women got it now; workin’ puripuri on it.” “Why would they do that Uncle?” “I dunno, they got strange ways, you ask Suzy, she knows.” “I don’t think Sakiata or her daughters would work sorcery on the boat Uncle Tom; they’re waiting for me to come back in it.” “It was just a thought; you can’t be too careful young Mick; I’ve seen stranger things.” “I’ll get some paint and put the name on the bow; we can tell Suzy it’s only temporary until we get a new nameplate; she’ll understand.” “She’s a mighty suspicious little Tonk that one, you gotta be careful.” They had taken the boat around to Ela Beach near the canoe anchorage at Koki and careened her so that they could replace the patched mast and repair the damaged copper on the hull. The big village at Hanuabada in the harbour had been evacuated but Captain Tom had got a couple of ship’s carpenters up from Pari village to work on the boat. They were old men and had missed out on the labour draft being carried out by the military but they knew what they were doing and were spritely for their age. They had cut
72 Recruited and sized a suitable new mast and had paddled it up the coast loaded on a double-hulled lakatoi. They had also salvaged replacement copper sheeting from a boat sunk by Japanese bombers in the harbour. They went out to get it at low tide in the early hours of the morning. Mick had seen them coming back in a canoe loaded to the gunnels and cackling to themselves. Captain Tom had insisted that Mick move the boat on the day after he had arrived at the house. “Them Nips is blowin’ the hell out of anything in the harbour,” he had warned. “They’re concentrating on the wharfs and the airstrip out at Jacksons. We’re movin’ round to Koki; up that gully there; there’s an old halfcaste Chinamen’s house tucked up the back; they pissed him off to Daru with all the other halfcastes; we’ll be a lot safer there; Suzy’s bringin’ the girls with her. We can beach the boat and fix her up there. Stay here and it’ll only be a matter of time before she gets blown to smithereens.” Mick had heeded the advice and installed himself in the Chinaman’s house with his uncle and Suzy. Suzy was the reason that Captain Tom had refused to be evacuated. She was from the Gulf of Tonkin but had myriad strains of exotic blood in her veins such that she looked very oriental and would never have been allowed into Australia. She must have been a stunning beauty in her younger days but now she was more regal than beautiful. The girls that Captain Tom referred to were the hookers from the brothel that Suzy ran. They were also an exotic mix of Asian, Pacific Islander and local Papuan that Suzy the Tonk kept a close and motherly eye on; especially now that business was booming with the influx of soldiers. The soldiers were living rough in the dusty town and were short of food and supplies but they had plenty of money in their pockets. When they first arrived they had gone on a rampage plundering the deserted civilian houses and shops and Suzy had been forced to hold them off with an old double-barrelled shotgun but now things had calmed down and it was business as usual. The feisty madam’s response to the possibility of a Japanese invasion was that men were men whatever their colour. She was worried about the future of Captain Tom however. Mick wondered what his parents and other relatives in Australia would think about the erstwhile benevolent old sea captain if they knew where and with whom he actually lived.
73 The Floating Island
They were still working on the boat when they saw Reg and Col wandering up the beach with an officer in tow. Mick didn’t recognise him and only assumed that he was an officer; he was wearing a battered peaked cap and faded khaki shorts and wasn’t wearing any shoes but his shirt, which was untucked and unbuttoned, had the shoulder epaulettes of what looked like a naval captain. At the same time they saw Suzy making her way down the gully with billycans steaming on either end of a wooden shoulder yoke. Mick and the captain joined the two old carpenters intently watching the approach of the visitors. Suzy patiently squatted under the shade of a coconut palm while Mick and the captain spoke to the soldiers. She had a tall Papuan woman with her who seemed unusually interested in watching Mick. Although he was listening intently to what the officer was saying he found the unabashed gaze of the woman disconcerting and glanced in her direction several times. Finally he saw Suzy say something to her and she turned away and stared out towards the reef. When the soldiers had gone Suzy picked up her billycans and came over. The woman followed closely behind. “What dem want?” she asked Captain Tom. “You’d better ask my nephew here,” the captain replied. Suzy looked at Mick with her head tilted on one side waiting for an answer. Mick was watching the Papuan woman gathering coconut husks to light a fire to reheat the food in the billycans. He looked back at Suzy, who was tapping one foot impatiently. “They want me to run the boat back up north to take supplies to their coastwatchers,” he said vaguely watching the Papuan woman again. “Might be no good, fink?” Suzy replied sharply. “You gotta go ‘Stralia, takim dispela lapun hia fink, might be better fink?” “The boat belongs to Burns Philp,” Mick replied. “They can commandeer it like they have all the other company boats.” “What you gonna do? Might be shootin’ you, fink.” “I was going to go south to enlist anyway. I may as well do it here; they said they’d make me a warrant officer in the navy; that’s better than being a mug private in the army I reckon.” “What bout dis olfella; dem Japani gonna kilim tink, might be?” “I’m fine!” Captain Tom interjected. “According to those blokes it looks like they might have beat the Nips at Milne Bay after all; all
74 Recruited they can do now is try and come across the mountains and I reckon that’s unlikely and if they do they’ll be easier to beat anyway. Besides, I don’t want to go south; I want to stay here with you Suzy.” “You silly ol bugger, tink,” Suzy said with a shrug as she turned to the fire and the bubbling billycans. “Gimme dem tucker fings,” she said to the woman who was squatting by the fire gently stirring the food. The woman hooked one of the billycans off the fire with a stick and sat it on the grass. She did the same with the other one. All the while her deep brown eyes watched Mick. A smile that looked strangely conspiratorial flickered on her lips and suddenly he knew what she was.
Mick went to see the officer the next day. This time his shirt was tucked in and buttoned and he was wearing shoes and long socks. When Mick told him that he had decided to take up his offer he took a form out of his desk drawer for him to sign. Mick scrawled a signature and handed it back. “Is that it?’ he asked. “Pretty much; I’ll get you to see the Chief Petty Officer and he’ll organise a pay book and someone to get you a uniform and a side arm.” “Don’t I have to do some sort of training; what about a medical and all that sort of stuff?” “You sailed that boat single-handed across from New Britain. Looking at her I’d say she normally has a crew of three or four. If you can do that you must be fit and we certainly don’t need to teach you how to sail, do we?” “So what do I do now sir?” Mick added the appellation to see how it sounded but the officer merely frowned at him. “Don’t call me sir; my name is Derek - Derek Johns; you and I would be about the same age I reckon. I was happily running a patrol post on the Sepik River a couple of months ago; I don’t know a whole lot more about this war game than you. Go back to your boat and finish off the repairs, let me know if you need anything. I’ll dig up a radio and a couple of crew. Then we’ll load her up and you can get going.” “Exactly where will I be going?” “We’ve got people on the mainland and some of the islands. Mostly we use the Yanks to resupply them by submarine or with airdrops but there are some tricky places that they can’t get into very
75 The Floating Island comfortably and sometimes the subs and planes aren’t available when we want them. Your little island trader is ideal for getting into tight spots. I’ll give you the locations when you’re ready to sail. You might have to drop people off and pick others up too. It’s all pretty straightforward; you just have to watch out for Nips; they’ll cut your head off if they catch you.” Derek stood up and offered Mick his hand. A seaman who had been waiting at the door took him off to see the Petty Officer. After that he was allowed to rummage around in several boxes until he found a couple of uniform shirts and shorts that fitted him. The seaman came back with two pairs of the right-sized boots, some socks and insignia to sew on the shirts. He also gave him an ancient Smith and Wesson revolver in a canvas holster and two boxes of shells. Mick put it all in an empty bully beef carton. The seaman said, “See ya later mate,” and left and Mick walked outside where he met Reg and Col. “So you’re one of the brass now?” Reg said grinning. “This was your idea wasn’t it?” “We just mentioned you and the boat to Derek; that’s all,” Col said. “Why? Don’t you like the idea? You were going to join up anyway,” Reg added. “You could have mentioned it to me first.” “Why? That would have spoiled the surprise.” “I’m not complaining,” Mick said. “I guessed what you were up to anyway.” “That’s good. Are you ready for another surprise?” “What sort of surprise?” “Did Derek mention getting you a crew?” “You’re not sailors; your soldiers; I thought he was talking about a kanaka crew.” “Correction; we used to be soldiers. Your now talking to newly promoted Leading Seamen Anderson and Baker.” “Heaven forbid!” They walked back down to Koki and Mick asked whether there was any news about Captain Egan’s condition. “They had a Yank surgeon take a look at him and they decided to put him on the next Dakota flying south,” Reg replied. “He said he’d be back as soon as he’s patched up. Silly bugger doesn’t want to take
76 Recruited his ticket to civvy street.”
Suzy took the uniforms from Mick, sniffed them suspiciously and screwed up her face. “Dem stink somefin’ bad; gimme dem, gotta washim, an dem picture fings me fixim too, fink,” she said. “It’s only mothballs and a bit of mould,” Mick protested weakly. He knew she wouldn’t listen but he tried anyway. She had burnt the clothes in which he had arrived in Port Moresby after replacing them with new ones. He didn’t know where she got the new clothes but he suspected they had come out of the Chinaman’s store stock. The store was at the front of the compound and had been thoroughly looted by the soldiers but behind the house further up the gully was a locked shed that they had missed. Somehow Suzy had obtained a key to it. What else was in there was anyone’s guess. It was now guarded by a large Melanesian woman who looked like she could snap a man in half just by looking at him. The front of the store had been boarded up and partitions made of hessian and tar paper to make rooms for the girls to sleep and keep their things. The house on Paga Hill still served as their place of business and would do so until such time as the Japanese bombers blew it up. Suzy reasoned that it was not going to be bombed at night when activities were in full swing. The girls were just beginning to emerge from the store and some of them had started to wash their clothes by the rainwater tanks. He watched Suzy hand his uniforms to a girl wearing a brightly coloured silk dressing gown. She took the clothes and held them up for the rest of the girls to see and there was much giggling and stares in his direction. He felt himself start to blush and was about to turn around and head back to the beach and the boat when the Papuan woman came out of the store and snatched the clothes away from the girl in the dressing gown. He couldn’t hear what was said but the giggling suddenly stopped. He heard it start up again as he walked along the path to the beach.
The two old carpenters had cut a doorway in the bulwark separating the cabin from the forward hold and had installed a floor. When Mick arrived they were busily building bunks and lockers. “The old buggers sneaked out to that wreck again and pinched the
77 The Floating Island timber; it’s Siamese teak and very sound,” Captain Tom told him. “I haven’t the heart to tell them that Derek has actually authorised them to do it. They’re old pirates, the pair of them, and it would spoil their fun.” The boat was now sitting upright on chocks made from coconut logs and was well out of the water. A team of soldiers had turned up in a Blitz truck with a capstan winch the day before and had pulled her up. “We’ve got a bit more caulking to do and then a bit of oiling and painting; she should be ready to go by the end of the week,” the captain added. “The old blokes want to take her down to their village and have a bit of a party before you take her back. They said that before they would have asked for a free pass to Suzy the Tonks but at their age a party would be more fun. I asked Derek and he was all for it. You’ll have to wear your uniform and make a speech I reckon.” “If I can get my uniform back,” Mick replied with a wry smile. “The last I saw of it that Papuan woman and the girls were fighting over it.” “Bloody women can’t resist a uniform, I reckon,” the captain winked. “Who is that Papuan woman anyway?” Mick asked. “Lucy you mean?” “That’s the one; I’ve got this very strong feeling that I know her.” The captain raised an eyebrow. “She comes from down the coast somewhere, Hula maybe; she’s not a hooker, she looks after the girls, her and that fat momma that Suzy’s got guarding the Chinaman’s gear. Suzy had a couple of heavies looking after the girls but they got hauled away by the army to work as carriers on the Lakekamu. They’re walking supplies up the Bulldog Track to Wau right now I reckon. anyway, Lucy and that big momma turned up out of the blue and said they were the bloke’s replacements.” “You mean they actually control Suzy’s drunken customers - like bouncers?” “That and other stuff. They are good at it too. You ask them two old blokes; only time I’ve heard them stop nattering is when Lucy turns up. They reckon she’s a powerful sanguma that only an idiot would mess about with.” “That’s exactly the feeling I get,” Mick replied. “Except I don’t feel scared of her; it’s more like a feeling of . . . . I dunno, it’s hard to
78 Recruited describe.” The captain looked at him for a moment and then smiled. “Years ago I had a house on the weather side of the hill; this is before I hooked up with Suzy; I wasn’t there much but there was a big old Papuan Blacksnake living underneath it. I tried to kill it several times but gave up after a while and let it be; it caught rats and scared unwelcome guests off. I slowly got used to it. In fact, sometimes I’d sit on the steps having a smoke and it would be curled up in the sun ignoring me. I knew the bugger could kill me but somehow I felt okay when it was around. I reckon that might be the feelin’ you get about Lucy; she has the same effect on me. Queer, ain’t it, all this masalai stuff?” “You reckon she might be a masalai? A sanguma like them old blokes reckon?” “I’ve no doubt about it at all,” the captain smiled.
That evening Mick was sitting at the small desk in his room writing a letter to his parents. He sensed, rather than heard, a presence behind him. He had been struggling for the right words to inform his parents that while he had escaped from Japanese held territory he was now planning to go back there. He also knew that his mail would be censored and he was trying not to be too specific about facts. The tingle in his spine became irresistible and he put his uncle’s old fountain pen down and turned around. Lucy was standing by his bed. She had put his neatly ironed uniforms with their newly sewn badges on the bed and was intently watching him. Her deep brown eyes were strangely devoid of emotion and disconcerting and he thanked her quickly and dismissively and turned back to his letter. When he didn’t hear her move he turned around again. “What is it?” he asked in an annoyed tone. She neither replied nor moved. He stood up. He was going to usher her out of the door and close it but just as he was about to do so she stepped closer and reached out her hand. He could smell the coconut oil in her hair and thought that he knew her intention. However, for a reason he could not quite fathom he braced himself to resist her. When she placed the flat of her hand on his chest he felt a sensation akin to a soothing warmth penetrating right through to his heart and up into the base of his skull. He blinked in surprise. There
79 The Floating Island were small yellow flecks in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. When she took her hand away the heat in his chest and head dissipated so quickly that it felt like a chill wind had entered the room. Then she smiled and the wind was gone. With that she turned on her heel and left. He stared at the clothes on the bed and noticed that his boots had been polished and placed on the floor too. He wondered how long she had been in the room watching him. Mick found it difficult to get to sleep that night as he pondered Lucy’s visit to his room. Despite her enigmatic air she was an extremely attractive woman; yet he had shunned what he had misinterpreted as her advance towards him. He was, after all, a young man who was supposed to be pre-occupied with the opposite sex and open to all and any opportunity. In his days on the plantation he had pursued this drive relentlessly. In fact, the only time he had ever eschewed such pursuits was in his younger days in Australia. His parents had been concerned about his apparently solitary existence and had taken to match making. They had presented him with several pale contenders for his affections; the source for which they seemed to have in inexhaustible supply. All those he had rejected; not so much because of their unsuitability but more so for their unwillingness to fulfil his immediate carnal needs. He found his parents persistence amusing and did not discourage them; after all, there was always the off chance of striking it lucky. That he was short on such luck didn’t surprise him however. He also could not deny that he missed Teone and Little Sister. And that was the strange thing; when Lucy had placed her flat palm on his chest and her warmth had flowed into him it was their image that had leapt into his mind. And she had known it; that was when she smiled, how could that be? How had she known? It was impossible. Or was it? Those old men had told him that she was a masalai after all. could such people communicate with each other across hundreds of miles of open sea and over those vast inland mountains that now seemed to be giving the Japanese so much grief? If he hadn’t experienced what he had on the island he would have laughed such a notion off; now he was not so sure. The following day Derek delivered a peaked officers cap and a Lewis gun. He was shirtless and barefooted but driving a Willys Jeep.
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The Jade had been re-floated and was moored along the Gabutu Motu-Motu Island causeway. The two old carpenters had just finished caulking the deck and were putting a coat of oil on it. They were mightily impressed by the Lewis gun and took the stand to mount it near the bow. “It takes ninety seven rounds of .303 ammunition,” Derek said tapping the drum magazine on top of the gun. There are two spare magazines in the box and about seven hundred and fifty rounds of ammo. Reg and Col know how to use it but you’d better have a go when you get out to sea. Use it sparingly and only if you have to; apparently they’re pretty reliable but heat up quickly,” Derek shrugged, he had obviously never used one before either. “I reckon I’d keep it wrapped up and dry down below and only bring it out if you need to use it. If the Nips see it mounted on the bow they’ll know what you are up to and you’ll be in trouble.” Mick ran his hand along the barrel. The gun had a sinister aura with which he didn’t feel entirely comfortable but he couldn’t think why. “We’re just about done here,” he replied. “Everything below is done. The radio and aerials have been installed and all the other gear, including the coastwatcher’s supplies, are stowed away. The old blokes are just finishing off a new tender and then we’ll be ready to go.” He pushed his glasses along the ridge of his nose with a forefinger. Since being in Port Moresby he had discovered that he needed them again. Perhaps when they were out to sea his eyes would come good again. “Then I guess we’d better organise that party for the old blokes,” Derek said with a glint in his eye.
“Tell me about Lucy,” Mick said to the two old carpenters as they ferried the new tender out to the boat. The two looked at each other. They were sitting together on the seat by the transom admiring their handiwork. For a moment Mick thought that he had gone too far; broken some sort of traditional convention and was treading on sacred ground. He rested the tips of the oars on the still water. The only sound for a few minutes was the sound of the oars bobbing in the rowlocks. “What do you want to know about her?” the older carpenter
81 The Floating Island asked at last. “You said before that she is a masalai; is that true?” “Of course it is; why would we lie?” the other old man said. “You steal wood and copper from wrecks in the harbour that belong to other people. I’m not saying that’s bad but your willingness, indeed enthusiasm, to commit what would be a crime at any other time doesn’t actually inspire confidence in your credibility.” Both old men grinned. “Would you have us put it all back?” the younger one said. “Certainly not; I was just making a point about reliability.” “Of course, we understand, we have become wicked old men,” the older carpenter said still grinning. The current was moving the oars like metronomes. “They are sisters,” the younger carpenter said. Mick looked puzzled. “Who are sisters?” “Lucy and the fat momma.” “Go on.” “The fat one has not always been like that; when they were younger they were both slim and very attractive. Their breasts were a sight to enliven even the loins of old criminals like us. Then a bad thing happened. A certain man who had come to the village on a lakatoi after a hiri trading voyage took a fancy to the fat one but she had eyes for a younger boy and she rejected him. One night when the girl’s parents were out on the reef fishing with lanterns he forced his way on her.” “It was very bad; we thought that she was going to die, such were her injuries,” the other old carpenter added. “The man went to hide in the bush because he was afraid of what her father might do to him. And, indeed, the father wanted him dead but he hid too well and nobody could find him. Then one evening he walked back into the village.” “And the father killed him then!” Mick said. “Oh, no; the father couldn’t by then.” “Why not?” “Because the man was dead already.” “Dead already? You just said that he walked into the village.” “Not so much walked, rather he danced into the village.” “Danced?” “Mavara mase ut’ua.”
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“What does that mean?” “The dance of death.” “The dance of death?” “It is a very old skill only known to the sanguma, the sorcerers and the masalai.” “What sort of skill?” The two old men leaned towards him and lowered their voices. Mick looked around but no one else could possibly hear them. “They stun someone, with a club, force a potion down their throat and then operate on them with a bamboo knife.” “What do they do?” Mick was intrigued. The older carpenter licked his lips. “They cut into the victim’s neck at the back and slice the spinal cord until it is only just attached. Then they chip around the base of the skull where the cord goes with a stone knife.” “It is extremely painful for the victim when they wake up and they can’t control their head; it just bobs around like a cork on the sea; that’s why they call it the dance of death. When the spinal cord finally snaps the victim dies a second time.” “That’s horrible,” Mick said. “Who did it to him?” “Ah! Now that’s interesting,” the older carpenter smiled. “As I said, it’s a very old skill, known only to a select few. The only person in the village who could have done it was Lucy’s grandmother. She was supposed to have been a sanguma.” “He was killed by an old woman?” “No! Not by an old woman; she had passed away several years before the rape occurred. It could only have been one other person.” “And who was that?” Mick asked growing impatient. “It is a rare skill traditionally passed on through the women’s line; from grandmother to granddaughter.” “Lucy killed him?” The two old carpenters nodded in unison. Mick didn’t reply. Finally the younger carpenter said, “After that the fat one became fat and her mind was never the same. Now she simply follows her sister and does her bidding. That’s how we know that Lucy is a masalai.” Mick slowly took up the oars and started to row again. The two old carpenters sat in silence and watched him with interest for a while and then averted their gaze to watch the boat as they hove to. It was only when Derek arrived with a jeep load of biscuits, tin meat and a
83 The Floating Island box of jingling bottles that their jollity fully returned.
As a kiap, or patrol officer, Derek knew very well that the natives were not allowed alcohol. However, he was, by necessity, a practical man, as were those others of his ilk, and he knew that as ship’s carpenters the two old men had ventured into many a tavern and grog shop in their travels through the South Sea islands. He also guessed that he could rely on their discretion and common sense. Therefore, tucked among the bottles of Revolver Beer, which he had scavenged for his own, Mick’s, Captain Tom’s and Suzy the Tonk’s benefit, was a bottle of Rhum Negrita earmarked for the old carpenters. When the jolly little party aboard the Jade arrived at Pari they were met by a group of decorated women in grass skirts and escorted to the village. A gaggle of children descended on the boat and helped carry the boxes of food and drink. Everyone gathered by the dobu, the four big carved posts topped by a speaking platform in the central square of the village. A short distance away stones were heating in a fire pit. While the women busied themselves cooking the yams, bananas and other vegetables the oldest carpenter made a speech of welcome and described how they had repaired the battered little boat that had survived the perilous trip through the Japanese lines. Lucy translated from Motu to English. Then it was the turn of the senior members of each village iduhu or clan to speak. Many of them were women. At the conclusion Derek spoke in reply. He was used to these things and his eloquence was acknowledged by a shy round of polite clapping. Then the food, the cooked vegetables and the tin meat and biscuits, were spread on banana leaves and everyone got down to the serious business of eating. It was not a particularly impressive repast but everyone seemed happy. Mick noticed that there were very few men in the village and that most of them were elderly. The fact that some of the speakers from the iduhus were women meant that all the adult men from those clans had been recruited for the war effort. The absence of the men also explained the ordinariness of the meal; in normal times he guessed there would have been fish and game on the menu. He hoped their party wasn’t using up valuable village food.
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When the meal was nearly over several big clay cooking pots of water were set to boil in the fire pit. Handfuls of tea leaf went into the bubbling brew along with copious amounts of sugar. A motley collection of tin mugs were produced for the use of the visitors and everyone else made do with coconut shells. The old men, and one or two elderly women, clustered around the two carpenters who were dispensing liberal dashes of rum into their steaming cups of tea. After the tea the visitors poured themselves beer. “These people are really doing it tough because of this war; the men are gone and they are short of food. I wish the world was back to what it was before this thing started,” Captain Tom ruminated over his tin mug of beer. He looked up at Derek and Mick. “This stuff is absolutely foul.” “It’s the best I could do,” Derek replied. “Like you said, times are tough.” “In that case I wish the world was what it was but that I could remember what it has become; we didn’t know how good we had it until all this stupidity started,” the Captain replied with a mournful sigh. As the afternoon wore on and it was time to go the visitors wandered back down to the beach. When they got there they discovered that the Jade had been decorated with palm fronds and flowers. As they pulled out past the houses on their stilts in the water the women on the shore began a haunting farewell song for the departing voyagers. Lucy translated. “It’s a song for the hiri trading voyages. They are saying the men are leaving on a long and dangerous voyage and they don’t know when they will return. They are sad to see them go and will be lonely while they are gone – they will be joyous when they return.”
Ba and the women trekked to the mountain, the dog ranging ahead on the narrow path. The women carried food from the gardens in their bilums. Ba had their sleeping mats and his bow and arrows slung over his shoulder. They lit a large fire outside the shelter in the saddle to warm themselves in the high mountain air. The firelight lit up the under canopies of the great trees that arched over the clearing creating a natural cathedral-like aura. The women were loath to go
85 The Floating Island beyond the firelight for fear of what might be lurking in the forest. “It is the ancestors,” Ba chuckled. “They might play tricks sometimes but they won’t hurt us.” “I can feel them,” Sakiata whispered and the girls nodded. “They are all around us.” “They know who we are and why we are here. Tomorrow I will show you where they live.”
Before he took them to the caves he led them along the narrow track down to the basalt platform. While they sat on the great black rock warming themselves in the morning sun he pointed to each of the islands and named them, as he had done for Mick, and told them the history of their occupation. “I am the last of the Tokwai from these islands. Once there were many of us. We lived in the forests and took our women from the villages on the coasts. Sometimes we took children and brought them up as our own. Now the villagers are gone too; taken in the big wooden ships or gone on their own to work for the white men on their plantations. I have been to the plantations and seen them but they did not even recognise me. There is only us and the spirits of our ancestors here now but the yellow men have come and I fear we will be gone soon too.”
As they walked back up to the saddle and began to climb to the caves Teone whispered to her mother. “Have you been here before?” Sakiata shook her head. “I have stopped to rest in the shelter on our way to the other side of the island many times but Ba never told me what he is telling us now.” “But he told Mick?” “I think so.” “Why?” “I don’t know, perhaps he will tell us.” “Mick?” “When he comes back?” “When he comes back,” Teone repeated and touched the small bamboo phial hanging around her neck. She glanced at Little Sister but her face was blank. They stood in rapt silence as Ba showed them the rows of bones
86 Recruited stacked in neat piles along the ledge at the back of the cave. Those at the back looked very fragile. They were stained a deep brown and had none of the gloss of those towards the front. An inadvertent knock would see them crumble. Some of the bones still had their bark wrappings. In contrast, the most recent ones were quite white and well-preserved. A few had been disturbed by bats and other nocturnal animals. As they moved along the shelf Ba stopped and placed his hand on a skull sitting on top of a bark bundle. A bow and a clutch of arrows lay alongside. A stone adze, its bamboo binding and wooden haft still intact, was propped on the other side. “My father.” He named others as uncles and aunts. Then he placed his hand on another skull. “My mother.” The women breathed the musty air and said nothing. Ba fingered the intricate weave of the bilum lying across the bundle on which the skull sat. He seemed lost in thought but then looked up and smiled. He pointed to another spot on the ledge but there was nothing there. The women watched him in the dim light. He brushed the dust into a neat little pile with his hand and then leaned over and blew it away. “Now you must go back to the shelter; I’m going to stay here for a while.” The women glanced at each other and slowly stepped out into the light. Ba stayed in the cave for three days and nights. He lit no fire and slept curled up in the dust on the floor. Sakiata brought him food and water and left it at the cave entrance. Once or twice she thought she heard voices in the cave, argumentative and truculent. On the fourth day she found him sitting outside the cave in the morning sun. “It is done,” he said. He was weak and had lost weight. His big ears sat out starkly from his head. Sakiata helped him down to the shelter in the saddle. He walked like a man with a weight on his shoulders. Before they began the trek back to the coast he took them to the basalt platform. It was a bright sunny day and they could see over the treetops all the way to the coast and out to sea. The islands that he had pointed out to them before were all gone. The sea swept uninterrupted to the horizon.
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6 MISSION
THE FIRST half dozen voyages in the revamped Jade were without major incident. By the time they were over Mick and his two companions had become accomplished sailors. Each time they went out, Derek provided them with a local guide who knew the particular part of the coast to which they were heading. These men were experienced seafarers in their own right and imparted their knowledge with good humoured magnanimity. One of the particular skills that Mick acquired was running the boat at night. On moonlit nights this wasn’t so difficult but when the moon was waning it became a different matter and they had to learn to sail by sound and feel, rather than sight. The ability to pick the sound of water passing over a reef in the near distance above the booming of the waves and the hushing of the wind became second nature to them, as did their ability to feel what was beneath them in the dark. “She’s starting to run short,” Col would say and Reg would chip in with, “I reckon we’ve only got a couple of fathoms under us now.” “I can feel it too,” Mick would reply. “Better get forward with a line; we’ll see trees soon; can’t pick any rocks or bars; I reckon we’ll be nudging the beach soon.” These skills had been particularly useful when they had run up the Mape River, near Finschhafen on the Huon Peninsula in the dead of night right under the noses of the Japanese to pick up a Lutheran missionary and two injured American airmen. The missionary was a tough little nut from Rooke Island, in Vitiaz
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Strait, who had been reporting Japanese ship movements by 3B teleradio and had picked up the Americans’ Mayday call. He had crossed the thirty five miles of the strait at night in an outrigger canoe and had walked inland from Sialum to where he thought the Americans had gone down. He found them in a village being looked after by local people but they were in a bad way and he needed help to get them out. He rigged up his radio, which he had lugged in with him with the help of carriers from the coast and called Moresby, all the while hoping the Japs wouldn’t hear him. They had turned his mission upside down twice already looking for the radio and he guessed the third time they picked up his signal would probably be the end for him. Mick and his crew had worked their way slowly upriver, sounding as they went and met the missionary at a designated rendezvous place just after sunrise. The medic who had accompanied them was an experienced European Medical Assistant from the pre-war administration and he quickly stabilised the two airmen. They ran out past the Japanese garrison that night and after dropping the missionary with his helpers and 3B teleradio off at Rooke in the early hours of the morning made a fast dawn run south. When they eventually sailed into Fairfax Harbour a few days later they were visibly frazzled. Captain Tom and Suzy had gone down to the wharf to meet them and stood by while the airmen were loaded into an ambulance and driven away. Suzy cooked them a big breakfast and shortly afterwards they went off to sleep. They met that evening at the Chinaman’s house for dinner and filled Derek in on the rescue. When he and the medic left Reg and Col stayed behind. They planned to walk over the hill to Suzy the Tonks for what they called a quick libation before heading back to their barracks. They invited Mick but he declined. Suzy greeted them at the door and tilting her head on one side eyed them up and down. They blinked at her with red eyes. “Might be one no pay tonight, fink,” she said and ushered them inside. After that they looked forward to their return from the voyages even more.
Captain Tom had quite a substantial library and he had carried it, bookcases and all, from the Paga Hill house to the Chinaman’s house. It was an eclectic collection garnered from bookshops and
89 The Floating Island dealers scattered throughout the Pacific and the Far East; a more mundane reader might have called it unusual, even obscure and in the case of a few volumes, perhaps obscene. For all that, there was still an element of the conventional and that was in the books by authors like Herman Melville, Jack London, Joseph Conrad and a pantheon of lesser writers. It was to this core that Mick was initially attracted. He was immersed in Melville’s Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life when he heard a knock on his bedroom door one evening. When he opened the door Suzy and Lucy were standing there. Between them stood a light skinned and diminutive girl he didn’t recognise. Lucy’s sister was hovering in the background. Before Mick could ask what they wanted they were all in the room. He put a bookmark into the Melville volume and tossed it on the bed. “This one him called Gwarume, very good, clean, you like him, might be, fink!” Suzy said. “Umm, I’m not really interested at the moment,” Mick replied. He shrugged. This was the young man who had relentlessly pursued nubile young girls around the copra plantation on New Britain sewing wild oats and anything else he could get away with in gay abandon less than a year ago. “It’s a good one; you no pay,” Suzy said signalling to the girl, who quickly pulled her shift over her head and handed it to a bemused Lucy. Suzy was an astute authority on male desires and their various needs, particularly young males, but Mick’s absence from the Paga Hill premises with Reg and Col had been puzzling her for some time. She watched Mick closely as the naked girl stepped forward. He smiled down at her. “Hah!” Suzy exclaimed. “We go now, fink.” She turned around and ushered Lucy and her sister through the doorway and closed it behind them. Mick didn’t know what to say for a moment or two and the girl simply waited. Finally he said, “Gwarume; doesn’t that mean fish in Motu?” The girl smiled. “Kununa gwarume; I’ve got a fish on my bum.” “A fish on your bum?” The girl turned around and pushed her bottom towards him. Sure enough, there was a fish on her bum. Mick could clearly see the tail, dorsal fin and round eye on the large birthmark. The girl pushed her
90 Mission bottom further towards him until they touched. He put one hand on her shoulder and the other became entwined in her long black hair. She wiggled her bottom and he pulled away. He gave her a gentle push forward and stepped away. “Come and sit on the bed Fishbum,” he said, “I want to tell you a story about an island. Then you can tell me what you think.” Later, as the girl slept in his bed, he took the book outside onto the veranda and lit a candle so that he could read. When he grew tired he stared at the moon for a while. He was asleep in the chair when the first light of day filtered over the hills behind Kaugere. He opened the bedroom door and retrieved the girl’s shift from the doorknob where Lucy had left it. He handed it to her and she slipped it over her head. He kissed her lightly on the forehead as she was leaving and said, “You mustn’t tell anyone our secret.” The girl nodded solemnly and padded off down the hallway and out onto the dewy grass.
While Mick was working his way through Captain Tom’s library the Japanese were closing in on Jock Chisholm on the south coast of New Britain. Jock was not a young man but he was very canny and had a vast bush experience from his many years as a kiap. Added to this was the fact that he had with him several of his loyal pre-war police; they had all signed up for the Pacific Islands Regiment at the same time. Together, they were staying one step ahead of the Japanese by frequently moving their camp. This was no mean feat. Each time they moved they had to carry their teleradio with them. Jock had the latest version made by AWA called the 3BZ. This was composed of several different units, each housed in separate steel cases. The receiver, transmitter and microphone and speaker cases were the biggest items but there were also 12 volt batteries and a petrol driven generator. All up they weighed well over two hundred pounds and it took several men to carry them. Lugging this much baggage through the jungle with the Japs hot on his trail was not easy. To make matters worse the Japs had started to execute people in the villages in an attempt to force them to inform on Jock’s whereabouts. He knew this because he had come across some of the bodies. On one village beach there had been four of them, two men, a woman and a teenage boy. The corpses were
91 The Floating Island arranged beneath stakes upon which the heads had been impaled. The Japs had told the villagers that the bodies and heads had to remain where they were until Jock and his band had been captured or killed. The sight of the bodies made Jock very sad and extremely angry. He had dedicated much of his life to the welfare of these people and now they were dying to protect him. His police, on the other hand, were largely indifferent to the plight of the villagers. They were hard men, sometimes recruited from the murderers, rapists and cannibals that Jock had locked up in his gaol over the years. Many kiaps found that these brutal men, once afforded the rudiments of education, made excellent policemen. Jock had begun to really hate the Japanese and he decided to unleash his ragtag army of policemen on them. The coastwatchers’ strategy of avoiding contact with the enemy at all costs was abandoned in favour of guerrilla warfare. Swift hit-and-run raids on Japanese bases and patrols whenever a villager was executed became Jock’s new modus operandi. His policemen revelled in the new tactic. They could run rings around the Japs in the jungle. On one memorable occasion Jock’s sergeant single-handedly took out seven Japanese members of a patrol armed only with a bush knife. Not only that but he captured two of them. They were shackled and naked in a hut in their current camp. They were only teenagers and Jock didn’t really want to know what was happening to them at night when he heard their yelps from the hut. He just hoped that the policemen would soon tire of their games and shoot the pair. The terrified Japanese, always wary of venturing off the tracks and into the jungle, cut back significantly on their patrols but increased the executions of the villagers. As the number of corpses lined up on the beaches increased the village headmen finally cracked and led the Japs to Jock’s camp. Before doing so, however, they sent an emissary ahead to warn the old kiap. Jock had less than an hour to make himself scarce. He nearly made it too. When the Japanese soldiers broke into his camp firing wildly with their rifles he was several hundred metres away up a steep jungle slope watching their antics. He knew they wouldn’t be game to follow him through the bush. Then the unthinkable happened. His covering policemen began engaging with the enemy. By the time he
92 Mission had called them off a lot of firepower was coming in his direction. When he topped the ridge leaves and lumps of bark were zinging around him in all directions. One of these wild rounds slammed into his back.
Derek came to the Chinaman’s house looking for Mick. He found him sitting in a deck chair on the veranda reading. Fishbum was sitting cross-legged on the floor listening to him. She had dispensed with her shift and was wearing a grass skirt. She was leaning forward to hear better and her long black curls hung down between her small breasts. A line of tattoos, quite different to the boxy Motuan designs, ran from her chin to her navel and reappeared on her exposed thighs. “That’s T.S. Eliot if I’m not mistaken,” Derek said. “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock.” “You have a very attentive audience.” “This is Gwarume.” The girl turned and looked up at Derek and smiled. Derek looked at Mick with slightly raised eyebrows. “It’s a very long story. Suzy seems to think I need some female, um, company - you know what I mean.” “I see.” “We’re playing along with it; Suzy sends her over and I read to her for an hour or so; that’s as far as it goes.” “And she likes T.S. Eliot?” “My uncle recommended it. She probably understands as much of it as I do; it’s a strange poem, sad but funny in its own way.” “Wait until you try The Waste Land.” “I didn’t take you for a literary type.” “Occupational hazard of living on remote patrol posts,” Derek replied with a wry smile. “I guess so. I read a lot of westerns and detective novels on the plantation; this stuff is a lot more interesting.” “I’ve got another job for you and the Jade.” “I guessed as much.” “One of my old district officers, Jock Chisholm, has got himself in a spot of bother on New Britain; we need to get him out as soon as possible. You know the area and stand a better chance than anyone.” “We’re just about ready, just need to stock up on fresh food and water; we can be away by midday tomorrow.”
93 The Floating Island
“Perfect; you’ll need to take the medic; Jock’s in a bad way.” “I’ll see you in the morning then?” “You’d better get back to your poetry; the young lady here is looking anxious. Derek winked at Fishbum and she put her hand over her mouth and giggled. He noticed that she was tattooed under her arms too.
When Derek arrived the next morning Mick was sitting on the deck of the Jade pouring over charts. He had beside him the battered boat’s log book. Derek peered over his shoulder. “When I escaped from the plantation I washed up on a small island just off the Trobriands. When I left I wrote down my compass bearings as I headed south. If we have to make a run for cover on the way back it would be a handy place to head for; you can’t get into the lagoon on the south side easily but there’s a safe anchorage on the other side.” “Is it on the chart?” “That’s the funny thing; I can’t pick it up at all.” “Oh well; those charts aren’t the best anyway.” “Still, if we have time, I’ll see if I can find it. Captain Tom has been giving me lessons on how to use a sextant; he’s lent me one along with a good chronometer.” “You don’t want to be mucking around too much, especially if Jock’s in a bad way.” “I realise that but it could be handy to know where it is; no doubt I’ll need to take Jock’s replacement back up there.” “Okay; it all really depends on Jock’s condition. If he is stable we want you to run his police and the teleradio down along the coast a bit further out of the way of the Jap garrison. That’s where you’ll drop off his replacement later on. We haven’t got anyone available at the moment but we’ve got a bloke coming up from south in a couple of weeks. It’s getting pretty busy up there; the Japs are digging in at Gona and Buna now they’re on the back foot and they’re running more boats and planes back and forth to Rabaul. That’s made it a bit more dangerous but we need someone up there to monitor and report on their movements.” “I’ll get Jock back as quick as I can.” “I’ve made arrangements for you to drop him off at Milne Bay; now that’s secure he can be flown back from there. They’re building
94 Mission up for a big push and it’s very busy with thousands of troops. You’ll be safe once you get to the base.” “I think we’re just about ready; here comes Reg and Col with the medic and the last of the supplies.” “Okay; good luck and look after old Jock; he’s an irascible bastard but I’d hate to see him lost.” Derek stood up and walked across the boarding plank as the Blitz truck pulled up. He looked up at Reg in the driver’s seat and said something to him that made him laugh before turning and giving Mick a thumbs-up sign. Mick watched him walking back across the causeway for a few moments and then came ashore to help Reg and Col carry the supplies aboard.
The boat was sitting in the quiet estuary just to the south west of the village. A dozen or more dugout canoes were pulled up on the muddy beach. They had mounted the Lewis gun on its stand and Mick was sitting with his back against it in the early morning sunshine. Col was on the bank with several children and a couple of old men. He was laughing and talking to them but he kept his rifle slung over his shoulder and every so often cast a wary eye towards the track leading off to the village. Reg and the medic had gone in the pre- dawn light with the sergeant who had met them to collect Jock from his nearby hideout. They had crept into the estuary in the late afternoon of the previous day after working their way cautiously up the coast. Mick was not entirely confident of his navigational skills and it was not until he was scanning the shoreline and the village with his binoculars that he confirmed they were in the right place. The co-ordinates that Jock had given them over the radio were at best an estimate but the bodies on the beach could not be mistaken. They were laid out in a neat line and the stakes with the heads on them sat back an even distance from each body. All of the bodies, except the last one, were severely bloated and it was difficult to tell whether they were male or female. The last body, however, was clearly recognisable as that of a young woman. The torso was entirely naked and the legs were parted in an obscene manner and when Mick looked closer he was horrified to see
95 The Floating Island the corpse of a small child clinging to the woman’s side. They were several hundred yards off shore but he thought he could detect the rank odour of putrefaction on the wind. He gagged and quickly handed the binoculars to Reg. He was thinking about the bodies and the child while they waited in the early morning light. What manner of men could perpetuate such barbaric acts he wondered? The same men who could rape and kill a ten year old girl and her mother in front of their father before beheading him too he guessed. He had been appalled when Reg and Col had casually shot the two Japanese soldiers in the sea off Milne Bay but now he wondered whether he might do the same thing. He glanced at the Lewis gun. Perhaps if the Japs found out about the boat and came charging through the jungle he might find out. The other thing that he could not understand was why the villagers had not simply led the Japanese to Jock or why they had not fled into the mountains. From talking to the coastwatchers that he had taken supplies to he learnt that the Japanese soldiers had developed a great reluctance to venture too far into the jungle. They would only do that, the coastwatchers said, if they had a large body of men. They had discovered very early in the war that small patrols in the jungle were easy pickings for the Australian-led guerrilla groups operating behind enemy lines. Even if they felt some sort of loyalty to Jock by fleeing into the mountains the villagers would be safe; so why hadn’t they done it he wondered? The other thing that was bothering him had to do with the island where his Tokwai friends lived. He had crossed Ward Hunt Strait and then worked his way slowly up the west coast of Goodenough Island until they were off the point where he had picked up Reg, Col and Peter Egan. From there he had tracked back to the point where he had reached the northern shore and then set out on a back bearing. Although he didn’t know its exact location and distance away he figured that if he sat on the back bearing they would eventually come across the island. They were well out into the Solomon Sea before he conceded that they had missed the small group of islands. It had taken him four days to sail from the island to Goodenough and he reasoned that back tracking for the same amount of time would put him in sight of the islands. He had scanned the horizon
96 Mission with his binoculars for hours at a time but nothing remotely resembling the two distinctive peaks of the island could be seen There were aircraft flying high overhead; too high to tell whether they were friend or foe. He wondered whether they could see the small boat. The presence of the aircraft was making Reg and Col nervous, although the medic, an older man called Gerry Schindler, who had been in New Guinea since the early 1920s, seemed unperturbed. “Where are these bloody islands we’re supposed to be hiding behind?” Reg had asked. “We’re sitting ducks out here Mick.” Mick had shrugged and scratched his head. “I’ve miscalculated somewhere.” “I reckon we should make tracks old son,” Col said looking at Mick doubtfully. Mick nodded and after calculating their position set a course that would see them come onto the coast of New Britain roughly where the village was located. He was contemplating these things when the chatter of the children on shore suddenly ceased. He glanced up. Col had his rifle in his hands cocked and at the ready and was intently watching the village track from behind a coconut palm. Mick quickly stood up and got behind the Lewis gun. Col turned around and looked back at him. “They’re coming,” he shouted softly, “and they’ve got a stretcher with them.” Jock was sitting up on one elbow on the stretcher and waved as they approached. He was being carried by the two Japanese captives. They were naked, badly sunburnt and hollow-eyed. Behind them came Jock’s police carrying the teleradio. The medic and sergeant brought up the rear. Mick was watching the two wretched captives when he noticed that the old men and children from the village had disappeared. He shook hands with Jock and returned the sergeant’s salute. “This is going to be a tight fit,” he said to no one in particular. Apart from Jock and the sergeant there were six other policemen and the two captives to fit on the boat. “They’re not coming with us,” Jock said, pointing to the captives, who were standing on the shore with one of the policemen. “My sources tell me their mates are on the way, be here in about an hour or so; someone from the village went and reported the arrival of your
97 The Floating Island boat.” “We’d better get going then,” Mick replied. “Okay, just about ready,” Jock said. He had been propped up on a mattress on the forward hatch cover. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand towards the sergeant. The sergeant grinned and signalled to the other policemen. Two of them took hold of one of the captives and dragged him towards a coconut palm. They each grabbed an arm and splayed the man’s hands on the trunk of the tree. The sergeant took two quick swings with his bush knife and the man’s fingers fell onto the sand. He then grabbed the man’s penis and sliced it off before slashing the man’s stomach open. The man stood still in shock with the stubs of his hands trying to hold in his entrails. The other captive attempted to run but he was grabbed and subjected to the same treatment. He screamed and struggled to no avail. The sand around the base of the palm tree was red with blood. The men’s severed fingers lay in a pile covered by the blood. The policemen prodded both men hard in the back with their bayonets and sent them stumbling along the track towards the village. “Now we’d really better get going,” Jock grinned as the sergeant and policemen climbed back aboard the boat.
Mick felt numb as he maneuvered the boat out of the estuary and set the sails for the run down the coast. The policemen, in their Pacific Islands Regiment uniform of webbing belts and short laplaps were on the alert with their rifles and Owen guns trained on the shore. Mick doggedly stared ahead as they made their way down the coast. They heard gunfire and then there was smoke. “Ol haus i pairap,” the sergeant said and Mick glanced back and saw a thick plume of black and orange smoke rising from the village. “Japani ikam pinis,” the sergeant added and Mick turned his face back to the sea.
By the time they dropped the sergeant and his policemen off with the teleradio Mick’s horror and anger at the treatment of the Japanese captives and the bloated bodies on the beach had dissolved into a deep and foreboding sadness. Despite having a bullet lodged in his back, which had rendered his legs useless, Jock was a cheerful and affable character. Perhaps it was
98 Mission the morphine that Gerry Schindler had pumped into him. He told Mick that it was easy to slip into the dehumanised state of mind demanded of war. The old district officer didn’t seem to be making excuses for himself, merely stating a fact. “Try spending three months with brother Nip constantly on your tail in the jungle. That would turn even Sister Mary into a homicidal maniac, let alone your normal old bastard like me.” Mick asked him why the villagers had not fled into the mountains or turned him in to the Japanese. “On the first count, Jock said, “they are shit scared of the Mokolkol. “Who, or what are the Mokolkol?” Mick asked. “They’re Bainings who escaped from the Tolai when they came across from New Ireland and into the Gazelle Peninsula a couple of hundred years ago. The Tolai killed or ate the rest of them, or used them as slaves. They hid up in the mountains and neither the Germans nor Australians ever contacted them. They are very good at looking after themselves. They attack and then disappear back into the jungle. They are regarded as devils from another world. “The only weapon they use is a long-handled obsidian axe. Those razor sharp blades and the way they can sneak up on people without a sound scares the living Christ out of the people living for hundreds of miles along the coast.” “I don’t blame people for keeping out of the mountains then,” Mick said. “On the second count, a couple of the village headmen tried to inform on us once or twice. When we got wind of it we strung them up. The sight of the village luluai and tultul dangling in the breeze from a coconut tree made them think twice about dobbing us in to the Nips.” “But what about the Nips beheading people on the beach?” “That put them into a real bind,” Jock chuckled. “They knew if they dobbed us in we’d string them up but if they didn’t the Nips would lop off more heads.” “The poor bastards!” “Exactly; that’s why it was time for us to leave. If I hadn’t copped one in the back we would have been out of there long ago.” “Where do you reckon they’ll go now?” “Into the mountains to take their chances with the Mokolkol. We
99 The Floating Island gave them a couple of rifles and some ammo. Hopefully that will be enough to keep the Mokolkol away from them.” “This is a bad war,” Mick said. “Tell me about it,” Jock replied. “Getting out of it in one piece is the easy part; how I’m going to live with myself afterwards is the hard part.” “We’ve got to get you to Milne Bay and safe yet. The Japs know we’re here now and they’ll have a patrol boat out and maybe a plane looking for us. It’s going to be an interesting run south.” “Just don’t tip this tub over; if I have to swim for it I’m gone.” “I’ll try my best,” Mick replied.
They hove-to in the mouth of a small river. A short while later several canoes appeared from upstream and the policemen transferred the teleradio and their personal gear into them. The village was a few miles upstream and it took several trips to get everything transferred. The sergeant shook hands with everyone and saluted Jock and Mick before departing in the last canoe. “There are no roads into this place and it’s a long way from any Japs,” Jock said. “They’re going to walk in from the village a bit further and should be pretty safe until someone gets here to take over from me. The hills up the back where they are going give a good view too. We should have been here from the start instead of sitting on top of a Jap garrison; I don’t know what those silly bastards in Moresby were thinking about on that one. We’re supposed to report on the Japs; not fight them.” Mick shrugged. He had taken a fix on the river mouth and was scribbling notes into his log book. “There seems to be a lot of chiefs, who don’t talk to each other, compared to the number of Indians in Port Moresby,” Reg added helpfully. “Always has been,” Jock replied with a shake of his head.
They waited until dark before heading out to sea. Mick intended to get as far away from the coast as possible before daylight. The morning found them well out in the Solomon Sea with no land visible in any direction. Mick had been up all night and was bleary-eyed when the sun finally broke over the horizon. Jock had moved his mattress aft and had dozed fitfully. The medic
100 Mission had come on deck and given him a shot of morphine about midnight. He also checked his wound and took his temperature. The old man was feverish and seemed happier in the cool night air than below in the stuffy confines of the cabin. The medic was treating him with sulpha drugs but was hopeful of getting hold of a new drug called penicillin that the Americans were trialling on their wounded at Milne Bay. About two in the morning, when Mick was having trouble staying awake, Reg came on deck and took over the wheel. Mick sat up in the cockpit with a blanket wrapped around him and dozed. He woke up when the sky started to grow light. Jock was also awake and had been talking to Reg. Mick stretched and checked their bearing and calculated the time they had been travelling and their rate of knots. He then used the sextant and chronometer to fix their position and relayed it to Port Moresby on the radio. He tapped the message out as quickly as possible, just giving his call-sign and their position. He knew that his signal would be monitored by both Moresby and possible by the Japanese. He hoped the Japs at Buna or Gona hadn’t picked him up. They were still making good time in the late afternoon when they heard the distinctive drone of an aeroplane in the distance. A short while later a small biplane passed overhead. It had no markings but when it swung back and came in low over the boat they could see the Japanese pilot. They waved innocently and the pilot waved back. Col had scrambled for the Lewis gun and had got it uncovered by then and opened up on the departing aircraft but the pilot dipped and turned several times and droned off unscathed into the distance. “He’ll be back with his friends first thing in the morning,” Jock said. “It’s the same little bastard that patrols up and down the coast out of Rabaul. This is going to be a close run thing I reckon.” “There’s a small group of islands around here somewhere,” Mick said, “I landed on one of them a few months ago. If we’re lucky we’ll make them and can hide out for a while.” Jock looked at him for a moment and then said, “Oh yeah, I don’t recollect anything out here and I’ve been patrolling around here, off and on, for the last twenty years. Show me the chart where you reckon they might be.” Mick ducked into the cockpit and retrieved the chart. “There’s a high island with a couple of distinctive peaks as well as a couple of
101 The Floating Island flatter atolls and a smaller island with a mountain on it. They are called Tano, that’s the island I was on, Kosia is the other one with a peak and Anu is the biggest atoll; the other small islands are Poi, Tisin, Kas, Owa and Sia. They’re not on the chart but I reckon they’re about here,” he said pointing to a spot on the map. Jock scratched his head. “I’ve been through here a dozen times or more,” He said, “but I’ve never come across any islands. Were there people on them?” “Just one family on Tano. The other islands had villages on them but they are now deserted. I tried to find the islands on the way up, figured they would come in handy if we had to hide but I must have got my calculations wrong and we missed them. I’ve been following my original bearing down so we might be lucky this time.” Jock looked doubtful. “I guess there are probably plenty of unchartered islands out here, they must have slipped through the net. Anyhow, that Nip in the plane would have taken note of our course and he’ll follow it tomorrow in the hope of catching up with us. The sensible thing would be to zigzag on several different bearings to make it harder for him to find us. We can still cut back across to your islands but it will take a tad longer.” “I’ll plot a course.” “And hope to hell they don’t find us in the meantime,” Jock added.
Mick was driving the Jade hard into the wind the next morning. The poor little boat was groaning and creaking as she smacked head- on into the waves. Col was at the Lewis gun with a stack of spare ammunition drums beside him. The others had rifles at the ready. Both Reg and Col were wearing helmets. Mick had taken them well to the west, running fast with the wind, and now they were tracking south east towards Kiriwina. If they missed Tano they would make Simlindon or the Simsim Islands and could shelter there. If worst came to worst they could run across to Kiriwina and get lost in the bays and islands there. Kiriwina had been evacuated but there were no Japs there as far as anyone knew. He had relayed their position to Port Moresby at first light and now it was make-or-break. Jock was not looking good. Whether it was the battering they were taking, driving into the south east trade wind, or his condition in
102 Mission general, it was hard to tell. Gerry Schindler had strapped him into a life jacket and given him his revolver. He had also given him another dose of sulpha and morphine. Mick had warmed to the brusque old man, despite his treatment of the Japanese captives, and felt guilty about the jarring he was receiving. “Better a bit of pain than Davy Jone’s locker,” Jock said through gritted teeth. “Land ho!” Reg shouted, pointing towards the horizon. Mick swung his binoculars around. It was a low atoll and the tops of the coconut palms were visible. Jock grinned and gave Mick a thumbs-up sign. “Don’t count your chickens just yet,” Col shouted. “We’ve got company, three o’clock and coming in low, two of the bastards!” “Aw shit!” Jock muttered as Col swung the Lewis gun around. He trained the sights on the first of the approaching aircraft, his finger slowly increasing the pressure on the trigger. None of them expected to survive an air attack. Mick was watching the aircraft through his binoculars. The twin engines puzzled him. Suddenly he swung around and, waving his arms frantically, yelled at Col. “Hold off Col; their ours mate!” “Where the hell did they come from?” Reg said. “I didn’t hear a thing.” “They call them ‘whispering death’: slow but dead quiet those ones,” Col explained. The first of the Beaufighters screamed overhead, followed closely by the other on the starboard side. They both banked and waggled their wings. “Thank Christ for that,” Jock said and the others cheered.
Ba slowly regained his stamina but he looked like a very old man. He was stooped and spent many hours simply sitting in the sun with the dog in the clearing in front of their new house. He occasionally ventured to the beach to stare at the reef and the sea beyond. He only fished from his canoe occasionally, leaving it mostly to Teone and Little Sister. His bow and arrows were left in a cleft in the ceiling of the house and he no longer went into the forest to hunt. When he helped in the garden he quickly became tired and slept late the next day. Despite all this he seemed content and happy and told his wife
103 The Floating Island and daughters so when they queried him. If Sakiata was worried about Ba’s seemingly rapid decline into old age she said little. She had knowingly entered into marriage with the little Tokwai when he came to her island offering her father an attractive bride price. She knew then that he was not entirely human and had strange powers but this had attracted rather than deterred her. When she thought about it at all she had enjoyed their happy and mysterious life together on the isolated island. Her only regret was that she had not been able to provide him with a son, something she later realised meant a lot to him. It was, therefore, with some elation that she greeted Teone’s advice that she thought she was pregnant. “How can that be so?” she gently chided. “Didn’t you use the tisia leaf as I showed you?” When Teone looked guiltily away she smiled. “We must tell Ba. How sure are you?” “I am sure.” There were tears in the girl’s eyes. “Mick will return; you are not to worry,” Sakiata said gently. “How can he return if he cannot find the island? Ba has made it float away.” “If he did that he can make it float back. He is waiting until the danger is over, that’s all.”
Little Sister was more subdued when Teone told her the news but she hugged her sister warmly. Since the incident with the Japanese she had become contemplative and spent more time on her own, often simply staring across the lagoon. The scruffy dog had sensed her mood and followed her everywhere. It was only in the night that the girl sort her sister’s company, creeping onto her sleeping mat and curling up close to her. Ba’s reaction was much more dramatic. He leapt to his feet and performed a jig in the sand. His excitement was contagious and the dog began barking. Teone was totally bemused and then amazed when he took Sakiata and Little Sister’s hands and pulled them onto the sand with him. Sakiata hoped the child would be a boy.
104
7 SOJOURN
“I GOTTA putem dem norrible bookilibooks beds,” Suzy said, getting up and walking down to the garden. “What did she say?” Mick asked with a puzzled look on his face. Captain Tom smiled. They were sitting on the veranda of the Chinaman’s house in the evening a few days after Mick had returned from rescuing Jock. “She has to put her chooks to bed. She’s got half a dozen hens up the back; you know, ‘book-book’, the noise they make; she reckons they’re horrible because they dig her flowerbeds up and leave shit on the paths but she really loves them and doesn’t want anyone stealing them in the night or the stray dogs eating them. I’d better go help her; she’s likely to go arse-over-tit in the dark. You talk to Lucy and I’ll be back and we can have another dram and you can tell me a bit more about that old bastard Jock and his bloodthirsty cops.” Mick watched his uncle follow Suzy around the back of the house, his pipe glowing in the dark. He turned to Lucy and her sister and smiled. Neither of them smiled back. She’s waiting he thought. Okay, here we go, I can’t keep this to myself much longer. “Tell me about the Tokwai Lucy. Who are they? I need to know.” “The Tokwai from your island?” Now she smiled, a soft gentle smile. He had never seen her do that before. She suddenly seemed much more attractive. He almost told her that she should do it more often. “Fishbum told you about the island?” “Yes; Gwarume is sad for you; she asked me how to help you.”
105 The Floating Island
“I tried to find the island but it’s gone; I looked but it’s not there anymore; the other islands are gone too. I don’t understand what happened to them; it’s incredibly strange. How can a whole chain of islands simply vanish? Was it all a dream after all?” “And your Teone and Little Sister are gone too?” “Yes!” Mick replied softly. Lucy looked at him for some moments. She was deciding something he thought. Captain Tom and Suzy had come back and were also watching her. “I will tell you what I know,” she said finally. Mick nodded. “As you all know, my people are seafarers. Our old men and women tell us that we originally came from the islands to the west, the East Indies; maybe Manilla or Tonkin way, where Suzy comes from, who knows? It was a very long time ago. They say some of our canoes went further east but that others, my ancestors, followed the coast around and settled in different places and made friends with the local people, like the Koita here. We traded with them and we traded with other people along the coast but we always stayed by the sea or in the islands. “They say the Tokwai came with us; we couldn’t see them but they were in the canoes. Where we settled, they settled too. The elders say the Tokwai came from islands where everything is small, the pigs are small, the crocodiles are small, there were other strange creatures on their islands too. When they saw our canoes they crept on board; they hid in the dark places in the hulls and they slept in the sails and the rigging; they ate the wind and they drank from the moon and the stars at night. “They say that because we had the Tokwai with us we were safe. Through all the storms and the hunger and thirst they kept us safe and when we arrived they caste spells over the fierce tribes on the coast so that they would accept us as brothers and sisters, as friends and not enemies. “The Tokwai like to play games with us and sometimes they steal our children, sometimes they punish us if we do wrong and sometimes they make love to our women folk, sometimes their young girls seduce our young men, just as you were seduced. That is what the Tokwai do.” Lucy paused and looked at Mick to see if he had followed her.
106 Sojourn
She was used to white men laughing at the village legends but he seemed to have accepted what she had said. She continued. “The Tokwai deal with reality in a different way to us. We have to accept the world as it is and suffer its realities, we can’t do anything about it. The Tokwai can change things. They are much more powerful than our best sorcerers.” “You think they’ve done something to the islands?” “I don’t know; it’s possible.” “Because of the war?” “Perhaps, it must have frightened them very much, so much evil.” “And they’ve made their islands disappear?” “The islands are still there; it’s just that they can’t be seen.” “Old Jock, the kiap we rescued from New Britain, says he never knew of any islands out there in that part of the Solomon Sea and he’s been sailing from the Sepik to Bougainville for over thirty years.” “Perhaps the Tokwai changed the islands a long time ago, when they saw the first white men coming, maybe it’s not the war.” “But I saw the islands, I lived on one of them, I spoke to the Tokwai, I made love to their daughters!” “I think only because they allowed you.” “Because they had no young men of their own left?” “That may be so.” “Alright, if they can shift reality around and make things invisible what about the Japanese patrol boat? They could clearly see the island and they landed on the north side and wrecked Ba’s garden and hut.” “I cannot explain that, as I said the Tokwai are more powerful than our sorcerers.” “The Japs came because I was there, I’m sure that’s what happened.” “What I mean is they were able to see the island because you were there. White men are different, when they come things change, the old ways change forever, even the Tokwai cannot compete with the white man’s magic. By letting you on the island they have lost their power; only a very strong Tokwai could reverse the impact of the white men.” “You mean the Tokwai’s reality may not work anymore because I came to the island?” “It is possible.” “I think Ba is a very strong Tokwai, if anyone can reverse the
107 The Floating Island impact of me coming it will be him, but why should he do that if he wanted me there in the first place?” “I don’t know.” “And what about Sakiata? She isn’t a Tokwai.” “She has become a Tokwai; just like the village children they steal become Tokwai.” “Do you think that’s what they had planned for me?” “Yes.” “To give them children?” “Yes.” “So you think they were just using me?” “I don’t know; what do you think?” “I don’t know either; I’m confused. Why have they cut me off from the island now?” “I can understand how you feel but you must consider their point of view. If they allow you back to the island the Japanese might find them too. It is a very difficult situation for them. This war could be the end of them.” “The war is turning. We have Milne Bay now; soon we’ll have Buna and Gona and control of the Solomon Sea. The Japs won’t be able to come as far south as the island again.” “They don’t know that.” “Do you think that if the Japs are driven away they will let me back on the island?” “It’s possible; I don’t know.” “I need to go back to the island Lucy.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know,” she replied. “This war is a terrible thing. When I left the island I thought it was my duty to fight against the cruelty of the Japanese. I saw what they did to the innocent family on the plantation and I was afraid that could happen to my people in Australia if they weren’t stopped. I was duty bound to oppose them. But now I have seen our own people behaving in the same barbaric way; ship-wrecked sailors arbitrarily shot, innocent villagers allowed to be killed to protect a radio transmitter, prisoners mutilated and left to die in agony. Perhaps not on the same scale as the Japanese but just as cruel; war turns good men into monsters. I don’t understand any of it but I can understand the Tokwai wanting to keep away from it all. I think I want to be away
108 Sojourn from it all too Lucy. I think I want to be on that island.”
The Jade had been pulled out of the water again. This time to have a motor fitted. Derek’s senior officers had been impressed by the success that Mick and his crew had had in getting into and out of tight and sticky places. The addition of a motor was designed to increase their reach inland via the river systems and also to add a modicum of reliability and safety to their expeditions. Mick was pleased by the endorsement from the higher ranks but was not sure how he felt about the obvious prospect of missions that were likely to be even more dangerous. He believed they had been lucky so far and, sooner or later, would get into trouble. As he had told Lucy, he had changed his opinion about the war and was wondering about his part in it. His mechanical knowledge was limited to tinkering with the few ancient engines used on the plantation; kerosene powered generators and an ancient, cut-down Model T Ford doing service as a poor man’s tractor. The two old carpenters had been brought up from Pari village and they assured him that they knew everything there was to know about fitting boat motors. That the motor had been salvaged from a bombed Blitz truck didn’t faze them in the slightest. Reg, who had some pre-war experience as a cab driver in Sydney, was on hand to offer expert advice. Col, who could take down a rifle and reassemble it in his sleep took to the mechanics like a duck to water. Both Mick and his crew welcomed the respite from active duty. They were not required to report to anyone except Derek and he was very casual about how they spent their time. For Mick fitting the motor was a useful experience and he helped where he could but otherwise just watched the old carpenters and Col at work with occasional assistance from Reg. He also spent time in the workshop at the old Steamship’s slip learning how to weld from an amiable old Warrant Officer charged with fashioning a drive shaft and propeller for the little boat. Apart from that he spent time yarning with Captain Tom, trying to fathom Suzy’s fractured English and reading to Fishbum and, occasionally, Lucy and her taciturn sister. The Japanese bombing raids had tapered right off and they had been finally drawn out and turned back on the road to Kokoda; making life in Port Moresby a
109 The Floating Island lot more settled and pleasant.
One of the American pilots who visited Suzy the Tonk on Paga Hill discovered that Captain Tom was a bibliophile and brought him books that he thought might interest him. The young pilot was an aspiring writer and spent many hours discussing literature with Mick’s uncle. The old man realised, as did Suzy, that many of the soldiers who visited the girls were seeking company as much as they were interested in physical encounters. The young pilot came from a relatively wealthy family and was well educated. The sort of books that he brought were not the usual westerns and detective novels that most of the soldiers read. They were also books that were not readily available in Australia. Britain had always had a monopoly on books sold in Australia and the rest of the empire but with the wartime restrictions on materials its publishing industry had ground to a halt. This was not the case in America and the pilot received a regular supply of the newest titles sent by his parents. Among them was the recently published Hemingway novel, For Whom the Bell Tolls, about the civil war in Spain. Captain Tom had been very impressed with the book and asked whether he could lend it to his nephew. The pilot had waved his hand and said, “Keep it; I can always get another copy!” Mick had settled down with the book after a long day in which they had lowered and fixed the motor in the Jade. He was still reading by candle light in the early hours of the morning. Fishbum was curled up on a chair opposite him. She had developed an inordinate interest in the books that Mick read to her and while she was fascinated by Hemingway’s Pilar, the strong woman among so many men, and Maria, who had been gang raped and fell in love with the explosives expert, Robert Jordan, she had finally succumbed to sleep. Mick finally closed the book and set it down on the table. He sat thinking about it. He knew what Hemingway was saying but he wasn’t sure whether this present war was in any way similar to the one in Spain. Hemingway was suggesting that some causes, like fighting fascism, were worth dying for; he was also suggesting that the nexus between bravery and cowardice was very narrow. Mick decided that he would have to talk to his uncle about it. He looked across at the young girl curled up on the chair and
110 Sojourn smiled to himself. She was, he had decided, as much an enigma as Hemingway’s book. He had learned that she was an orphan picked up by the Motu traders during a Hiri expedition to the Gulf and had been subsequently traded around Port Moresby as a servant by various Europeans before the war broke out. Somewhere and somehow she had not only picked up English but had also learned to read and write. She had gravitated to the house on Paga Hill after being abandoned, along with all the other household goods, when the European family she had worked for had been evacuated. Suzy, to her credit, had put her to work cleaning and washing. While she was worldly in the ways of men she had no real inclination to work in the brothel and when Suzy had suggested she could keep Captain Tom’s nephew company she had readily acquiesced. Mick had planned to deliver her back to Paga Hill as soon as it was possible to do so without offending Suzy but he had discovered a side to the girl which he initially found disconcerting and then began to appreciate. This orphan, kidnapped from a primitive inland village behind Orokolo Bay, could hold her own in any discussion about literature. He was thinking about this when he gently picked her up and carried her to his bed. She blinked sleepily and mumbled something when he pulled the sheet over her. He stroked her forehead and she settled back down and he silently padded out of the room with a blanket and pillow to spend the rest of the night on the veranda.
They took the newly motorised Jade on a shakedown cruise along the coast past Lea Lea and then back to Idlers Bay, where they cooked thick slabs of American Spam on a hot plate and roasted sweet potato and bananas in the coals. They swam in the clear water and the old carpenters flirted with the girls from Suzy the Tonk’s until a group of curious soldiers from the fort overlooking the beach came down to see what all the shouting and laughing was about. They sent someone back up the hill and he brought beer and sweet biscuits. Captain Tom, with Suzy at his side, piloted the little overloaded boat with it raucous crew back to Koki in the late afternoon. Mick sat in the bow with Derek and Fishbum. The following morning Col and the old carpenters tinkered with the motor for a while and then emerged from the hold and declared
111 The Floating Island the transformation a success. “If we get through this war in one piece Burns Philp will be eternally grateful,” Mick said. “What makes you think we’re going to give her back,” Derek replied with a cheeky grin. “She’d look really pretty on the Sepik I reckon.”
Derek turned up on a khaki Norton motorcycle a few days later. “Looks like the holiday is over,” he said. “We’ve got another job lined up for you.” Mick frowned; he wasn’t looking forward to taking the boat out again. “Where to this time?” he asked. “Somewhere where there’s no Japs.” “Thank goodness for that.” “And somewhere you’ll need your new motor. Have you been up the Purari River before?” “No; I haven’t been anywhere on this side; it’s in the Gulf of Papua somewhere, isn’t it?” “That’s right; they reckon the Wahgi River from up near Mount Hagen runs into it; but you’re not going up that far.” “I’m intrigued already.” “How are you in light aircraft? You don’t get sick do you?” “I’ve never flown before, light or heavy.” “This could be fun then, hop on the back.” “Where are we going?” “Wards Strip.” There was no rear seat on the motorcycle but Derek had wrapped a copra bag stuffed with coconut fibre over the flat top of the pannier carrier. Mick rode with his legs sticking straight out in lieu of foot rests. The back was low down and if he had put his legs on the ground the motorcycle could have easily sped off leaving him standing. Derek explained what he had planned on the dusty ride out to the airstrip. “Some men recruited to work carrying on the Bulldog Track up to Wau reckon they’d heard about a party of white people coming down out of the mountains somewhere up the Purari so I flew out there yesterday and had a look. Sure enough, there’s a little group camped up near where the Subu River comes down; they must have come
112 Sojourn down through Kukukuku country; it’s a wonder they made it without getting attacked and eaten. I dropped them a message telling them to stay put and we’d send a boat up for them. If they try to come downstream on foot or on rafts they’ll get hopelessly lost in the swamps.” “So you want me to see where they are so I can go pick them up?” “You got it; what do you reckon?” “Sounds good; I’m not in the mood for playing hide and seek with the Japs again just yet.”
The aircraft waiting for Mick was a tiny Piper Cub with American markings on its side. The pilot, however, was an Australian. The pilot introduced himself. “Bob Langley; I’m used to flying big old Ford Tri-Motors into Wau but this little baby is a dream. She’s a J3 and performs like a pony dancing.” “I’ll take your word for it,” Mick replied. The aeroplane was a two seater with the passenger sitting tandem behind the pilot. The sides were open and there were several sacks behind the passenger seat. “It’s tucker and some medical supplies packed into bags of rice and then double bagged. We figure those folks might like some tin meat and stuff. I’ll need you to toss them out when I give you the signal; reckon you can do that?” “Sure,” said Mick, “but won’t they break when they hit the ground?” “That’s the idea of the two bags; with a bit of luck the inner one will survive.” Derek grinned and patted Mick on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it then.” The pilot strapped Mick into the passenger seat. He wondered briefly about a parachute but the pilot didn’t mention anything about one. When they trundled down the airstrip the rattle of the metal Marsden matting was deafening but in no time at all the little aeroplane was climbing steeply into the air. They tracked along the coast. The pilot pointed to the mouth of the Lakekamu River where cargo was unloaded from larger boats onto the sandbar ready to be taken upriver by pinnace and then canoes to the old mining camp at Bulldog ready to be carried over
113 The Floating Island the high mountains to Wau where Kanga Force had established itself and was harassing the Japanese based at Salamaua on the north coast. From there they tracked inland across endless swamp and forest until they broke onto a big muddy river. The pilot turned around and shouted. “That’s the Purari; the people are upstream a bit.” Mick watched the countryside roll out under him. They were flying at only a few hundred feet and he was mesmerised. Great trees, seen from the crown downwards, released white flutters of birds as they passed overhead. Between the trees dirty brown water glinted briefly like rainbows in the sun. The air at that height was cool and bracing and Mick drank appreciative gulps of it. The pilot turned and pointed at the river. The land had begun to rise and there on the right was a rapidly running river spilling into the bigger one. Then Mick saw the people. They were gathered on a flat near the mouth of the smaller river and were waving. He counted three white men and four natives. The pilot flew low over them and then circled and came back up along the river at a low altitude. He signalled to Mick and pointed to the sacks. Mick pulled the first one onto his lap and sat ready. As they came in low the pilot raised his arm. When they were several hundred yards out he dropped it quickly. Mick hesitated. From where he was sitting he thought the sack would fall into the river. The pilot made two urgent jabs downwards with his arm and Mick shrugged and heaved the sack out. He hadn’t thought about their forward momentum because as they pulled up sharply he saw the sack sail across the river and disappear into the high grass behind the people below. The pilot grinned and signalled a thumbs-up. They turned around again and dropped the other sacks one after another with equal success. Then the pilot came back for a low flyover and waggled his wings. Then they set off down river. Mick took out the notebook that he habitually carried and concentrated on the river. They passed a couple of villages and people in canoes stared wide-eyed at the little aeroplane. When they broke onto the wide delta with its myriad channels he drew a quick mud map. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder and signalled that he had seen enough. When they got back to the airstrip Bob Langley said, “I’m glad we didn’t have to stuff around too much; we didn’t have much juice left;
114 Sojourn we made it back with about twenty five minutes left I reckon.” He grinned at Mick who was savouring the firm ground under his feet. “Here comes your lift,” he added as Derek hove into view on his motorcycle.
“I think that’s where I come from,” Fishbum said, looking over Mick’s shoulder. There was a wistful tone in her voice, as if she was hoping to conjure a memory from the map lying on the table. Derek looked up at her and his face softened. “Would you like to go back there?” She shrugged. “I was only little; I remember the smoke and the fire and the smell of cooking when my mother hid me before they took her away.” “They took her away? I thought you were an orphan; that’s what Lucy told me. Who took your mother away Gwarume?” Mick asked. “The Kokokoko; they killed my father and ate him.” “That was the cooking smell?” Mick said. Fishbum nodded sadly. “Bloody Kukukuku!” Derek said. “Kokokoko is the Motu word for cassowary, you know, a muruk in Pidgin English. Kuks who have married wear a girdle with two muruk leg bones around the front of their grass sporrans; that’s where they get the name. They raid all the way down to the coast and then go back to their mountains with chunks of cooked human flesh. Everyone is dead scared of them. Someone must have found you, the Koriki from the river delta maybe, and then traded you to the Motu when they came to swap their clay pots for sago and canoe logs.” “I think that’s what happened,” Fishbum replied. “She could come with us?” Mick said, looking at Derek. He smiled, “Whatever you like; just don’t tell me about it.” “She could be our interpreter? Do you remember any of your language Gwarume?” “Only a few words; I would like to see my place,” her voice became wistful again. “Alright, just don’t mention anything to Derek,” Mick said with a grin, “At least not until we get you back. I’ll let Reg and Col know. You’ll need some shorts and a shirt; Suzy should be able to give you something.” “You take good care of her,” Derek said. “I want her back in one
115 The Floating Island piece or there’ll be hell to play.” “Of course,” Mick replied casting an interested glance at his superior officer.
Reg and Col had managed to get hold of three American Winchester M1 carbines. “They’ve only just got them,” Col explained handing Mick one of the stubby little rifles. “They’re a semi-automatic, .30 calibre, with a fifteen round magazine. Operated by gas; the Yanks reckon there’s an automatic thirty round version on the way. They weigh less than six pounds fully loaded; the Navy boys managed to get some for their coastwatchers; better than lugging around a bloody nine pound Lee Enfield any day.” Mick weighed the rifle up and down in his hands. “How much ammo have you got?” he asked. “Enough,” Col said rubbing his index finger along the side of his nose and winking. “He’s busting to try one out on a Nip,” Reg said with a grin. “No Nips where we’re going,” Mick replied quickly. “A cannibal will do,” Col said, glancing purposefully at Fishbum. They had obviously heard the story about the girl. She looked comely in her khaki shorts and shirt but frowned and then realising Col’s inference smiled shyly. Mick hoped they also knew about Derek’s admonition about her safety. He told them again anyway. “I think our little interpreter is reserving her judgement until we get there,” Reg said.
They found that the marine charts around the mouth of the Purari River were next to useless, as were the American military 1:63,364 scale maps of the river itself. They hung off the coast until the morning tide and then entered what Mick hoped was the main channel. The tide carried them inland through grassy windswept swamps and it was possible to pick up enough of the inshore breeze to run a jib. He hoped the wind would hold after the tide turned and allow them to conserve as much fuel as possible. During the shakedown trial the new motor had pushed them along at a respectable rate of knots but they had yet to work out how it would perform against an ever-increasing river current. The little boat had the shallow draft and wide beam of a coastal trader and
116 Sojourn could skim across the water without too much roll but, as far as Mick knew, it had never ventured so far inland before. Whether he could get around the rocky shallows that he had spotted upstream from the air was another matter they would have to consider too. By the time the tide began to turn they had gained a wide and deep caramel-coloured channel that Mick guessed was the main course of the river. The current was still sluggish enough to continue under sail and once Mick had mastered tacking on the confines of the river they were able to pull up into a relatively high bank for the night and moor the boat to a substantial tree. They hadn’t seen any sign of life so far, not even a canoe, let alone a village. A quick sortie ashore convinced them that the river and its breeze was the best option for avoiding the clouds of mosquitoes that descended just before sunset. They lit a couple of smudge pots in the bow and allowed the smoke to waft back over the boat. The men took turns keeping watch and Fishbum retired to one of the bunks only when Mick took his turn to sleep. The next day they passed several canoes and the people waved and paddled towards the boat. A couple of the men could speak Motu and told Fishbum their village was upstream a short way. Mick had a smattering of Motu and heard them asking about trade goods. Fortunately he had anticipated the possibility and had brought some items along. He nodded reassuringly and pointed upriver. They could trade for fresh food in the village he told Fishbum. Her advice was greeted with wide smiles. As the canoes pulled away Reg said, “They’re a scaly lot, all their skin seems to be peeling.” “It’s grille,” Mick replied, “Ringworm; very contagious.” “No little wood nymphs for you tonight then,” Reg replied looking at Col. “Get a dose of that and I reckon it will eat your little johnny off,” he added. Fishbum giggled and nodded agreement. “Did you ask them about the white people?” Mick asked Fishbum. She nodded. “They’ve heard about them but they are afraid of the people upstream. They say they are cannibals.” “I hope no one’s made a meal of our party before we get there,” Reg said. The following day found the Jade working its way upriver under power. The river had become less murky and by the late afternoon they had encountered their first patch of white water. Mick brought
117 The Floating Island the boat into the bank and moored it for the night. They had seen no more villages and the mosquitoes were less of a problem. Nevertheless, they took turns keeping watch overnight. In the morning there was a little group of men with bows and arrows standing on the bank watching them. Mick hailed them in Motu but they did not appear to understand him. He cautiously beckoned the men forward. Fishbum stood behind him while Reg and Col remained in the cockpit with rifles at the ready. Mick decided to take a chance and slipped the boarding plank out and stepped onto the bank. Fishbum followed him. When she stepped out from behind him the bowmen began to chatter excitedly. One of them put down his bow and arrows and nervously stepped forward. His companions urged him forward and he stepped up to Fishbum. He reached out a tentative hand and touched the tattoos on her forehead and chin. The girl stood stock still and then uttered a stream of words indecipherable to Mick. The man jumped back in mock alarm and then put his hands on his hips and leaned forward before executing a happy little jig waving his hands in the air and laughing. He then stopped and touched her on the chest. “Goi’hengai?” he said and then danced in a circle again. As Mick watched the other men put their bows and arrows down and circled the girl. There were tears streaming down her face. The Goi’hengai were her people. The following morning they towed the Jade through the narrow but deep channel on the inner bend of the river with the assistance of Fishbum’s new found relatives. By the time they reached the next patch of broken water the group of men following them along the shoreline had grown and had been augmented by women and children. Towards the afternoon, after they had negotiated another tricky patch of water the leader of the men told Fishbum that the party of white people was just ahead. As they were talking on the bank an old man emerged from the forest and came shyly forward. There was a hush in the chattering and everyone watched as he approached Fishbum. Mick, who was securing a line to the boat, stopped what he was doing and looked up. Reg and Col also stopped to watch. The old man stood in front of the girl for a few moments staring at her uncertainly; then he gingerly stretched out his arm and touched
118 Sojourn her on the face as if to make sure she was real. They exchanged a few words and then he turned and walked slowly back towards the forest. Mick walked over to the girl and put his arm around her shoulders. “He is Tepe,” she whispered, “My uncle; my mother’s brother.” “What did he say?” “He said I look like his sister, my mother. He said he was glad that I had come back. He thought I was a ghost until he touched me.” Mick didn’t reply but continued to hold her close to him. There were tears in her eyes again and he could feel the deep well of emotion coursing through her. Then the chattering began again and she looked up at him and smiled. The people on the bank kept following the boat and after a while started up a whooping call which grew louder as they progressed. Shortly the boat entered a wide stretch of water. Reg, who was perched on the bow with a pole to test the water depth pointed upstream towards the opposite bank. Mick followed his directions and saw the figures on the sandbar at the mouth of a large tributary spilling into the main stream. “Looks like we’ve found what we are looking for,” Col said from where he stood beside Fishbum. As the boat got closer to the shore Reg remarked, “They’re only young blokes, missionaries maybe?” “Jeez!” Col said. “They’re not blokes mate, they’re bloody sheilas, look at the tits on that one at the back.” And so they were.
“We came from a mission station in the mountains to the east of Wau called Drepki. We thought we were safe so far up in the mountains but a Japanese patrol turned up one day. They were looking for an alternative route to Wau to catch the Australian soldiers there by surprise. At first they were very friendly and let us carry on as before but Father Brennan had sent runners to Wau to warn them. Some of the village people told the Japanese. They killed him and Mother Superior. We managed to escape. It was terrible.” The nun had a soft Irish brogue and her red hair hung limply on her shoulders. She was called Sister Anne. They were sitting around a fire on the sandbar after eating. The Jade was moored nearby. Sister
119 The Floating Island
Anne continued. “They stripped them naked and made them do lewd things in front of everyone. Then they crucified Father Brennan and beheaded Mother Superior at his feet. They thought it was funny. Father Brennan didn’t die until the next day. They kept stabbing him with their bayonets. When he was finally dead they came for us but our catechists, the men with us now, created a diversion by setting fire to the church and we were able to slip away. They joined us later with these clothes and food and we came here. The clothes were Father Brennan’s. That was about two weeks ago. The village people brought us food when we got here.” “The Good Lord finally delivered us,” the eldest nun, who was called Sister Agnes, added. “It was luck and Father Brennan’s Winchester that delivered us,” the red-headed nun said. “The Good Lord had nothing to do with it.” Mick, who had been listening grimly to their story raised his eyebrows. “The Kamea, you know, the Kukukuku, followed us all the way. They were waiting for a chance to attack. I had to shoot one of them,” the nun said softly. “I’m sorry,” Mick replied. “I’m not!” Sister Anne said. “The little bastards were coming for us with their clubs. They’d been shooting arrows at us all day. They wounded Noah and Mark.” Mick looked across at the two catechists who were sporting bandages around wounds that Reg had dressed. “We’ll get you out of here first thing in the morning,” Mick said. “There are bunks in the forward cabin with clean sheets but I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in your old clothes until we get back to Port Moresby.” Sister Anne smiled. “I rather like shorts and shirts,” she said. Mick also noticed that she hadn’t let Father Brennan’s rifle out of her sight since they had arrived. The next morning, as they were getting ready to head downriver, Fisbum lingered with the group of people on the sandbar. Mick had presented them with a collection of trade goods and they were admiring them one by one. The girl’s uncle was with the group and
120 Sojourn kept moving back and forth between the axes, tin pots, cloth and other things to come and touch her on the arm. Fishbum was clearly conflicted and it wasn’t until Sister Anne went over to her that she returned to the boat. As he turned the Jade into the stream and Fishbum had gone to the bow of the boat to watch the children running along the bank Mick asked the nun what she had said to the girl. “I told her that they are good people and after this war is over we will come back.” “You plan to come back up here, to these people?” The nun nodded and Mick added, “I expect you will be evacuated to Australia when we get back to Moresby. When the war is over won’t the church have something to say about where you are posted?” Sister Anne looked at him and frowned. “Mr O’Shea, I have no intention of being evacuated. As for the church, I’m not sure I believe in God any longer. What I have seen and heard and experienced over the last few weeks has sorely tested my faith. However, I still wish to serve the people of this country; they will need all the help they can get when the killing stops. I intend to render what help I can. These people are as good as any to start with, don’t you think?” “If Gwarume is anything to go by I couldn’t but agree with you but how you might do it is beyond me I’m afraid.” “There are ways and means if one is determined Mr O’Shea,” the nun replied. The journey downriver was uneventful. By the time they reached Port Moresby the red-headed nun was addressing Mick as ‘Michael’. She addressed the other two white men as Reginald and Colin, to which they feigned amusement but secretly enjoyed. The four catechists, Noah, Mark, Peter and Sapa, who for reasons known to himself had refused the biblical name imposed upon him by Father Brennan, were also addressed on a first name basis. Sister Anne also referred to them as ‘men’, as opposed to the common term of ‘boy’. Mick mused that the war was breaking down the comfortable master-servant relationship. He thought this might be good but he knew that it would be hard to swallow for some of the old timers. The other two nuns, Sister Agnes and the shy and demure Sister Gertrude, retained their titles. Sister Gertrude was the nun standing at
121 The Floating Island the back of the group when the boat had first arrived and had been the subject of Col’s blunt physical assessment. She was beautiful in a saintly way but was embarrassed that the shirt and shorts she was wearing were ill-fitting and gave her an unwanted physical allure. “When we fled the mission we were wearing our habits but we quickly realised that they were more of an encumbrance to travel than a help, even tucked up. Also, being white, they made us stand out too much, so I sent Noah and Peter back to the mission and they managed to get us clothes from Father Brennan’s house and the trade store, as well as his rifle from where he had hidden it and some other things. They were very brave. The Japanese were out looking for us but the villagers had led them off in the wrong direction.” “They helped you after telling the Japs about Father Brennan’s messengers to Wau; that was a bit of a turn around,” Reg said. “They were confused. On the one hand the Japanese were telling them the whites had all been chased away and would never come back and on the other Father Brennan was saying the Australians would eventually defeat the Japanese. They didn’t know who or what to believe but the cruel treatment of Father Brennan and Mother Superior must have made them think twice.” “Which was lucky for you,” Reg replied. “I’m not sure that luck is the best way to describe it after what happened to Father Brennan and Mother Superior; they were both good people who didn’t deserve to die that way,” Sister Anne said. “Of course not; I didn’t mean it that way,” Reg replied hastily. “I know what you meant Mr Anderson; it is all very sad. I personally have no desire whatsoever to return to the mission. But let’s not dwell on it too much,” she replied glancing at the other two nuns. “There will be plenty of questions in Port Moresby,” Mick added, “best save it for then I think.” “I have the names and the ranks of the men who did the killing; one day they will pay,” Sister Anne replied and Mick believed her.
Jock Chisholm’s replacement was waiting on the causeway at Koki when the Jade docked. “I’ve seen him somewhere before,” Col commented in his laconic way. “Why the hell has he come back?” Reg said. “He had the perfect
122 Sojourn ticket to civvy street.” Peter Egan had put on weight and his sunburnt face had paled considerably. He was standing with Derek watching the boat. Derek had an old Ford sedan parked on the causeway ready for the three nuns and a Blitz truck and driver for the catechists. He seemed to be anxiously scanning the passengers on the boat. When he saw Fishbum emerge from the cockpit he seemed to relax. “What the hell are you doing back here you silly bastard?” Reg said to Peter Egan as he stepped ashore and held out his hand. “Unfinished business I guess,” Peter replied. Reg raised an eyebrow, “With brother Nip?” “Not really; it’s just something I decided I need to do.” “You’re nuts!” “Probably.” “You look fit; they fixed you up then?” “Pretty much; I’m minus a couple of feet of large intestine but the rest is okay.” “Did you see old Jock?” “I did indeed; he’s one of the reasons I decided to come back.” “How’s he doing?” “He’s okay. They got the bullet out of his spine but it’s doubtful that he’ll walk again.” “Poor old bugger.” “He’s still planning on coming back up here once this war is over. Says he ‘owes’ the country. He’s also worried about his policemen.” “And you promised to look out for them. You’re a stupid bastard, Captain, Sir.” “I expect I am. Don’t you need to get these ladies ashore and taken care of Reg?” “Yeah; we’d better, huh? Look out for the one with the Winchester. She’ll have the rest of your guts for garters if you’re not careful.”
There was a tinge of green on the brown hills around Port Moresby. The spiralling cumulus which gathered in the sky over the hills beyond Napa Napa every afternoon was occasionally shedding a quick shower or two on the town and the air became unusually charged before it dissipated and drifted away. Sweating soldiers leaned back on their shovels and gazed longingly at the departing
123 The Floating Island thunderheads and sighed. From the house on Paga Hill a great sea of canvas was visible stretching around the harbour all the way to Tatana Island where black American engineers were building a causeway from the mainland. In between and beyond a web of dusty new roads crawled over the hills and into the Waigani Valley. The girls from the house were fascinated by the sight of sunburnt and sweating white men swinging picks and shovels alongside Papuan labourers. The tall, muscular black men working on the causeway fascinated them even more, especially because they seemed to share a degree of equity and camaraderie with the white soldiers. Someone told Mick that there were close to fifty thousand Australian troops in the town and camps and nearly as many Americans. There was a constant stream of ships unloading at the expanded wharves below the house and he had heard that General Blamey was temporarily ensconced in government house. There was a rumour that General MacArthur was on his way. Port Moresby was now the headquarters of the Combined Operation Service Command organising supply distribution and the staging and deployment of troops. Repair shops, depots of all kinds and hospitals were springing up everywhere and there were six airfields either operating or under construction. Suzy the Tonk’s no longer officially existed. As far as the brass were concerned the girls had been evacuated to Daru on the coastal trader Mamutu. The girls were scheduled to go on her second run, which was the one where the little boat had run afoul of a Japanese submarine and had been sunk with only one survivor. From the point of view of the brass it appeared to be a perfect solution for ridding them of a troublesome diversion for their troops. That the girls had never boarded the vessel was a closely kept secret and a small group of junior officers ensured that the brass were none the wiser. The girls knew what was going on and Lucy made sure they kept a low profile. It was into this shady atmosphere that Sister Anne arrived on Suzy’s doorstep a few days after her supposed evacuation south. “What you doin’?” Suzy said. “You must gone fink might be!” “I jumped ship,” Sister Anne replied just as Captain Tom appeared in the doorway behind Suzy. “Come in my dear,” he said with a faint smile. “We’ll get you a
124 Sojourn cup of tea.” The nun turned and waved at the soldier in the jeep parked below the house. The man gave her a cheery thumbs-up and drove off. “That nice dress fink,” Suzy said as they walked along the corridor and out onto the veranda. “Thank you. They gave us some secondhand clothes; I don’t know where they got them.” “I gather ‘they’ think you are on your way to Australia,” Captain Tom said. “I hope so; Sister Agnes and Sister Gertrude said they wouldn’t say anything until they are well out to sea.” “You can stay here of course; some of the girls have moved back to the house on Paga Hill now that the bombing has stopped so we have room.” “Is Michael still here?” “Yes; he’s with Derek planning how to get Peter Egan back to New Britain. There’s a lot of fighting around Buna and Gona and the Japs are very active in the Solomon Sea. What do you plan to do Sister Anne?” “I’m not sure; I just know I don’t want to go back to Australia and I’m not sure I want to be a nun any more either. It’s a complicated thing.” “You need time to think; you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like; you’ll have to be careful about who sees you though, we are all supposed to have gone down with the Mamutu on the way to Daru where we were supposed to have been evacuated to until the hostilities cease. “I understand; you are very kind. I won’t let you down,” the nun replied. Suzy beamed as she poured the tea.
Fishbum was delighted to see Sister Anne. They had talked a lot on the voyage downriver. The two women hugged each other. Mick was not at all surprised at the nun’s appearance and Derek, who had fallen into the habit of eating dinner at the Chinaman’s house, seemed unperturbed and happy to see her too. By the end of the meal the nun had visibly relaxed. Lucy sat at the end of the table with a bemused look on her face while her sister bobbed back and forth to the kitchen fetching food and grinning
125 The Floating Island broadly. What a strange company we have become Mick thought to himself and then frowned. A fleeting image of Ba and the island had suddenly surfaced for some reason. Sister Anne caught his expression and looked concerned. “I was thinking that we’re a strange but happy little bunch,” he said quickly. “It reminded me of something else, that’s all.” “And an egalitarian one too,” Derek added, missing the nuance. “It bodes well for what will happen after the war; I think things are going to change a lot and it might take some people a while to get used to it.” “I agree,” Mick said, happy to change the subject, “All we need to do is survive until then.” “That will be the trick,” Derek replied, “but it shouldn’t stop us making plans.” “You are making plans?” “Bloody oath I am; if I get out of this thing alive I’m seriously thinking about giving up being a kiap and trying something else; maybe start a plantation or something.” “Whereabouts?” Sister Anne said with a curious expression. “I don’t know; maybe along the coast somewhere; Gwarume told me about your trip, that sounds like a promising neck of the woods; I’ll have to see how things pan out; as Mick says, we’ve got to get through the war first.”
Fishbum and Sister Anne developed a camaraderie that surprised and amused Mick. The nun also took a great interest in Suzy’s girls and seemed to get on well with them all. Mick remarked on this development to Captain Tom. “She’s helping out with the cooking and washing but she’s very curious about what the girls do. She seems to be having trouble with the idea that a lot of girls are allowed to have as many men as they like before they get married. Thankfully she’s not trying to convert them and get them to mend their ways. We were afraid that might happen but she’s just curious that men around here might find an experienced girl an attractive marriage partner. I guess it flies in the face of all her training as a nun. Lucy and Fishbum have explained it to her but I think her training makes it hard to understand. “I gave her a copy of a book, Growing Up in Samoa by Margaret
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Mead, to read. I personally think it’s a lot of balderdash; I never found any nubile young girls wanting to jump into my bed when I was there; quite the opposite, but if you transfer the whole concept to Papua, particularly around here, it rings true.” “She’s officially given the nunnery away then?” “I’m not sure whether it’s official but she’s got no intention of going back to it.” “I wonder what she’ll do.” “She’s been talking to Derek. I think they are cooking up a scheme to set up a plantation or something after the war. Fishbum seems to be in on the deal too. In fact, our Captain Derek Johns seems to have taken a shine to that little lady.” “I’ve noticed that too; good luck to him, she’s a very smart girl. All we need is for this stupid war to be over with.” Captain Tom raised his eyebrows. “You were all for it when you arrived, had a change of heart then?” “I’ve seen a lot since then and it’s all been very unpleasant. The world has gone mad; it’s turned human beings into animals, worse than that, even animals wouldn’t do some of the things I’ve seen and it’s both sides too. The Nips are bad but our lot aren’t far behind I reckon. I also don’t understand what it’s all about; none of it makes any sense.” “And I fear there will be worse to come.” The old man put his hand on Mick’s shoulder. “But it will be Christmas soon; I reckon by the middle of next year they will have pretty much driven the Japs out, especially now the Yanks are here. Then your Tokwai friends might make their island reappear. That’s what you want; isn’t it, to go back to them?” “Why do you say that?” “Just guessing. The last war made me feel the same way. I thought I had found a safe haven here but that didn’t work out did it? Nowhere is safe. It’s money and power at the root of it all I reckon and mankind is a naturally brutish creature. I’ve got another book by an Englishman called Hobbes; he explains it all.” “You’ve got a book for every problem I think.” “There’s nothing new in this world my lad; just new extremes. I’ll give it to you after Fishbum’s finished with it,” the old man said with a wink.
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Suzy had acquired several cases of Schaefer Beer, as well as a supply of Coca Cola. The latter came in bottles and was apparently manufactured in Brisbane. The former came in tins with a conical top and a crown seal. Her source was a genial war correspondent attached to the 32nd. Division of the American National Guard, which was heading for Buna via Abau. His name was Brian S. Coote and he was fascinated by Suzy and her establishment. He had stumbled across the Paga Hill house while wandering around the largely deserted town area with his camera taking photographs of the ruined buildings. He had been attracted by the sight of Sister Anne hanging sheets on a rope line stretched between two coconut palms. As he later explained, the last thing he was expecting to see was a European woman engaged in something so mundane as doing the washing. At first he thought she was a man because she was wearing the new Australian jungle green uniform but when he got closer it became abundantly obvious that Sister Anne was female and quite attractive to boot. It was then that he was accosted by Suzy. “What you doin’? Nuthin’, no good, fink; you must be going away, might be fink,” she shouted at him. He had blinked. The Eurasian woman who had emerged so suddenly from the house further up the slope was also extremely attractive. Then he caught the eye of the tall Papuan woman behind her and froze. She had a long-bladed machete in her hand. He took a step backwards. “Sorry,” he said lamely; “I just wasn’t expecting to see any women in the town.” “Who are you and why are you taking photographs?” Sister Anne said buttoning the top of her shirt. Brian explained who he was and what he was doing. “I’m just filling in time until we get shipped out,” he said. “You’d better come up to the house and we’ll explain,” Sister Anne said. She turned to Suzy and Lucy. “We’d better tell him, otherwise anything could happen.” After that he returned to the house several times, but only during the day, and was eventually invited to the Chinaman’s for dinner and introduced to Mick and Derek. He was perfectly happy to keep Suzy’s confidence and after a while she allowed him to take photographs of some of the girls. He explained that his division was waiting for word to begin the trek over the mountains to the north
128 Sojourn coast. He was in his mid-thirties and came from Wisconsin and was not looking forward to his first taste of combat he said. Derek held up one of the beer cans. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he said, “it’s sort of like a tin bottle.” “Some of them are flat-topped and you have to punch holes in them,” Brian replied. “I get them from the PX store out at Wards. It’s only 3/2 beer and I think it’s made out of corn, not barley, but it’s better than what you can get in the States at the moment.” PX, 3/2, what’s he talking about?” Mick asked. “Three point two percent alcohol and Postal Exchange store,” Derek replied with a smile. He was clearly familiar with the American supply chain. “It’s rather a nice drink,” Sister Anne said. “I could quite get used to it. Better than that Coca Cola stuff.” “There’s no stopping you now girl,” Captain Tom chuckled. “The church wouldn’t have you back now, even if you wanted.” The nun had discarded her green shirt and shorts and was wearing her floral dress. “There are a few other things I’m interested to try too,” she replied with a wink. “This secular life has a lot of attractions for a simple girl from a convent in Waterford I think.”
The Japanese were proving difficult to dislodge from Buna and Gona and they were still entrenched in Lae and Finschhafen and were beginning to land reinforcements from Rabaul at Salamaua in an attempt to take Wau and open up a new route to the south coast and Port Moresby. Mick was becoming increasingly concerned that the risk in taking Peter Egan back to New Britain to join Jock’s police contingent was increasing rather than diminishing as Derek had hoped. He was living in dread of the day when the brass decided to send him anyway. He had discussed his reservations with Derek, pointing out that transporting Peter by submarine or seaplane might be a safer option. He had, after all, accurate latitude and longitudes for the creek where they had dropped the police off. “The thing is,” Derek pointed out, “we haven’t heard from Jock’s blokes and it might be necessary to search for them. The sergeant is a good man and he will have them set up somewhere but it might be further up the coast. Peter and Col will need help to find him. The
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Yanks won’t want to leave their sub or aeroplane hanging around with all the Jap shipping from Rabaul going past, especially since the Jade can hide up the creeks and rivers out of the way before making a run for it. The other thing is that with the Japs digging in on the mainland it’s important to get a radio watch on their shipping up and running as soon as possible.” “Can I resign now?” Mick asked looking glum. “No way old son; you know how to get up there and back in one piece better than anyone,” Derek said patting him on the shoulder. “What’s up? We all have to pull our weight.” Mick wasn’t sure that he agreed with that proposition but he said, “Oh, I know that and I guess I’ll do it; it’s just that I’m thinking I’ve pushed my luck to the limit already.” “Yes, I know that and I hate having to make you do it again while I sit safe and sound in Port Moresby.” “The hell with it then; let’s do it,” Mick replied. “You sure? We can hold off for a while yet.” “Why not; it could get even hotter out there before much longer.” “Okay; I’ll let the brass know. By the way, Col wants to go back with Peter.” “If we’re dropping Col off too, we’ll need a replacement for the return trip; I suppose we could bring a spare policeman back but it would be good to have someone used to sailing.” “I’ll see what I can do,” Derek replied.
Mick was in a pensive mood over the next few days and Fishbum picked up on it and reported to Lucy and Sister Anne. It didn’t take too long for them to establish the reason. It was Sister Anne who first approached him. She had something else to discuss with him anyway. “I tried to discuss what happened to us and what it has done to my faith with Sister Agnes and Sister Gertrude but all I got were platitudes about God working in mysterious ways. When we got to Port Moresby there was a very nice army chaplain; I’m not sure what denomination he was, Lutheran perhaps, but he said similar things and told me I should try to forget what happened. I came away even more convinced that if what we went through and what happened to Father Brennan and Mother Superior was God at work then I would rather not be associated with him. That’s really why I decided not to
130 Sojourn go back to Australia. Also, I know no one there; I came straight to the mission from Ireland.” “I’ve changed what I believe in a lot in the last year or so too. It’s perhaps not as dramatic as your experience but it has been difficult. I still haven’t resolved it all. I can see how hard it has been for you.” They were sitting on the veranda of the Chinaman’s house watching the sun set over the sea. Fishbum was curled up in a chair opposite with her head in Hobbe’s Leviathan. Mick thought that Captain Tom had been joking when he said he had lent it to her to read. “Listening to you talking to Derek and Captain Tom made me realise that I’m not the only one with misgivings about this war and what it says about us all. That’s why I decided to talk to you. I hope you don’t mind but I really need to talk to someone who might understand.” “I’m happy to listen and help you in any way. If you can explain what’s really going on I’d be eternally grateful. I just don’t seem to be able to get my head around what people are doing to each other. I know that we humans have fought with each other since time immemorial and that it is an instinctive thing harking back to when we were just animals but I cannot for the life of me understand why it is so brutal and horrific and why people seem to think it is alright to act that way. The world went through a similar thing just thirty years ago but people don’t seem to have learnt anything at all.” Sister Anne glanced across at Fishbum and then looked down at the floor. “I killed a man. While it was not directly attributable to the war it wouldn’t have happened if the Japanese had not come to the mission. He came at me swinging a stone club and I shot him between the eyes. It was so quick and instinctive that I didn’t realise I had done it until he was lying on the ground in front of me. It’s a terrible thing that I now have to live with for the rest of my life but, terrible as it was, I could find no solace in the God that I thought I believed in and was looking after me. That’s what bothers me so much now.” “I don’t know what to tell you. No doubt the chaplain and the others told you that you had no choice. Somehow that doesn’t help, does it?” “No, but what’s done is done. I’m not looking for excuses or explanations. I doubt whether there are any. What I’m now going to
131 The Floating Island do is get on with my life; a different life, one that is not so blind.” “Without your God?” “That’s right.” “I can understand the void in your life that has caused.” “When you rely on something like faith you tend not to have to deal with some of the harsher realities of life. When you are forced to do so it is sometimes difficult to cope. I think I need to fill the void with something else but I’m not sure yet what that might be. I suspect it has something to do with being human. You and I seem to have a similar problem; perhaps we can help each other. Mick looked at the nun and saw the fear in her eyes. He realised that she had just stepped into the unknown. Fishbum had put down her book and was watching Sister Anne intently. “What I really need right now is someone to hold me,” the nun said in a slow and deliberate voice. Mick didn’t know how to respond. Fishbum rose from her chair and crossed the floor. She placed a hand momentarily on Mick’s shoulder and then smiled softly at the nun. Then she padded out through the door and closed it gently. When Fishbum left Mick stood up and went over to Sister Anne and took her in his arms. If he was expecting any resistance he was wrong. She simply rested her head on his shoulder and wept. They stood like that for some time and then she looked up and whispered, “Thank you Michael” and pulled away and sat down on the chair opposite him. “I gave my heart to something that I thought I believed in but now my heart is telling me that that might not have been the right place. It is telling me that it belongs somewhere else but I don’t understand where. Does that make sense?” she said reaching out for his hand. “I think so,” he nodded. She considered his response for a moment and then said, “My heart is telling me that it belongs somewhere more fundamental.” She paused, struggling for the right words. “Somewhere that is closer to humankind; closer to the earth perhaps.” He nodded again and squeezed her hand. He wanted to help her. “I want to know what it is to be an ordinary human being. Someone with all the faults and emotions that life provides. Not as a daughter of God, like Sisters Agnes and Gertrude, but someone like
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Fishbum. I need to know what it is like to be a woman.” She whispered the last part and drew slightly back, not knowing what to expect him to do. He looked momentarily puzzled and then realising the import of what she had said looked gently into her eyes. He saw a mixture of what might have been fear mixed with a sense of pleading. That was so out of her character as he understood it that he looked again. “I think you have spoken about this in some depth with Fishbum,” he replied softly. “She said that you have a good heart but that it lies on an island that is floating out in the sea somewhere. She said that would make you understand.” “Yes; I didn’t realise that until just now. She is an astute girl.” He paused, “Perhaps what you are suggesting is something we both need? Suzy knew it; that’s why she sent Fishbum to me. I couldn’t see it then but I think I understand now.” He stood up and took the nun by the hand.
The moonlight filtering through the louvers in Mick’s room tinged them with a cool luminosity. Sister Anne’s limbs and face, which were brown from the tropical sun, absorbed the light but her torso reflected it like sculptor’s marble. “You remind me of that statue, you know, the one without the arms,” Mick said. “Venus De Milo? There is no need for flattery young man; I am wholly aware that I am at least ten years older than you and no Aphrodite.” “You’re wrong there; you are a very beautiful woman.” “Are you supposed to stare at me in such a way?” she asked crossing to the bed where he was sitting. “It’s not something I can help,” he replied. She stood in front of him and then placed her hands on his shoulders. He ran his hands down the sides of her body, caressing each of her breasts for a moment and then resting on her hips. Her nipples had hardened and he reached up and brushed them with his fingers. “It is very big,” she said nodding down at his erect penis. “You don’t have to do this.” “I think it is too late now,” she whispered.
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“May I kiss you?” he asked. She smiled and bent her head towards him. He kissed her gently and she took his hand and guided it towards the sparse russet patch between her legs. She felt hot and her skin was moist. She moved her legs apart to allow him more room and sucked in her breath when his fingers entered her. Then she drew back and pushed him onto the bed. “You like to be in charge?” “Just lately,” she replied. He reached out and held her by the waist while she straddled him. When she leaned over him the riot of red hair, normally kept in check by an austere bun, cascaded over his face. He reached up and caressed her firm breasts and she took him in her hand and carefully guided him into her body. She lowered herself slowly until he was all the way inside and then began to gently move up and down. He shut his eyes and let her dictate the pace. As she quickened her movements he reached down and finding her clitoris pushed gently against it. She moved faster and then slowed again. He opened his eyes just as she shuddered. A spurt of warm liquid splashed across his belly and he ejaculated. She remained over him until his spent organ slipped out of her and then she rolled over and lay beside him. They didn’t speak for some minutes until he said, “Are you sure you are a nun?” She chuckled and said, “I grew up on a farm and I also have a good imagination. It has been hard to suppress it for so long. It doesn’t matter now.” They came together twice more during the night and both times she let him take the initiative. They were very gentle with each other and when they were finally spent they both fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke with the first light she was gone.
He didn’t see the nun the next day. Derek had decided that they were running out of time and he wanted to get Peter Egan to New Britain as soon as possible, despite the Japanese threat. Mick found himself busy getting the Jade ready. Fishbum turned up at the Chinaman’s house in the evening and took up her usual chair on the veranda with her book. Mick didn’t know whether she liked his company or whether she simply wanted to escape the goings on at the house on Paga Hill.
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He watched her for a while and then said, “Did you see Sister Anne today?” The girl nodded and slipped a strip of dried palm leaf into the book to mark her place. “We washed the sheets today,” she said and waited expectantly for his next question. “Did she say anything to you?” “She said lots of things to me.” “You know, about last night.” There was a hint of mischief in the girl’s eyes. “No, but she was very happy and laughing all the time.” Mick digested this and then said, “I’m a bit worried; I hope she doesn’t get pregnant.” “I think you will have a fine, red-headed child,” Fishbum replied. “I think perhaps a girl.” Mick looked aghast and the girl giggled. “She has one of those rubber things that she puts inside; Mrs Lucy gives them to all the girls.” “A diaphragm; my mother had one.” He thought about this for a moment and realised that the nun must have come to the house with the diaphragm already in place. “Did Lucy give it to her?” he asked. The girl shook her head and smiled. “No, I got it for her and showed her how to use it.” “So you two set this all up a while ago?” The girl nodded. “Somehow I felt like I’d been set up,” he said mildly and without rancour. “Was it not good for you?” He thought about this for a moment and then smiled. “That’s why you came to me before; I’m sorry I didn’t see it then.” “You want to do it with me too now?” “No, no; I didn’t mean that; I meant we could have done it and I would have really enjoyed it but we mustn’t do it now.” “Why not?” “Stop making fun of me Gwarume; you know what I mean; besides, I think there is someone else who likes you too.” “You mean the Captain?” “Yes, Derek.”
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“He has not asked me.” “He will; give him time.” “It would be good, don’t you think? I like him very much.” “I’m glad about that.” “Sister Anne is a little bit ashamed. She will talk to you soon I think,” the girl said and opened her book again. Mick waited but she seemed suddenly oblivious and engrossed. Finally he stood up. “I’ll make us some coffee, nice American stuff,” he said.
He saw the nun the next evening when she came to the house for dinner. Before she went into the kitchen to help Lucy and Fishbum with the meal she took him by the hand and led him onto the veranda. She kissed him chastely on the cheek. “I’ve made up my mind now,” she said. “I won’t be going back to the church. I’m going to stay here. When the war is over people will be needed to help rebuild everything.” She paused and then added, “You have helped rescue me twice now, once in the bush and now here; I will be eternally grateful Michael.” “We helped each other I think.” “It is a very special friendship that we have shared. A lot of people wouldn’t understand. I will never forget it.” “We’d better go back inside; people will start to talk,” he replied with a warm smile.
At dinner they discussed the upcoming mission to New Britain. Derek was at pains to explain how worrying the whole thing was and the stress the waiting was placing on everyone. Reg, Col and Peter Egan were there and they nodded along with Mick. “What’s got to be done has got to be done; the quicker we get it over with the better,” he said. There was a moment of silence and then Fishbum picked up the book beside her plate and waved it in the air. “This man says that people are thinking about power, desire and the future all the time. He says that the only time that they stop is when they are asleep or dead. He also says that when they get one thing they want they just go on after something else. I think he means that people just worry about everything all the time. He says it is a natural thing to do. I think he is right.” Derek looked slightly nonplussed. “How do you do that?” he said.
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“I tried to read that thing and I couldn’t make head or tail of it. That book is so old the spelling is all wrong.” Fishbum tilted her head and considered him for a moment. “It’s easy,” she replied, “it’s just like reading the bible.” “I’ve never read the bible,” Derek replied. “I tried once but it didn’t impress me either.” “The bible is interesting but this Taubada Hobbes is better.” “He’s not entirely right though,” Captain Tom said. “I think humanity’s constant anxiety diminishes with age.” “How do you mean?” Mick asked with interest. “Well, I’ve reached an age when I don’t think about the future anymore. It’s become largely irrelevant because I won’t be here to see it. To tell you the truth, it’s a bit of a relief; not having to worry about what is going to happen. I envy you young people your future and what it might bring but I don’t envy you all the worry that goes with it. Not having to plan ahead is a remarkable state of mind. Those people out in the jungle who live for the day don’t realise how lucky they are!” Fishbum smiled to herself. She had successfully deflected the gloom at the table. Mick saw the look of satisfaction on her face and wondered for a second time how a simple village orphan had ended up at a table in Port Moresby discussing philosophy with white folks. But then again, if it had been anywhere but here and she would have been bundled out to the cook house quick smart. What a wonderful group of people he thought.
“I did as Sakiata told us. Every time I was with Mick I used the tisia leaf.” Teone had found Little Sister on the beach with the dog quietly sobbing. “What is it; why are you so sad all the time?” she had asked, putting her arm around her sister’s shoulders. It was then that Little Sister confessed that she thought she was pregnant too. Teone was puzzled. “But why are you so sad? The tisia leaf sometimes doesn’t work if the seed is strong, mother told us that, it will make Ba very happy, you should be happy too, we are both Mick’s wives, even though we are sisters.” “The Japani soldiers………”
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“Why, what did they do?” “They held me down………” Teone took her sister in her arms again and held her tight. “You should have told us.” “I was too ashamed.” “It hasn’t been long enough; you would not know you are pregnant yet; it must be Mick’s child.” “Then why am I not showing like you?” Teone let her sister go and placed her hand on the gentle swelling that was her stomach. “I stopped using the leaf a long time before Mick left; that’s why I am like this.” “You wanted his child?” “I thought it would hold him here but it didn’t happen quick enough.” “Why didn’t you tell him?” “He had to go, I realised that.” “You disobeyed Sakiata.” “Yes.” “What if my child is the Japani soldier’s child?” “You know which Japani?” “The one with the long knife, the head soldier, the others just held me.” “A child is a child, no matter how it is conceived.” “But what about Mick, he hates the Japani, he will kill the child?” “He is a good man, it is not in him to kill anything, he will understand.” “It would be better if I was rid of it.” “How can you say that? It will be Mick’s child, as I said.”
When they told Ba he reacted in the same way and danced a jig on the sand with Sakiata. The two sisters watched in awe. “It may not be Mick’s child,” Sakiata said softly leaning close to his ear. “Little sister was raped by the soldiers.” Ba stopped in his tracks. Still holding Sakiata’s hands he looked across at the two girls. Little Sister turned her head away. Suddenly Ba swung Sakiata around on the sand. He might look frail but he is still very strong she thought. He then began to dance in the opposite direction.
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When he had finished he went over to the two girls and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “You have made an old Tokwai very happy, both of you,” he said. Little Sister had tears in her eyes. Teone took her hand and pulled her onto the sand. She linked hands with Sakiata. Ba joined them and they danced round and round in the setting sun.
The days went by. Two more bottles with paper in them washed into the lagoon. The tide was not blind and knew the island was there. Ba retrieved them and put them on a shelf in the new house alongside those he had salvaged and cleaned from the ashes on the beach. He did not open any of them. Mick had told him that they mostly came from American soldiers on the troopships and were notes to their sweethearts back in the United States. They were cast into the waves as a sort of forlorn ritual rather than messages he said. One had Japanese script inside and although he could not read it he told Ba that it probably reflected the same sentiments and hope. “They are all just men, even the Japani,” Ba offered. “Some of them must be,” Mick replied. “But those I have seen so far are not men, they are monsters pretending to be men.” Sometimes Ba dreamed about a strange black and white pied dog and wondered about Mick. He hoped the ancestors would honour the contract that he had negotiated with them.
139
8 FAIR WIND
IT WAS the time of the year when the winds were beginning to swing around. The drying laurabada from the southeast, which was blowing sand off the beaches and across the roads, was beginning to lose its strength as the lahara from the northwest exerted itself. It was a maddening time of the year for Port Moresby. In the late morning when the heat was at its most oppressive great masses of angry cumulus formed in the sky and hung over the town like sullen grey and white boughs before retreating unrequited before the afternoon sea breeze. Tempers frayed as people watched the rain being dumped on the mountains behind them while sand and dust whipped and eddied through the streets and into every nook of their tents and houses. Mick felt sorry for the soldiers up there in the mountains slogging through the slush and mud and wondered whether the change of season would help or hinder their trip to New Britain. Perhaps it wasn’t a good time to be out at sea. The odds of being becalmed on the endless ocean were equal to that of being swamped by a sudden storm. His reverie was broken by the sound of a motorbike. Derek dismounted and waved. The man in the sidecar stepped out and pulled a rucksack with him. Mick watched him with interest; he didn’t look much like a sailor. Derek pointed to the boat and told the man to stow the pack below. Col and Reg looked on with jaundiced looks. “Peter will be along shortly,” Derek said. Mick nodded. “We’re ready to go then,” he replied.
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“Get my rifle,” Derek said to the man who had emerged from the cockpit and climbed back onto the causeway. The man retrieved the American carbine from the carrier on the side of the motorbike and handed it to the officer. “Okay; that’s all private, you can go now, make sure you look after my motorbike,” Derek said and looked towards the Chinaman’s house where Peter Egan was ambling towards them. “Looks like we’re set to go then,” he said to Mick with a smile. “Welcome aboard,” Mick replied as the motorbike spluttered away.
They ran at night, hiding in the lee of islands during the day. Derek was a skilled sailor and took turns at the helm. When they made the run across the Solomon Sea, directly into the path of the Japanese shipping, a stiff south-easterly blew up and hurried them along. They reached the sanctuary of the New Britain coast with relief and bright sunshine. They had also made landfall remarkably close to Peter’s drop-off point. So far so good, Mick thought; getting back will be the tricky part however. They were met by a smiling and heavily bearded sergeant in a battered pair of shorts. The only thing military about him was the well-oiled and spotless Bren gun slung over his shoulder. Derek’s anxiety about having to search for the sergeant and his men quickly dissipated. The sergeant cast about with mischievous eyes and then shook hands with everyone and called softly into the surrounding forest. A group of naked men and women emerged from the dappled shade and stood about with shy smiles. “We don’t have to go upriver to the village; there’s a shortcut these people showed us.” The supplies were quickly tied to staunch poles and hoisted onto diminutive shoulders. The sergeant signalled with his hand and the group filtered back into the dim forest. He signalled for Mick and the others to follow. The camp was nestled in a small clearing on a saddle set back from the bluff overlooking the sea. The bush material buildings were well made and substantial. At one end of the saddle was a house with a wide veranda. A dipole aerial on two poles was strung nearby with a cable snaking into the house. At the other end there was a barracks. Kitchen huts, latrines and store houses were offset from a central
141 The Floating Island square, where a tall pole carried a battered Australian flag. A bamboo pipeline snaked from a spring somewhere up the hill and spilled clear water into a sump lined with stones that overflowed and spilled down the slope. Giant trees hung over the edge of the clearing obscuring the camp from anything less than the most determined spotter aircraft. The walk up from the creek mouth had taken several hours and Mick and his group were sweating when they arrived. A grinning policeman came out of the barracks carrying a deadly looking bush knife. Several naked girls, all giggling, carried green coconuts and placed them in a heap and the policeman set to decapitating the nuts and handing them to the sweating white men. Mick sucked in the cool and slightly fizzy coconut juice and, wiping his hand across his mouth, said, “This all looks extremely comfortable Peter; I’m envious.” Peter Egan turned to the sergeant. “I’m very impressed; you have done an excellent job.” The sergeant beamed and nodded towards the other policemen. “It is all their work Sir; them and the villagers from the river.” “So who are these people without the clothes? I didn’t know there were people up here,” Derek said. “We saw signs when we first got here,” the sergeant replied, “but it took them a while to come out of the forest. They are called Miu. They are distantly related to the Kaulong in the village on the river, and you are the first white people they have ever seen.” “Garn!” Col said. He was watching the little group of comely girls sitting in the shade by the barracks. “They had heard about white people and they have steel axes that they’ve traded from the east but you are their first dimdims.” “I’ll be buggered.” “Which means that our relationship with them will need to be carefully managed,” Derek said; the patrol officer in him coming to the fore. “No fraternization old son,” Peter added, “neither by us or the police.” Mick looked at the gaggle of giggling girls. They were all slim, if short, with small shining breasts, compact bottoms and cute snub noses. He wondered how long the rule would survive. “Where is their village?” he asked the sergeant.
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“There is no village Sir; they live in small leaf shelters in the forest and they move around a lot.’ “They’re not Tokwai are they Sergeant?” Mick said with a twinkle in his eye. The sergeant shook his head. “I hope not Sir,” he said with a grin. “Have you explained about the Japanese and the war?” Peter Egan asked. “Yes Sir; they know about the Japanese; they have seen the planes and the ships.” “Will they be loyal Sergeant?” “I think so Sir; so long as we treat them well.” He glanced obliquely at Col. “They are afraid of what they have seen in the sky and sea Sir.” When they had cooled down in the shade and partaken of another coconut each the sergeant took them along a winding track to the head of the bluff. What they saw took their breath away. Below them, across the glossy top of the forest, stretched the unbounded Solomon Sea, sparkling blue and green to the horizon. A few small islands were visible off the coast. “In the mornings, when the air is cool and still, I think I can see the clouds over the mainland,” the sergeant said, “but it must he over a hundred miles away.” You’d have no trouble seeing Jap shipping,” Derek said bringing the camera he was holding up to take several panoramic shots of the view. “Have you seen many yet Sergeant?” “Many Sir; we have been counting them each day and writing them down in a book. The number has been steadily increasing over the past few weeks.” There was a gust of wind and when they turned there were steep clouds gathering over the ranges behind them. “It will rain soon,” the sergeant said. “Perhaps we’d better get back to the boat,” Derek replied looking at Mick and Reg. Mick didn’t hear him at first. He was still staring at the sea. For some reason a feeling of deep despair had overtaken him. He turned. Perhaps it is the dark clouds he thought. He nodded at Derek. “If we don’t want to get drenched,” he replied and then added, “We could always stay here for the night and get going in the morning. The boat is secure and well-hidden.”
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Derek looked back at the sea. The blue was turning to a deeper green with the encroaching weather. Somehow he had caught Mick’s mood. “Alright,” he replied, why not; there’s no rush and leaving in the morning might be a better idea.” The sergeant smiled. “We have enough room Sir,” and he signalled to the policeman who had accompanied them. When they got back to the camp the gear they had brought had been unpacked and stored in the huts. They could smell freshly brewed tea in the thickening air.
Mick ran the Jade east along the coast keeping close to the shore and winding between the small offshore islets. He was calculating the best point of departure to take full advantage of the south east trade wind. This far out the wind blew unabated and there was no seasonal north westerly buffer. They were risking an encounter with a Japanese patrol boat but the advantage of a fair wind and a quick passage across the Solomon Sea would follow. Although he wouldn’t have admitted it, Mick was also setting up a course that would cross the sea near his floating islands. Because of the danger of an encounter, Reg had stripped down the Lewis gun and then re-mounted it ready for action on its stand. As they tacked along the coast and in and out of the islands and headlands he kept close to the gun. When they rounded the small promontory and ran smack into the patrol boat he was sitting at the gun. “Oh shit!” Derek said grabbing his binoculars. The patrol boat was a Toku Daihatsu class landing barge and it had been run up the beach side on. The ramp was flat on the sand. Both Mick and Derek had studied the photographs taken by the navy at Milne Bay and had read the accompanying specifications. They knew it was split-hulled with a shallow draft and was capable of carrying thirty five tons with a crew of fifteen. Derek scanned the beach with his binoculars. “There,” Reg shouted, “the bastards are running along the beach.” Derek swung around to where Reg was pointing. He saw the soldiers, in various states of undress, heading quickly back to the patrol boat. “We’ve caught them having a swim,” he grinned at Reg. “Get the boat in as quickly as you can Mick; we might just beat them.” “Why not just make a run for it?” Mick said swinging the bow
144 Fair Wind around. “We wouldn’t stand a chance, they’d run us down in a day in that thing; it’s got a big motor.” He turned back to Reg. “You take care of the runners; I’ll cover the barge; we don’t know how many are still aboard and we don’t want them to get that bloody great 37mm cannon going just yet.” “I counted fourteen runners,” Reg replied, maybe there’s only one on the barge.” He looked at Mick. “When I yell swing her around mate.” Mick nodded. A few seconds later he heard Reg shout, “Now!” and he swung the wheel hard. The clatter of the Lewis gun was deafening. Reg raked the line of running men on the beach several times and the sand erupted into high plumes. Only one of the soldiers made it to the barge. Derek blew the top off his head as he climbed up the ramp. There was a deathly silence and then Mick noticed the sound of the wind in the rigging. The smell of cordite was strong in the air. He looked across at Derek, who was staring at the carbine in his hands. “What now?” Mick asked, “Make a run for it?” Derek jerked his head up. He had a stricken look on his face. “I reckon there’s still one of the little bastards on the barge,” Reg said. “Have they got a radio?” Mick asked. Reg shrugged. Derek came back to life and picked up his binoculars. He scanned the barge and then said, “We’d better scuttle her.” “And take care of the last Nip,” Reg added. They drifted towards the beach. Reg kept the Lewis gun trained on the barge. Mick dropped the anchor overboard and picked up his rifle. Derek nodded silently and they slipped over the side into waist deep water. They split and worked their way separately along the hull of the barge towards the ramp. Derek peered around the ramp towards the open wheelhouse. A hatch cover was leaning on the side of the deck and they could see the exposed diesel motor. They moved forward cautiously. A rattling sound came from the engine bay and then the sharp yap of what sounded like a dog. “Don’t shoot; please don’t shoot!” came a voice from the shadows around the motor.
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Mick looked at Derek. The voice had a distinct Australian accent. “Come out of there,” Derek commanded. There was a shuffling sound and then a grease and oil covered figure emerged from the engine bay. The man was Japanese but his voice was Australian. “Don’t shoot mate; I’m just the bloody driver.” Derek kept the figure covered with his carbine but Mick had lowered his and was staring behind the man. A black and white pied dog had followed the man out of the bay. It was wagging its tail. It seemed strangely familiar to Mick. They walked along the beach among the shattered bodies of the soldiers. The man who had emerged from the engine bay trailed along behind. One of the soldiers was still breathing. His legs had been shot off at the knees. Mick looked at Derek and the officer shot the man in the head. The dog barked and the grease covered prisoner fell to his knees and began sobbing. “I wonder why they didn’t dive off into the scrub,” Derek said. “They just followed that fellow I shot blindly, like ducklings behind a mother duck.” Mick shrugged and took the sobbing prisoner by the arm and hauled him to his feet. He was anxious to get away from the carnage before he threw up. They brought in the mooring lines on the barge and left the ramp down. Then Reg rigged up several grenades in the hull and connected the pins with twine. He walked to the end of the ramp and pulled the twine and then ran for cover. When the tide came in a few hours later it swamped the barge and pulled it back into the sea. “That isn’t going anywhere soon,” Reg remarked and handed the Japanese prisoner a cigarette. “Where do you come from?” Derek asked the man, whose name was Tashi Nanamoto. “I was born in Broome,” the man replied. “My old man had a pearling lugger. He took us back to Japan just before they bombed Pearl Harbour. He took all his charts too; I think he must have been spying or something in Broome. He made my brother and me join the army. Said we shouldn’t miss out on the glory.” “Where is he now?” “With my poor mother and my two sisters in Kyoto. He has some sort of ministry job.” “What about your brother?” “Killed at Rabaul. Our blokes were outnumbered but they took a
146 Fair Wind few with them.” “Our blokes?” “Sorry; your blokes, I keep forgetting.” “It must be confusing?” “Not anymore; I’ve seen what my people can do; I’d rather be an Australian.” “We just shot all your crew.” “I’m sorry about that but they were a simple-minded lot; do anything they’re told, most of it not very nice just lately.” “And where did the dog come from?” Mick asked. The prisoner looked at the dog. “I don’t know; he was just wandering along the beach; he found us. The fellow you shot with the buggered legs was our officer, Lieutenant Ryoshi; he wanted to eat the poor bugger but I kept him safe.” “Eat the dog?” “That’s what he said.”
Mick came up from the galley with two plates and a mug of tea balanced in his hands. There was a touch of pink over the headland to the east and the moon was still shining. e placed one of the plates on the deck and sat on the rail near the wheel with the other plate and the mug of tea. The dog sniffed the fried fish and nibbled at it appreciatively. “I thought you’d like that,” Mick said. The dog finished off the fish and regarded him with its head set slightly on its side. “I’ll wake the others shortly and then we’ll get going; we’ll tack down the coast some more and then make our run in the late afternoon.” The dog dropped to the deck and placed its head on its paws beside the empty plate. Mick sipped his tea. “Maybe we’ll see the island this time,” he said, looking at the dog with a mixture of hope and expectation. The dog yawned and closed its eyes. And perhaps we won’t, he thought. He took the plates below and rinsed them. He was aware that the Japanese prisoner was awake and watching him. He lit the kerosene stove again and boiled more water. “There’s tea here if you’d like some,” he said. The man rose from the bunk and took the proffered cup with a slight bow. He had washed all the grease and oil off his body and was wearing a pair of clean cotton shorts with a string waistband. He had
147 The Floating Island quickly grabbed his kitbag before leaving the barge. He sipped the tea. “What do you think will happen to me?” he asked softly. “I don’t know; the Captain might have a better idea; you’ll have to ask him. I imagine the people in Port Moresby will be interested in what you can tell them about Rabaul and what your friends there are doing.” “They told us we would be tortured and then executed if we were captured. They said the Australians never take prisoners. They said we should commit suicide instead.” “That sounds a bit drastic.” “It’s what the Emperor demands; it’s a matter of honour.” “There’s no honour in this war; some of our officers say the same thing; the honour of the British Empire is at stake; it’s all bullshit. This is a senseless and stupid war being fought for what I don’t know. I’m not even sure who started it You and I are the stupid mugs going along with it.” The prisoner looked at him over the top of his cup. “That’s what I think too. I’ve seen some horrible things.” He took another sip of his tea and then thought for a moment before speaking again. “I’d been thinking of ways of getting away from it all but I didn’t know how. And if I got caught I knew I’d be shot. I think that makes me a coward.” He watched Mick to see his reaction but was interrupted by a voice behind him. “It would be good if the Nips had more soldiers like you,” Derek said, stretching and yawning. The prisoner stiffened and looked furtively at Mick. “It’s okay mate,” Derek said. “You’re out of it now. If we get back to Moresby in one piece you can spill your guts and then they’ll probably ship you down south and lock you up until it’s all over. Just don’t cause any trouble for us on the way. Who knows, you might end up back in Broome one day.” “You’ll get no trouble from me,” the prisoner replied quickly. “That’s good. Now, did I smell fish cooking or has that mangy dog filched it all?”
They ran before a fair wind during the night and laid up in the lee of a small atoll the following day. There was the scent of unruly
148 Fair Wind weather in the air and the afternoon thunderstorm continued well into the evening. Mick set his course across a sea that was black and roiling. With morning came an early calm and a thick cobalt mist. He ran up more sail and sat with the dog at the wheel staring into the murk. Gradually light filtered through and the haze swirled from blue to green. Derek came up on deck to relieve him. “Where the hell are we?” he asked sleepily. “I’m not quite sure; normally my lady-friend, Venus, tells me but she’s been out of sight all night.” The dog rose slowly from the deck and trotted to the bow, its nose pointed ahead. “There’s something out there,” Derek said; “The dog can sense it.” He stretched and added, “This mist should burn off soon and if we don’t get any more rain we should be able to see soon.” They stared ahead following the dog’s nose but could see nothing. “I’ll go put the kettle on,” Derek said after a while. Mick glanced at the compass and then went forward and sat with the dog. He ran his hand down its back and it turned to look up at him before resuming its vigil. Mick was about to go back to the wheel when he noticed a shape on the horizon. Then he heard gulls overhead. Slowly through the haze he made out the distinctive twin peaks. The dog whined softly. Mick gave it a quick pat on the head and went back to the wheel. The smaller islands also gradually began to take shape. He scanned them with his binoculars. His pulse had begun to race. Derek emerged from the galley carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sensed Mick’s excitement as he handed him a mug. “What is it?” he asked. “Up ahead; islands!” Mick replied. Derek followed his gaze. “I can’t see anything,” he said and just then the dog began a low howl. Mick pointed and then his arm slowly dropped. In the early morning light, with the mist evaporating quickly, the horizon curved away uninterrupted without an island in sight.
They dressed Tashi in his uniform and marched him along the causeway at Koki to a waiting jeep. He was extremely nervous and stopped midway. “I told them all about you on the radio,” Derek said, “they’re very
149 The Floating Island interested in your background and what you can tell them about Rabaul and also Kyoto. No one is going to hurt you; you’re too valuable.” “You don’t know what’s been happening up there; if they find out they’ll shoot me for sure.” “If we thought that we wouldn’t have bothered bringing you back,” Reg said. “We know what your mates have been up to; now be a good little Nip and get in the jeep.” “Alright, if you say so,” Tashi replied and started to walk again. Then he stopped and held out his hand. Reg took it and glanced at Derek. “I just want to say thanks; that’s all,” Tashi said. Derek took his hand too. The two armed soldiers in the jeep watched with interest. “Get going you silly bugger; we’ll probably see you before you go south. Now get in the jeep.” Mick watched them all jam into the jeep and drive away. He was feeling very tired. When they had swung west around East Cape and past Samarai they had run smack bang into the north west lahara and it had been a battle tacking along the coast. The sky was angry and the wind drove straight at them. Along the shore flotsam piled up on the grey, windswept beaches where the village lakatois had been hauled up out of harm’s way. His arms and shoulders were sore from wrestling the wheel and he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. He carefully hefted his duffle bag and rifle and walked towards the Chinaman’s house. The dog followed a few steps behind. As he came up the gully he was met by Fishbum and Lucy. He waved. “Where’s Derek?” Fishbum asked anxiously. “He’s gone into town; we brought back a Jap prisoner he has to deliver.” He saw the look of relief on the girl’s face. “We’re all fine. Peter is safe with his police soldiers; there’s nothing to worry about,” he added, ruffling the girls hair with his free hand. Then he noticed Lucy staring past him. She looked frightened. “Where did you get that?” she said pointing at the dog. Mick smiled. “He’s an old friend of mine,” he said. Lucy knelt down and looked closer. She put out a tentative hand. Mick noticed it was shaking. Lucy touched the dog on the head and her eyes flared a strange colour for a split second. The sight sent a shudder down Mick’s spine. Even Fishbum looked alarmed. Then Lucy smiled and stood up. The dog wagged its tail.
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“You are a lucky man,” she said to Mick and turned back to the house. The dog trotted off after her. Mick stood still and watched the two women and the dog walking ahead of him for a moment and then shrugged and followed them. He wished he understood what had just happened but he was too tired.
The sound of voices and the rattle of a kettle and a frying pan on the cast iron stove in the kitchen woke him in the morning. He heard the fire grate shut and rolled over and stared out through the open louvers at the bright sunlit garden. An early morning shower had given everything a glossy sheen but it was burning off rapidly. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the comfort of the bed. After a while the smell of frying eggs and sliced American Spam sizzling on the stove reached him. He resisted its temptation for a few minutes and then got out of bed. He stretched and felt the stubble on his chin before wrapping the brightly dyed laplap that Fishbum had given him around his waist. He padded barefoot along the corridor and into the kitchen. Suzy was at the stove and she glanced up and smiled broadly at him. There was a dishevelled and unshaven man in an American uniform sitting at the table. “Got em some eggs and dis piggy fing; you likem some, might be, fink?” Mick peered over her shoulder, “Yes please, it smells delicious Suzy.” “Gotta cuppa tea onna table; you fixim tink,” Suzy replied cheerfully. Mick sat down and poured tea into a cup next to a place set for him already. The dishevelled man watched him for a moment and then got up and offered his hand. “Brian S. Coote,” he said, “Correspondent with the 32nd National Guard.” Mick shook his hand. “Mick O’Shea; I’m either in the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles or the Royal Australian Navy and I think I’m now a lieutenant; but in any event, I’m attached to ANGAU, the Australian New Guinea Administrative Unit, which is the kiap’s outfit, you know, the patrol officers,” he said. “You’re Sister Anne’s friend?” the American said. “Of that I’m reasonably sure,” Mick replied.
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“You’ll have to excuse me,” the American said, “I got in from Buna late yesterday and I hung one on at Suzy’s place last night; I haven’t had a chance to clean up.” Mick sipped his tea and Suzy plonked a plate of eggs and fried Spam on the table in front of him. He sniffed it appreciatively and then said, “So how’s it going at Buna?” “Don’t ask,” the American replied. “It’s a stuff-up; nobody knows what the hell is going on except that the Japs are dug in and have no intention of going anywhere.” He paused and added, “It’s absolute carnage.” Mick munched on a piece of toast drenched in egg yolk. “I thought they were on the run,” he said. “Not anymore.” “Tough little buggers.” “Our boys are taking a hammering.” “So what are you doing in Moresby?” The American sighed and poured himself some more tea. “I needed a break.” He sipped the tea. “Sister Anne told me about you; how you pulled her out of the jungle and all that.” Mick nodded. The man seemed to be making his mind up about something. Finally he said, “I haven’t really got the stomach for it all, I suspect I’m basically a wimp.” He watched Mick for his reaction. “It’s a nasty business,” Mick replied, “I’m not exactly enjoying it either.” The man seemed relieved. “I’d better go get cleaned up,” he said; “I’ve got to report to my boss and then I suppose I’ll have to get ready to go back and invent some more lies for our readers back in the States.” Mick raised his eyebrows and gave the man a sympathetic smile. “Good luck,” he said. He didn’t really know what he meant by ‘luck’ but it was all he could think to say. They shook hands again. “See you around Mick. Thanks Suzy,” the American said as he went out of the kitchen door. Mick finished off his breakfast.
The next time Mick saw the American he was clean shaven and dressed in a neatly pressed uniform. He turned up at the Chinaman’s house late one afternoon in a jeep laden with crates of canned beer, tubs of ice cream, Spam and an assortment of biscuits, cakes and cigarettes. Suzy immediately took charge and carried it all inside. A short while later and a table and chairs were carried outside and
152 Fair Wind placed under a shady mango tree. By the time the sun began to set everyone was bloated and merry. Fishbum was sitting on the grass between Derek’s feet. She had eaten too much ice cream and had hiccups. With each new spasm she giggled and held onto Derek’s legs for support. Lucy’s sister had also partaken of a large amount of the pink, white and brown ice cream and for the first time anyone had seen was smiling happily. Lucy, for her part, had discovered Camel cigarettes and was puffing contentedly. Brian, the American, had stretched his long legs out and was lolling in a cane armchair with a look of bemusement on his face. He was half listening to Derek and surreptitiously glancing at Sister Anne, who was sitting comfortably between Mick and Captain Tom on a cane chair. Derek was talking about the recruitment of labourers from the villages and how it was leaving a shortage of able-bodied men to do the work of providing food. Some of the villagers now only consisted of women, children and old men and they were having trouble feeding themselves. Brigadier Cleland was trying to enforce a cap of twenty five percent recruitment and had set up a special Native Labour Section but he was under enormous pressure from the army. “And when the men are recruited they’re not getting fed properly and are getting sick,” Derek added, glancing in the half light at the American, who was nodding sagely and had slipped a notebook out of his pocket. While he scribbled he kept an eye on Sister Anne. Suzy came bustling out of the house with another platter of sliced cake and plonked it on the table. She looked around for somewhere to sit and Sister Anne offered her the chair. Mick was about to get up when the nun put a hand on his arm and said, “It’s alright, I’ll sit here,” and slid easily onto his lap. Mick was mildly amused by the momentary look on the American’s face but was quickly distracted. He was wearing a thin vest and the old pair of cut down shorts that he used for working on the boat and Sister Anne was wearing her floral dress. She had lifted it delicately when she moved and spread the skirt around her so that their bare skin was touching underneath. She’s not wearing knickers he thought with mild alarm. When he started to grow she moved again. “What are you doing?” he whispered in her ear but she just smiled and asked Suzy to pass her a slice of cake. When she leaned across to get it she wriggled and
153 The Floating Island pressed down on him. Sister Anne turned and winked at Mick and passed the platter on. Lucy had lit a couple of coconut oil flares and everyone’s face glowed in the light.
“I looked it up in one of Captain Tom’s books,” Sister Anne said the next day. “It’s called nymphomania and I’m a nymphomaniac!” “I thinks that’s drawing a rather long bow,” Mick replied. “It must have had something to do with all that beer and ice cream.” “That American beer is a worry too,” Sister Anne replied with a wry smile. “It just gave me hiccups; it didn’t make me wet,” Fishbum grinned. “Fuckee, fuckee alright, fink,” Suzy added looking at Mick. “Oh, I agree Suzy, doing it is fun but it makes Mick feel guilty; he’s in love with someone else, it wasn’t fair of me.” Sister Anne sounded apologetic but Mick wasn’t sure whether she was contrite. He hoped she had put her knickers back on. “Love he ‘nother sumting, might be no matter, fink,” Suzy said. They all looked at her but she just shrugged. She was speaking with a well-worn wisdom. “That’s what we thought but it doesn’t always work that way,” Sister Anne replied. “I was just trying to help,” Mick said with a hopeless expression. “We agreed it wouldn’t go any further.” “You’ve got two girlfriends on that Tokwai island,” Fishbum said, “You don’t need another one.” “As you’ve already told us twice today,” Sister Anne said rather tetchily. Mick wondered whether normal friends had conversations like this, somehow he doubted it. “That American soldier likes you,” Fishbum replied. “I noticed that too,” Mick added quickly. “He looked really worried when you sat on my lap; that’s why he hung around with his jeep and took you back to the house on Paga Hill. You didn’t do anything to him did you?” “You mean Brian?” Sister Anne said looking puzzled. “He just dropped me off.” “That’s good,” Mick said. “He’s the one,” Fishbum added.
154 Fair Wind
“What do you mean, he’s the one?” Sister Anne asked the Papuan girl. “He’s been looking at you all the time,” the girl replied. “I thought he was just perving, looking at me, you know, that speculative thing; they taught us how to ignore it in the convent.” “What a funny education you’ve had,” Mick said. “They never explained why but we knew.” “Like female intuition?” “They told us to suppress and redirect our womanly instincts to God.” “But now you’ve broken free.” “And I like it,” Sister Anne said glumly. “It’s good to have a man,” Fishbum said with a smile, “especially when your insides get wet.” “He’s a nice man I think,” Sister Anne said with a slight frown. “That’s what I hear,” Mick said, “but I’ve only just met him.” “He’s got a good heart, like Mick and Derek,” Fishbum said looking at the nun. “I’m sorry Mick,” Sister Anne said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he replied. “But he’s flying back to Buna in a day or so. He might be good for you, especially right now, help you decide what you want to do, it can’t hurt and if it doesn’t work out that doesn’t matter either.” He put a hand on her arm. “Just take it easy and see what happens.” She touched his hand and held it. “And you’re not a nymphomaniac,” he added. “I’ve already met a couple and I know.” Fishbum giggled.
Two days later Fishbum gleefully reported to him. He was making minor adjustments to the steering on the Jade, which had been modified when they installed the engine. The two old carpenters from Pari Village were with him. “The American flew out this morning,” she said. “Mmm, yes, we expected that,” Mick replied with his head on one side to avoid the glare of the morning sun behind her. “She went out to see him off,” Fishbum had a halo of light behind her lush black hair and her face was shaded. She was wearing a grass skirt and her skin glistened.
155 The Floating Island
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Mick said. “When she came back she was wearing his funny hat.” “The baseball cap?” “If that’s what it is then, yes, his baseball cap. What is a baseball?” “It’s a game; a bit like cricket but with a skinnier bat.” “A game?” “Americans like baseball.” “Then it is an important hat?” “I expect so.” “Then I think she is betrothed to him.” “It must have gone well then,” Mick smiled. “I don’t think they slept together.” “He is an honourable man!” “Or a silly one.” “Listen Gwarume, stop beating around the bushes. Do you think it will last?” “Yes, stop beating up the bushes,” the old carpenters said in unison. The girl grinned mischievously. “What do you think?” she said. “Will she sit on your lap again?” “For goodness sake!” Mick said in an exasperated voice. The girl laughed and spun around in a circle on her heels. Her hair flew in an arc around her and then settled on her bare shoulders. She then flounced back up the causeway swinging her hips in an exaggerated and suggestive way singing a Motu courting song. “That one would be very good in bed,” one of the old carpenters said, “but she’d be very slippery to hold down.” “Don’t even consider it, you’d get severely burnt,” Mick said patting him on the shoulder. “When we’re old and decrepit we’re allowed to dream,” the other old carpenter replied. The following afternoon Derek came to the boat to tell him that Lieutenant Brian S Coote’s aeroplane had disappeared in bad weather over the Owen Stanley Ranges.
“It seems I’ve been cursed,” Sister Anne said. “It must be punishment for abandoning the church. He was such a nice man, gentle and courteous.” “I wouldn’t give up hope yet,” Derek replied, “There was only
156 Fair Wind him and the pilot, Bob Langley; they can put those little Piper Cubs down in the smallest patch of kunai. Bob is an Australian, he’s the one who flew the plane that found you. He’s a tough bloke and knows how to survive in the jungle; it’s not the first time he’s gone down. They’re probably walking out as we speak.” He knew he was being optimistic for the nun’s sake but he thought the two men had a fifty-fifty chance of being alive. If they were injured it would depend on how quickly they were found. “The American’s have sent a PT Boat to Rooke Island to pick up the coastwatcher. He’s an old Lutheran missionary and knows the top of the Kumusi really well; if they’ve come down that’s the most likely place they’ll be, they would have been heading for The Gap near Kokoda.” “How on earth will they find them?” Sister Anne asked. “Same way we found you; the locals will send in a message, we’ve just got to hope it doesn’t go to the Japs. They’ll have planes out searching too.” “The Japs?” “No, the Yanks; the Japs are too busy to worry about searching for crashed enemy planes.” Derek didn’t mention that the Japanese were paying the locals to bring in downed enemy pilots or that they had packs of dogs to track them down. In fact, he wasn’t even sure about the Kumusi River; it was one of a number of places a crippled plane could put down. If they’d gone down high up in the ranges they might never be found, dead or alive. “If that doesn’t work we’ll go look for them,” he added. Mick looked up in surprise. Derek had been promoted to major at the same time he had been promoted. It was a rank equivalent to a District Officer under the combined New Guinea and Papuan administrations. As such he was senior enough to be in charge of a district and that gave him a degree of power and independence. With the combination of the old administrations he could go virtually anywhere if he could convince the hierarchy of the need. He looked across at Mick. “How do you fancy a bit of a walk? Or are those sea legs all that you’ve got?” “I’m game,” Mick said. “Then I’d better think up a good excuse,” Derek replied.
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Derek had news a few days later. “Pastor Lindt has located them and they are alive.” “Thank goodness for that,” Sister Anne said. She was still wearing Brian’s baseball cap. “They’re not out of the woods yet though. They’re in a village up in the ranges and we don’t know whether they’re injured. On top of that the luluai has sent word that he wants £50 each for them; otherwise he’s threatening to hand them over to the Japs.” “The cheeky bugger,” Mick said. “But I guess a hundred quid is cheap compared to someone’s life.” “He’s given Pastor Lindt a week to deliver the money; he wants it in one shilling pieces.” “So he can string them on a piece of cane,” Mick replied. “How’s that?” Sister Anne said. “Territory of New Guinea shillings have a hole in the middle.” “Why won’t he take notes?” “Because when you bury them they rot; he’s saving up for after the war. The Japs have got their own New Guinea script but they pay in shillings too,” Derek said. “Having a bob each way on the outcome of the war,” Derek said with a smile. “A lot of people are doing it.” “So what happens next?” Mick asked. “We have to get a bag of shillings to Pastor Lindt; he’s waiting at the river. Then we walk up and get them out.” “How do we do that? A week isn’t very long.” “We can fly over there and the Americans can run us upriver to where Pastor Lindt is waiting. We can hop on a flight this afternoon.” “I’ll get ready,” Mick said. “Tell Reg to get ready too; we might need him as well.” “Thank you so much,” Sister Anne said. Her eyes were red and Mick felt for her.
Later, as they drove out to Ward’s strip with Reg, Derek said, “There’s a possibility that the luluai has already handed them over to the Japs you know. We could be walking into an ambush.” “We haven’t got much choice have we?” Mick replied. “Why can’t the Yanks go get them?” “Native Affairs matter; they defer to us. I expect some jumped up
158 Fair Wind idiot in ANGAU has made a fuss.” “Playing around with men’s lives.” “I thought you might have noticed that egos are playing a big part in the way this war is fought Mick; men’s lives are unimportant when position and power are at stake. The Yanks do it and so do we.” “It’s pathetic!” “There are careers to be made in this war mate. MacArthur wants to be president one day and Blamey is a puppet on strings being pulled by politicians in Canberra.” “He’s right,” Reg added. He hadn’t said anything up to now. “I’ve been studying it. As far as I can work out the Japs started the war because in 1919 Billy Hughes wouldn’t give them white man status in the League of Nations, he was afraid it would go to their heads and they’d want to migrate to Australia, especially since they were on our side in the last war. The Yanks were egging him on too. He thought slant-eyed people aren’t human. By Christ he was right there; but it upset them, they lost face. Then they got kicked out anyway after invading Manchuria and raping all the women.” “And then they bombed Pearl Harbour?” “Something like that,” Reg replied. “I didn’t know you were a student of politics Reg,” Derek said. “Helps pass the time.” Mick wondered about that. Reg seemed to like killing Japanese and had jumped at the chance of coming with them when he was told what they planned. I wonder if the bugger is trying to justify his blood lust Mick thought.
They flew into the airbase still being established at Dobodura, near Buna and an American PT Boat landed them on the sandbar at the mouth of the Mambare River early the following morning . The coastwatcher from Ioma had come down with his police in canoes to meet them. “The Japs are getting pounded at Buna and the army is afraid they might try landing reinforcements up this way to come in behind our blokes; they’ve told me to stay put and report anything I see, otherwise I’d come with you,” he told them. They made quick progress upstream and soon met up with the two policemen and the carriers sent by Pastor Lindt to guide them to his camp and carry the ransom money. The policemen told them
159 The Floating Island there were Japanese patrols about and they would need to be careful. They reached the camp without incident however. Pastor Lindt had half a dozen policemen with him that were itching to engage with the Japanese. “They don’t like sitting around too much,” the amiable pastor told them. He was a short and nuggetty man dressed in a USAF shirt, an Australian slouch hat and a pair of grubby Bombay Bloomers that had seen better days. He wasn’t wearing any shoes but he had an Owen gun slung casually over his shoulder. “We’re ready when you are,” Derek told him. The pastor grinned. He had no front teeth and it was only later that they learned he carried a denture plate in his pocket. “We can make the Kumusi by nightfall and cross it in the morning,” he said. “I’ve got a camp there; that’s where we’ll meet luluai Biangi’s boys; they’ll take us up to where your men are being held.” “Do you trust him?” Derek asked. “Not in the slightest, he could easily have a Jap patrol waiting up there for us.”
The march to the camp on the Kumusi River had been up and over a woody hill called Mount Green and then through the Uso Swamp, balancing on narrow little walkways made of thin slippery logs and then through smothering hot grasslands. At the camp they had spent a hot night plagued by leeches, mosquitoes and other biting insects and had got little sleep. By the time they began the climb up into the mountains Derek, Reg and Mick were nearing exhaustion. Pastor Lindt and his police, on the other hand, seemed inured to everything and acted as though they were out on a pleasant afternoon stroll. Mick’s calves were screaming for relief and he felt weak all over when the pastor called a halt for the day. They had gained some altitude and this camp was marginally cooler with fewer leeches and insects. The three men from Port Moresby ate a frugal meal of cold rice and bully beef before retiring early. Pastor Lindt posted sentries and told everyone to sleep close to their weapons. Mick had barely drifted off to sleep before he was gently nudged by a policeman offering him a mug of sweet black tea. He had been dreaming of a cool sandy beach on the edge of a clear blue lagoon. When reality had re-established itself he noticed that the
160 Fair Wind sky was only just beginning to colour and the jungle was delightfully cool. The guides sent by the luluai, as they had done the previous day, kept up a friendly chatter all the way. They had told the party that they had heard spluttering noises and had then heard the plane crash. They said they had pulled Masta Brian and Masta Bob out of the wreck, which was suspended in the treetops, and brought them back to their village. They said Masta Brian had a broken leg but Masta Bob only had a few bruises. Masta Bob didn’t want to leave Masta Brian behind so he stayed with him and instructed the luluai to send messengers down to Ioma but they had encountered Pastor Lindt instead. They said Masta Bob had promised the luluai £100 for his help. Pastor Lindt had wanted to go up and get the two men straight away but the luluai sent word that there were Japanese patrols in the area and it would be better if the pastor sent the money up with the messengers and then he would personally bring the white men down to the river. “That’s when I started to get suspicious and decided I needed help,” Pastor Lindt said when they were out of earshot of the guides.
They reached the approaches to the village in the late morning. The guides pointed out the rooflines visible through the trees on the ridge and the track up to the village with broad smiles. They then fell back behind the party and sat down on a log. They said they would have a smoke while the party went up to the village. They said they’d see them up there. Pastor Lindt nodded encouragingly at them and then with a flick of his wrist signalled the policemen. Within seconds they had both guides gagged and trussed in a bundle on the ground. “Are you okay to take the left flank?” the pastor asked Reg. Reg nodded and broke off the track behind two policemen. “Just head slowly up the track towards the village,” the pastor said to Derek and Mick. “Don’t go past that big log up there; you might need it for cover.” He looked at Derek, “You know how it’s done; you’re a kiap.” Derek smiled. With that the pastor broke into the forest to the right of the track with two more policemen. The last policeman was left with the guides and he positioned himself behind a hefty tree ready to provide covering fire for Derek and Mick if they
161 The Floating Island needed it. “Take it slowly and stay behind me and off to the side,” Derek told Mick. He glanced at his wristwatch and waited a couple of minutes more. “You cover the right and I’ll cover the left,” he said and started to move along the track and up the slope. Their timing was good. When the first clatter of gunfire erupted from the village they were positioned opposite the log. They dived for cover just as three Japanese soldiers came tumbling down the track in a flat panic. Derek rose from his position and shot the first one in the chest. The second one panicked and turned around and he shot him between the shoulder blades. The third one, however, had dropped to one knee and after his companions were out of his line of sight was drawing a bead on Derek. Mick fired his carbine and the man spun sideways. The bullet had smashed into his left side below the sternum and heart. Blood gushed from his shattered ribs but he managed to roll over and pick up his rifle. Derek shot him again and he fell backwards. They waited behind the log until they saw Reg at the top of the track. “All done,” he shouted and came down towards them. He stopped by the man Mick had shot. “This bastard’s still alive,” he said poking the man with the barrel of his carbine. When Derek and Mick reached Reg the soldier was gasping for breath and staring in terror at them all. Mick felt sick. Reg glanced at him and then at Derek, who nodded imperceptibly. Reg shot the man in the back of the head. His blood spattered all over Mick’s legs.
Derek and Mick walked up to the village while Reg went down to collect the policeman and the two guides. The village consisted of two rows of houses with beehive roofs and a common space running down the middle. A dobu or speaking platform with carved posts stood roughly in the middle. At the far end a well-worn track continued on into the forest. The policemen had dragged the bodies of the Japanese patrol into the centre of the village and laid them out in a line. A further body from outside the hut where Brian and Bob had been held was being dragged into place by two villagers under the command of a grinning policeman who was casually following them carrying the decapitated head by the hair. The villagers pulled the body into line and the policeman dropped
162 Fair Wind the head in the approximate proper place. Another policeman was collecting the soldiers brass dog tags, which were tied with white cotton tape around their waists or necks. He passed them to Derek. Brian and Bob were sitting on the grass in front of the house from where the headless soldier had been dragged talking to the pastor. A policeman with a fresh bandage around his thigh was guarding a villager wearing a luluai’s cap and badge, Brian’s right leg was stretched out straight in front of him in what looked like a professionally applied splint. Derek and Mick shook hands with the two men. Derek pointed at Brian’s leg and said, “That looks good, are you in any pain?” Brian shook his head. “The villagers treated us well and so did the Japs; the lieutenant had some medical training and he set my leg and splinted it. He gave me some sort of pills and I’ve been feeling very relaxed ever since.” “They tend to treat officers well,” Pastor Lindt said. “That’s probably Philopon he’s given you, the Japs call it shabu, it’s an addictive drug so you’d better be careful. They would have probably honourably beheaded you by sword after they’d dealt with us,” he added. “Anyway, it worked out well,” Derek said indicating the Japanese bodies, “looks like we got the whole patrol.” “The silly buggers were all sitting at the start of the track waiting to ambush us as we came into the village. No forward scouts and no one covering their back. Once we worked out where Brian and Bob were being held we just opened up on them; it was like a turkey shoot. The soldier guarding them came rushing out of the house so fast when the shooting started that when Corporal Dosi hit him with his bush knife he head came straight off. Dosi reckons it was marvellous!”
They made the villagers dig a pit below the village and they rolled the dead soldiers into it and covered them with a thin layer of earth to keep the flies away. They also left a space at one end. They piled all bar one of the soldier’s Arisaki rifles onto a fire and when they were red hot pounded the barrels so that they couldn’t be used again. The pastor took the undamaged rifle. “They’re a fine weapon, good for sniping,” he explained to Mick. While the police set up camp in one of the houses Derek
163 The Floating Island conducted a court under the dobu for luluai Biangi. The village tultul, Biangi’s pre-war government-appointed assistant, had no qualms about giving evidence against him. He explained how Biangi had contacted the Japanese when Bob and Brian were brought into the village and negotiated a fee for handing the men over and setting up the ambush. He had apparently openly bragged about extracting two fees for the same men. Several of the other men in the village corroborated the tultul’s evidence. They all looked very nervous and Biangi listened to them with a sullen expression on his face. The area had been under government control since the 1890s and the local tribesmen had learned all about the swift wrath of the kiaps after they had killed a patrol officer, John Green and his police at Tamata Creek in 1897. Mount Green had been named after him. The luluai knew that Derek was aware that the tultul and the other men had most likely been complicit with him. He also knew that the Australian kiap intended to just use him to demonstrate the perils of collaboration with the Japanese and he was phlegmatic about his fate. At the end of the proceedings Derek pronounced sentence and signalled to Corporal Dosi. The policeman pulled a well-worn rope out of his knapsack and threw it over the branch of a nearby breadfruit tree. One of the other policemen slipped the noose over the luluai’s head and lifted him onto a stool taken from the house where the Japanese officer had been staying. The corporal took up the slack on the rope and tied it off around the trunk of the tree. At a signal from Derek the other policeman smiled in the luluai’s face and then kicked the stool out from under him. The luluai struggled for several seconds and was then still. His toes dangled a few inches above the bare ground. They left him swinging from the tree until the evening. Then the police took him down and the corporal retrieved his rope and handed it to the kiap. Derek summoned the tultul and passed the rope to him and told him to show it to the other men. When the tultul brought it back he handed it to the corporal, who carefully coiled it and replaced it in his knapsack. Derek then handed the luluai’s cap and badge to the tultul and told him to find another man to take his own place. The tultul took the cap and placed it on his head. He then saluted the kiap and Derek saluted back. The villagers then took the luluai’s body to the pit where
164 Fair Wind the Japanese soldiers had been buried and rolled him into the space at the end. At a signal from the corporal they began filling the mass grave with soil. Mick had watched the whole process in silence and at the end of it he could taste the bile in his throat. He wondered how many times Derek had gone through the same process. Derek looked at him as if he knew what he was thinking and shrugged. “It’s got to be done,” he said. There was sadness in his voice.
Early the following morning Derek had the police assemble the villagers and lectured them about collaborating with the Japanese. He explained that they were being beaten back and would soon be defeated. When that happened, he explained, the kiaps will return and they would be exacting punishment against anyone found guilty of collaboration. He pointed to the breadfruit tree and the branch on which the luluai had been hanged to make his meaning clear. He told them they should cooperate as little as possible with the enemy and must, under no circumstances, do anything that could endanger Australian and allies lives. After he had spoken Pastor Lindt, with the ubiquous Owen gun slung over his shoulder, led them in a prayer and told them that God was watching them to see how they behaved. He described the Japanese as godless barbarians that had to be smitten from the face of their land. He finished by telling them that all would be well if they followed the kiap’s advice. The villagers listened to both men in silence. Watching from under the eaves of the house in which they had spent the night Mick could see the confusion on the villagers faces. The poor buggers are just pawns in this meaningless war he thought and their stupid and greedy luluai has only managed to make matters worse. He glanced at the new luluai, who was whispering to the grizzled old man that he had appointed as the new tultul in his place. When both men sidled over to Derek, Mick rose too and went over to see what they were up to. Derek listened to the two men and then he signalled for the corporal. The new luluai brought an old woman and man coated in orange mud out of a house. The corporal brought the bag of shillings and Derek began counting out coins on a banana leaf quickly cut and spread on the ground for the purpose.
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He made three piles of coins. The largest he handed to the old woman and man. The other two he handed to the new luluai and his tultul. The corporal tied up the bag of remaining coins and passed it to another policeman who placed it in his knapsack. The villagers who had crowded round to watch quickly dispersed. Derek stood up and the luluai and tultul stood to attention and saluted him. When they had gone he said, “Time to get moving I think.” “What was all that about?” Mick asked. “The old woman and old bloke are the dead luluai’s parents. I gave them his back pay. I also gave the new luluai and tultul their government allowance for the coming year. Life goes on I’m afraid but hopefully it seals the deal about their allegiance to us rather than the Japs.” He sighed and smiled.
The police made a comfortable stretcher out of bush materials for Brian that allowed him to be carried sitting up. The two guides who had led them to the village were made to carry him. Their smiles had gone and they were wondering what their fate would be. Derek chose to keep them in suspense. They made good time and reached the camp on the Kumusi River late in the afternoon. The police set to work making sleeping platforms. They also gathered both dry and green firewood and stacked it ready to light as soon as it became dark. They had not enjoyed the biting insects on the inward journey either and didn’t intend to suffer from them again. Once the smoky fires were lit they heated food and then retired early for the night. They were up before dawn and quickly made sweet tea and then smothered the fires. By the time the sun began to send light over the river there was not a wisp of smoke in the air. They rested about mid-morning in the long grass. The two guides were glistening with sweat and Derek decided to enlighten them about their fate. “When we get to Ioma you’ll be tried and sentenced. You will serve your sentence there with the coastwatcher. If you behave he will then let you go back to your village.” Both men looked relieved and the smiles returned. A prison sentence meant good food, medical care and a dry bed at night; a much better option that swinging from a breadfruit tree. As they were all about to resume the trek a shrill bird whistle
166 Fair Wind sounded from up ahead. Derek looked at Mick and swore. The forward scout came hurrying down the track. “Japani,” he said and held up seven fingers. Brian and his stretcher was quickly moved off the track out of sight and the police, in a practised manoeuvre, quickly deployed in the grass alongside the track. Derek whispered to the corporal. “No firing until I give the signal, okay?” The corporal grinned and nodded. Pastor Lindt took up a position on one side of the track and Derek and Mick took the other side, all of them out of the policemen’s field of fire. About ten minutes later the Japanese appeared. Rather than the tightly bunched and disciplined patrol they had expected this one presented itself as a group of bedraggled soldiers strung out over fifty metres. The seventh soldier bringing up the rear was hobbling and was clearly in great pain. There didn’t appear to be an officer among them. Derek didn’t fire his carbine but stood up and signalled to the corporal. Mick expected him to be shot immediately but nothing happened. The soldiers were armed but offered no resistance. The police worked their way methodically through them with their bush knives. The soldiers bowed their heads and died where they stood. When it was over the police inspected their handy work. The soldiers uniforms were ragged and their bodies were emaciated and covered in sores. Only one of them was wearing a pair of boots. The others had wrapped their feet in rags. The corporal collected the dog tags and gave them to Derek. “They’re from a unit of the Eighteenth Army,” Pastor Lindt said indicating the insignia on one of the dead soldier’s uniform. “They’re the mob at Napopo and Buna.” “It looks like they were heading west, maybe they’re retreating, they don’t look in very good nick,” Bob Langley said coming out of the grass with Brian. “One can only hope so; I wonder where they were headed,” Derek said. “Probably Giruwe, somewhere like that,” the pastor offered. “We’d better be careful, if they’re retreating we might run into more of them.” “They don’t look like they’d be much trouble,” Bob replied nodding towards the bodies.
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So why kill them Mick thought and then checked himself. He guessed they could become dangerous again if they were to regroup and recuperate. “At least we saved a few bullets,” the pastor said and spat on the ground. “It’s getting bloody hot in this grass,” he added. “Yeah, we’d better get going,” Derek replied. They dragged the bodies into the long grass and collected the soldier’s rifles and ammunition. The police took a rifle each and slung it over their shoulders. It was impractical to cook them in the grassland and the coastwatcher at Ioma would probably put them to good use. They kept their own rifles in their hands. It was also too hot and impractical to bury the bodies and they had lost too much time already so they left them to rot in the sun.
They handed over the two guides, the rifles and the bag of shillings to the coastwatcher and paddled downriver to the mouth of the Mambare River with him the following day. The PT Boat that picked them up had tinsel strung up in the galley and a palm frond decorated with silver cigarette wrappers in the deckhouse. Mick glanced at his wrist watch and realised it was only a few days to Christmas. “Your blokes took Buna on the 19th,” the skipper told them. “The Japs are on the run, thank gawd!”
Ba watched his two daughters coming through the dappled light along the forest path. They were playing some sort of game that involved the moving patches of sunlight and shade. Sakiata was behind them carrying a bilum of vegetables from the garden. The mystified dog was leaping and dodging between them all. Teone’s pregnancy was heavier than Little Sister’s and her breasts had become swollen. The only visible evidence that Little Sister was carrying a child was her distended belly, otherwise she looked as sleek as she had always done. Her demeanour since the visit of the Japanese soldiers had also changed and she was much more her old, happy self. Whether it was her acceptance of the possibility that her child had been conceived as a result of that violence or whether it was simply the effect of her condition was hard to tell. Neither Ba nor Sakiata were willing to delve deeper. akiata, as she told Ba, suspected that Little Sister shared whatever thoughts she had about
168 Fair Wind the matter with her older sister and whatever Teone’s responses were they seemed to be working. “If you two keep jumping about like children you will soon be leaving little babies scattered all through the forest,” Ba said to the two girls by way of greeting. Little Sister giggled and Teone executed a pirouette and a hop and skip while holding her belly. “Like this you mean?” she laughed. Sakiata dropped her bilum on the ground by the fireplace and shook her head. “They’ve been carrying on like this all day. They left all the work in the garden to me. Now I expect they want me to cook their dinner.” “Oh mother, we’ll do it, you rest now,” Little Sister said and turned to her sister who was now smiling uncertainly. A trickle of clear, yellowish liquid was running down the inside of her legs. The dog, having caught the scent, had its nose in the air. “Dinner might have to wait,” Sakiata said going to her daughter.
The birth was relatively easy. A little after midnight Sakiata emerged into the moonlight from the small birthing hut the women had built carrying a tiny bundle. She walked the short distance to the clearing in front of the house where Ba was dozing beside the fire. He looked up as she placed the bundle in his arms. He gently moved the soft bark cloth aside and looked at the tiny face. “A boy?” “Yes, a boy.” The old man smiled. “Teone is asleep; she did well.” “I did not hear her cry out once.” “She is strong.” “Did you wash him with the moss from the forest?” “We will burn it in the morning; everything was done according to custom.” “He is a Tokwai then?” “Yes; a Tokwai, just as you wanted.” “I am happy then.”
169
9 QUEST
THE PIED dog was almost as happy to see Mick as Fishbum was to see Derek. Sister Anne defied the brass and took over Brian’s care by installing him in the Chinaman’s house. Derek remarked to his American counterpart that the house had become a quasi-military establishment anyway and since Brian was resisting efforts to ship him home he may as well stay there until he was better. Shortly afterwards Brian hobbled up the stairs on his crutches clutching a fibre case. Shortly after the clackety-clack of typewriter keys being forcefully banged with two fingers could be heard from the veranda. The only time the noise stopped was when Brian paused to explain a technical point to a fascinated Fishbum. Bob Langley wrote a detailed account by hand of how they had run into dense cloud after getting through the notorious Gap in the Owen Stanley Range and had been forced to stooge around until they had apparently run out of fuel. He went looking for another aeroplane and vowed to religiously and personally supervise the refuellers if he found another one. Mick retreated to the Jade on the pretence of having to urgently fix something. The dog stuck close, only going to Lucy and her sister when it was hungry. The rest of the time it snoozed on the bow of the boat or sat and stared out towards the reef while Mick tinkered. One morning when he joined it he patted it and said, “You’re thinking it’s time to go, aren’t you?” The dog put its head on one side and Mick scratched it between the ears. “I helped kill a man over there dog; I don’t want to do that again
170 Quest but I might have to if I stay here,” he said. “Reg fired the coup de grâce but the man would have died anyway after what I did to him. I’ve got his bloodstains on my legs and as hard as I wash they won’t go away. What do you think of that dog?” When the dog merely tilted its head the other way Mick continued. “I was there when a so-called man of God mowed men down with an Owen gun as if they were wheat and I saw the bloodlust in the eyes of the police as they butchered helpless men with their bush knives. They said it was to save bullets but it wasn’t, it was the joy of killing with their bare hands.” He sighed and looked at the dog. “Will you take me to the island? Is that why you’ve come? Or is it something else? Has something happened that you need to tell me about? Are Teone and Little Sister and Sakiata and Ba alright? What am I going to do dog?” “You should follow your heart,” Lucy said softly behind him. She had come up quietly so that even the dog hadn’t heard her. Mick wondered how she did it. Perhaps she floated in the air. “My heart is telling me to go,” he said after she had sat down beside him. “Then go! The dog will show you the way. It is a messenger and a guide.” “But it’s not that easy; I would be letting everyone down and I would be a deserter, I could be shot if I was caught.” “Then don’t get caught; everyone will understand.” “Do you think so?” “When you are gone I will tell them.” “I have to think about it more; maybe I should talk to Derek?” “The more you think and talk the harder it will be.” “I’ll think about it anyway. I’ll think about it some more.” “As you wish; I have food for the dog, we should go up to the house.” “Am I a coward Lucy?” “You are a man; no more and no less; come, it’s time to eat.” And they walked up to the house together.
Derek had an office in the Steamships building on the ground floor on Champion Parade. What had been retail space had been
171 The Floating Island divided into offices with walls made of hessian and tarpaper. When he wasn’t out on coastwatcher supply trips or rescue missions he sat there shuffling paper in a state of boredom. The office wasn’t far from Koki and Mick walked there. His formal military relationship with Derek was vague at the best of times but it suited them both. When not on a mission Mick was left to his own devices. The only firm understanding they had was that he and the Jade would always be in readiness to leave for a mission at early notice. Without any real need to report for duty every day Mick seldom visited the office. He was surprised to see their Japanese captive, Tashi, sitting at a desk outside Derek’s office wearing an Australian uniform. “I thought they were going to ship you south to a prisoner of war camp?” Tashi shrugged. “They keep telling me that but somehow Derek keeps finding me more jobs to do,” he said indicating a cardboard box on the desk filled with Japanese dog tags. He was translating the information on them into English and writing it on cardboard tags and attaching them to the original brass ones. “Isn’t he afraid that someone will see you and panic and shoot you.” “That’s why he put me in the uniform, I’m not really an Australian soldier.” “That’s a bit morbid, sorting through your countrymen’s dog tags, they’re all dead aren’t they?” “Yes, but hopefully the information will get to their families one day; we know where they all came from and where they were killed.” And there’s probably one in there that I’m responsible for Mick thought. “Is Derek around?” “He ducked out for a minute, shouldn’t be too long, probably down at the wharf. How’s the dog going?” “He’s waiting outside in the shade under that big rain tree.” “Funny old thing isn’t he? He seemed really happy to see you blokes on that beach in New Britain. He actually let me know you were coming; that’s why I ducked down into the engine bay. I saw you come around the point and I knew that the lieutenant and the others wouldn’t make it back to the landing barge in time.” “You reckon the dog was waiting for us?”
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“He was waiting for something and when you blokes turned up I reckon he thought he had found it.” “That sounds a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?” “Sometimes animals are like that; we had a cat on the pearling lugger in Broome that could predict storms and find pearl shell beds.” “How could a cat find pearl shell?” “I don’t know but when we got near a bed it got real restless and made a big fuss around the divers. They knew; they’d say, ‘shell bed coming up boss, Marmalade can feel it’. It was a ginger tomcat.” “And you believe that?” “Never failed. That dog is on a mission, I could see it in his eyes. He’d been sent for some reason. You wait, you’ll see.” Mick considered the idea and then said, “I suppose you might be right. Anyway, I’d better get back to the boat, got a few things to do.” “You’re not going to wait for Derek? He won’t be much longer, he gets claustrophobic in here and has to go for a walk every so often.” “Nah, it’s alright; I’ll catch up with him later, just wanted to say hello.” “Okay, I’ll tell him you dropped by.” “Good; keep your head down Tashi.” Mick walked slowly back to the boat. The pied dog led the way with a cheerful expression on its face.
He took the Jade over the reef and out to sea on the receding tide when the moon was high and the night was clear. The lahara billowed in the sails and they snapped taut and drove the little boat swiftly along the coast. He didn’t look back but turned his face into the spray. The dog beside him did the same. Ahead of them the myriad stars painted a glowing path to follow.
When Derek came down to the causeway the following morning he stood and stared at the place where the Jade had been moored. He had Tashi and Fishbum with him and he turned to them and said, “We won’t mention this for a while; if anyone asks, Mick has taken the boat out on a shakedown cruise to test the modifications to the steering.” They both nodded in agreement. Tashi felt guilty for not mentioning the strange conservation he had with Mick earlier but
173 The Floating Island
Fishbum, for reasons she couldn’t explain, felt somehow elated. As Derek walked back up Hunter Street he pondered the orders he had been given a few days earlier. Now that Buna and Gona had been taken the Japanese were being rapidly pushed back along the coast. It was only a matter of time before Salamaua, Lae, Finschhafen and Madang fell. Then it would be on to Wewak and the end of the Japanese on the mainland. The rumour among the brass was that Kiriwina and Woodlark Islands would be used as forward air bases to keep the Japanese at Rabaul hemmed in while the push up the coast took place. They would also be ideal places from which to launch bombing raids on the Japanese mainland bases. Port Moresby would necessarily lose its focus and simply become another supply base. The war was moving on. As far as anyone knew there were no Japanese on either island. Derek found this strange but he knew that if the enemy worked out what the allies were up to they might try pre-emptive landings. Having a good coast watching system set up on both islands as soon as possible seemed like a sensible thing to do. The rumour, as well as common sense, suggested that the islands would best be taken over and the airstrips and other infrastructure built towards mid-year when the first assault on Salamaua was scheduled. This gave Derek a couple of months to get organised. The Trobriand Islands were famous in South Seas mythology as ‘the islands of love’ because of their attractive women and the liberality of local customs. For this reason there had always been resident populations of beachcombers and other layabouts on Kiriwina Island. Woodlark had gold and there was an equal population there of prospectors. Quite a few had evacuated when war broke out but the diehards on both islands were still there. They were an unknown quantity; they could either be very helpful or an unwelcome hindrance. The idea of moving hundreds of troops onto the islands and the impact on the local people alarmed many of the old timers in ANGAU, Derek included. The other thing that bothered them was the fact that both islands were low lying and surrounded by coral reefs and there wasn’t a lot of good arable land on either. The construction of several large airstrips, bases and a road network would inevitably bite into this limited resource. There was a need to
174 Quest smooth the way. The exigencies of war demanded that the airstrip be built no matter what the local people thought but doing it without too much fuss would be preferable. There would also be labour to recruit. Derek was to leave as soon as a flying boat became available to conduct an initial reconnaissance. He guessed he would beat Mick there by several days.
Sam Packer was sitting up to his navel in the warm water of the lagoon off Losuia reading a copy of Charles Dicken’s Great Expectations and smoking his pipe when the matt black shape of the PBY-5A Catalina appeared out of the morning light on the horizon. He continued reading but kept a wary eye on the seaplane. He was hoping it would pass overhead and continue on its way but that didn’t happen. It made a pass over the lagoon and then circled back to land. Sam closed the book and stood up. He supposed he’d better go find a pair of trousers. When he got back to the lagoon there was a gaggle of excited children watching the aeroplane. It was bobbing on the water just off the reef and the occupants appeared to be launching a dinghy to come ashore. He was joined by his neighbour, Dean Flower, from down the beach. Dean was dressed in one of the colourful laplaps he favoured and appeared to be a bit under the weather for so early in the morning. He had brewed a fresh batch of jungle juice a few days ago and Sam guessed he had been up all night sampling the product. “Who the hell do you reckon this is? I hope it’s not the bloody kiap,” Dean slurred. Sam shrugged. “It’s got RAAF markings, so it’s not the Japs,” he replied. The possible arrival of the Japanese on Kiriwina had been a topic of conversation among the white men on the island for several months now. Rumours of the atrocities committed on New Britain and Tol Plantation had eventually reached them and made them apprehensive. “The last bugger confiscated all my booze and broke my still,” Dean added referring to the kiap. Sam wasn’t sure whether Dean was more afraid of the kiap than the Japanese. “They seem to know what they’re doing,” he replied. “They’ve found the channel and are coming ashore. Must have a kiap with
175 The Floating Island them.” “Aw, shit!” Dean muttered and Sam chuckled. He liked to tease poor old Dean when the opportunity arose. “I suppose we’d better go and see what they want.” “Maybe they’ve got some beer,” Dean said hopefully.
They shook hands with Derek and Reg. The two armed soldiers who had come with them remained beside the dinghy. Sam indicated a shady patch under the palms with a couple of coconut logs up on the beach. “You may as well invite your mates with the guns too,” he said. “No one will harm your boat and the kids will keep an eye on it. They’ll get hot out there in the sun.” “We’re not worried about the locals,” Derek replied, “we’re just not sure whether there are any Japs here.” “Not to my knowledge,” Sam replied. “There’s a Chinaman runs a trade store with his wife but they’re harmless.” Derek smiled and signalled the soldiers to come up into the shade. While they were walking Reg and the soldiers were looking around. There were several women gathered under the trees near some village houses and quite a few of them were young and extremely attractive. They were wearing very short, red-dyed grass skirts, front and rear and they all had colourful flowers in their hair. Their sleek and handsome bodies glowed with good health, as indeed did the bodies of the men and the naked children. Something interrupted Reg’s concentration and Sam saw him sniffing suspiciously in the direction of Dean. He smiled to himself. When Derek explained the purpose of their visit Sam suggested that they go to his house to discuss it in private. “Rumours spread very quickly around here, what you say here will be common knowledge in the outer islands in a day or so.”
The house was set a short distance from the village and had a pleasing aspect over the lagoon. It was built of native materials with a thatched roof but there was a strip of galvanised iron on the roof of the adjacent kitchen that fed a water tank. There was a wide veranda with a springy cane floor and comfortable cane chairs upon which opened a room with a spacious bed hung over by a large mosquito net. In another open-fronted room alongside there was a fine dining
176 Quest table and a desk. A bookcase filled the rear wall. A large post office clock on the wall was minus its glass and both the minute and hour hands hung loosely at the six thirty position. Derek noticed that they swayed gently back and forth in the sea breeze. “Are there any other white men on the island?” he asked when they were all seated on the chairs or the floor. “There’s a mad Viking down the beach and a couple of old half- caste brothers on the north shore; apart from that and the Chinaman there’s just us,” Sam replied. “Do you ever see any Japanese aeroplanes or boats?” “No boats but the odd aeroplane comes past, although we haven’t seen any for a month or more. They occasionally fly low up the beach and wave at the kids.” “How do you feel about keeping a watch for us? We can set up a teleradio with contact to the military base at Milne Bay and we’d drop off any supplies that you might need. We’re setting up another coastwatcher on Woodlark Island so you would be able to talk to him too.” While they were talking a couple of young women came up onto the veranda carrying green coconuts for the men to drink. The girls were honey coloured with wavy black hair and were dressed in the same short skirts as the other girls in the village. “They’re my daughters,” Sam explained. The girls smiled at the men and then padded back down the stairs and went into the kitchen hut. Sam watched the effect that their saucily swinging hips had on Reg and the two soldiers. He made a mental note to buy some material from the Chinaman and get his wife to run up some dresses for the girls. “Do I have a choice?” he asked. “If you’re not willing we’ll bring in someone else.” Derek deliberately avoided looking at Dean, whose candidature he had already discounted. “Probably a kiap from the mainland.” He saw Dean flinch for some reason. “What else would be involved?” “We’d have to enlist you in ANGAU but you’d then get paid.” “I’m sixty six years old,” Sam smiled, “isn’t there an age limit?” “Yes, but we make exceptions; we’ve got a couple of seventy year old coastwatchers on the mainland.” “Then I guess you’d better sign me up,” Sam said.
177 The Floating Island
“Excellent; we’ve got a teleradio on the Cat along with some other gear and supplies that you’ll need, including a rifle and some ammo.” “I don’t really need a gun,” Sam replied. “Unfortunately it’s mandatory issue,” Derek said. Sam shrugged, he could always bury it in the garden. “You don’t happen to have beer on board do you?” Dean asked hopefully. “As a matter of fact we do,” Derek replied, “and there’s a few bottles of rum too I think.” Dean grinned widely and Sam raised his eyes to the roof. “But first things first,” Derek continued. “It will take us a while to set up the teleradio, there are batteries and a charger and we’ll have to get an aerial up and tune it; are you familiar with two-way radios Sam?” Sam shook his head. “Then we’ll have to give you some lessons; there’s a secret code you’ll need to know as well as a Morse Key. While Reg and I are doing that we’ll need to tuck the Cat away somewhere where it is less obvious to any passing visitors.” “You can tow it into the lagoon, the channel is okay at high tide, just a bit windy, there’s deep water close up a bit on the beach or you can take it a bit further north and park it in the lee of Kaileuna Island.” “The closer the better; one of the pilots will sleep on board but we’ll camp ashore.” “There’s the haus kiap in the village, just over there; I’ll get the girls to set it up for you.”
It took them the rest of the day to set up the teleradio and teach Sam how to use it. Dean tagged along too when the effects of the jungle juice had worn off and he became quite amiable and a quick learner. Derek guessed that he could be a good backup for Sam as long as he was sober. He mentioned this to Dean and he got an enthusiastic response. Derek decided that he’d recruit Sam as a sergeant and Dean as a private. That night the village put on a feast for the visitors and entertained them with dancing. Huge mud crabs were served in big ornately carved wooden dishes along with offerings of roasted taro, bananas and fresh greens. The dancing was mildly erotic, something
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Reg and the soldiers hadn’t seen before and they were mesmerised. Towards the end of the festivities a lithe old man in a pandanus leaf breech clout came over and whispered in Sam’s ear. Sam patted the old man on the arm and spoke a few words to him. He then leaned over to Derek and said, “This is old Mikalas, he’s the luluai for this part of the island, he wanted to know whether you wanted company tonight.” “Girls?” Sam nodded. “Better not; tell him we are soldiers and need to preserve our strength in case we meet the enemy.” “That won’t work here,” Sam chuckled. “A woman’s attentions strengthens a man in these islands. I told him you are all too tired, maybe tomorrow night.” “We’ll be flying out by then.” “Exactly,” Sam laughed. “But that does remind me of something else,” Derek said. “There’s one of our men on the way here by boat, Mick O’Shea in the Jade, it’s a ketch-rigged trader. He’ll probably be looking around the islands to the northwest. If you spot him you might like to tell him I need to talk to him on the radio.” “There aren’t too many islands out that way,” Sam said with a slight frown. “It’s a long story; he’s looking for a floating island.” “A Tokwai island?” Sam said. “That’s right; you know about them then?” “A bit; there’s a tree here where some of them visit, he should come and talk to the tree.” “He’s got a black and white dog with him,” Derek said while watching Sam with interest. Men of experience in the islands knew better than to discount local beliefs, especially where spirits were concerned. Anyone else listening to them would have thought they were mad Derek thought. “Ah, well that’s interesting,” Sam replied with a distinct look of curiosity in his eye. “Will you give him the message? We’ll be flying back at night and won’t see him.” “Sure, be interesting to talk to him,” Sam replied with a hint of a smile.
179 The Floating Island
It was a disconsolate Mick O’Shea who dropped anchor off Kiriwina Island two weeks later. He had crisscrossed the sea several times until his diminishing supply of fresh water had forced him to reluctantly head east. The dog had gone from barking encouragingly to sulking in the galley. They called into the atolls at Simsim and Nauria but there was nobody there and the wells marked on his charts had been fouled by windblown debris and birds. He realised that he had never really been aware of the magnitude of his quest. He knew that there were other forces at play, forces that he didn’t understand, but he doggedly relied on his compass and sextant, fully expecting them to be true to him and to ultimately lead to success. However, if he had been able to stand on the quarter deck of some alien space ship and look down on the planet he would have seen the sea where he searched spread out like a great blob of diffident blue, shading from light to dark and carefully drawn around with an outline speckled here and there by little patches of green floating in an immensity of darker ocean. Below, to the south, like spawn falling from a fecund frog were ribbons and worms of even darker blue where submerged atolls sat like nascent islands just beyond reach. Defeated, he would have sensibly shrugged and turned away to plot his course to somewhere else that offered something more sane and rational. He was left not quite knowing what to do. Perhaps he should sail back to Port Moresby and hope that his absence hadn’t been interpreted as desertion. Indeed, he wondered whether that was a more accurate description of his intentions. It was in this mood that he decided to call into the big island. He dropped anchor in the crystal clear water just off the lagoon and watched it spiral down to the sandy shelf twenty fathoms below. The water was so clear that he imagined he could reach out an arm and pick the anchor up. He lowered the dinghy and placed three empty water barrels in it. A group of people had collected on the beach and someone in a small outrigger was paddling out to meet him. He stepped into the dinghy and signalled for the dog to follow. It hopped nimbly onto the seat beside him. He shipped the oars and began to row towards what he guessed was the entrance to the lagoon. The two girls in the outrigger waited for him to follow. For some reason he felt that his arrival had been expected. On the beach
180 Quest a suntanned white man in faded cotton shorts extended his hand and said, “Good morning Mick, I’m Sam Packer.”
“I’m not a criminal hiding from the law and I didn’t suffer any great trauma during the last war and I’m not burying my sorrows after some tragic or failed love affair. I simply like living in the islands and I enjoy the pace of life and the company of the islanders. I came to Papua in 1899 with some other blokes prospecting for gold. I eventually struck it rich and made enough money, which with a bit of care should see me out for the rest of my days.” Mick was sitting on the veranda of Sam Packer’s house watching the sunset over the lagoon. “People might find that hard to understand I think,” Mick said. “I hope this war with the Japanese doesn’t come here, it would destroy so much.” “That worries me a lot; not so much for myself but for the people here. Even without any fighting, just establishing a big base here will probably have a huge impact. I only know a little about the last war from what I’ve read; at the time it had little impact on us. In fact, by the time we found out about it the thing was pretty much over.” “You didn’t see a need to get involved?” “As far as I could tell it was all about rich men fighting for position. Men were sent to their deaths for no good reason. I can’t see that this one is really much different but unfortunately it’s much closer to home.” “The orders I’ve got are to scout out places for three airfields, a site for a base to house 2,000 men and somewhere to moor flying boats.” “Is that why they sent the policemen; in case people object?” “That and in case the Japs start snooping around.” “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.” “I’m not but I haven’t got much choice. Technically I’m a deserter and since the Jade was commandeered by the military I guess I’m also either a thief or a pirate.” “These islands are full of men with dubious pasts; you’re in good company Mick, my lad,” Sam laughed.
The police had arrived on an early morning Catalina. They were led by Sergeant Yawi, a grizzled veteran approaching retirement who
181 The Floating Island walked stiffly because of arthritis in his knees. The other five policemen were a motley crew of raw recruits. The sergeant had saluted Mick in a desultory way and handed him an envelope with a red wax seal. They quickly unloaded the supplies accompanying the policemen and the aeroplane took off for Woodlark Island. Mick inspected the boxes of rations and noted the four crates of Schaefer beer. Dean, who had come down to the lagoon with Sam and the Mad Viking patted the cans of beer affectionately and smiled ingratiatingly at Mick. “We’ll have to ration it,” Mick said taking his glasses out of his top pocket and opening the letter. He read the handwritten note from Derek and then glanced through the typed sheets attached to it. They were all stamped ‘top secret’. Sam watched him with interest. “Good and bad news,” Mick said to the older man. “Apparently I’m off the hook but they’ve got big plans for the island. I’ll fill you in later. Apparently I’m in charge and you are my faithful number two.” “Suits me; I’m good at number two.” “Meanwhile we’d better get this scruffy lot set up in the barracks.” Mick pointed the sergeant up to the village and the police barracks. The old warrior herded his charges like a hen with chicks. He shrugged when he went past Mick as if to say, I didn’t pick them, don’t blame me!
Mick had moored the Jade in the lee of Kaileuna Island, just up the coast, and had moved into the haus kiap with the dog. Sam’s daughters cooked his meals and brought them to him. They also made sure that the dog was well fed. The village, which was called Kavataria, was only half a mile from the station at Losuia. Mick wondered why it was furnished with a haus kiap and police barracks. Surely the kiap could conduct any business in the village from the station. “It was Haversham, the Assistant Resident Magistrate, stickler for protocol, every village had to have a haus kiap and a barracks kept ready for the pleasure of the kiap.” “Did he ever stay in the village?” “Surprisingly, yes. But there’s a house at the station that you can move into now you’re in charge.” “I think I’ll stick with the haus kiap for a while, never know what
182 Quest might happen, I suspect that I’ll be replaced fairly soon if what they’re planning goes ahead. “Suit yourself, I prefer the village myself too.”
“I suppose I’d better go look for a place to build these airfields,” Mick said fanning himself with the typed instructions. It was a hot and humid day and the air was quite still. A storm was brewing somewhere out in the ocean he thought. He had been camped in the haus kiap for several days, mainly reading books borrowed from Sam’s extensive library. The old sergeant had spent his time fishing and the other policemen simply lounged about chewing betel nut and flirting with the village girls. There was a sort of ennui on the island that was infectious and which the hot weather didn’t help. “You could build them anywhere up this end of the island, it’s all pretty flat, the only problem will be negotiating with the landowners,” Sam replied. He was sitting at the bottom of the steps idly scratching the pied dog’s belly with a bare foot. His daughters, now dressed in pretty floral frocks, were sitting on the grass nearby shredding coconut into an ornate wooden bowl. “They want to build them inland so they’re not visible from the sea and it doesn’t say anything here about negotiating with landowners.” “Still, it’s a good idea, good land for gardens is scarce and people guard it jealously; it’s also owned by the ladies and they can be canny to bargain with.” “How did you get your land?” “It was my wife’s, when she died her sister took charge of it, I don’t own it, I’m just allowed to use it.” Mick had wondered about the girl’s mother but thought it impolite to enquire about her. He glanced across at them. They had the skirts of their frocks gathered up around their thighs and were happily chatting as they worked and the sight of them brought a pang to his chest. So far they had not shown any outward interest in him and he hoped it would continue that way. They were very beautiful women and he doubted whether he would be able to resist them. Perhaps Sam had said something to them. “You could get old Mikalas, the chief to show you around; he knows everyone and where the best land for what you want would be and who owns it. He’s also the luluai, so he’s got a bit of authority.”
183 The Floating Island
“Where is he? He seems to disappear early in the morning.” “He’ll be up at the mission, the Methodist one; he’s in charge until they come back; he’s afraid it will be ransacked. The Catholics took everything with them but the Methodists left all their stuff.” “Who looks after the ARM’s place and the station office?” “Mikalas does that too but they pop back to the island every so often so people leave it alone. They know that if they pinch anything Mr Assistant Resident Magistrate will throw them in jail.” Mick shrugged. “I imagine when things get moving the army will take it over anyway.” “When are things likely to get ‘moving’?” Mick shrugged again. “The Yanks are planning it all in Brisbane, they don’t tell anyone much. When it happens though you’ll know about it; they don’t do things by halves like our mob. Perhaps I’d better walk over to the mission and see the chief. How long have the missionaries been gone?” “They left just after the ruckus at Milne Bay started. I think old Ketteridge joined up as a padre or something and his wife went south with all the other ladies. The ARM’s wife went too but he hung around coast watching. After the Japs were driven out of Milne Bay they decided he was more useful somewhere else. When they all scarpered it was just us beachcombers and the Chinaman left. It’s been quite pleasant really.” “I’m sorry I disturbed you; it wasn’t my idea.” “It was too good to last, something was bound to happen, at least you aren’t the Japs. Let’s go find Mikalas, I’ll walk over there with you, see what the old buzzard is up to.”
“How did the Chinaman and his wife avoid getting taken away?” Mick asked as they walked along the beach. “All the Chinese and a lot of the halfcastes in Moresby were shipped off to Daru for the duration.” “You mean Mr and Mrs Smith who own the trade store?” Sam replied. “I see; whose idea was that?” “The kiap, who else?” “Why?” “He’s married to their only daughter.”
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“And she was evacuated to Australia? It’s a wonder they let her on the ship.” “I believe she was accompanied by some very strong European ladies and was walked up the gangplank by a senior ANGAU official. She wasn’t the only one I believe. The trade store is just up ahead, you’ll see.” They climbed up from the beach and walked along the coronus road to the station. A small wharf built of coral jutted out into the lagoon. There was a wooden work boat moored alongside. There were also several buildings set back from the shore among the trees. On one of them a large sign newly painted in yellow on a bright blue background proclaimed, ‘Ah Wong Smith Limited: General Trader’. Mick chuckled. “I could get to like this place,” he said. A bit further along they came to another building. “That’s the government office where the kiaps worked,” Sam said. The doors were closed and the shutters were down on the windows. Mick stopped to look. “There’s still an Australian flag flying,” Mick said. “That’s old Mikalas; he raises it every morning and takes it down again in the evening.” “Really! Is the office locked?” “There aren’t any locks on the doors, they just closed it up to keep the weather out. Everything inside is just as they left it. Mikalas and his wife go in there once a week and sweep the floors and dust the furniture.” Mick stared intently at the building for a while longer. Sam watched him with a bemused expression on his face.
They found old Mikalas sitting on the steps of the Methodist mission house. He was wearing his peaked luluai cap, leather belt, red cummerbund and black serge laplap. He watched them approach and then stood up. He seemed to hesitate for a moment and then saluted the bare chested Mick. Caught by surprise Mick didn’t respond for a moment but then returned the salute. “Would you like to come to the office this afternoon?” he asked the luluai. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. I need your advice.” The luluai nodded gravely and said in good English, “What time sir?”
185 The Floating Island
Mick wasn’t wearing a wristwatch and neither was Sam but they both noticed the watch on the luluai’s wrist. Mick’s chronometer was on the Jade and he only used it for establishing his longitude. “What about after belo, when we’ve had lunch?” The luluai nodded again and smiled. As they walked away Sam smiled, “I think you’ve made his day,” he said.
When they got back to the village Mick asked one of the lounging policemen where the sergeant had gone. “He’s out on the reef fishing,” the policeman replied with a yawn. “Go and get him,” Mick said. The policeman didn’t move and Mick said, “Now!” The policeman scrambled to his feet and set off for the beach. When the sergeant arrived Mick said, “Get up to the office Sarge and open the place up.” The old sergeant eyed Mick thoughtfully. “And get your uniform on and tell your young mates to do the same.” The sergeant grinned and threw Mick a salute. He tossed his haul of fish to Sam’s daughters, who had arrived with Mick’s lunch, and bellowed in Police Motu in the direction of the barracks. A sleepy head appeared in the doorway. “Haraga!” the sergeant bellowed again, “Hurry up!”
When he had finished his meal Mick put on his uniform shirt and cap. He rummaged in his trunk and pulled out a pair of faded canvas plimsolls and put them on too. He then set out for the office. Sam saw him go past and put down the book he was reading to watch. Now that’s an interesting turn up he thought before returning to his novel. It was called Brighton Rock and was the latest book by a new writer called Graham Greene about gangs in the mean streets of a seaside town in Sussex. The Chinaman had procured it on his behalf from a source that continued to remain a mystery. It depicted a world that Sam had difficulty imagining but was well-written and he thought the author would go far. The sergeant greeted Mick on the steps of the office and they went inside. He looked around. The building was a mixture of native and permanent materials and the floor was made of roughly sawn but polished timber and there were several desks scattered around. Everything looked as though the occupants had just slipped outside
186 Quest for a breath of fresh air. While they carried out their inspection there was a clutter of footsteps and a tall, thin, middle aged man burst into the room. “Who are you?” Mick asked the flustered man. “I’m Nicholas, the clerk sir.” “Excellent!” Mick replied. “We’ll need you later.” He held out his hand and Nicholas took it. His shake was a typical limp-wristed Papuan affair. There was an office off to one side. Mick went through the door. An ornately carved ebony table inlaid with mother of pearl shell was set up before a window with a view behind it of the wharf and lagoon. A large map of Kiriwina Island was pinned to the woven bamboo wall. Several other maps showed the outer islands. Underneath them was a street plan of the station. “This will do nicely,” he told the sergeant and clerk. “When the luluai turns up bring him in here.” The sergeant saluted and said, “Yessir!” Mick smiled and walked around the desk. He pulled the chair out and sat down. A pleasant sea breeze wafted through the window. The pied dog, which had been following him around all morning curled up under the table. Hell’s Bells! Mick thought, I hope you know what you are doing. Then he pulled a ten shilling note out of his trouser pocket and handed it to Nicholas. “How about seeing if the Chinaman has got any tea leaf and tin milk; I fancy a cup of tea, don’t you?”
When the luluai arrived Mick told the sergeant and clerk to stay and then explained to the three men the nature of the orders he had received from Derek. The old luluai seemed puzzled at first but after the clerk had whispered in his ear and Mick talked further a faint gleam appeared in his eye and continued to grow. When Mick had finished the luluai marched up to the map and pointed at a spot in the middle of the northern and wider end of the island. Mick guessed that it was only a few miles from where they stood. “I’d like to look at it tomorrow,” he said. “Yessir,” the luluai replied, “what time sir?” “How about just after morning parade?” Mick replied. The luluai nodded and smiled. he sergeant peered at the map. “There is a tractor and trailer at the mission,” Nicholas said.
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“Does it work?” “The tractor works sir,” Nicholas replied. The sergeant looked relieved. “I know engines a bit, I can check it sir?” “We’ll see if we can get it going tomorrow. It looks like there’s a rough track we can use to get us fairly close to where Mikalas wants to take us Sarge. ave a hot walk I reckon.”
The morning parade went well. Running a patrol post was not dissimilar to running a plantation Mick thought. He sent two of the policemen to the village to round up some labourers to cut the grass and tidy up around the office. He instructed Nicholas to record the labourers names and hours worked and to keep the office open in case any of the locals had business there. He had obtained the key to the office safe from where the previous ARM had secreted it. The hiding place was detailed in a sealed envelope that Nicholas had handed him. There was other useful information in the letter too. Upon opening the safe he discovered a small float of coins and notes in a jute bank bag along with a Webley revolver and ammunition. He told Nicholas there was enough cash there to open the bank agency if anyone wanted to use it. He would get Derek to send some extra cash on the next supply run to pay the labourers. He set two more policemen on a patrol around the station and the nearby Catholic Mission school. When they had done that he told them to go out to the Methodist mission house to make sure the tractor was still there. He spent the rest of the morning rummaging through the station records and the ration store. The two policemen reported back in the late morning. The tractor was where Nicholas had said it would be. He told them to stay near the office in case they were needed and in the company of the sergeant, the luluai and the other policeman walked out to the mission. Sam arrived just as they were leaving and decided to tag along. The tractor was a Massey-Harris with rubber tyres. Sam told him it was fairly new and that the ARM had hired it from time to time for work on the station and to transport him on patrol. When they checked the motor they discovered that it had been made in 1936. That explained the shiny dark green paint of the body and bright red wheels. Mick had a notebook and decided to keep a record of their
188 Quest use of it; maybe ANGUA would reimburse the mission after the war. There was a drum of petrol at the back of the shed that housed the tractor along with drums of oil and grease. When they had filled the fuel tank and topped up the oil Mick told the sergeant to get up on the seat while he turned the crank handle. The sergeant made himself comfortable and fiddled with the controls. After a couple of turns the engine spluttered to life. The trailer was a homemade affair set on an old Model T Ford axle with a wooden flattop. The tyres were a bit low on air but they found a hand pump and set the young policeman to work. When he was done they hooked the trailer up to the tractor and set off along the path leading inland. The sergeant drove and the others sat on cushions of palm and banana leaves on the trailer. The path was overgrown in parts and Mick made a note to organise a clearing party when they got back. It was cool under the overhanging trees along the path and they chatted amiably until they came to a clearing with a smaller path leading off into the forest. The luluai signalled for the sergeant to stop the tractor. “What’s here?” Mick asked. “There’s a doline, an underground cavity with a spring in it,” Sam replied. They followed the luluai for a hundred yards or so until they came to the underground cave. The cavity was about sixty feet across and the crystal clear pool in its bottom reflected the sun back at them. A narrow path wound its way down the side and they followed it until they came to a stone platform jutting out over the pool. “The people on the station used to come out here to have picnics and swim,” Sam said. Mick scooped a handful of water and tasted it. It was delightfully sweet. The pied dog took a few laps and then lowered itself into the water. “We can stop here on the way back to wash off the sweat,” Sam said. When they climbed out of the cave Mick noticed a tall tree with distinctive green foliage growing on the other side of the cavity. The dog had given itself a good shake and had trotted over to it. It didn’t cock its leg, however, but sat down and began to bark. “Is there something in the tree, a kapul maybe, I can’t see
189 The Floating Island anything?” Mick said. “No tree kangaroo,” Sam replied, “that’s the Tokwai tree I was telling you about.” The luluai nodded in agreement. “Sisia ia diba, the dog knows,” he said scratching his head.
There was a small hamlet half a mile further on and the main track branched off to the east. They parked the tractor and trailer under the shade of a large rain tree and followed the luluai along a narrow path to the west. Here and there gardens flourished in clearings. A gaggle of naked, chattering children trailed along behind them People working in the gardens stopped to talk to the luluai. When they reached the last garden the luluai pointed in a generally northwest direction. “I think this would be a good place sir,” he said. Mick peered through the trees. “It will be about a mile long,” he told the luluai. “They plan to cart coral from the lagoon to surface it.” “It will be enough I think,” the luluai replied. “What do you reckon Sam?” Mick asked the old beachcomber. “Looks flat enough; I suppose it’s as good a place as any.” “Alright, I’ll get back out here tomorrow and measure it up, there’s a chain and compass back in the office. Thank you Mikalas. Who owns the land?” “Some of the people in the hamlet. There are some people in the other villages too.” “We’d better talk to them.when I’ve measured it up and pegged it we’d better have a meeting to explain what’s going on I guess.” “You sound like you’ve done this before,” Sam smiled. “In a way; it’s not much different to laying out new lines for coconuts; I did a lot of that on New Britain before the Japs arrived.” “Let’s hope they don’t arrive here,” Sam replied.
The swim in the underground spring was very pleasant. As they sat drying themselves in the sun Mick pointed to the big tree and said to the luluai, “The Tokwai come here to talk?” “Yes sir.” “How does it work?” “If you sit still under the tree with your eyes shut you can summon them. Then they will talk to you sir.” “They come to the tree?”
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“No sir, the tree talks.” “Are there Tokwai in the forest Mikalas?” “Yes sir.” “If we clear the forest for the airfield will that hurt them.” “No sir, they don’t live in that area.” “Is that why you chose it?” “Yes sir.” “That’s good Mikalas. I agree with you. No point in hurting the Tokwai if we can avoid it.” The luluai looked at Mick for a moment and then said, “You know about the Tokwai sir?” “I’ve had an interest in them for a while Mikalas. Perhaps we can talk about it later?” “That would be good sir,” the old luluai replied.
As they bumped back to the station the old luluai and the young policeman dozed but Sam was happy to talk. “When I first came here I worked for Haversham, the Assistant Resident Magistrate, as a sort of overseer and clerk. He was madly planting coconuts all over the island and he kept a strict tally of how many were planted and by whom, how many died and why and how many survived and why. I didn’t really need the work; I’d played up a bit in Sydney and even went to Europe for a while but I ended up back in the islands. I still had a nice little grubstake but it helped pass the time. I didn’t really have any idea about the future and it didn’t seem important anyway. If you’ve read Hemingway and writers like that they talked about the post-war lot as a lost generation. I didn’t go to the war but the feeling was infectious. Anyway, I know a bit about straight lines and coconuts. “By the time Haversham had drunk himself to death I had a woman and a place in the village here. They couldn’t find anyone to replace Haversham so I volunteered. Ended up as the de facto ARM, off and on, for nearly ten years.” “Off and on?” Mick said. “Well, I wasn’t really pukka enough; had a barefoot native wife and some coffee-coloured kids. They’d send replacements for me and I’d go back to the village; sometimes I worked in the hospital. I learned a lot there, studied all the books, if you need your appendix out I’m your man. Then when the new man chucked in the towel I’d
191 The Floating Island sit in the chair for a while until the next one arrived. Some of them were hopeless, drunken sots ridden with the pox and malaria, those sort of people. The last one was pretty good though, I hope he comes back after the war. Finally I gave it all up and just went back to the village and my books.” “You sound a bit like an uncle I’ve got in Moresby. And you’ve been happy ever since?” “More or less; when my wife died I went through a bad time, drank a bit too much, but generally it’s been good. I don’t miss the big wide world and there’s generally something of interest going on. I was here when that mad Polish anthropologist was here, chasing all the young women, giving them the clap and making up stories about their sex lives.” “I wondered about that; he upset the missionaries too I think.” “Not really; they’ve been a pretty easy going lot, the Methodists have been here since 1894; none of that crazy burning of idols and making people wear clothes rubbish, they pretty much left the people alone, let them come to them rather than the other way around. So did the Catholics but they weren’t here that long and they liked the girls the way they were anyway.” “So you think it’s easy to live out in the islands and be happy?” “Why not; why do you ask?” “I’ll tell you later; I wasn’t exactly sent here, it’s all a bit strange.” The tractor had pulled up outside the office and Nicholas and the policemen were standing on the veranda. The grass had been cut, the flower beds along the front of the building weeded and all the stray palm fronds picked up. Mick hopped off the trailer and put his arm out to steady Sam and then the old luluai. They all felt stiff from the bumpy ride. “I’ll help you measure the airfield if you like,” Sam said. “That would be good,” Mick replied. “I’d better get that flag down and send the lads home.” “You’re quite the kiap!” “I wouldn’t put money on it lasting though.” “Oh well; why don’t you come to the house for dinner tonight, save the girls a trip.” “Thanks, I’d like that.”
It was the custom in the Trobriand Islands that no one should
192 Quest stand physically higher than the traditional village chief. Even though he was a generous and benevolent man Mikalas exercised this privilege and everywhere he went people stooped and bowed as he approached. The traders and beachcombers were sensible enough to grudgingly acquiesce to the custom because they knew that their comfort in the islands was contingent upon maintaining good relations with the chiefs. The situation was different with government officers. Sir William MacGregor, the Lieutenant-Governor of what was then British New Guinea made this abundantly clear during one of his many visits to the islands when he personally hauled the Paramount Chief off his throne and plumped his own trim backside there instead. Sam, through his intermittent role as Assistant Resident Magistrate, enjoyed equality of status with the chief, as now did Mick. He was still coming to terms with the custom as he walked through the village with Mikalas. At first he thought people were bowing and bobbing in greeting and he acknowledged them with a friendly nod. When Sam explained what was going on he simply became embarrassed. It would take him a while to get used to the idea of being part of the island nobility he thought. They were going to Mikalas’s house to view his collection of mwali and soulava, arm shells and necklaces. Mick’s interest in the artefacts had come about when he came across a large outrigger canoe being constructed in a palm-thatched hangar just beyond the village. Men were working on the platform binding springy cane slats across the outrigger. In the corner of the shelter leaned an elaborately carved prow painted in striking red, white and black colours. The canoe, he was told, was being constructed in readiness for the next Kula expedition. Mick was vaguely aware of the gift exchange voyages and understood them to be a means of establishing complex personal obligations between the islands, thus mitigating the need for wars and feuds. The Kula was many hundreds of years old and was a major contributor to harmony in the islands, a concept, Mick speculated, that ran counter to the war currently being waged with the Japanese. For a Trobriand Islander the sensible approach to the Japanese would have been to exchange gifts with them, not fight them. Mick’s intuition told him that with what the army had planned for Kiriwina the launching of a Kula expedition just then might not be a
193 The Floating Island wise move. Mikalas’s ligisa, or private house, had an elaborate carved portal and lintel. The inside of the house, however, was sparse, just a few woven mats on the floor and a couple of metal trunks pushed against one wall. Above the trunks, suspended on a woven fibre rope were four ivory-coloured mwali armbands cut from cone shaped toea shells. From each one dangled tassels of elaborate shell and beadwork. Mikalas took each one down and laid them carefully together in the right grade order on a piece of blue calico. He explained where and to whom he planned to gift them. There were no soulava evident in the house; if they were there they were probably stored in one of the trunks Mick surmised. Mikalas explained their absence from the display. “The next Kula is for mwali. For this voyage we sail south and come back via Budi Budi and Woodlark. If we were exchanging soulava we would sail the other way. The winds have to be right for that however. We will follow the path of Tauwau, who originally created the Kula. This time we will go as far as Gabui’na and then back.” When Mick later checked his charts he saw that the planned route would take the voyagers through the area likely to be on the flight path of the aeroplanes bombing the mainland. Thankfully they would be well away from the raids planned for New Britain and Rabaul. “When will the canoe be ready?” he asked the old man. “Not a long time, it will be ready when the winds are ready; perhaps a month or so; we will have to test the canoe and perform the right magic so that we can sail without mishap.” If Derek’s advice is right, Mick thought, just when the marines arrive!
He was still wondering about the timing of the impending voyage when they went out to survey the airfield. According to Sam the voyages had a life of their own and would be difficult to discourage. Mick guessed that he would have to tackle the issue closer to the date. Being a kiap wasn’t all plain sailing after all he thought. He turned his attention to the immediate matter of the survey. According to Mikalas the whole island had been covered in primary rain forest when his grandfather was a boy. Now it seemed to be rapidly receding to the west with the growing population. The
194 Quest landscape was now pockmarked with old gardens fallowing until they were ready to be re-used. Over them had grown secondary forest or grassland. The path of the airfield ran through this sort of growth before running into the edge of the older western forest. Beyond that, said Mikalas, was the beach and reef and then Tuma, the island of the dead where the spirits of departed islanders dwelled. As far as Mick could gauge the planes would over-fly Tuma on their way out and back. Dean and the Mad Viking, who was called Sven Svenson, came along to help. Sam referred to the Scandinavian as Sven Squared. Mick guessed that the two beachcombers had seen him loading the cans of Schaefer beer onto the trailer. They stopped at the underground pool and he deposited the cans underwater in a string bilum to cool. The survey was fairly straight forward. Mick simply took a northwest bearing and marched along it taking measurements with the survey chain until they had gone just over a mile. He noted the odd tall tree or depression but as far as he could see the stretch would not be difficult to clear, just hard work. When he was done he selected a site for the base among several copses of shady trees. They worked their way back along the track taking bearings and measurements as they went. Dean and Sven, who had been dragging the chain, got hotter and sweatier as they went along. Mick knew that the lure of the beer would see them home. Sergeant Yawi and Sam took turns driving the tractor while Mikalas maintained a stately presence on the padded trailer. After they had swum in the pool and drunk the delightfully cool beer Mick said, “I reckon I might have a couple more of those when I get back to the office.” Mikalas hiccupped happily and Mick guessed that his words would do the trick with the beachcombers; they had already taken off with the chain. He winked at Sam and they chuckled as the two sweating beachcombers disappeared from view. “I’ll draw up the plans tomorrow,” Mick said. “Derek reckons there’ll be a Cat coming in the next few days with supplies and they can go back on it. I’ll send him a signal when they’re ready.” The teleradio was still in Sam’s house. When Mick had suggested moving it up to the office Derek had sent back a signal saying to leave it there; he reasoned that an aerial was less likely to be spotted out near the village. Mick saw the logic. There had been several
195 The Floating Island flights over the station by a Japanese light aircraft since Mick had arrived. He guessed it was the same aeroplane that had followed the Jade on its voyage from New Britain and had sent the fighter planes back which were scared off by the arrival of the Australian Beaufighters. The pilot still waved as he flew over at low altitude. Mick wondered whether he had seen the Jade in the northern passage.
“It was very astute of you to realise I would gravitate here,” Mick said. “Not really; it was a toss-up, either you found what you were looking for or you didn’t; in which case this was the logical bolt hole for you to use while you decided what to do next. As it happened our plans coincided with your travels,” Derek replied. “If you put it like that I suppose you’re right. But what about if I’d found the island? It’s out there somewhere, I know it is.” “But you didn’t; I hadn’t thought much further ahead than that; it’s a kiap thing, deal in absolutes, the here and now, one by one, no point in worrying about what might not happen.” “Still, I left you in the lurch, I’m sorry about that.” “Has it occurred to you that you may have simply made a mistake in calculating the position of the island? Perhaps it is where it has always been. Perhaps you are simply looking in the wrong place.” Mick scratched his chin. He had considered the same thing several times and he had experimented with permutations of his calculations in an attempt to see where an error may have occurred but when he and the dog sailed to those places there was still no island. “Has it also occurred to you that your Tokwai might just be ordinary people living on an ordinary island?” Derek added. “Sometimes I wonder if they exist at all but then I look at the scar on my leg and I know that they do. Besides that, how do you explain the dog, where the hell did it come from? It’s just like the mutt that I picked up, took to the island and left there. How the hell did it end up on Tashi’s boat?” “Maybe it’s just a different dog, these village strays all look similar.” “Maybe, maybe it is just my sun cooked and screwed up head playing tricks but you have to realise that I haven’t given up yet.” “We’ll deal with that when we come to it.” Mick laughed.
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“You’re so diabolically calm about everything, it’s scary.” “As I said, I do my planning in my gut,” Derek replied. They were sitting on Sam’s veranda drinking beer. The young American engineer with them looked on with a slightly puzzled look on his face. “Sorry mate; it’s a private joke; floating islands, phantom dogs and spirits in trees, that sort of thing,” Derek said to him. “There is something magical about this place,” the engineer replied. “I sensed it after a couple of days here.” “Be careful with these blokes though; they are not averse to pulling American legs, seems to be an Australian sport,” Brian S Coote said with a smile and pointed at Mick and Derek. “He’s talking about Sam’s daughters I think Brian,” Mick said with a wink. They could hear the two girls chattering and singing in the kitchen. “They are extremely beautiful, you must be very proud of them,” Brian replied looking at Sam. “It will be interesting how people will cope with the influx of troops.” “They will destroy the place; it will never be the same again, the people will be changed forever,” Sam said softly but with enough vehemence to surprise the two Americans. “He’s right,” Mick said. “And I’m not sure I want to be here to see it,” Sam added. “I don’t think we have much choice,” the engineer replied. “It’s bigger than any of us.” “So they keep telling us,” Sam said. Derek had flown in to pick up the American engineer and his team after their inspection of the airfield site. Brian had come along on the pretence of gathering information for future stories but in reality he had just wanted to see Mick so he could report back to the girls on Paga Hill. He had been fascinated by Sam Packer and the beachcombers, the pristine beauty of the place and the handsomeness of its men and women and he had limped around the station and village on his still healing leg while the other Americans did their inspections. The engineer was pleased with Mick’s survey and the location of the airfield and saw no reason to alter anything. Mick had also taken him out to the long and windy passage through the reef in an outrigger paddled by one of Sam’s daughters. They had taken a lead
197 The Floating Island to sound it and a compass and chain to plot its course. The American had a photograph of the area taken from an aeroplane and he scribbled notes on it as Mick measured. The girl had shucked her cotton dress and jumped overboard to first drag the chain and then the outrigger. The engineer had nearly lost the photograph and his pen overboard and had trouble keeping his eyes on the task at hand. They came out at high tide and then again at low tide with the other daughter. The first daughter had obviously told her sister about the engineer and Mick suspected that they were enjoying his discomfiture hugely. The engineer calculated that landing craft could negotiate the passage on the high tide but might have trouble when the tide was low. The sandbar on the landward side of the passage also worried him. He decided that the timing of any landing would be critical. Ideally they needed a high tide at night to ensure a smooth landing and no interference from aircraft. “At least we don’t have to deal with Japs at the same time, that would be really tricky around here,” he said. “Derek reckons that could change,” Mick said. “Brisbane is keeping a lid on the plans; hopefully the Japs won’t work it out,” the engineer replied. “We can keep you posted anyway.” “It’s the same on Woodlark; the coastwatcher there is going to do the same thing. With a bit of luck we might be able to get the Seabees in before the cavalry comes ashore; that would be a turn-up for the books.” “What’s a Seabee?” “C.B.; the Navy Construction Battalion.” “What happens if the secret gets out; what are the Japs likely to do?” “They’re pre-occupied on the mainland and they’re boxed in on New Britain so they’re unlikely to send troops here but they could still bomb the hell out of the place. I’ll have to talk to someone about that.” Mick talked to Sam later. Apparently he had been out on the lagoon with the other members of the engineer’s team looking at likely sites from which to mine coral for the airfield and roads. Brian had been content to stay behind to talk to Mikalas and the villagers. His leg was sore and he wanted some photographs anyway.
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“They reckon if they dig out live coral and water it with saltwater after they lay it down it will keep growing for a while and knit together really well.” “That’s a lot of coral; what will it do to the lagoon?” “I’ve no idea but it can’t be good.” “This whole thing is going to be a disaster for the island.” “I worked that out too,” Sam replied. These thoughts were on both men’s minds when they farewelled the Black Cat late in the afternoon. What also troubled them was the enthusiasm that Mikalas and the other villagers showed when they had worked out what the Americans were doing. Two of the engineer’s team had been strapping Negroes and the island girls were a goggle.
Little Sister’s delivery was not as easy as Teone’s. She went into labour one morning a month after her sister. She was stoic through the pain. “It’s punishment,” she muttered as another contraction gripped her. “Don’t be silly,” Teone scalded. Sakiata placed her hand on her daughter’s swollen belly. “You are small, that’s all, it will come.” “It will be dark soon,” Little Sister said through gritted teeth. She was sweating and tiredness was visible in her eyes. “I can see its head,” Teone said excitedly. The little girl was born in the flickering light of the single coconut oil lamp. After they had cut away the afterbirth Teone sponged her with the special forest moss that Sakiata had gathered and carried her over to her sister. She placed the tiny pink bundle on her sister’s chest. Little Sister hesitated and then brought her hands up to cradle the baby. Sakiata carefully carried the coconut shell containing the floating wick across so Little Sister could see. “She’s truly beautiful,” the older woman said. Her eyes were moist but there was evident pride in them. “Teone’s son had remained quiet during most of the birth but now he began to whimper. Teone went across to the bilum suspended from the roof in which he slept and lifted him out. He attached himself to her breast and sucked greedily. As he suckled she watched her mother and sister in the glow of the lamp.
199 The Floating Island
“Her eyes, what about her eyes?” Little Sister whispered, still afraid to look. “They are perfect, they are brown, just like yours.” “But what shape are they?” Little Sister said still staring at the roof. “See for yourself,” Sakiata replied gently.
200
10 FORTRESS
THE FRECKLE-FACED young man who stepped onto the wharf from the sleek motor cruiser didn’t look a day over eighteen yet he was wearing an officer’s cap and had epaulettes on his shoulders. He gave Mick a cursory salute and said, “Sorry, we’re late, we got held up getting ready and had to call in on a couple of other places on the way.” Mick didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about. “If we can spend the night here we’ll get round to the other side in the morning,” he continued. “That’s a fine looking vessel,” Mick remarked. “Yeah, we’re just the reconnaissance team; there’s a ketch called the Will Watch behind us somewhere with the doover. She’s riding a bit low and has to take it slow to avoid being swamped, the doover’s heavy, even if it is portable, twelve tons and more.” “What on earth is a ‘doover’?” Mick asked. He had been joined by Sam, Dean, the Mad Viking, Mikalas and Sam’s daughters. They all looked questioningly at the young lieutenant. “An LWAW; you are the kiap here, right?” “That’s right; you’d better explain the LW thing.” “It stands for ‘light weight air warning’,” the lieutenant said. “Radar?” “You got it; you knew we were coming, right?” “Didn’t have the foggiest idea; no one told us anything.” “Jesus Christ!” “You brought him too?”
201 The Floating Island
“No mate, just us, sorry about the lack of communication.” “No worries,” Mick replied and whistled twice in the direction of the beach. There was the distinct clacking of bolts on six .303 rifles; then Sergeant Yawi and his men emerged from the coconut trees. “You could have been Japs,” Mick said by way of explanation. The motor cruiser was called the MV Oomoobah and it had once belonged to the famous Arnott family who had founded the biscuit empire. “We want to set up on Bomatu Point,” the lieutenant, whose name was Larry Hunt, said. “That’s on the northeast side,” Sam said by way of clarification. “That’s right; we need to select a camp area and a place to set up a beacon and receiver station.” “There’s a walking track through to the point but it’s a bit rough; I don’t think the tractor can get through,” Sam said. “We can motor round there, we just need someone to show us the way; I understand there’s a tricky reef and there are low cliffs.” “How big a camp?” Mick asked. “Enough for a sergeant and three of my men and a half dozen enlisted blokes to help.” “That sounds easy; how are they going to get supplied?” “By Cat initially but once the airfields are in by regular C-47.” Mick noted the reference to more than one airfield. “Why up there?” he asked. “There’s everything here on the station you are likely to need, more comfortable too.” “The doover has got a range of about 100 miles, the further north that we are the better.” “How’s that?” “They’re expecting the Japs to raid the island out of Rabaul; up there gives us a good chance of picking them up on the way.” “You’re expecting the Japs to come?” “When the Yanks arrive.” “Is that soon?” “Your guess is as good as mine; pays to be ready thought.” “The war comes to Kiriwina?” “Afraid so old sport.”
Mick decided that the best option was to take Sam and Mikalas as guides. He also took three of the policemen and a few labourers to
202 Fortress set up the camp. He guessed he would need to survey and upgrade the track from the radar crew’s camp back to the airfield site and he thought he could start that as soon as the camp was built. The labourers could then start widening the path so the tractor could get through under the supervision of the police. He planned to walk back to the station surveying as he moved. As it turned out they could only get the Will Watch with all the gear on board within 300 yards of the shore and had to wade across the narrow lagoon carrying the heavy equipment. The ketch left as soon as everything was unloaded. Larry and his men had the platform set up for the beacon and had the whole thing operating by the next day. Mick was impressed, the young, freckle-faced officer was a real professional. They called the installation Radar Station 305. Before he left on the Oomoobah Larry explained that the gear they had, including the strange looking beacon and the transmitters and receivers, were all made and designed in Australia. Our little Jap pilot mate who likes to wave at everyone is going to be in for a shock soon Mick thought.
Without realising it Mick had gradually become attuned to both the sea and the verisimilitudes of the related cosmos. He attributed this to his wanderings on the Jade and his sojourn on the floating island. The realisation finally came in a conversation on the beach with Mikalas, the old village chief. The old man spoke in spirals and curlicues that Mick seemed to have no trouble grasping but which occasionally left even Sam and the other beachcombers puzzled. He had met the old chief in the early hours of the morning when the moon was full and high. The tide had crept up to the roots of the coconut trees that lined the seaward side of the village. The water was warm and he was enjoying the feel of its golden tongue about his ankles when he heard a polite cough behind him. “It is a good night,” the old man said softly. “I think so. If they are coming this would be a good time.” “Will there be many of them?” “They say there might be over two thousand men; that’s as many or perhaps more than all the people on the whole island now.” The old man whistled quietly towards the lagoon. “I’ve seen them in Port Moresby and Milne Bay; it will change things here, perhaps forever,” Mick added.
203 The Floating Island
The chief contemplated this for a while as they shared the companionship of the night. Finally he said, “I will tell the Tokwai.” “Yes, that’s only fair. Do you think they will understand? I’m not sure the ordinary people on the island even understand.” The old man seemed strangely unperturbed. Mick guessed that his attitude came from a life spent in obedience to the fickle waft and willow of the sea. The idea that something so constant was not immutable had probably never occurred to him. Perhaps I have absorbed some of the saltwater into my veins like him, Mick thought. “They will take the men out of the villages to work for them and they will corrupt your women and children. You will see such wealth as you’ve never seen before. You will need to be very strong; the temptations they will bring will be hard to resist.” “I should tell the Tokwai,” the old man repeated. “Do you think they can help?” Mick asked. He remembered the damage that the blackbirders had done to the floating islands. “Their magic is very powerful.” “You must do it soon then Mikalas.” “Tomorrow perhaps? You must come with me, the dog will summon them.” Mick was flattered but he still had a deep feeling of misgiving. “Tomorrow would be fine,” he replied softly. “I don’t think the soldiers will come tonight,” the old man said swirling his foot in the water, “The tide is going home to rest.”
They walked out to the underground pool in the late afternoon. It was a time when people came back from the gardens and relaxed as the heat of the day dissipated. Sam and the sergeant came with them. There was no special secret attached to the Tokwai and the beachcomber and grizzled policeman had the wisdom of their years to contribute. Yawi limped along in good spirits. He had been drilling his young recruits every day and was pleased with their progress. “The Japs can come whenever they like,” he had told Mick. When they had refreshed themselves at the pool they went and sat in the shade of the big tree. The dog did not bark this time; instead it uttered a sound somewhere between a growl and a whine, a demand and a plea. While it was doing this Mikalas composed himself on the soft leaf fall. He had brought two mwali that Mick had not seen before. The old man laid them on the ground.
204 Fortress
“They are kitom mwali,” he explained. “They have not been gifted yet; I just want to show the Tokwai.” The dog continued its moaning but when the wind lifted the leaves of the tree it abruptly stopped. “They are here,” Mikalas said as the breeze continued to rustle the leaves. He sang in a soft lilting chant and then began to speak earnestly to the tree. Mick felt a strange sensation all over his scalp and he glanced at Sam and the sergeant to see if they had registered the same thing but it was impossible to tell. The feeling was strangely familiar and quite pleasant and he wondered where he had experienced it before. Slowly it came to him. It was the same sensation he had felt when Ba had led him into the cave on the peak of the floating island and they had stood before the bones of his Tokwai ancestors. He was pondering this when Mikalas spoke to him. “They have heard and they are much troubled,” he said. So they should be Mick thought but he replied simply, “It’s all you can do; they know now, it will be up to them to decide what to do.”
The following evening on Sam’s veranda Mick asked whether he had felt the same aura from the tree. “A sort of prickly feeling in my hair, as if something was there, it wasn’t an unpleasant thing. The old sergeant felt it too, I saw him scratch his head a couple of times.” The young sergeant from the radar station, Ben Manning, was with them. He had walked across the island to tell Mick that he had received a signal advising him that the landing was imminent. The landing craft and accompanying destroyers were on their way to Milne Bay. He seemed puzzled by the present conversation however. He was a dead ringer for his senior officer with the same sandy hair and freckles. He had a cultured voice however, soft and confident. He had been pulled out of university and put through the RAAF Radar School late the previous year. He had already served time at Milne Bay. The men with him were also graduates but to everyone’s surprise they shared an easy going relationship with the enlisted men sent to help them. Mick wondered what he would think about Tokwai. He decided to explain it to him. The young sergeant listened politely and didn’t ask any questions. Sam looked on with amusement. Finally Ben said, “Do you believe this stuff?”
205 The Floating Island
Mick regarded him for a moment before answering. “Put it like this Sergeant; it’s not wise to discount the beliefs of people in New Guinea. Even if you think it’s all rubbish they don’t - to them it’s all real. Even if it doesn’t make sense to you it is a reality for them. It is wise to acknowledge that reality; it helps explain why a lot of things happen the way they do up here.” “I’m not sure that thinking something is real actually makes it real. When you see someone standing outside your window looking in at you at night they might appear to be completely real but when you realise that they are only a tree stump don’t they cease to be real?” “I’m talking about how someone lives in his head, not what he actually sees and does, they are different things I think,” Mick replied. “These people are not really interested in understanding why things happen, they are happy just accepting that they happen. They believe that understanding something, at least in the way we insist on doing, is dangerous and can destroy the thing itself.” “I’ll bear that in mind,” the sergeant replied. “I don’t think he’s convinced,” Sam said when they farewelled Ben the next morning. “Oh well,” Mick shrugged.
The Americans landed when they were least expected. The tide had peaked in the late afternoon and by midnight was well out. A storm cell had drifted in off the sea and it had begun to rain. It looked like there was heavier weather behind it. Mick had not bothered to go down to the beach and neither had the old chief. There was no runner bearing messages from the radar unit. It was the old sergeant who woke him. His sore knees had kept him awake. “There are ships just off the reef sir.” He was dripping wet from the rain. Mick rolled out of bed and quickly pulled on his shorts. “Get the men up Sarge; it might be Japs.” “It’s hard to see sir, the rain is too heavy.” “Make sure they’ve got plenty of ammunition,” Mick said stumbling down the stairs in the dark and heading towards the wharf. He shucked his still buttoned shirt on and fastened his gun belt around his waist as he went. He was joined by Sam, who had a torch with him. A dinghy was coming into the wharf as they arrived. Mick unclipped the canvas holster and pulled out the Webley and cocked
206 Fortress it. Through the now torrential rain he heard a voice. “Good day there mate, is this Losuia?” The Australian slang sounded strange in the mouth of the American and Mick reminded himself that the Japs were good at imitating American and Australian accents. “Who wants to know?” he shouted back. The sergeant had come up behind him with the other policemen. Mick held up his hand and whispered, “Wait until I give the word.” “Major Tom Druse; 158th Regimental Combat Team; we’re just in from Milne Bay. “What the hell are you doing here now?” Mick shouted. “The tide is out.” “We’re four hours behind schedule; is that you Lieutenant O’Shea?” “You should have sent a signal,” Mick said getting closer and flagging the sergeant and his men to stand at ease. He extended an arm down to the American. “You could have got yourself shot.” “Sorry mate, I thought someone had told you we were on the way.”
The unloading of the ships, now grown to six, went slowly. The landing craft winding their way along the channel to the beach kept grounding and then couldn’t get across the sandbar near the wharf. The single craft that made it to the beach spewed out men and they began to set up an anti-aircraft piece and a machine gun position. They kept referring to the 200 yard strip of sand as ‘Red Beach’ as they shouted into their walkie-talkies. Communications with the ships was difficult because the radios had been dunked in the seawater and weren’t working properly. The men in the other landing craft waded ashore. An attempt to drive off vehicles over a hastily assembled pontoon saw several of them end up in the water. By the time the morning light began to show the unloading was incomplete. The ships headed back out to sea. “What a shambles,” Mick said to Sam. “If Jap planes turn up now they’ll make mincemeat of this lot.” The rain kept pounding down. With the tide up the landing craft made it to the beach. Mikalas had some of the villagers helping with the unloading. Everything had to be carried ashore. In the evening
207 The Floating Island more landing craft arrived after spending the day off Goodenough Island. The trouble with the channel and the sandbar continued. Mick wondered what had happened to the chart he had drawn up with the engineer. The ships re-appeared three days later and the confusion continued. Still the Japanese stayed away. Not even a blip from the jolly reconnaissance pilot appeared on Ben’s radar screen. The troops made their way quickly to the airfield site. The track that Mick and the villagers had cleared became a wet and sticky quagmire. Major Druse was directing the construction of a causeway across the reef on the north shore at Bomatu Point. Subsequent loads of gear were landed there. This sped things up but a few vehicles still slipped into the water. Village men were busy carrying basket loads of coral to shore it up and were helping with the unloading. Slowly a semblance of order began to emerge and work started on clearing the airfield. Somewhere there was a colonel in charge but Mick hadn’t seen him.
Derek arrived with an entourage of ANGAU men and took over the office and the station. He was greeted by a mud-spattered Mick and a stunned-looking Mikalas. “Where is Reg?” Mick asked. “Somewhere between Madang and Wewak killing Japs, he seems to enjoy it.” “We could use him here.” “I’m keeping him up my sleeve. Anyhow, how are you?” “Buggered.” “You’re doing a good job Mick.” “I hope so.” Sam had retreated to his house and Dean and the Mad Viking were busily trading ebony artefacts from a hastily convened ‘factory’ in the bush with the Americans for booze and food. The Chinaman had placed a ‘closed’ sign on the door of his trade store and was keeping a low profile. It was dangerous to step onto the station tracks and several dogs and pigs were skittled by speeding trucks. The sound of explosions echoed from the reef where they were mining coral for the roads. Derek told Mick to take a break and he stumbled off towards the village. He felt that the world was slipping away from him again.
208 Fortress
“The Americans are destroying the island,” Mick said as he sat on Sam’s veranda drinking coffee. “Not to mention the effect they’re having on the people,” Sam added. “This American coffee is nice though,” Mick replied thoughtfully. Sam nodded. “You know, years ago, the people in these islands were riddled with venereal disease. They picked it up from sailors and the like and because they are naturally promiscuous it spread like wildfire. An ARM named Bellamy, who had some medical training, decided to do something about it and set up a VD hospital. It took him several years but he figured that he had it beat when he started having trouble finding new patients. Ever since the rates have been fairly low. The nursing sister from the Methodist Mission, who was evacuated, reckons she rarely ever saw cases. I bet with all these soldiers here the rates will go up again.” “It’s hard to know what the future holds for anyone.” “It’s not me I’m worried about,” Sam replied, “it’s my daughter’s future that bothers me. For me, when I think about life and look back it’s a long way and when I look ahead it’s not very far at all. Anyway, these days I find it a lot more interesting looking backwards than forwards, among other things there’s a lot more to see.” “You’re sounding like my old uncle in Port Moresby again.” “You should be worried too Mick; you should be making plans. For me planning ahead has become irrelevant. Once I knew that if I planted a tree, a coconut for instance, I’d see it grow to maturity; now I know that I won’t live to see any tree I plant grow to its full height. But you, on the other hand, should be thinking ahead. This war will end sooner or later my lad and then what will you do?” “I don’t think I want to be a kiap, Derek can have that for himself. Your life sounds like it’s been good to you, at least until now, maybe I’ll find that island after all.” “Set up a harem and grow coconuts, like Cyril Cameron over on Kitava; I suppose that could be satisfying.” “Kitava isn’t that far away is it?” “About twenty miles due east; they had to drag him off kicking and screaming when they evacuated the island, he never had any truck with authority and all their petty business, including wars; but he’ll be back. They don’t call him ‘King Cam of Kitava’ for nothing.
209 The Floating Island
There are pretty girls over there too; prettier than even here, some of them are pure Polynesian. But not as pretty as the girls on your floating island I daresay.” “They’re certainly beautiful, but that’s not why I want to find them again; there’s more to it than that.” “I know what you mean; my wife meant more to me than just her looks.” “She gave you two fine daughters, that’s something to cherish I imagine.” “And that’s what worries me.” “They’ll be fine Sam, they’re sensible girls.” “So let’s hope the Americans don’t get to Kitava or any of the other islands,” Sam said. “For King Cam’s sake, he’s got many daughters over there.” Mick smiled. He’d overheard Major Tom Druse talking to Derek about setting up a radar station on Kitava but he decided not to mention it.
The development of the airfields on the island proceeded at a blistering pace. Fighter aircraft from Goodenough Island to the south provided constant surveillance until the airfields were operational. When the RAAF Spitfires arrived this eased off. A mass of workshops, accommodation and other facilities grew like mushrooms along the main road. The road became a busy thoroughfare for motorbikes, jeeps and trucks. Graders constantly patrolled the road pushing the mud back and forth. Most of the ships unloading equipment now used the enlarged coral causeway at Bomatu Point but one still had to be careful crossing the road around Losuia Station. The Japanese increased their bombing raids and the three-shot air raid warnings disturbed everyone’s sleep. Some of the villages were re-located out of range of the bomber’s targets. Derek and a number of other ANGAU officers took care of the moves and other matters related to the local people and Mick gradually withdrew and confined himself to running the Jade out to the surrounding islands on their patrols. These patrols were a mixture of native administration, labour recruiting, rescuing downed allied airmen and rounding up stray Japanese, including airmen. A considerable amount of flotsam from
210 Fortress crippled and maimed ships on both sides washed up on the island beaches and it was unusual for the Jade not to return to the station loaded down with 44-gallon drums of petrol and crates of food and equipment. Those airmen not picked up by the Black Cats moored in the lagoon off the station were well looked after by the island villagers. More often than not, if the airmen and sailors were Japanese the villagers sent word to the station. The Japanese airmen invariably put up a fight when the Jade arrived to collect them and instead of making them prisoners Derek and his men usually ended up burying them; only the badly injured made it back to the American hospital on Kiriwina. Mick tried to avoid these confrontations by remaining behind to guard the boat. A few of the escaping Japanese made epic canoe voyages between the islands but the open sea between the Trobriand Islands and New Britain generally beat them and they either perished at sea or made a last stand on a lonely beach somewhere. The sailors that they picked up were less patriotic and generally surrendered happily. By August the number of troops on Kiriwina approached nine thousand, which was the same as the native population. There were contingents of Negro soldiers, especially engineers, among the American ranks and the islander’s view of the outside world was undergoing massive change. Prior to the arrival of the Australian and American forces the general currency on the islands had been sticks of trade tobacco. Just about every islander, including many children, smoked and most of them chewed betel nut. With the arrival of the troops many an islander could be seen puffing happily on a ready- made Lucky Strike or Camel cigarette. To acquire commodities like cigarettes and tinned meat a vigorous trade had developed. The islanders offered fresh fruit and vegetables as well as carved wooden artefacts, the quality of which, Sam Noted, had dropped significantly. Dean and the Mad Viking were now churning out fake Japanese flags and other accoutrements as fast as possible to cater for the American’s insatiable demands. The other commodity than became general currency was sex and this was monopolised by the unmarried women. Dean’s attempts at pimping failed miserably when he was cornered and held down by a group of girls who proceeded to take turns sitting on his head. When Sam rescued him he dashed into the sea and scoured his injured nose
211 The Floating Island and cheeks with sand. Inflation took off and a ripe pineapple or pawpaw that may have fetched half a stick of tobacco before the arrival of the soldiers were now selling for ten shillings each in the American camps. The islanders had nowhere to spend this money and many of them took to wearing the paper notes as decorations in their hair. Mick and Sam were sitting on the veranda of Sam’s house when Mikalas climbed the stairs. He had an array of brown ten shilling and green one pound notes stuck in his hair. He took the chair offered by Sam and pulled one of the notes out of his hair and unfolded it on his thigh. “Who is this taubada?” he asked pointing to the portrait on the right side of the note. “That’s the king,” Sam replied, “He’s the paramount chief of all the whitemen.” “Someone told me that he lives far away, is that right?” Mikalas replied. “That’s right; he lives in a big house in England; that’s an island many months voyage away by lakatoi. You wouldn’t like it there Mikalas, it’s a very cold place.” “And what are these creatures?” the old chief asked turning the green one pound note over. “They look like dogs or pigs with tusks on their heads.” “They’re called sheep; the whitemen use their fur to weave cloth and they eat them too.” “It is very strange,” the old chief replied, “I can exchange this piece of bilas for a packet of those fine tobacco sticks.” “Where did you get the notes Mikalas, what did you trade for them?” Mick asked. “Oh me? Nothing; I got them from my granddaughters; they have too many and said I could trade them for tobacco. I just wanted to check if that’s right.” “If you give them to me I’ll get the cigarettes for you,” Mick said. The soldiers have a big trade store at the airfield camp, otherwise you’ll pay too much.” “That would be good,” Mikalas replied, “I want the ones with the picture of the dog with the big nose and funny lumps on its back.” “I’ll see what I can do,” Mick replied as the old chief began plucking more notes from his hair. “What about some tin meat?” Sam said. “Your wife might like
212 Fortress some to eat.” “That too,”Mikalas said with a faint smile.
Mick kept the old chief’s money in his pocket until an opportunity came to visit the PX Store in the American camp. This came a few days later when Derek pulled up at the wharf in his jeep. He sauntered over to where Mick was sitting with his feet propped against the boat mast reading. “Good book?” he asked. “Not bad. The Americans receive regular supplies of the latest books and sell them on to the Australians or give them away when they are finished with them, that’s where I got this one.” “Are you going to come and see John Wayne or is the book more interesting? He’s got some nice-looking sheilas with him.” “I didn’t even know he was here. What’s he doing, chasing Red Indians?” “He’s on at the Coconut Grove this evening.” The Coconut Grove was an amphitheatre formed by the surrounding palm trees. A stage had been set up and it was used for concerts, film shows and church services. The audience sat on the ground or brought along canvas chairs or boxes to sit on. “What time are you going?” “I thought I’d drive up this afternoon; I’ve got a few things to collect at the PX; I thought I’d get dinner at the Yankee officer’s mess and stop in on the show on the way back.” Mick stretched and took off his glasses. He didn’t know whether he wanted to see John Wayne or not. He’d been to a show with Gary Cooper the month previously and hadn’t been especially impressed. It was one thing to see an actor in a film and another to see one in person. Gary Cooper couldn’t sing or dance and his jokes were pretty lame. Then he remembered the old chief’s money in his pocket. “Okay, I’ll come,” he said at last. “I’m not forcing you,” Derek said with a smile. “No, it’s okay, I want to get some fags for Mikalas anyway.” “See you about two then, up at the office.” The jeep wallowed along the muddy track. Sam had also decided to come along and Mick was bouncing around in the back seat. The sky was a deep azure blue and the sun beat down. When they came to the track into the cave Mick tapped Derek on the shoulder.
213 The Floating Island
“Want to cool off in the pool? We’ve got plenty of time.” Derek grinned. He had been thinking the same thing. The track into the cave was considerably more worn than they remembered and it looked like there had been vehicles going back and forth. Mick frowned when Sam turned to indicate the tyre tracks. As they progressed they heard the dull thump of an engine. There was a Blitz truck with an American star on its door parked at the cave entrance. A two inch metal pipe came out of the doline and disappeared into the bush. Black smoke came in puffs out of the hole. They walked to the edge of the limestone and peered down. Two soldiers were sitting on fuel drums beside a large engine playing cards. They waved but kept playing. There was an oily rainbow sheen on the surface of the water in the pool. “It’s a pump,” Derek said. “How the hell did they get that down there?” Mick said. “With that,” Sam said pointing to a camouflage net draped over two halves of the trunk of a large tree set in a vee shape jutting out over the ledge. A block and tackle was suspended from the lower trunk. “They’ve fixed the bases of the trunks to the cut stump with steel cable so they can pivot it out like a crane. See the drum over there that they use to wind it up and down?” Both men stepped sideways so they could see past the net. The Tokwai tree was gone. The stump and cut trunks were all that was left. “Jesus! The bastards could have asked first,” Sam said. “They’d just say it was necessary for the war effort,” Derek replied. “They don’t ask, they just do what they want.” “You didn’t know about it?” Sam asked. “This is the first time I’ve seen it.” “Will you do something about it?” “What? Tell them that they’ve cut down a tree that the little people in the forest use as a telephone; I don’t think so Sam; they’d die laughing and I’d get a rap over the knuckles for upsetting them.” “Bastards!” Mick muttered. From the back of the jeep the pied dog set up a plaintive howling.
Mick was still thinking about the tree when they got to Coconut Grove. Several hundred soldiers had gathered and many more were arriving. The stage was lit up and men were attaching speakers to palm trees and running cables along the ground. Derek parked the
214 Fortress jeep off to one side with a number of other vehicles. He had beer from the PX and popped the tops with a bottle opener and handed Sam and Mick a can each. Mick took a swig and sank into his seat in the back of the jeep. “Are you still fuming about that tree?” Derek asked wiping froth from his upper lip. “Yeah, I think it’s bloody arrogant the way the army tramples over the locals.” Derek took another sip of his beer. It was still cool from the PX refrigerator and he savoured the chill in his mouth and throat. “I know what’s got on your wick; you were thinking that the tree might have told you something about your mysterious island.” “That had occurred to me, but it’s too late now isn’t it?” “That stuff is just superstition,” Derek said. “You know that Mick, deep down. Trees don’t talk and there are no little people in the forest. Those people on that island of yours, those girls, are just ordinary villagers. Isn’t that right Sam?” Sam was nursing his beer in his lap. He was half listening to Derek and half watching the activities on the stage. He looked at Derek and then glanced at Mick. “I don’t really know, I’ve been in these islands a long time and I’ve seen some strange things, things that defy reason. I’ve got an open mind but I do think a lot depends on what you are prepared to believe. To some people it’s all rubbish and to others it’s as real as those blokes on the stage over there. If you’re dealing with people who believe in that stuff you have to be prepared to deal with them on those terms, you have to recognise a kind of reality that might not be there. You have to suspend the disbelief and believe just like them.” “Believing something doesn’t make it real Sam,” Derek said. Sam thought about this for a moment and then said, “A lot of people believe there is a god but when you ask them if they’ve seen him they shake their heads; it doesn’t stop them believing though and a lot of what they do is influenced by their belief. What they do in their god’s name is real enough; real enough to make his existence a fact even.” “That’s just psychological mumbo-jumbo,” Derek replied. “The Christian god might be just a human invention; he seems to be imbued with all the foibles of humanity. Who knows if he exists
215 The Floating Island and who’s to say he isn’t a dog or camel,” Sam replied. “You reckon that the Tokwai exist because humans made them up Sam?” “I’ve no idea but they’re very real to these islanders and so was that tree. When the Yanks cut it down they were destroying something that was very real to a lot of people.” Derek was about to reply but the speakers in the palm trees began to crackle and he switched his attention there. Mick shifted in his seat so he could see the stage. He had decided against telling Derek and Sam that he had been back to the tree several times with Mikalas and had left a message for Ba. “Tell him I am on my way,” he had said to the old chief. “Tell Ba to tell Sakiata and the girls. I am coming back. Tell them that the dog has found me and is guiding me. Tell them to watch out for me, I won’t be long. Tell them to send a message so that I know when to leave. Tell them that I am ready.” He had waited while the old chief had sung to the tree and the swift updraft of wind had set the leaves a-shuddering. And as he stared at the stage he realised that there would now be no reply.
Like Gary Cooper, John Wayne didn’t have much to say and simply introduced the various acts in his laconic drawl. A couple of minor Hollywood starlets came on the stage dressed as GIs and fumbled around with a rifle and ‘shot’ Wayne in the foot by accident as part of a comedy routine. The Americans seemed to think the sketch was hilarious but the Australians were simply puzzled. The real laughs came when a wire shorted on the microphone and Wayne jumped back in alarm before cautiously fiddling with it so the girls could sing a few songs. The first song was going well until one of the girls brushed her cheek on the microphone and screamed in shock. After that some other girls performed a cautious dance on the rough boards of the stage and a magician performed tricks. It was in the middle of this last act that three short blasts from an anti-aircraft gun boomed through the trees signalling a Japanese bombing raid. The stage quickly cleared and John Wayne and the starlets sped off to a shelter. The lights were cut and the audience milled about for a while and then dispersed. Derek started the jeep up and they drove off without lights drinking the rest of the beer. Behind them a lazy drift of red tracer shells filled the sky.
216 Fortress
“What did you say your name was again?” the American Captain said. “Michael O’Shea.” “You an Irishman, heh?” My grandfather was born in Dublin; I’m an Australian.” “And you say some of our guys cut down some tree belonging to a bunch of little people who live in the forest?” “That’s right; nobody asked, they just cut it down,” Mick replied. “I dunno whether you’ve noticed mate but there’s a war going on here.” The American placed an emphasis on ‘mate’ that made it sound vaguely offensive. “I’ve noticed,” Mick replied, “but isn’t it your job to talk to the local people?” “We talk to you Aussies and you talk to the locals; that’s how it’s supposed to work mate.” Again the emphasis. Mick was getting exasperated. The captain was stringing him along. They had dropped in to the southern operations centre on the way back to the station and had chanced on the captain sitting on the veranda. The beer that Mick had drunk wasn’t helping. “No one asked us about it, not that I know of anyway.” “And your leprechauns, or whatever they are, are upset with us?” “They’re called Tokwai; it’s the village people who are upset; the tree was a big one near a large freshwater sinkhole, someone should have realised it was important, or at least asked.” “Listen mate; I’ve got one of our sergeants locked up for buggering some village kid and I’ve got an outbreak of clap you wouldn’t believe to deal with; those village girls are spreading their legs for anyone for a couple of dollars; in my book that’s more important than some tree belonging to a bunch of fairies living at the bottom of your garden.” “We just want you to ask before you cut down any more big trees; it’s not hard.” “I’ll think about it; okay?” “Okay, thanks. That’s all we want.” “Sheesh!” the American said to himself as Mick walked away. “I hope you didn’t upset our Yankee friend,” Derek said with a smile as Mick climbed into the jeep. “He’s too thick to upset,” Mick replied. “Did you know one of
217 The Floating Island them raped a boy in one of the villages?” “It’s happened a few times, they prowl around the villages looking for sex; there are some homosexuals among them.” “What do they do to them?” “You mean the soldiers? I don’t know, lock them up for a while, dock their pay, maybe send them home. They don’t seem to worry about the boys; just fix them up at the hospital and send them back to their village.” “This one was a sergeant!” “They’ve caught a few officers too. They seem more worried about their blokes getting the clap. They delivered a couple of boxes of French letters the other day; asked me to hand them out to the village girls.” “This is all getting too much.” “It’s the war mate. That’s what they all say, even our lot; nothing to be done about it.” “Hell there isn’t!” “Here, calm down,” Derek said touching Mick on the shoulder, “Have another beer, they’re still cold.”
“The soldiers have cut down the Tokwai tree at the pool,” Mick said to Mikalas when he delivered the cigarettes and tinned meat the next morning. “Yes, I saw it,” Mikalas replied. “They have an engine down there to take the water away.” The old luluai looked sad but resigned; he had come to accept the strange ways of the white men and the futility of reasoning with them a long time ago. He was also familiar with their capacity for wrath. He took the cigarettes and tins of meat and went inside his house and put them in his wooden trunk. Above the trunk the old man’s prized shell armbands and necklaces hung. Mick heard the click of the padlock and the jingle of shells. The old man came back outside and sent two errant boys scurrying up a coconut palm to retrieve two green nuts for drinking. When they delivered the husked nuts he cut the tops off deftly with his bush knife. Mick sipped his drink. He always found that the slightly effervescent juice from a green nut enjoyable. “What do you think the Tokwai will do now?” he asked the luluai. “I don’t know. I will leave gifts in the forest for them; perhaps
218 Fortress they will take them and leave a sign.” “Will you tell me if they do?” The luluai nodded. “The Japani planes have frightened them; they might leave the island until it finishes.” “Yes, the bombing is very bad and you never know when it will come.” “Sometimes they come in the night when everyone is asleep.” “You are safe here I think; they are trying to destroy the airfields and the American camps. Where would the Tokwai go?” “They might go to Keileuna or Tuma. Some of our people have gone there already.” “To the island of the dead?” “There are villages on Tuma, they share the land with the ghosts.” “Because they are afraid of the bombs?” “That too, but they think the Japani might come in their ships to fight the Americans; that would be very bad I think.” “This whole war is very bad Mikalas!” “My people don’t understand it; neither do I.” The luluai put his head on one side and looked at Mick expectantly. Mick shook his head sadly. “Neither do I Mikalas; the old men of Japan and America have sent their sons to fight each other but no one really knows why; it has to do with money I think. My people in Australia have been drawn into it, just like your people. There is another war in Europe too; on the other side of the world and we have sent our young soldiers there too. Why this is so is very hard to explain.” “It is the nature of men to fight,” the luluai offered with a shrug while he stroked the head of the pied dog. Mick looked at the dog. “He is wondering where the Tokwai are too.” “Perhaps he will go to find them?” “His people are out in the small islands to the west. We have searched for them but they are hiding from the war too.” “The Tokwai are clever; they know many tricks.” “Are they the same as the little people on this island?” “Perhaps; I don’t know, there are very few of them now, not like before the white men came I think.”
219 The Floating Island
“It seems we bring destruction wherever we go.” “We were happy when they stopped the fighting between the clans and some of their goods are excellent, they make fine tobacco, but now they bring a big war with them. Do they wish to punish us for something that we have done wrong? Have we offended the white man’s god; many of us have accepted his word but he has abandoned us I think.” “I don’t know; I don’t think your people have done anything wrong; unfortunately they are in the path of this war. It is unjust but hopefully the Americans can drive the Japanese away.” “We will have to wait I think?” “Yes, wait and hope that it finishes soon Mikalas; it is all we can do, you and I.” “You are a good man; you are like Masta Sam, you understand our ways; why is it that the Americans cannot understand us? We are just people like them. Why do they take our best garden land; why do they do bad things to our young boys?” “You know about that too? Is there not anything that slips past your ears Mikalas?” “Is it their custom, to have sex with children? I hear that it is a white man’s custom. I think some of the black people in the islands to the south do it too. What is wrong with our unmarried women, they are comely and willing?” “You are asking questions that I cannot answer,” Mick said sadly. “There are many things that we don’t understand, you and I of the same name Masta Mik.” The luluai smiled wanly and sipped his coconut juice. The two men, the grizzled old clan leader and the young Australian, fell into a companionable silence. Only the sound of the sea beyond the reef and the occasional chatter and giggles of the village children sitting under the house came to them.
The sound of an ack-ack gun woke Mick in the night. The three short blasts indicated incoming Japanese aircraft. It was a clear night with a high yellow moon. He stood on the steps of the rest house watching the sky. Sergeant Yawi joined him from the police barracks. The rest of the village, apart from a few roaming dogs, slept on. The sergeant pointed to a dozen silver shapes high in the night sky. “They’re going to bomb Goodenough or Woodlark,” he said
220 Fortress softly. “There are fighters up there too, see, coming up behind,” Mick replied pointing to a second wave of aircraft. They watched the planes droning on their way. Mick noticed a couple of lantern lights on the lagoon; fishermen at work, oblivious to the danger in the sky. The ack-ack gun went off a few hours later and Mick rolled over but didn’t get up. Shortly afterwards there was the tell-tale crump of falling bombs. They’re dumping their unused ordinance on the main airfield he thought. The ack-ack was joined by others and then he heard the distinctive whine of RAAF Spitfires going up to engage the bombers. He dozed listening to the noise of the battle as the dawn light crept through the gaps in the woven walls of the rest house. The Spitfires would harass the bombers out into the Solomon Sea. He wondered where the Japanese fighters had gone. People were waking up in the village and smoke was beginning to filter through the thatch of the houses. Mick nursed a cup of tea on the steps of the rest house and watched the still water of the lagoon. Three aircraft appeared flying low on the horizon. The Spitfires are coming back he thought and wondered if they’d had any luck. The sergeant joined him, munching a piece of grey taro. The pied dog eyed the policeman and he tossed it a piece. Mick watched the incoming aircraft and then rose to his feet. People stopped what they were doing to watch him. Suddenly he shouted and ran forward waving his arms and trying to shepherd some of those nearby away from the village square. “They’re Japs!” he shouted. “Get down, get out of the way!” As he ran the first of the Zeros broke over the reef and came skimming across the lagoon. Bright flashes erupted from the twin cannons in the engine cowling and earth and debris erupted in lines across the open square. Mick threw himself flat on the ground as the fighter roared past. When it was gone he jumped up. Sergeant Yawi ran past him carrying two children heading for the trees surrounding the village. The other policemen were shepherding people away from the square as quickly as possible. Startled heads appeared from the houses and Mick shouted at them to run for the trees. He stooped to pick up an old woman who had collapsed on the ground. The other two Zeros came in fast and raked the two lines of houses on either side of the square. Thatch and
221 The Floating Island splintered wood flew everywhere. The last plane opened up with the cannons in its wings. Mick sat the old woman under a coconut palm and turned back to the houses. Mikalas was running towards the trees as fast as his old legs would carry him clutching the limp body of a young girl. The old luluai had blood running down his face. Mick took the girl. She didn’t seem to be breathing. When he put her down he saw the bloody hole in her back. Suddenly she gasped and began to scream. He pulled his shirt off and ripped it apart, stuffing some of it into the wound and using the rest to tie the pad in place. He knotted the makeshift bandage between her tiny, blood-smeared breasts and propped her against a palm tree. “Are you alright lapun?” he asked Mikalas. The luluai nodded his head. The cut didn’t seem too bad. They both turned back to the village. The sudden racket of noise had gone and an eerie silence had settled over the shattered houses. The morning light filtering through the trees sparkled and shone with settling dust. Mikalas touched Mick on the shoulder and pointed up the slight rise. The heavy wing cannons of the last Zero had done their work well. Sam’s house was skewed to one side where several of the wooden piles had been shot away. There were books laying around and their pages were moving gently in the morning breeze from the sea. “Oh Jesus!” Mick said.
They found the old beachcomber under the house with his two daughters. He had thrown his body over them and pulled them tight to him with his arms. His blood was splattered everywhere. Mick lifted his body and carried him out into the sunlight and laid him on the grass. The sobbing girls lay huddled on the ground. They seemed to be uninjured. Mikalas and his wife appeared and gently cajoled them upright. Someone placed a sleeping mat across Sam’s body as his daughters passed by. Neither of them dared look at him. Mick turned back to the village. There were several bodies laid out on the ground. A slow keening began and picked up tempo as he walked towards the houses. Soon the village dogs began an accompaniment.
They buried Sam behind his house under some coconut palms beside his wife’s grave. The men in the village carried slabs of
222 Fortress limestone to use as grave liners and markers and built a shelter over the top in the same style as a yam house. Four painted posts supported a curved beehive-shaped thatch roof and the end facia were painted with distinctive red, black and white Trobriand Islands patterns. The grave sat underneath the roof where the yam storage racks would otherwise have been. It was a grave befitting a chief. Sam’s daughters shaved off their hair and coated their bodies in ash. Mikalas, on behalf of the absent Methodist missionary, conducted prayers and delivered a eulogy. He pointedly highlighted Sam’s refusal to leave the island when the war came and spoke about how he continued to minister to the villager’s health and educational needs. It was a moving speech and the RAAF chaplain who had come along to the service remarked that he would have been hard pressed to do better. He was standing next to Mick, the mad Viking and Dean. “What will happen to his daughters?” he asked. “They’ll stay in the village I expect; the men will build them a new house. We’ve stored Sam’s books and other things and when it is built they’ll take them back,” Mick replied. “I mean, who will look after them? They can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen and they’re half white. Wouldn’t it be better to take them away from the village?” “To where?” Mick asked looking askance at the chaplain. “They don’t want to leave the village; there are a couple of aunts who will keep an eye on them, they have their mother’s land to think about now too.” “They’re very pretty girls; you can see that despite the ashes and shaved heads; will they be safe?” “I can’t see why not.” “I know people in Australia who could care for them; good church people who will see they get a good life.” “I don’t think they would leave the island.” “Sometimes someone else has to decide what is best, they are still children.” “By whose definition, certainly not their own people, to them they are adults.” “You mean they are of marriageable age? That might be alright for the natives but it hardly applies to someone who is half white, does it?”
223 The Floating Island
Mick was growing angry but he didn’t want to make a scene. This man might mean well but his Protestant morals were annoying and Mick knew that he wouldn’t listen to him even if he tried to explain how different it was in these islands. Instead of replying he simply shrugged to indicate that the conversation was over.
Mick was still wondering about what the chaplain had said when he and Derek visited the American hospital to see the village people injured in the raid. The young girl with the wound in her back was doing well and was expected to make a good recovery. Her mother was one of the four villagers killed in the raid but her father had been at her bedside ever since, only leaving briefly to attend his wife’s funeral. He smiled sadly when Mick appeared and held out his hand. Mick took it and leaned over the girl. She was swathed in bandages but managed to lift an arm to greet him. “I still don’t understand why the Japs decided to strafe the village,” he said to Derek as they walked outside. “Apparently they took a beating over Goodenough; lost two fighters and one of their bombers and couldn’t get near the airfield; maybe it was a random act of spite. We’ll never know. Their response to our advance has been very patchy, they don’t seem to realise what’s coming.” “Do you think that chaplain is serious about Sam’s daughters? They think Sam has gone to Tuma to be with his wife; they won’t want to leave Kiriwina.” “I don’t know; if he’s got any clout with the brass he might force the issue. He’s got a point; they’re very beautiful and they are half white; it’s that white bit that’s got him worried.” “This bloody war is horrible enough; they don’t need that kind of misplaced sympathy. Isn’t there something you can do?” “I’m not sure; I’ll have to think about it. Don’t get too upset Mick; it’s not wise to get too emotionally involved, you’ll go crazy that way.”
But Mick was involved. He had lain awake for most of the nights since the raid. With only a few snatches of sleep his mind was jumbled with half dreams and half-baked ideas that made no sense and through each long hour his anger grew until the sound of it reached a crescendo that was only subdued by the bite of the early
224 Fortress morning air. He swam in the lagoon and ignored the requests to attend the office. When he did venture there Derek humoured him and tried to steer him away from the pushy American liaison officers. He had grown to hate the sight of uniforms and had discarded his own in favour of shorts, bare feet and a tattered vest. With his red eyes, shock of uncombed hair and several days stubble he began to resemble the mad Viking and his friend Dean. In many ways, he thought, he had more in common with them than he’d realised.
When Mikalas announced the end of the first part of the village mourning period Mick shaved off his beard, put on a clean pair of shorts and shirt and went into the office. “I’ve got several signals here from Moresby,” Derek said indicating a sheaf of paper on his otherwise bare desk top. It was hot and still and he was sitting there shirtless and with bare feet. “Most of them are bureaucratic rubbish.” He picked up a sheet of paper. “Apparently the American Lieutenant Colonel at Milne Bay wants us to wear long trousers instead of shorts; something about health and decorum. Headquarters in Moresby concurs and henceforth we are to be suitably trousered at all times.” “I haven’t got any long trousers!” Mick said. “Neither has anyone else,” Derek added with a grin. He screwed the sheet of paper into a ball and tossed it into the rubbish bin beside his desk. Mick noticed that there was a lot of screwed up paper in there. “This next one’s a bit more serious though. It seems we are to forthwith arrange for the passage of Sam’s daughters to Port Moresby pending evacuation to Australia.” “That bloody chaplain!” “Precisely!” “What are you going to do?” “I’ve already told them that the girls have run away and we are searching for them. I said I’d keep them posted.” “I saw them this morning at the lagoon.” “You’d better tell them to keep a low profile. Where are they living?” “With Mikalas.” “The chaplain will start snooping around when he gets wind of
225 The Floating Island what I said.” “Sure, but how long can you keep that up?” “Trust me, I’ve got a plan. In the meantime I’ve got a job for you and the Jade. “Yeah?” “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.” “Why should I be enthusiastic?” “Look Mick, for better or worse we’ve been dragged into this war. We can’t invite the Japs down for a nice cup of tea to sort it out can we?” “I suppose not. What do you want me to do?” “The luluai from Vakuta has reported that a lot of 44-gallon drums and timber have washed up on his beach. I want you to take Sergeant Yami and a couple of police boys down there to pick it all up.” “Sure; we can head down there in the morning if you like. It will be nice to get away from this place.” “Excellent! There might be a surprise for you when you get back. Be careful of the luluai, he’s a wily old bastard. Apparently he’s been helping downed Jap pilots and giving them canoes to escape.” “Stupid bugger!” “He’s just having a bob each way; just in case the Nips win after all.” “That’d be right.”
“What do you know about the luluai at Vakuta?” Mick asked Mikalas the next morning. He and the policemen were loading boxes of bully beef and other supplies onto the Jade and a curious Mikalas had come down to watch. “We’re going down there to pick up some drums of bensin and diwai that’s washed up on his beach,” he added. “Kelai?” the old chief scratched his head. “He’s a master mariner. When he comes to trade he only brings the best mwali and soulava.” “We’ve heard that he’s been helping some of the Japani pilots who have crashed their aeroplanes.” Mikalas shrugged and Mick decided to change the subject. “I’m sorry lapun; I shouldn’t ask you about things like that.” Mikalas shrugged again. “He does what he has to do,” he said. “Of course; how are Sam’s daughters getting on?” “They are very sad; they are still mourning.” “Don’t you still have to have a final feast?”
226 Fortress
“Taubada Sam is still travelling to Tuma, it will take him some time to paddle there; we will have a feast when he arrives.” “How will you know that?” “We will know.” Mikalas smiled. “Are you worried about his daughters?” Mick looked up at the old chief. “The kiap says that one of the Australian chaplains wants to send them to Australia.” “Because they are half white?” “That’s right.” “I don’t think they would like that. Has he asked them? What do they say?” “That’s just it Mikalas; no one seems to think they should have a say in the matter.” “I think if you tell them they will run away; that would not be good; my wife would be very sad.” “The kiap says he has a plan; he said the girls should be careful to avoid the army chaplain for the time being.” “Take them with you.” “What?” “Take them to Vakuta with you.” Mick shook his head in surprise. Derek had specifically told him to make sure the girls kept a low profile. He had told the brass in Port Moresby that they had gone missing and he was searching for them. It was a perfect solution. “No wonder you’re the chief,” Mick grinned and climbed up onto the wharf and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I will come with you too,” the luluai added. “That’s even better.” “I will tell my wife to get them ready.” “We’ll sail in about an hour,” Mick said. He wondered whether he should leave Derek a note but decided against it. After all, if the brass questioned him, he’d be telling the truth now.
Ba became a doting grandfather. The presence of the two children seemed to give him new vigour and he accompanied the women to the gardens each day and happily kept the two amused while the women worked. By the time they took their first tentative steps he had regained enough sprightliness to follow them on their explorations and keep them safe.
227 The Floating Island
The dog had developed a sense of protectiveness too and followed along behind the happy trio. It’s concern for Little Sister had diminished as the girl slowly regained her old humour. Sakiata sometimes found herself sitting up on her knees among the sweet potato vines watching Ba huffing through the leaf fall in the forest with the dog in hot pursuit as the toddlers chased butterflies or when they were sitting together in the stream on the pebbly edge making canoes out of leaves. The barking of the dog as it splashed after the tiny craft, gently retrieving them and bringing them back to be relaunched, mesmerised her and it was only the giggles of her daughters that brought her out of her reverie. It was good to hear the sound of children’s chatter and laughter on the island once again she told them. “I think it is time to give the children names,” Ba said one evening as he sat with Sakiata watching their daughters across the firelight feeding their children. Like the people of the islands the Tokwai followed the custom of naming children only when it appeared they were healthy and would survive to adulthood. The custom was a caution against grief in a world where child mortality was an ever- present reality. “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Sakiata replied. “Have you thought of something suitable? We should honour the ancestors if possible.” Ba shook his head. “Our world is changing. I suspect that this great war with the Japani that Mick has gone to fight will make the future very different for our grandchildren. I’m not sure that we Tokwai will be part of the future; I can see a time when the ancestors will be forgotten.” “Surely not?” “Not in our time perhaps, but in their time I think.” “So how shall we name them? As grandparents it is our responsibility.” “I think they need names that will connect them to this island, to this soil, so that no matter where they wander those names will bring them home.” “You have thought about it after all.” “In the forest there is a great tree, you know the one, sometimes we use it to make our canoes. It is strong, yet light and upright and grows very tall to reach the light. It would be a good name for the
228 Fortress boy.” “And the girl?” “She is of exceptional beauty, such is her ancestry; her beauty may one day surpass that of you and your daughters.” “You flatter me, I am becoming old like you, look at these breasts, they are beginning to sag and I am developing a little pot belly.” “Not as big as mine,” Ba chuckled patting his stomach. “So what have you chosen?” “Also in the forest there is a vine that we use for binding the timber on our outriggers and houses, it is very strong but that is not its only virtue. Every few years it flowers so red that it stuns the eyes, you know this because you and your daughters seek it out to put in your hair. Not only is its beauty exquisite but its scent is like nectar. I think that would be suitable for the girl.” “It is done then, I agree, when should we tell them.?” “In the morning perhaps, in the dawn when it is still, before we go to the garden or they take the canoe out to fish.” “It is a good time, they will remember it well.”
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11 CAPTIVES
SAM’S TWO daughters, Bella and Anna, lived in a strange dual world Mick thought as he watched them from the helm of the Jade. On the one hand they were steeped in the traditions of their mother’s people and on the other they were caught in the conflicted and uncertain world of their father. Choosing one over the other was not really an option for them because they did not completely fit on either side. Rather, they were destined to straddle two worlds, a feat that was inherently difficult. That was the lot of the half-caste Mick thought, tainted and tolerated. At least they had their gender on their side; had they been born boys life would be much harder for them. He pondered this as he adjusted their course again; navigating along the edge of the reefs on this side of Kiriwina required vigilance even on such a fine day. He had met some fine half-caste men in Port Moresby who were, nevertheless, talked down to by natives and whites alike; “They can’t be trusted, it’s the kanaka blood in them,” the Europeans said. And from the other side he had heard villagers say, “They are bigheads who think they are smarter than us because they’ve got a touch of white blood in them.” He couldn’t see the logic of either view but he knew that it was a sad reality that the girls would have to face all their lives. He was sure, however, that they would be better off doing it in these islands than going to Australia, which would see them treated as second class whites or worse as some sort of exotica, especially while they retained their youth and beauty. At least in the islands they had friends and
230 Captives relatives to support them; in Australia they would be at the mercy of every dotty do-gooder they stumbled across, not to mention those who would seek to exploit them. The immediate trick was for them to survive the allied occupation of their island. In that sense Mick felt that he had an obligation to Sam to see that that happened come what may, including meddlesome chaplains and ill-advised army brass. He thought about that for a while and then, as the Jade slipped through the lazy sea, let his mind wander. Inevitably it came to rest on the islands to the west and he wondered whether one day he might have his own coffee-coloured children. What would he do then? What would be their fate? Could it ever happen anyway? The two girls had been talking to Mikalas and Sergeant Yawi. The other three policemen were abaft trolling for tuna. The two girls smiled wanly as they passed Mick on the way to the galley. They had washed off the ashes and were both wearing their colourful frocks. Shortly afterwards the smell of frying fish wafted through the open hatchway and over the deck. The pied dog got up from where it had been sleeping near his feet and walked over to the hatchway and sniffed the air appreciatively. Then it glanced back at him and seemed to be thinking. It sniffed again and returned to his side and sat down. It did not resume sleeping but stayed alert. Its nose twitched every few minutes and it reminded Mick of another dog that liked fried fish. Mick wondered what was going on the dog’s mind. That it was an active and acute mind he had no doubt but how did it work he wondered. He knew that his own mind debated itself in language but if an otherwise intelligent creature had no language how did it think? What did it use instead of words? Perhaps the dog did have a language of some kind but couldn’t articulate it because it didn’t have a voice box. Maybe the black and white creature wasn’t a dog at all. And why was he thinking about dog thoughts anyway? Because the mutt was a link to the island; of that he was sure. The girls came back up on deck carrying a large carved wooden platter of cooked fish and greens. Mick checked the Jade’s compass and then slipped the stay rope over the wheel. Mikalas and Sergeant Yawi woke from their companionable snoozing and the other two policemen padded back along the deck. The pied dog glanced up at Mick and grinned. Soon they all had greasy fingers from the fried fish
231 The Floating Island and the dog was licking the empty platter clean.
The 44-gallon drums of petrol were neatly stacked on the beach. Beside them, under a palm-leaf shelter, was the timber, also neatly stacked. A young boy sitting on top of the drums raced up the beach to the village shouting at the top of his voice when he saw the Jade come into view. Shortly afterwards several outriggers made their way towards the boat. Mick put his binoculars down. He was duly impressed. Kelai stepped nimbly from the first outrigger onto the boarding step and came up on deck. He glanced at Mikalas and the two girls before putting his hand out to Mick. It was a studied gesture; normally, as the village luluai, he was expected to salute and hand over the village book. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, not even the peaked cap, and he didn’t have the village book with him. Mick accepted his hand. The police and Mikalas were watching them both closely. “Would you like some tea?” Mick asked with a bemused smile. The luluai was a tall man for these islands and he carried no superfluous weight. In his traditional pandanus leaf breech clout the sinewy muscles of his legs and arms were very evident. He had a shock of white hair but no beard. Mick guessed that he was in his mid-fifties. “Yes; I would like that, thank you,” he replied in perfect English.
They drank their tea on the deck under the canvas cockpit shade. Sergeant Yawi and Mikalas had joined them. “I see that you have the bensin and diwai all ready,” Mick said. “We have some supplies for you in exchange; tin meat, tobacco, cloth and some other things.” The luluai nodded and then turned to Mikalas. “I see you have the daughters of the old whiteman with you; we heard about the bombing of the village, it is very sad.” “The Japani are evil men,” Mikalas replied with a shrug. “Yes; I expect so,” Kelai replied carefully. The conversation seemed to wane at that point and everyone quickly sipped their tea. Mick waited a minute or two and then said, “It will take us a day or so to load the bensin and diwai; we will stay in the government rest house.”
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“It is ready for you,” the luluai replied, “there are vegetables and fish for you too.” “Thank you,” Mick said. Another silence followed and then the luluai said, “I have something to show you, when you have settled into the rest house.” Mick nodded and the luluai rose and put his mug down. “I will go now and make sure all the arrangements are in place,” he said signalling for an outrigger to come and collect him.
When the outrigger had pulled away Mick turned to Mikalas and the sergeant. “What is the old bugger up to?” he asked. “Do you think he’s got some Japs ashore waiting for us or what?” “It’s hard to tell,” Mikalas offered. “He’s always been serious like that.” “Nevertheless, I think we should be prepared,” Mick said looking at the sergeant. “We’ll go ashore first Sarge; you me and two constables; Mikalas and the girls can stay here with the other constable. We’d better take some extra ammo with us too.” Mick had shown the policemen how to operate the Lewis gun on the way down the coast. The constable he was leaving on the boat was the one who had proved most adept in its operation. The gun was still on its stand but covered with a canvas sheet. He pulled the cover off and adjusted the sights so that they ranged on the beach. He patted the policeman manning it on the shoulder and signalled for the pinnace to be lowered. A crowd of villagers, including women and children, had gathered on the beach to welcome them and a couple of the outriggers that had come out with the luluai were still bobbing on the water ready to escort them to the shore. That was a good sign at least Mick thought.
The rest house and police barracks were spotless. Each had a new sacsac roof. Vegetables were stacked on a bench along one wall of the cook house and two large mackerel, gutted and ready to cook, were in a pail of water to keep any flies away. Mick propped his carbine against the inside wall of the rest house and came down the steps. He was met by Kelai resplendent in his luluai uniform and holding the village book. In front of the villages who had gathered around he saluted. Mick returned the salute with equal gravity and despatched one of the policemen to the Jade with instructions to bring everyone
233 The Floating Island ashore. When the sleeping and cooking arrangements had been sorted out he went down to the beach with the policemen to begin the unloading and loading. Mikalas and the girls had disappeared into one of the village houses. When he got to the beach he discovered that the supplies that they had brought for the village had already been landed and the village men had begun to float the petrol drums out to the boat. One of the policemen was on board and had the derrick ready to lift them onto the deck. Kelai was supervising from a sandy knoll under the shade of a palm tree. Mick sat down beside him. Both men watched the work for a while. Neither man was uncomfortable with the silence. Finally Mick said, “This is a beautiful place; the village is a credit to you and your people.” Kelai regarded him for a moment and then said, “Even though we are on a small island of our own we are the most southern of the Kiriwina villages; in the old days we controlled all the sea between here and Goodenough and Fergusson Islands.” Mick waited for the luluai to continue. He was working up to something else Mick guessed. “Sometimes, when the Japanese bomb the airfield on Goodenough Island, their planes crash in the sea.” He watched Mick, trying to gauge his reaction. “Some of the pilots are injured and we have rescued a few from the sea and helped them get well and provided them with outrigger canoes and food so they can sail back to Rabaul.” He paused, looking expectantly at Mick. “That’s a long way,” Mick replied mildly, “I wonder whether any of them have ever made it back.” “Some of them spoke English; they told us that we will be rewarded when they win the war.” “Have you ever helped any Australian or American airmen?” “Yes, several; the big aeroplanes that float on the water came to collect them after we sent word to Losuia.” “They are called Catalinas. It’s hard to see the Japanese winning; they’re in retreat everywhere, they can’t withstand the might of the Americans; Rabaul is being deliberately isolated, soon the Americans will take Manus Island and from there they will chase the Japanese back to the Philippines and all the way to Tokyo; this is what I hear
234 Captives anyway.” “I expect that is so; that is why I need to show you something.” “What do you want to show me?” “You will see; we can go now if you like, it’s not far, just along the beach on the other side of the village.” Mick signalled for one of the policemen. “You should bring your rifle,” the luluai said.
As they walked along the harder sand on the edge of the water a large canoe house came into view. When they got closer Kelai told them to wait and went to the house. He was only gone for a minute or so and then returned. They walked together to the front of the building. Mick was expecting to see a large sea-going lakatoi with carved prow ready for a kula voyage. The trading voyages had finally been suspended during the war and he guessed that the luluai was thinking it might soon be safe enough to start them up again. “He is sleeping,” the luluai said gently pulling back the tattered piece of canvas that covered the entrance. Mick and the policeman peered into the shadows. There was no lakatoi, just a man stretched out on a pallet covered in woven pandanus mats. He was only clad in a pair of cotton drawstring pants. His chest was bound with a blood- stained piece of white cloth and one of his legs was encased in a bound splint made of coconut palm ribs. There was an unpleasant smell in the air. “He is a lieutenant,” Kelai said softly; he comes from Hokkaido, he has a wife and two small daughters, he showed us photographs.” “How long has he been here?” Mick asked when they were far enough away from the house not to be heard. “He arrived about ten days ago; his plane crashed on Goodenough Island and he stole a canoe from a village and paddled here.” “That’s over sixty miles,” Mick said shaking his head. “How do you know all this?” “He has some English words, not many but enough to understand. He was very sick when he arrived and we carried him here, we have been looking after him as best we can but he needs medical help.” “Is that why you sent word about the petrol and timber?” The luluai nodded.
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“I’ll get on the radio and see if they’ll send a Catalina down from Losuia.” “I am worried that we will be punished; for him and the others,” Kelai said quietly. “I was also afraid that you would just shoot him; I’ve heard that that has happened in some of the other villages; they say that the Australian soldiers would rather shoot the Japanese than bother taking them prisoner.” “I’ve heard that too,” Mick replied placing his hand on the luluai’s elbow and manoeuvring him away from the policeman. “Sometimes when the Japanese surrender they hide hand grenades in their clothes and pull the pin when the Australians get close. That’s why some Australian shoot them, to avoid getting blown up. This one won’t be shot and no one will find out about the others; not unless you want to tell them.” The luluai looked relieved. “So why did you want me to bring my rifle?” Mick added. “He is a proud man; he does not want to surrender; he has a pistol under the bed.” “Can you get it away from him?” “I think so.” The luluai looked at the ground and then slowly raised his head and looked into Mick’s eyes. “This is a bad war,” he said. How many times have I heard that Mick thought.
“He’s a bloody Nip! You got us to fly down here to pick up a Nip; why didn’t you just pop him in the head?” the larger of the two airmen said when Mick showed them the Japanese pilot waiting on a makeshift stretcher under the shade of a palm tree on the beach. The pilot, barely conscious, glanced from the airman to Mick. There was no sign of any reaction on his face, just grim determination; for what Mick was still unsure; in his lucid moments the pilot had refused to answer any of his questions. After Kelai had brought the pistol to the rest house Mick and the sergeant had gone with him to the canoe house on the beach and cleaned and re-dressed the pilot’s wounds. The wounds in his chest were obviously caused by bullets and Mick guessed they had been sustained in some sort of aerial dogfight. The pilot’s leg was too swollen to tell what had caused the damage. It was from there that
236 Captives the smell came and Mick guessed that it was gangrene; if he was to survive it would probably have to be amputated. When he and the sergeant had appeared at the entrance of the canoe house with the luluai the pilot had been awake and had vainly scrabbled under his bed for the pistol. When he couldn’t find it he had attempted to rise but the effort and the pain had forced him back down. The look of terror on his face surprised Mick and he wondered what the Japanese pilots had been told about the Australians. As Mick stripped the old bandages away the pilot resolutely stared at the roof. It took some time to soak the encrusted bindings in warm seawater to free them from the wounds and it must have been very painful but the pilot did not utter a sound. After cleaning the wounds Mick sprinkled them with sulfa powder and dressed them with fresh bandages. “He’s a special prisoner,” Mick said handing the big airman a cloth satchel containing the pilot’s wallet, dog tags and little Nambu pistol, as well as a sealed letter to Derek. In the letter he explained the situation regarding Kelai and the rescue of both allied and Japanese airmen. He pointed out that he thought it was important to look after this particular prisoner so that the villagers wouldn’t get the idea that the rumours about the Australian treatment of prisoners was true. He also included a note about the whereabouts of Sam’s daughters, even though he was sure that Derek had guessed where they had gone. “I want you to give the letter in this satchel to Major Derek Johns at the ANGAU office in Losuia. It explains everything, he has a special interest in this prisoner. Do you understand?” “If you say so,” the airman said shrugging his shoulders. “I say so!” Mick replied. “Then we’d better get the little bastard aboard; we’re sitting ducks out there if some of his mates turn up unexpectedly,” the airman replied with a cynical grin.
In many ways Anna and Bella reminded Mick of Teone and Little Sister. He wondered whether that explained his concern for their future. Although the loss of their father often still dampened their spirits at unexpected moments their natural exuberance for life was beginning to bubble back. At that moment, cavorting with the local
237 The Floating Island children in the freshwater pool of the little stream that ran into the sea near the village, they seemed their happy selves again. Mick had positioned himself under a tree by the pool, ostensibly reading a rather dense book about psychology brought from Sam’s collection, but really guarding the two girls against the prying eyes of the village youths. He had noticed this interest when he first arrived in the village. Coupled with the sly ogling of the young policemen and the girls apparent awareness and playing up to it he had developed a strange sense of protectiveness where they were concerned. Even more strange was his own lack of sexual interest in them. Not so long ago he had been chasing nubile village girls with dedicated resolve but now he felt, how could he put it, fatherly towards them? Perhaps it was part of the overall change he had experienced since escaping from the plantation. Perhaps he had simply grown up and become more mature? Probably, but there was more to it than just that he thought. To start with there was his markedly changed attitude to the war. That had swung a full one hundred and eighty degrees. From being anxious to become part of it he had become anxious not to be part of it. Was that growing up? He doubted it; Reg and Col, who were much older than him, were revelling in it. They seemed to enjoy the opportunity to kill people. Others, like Derek, seemed to be ambivalent. To him it was just another problem to be endured and overcome. And to men like Sam, poor harmless Sam, it had been abhorrent. Was that why it had succeeded in killing him? Because of his gentleness? Was the enemy not so much the Japanese, or even the Americans, but the war itself? That incarnate creature conjured up by old men who would never have dreamt of fighting it themselves. Was it that simplistic? Was he a coward for thinking such thoughts? He was wrestling with these ideas when he became aware of droplets of water falling on his head and a persistent tugging on one foot. He looked up and there was Anna standing over him grinning from ear to ear. She shook her head and a halo of moisture descended on him like an enchanted mist. “Come on Uncle Mick; come for a swim, the water is lovely and cool!” He rose and put the damp book down and watched the lithe and near-naked young girl dive back into the water.
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Uncle indeed! he thought as he launched himself from the bank and curled up in mid-air to make a gigantic splash among the shrieking children.
Mick dreamt of Teone and Little Sister that night. It was the first time they had appeared in any of his otherwise troubled dreams and the vividness was so startling that it occupied his mind for days to come. In the dream the touch of his fingers on the girl’s skin was palpable enough to be real. It left him wondering whether they had actually visited him in the night. Could Tokwai do that he wondered? The dream ended when he had become so hard that he ejaculated with enough force to wake up. For a long time he lay in a fog of half- sleep willing the dream to return. He had actually felt himself slide into Teone and had felt her tighten around him as he gently moved back and forth. Half awake, he could still feel the soft touch of Little Sister’s hand on his cheek. As he thought about it in the days to come he realised that the genesis of the dream lay in the days spent in the close company of Sam’s daughters. He felt momentarily ashamed until he realised that the dream had culminated in a powerful sexual crescendo that was unrelated to them; he harboured no carnal intentions towards them. At least he thought that was the case. Perhaps there was a suppressed desire there? No, that idea just came from the strange book he was reading. In the end he decided to remain happily confused. And try as he might he could not conjure up the dream again. Neither could he forget it.
“The blokes in the Catalina reckon I should have just shot him and dumped his body at sea.” “They don’t have to live with the consequences; when the war’s over they’ll just go home; we’ll still be here, something like that could affect our relationship with the villagers for years to come. We have to be seen as hard but fair; we need mutual respect, not fear. Something as randomly brutal as that would destroy any trust they have in us. Things are going to change enough after this war to have additional burdens like that,” Derek replied as he swung the jeep onto the airfield road. “What do you mean, things are going to change after the war?”
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“Just think about it; the local people have seen the great whiteman defeated by little yellow men; on top of that they’ve seen black American soldiers treated as equals by white soldiers. They’ve seen incredible loads of cargo spewing out of the American ships. This country is going to be a hell of a lot harder to govern when this is all over, I’ll put money on it.” “I hadn’t thought of it like that; a lot of people are going to have to adjust.” “That worries me too; all the old Colonel Blimps are going to find it hard to get used to; some of them won’t be able to change.” Mick was quiet for a while, he hadn’t really thought about the future, the present was difficult enough to understand without thinking about what might happen down the track. “What about the Jap pilot?” he finally said. “Do they reckon he’ll survive; he was pretty crook?” “They’re trying out some of that new penicillin stuff on him. They reckon he’s a handy experiment.” “It worked on old Jock.” “They’re playing around with dosages to see if they can save his leg.” “They haven’t chopped it off yet?” “Not yet.” “Poor bastard.” “If it was the other way round and he was a Yank captured by the Japs he’s be dead and buried by now.” “I suppose so.” “Anyway, here comes the C-47 from Moresby; we’re just in time.” “For your surprise?”
When they had arrived back in Losuia Mick had walked with Anna, Bella and Mikalas to the village before coming back to supervise the unloading of the Jade. Derek had met him on the wharf. He had a couple of Australian nurses with him. “Things must be looking up,” Mick said as he was introduced to them. Both women were solidly built, maybe in their late twenties and looked formidable. “We’re just the vanguard; they’ll be more of us coming in over the next week or so,” the taller one replied. “Headquarters has decided its secure enough to allow female
240 Captives ranks on the island,” Derek said by way of explanation. “They’ll be going on to the Admiralties once the Japs have been chased out.” “What have you done with the orphan girls?” the shorter and more solid nurse asked. She had red hair and fierce green eyes. “They’re in the village with their aunt,” Mick replied glancing at Derek. “We need to examine them,” the woman replied. “What for?” Mick said. “They’re fit and well. Has this got something to do with that bloody chaplain?” “No Mick,” Derek said placing a hand on his arm. “It’s just routine.” “Routine for what? You’re not planning on taking them away are you?” “No they’re staying here! You’ll see a bit later when the plane gets in from Moresby this afternoon. The examination can wait until after that,” he said turning to the two nurses, “Mick has been looking after them and they are fine.” The two nurses looked sceptical. Derek didn’t look very convinced either. Mick stood his ground. Finally the taller one relented. “We can see them later, when they’ve rested.” When they had gone back to their jeep and driven away Mick turned to Derek and said, “What the hell was all that about? What have those two dragons got to do with it.” “Our mate the chaplain I suspect; they turned up while I was waiting here for you to get back from the village. The girls are okay I gather?” “They’re fine; no one has touched them if that’s what they’re worried about. What did you mean by saying it’s just routine?” “That was for their benefit but I suspect what you say about the chaplain alerting them is correct.” He paused. “Trust me Mick, it’ll all be sorted out this afternoon.” “I bloody well hope so.” “Let’s get this fuel and timber off, hey?”
The C-47 came out of a cloudless blue sky unaccompanied by any other aircraft and made a sweeping and leisurely approach to the coral airfield. Puffs of white coral dust appeared behind it when it touched down and ran along the smooth strip towards the parking bay. A shimmer from the heat of spent fuel filled the air around the
241 The Floating Island engines as they were shut down and the kerosene smell drifted across to the wounded soldiers awaiting evacuation in the rough shelter that served as a terminal. The casualness of the aeroplanes arrival and landing was a reminder that the Japanese were now a spent force in the air. Mick watched the disembarking nurses as the men around him broke into appreciative murmurs. Some of the gunners on the ack- acks that lined the airfield even sauntered over to look. Out of nowhere someone began clapping and as the noise built up a cheer broke out. The women looked around bewildered and then began to laugh and chatter among themselves. “We’ll have to keep the Yanks away from this lot,” one of the stretcher bearers said. “I’m starting to feel better already, maybe I don’t need evacuating after all,” one of the wounded men lying on a stretcher laughed. Mick followed the passage of the nurses into the terminal and then noticed that Derek was still staring at the aeroplane. When he smiled and waved Mick followed his gaze to the door. Sister Anne was standing on the top of the steps returning his greeting. Behind her a tentative Fishbum gazed with wide eyes at the flat landscape. When she caught sight of Mick and Derek she began hopping up and down and nudging Sister Anne down the steps. The last one off the aeroplane was Tashi, resplendent in a sergeant’s uniform. “I thought he’d been shipped south to an internment camp,” Mick said acknowledging the diminutive Japanese man’s wave. “He was supposed to be,” Derek replied as he greeted Fishbum and Sister Anne with a big hug, “but I’ve had a few contacts pulling strings.” “What’s he doing here of all places?” “Our little prisoner-of-war stockade; the brass don’t want them sent south. Apparently they’re causing problems, riots and escapes, that sort of thing. So I told them I’d need an interpreter. They said that was impossible so I told them about Tashi. I didn’t mention that we only had a couple of dozen prisoners.”
“I’ve reached a kind of compromise with Bishop Strong,” Sister Anne said as they sipped tea on the veranda of the house in Losuia. “He has agreed that I can leave the order but continue on with the
242 Captives mission in the capacity of a lay person. He has already been severely criticised for failing to evacuate the priests and nuns at Buna and Gona that the Japs executed. He should also have evacuated Father Brennan, Mother Superior and the other nuns from the mission at Drepki too. We have a tacit agreement that I won’t make an unnecessary fuss when the matter is investigated after the war, as he knows it will be. I kind of have him over a barrel.” “You are a conniving woman,” Mick said. “That was the easy part. Getting him to let me come here was a lot harder but he finally relented, calling it ‘our present extraordinary circumstance’. He has the deaths of the others on his conscience but he was happy when I signed a no-liability agreement and told him that my fiancé would be coming here too.” “Brian?” “He’s been discharged and is staying on; we have yet to announce our formal engagement.” “That’s wonderful Sister Anne.” “You will have to call me plain Anne from now on Mick.” “So what are you actually doing here?” Mick asked. “This island may look safe now but it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that it could get dangerous again, especially if the Japs decide to break out of Rabaul.” “Gwarume and I are the advanced guard,” Anne smiled. “For the eventual re-opening of the Catholic Mission here; the Bishop bought my idea that we should beat the Methodists back here. There’ll be a priest and maybe some brothers and nuns coming later” “Shouldn’t that be a man’s job?” Mick innocently asked. “When the war is over things are going to change in that department,” Anne replied, suddenly looking serious. Mick noticed that her Irish brogue had returned. “Women have been doing men’s jobs at home for several years now; there’s no going back; there’s a fight to come but we’ll eventually win it.” “I told you that the war would bring big changes,” Derek said. “So you did,” Mick replied scratching his ear. “And that’s not all,” Derek continued. “With the re-opening of the mission we have a place for any orphans on the island.” Mick looked momentarily puzzled until the import of what Derek had said dawned on him. Then he smiled broadly.
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“And that was your surprise? You cunning old bugger! That should fix that bloody chaplain.” “Although I must admit that I had an ulterior motive too,” Derek said glancing across at Fishbum. The following week, out of the blue, Derek suggested to Mick that it was time he went on leave. Mick took the idea back to the Jade that evening. He had begun sleeping on the boat after Sam’s daughters had left the village and gone to live with Anne and Brian at the Catholic Mission. He thought about it as he pottered around making his dinner. The next day he told Derek that he thought it was time he had some time off too. A few days later he and the pied dog were flying to Port Moresby on the regular C-47 service. Moresby had changed since he last saw it. The bomb damage had been more or less cleaned up and it was starting to revert back to the dusty little town that it had been before the start of the war. People were moving back to Hanuabada, the Motu village that sat in the shallows of the harbour, but it was being rebuilt out of iron and fibro-cement sheeting instead of bush materials and looked particularly ugly Mick thought. His biggest surprise was when he turned up at the Chinaman’s house. He looked around but there was nobody there so he hiked up Hunter Street and along Champion Parade to the Paga Hill house where he found Suzy and Captain Tom sitting alone on the veranda. “We bin wanna sleep bit now, too hard fink,” Suzy told him as he stood there with his duffel bag over his shoulder looking up at them. The girls, he learned, were sorely needed back in their villages because of the shortage of able-bodied men and they had let them go after deciding that the time was probably opportune for them to retire. The Chinaman, they said, was on his way back to reclaim his house. He climbed up the stairs with the dog and heard the sound of bare feet in the house. Lucy appeared out of a door and, uncharacteristically, broke into a big smile. As she hugged him her sister peered shyly from the doorway. The dog wagged its tail. Two days later and Mick was at the Leave and Transit Depot in Brisbane. After buying a winter-weight uniform at the Officer’s Shop he was left with nothing much else to do so he decided to walk around the city. There were only a few American servicemen on the streets and no one seemed to be paying them or him much attention. He wondered if people knew there was a war on their doorstep.
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The next day, around noon, he boarded a troop train for Sydney. He was placed in nominal charge of one of the carriages but the soldiers were all old hands and he promptly crawled into his sleeper and left them to it. He slept for twelve hours and woke in the early hours of the morning and made his way to the mess carriage for a mug of grey and tasteless tea. Towards the afternoon the train pulled into Central Station and everyone climbed onto the back of lorries to be taken to the Leave and Transit Depot at Marrickville to pick up their leave passes. It was there that he discovered that he had been booked into the Imperial Hotel in Kings Cross for twenty four days leave.
On Kiriwina Lieutenant Matsui Henjo was sitting on a log in the morning sun in the yard of the small prisoner-of-war compound adjacent to the ANGAU office. Two crutches lay propped beside him and the stump of his amputated and bandaged leg stuck out at an angle. It had been taken off at the knee and he resisted the urge to scratch it. In his hand he held the photograph of his wife and two daughters. He was struggling without success to remember their names. Annoyed, he looked up towards the harbour. The Jade was moored alongside a battered Japanese landing craft that now sported American stars on its hull. An old man, who he vaguely remembered from Kelia’s village, was sweeping the deck of the boat. The scene came to him as slightly fuzzy and pink and he had to concentrate to follow the old man’s movements. The American doctor at the hospital had told him through Tashi that his eyes must have been burnt as he paddled in the blazing sun across the sea and that they would eventually repair themselves. The doctor was the same one who had tried to save his leg and he was strangely apologetic about both the missing limb and the state of Matsui’s eyes.
Mick took his mother by surprise. He stood on the small concrete porch for moment absorbing the smell of the freshly applied red polish that made it shine. Inside he could hear the radio playing Glen Miller. Then he twisted the handle on the doorbell and heard the familiar jangle. There were footsteps in the hall and then the clunk of a turning key before the door swung cautiously open. His mother
245 The Floating Island stared at him through the flywire. He shifted on his feet waiting to be let inside. “Is that you Michael?” she said uncertainly. Surely he hadn’t changed that much he thought. “Yes Mum; it’s me, didn’t you get my letter?” “Oh dear,” she said opening the screen door. “Your father is at work, we weren’t expecting you for a few more days.” “That’s alright Mum; can I come inside?” “Your room isn’t even ready; I’ve only just stripped the bed,” she said as he followed her down the hall to the kitchen. “That’s alright Mum, I’ve got a room in a hotel in the city.” “Oh but you have to stay here,” she replied fussing about with the electric jug and the teapot on the sink. She still hadn’t turned to face him and as he watched her back he began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Then she stopped moving and the cup in her hand toppled to the floor. Luckily it didn’t break. When she turned around there were tears streaming down her face. He took her in his arms and held her close.
Mick relented and told his mother that he would go back to his hotel to collect his gear and return in the afternoon. He left her busily making up his bed and tidying the room. When he got to the hotel he told the receptionist that he would be away for a few days but to hold the room. They were happy to do this since they were being paid for it whether anyone slept there or not. The receptionist told him to hang onto the key. On the way back he wondered why he hadn’t brought his bag with him in the first place. He guessed that deep down there was a fear of being re-captured by his past. His mother’s tears had shown him what a selfish thing that was. He was sitting with her on the enclosed back veranda when they heard the side gate creak and slam shut. “That will be your father,” his mother said nervously and got up to put the kettle on. His father came in the back door, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie lose around his neck and his briefcase in his hand. He gave his wife a ritual peck on the cheek and said, “It’s you Michael; you’ve returned at last.” Mick got up and shook his hand. “I’m on leave,” he replied, “I have to go back in a couple of weeks.”
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His father sat down and took the cup of tea that his wife offered. “We were worried about you son; it was a long time before we found out that you were safe; you’re mother thought the worst had happened.” “I’ve been fine, I joined up in Moresby. I’m with ANGAU, the wartime administration, the war is moving north and I’ll be staying behind to help with native administration, I’m in no danger really, it’s just that communications are a bit dodgy.”
Mick didn’t know why he was reluctant to explain to his parents what had happened to him. Perhaps it was because he knew they would have difficulty understanding; perhaps it was because he actually feared their approbation; he didn’t know what he would do in that case. Perhaps it was because he didn’t understand himself. Whatever the reason the lie had been told and he made up his mind to live with it. Once that was done he settled easily into their company. His other fear that he would find their life in the suburbs crushingly mundane didn’t materialise. He found that if he viewed them simply as a family the parallels to what he had found in the islands were remarkably similar. Here was a man who went out each day to find sustenance for his family and here was a woman who stayed at home and tended the house and garden. In those simple terms it was exactly what Ba and his wife Sakiata did on the island and what all the families on Kiriwina did. Instead of coming home with a briefcase in which there was an envelope containing a week’s pay his father could just as easily have been carrying a string of fish from the lagoon or a goura pigeon from the forest. That his parents insularity struck chords with what he expected a comfortable life on the island with Teone and Little Sister would be surprised him. Any tensions that he had felt dissipated and he went back to the city a few days later to surrender the key to his room. “Mum and Dad not so bad after all?” the receptionist said taking the key. Mick shrugged and she added, “Lots of the boys coming back go through the same thing. We mainly cater for officers but they are all the same. Except that some of the enlisted men go on blind drunks before they go home. You enjoy your leave sir and good luck with the future. One day you’ll be home for good.”
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If only you knew Mick thought as he stepped back onto the street. He looked around. His sister and her new husband were coming for dinner that night and he needed gifts for them; flowers perhaps or maybe chocolates if he could find any. Better get Mum something too he thought.
He enjoyed the dinner but he began to realise that he was becoming bored with his parents life already. His father didn’t seem to have an opinion about the war. He was happy that Australia was ‘doing its bit’ but personally he seemed to find it all somewhat tedious and inconvenient, especially the rationing of food and other goods. He said that he was looking forward to when it was all over and life and business would ‘get back to normal’. Mick wondered what he would think about Derek’s predictions for the future. His new brother-in-law, by contrast, seemed very interested and had definite opinions about how the war should be conducted and demonstrated his ideas by shifting the pepper and salt shakers around the dining room table, aided by strategically placed serviettes and pieces of cutlery. Mick thought it wise not to comment on these grand strategies beyond noting that his sister’s husband seemed to be ensconced in some sort of exempt occupation and could take no active part in their execution anyway. His mother, on the other hand, just hoped that everyone would be kept safe. After dinner the men retired to the back veranda to smoke and drink port while his sister and mother tidied up. The port came from a bottle that his father retrieved from the linen cupboard and was overly sweet. His brother-in-law had a pipe in which he packed some sort of aromatic tobacco. His father rolled a cigarette. Although Mick didn’t smoke he found the smell of the tobacco faintly pleasant and reassuringly homely. The conversation quickly turned to politics and the performance of the Prime Minister, John Curtin and his Labor Party. Mick was feeling sleepy and most of it went over his head. He was relieved when his sister reappeared and suggested that it was time to call it a night.
When he wasn’t sitting in the sun Matsui spent his time brushing up on his English and wondering about loyalty and duty. Most of his fellow prisoners were seamen or low ranking aircrew. Apart from a bloated colonel who kept to himself and was waited upon by one of
248 Captives the prisoners he was the only other officer in the compound. He had tried to engage some of the men in conversation but they were mostly dull with poor intellects. As far as he could tell they all seemed happy to be prisoners and out of the fighting and had no desire to escape. He found this incredible at first but after a few contacts with the colonel he gathered that he too felt the same way. It was the first time that Matsui had felt ashamed of his own countrymen. He found the interpreter, Tashi, interesting however. The man insisted on referring to him as ‘mate’ and the obvious disdain that Matsui held for him seemed to wash over him unhindered. “Do you not feel some sort of loyalty to your homeland?” he asked him. “Some desire to see these arrogant white barbarians put in their place? They regard us as sub-human, you realise that don’t you? These Australian friends of yours didn’t think we were human enough to be equals in their great League of Nations; they regard us as devious slant-eyed yellow men good for nothing more than servants and labourers. Don’t you think they need to be taught a lesson?” “They’ve done alright by me mate,” Tashi replied. “In Broome where I come from everyone got on fine together; they minded their business and we minded ours. Everyone was given a fair go. The only time I ever noticed any discrimination was in Perth but all cities are like that I reckon, wogs, chinks whatever, they all get on in the bush.” “You must explain this ‘mate’ business to me, also your ‘fair go’. What about the Americans?” “The Yanks are a bit different; bit up themselves, but some of them are alright when you get to know them.” “Even those big black apes they have in uniform, surely if anyone is sub-human it is them?” “You should see the size of the pricks on some of them. If that’s sub-human count me in sir!” “You are a disgrace to your country and your emperor Tashi!” “I expect so, now, have you remembered the names of your wife and daughters?” Matsui frowned. “Not yet; the American doctor says it will come, just like my vision. I dream about them and I call their names but when I wake up they are gone. Perhaps that is the reality and this is a dream. Perhaps I will wake up and will have two legs again.” He smiled and Tashi, for all his own doubts and inconsistencies, felt
249 The Floating Island sorry for him.
The troop train for the return journey left Central Station at ten in the morning. Mick stood around with his family until a Warrant Officer with a small green flag and a whistle came past advising everyone that it was time to board. Mick gave everyone a quick hug and heaved himself up the steps. In the jostle it took him a while to find a seat and by the time he had stowed his bag the train was beginning to move. He pressed the clips on the window and pushed his head out. His mother caught sight of him and pointed so the others could see. He waved and they waved back. When they had faded from view he shut the window and leant back in the seat. He had mixed feelings but the most overwhelming one was of relief. The carriages were all full and there was no room to sleep as the night drew on. He opened the window again and tried to lie down by putting his feet outside but the chill air eventually defeated him. They arrived in Brisbane just before noon and were billeted in tents. He shivered all night wrapped in the paltry two blankets with which he had been provided. Groggy and disorientated he had breakfast early and went into the city. Perhaps he was being over-sensitive but just like on the trip down and the time in Sydney there was an air of gaiety about the place; it was if there was no war to the north. He boarded the train to Townsville in the late afternoon. This one was also crowded and it was hard to find room to sleep. There were eleven others in the compartment with him. Some of the hardier men slept in the cold toilet while others climbed into the luggage racks and stretched out there. At one of the several stops two of the soldiers found a truck piled high with pineapples waiting for a morning freight train and they gathered armfuls at the invitation of the cheerful and elderly driver and handed them out to their fellow passengers. The train trundled north for the next day and a half. Tempers were wearing thin by the time they pulled into Oonoonba Camp, three miles out of Townsville, in the late afternoon. Everyone ate a quick meal, washed off the accumulated grime of the last few days and retired to bed. The next day Mick discovered that there were no immediate plans to send them any further north. Afraid that he could be stuck in the camp for a week or more he spoke to the Adjutant and got
250 Captives permission to try and make his own arrangements with the Movement Control office in the town. A plump captain there looked at him with obvious distaste and directed him down a corridor to the Air Flight Coordinator. This man beamed at him and said, “The Captain thinks that anyone who actually wants to go back to New Guinea is mad.” Mick shrugged and the man continued, “There’s a Dornier Flying Boat leaving early tomorrow morning for Moresby; you’re on it Lieutenant!” Mick struggled out of a fitful sleep at three the next morning and climbed aboard a lorry heading for the Townsville wharfs and harbour. By six the three-engine Dornier was running into the wind with the waves slapping against its hull. Just as Mick thought that the aeroplane must surely be torn apart its nose lifted and they were airborne. They climbed to twelve thousand feet and he began to shiver. In the spartan, stripped down cabin, surrounded by crates and other equipment, he couldn’t get warm and he found breathing difficult. Thankfully they were floating in Fairfax Harbour by midday. He had lunch in the officer’s mess at Murray Barracks and then moved into a tent with two other officers who were also in transit. It was hot and dusty with centipedes scurrying everywhere. The next day he collected the pied dog from Lucy and cadged a ride aboard a Douglas Transport headed for Milne Bay. From there he hopped another flight to Goodenough Island where there was a large force of American Marines getting ready to spearhead the push to the Admiralties. He ate in their mess and then managed to get a ride on another Douglas to Kiriwina. They arrived in a savage storm that threw the aeroplane about like a cork so that it touched down skew-on to the strip on one wheel. It bounced onto the other wheel and then straightened up before settling its nose wheel into the slippery white skim on top of the coral surface. When he stepped off the aeroplane he was tired and discombobulated by lack of sleep and the various rapid changes in temperatures but felt like he had finally made it home. The pied dog seemed to be of a similar mind.
Derek was using the Japanese prisoners in work gangs making improvements to Losuia station. He was thinking ahead to when the army would all be gone with their machinery and free-labour-
251 The Floating Island prisoners but he also reasoned that by keeping them busy they would not become bored and restive. He used the police to guard them. The latter’s reputation among the Japanese was enough to ensure good behaviour. The American liaison officer was initially alarmed but Derek managed to convince him that they didn’t want to escape anyway. “Just keep them away from the airfields and the base; if any of them take it into their heads to piss off at least they won’t be able to report on our dispositions,” he warned. Matsui wasn’t required to work but he was given the freedom to move around the station without supervision. Derek reasoned that the odds of a one-legged man getting away were low and even if he tried he would be easy to catch. Matsui, for his part, assured Derek in his broken English that he would let him know if he was contemplating escape. The bloated colonel was also allowed a level of freedom but because of his peculiar state of mind was watched closely and assigned a permanent escort. Tashi had slowly teased the man’s recent history out of him. Apparently he had been at Kokoda and had actually got to within sight of Port Moresby. He said that he had realised what the Australians were doing with their fighting retreat and he had warned his superiors but they had not listened. Their prize was in sight and they did not want to let it go. By that time the Japanese forces were strung out and their supply lines were breaking down. He knew that was when the Australians would start to beat them back. He tried to keep his men together and under control but by the time they had been pushed back to the other side of the Kumusi River he had lost most of them, mostly to starvation and illness but also to the guns of the relentless Australian advance. He was a ragged, bone thin skeleton with recurrent malaria when they were finally dislodged from Buna on the coast. He managed to get aboard one of the last landing craft heading back to Rabaul. He was lying in the bilge at the bottom of the barge barely breathing when the engine broke down. When the men abandoned the craft and crowded onto a battered corvette that had come to rescue them he was left behind for dead. The captain of the corvette had dismissed any idea of towing the barge with his badly wounded vessel. The last sounds that the major heard before drifting into
252 Captives unconsciousness were Beaufighters strafing the ship. The barge had drifted with the current and eventually beached itself on the outer reef of a small island. The curious islanders had carried him ashore and nursed him back to life. He had no recollection of being carried to the lakatoi and the voyage to Losuia, where he was handed over to the Australians. With medical care his health, if not his mind, improved and he began to eat and after a while he found that he couldn’t stop. The other prisoners, disdainful of his rank and mental state, thought it was funny to give him part of their generous rations. He often shouted in his sleep and they thought he had gone completely crazy and, often, he thought they might be right. But he continued to eat and the nightmares continued to come.
“I wish you to understand that I am indebted to you for my life”, Matsui said to Mick as they sat together on the wharf enjoying the cool morning breeze. Mick’s immediate thought was to respond with something glib like ‘you would have done it for me’ but somehow, with this man, that didn’t seem appropriate. Besides, he was not sure that he was responsible for the Japanese soldiers recovery; surely that had been done by the lads on the Catalina and the American doctor at the base hospital. “It’s a feeling that I am familiar with myself,” he said instead, not quite knowing what he meant. “You must understand,” Matsui continued, “Originally I hated you for saving me; I thought you had robbed me of my honour by making me your captive. If I had been fully conscious and had had the means I would have killed myself when you arrived in the village; I would have sought an honourable death over surrender. Kelai, who is a clever man, knew that, I think, and that is why he didn’t tell me that he had summoned you. He and his people, the way they live, has taught me much.” It took Mick a little while to understand what the Japanese soldier was saying in his broken English. “Kelai struck me as an intelligent and compassionate man too,” he eventually replied. “You can learn a lot from these islanders. You have changed your mind then?” “I have had time to contemplate my position, as the good
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American doctor is fond of saying. Being here has allowed me to see the other side, the broader perspective as it were. Speaking to the other prisoners originally sickened and enraged me but I can now see their point. We have been tricked and beguiled by our leaders. The fat colonel has also convinced me that there are many forms of honour and duty. He says our duty now is to save Japan when we have been finally vanquished and the war is over.” “You thinks that’s what will happen?” “I have no doubt at all; the might of the Americans will see to it. I think the world will exact a terrible punishment on Japan but we must still survive and do what we must to live.” “You have a wife and two small daughters I believe.” “It is my greatest wish to see them again.” “There is nothing shameful about that,” Mick said, surprised at the apparent lack of emotion in Matsui’s voice. The Japanese soldier did not reply but simply stared down at the deep water beside the Jade. When he lifted his head, however, his eyes were red. Mick sensed that something highly significant had occurred. Finally Matsui spoke. “Seeing them is my greatest wish; it surpasses all my other desires. If that makes me a coward and a traitor to the Emperor so be it!” Mick had an overwhelming urge to embrace the man but he knew that would be highly embarrassing for both of them. Instead he said, “Have you discussed this with the Colonel?” Matsui looked at the water again and said, “No, but I think he would agree with me. He does not have a wife or children but he has elderly parents and a married sister and nephews in Hiroshima. He also has with him the names of all his men who perished at Kokoda and Buna.” “A list?” “Not a list; they are in his head, their names and faces, hundreds of them, especially the ones who starved to death. He sits and repeats their names, day after day, so that he will not forget.” “Is that why he eats so much, for them, his men?” “He is not mad; he is in mourning.” “The poor bugger.” “You will not mention this to him.” “No, of course not, I won’t, I couldn’t anyway, could I?” “He understands some English.”
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“No I didn’t mean that.” “I understand, you are an honourable man.” But it wasn’t honour that Mick was thinking about at that moment.
Derek had become remarkably relaxed since Fishbum’s arrival. His relationship with her went unremarked among the Americans and the local islanders, long used to having white men cohabiting with local women in their midst, naturally accepted the liaison. Coming from the circumscribed racial conditions in Port Moresby to the open and free-wheeling attitudes on the island was liberating for them both and they made the most of it and were often seen strolling hand-in-hand along the edge of the lagoon in the evening. The imminent departure of the bulk of the Australian and American forces to the Admiralty Islands had also contributed to his relaxed mood. He was therefore perturbed when he received a signal that one Colonel Aloysius Forsyth-Jones, from the Civil Affairs Unit of the British Army was on his way to Kiriwina, ostensibly as part of a tour to provide advice and guidance to ANGAU about post-war reconstruction, but no doubt also to poke his nose in where it wasn’t required. “Haven’t the Poms become a bit irrelevant since Singapore?” Mick asked as they sat on the office veranda staring at the solid sheet of green rain cascading down on the island. “I suspect they are more interested in how the spoils get divided up when the war’s over,” Derek replied with a wry smile. “You don’t think they have their eye on Papua or New Guinea do you?” “I don’t know but I reckon there’ll be some shuffling around of colonies after the war, I don’t think the Dutch will come out of it very well for instance.” “So we have to put up with some toffee-nosed English ponce for a week or so?” “Yep, that’s about it I reckon.” “Have you told Gwarume about this bloke then?” “Yeah; she understands; she said she’d put on a grass skirt and bring us cups of tea and cucumber sandwiches.” “What’s she reading now for goodness sake?” “Evelyn Waugh, I think; she’s working her way through Sam’s
255 The Floating Island library.” “There’s some pretty Bolshoi stuff in there; better keep her away from that until Lord Muck has gone I reckon.” “I think she’s well into it already; she reads two or three books at the same time; she takes a rest from the heavy stuff by reading something light like Waugh.” “Have I ever told you that you’re a very brave man?” “Or a very stupid one!” Derek chuckled.
“Jesus! Will you look at that?” Derek said to Mick as the door of the C-47 opened. Framed in the opening was a skinny individual, about six foot four, in the uniform of a British officer. His shirt and shorts, classic Bombay Bloomers, had sharply ironed edges. He had long khaki socks encasing his spindly shanks and black shoes that shone in the bright sunshine. He had a neatly trimmed black moustache and his back was ramrod straight. “Do you think he expects me to salute him?” Derek asked. Mick shrugged, he had seen a couple of similar popinjays while on leave in Australia and his failure to acknowledge, let alone salute them, seemed, to his delight, to have enraged them. “Oh well! Here goes,” Derek said stepping out onto the crushed coral parking bay. Mick watched from the safety of the building. He had come along to drive the jeep and otherwise thought it best to keep a low profile. There was no salute exchanged; just a handshake, a horsey laugh and the words, “Good morning old chap; nice to be here at last I must say, what!” At least he seems friendly Mick thought. There was a further exchange of words, which he missed, and then a small, weedy individual with furtive eyes appeared in the doorway followed by a statuesque blond woman who Mick guessed was in her late twenties. There didn’t seem to be anyone else on the aeroplane except for the pilots and navigator. After some more talking and gesturing the trio followed Derek into the terminal building. The little man turned out to be the colonel’s batman and the blonde woman his personal secretary. Derek took them over to the officer’s waiting room and came back. “We’ll need a lorry; they’ve got three bloody great trunks and a
256 Captives pile of suitcases. I wasn’t expecting an entourage; I hope the house is big enough.” “I’ll go hunt up a lorry,” Mick replied, “Why don’t you take them back to the house in the jeep? I’ll follow with their gear. He grabbed his kitbag out of the jeep and headed off before Derek could reply. Mick watched Derek and his party drive off. The colonel was in the front passenger seat waving his arms about and slapping Derek on the back; the little batman was sitting rigidly in the rear while the blonde woman beside him was waving to people and snapping pictures with a small Leica camera. There was a lorry at the back of the pilots’ day centre and Mick managed to bribe a large, black American corporal with a shell necklace from the collection he carried for the purpose to help him load it and drive it back afterwards. “What the hell has that Limey colonel got in here?” the corporal said when he picked up one end of the first trunk. There was a distinct clink of glass coming from it. This might be interesting Mick thought. “Special medical supplies,” he told the corporal with a wink. “Experimental; they’re going to test them on the Jap prisoners.” “Sounds more like booze to me,” the corporal grinned. “You wouldn’t want to drink this stuff,” Mick replied. “Make you impotent, shrink your willy and shrivel your nuts!” “I’m prepared to take that risk,” the corporal replied, “where do I apply to be part of the tests?” “Top secret; you’d better not tell anyone.” The next trunk also clinked suspiciously but the third remained silent. Mick guessed that the existence of the colonel’s booze would be all over the base by noon.
When Mick got to the house Derek was standing on the veranda looking perplexed. “They want to go swimming,” he told Mick as they carted the tinkling trunks inside. “Swimming? Where are they now?” “They’ll all having naps. I suggested that afterwards they could go pay their respects to the American commander and then inspect the base but they said they’d rather go swimming and that there would be plenty of time later for the official duties.”
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“Oh well; I guess there’s no rush.” “That’s not the only thing.” “No?” “I had the houseboys quickly tidy up the other two bedrooms for the batman and the colonel’s secretary. He’s got the main bedroom with the double bed. I was going to camp in the rest house in the village while they are here. When I showed them the rooms the colonel said he and his batman could share the main bedroom and that way I could stay here in the spare bedroom.” “That’s considerate of him.” “There’s only one bed in there!” “I see; that’s interesting.” “Interesting! It’s bloody disgusting.” “He is a colonel; I guess he can do what he wants.” “Not on my station and in my house he can’t; what happens if someone finds out?” “I won’t tell anyone.” “I didn’t mean that; the houseboys and the cook will all blab about it.” “I doubt it; haven’t you noticed that it’s not uncommon on the island? The Yanks are not just chasing village women either you know.” “Buggery you mean? Or sodomy or whatever the foul thing is called?” “Some men like men; I understand that some women like women too but don’t ask me what they actually do to each other. Ask Gwarume; she’ll tell you all about it.” “She’s not like that I hope?” “I didn’t mean she’s a lesbian; I meant that she knows about the custom.” “You know all the words; getting very worldly in your old age aren’t you? I just hope that bloody secretary isn’t a dyke!” “See; you do know all about it!” “That doesn’t make it any less disgusting.” “They’ll be gone in a few days. Just make sure the boys wash the sheets properly.” “I suppose you’re right; I wonder if the brass knows that he’s bent?” “Probably. He’s also a pisspot; didn’t you hear those trunks
258 Captives chinking, they’re full of booze?” “Jesus; it just gets worse!” “Better go find your bathing trunks then.” “And you’d better go find yours.” “Me? I’ve got work to do on the Jade. I’ve got to run supplies up to New Britain in a day or two!” “I’ve got news for you mate; you’re going swimming!”
“We’re ready to go sir,” Mick said through the open door of the bedroom where the colonel was rummaging through one of the trunks on the floor. The colonel stood up grasping a bottle in each hand and turned with a satisfied smile. “Good-oh!” he replied. “These should do us nicely don’t you think?” He held the bottles out so that Mick could see the labels. They appeared to be some sort of German wine, Riesling perhaps? Mick knew nothing about wine and simply nodded. He couldn’t see the batman and wondered where he’d gone. The colonel followed Mick to the veranda where his blond secretary was waiting with Derek. “Couple of Rieslings; what do you reckon old girl?” the colonel said to the woman. “You know best Al,” she replied. “Now all we need is your batman sir,” Derek said. “Johnny won’t be coming,” the colonel replied. “Bit of a tummy upset, gone for a walk instead. Just me and Alice I’m afraid.” “No worries,” Derek replied. “The beach is only a short walk; the boys have already gone down there with a tent fly and some chairs and towels.” “Splendid. Shall we join them?”
As they walked the short distance to the lagoon Derek pointed out the various aspects of the station. The colonel was particularly intrigued by the small prisoner-of-war compound. Mick lagged behind and the woman fell in step with him. The black and white dog trotted alongside them. “The colonel seems fairly casual,” he said to her, mainly to make conversation. “I was expecting someone a bit more, um, regimented, I think.” The woman made a sort of snuffling sound, somewhere between a
259 The Floating Island snort and a chuckle. The sound reminded Mick of Suzy. “Al is no soldier,” she said. “His father arranged his commission; he’s filthy rich, this tour is designed to make it look like he’s on the front line while keeping him away from anything half dangerous.” Mick was surprised at her candour. “Should you be telling me this?” he said. “It’s an open secret,” she replied, “just like the fact that he’s a teapot.” “A teapot?” “You know, a pansy, he prefers men to women.” “We’d guessed that.” “He doesn’t mind who knows; we’re flat out looking after him.” “You and Johnny; isn’t he the same way though?” “Johnny will fuck anything; men, women, dogs, cats, horses, pigs, you name it.” Mick was taken aback. He had never heard a woman use that word before, even in Suzy’s place. The woman gave him a bemused look. “But not me though; I only fuck blokes, black, brindle or white; I haven’t tried one of you lanky, sun-tanned Aussies yet; that’s going to be fun I think.” With that she skipped ahead and put her arm through the colonel’s, while swinging her bottom lavishly for Mick’s benefit. He guessed he was supposed to be shocked and, indeed, he was.
By the time they reached the lagoon they had picked up a rowdy gaggle of village children and teenagers. The boys hung back but the girls were intrigued by the white woman and crowded around her. She soon had two of the older girls in their short and colourful grass skirts leading her by the hands to the beach where the sun shelter had been erected. “This is where the men usually bathe,” Derek explained. “The women bathe just past those palm trees.” He pointed to a small spit of land sloping into the lagoon. “You mean we have to split up to have a swim?” “No, no; they usually come down in the mornings and evenings. We’re fine at this time of the day.” “Why do they bathe separately?” the woman asked with a frown. The village girls had all joined hands and were slowly dancing around
260 Captives her. She seemed to be enjoying herself despite the question. “It’s only the married people who bathe separately; the unmarried ones swim together,” Derek replied. The village girls began chanting and dragging the woman towards the water, giggling as they went. She played along with them and tugged back as if reluctant to go. At the edge of the lagoon the girls all shed their skirts and plunged into the water with much glee and then began urging her to do the same. The boys, who had quietly slipped into the water, joined the girls in their calls. Alice slipped her shoes off and tossed them up the beach. She ventured into the water up to her knees. “It’s beautiful and warm Al,” she called to the colonel. “Are you coming in?” “In a little while,” he called back, “you enjoy yourself old girl.” He was working a corkscrew into one of the bottles of wine. “Piker,” she laughed and undid her skirt and unbuttoned her blouse. She stood there for a moment in her underwear watching the children playing in the water. They were all naked, even the teenagers, but it all seemed to be natural and innocent. Derek was about to call her and tell her the boys had erected a screen behind which she could change into her bathing costume when she slipped out of her underwear and ran laughing into the water. She began splashing the nearest children. There was the pop of a cork and the colonel stood up and, placing his hand over his eyes, squinted at the commotion in the water. He turned to Derek and said, “Where are the glasses old boy?” Derek and Mick were still staring at the figures in the water. The colonel chuckled. “Alice likes to swim in the all-together, I doubt whether she brought her swimsuit, nice arse don’t you think? Now, where are the glasses, that walk made me quite dry.” Derek signalled to the cook to bring glasses. Neither Mick or Derek owned a pair of swimming trunks. When they swam it was usually without clothes, like most of the soldiers on the base, or in shorts if any of the nurses or other women were present. When John Wayne had been on the island a couple of the female performers with him had caused a scandal by bathing naked at one of the secluded beaches and had been severely reprimanded by the commanding officer. The colonel, by contrast, seemed to be
261 The Floating Island completely unperturbed that his private secretary was frolicking naked in the lagoon in front of everyone. “I think I’ll join her,” Mick eventually said slipping off his shirt and shoes. He glanced at Derek. “Okay, it’s pretty hot, let’s go! He took his shirt and shoes off too and then turned to the colonel, “Will you be alright here sir? Just sing out for the boys if you want anything.” “Off you go then,” the colonel replied waving his free hand for them to go. When they reached the edge of the water Alice shouted at them. “No clothes past that point gentlemen; rules of the beach!” Mick shrugged and slipped out of his shorts. Derek did the same. Both men were tanned all over. “Oh my!” Alice giggled.
Johnny wasn’t at the house when they returned from the lagoon. The colonel, despite not having gone near the water, decided he needed a nap. Alice went for a shower, saying that she had sand lodged where she didn’t think it was possible for sand to go. Mick helped Derek and the boys with the gear from the beach and then headed for the Jade to begin the work he had intended to start earlier. Derek sat on the veranda until Alice re-appeared, looking fresh in a very un-military floral frock. “It looks like it’s just us then,” she said sitting down in the cane chair opposite him. “Do you think the colonel will want to go anywhere when he wakes up?” Derek asked. “He must have some sort of schedule he has to keep to.” Alice chuckled. “Al wouldn’t know what a schedule is if it bit him on the arse. Anyway, he’s pretty exhausted; we had a very early start this morning, I wouldn’t count on him doing anything else today Major.” “In that case I might head for the office; I’ve got a few things to do. Do you mind? If you need anything just call the cook, he’ll look after you.” “I might come with you Major; I hate sitting around, is that alright?” “If you like but it’s not very exciting; I’m just going to push some paper around.”
262 Captives
As they walked towards the office Alice said, “You and Mick seem to be good friends; not just like normal soldiers I mean.” “We look out for each other if that’s what you mean,” Derek replied. “That seems to be a very Australian thing from what I’ve seen so far,” Alice said. “You don’t see much of that sort of thing in the British army, across the ranks I mean.” “Mick is a lieutenant.” “Is he? I thought he was just a private or something; he didn’t have any pips on his uniform.” “He put on shoes for the colonel’s benefit, that was a big concession, I think he’s got a shirt with pips somewhere too.” Alice looked puzzled and Derek explained the role of ANGAU. “None of us are really soldiers, Mick normally works on a copra plantation and I’m a kiap.” “A kiap?” “It’s a bit like one of your district officers in the colonies, maybe without the frills.” Alice nodded. “You’re mates then; isn’t that the terminology?” “Mates, cobbers, yes, I guess that’s right.” Derek hadn’t really regarded Mick in those terms but when he thought about it he guessed it was true. He pondered the idea; it felt very comfortable. When they got to the office Fishbum was just coming out of the door. She had been looking for Derek. When she saw him with Alice she quickly headed down the road towards the mission. Derek watched her for a moment and then called her back. He put his hand out and she responded, looking puzzled. “Alice, this is Gwarume,” he said. “Gwarume is my fiancée; Gwarume meet Alice, she’s with the colonel.” The British woman hesitated for a moment and then smiled and held out her hand. The pretty dark skinned woman, she noticed, seemed somewhat disconcerted.
Johnny came back in the evening. Mick was walking back from the mission where he had been to dinner with Anne and Brian when a jeep passed him and pulled up about two hundred yards short of the ANGAU house. The light was failing but Mick recognised the
263 The Floating Island batman when he alighted and began to walk the rest of the way. As the jeep came back past Mick noticed that it was driven by a high- ranking American officer. This is curious he thought. When he passed the house there was no sign of anyone. He guessed they were all inside. He shrugged and continued on to the Jade. The next morning the colonel still seemed disinclined to visit the American base. Instead, he went for a walk by himself around the station. Alice had arranged to meet Fishbum and Sam’s daughters, Bella and Anna, to visit the mission and then to go swimming, this time at the women’s beach. Derek wandered down to see Mick. “Where has Johnny gone this morning?” Mick asked. “He’s off wandering too. I’m not sure what they are all up to.” “He was picked up by some Yankee brass in a jeep. The same one that dropped him off last night.” “I see; I wonder what the little weasel is up to; when he came in last night he didn’t eat dinner and went straight to bed. He missed breakfast too.” Derek chatted to Mick for a while longer and then walked up to the office. Mick got back to re-caulking the deck of the Jade. A couple of the policemen were helping him. When he next looked up he saw the colonel ambling along the wharf. “Good morning sir,” he said when the colonel reached the boat. “You can call me Al if you like,” the colonel said, “everyone else does. This looks like a tidy little craft.” “We use it to run supplies to the coastwatchers on the islands mainly but it doubles as a general patrol boat to get out to administer the villages along the coast and the outer islands.” “Is that yours?” the colonel asked pointing to the black and white dog that was sitting near the helm watching them with interest. “More or less,” Mick replied. “It’s got strange eyes, like it’s reading my thoughts.” “A few people say that sir.” “I’m called Al, remember? I’m not really very military; a bit like you I suspect.” “That’s what war does.” “Indeed; it makes for strange bedfellows,” the colonel chuckled. “Tell me, a short while ago I passed a Japanese man with one leg and his rather rotund companion. Who are they?” “Prisoners-of-war; there are more in the compound behind the
264 Captives office but those two are officers, they’re allowed a bit of freedom.” “But what if they escaped? Wouldn’t they be able to report on the layout of the base and the disposition of its defences?” “Matsui and the Colonel Hirado are resigned to the fact that Japan is going to lose the war; all they are interested in doing is surviving so they can see their families again and maybe help their country deal with the aftermath of all this madness; they don’t want to prolong the war, the quicker it is over the happier they will be, they’re not really a security threat.” “Indeed; I thought they were all military zealots bent on beating us at any cost and in the cruellest way possible.” “War changes people sir.” “Aha! You’ve done it again. Al! Call me Al, Mick,” the colonel wagged his finger and then seemed to think for a moment. Finally he said, “I guess we British can hardly accuse people of being cruel anyway; my lot were turning your Irish out of their homes to starve to death not so long ago, not to mention torturing people here there and everywhere. The Americans are not much better either; wiped out most of their Red Indian tribes and took their land; just like your people in Australia did to the Aborigines.” “The world is a cruel place Al, especially in war. Would you like to meet Matsui and Hirado? They often come down here for a chat.” “As a matter of fact I think I would. Tell you what, why don’t you bring them to the house this afternoon. Might make this tour worthwhile after all.”
Mick watched the colonel amble on his way and then got back to the caulking. By mid-morning it was too hot to continue and he and the policemen headed off to the lagoon to cool down. On the way back to the office he met Alice and Fishbum and Sam’s two girls coming back from the mission. The two girls threaded their arms through his as they walked along. “You have some keen admirers there Mick,” Alice remarked. “He’s our Uncle Mick,” Bella piped up. “Uncle Mick?” “It’s a very long story,” Mick replied but didn’t elaborate. “Mick has got his own woman,” Fishbum said to Alice, guessing why the Englishwoman was asking. “Two actually,” Mick said. “They’re waiting for me on their
265 The Floating Island island.”
Tashi brought Matsui and Colonel Hirado to the house in the afternoon. Both men were wearing the tattered remains of their uniforms, washed and mended, instead of the nondescript clothes everyone in the compound wore. They greeted the British colonel formally and sat stiffly to attention in their chairs. Al proved adept at this sort of thing and it transpired that he had visited Japan prior to the war. Derek and Mick leaned closer as he went into details. It appeared that his family owned an armaments conglomerate and he had been there selling British weaponry to the Japanese government. When he described this the two Japanese officers nodded knowledgeably; they were familiar with the particular armaments, which were now being manufactured under licence by the Japanese. “Even while Britain and Japan are at war?” Derek said incredulously. “Business is business,” Al replied and then added, “Terrible as it may seem.” “That is terrible. In fact it’s disgusting.” “Especially when you think a lot of it is being made out of Australian pig iron exported there when war was imminent,” Al replied with what looked like a twinkle in his eye. The two Japanese officers looked at Tashi and he quickly translated the conversation. Hirado chuckled but Matsui placed his hand on Derek’s arm and said in broken English, “None of this must ever happen again Major; those of us who survive, on all sides, must see to it.” “I wish you the best of luck but I don’t like your chances,” Al said, “War is the natural state of humanity, it will never end.” “And there will always be a profit to be made because of it,” Mick said. “Indeed, that is the truth my young Irishman. But let’s not be too morbid, this is a beautiful place and a fine day. Perhaps I could interest our guests in a toast to the occasion?” He stood up and looked around. “Alice, old girl, where are you?” Alice appeared on cue. She must have been close by listening to the conversation. “Would you like to bring those bottles and glasses out now
266 Captives please?” he said. She ducked back through the door and a moment later came back bearing a tray on which sat two bottles and five small, white ceramic cups. The Japanese officers looked at each other and smiled. “Have you ever tried saki?” Al said to Derek and Mick. “It’s Japanese rice wine, very potent.” Alice opened one of the bottles and poured wine into the cups. She offered Hirado and then Matsui the first two. They bowed and picked up a cup each, holding it in the fingers of both hands, and threw the contents back quickly. Alice placed the bottle back on the tray and bowed and withdrew. She had obviously done this before. “A right little geisha,” Mick said to Derek afterwards. The afternoon wore on pleasantly and by the time Tashi escorted the two Japanese officers back to the compound they were quite tipsy and he had to support Matsui on his arm. Both Derek and Mick had declined any further cups of the potent brew but Al matched the Japanese drink for drink. There seemed a point of honour involved but he seemed no worse the wear for it. “A couple of fine men,” he remarked as he watched the two officers totter away. Tashi was carrying a clinking bilum containing half a dozen bottles of saki, a parting gift from Al. Alice, who had joined them on the veranda seemed to agree. “They will be good people to know when the war finishes,” she said and gave Derek and Mick a knowing look. What the hell is going on here Mick thought?
Mick made a point of being at the house in the evening. He sat on the veranda while the others played cards inside. When he saw the slitted nightlights of the jeep he stood up. It again pulled up a few hundred yards from the house. When Johnny stepped onto the veranda he quietly moved out of the shadows. “Had a good day then Johnny?” he asked. The batman jumped in surprise. “Jesus! You scared the wits out of me,” he snapped. “Sorry,” Mick said, “I just came outside to look at the stars; bit stuffy in the house.” “That’s alright then,” the batman replied. “Anyway, I think I’ll get back to the boat, see you around Johnny.” He strode off before the batman could reply.
267 The Floating Island
The next morning the three visitors were packing to leave. The colonel had still not visited the American base. They were due to catch the C-47 on its run back to Milne Bay and Port Moresby at midday. Mick asked Alice whether she’d like to inspect the Jade before they set off for the airfield. She looked at him speculatively. He gave her a mock innocent look and winked. She laughed and took his arm and they walked down to the boat. She played along as he showed her the finer points of the Jade. “Is this where you sleep?” she asked running her finger along the bunks just off the galley. “There’s not much room in there.” “It serves its purpose,” Mick replied pouring two glasses of water. “Bring your drink up on deck, it’s cooler up there,” he added. When they were seated in the cockpit she said, “Okay Lieutenant O’Shea, what are you up to; it’s obviously not some ploy for a quick seduction before I leave?” “You’re a very attractive woman Alice,” he replied, “but my heart is firmly on an island out there; as Gwarume has probably told you.” “She did mention something about floating islands and magic little people.” “Don’t laugh,” he said, “It’s very real, believe it or not. But you’re right, I got you down here to ask you a question.” “Fire away Lieutenant, I’m all ears.” “It’s Johnny; I want to know who he is. I think I know what he’s up to but I can’t work out why.” “Ah yes, Johnny the little shit. Well, I suppose I could tell you, it won’t make much difference now.” “Go on.” “Alright; like you’ve guessed, he’s doing deals with the Yanks, a certain senior officer.” “Why and what for?” “Johnny isn’t just Al’s batman and lover Mick. He works for Al’s father and you know what he does. He’s been with the family for years. Started poking Al when he was just a kid. The old man arranged this whole tour.” “I thought Al was just swanning around pretending to be important.” “Al is basically a twit Mick. He’s a nice twit but he’s erratic and a pisspot and the old man doesn’t trust him; that’s why Johnny is here,
268 Captives to do the hard bargaining.” “For what?” “Whatever is to be had Mick; war surplus, salvage, scrap metal, contacts, the whole box and dice. The old man reckons there will be major shortages in Europe after the war, especially in Germany, and he wants to be there ready to sell it to the highest bidder.” “He’s a war profiteer; I thought he was some sort of nobility.” “He bought a title and a seat in the House of Lords with his ill- gotten gains.” “So how did you get involved with them?” “Me?” “Yes, you.” “I was a showgirl at the Windmill Theatre, you know about that?” “Nude models and so on?” Alice nodded. “The old man took a fancy to me. Set me up in a flat with all the trimmings. He sent me along because he’s got a new mistress. Gets me out of the way until he gets tired of her. He said it would broaden my horizons.” “And has it?” “You betcha! As soon as all this is over I’m off, they can all go to buggery.” “Where will you go?” “Maybe I’ll go looking for my own floating island,” she replied with a smile. Mick finished his drink and took her glass. “We’d better get going. Thanks for explaining all that to me.” “Don’t take it too hard Mick; it’s the way of the world. You know that deep down I’m sure. You and Derek are fine young men. It’s a pity there aren’t more like you in the world; it sure as hell needs blokes like you.” “This stuff just surprises me every so often but I’m not sure that I need the world as much as it needs me anymore. We’d better get going or you’ll miss your aeroplane and that will mess up your future plans.” “So it will,” Alice replied.
Ba woke in the night and quickly sat upright. He was disorientated for a moment and then heard the wind outside. The draft had caused
269 The Floating Island a faint glow of coals in the hearth and the inside of the house was warm. He looked about. There was a faint and regular buzz from Sakiata’s sleeping form. Across the room he could see Teone and Little Sister sleeping together with the children lying between them. The dog was awake and watching him from beside the fire. He rose carefully and wrapped his laplap around his waist. He held the door open so the dog could follow him. The wind was tossing in the treetops and there was a continual flutter of leaves and small twigs onto the forest floor. He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the dark and then set off along the path. Now and again he stumbled over tree roots. He cursed his failing eyesight. The dog was leading the way and he hurried to keep up with it. He felt the full force of the squall when they emerged onto the beach. There were waves on the lagoon and he could hear the sea crashing on the reef. The dog stood with its nose into the wind. High clouds raced across the sky and the moon occasionally appeared and then disappeared. He patted the dog and it looked up at him. It understood, just as he did. He turned and walked back towards the forest. The dog sat for a moment longer sniffing the wind and then turned and followed him. Sakiata was awake and had stoked the cooking fire outside the house to life. There were two pieces of sweet potato baking in the ashes. “He is coming,” Ba said squatting down by the fire to warm himself. “Will he see the island this time?” “Yes; I will go to the mountain when it becomes light.” Sakiata handed him a piece of sweet potato. “It has been a good life.” “A long one, but you have been my best wife.” “And you have been my only husband.” “That is so, I chose wisely.” “Your bow and arrows are ready and I have put food in your bilum.” “It is good.” “You must go before they wake.” Ba nodded and bit into the sweet potato.
270
12 NORTH
“MATSUI TOLD me this morning that he and Colonel Hirado intend to escape,” Derek said. “He said that he would give you advance notice; what are you going to do?” Mick asked. “I’m not really sure how serious I should take it. I mean, we’re talking about a one-legged pilot and an obese and psychologically damaged infantryman.” “Matsui is a tough customer, I wouldn’t put anything past him. Why do they want to escape anyway? They both acknowledge that Japan will ultimately lose the war. Their best option would be to sit it out here.” “They’ve got some crazy idea that they can be useful back with their comrades.” “Doing what I wonder?” “No idea. I’m thinking of curtailing their privileges, especially their freedom.” “They’re not planning some sort of mass breakout are they?” “I don’t think so; from what they say their fellow prisoners are perfectly happy here and don’t want to go anywhere where they’ll get shot at. Matsui and Hirado regard them with extreme contempt.” “I wouldn’t worry too much about it; maybe get one of the policemen to keep an eye on them when they’re out of the compound.” Derek and Mick were on board the Jade loading supplies for a run to New Britain to see Col and Peter Egan.
271 The Floating Island
The size of the base on Kiriwina had been reduced significantly with the invasion of the Admiralty Islands. The remaining squadrons were there to ensure that the Japanese remained cooped up in Rabaul. Quite a few of the other coastwatchers were pulling out as the allies made their way along the island after the landings at Cape Gloucester. Col and Peter, however, were manning one of the watching posts still in enemy territory. From the reports they were sending back they seemed to have relative freedom and were re- introducing limited administrative control despite the Japanese presence. Their spies in Rabaul were also reporting the effects of the allied blockade with fuel and supplies low and the ability of the Japanese to move very far beyond the town limited. It was now extremely rare to see aircraft setting out from Rabaul on bombing raids. The Japanese in the town were stoically manning their anti- aircraft guns and waiting for the inevitable end.
Two formidable, middle-aged white women, both in size and temperament, had arrived by boat and had taken up residence in the Methodist Mission house. Mikalas was beside himself, rushing here, there and everywhere at their slightest whim. He personally supervised the passage of their many crates of belongings from the boat to the house. Apparently they were the advance party pending the arrival of the missionary and his wife. The captain of the boat, an old island hand, had seemed anxious to get away as the last wooden box was hoisted out of his hold and swung onto the wharf. He raised his eyebrows at Mick, who was swabbing the deck of the Jade after his run to New Britain. “All yours matey; Medusa and Medea I call ‘em, pity the poor bloody savages on this island I do,” he said with an uncharitable grin. Shortly afterwards a small and sprightly Catholic priest arrived on the regular C-47 flight from Port Moresby. His name was Bernard O’Reilly and he was in his mid-sixties. The only luggage he had was a small battered portmanteau. Sister Anne and Brian, backed up by a curious Fishbum, met him in Derek’s jeep and whisked him off to the Catholic Mission. Mick came across him a few hours later standing beside Sam’s grave in the village. “He was my good friend,” he said in a soft Irish brogue, “I tried to talk him and his family into leaving with me but he insisted on staying. I left on the government’s orders, despite the bishop’s
272 North instructions to stay; now I feel terribly guilty.” “He died protecting his daughters,” Mick replied. “You could have done nothing.” “You must be the Tokwai man. I hear they have fled the island too; such a terrible war.” “You know about the Tokwai?” “We are on occasional speaking terms, but I don’t know them that well.” “I’m Mick O’Shea. I’m the de facto captain of the Jade.” “Bernie O’Reilly, lately of Kokoda and a priest of sorts, pleased to meet you Mick.”
“Life seems to be getting back to something resembling normal,” Derek speculated from under the bonnet of the jeep. Can you pass me that half inch spanner please?” “Do you know what you’re doing?” Mick asked, handing him the spanner. “Not really, but if the tappets keep banging and clattering we won’t have a jeep much longer.” “Why don’t you take it to the base workshop, one of the RAAF blokes can fix it.” “I suppose I’d better. It looks like you have to remove the exhaust pipe to get the valve cover off. Why the hell did they put a side valve engine in these things?” “Isn’t it supposed to be simpler to make?” “I guess so. They’re not supposed to last long anyway but I suspect that we’ll be using them for a while after the war. I figured I’d better work out how to look after them.” Derek rattled around replacing the valve cover and then stood up. He scratched his head with the greasy spanner. “What do you mean, life’s getting back to normal, do you reckon the war will be over soon?” Mick asked. “I’ve no idea but the Smith sisters were on my doorstep this morning demanding kalabus to fix up their garden; I haven’t had that happen for a while.” “What kalabus? We haven’t got any native prisoners.” “They’re after the Jap prisoners.” “What’s the rush to fix the garden?” “They explained that they couldn’t possibly allow Mrs Ketteridge
273 The Floating Island back with the garden in such a mess.” “Who is Mrs Ketteridge?” “The Methodist Missionary’s wife, apparently she’s fussy.” “So what are you going to do?” “I suppose it won’t hurt, give the Nips something to do; Matsui and Hirado said they’re happy to supervise.” “With the police of course.” “Yeah; the Catholic Mission needs tidying up too; I thought I’d split them between the two. Not that Bernie’s asked yet.” “He’s a bit strange, that one.” “Hmm; off with the fairies a bit at the moment; I think the war has given his faith a fairly solid jolt. He was at Kokoda as a chaplain, volunteered apparently, tough old bugger though.” “So we’ve got one mission being run by a couple of bossy, two- ton sisters and the other by an agnostic priest assisted by a de- frocked nun; or should that be a de-habited nun?” “Who knows, Sister Anne is a law unto herself. She’ll look after poor old Bernie until he sorts himself out though.” “He reckons he talks to the Tokwai.” “Like I said, the poor old bugger needs help.” “Fishbum likes him.” “They’re currently discussing Kant. Something about thinking yourself to goodness.” “And you reckon this is all normal?” “Under the circumstances, but it beats getting bombed and shot at any day.” “You can say that again.”
Lieutenant Matsui and Colonel Hirado planned their escape well. Matsui had accidentally come across Dean and the Mad Viking in his determined perambulations around the station. He had greeted them formally with a bow and what passed for a one-legged heel click. They had responded by mocking him with a silly imitation, slapping their bare feet together and bowing while making what they thought were Japanese-like sounds, “Hi chee, ah so, bling, bling.” The Japanese officer, realising that they were drunk, bowed again and hobbled on his way. After that he saw them occasionally in the vicinity of the wharf. Their visits there seemed to coincide with the arrival of the supply
274 North boats. One day he saw them bartering native carvings with the crew. The currency of exchange appeared to be bottles of rum. The next day as he passed them he saw their bleary faces and bloodshot eyes. That was when the germ of his plan began to evolve. He discussed it with Colonel Hirado. “They are what is known as beachcombers. They are dissolute men, alcoholics and indiscriminate fornicators with native women, they are of the lowest order and perfect for our purposes.” “What do you have in mind Lieutenant?” “Do you still have the rice wine that the arrogant English officer gave us?” “All six bottles, why, do you think I’ve drunk it?” “Of course not sir. What I am thinking is it could be the perfect bribe. Now the Americans have mostly gone their supply of good quality alcohol has largely dried up. They crave it all the time and will do anything for it. The alcohol they ferment themselves doesn’t seem to satisfy them anymore.” “I see what you are driving at Lieutenant.” “I will tell them that we are bored and would like to try fishing in the lagoon for something to do. I will ask them if they could perhaps help supply some fishing lines and bait. I will give them a bottle of wine in payment but caution them about revealing its source. Then, you and I sir, will begin to fish off the wharf. After a few days I will say to them that our luck is not good and perhaps it would be better if we could try fishing further out, perhaps from an outrigger canoe. I will tell them that such a gesture would be worth more wine.” “I am a good fisherman Lieutenant, it will be difficult to feign ineptness.” “Yes sir.” “And where will we take this canoe Lieutenant?” “To Rabaul sir.” “Rabaul must be a long way.” “New Britain is about twice the distance between here and Goodenough Island sir. Although it is further than the journey I made from Goodenough Island it can be done. Once we reach New Britain we can work our way along the coast. We may be lucky and encounter a Japanese patrol on the way.” “We will have to stockpile food and obtain containers for water; it will have to be a fair sized canoe.”
275 The Floating Island
“With respect sir, I will tell them that my infirmity and your, er, condition, requires a sizeable canoe that is stable.” “That is indeed the case Lieutenant. Do you think they will believe you and not see what you are up to?” “They are stupid men sir and they crave alcohol above all else.” “Yes, of course, Lieutenant. I will get you the wine.”
The work parties at both missions allowed Matsui and Hirado to put their plan into action. They recruited some of the other prisoners who they could trust to help them. By alternating the work parties every so often they built up a level of convenient confusion about their whereabouts. They set a date for their escape and worked towards it. When they gauged that everything was in place they arranged for the thirsty and gullible beachcombers to deliver the outrigger canoe to a small, carefully chosen cove. They calculated that they had about twelve hours between when Dean and the Mad Viking made off with the bottles of rice wine and when they surfaced from their alcoholic haze and realised they had been tricked into aiding and abetting the escape. Whether they would report to Derek was a moot point. The kiap was smart and would work it out himself as soon as he realised they were missing. Matsui was sure he would try to recapture them and avoiding that would be a major challenge.
On the chosen day Father Reilly stood up and put down the hammer he was using to nail battens to the wall of the potting shed he was building and said, “Where is Matsui?” “He’s gone over to the Methodist Mission,” the duty policeman replied. “He said we need more workers to dig the garden beds and he’s going to bring some back. He says they’ve got more workers than they need over there.” “Good man,” Father Reilly replied. “Now help me get this tin up there for the roof; I’ll do that before I put the cladding on the walls so the rain doesn’t wet it.” “Yes sir,” the policeman said.
At the Methodist Mission Colonel Hirado stepped onto the veranda of the house where the Smith sisters had installed themselves with their tea service and biscuits and bowed politely.
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“Excuse me ladies,” he said in broken English. “We are ready to install the frames for the new classroom walls but we need a few extra workers to help. Could you send someone over to the Catholic Mission to ask Father Reilly?” “Are you sure you need them?” the elder sister asked with a frown. “The frames are hardwood and quite heavy,” Hirado replied. “I don’t really want to go begging to that silly little priest,” the elder sister said to her younger sibling. “Do you want to pop over there?” The younger sister wrinkled her nose. Hirado stood quietly at attention enjoying the way his ruse was working. “I could go over there,” he suggested. “I know the best prisoners to choose.” The two sisters looked at each other. “You would have to keep an eye on the workers here,” he added. “If I leave them they will just sit down and go to sleep. I’ll be as quick as I can.” The elder sister looked enquiringly at her younger counterpart, who was staring indifferently into her teacup. She sighed. “Alright Colonel, you go, but be quick about it.” “Yes madam; I will hurry. Thank you.” He told the sleepy policeman where he was going and set off. He glanced at his wristwatch. If his timing was right the two women would shortly retire for their afternoon nap. He reckoned he had about three hours before they started wondering where he had gone.
“The silly buggers have taken off in a canoe,” Derek said when Mick came up to the office to see why all the policemen were running around shouting at each other. As he had walked up the path he had noticed that the prisoners in the compound were hanging on to the wire and also watching the goings-on with great interest. “Who?” he asked, half-knowing but still puzzled. “Matsui and Hirado; they got Dean and that mad mate of his to get them an outrigger, said they wanted to go fishing on the lagoon.” “They can’t have gone far. When did they take off?” “As far as I can work out yesterday morning. The other prisoners fooled the police into believing they were in the compound overnight and then reported them both sick this morning. None of the
277 The Floating Island bastards, including the sergeant, bothered to check.” “So when did you find out?” “About half an hour ago; I went to the compound to see them; Gwarume was worried about them, said they hadn’t turned up for the work details and the other prisoners had told her they were sick, so I went to check on them.” “That gives them quite a head start!” “I imagine they’ve been sailing most of yesterday, then overnight and all day today; they’ll probably keep going tonight too.” “Well, there is a full moon. They’d be north of the island by now. Where are Dean and the Mad Viking?” “Pissed as newts on rice wine, I couldn’t get any sense out of them. They conned the Smith sisters too.” “The cunning buggers. What are you going to do?” “Go after them at first light tomorrow.” “It’s hardly worth it; why not let them go?” “Because it’s part of my job, besides, they’ll probably kill themselves out there in the open sea, all it will take is a small storm.” “It’s pretty clear at the moment. Have you told the brass?” “Not yet; I’ll do that after we’ve brought them back.” “I’ll get the boat ready.” “Just you and me Mick; I don’t want this blown out of proportion.” “It’s pretty quiet out there. I didn’t see any Jap planes on my last trip.” “Let’s hope it stays that way.” “You’ve got to admit they’re game; a one legged man and a big blimp in a little outrigger. And they warned you as I recall.” “It’s not funny Mick.” “Sorry mate.”
By the time they hove-to off Koma village at the northern end of Kaileuna Island the sea was dark brown and running like treacle. The sky hung green and grey and the air was heavy and fetid with rain. There were flashes of light in the sky out over the Solomon Sea and they could feel whatever was out there coming slowly towards them. They left the Jade on a running anchor and rowed ashore. The village luluai greeted them on the beach. “Big wind coming Taubadarua,” he said as he helped them run the
278 North dinghy across the sand and tie it to a coconut palm. “We’re looking for two Japani,” Derek explained while accepting a top-lopped coconut from a woman among the group of villagers who had gathered around them. He drank the effervescent liquid while he waited for the village headman to reply. “They came this morning when the sky was clear,” the luluai replied, deciding to be frank. “A fat one and another with a short leg. We asked them to stay so we could bring them to you at Losuia and gave them food and water but they paddled away; I think they will die out on the sea.” “Which way did they go?” Derek asked. “North, but I think the wind will carry them to the northwest.” “There’s no way we’ll find them out there,” Mick said from beneath the coconut palm where he was squatting with a drinking coconut. “We have to try though.” “We’d better wait to see what this stuff does; it looks pretty ominous but it could blow away.” “The women are making the rest house ready,” the luluai said. Derek looked at the sea. They were just coming into the storm season and he knew that the weather could be extremely fickle at this time of the year. “It could all blow away overnight,” Mick said seeing his hesitation. “Okay, but we’ll get away at first light,” Derek finally replied. “I’ll get our gear out of the dinghy then, see you up in the village, do you want your census books?” “May as well, we’ll do a count this evening.”
After they had eaten the luluai brought a chair and table and set them up under a great rain tree in the centre of the village. The luluai had donned his official serge rami and cap and Derek set up his census books. It wasn’t a large village, perhaps two hundred people, but they all enjoyed this official counting of heads because it gave them a chance to parade their new babies and lament the loss of any of the older people who had made the final journey to Tuma, the island of the dead, since the kiap’s last visit. Mick sensed the gaiety in the crowd as he observed the proceedings from the bottom step of the rest house. A troupe of children had gathered around him and when the names of their
279 The Floating Island parents were called they scuttled off to be counted, accompanied by whoops and catcalling from their friends. Among those who had nudged close to him were a couple of teenage girls who were casting coy smiles in his direction. He could see a couple of adults in the crowd who were surreptitiously watching them; he guessed they were the girl’s parents. Both girls were wearing short, coloured grass skirts set very low on their hips and they both wore spondylus, cowrie and seed chokers about their throats indicating they were single and available. They were both slim and comely with compact breasts and sleek skin. When Derek had finished he came back to the rest house with his census books tucked under his arm. He looked up at Mick and said, “I told the luluai we are both married men, that okay with you?” The luluai, who was behind him, chuckled and said something softly to the two girls. They giggled and descended the stairs being careful to brush up close to Mick so that he would realise what he was missing. “Okay by me,” he replied. A spatter of large raindrops followed them up the stairs.
It stormed and rained all night; steady, heavy and windblown. When it stopped in the morning a thick sea mist swirled among the village houses, mingling with the smoke from damp fires. It was eerily still and people shivered and walked about with their arms across their chests. Mick and Derek gave up their plan for an early start and huddled around the fireplace in the luluai’s house. By mid-morning the sun had burnt the mist away and they rowed out to the Jade through debris dumped into the sea by the storm. Mick started the engine and took the boat out beyond the reef before setting the sails. The day was becoming hot and sticky. They let the wind take them where it would, hoping they were following in the wake of the two Japanese soldiers. They sailed for two days. During all this time the black and white dog kept vigil at the bow, scanning the horizon with its nose in the air and occasionally barking. On the morning of the third day its barking reached a consistent crescendo and Mick took his binoculars forward and scanned the slowly lighting sea. It was calm and clear and the water glowed with a lemony sheen. It didn’t take him long to spot the canoe.
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“I think we’ve got them,” he said to Derek handing him the binoculars. “The mast is gone and there’s no one in it.” Mick reefed the sails and took the helm. He brought the Jade alongside the canoe. Derek leaned out with a gaff and pulled it to the side of the boat. “They’re here,” he shouted back to Mick. “They don’t look too good though.” When the canoe was secure Derek dropped into it. “Both breathing but only just I reckon.” He manhandled Matsui aboard and Mick carried him to the cockpit and laid him out on the deck. Hirado had lost a lot of weight but it still took both of them to get him aboard. Mick let the canoe out on a line to drift from the stern and then helped Derek get the two men into a bunk each. Both were severely sunburnt. Matsui blinked but didn’t seem to see them. Hirado was still. They stripped the tattered uniforms off them and laid damp towels over their bodies. They dribbled water into their parched mouths. The black and white dog watched from the galley. The two men slowly regained consciousness. Neither could see. Derek explained to them that their sight would come back. “It happened to me before,” Matsui rasped. “Just rest, we’ll see if we can get some food into you later.” “It was a stupid thing to do; I’m very sorry,” Matsui replied. “You were just doing your duty.” “Is that an excuse Major? I was hoping I would die.” “Japan needs you; after all this is over, you know that, you told me that yourself, you need to live Matsui; that is your duty now, surviving.” “You will take us back to Losuia?” “That’s my job.” “I am truly sorry.” “Rest now; try to sleep.” Derek took the man’s hand and squeezed it. He then went up on deck.
“The silly buggers nearly made it,” Mick said. “We’re only fifty miles or so off the coast of New Britain.” He had set a sea anchor for the night and then taken readings with his sextant. He showed Derek their position on the chart.
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“If they hadn’t lost their mast and sail they would probably be there now. Somewhere near Gasmata. I wonder if the Japs are still there.” “Who knows; it’s still a long way to Rabaul.” “How are they doing?” “They’ve had a bit of soup. Matsui said he can make out the light from the lantern. Hirado isn’t talking. They’re both pretty miserable.” “If the wind picks up during the night we can get going; we’re just about becalmed at the moment.” “It’s funny weather!” “Always is when the seasons are changing.” “They’re probably better off in the calm; they’ll sleep better.” “The silly buggers!”
The wind didn’t pick up until it was beginning to become light. The men were all awake however. Sometime during the night Mick and Derek had been woken by Hirado shouting and crashing around in the galley. Mick had been on watch and was dozing in the cockpit. He jerked awake and sat confused for a moment before gathering his wits and going below with a lantern. Derek and Matsui were sitting up in their bunks looking disorientated. Mick swung the lantern around towards what sounded like sobbing and saw Hirado on his knees. The man's chest was heaving in great spasms. For a second Mick thought that he might be having a seizure or heart attack. His eyes in his burnt face bulged but there were no tears. He seemed to see the glow of the lantern and began crawling towards it. Mick put the lantern on the table and leant down and placed his hands on the man’s shoulders. Hirado stopped and let out a great sigh. Mick helped him to his feet and turned him around and pushed him gently back towards his bunk. Matsui grasped his hand and spoke softly to him. Hirado replied through deep breaths. When he had settled Mick went back to the galley and lit the spirit stove. “I’ll stay down here,” he said, “there’s nothing happening topside. Does anyone else want a coffee?” Matsui rose and gingerly hopped towards the galley. “I can see you now,” he said. “What was that about?”
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“He woke from a nightmare, he said the city had been blown away; I don’t know what that means but he was trying to get outside to jump overboard.” “Jesus!” Mick said looking at Derek. “I’ll have some coffee too,” Derek said. Mick hauled in the sea anchor as a green-pink light began to break over the horizon. Hirado was sleeping but Derek and Matsui were in the cockpit. “I reckon we should pull in somewhere north of Kiriwina if we sit on about 160o south; might take a while, we’ll be battling a sou’easter when it picks up.” “Fifty miles you reckon?” “About that. There was a small garrison up the coast a bit from Gasmata Island, it might still be there.” “You’d better swing her around then Captain.” “Aye, aye sir,” Mick grinned. Matsui looked from one man to the other. He was squinting but could see well enough. He slowly bowed his head.
“There’s a narrow path through the mangroves, about two hundred yards west of the river mouth, you can land there. If you follow the path you’ll come to a small shack. I think one of the comfort women from the garrison lives there. Past the shack you’ll come to a coral road. Be careful crossing it because there’s a watch tower. Once you get across there’s a deserted village, the people have fled into the mountains. On the far side there’s a Chinaman’s trade store. He’s gone but there should be a guard. We’ll have to get out of here fairly quick so you’ll be on your own. Good luck; maybe we’ll see you when this is all over.” They had laid up in a small river mouth to the west until the evening light began to fade and then worked their way carefully between the reef and shore, keeping as close to the mangroves as possible so they wouldn’t be seen by anyone near the water. Derek had mounted the Lewis gun on its stand and was playing it along the shoreline. It took Mick some effort to get the two men into the outrigger canoe. Hirado could still not see well but Matsui’s sight seemed well on the way to recovery. They shook hands in the fading light. Matsui and Hirado then saluted.
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“Better get going,” Derek called softly from the Lewis gun. Mick watched the two Japanese soldiers paddle away and then quietly swung the Jade around. The small spinnaker caught the wind and he headed the boat towards the gap in the reef at the mouth of the river. The pied dog was by his side but he couldn’t help glancing back in the wake of the boat. Once at sea they set all the sails and headed south. The wind was picking up and they were making good time.
The single Zero came out of the morning sky flying low over the water. Derek scrambled to the Lewis gun and Mick swung the boat about to present the smallest possible target. The fighter climbed and its engine spluttered before it came at them in a dive. They saw the flashes from the guns before a hail of bullets stitched across the water towards them. Mick tried to haul the boat about but he knew it was impossible and a shower of splintered wood sent him diving for the deck. He heard the Lewis gun pounding as he rolled over and dropped into the cockpit. “You okay?” Derek shouted. “He’s coming back again!” Mick gave him a thumbs up and grabbed his carbine. He blazed away at the Zero as it came in low again. Through the haze he saw pieces flying off its starboard wing. The boat had come round and this time the bullets ripped through the mainsail before smashing into the water on the port side. Derek fired as it went overhead. It swung around in the same manoeuvre and came at them again. This time the stitch of bullets was coming directly at them. Then, for some reason, it stopped firing. It passed overhead only inches from the mast and began to climb. Its engine was spluttering loudly now. Derek sent a hail of bullets after it. They watched it turn ready to come back again. It dropped almost to water level this time and came straight at them. “He’s run out of ammo; the bastard is going to ram us,” Derek shouted. “Get ready to go overboard!” Pieces were flying off the aeroplane as it came at them. The Lewis gun was running hot and would soon jam Mick thought. Then he saw the engine of the Zero light up and the aeroplane begin to wobble. One wing tip dipped into the water and the pilot seemed to be desperately trying to keep it on course. When the wing hit the water a second time the plane catapulted upwards and rolled and spun towards the boat. At the last moment it veered off sharply.
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The starboard wing took the top off the mast and the aeroplane cartwheeled into the sea. Derek had dived overboard but Mick had stood frozen, watching the blazing machine hurtle towards him. Somehow the Zero had skidded into the water right side up and was sitting several hundred yards away bobbing in the water. He heard Derek pull himself aboard. As they watched the pilot slid the canopy of the aeroplane open. They were both thinking the same thing. “You don’t think that Hirado and Matsui sent that bastard out to get us do you,” Mick said. Derek shrugged.
The pilot had managed to crawl out of the cockpit and was sitting on the wing of the slowly sinking aeroplane. His face was covered with blood and what was left of his left arm was dangling by his side. “I suppose we’d better pick the bastard up. We might find out how he got onto us,” Derek said heading for the Lewis gun. “The steering’s gone and it looks like the engine has taken a hit,” Mick said from the stern. “He’s drifting towards us anyway. Do you think we can fix it?’ “I can get the steering back but it will take a while. I think the engine has had it, there’s oil everywhere down there; should be able to fix the mast and sew up the mainsail. No leaks anywhere.” A shot rang out and they both ducked. The black and white dog growled. The pilot had a pistol and was pointing it with his good arm at the boat. Another two shots rang out and a piece of wood splintered from the forward hatch cover. Derek swung the barrel of the Lewis gun onto the pilot. The man seemed unconcerned and kept pointing the pistol. Sea water was lapping around him. He fired two more shots but Mick couldn’t see where they went. “He wants you to shoot him.” “He’ll run out of bullets, it’s a pissy little Nambu pistol, he’s only got eight shots, just keep you head down.” Two more shots rang out in rapid succession. They went wide and pinged across the sea. Derek lifted the barrel of the Lewis gun while keeping an eye on the pilot. “One more and he’ll be done. I should just shoot the little prick but I want to find out how he got onto us.” Mick peered from behind the helm. The pilot was shouting and gesticulating with the pistol. Derek sat patiently behind the Lewis gun. The water was up to the pilot’s waist now. He then quite
285 The Floating Island deliberately bent his arm and put the pistol barrel in his mouth. The shot was muffled and a crimson spray momentarily appeared on the surface of the sea. The man slumped forward and his lower body popped onto the surface and he began drifting away from the aeroplane. Derek and Mick watched until the aeroplane had sunk. The pilot’s body floated away in an iridescent halo of fuel and oil.
Mick kept a supply of timber and other useful bits and pieces in the forward hold and he rummaged through it all looking for suitable material to carry out the repairs on the boat. His first priority was the steering, but before tackling that he rigged up a temporary tiller and ran up as much sail as he could so that they could get away from the coast and out into the vastness of the Solomon Sea as quickly as possible. He had decided in his own mind that it was highly unlikely that Matsui or Hirado had had anything to do with the unexpected attack. Derek was less sanguine and still harboured doubts. “They would have had to contact Rabaul by radio to get the plane out. It’s also unlikely they would have sent out just one of them. Those things hunt in groups; if they’d come from Rabaul or some other airfield there would have been two or three of the bastards. I’ve had to lay up out of sight a couple of times when delivering supplies to the coastwatchers and there has always been two or three. Otherwise they send out a spotter plane to find you before despatching a patrol boat. “That one was probably on his way home from a raid somewhere, probably lost his mates. His motor was spluttering so he had probably been left behind. He ran out of ammo too, which means he’d used it up elsewhere. I reckon he came across us by sheer chance and figured that since he probably wouldn’t make it home he’d take us out. “What worries me is whether he had radio contact with anyone. If that’s the case there’ll be a spotter plane and then a patrol boat out looking for him. When they spot us they’ll assume we’ve been on a supply run and sink us.” Derek scratched his chin. “I hope you’re right - about Matsui and Hirado I mean. I would like to trust them but they’re Japs after all, you know, treachery is part of their makeup.”
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“Just like we’re all boozers, womanisers and hicks.” “Let’s get this tub fixed, what’s first?”
They had lost about three feet from the top of the mainmast. Luckily it had snapped cleanly and Mick was able to re-attach the pulleys and ropes to get the mainsail back up. He left the holes in the sail, simply dabbing the rents with pitch; the wind would worry them but he guessed they wouldn’t split too much. He repaired the steering links as well as he could and then cleaned up the mess of oil and fuel around the engine. The last thing they needed was a fuel fire on the boat. The engine had taken a couple of hits and the rocker cover was punctured. The fuel lines were gone and most of the spark plugs and leads had been damaged. “I reckon I can fix it, I’ve got spares on board, but we’d need to lay up somewhere to do it, it’s too dangerous rocking around on the water.” What was most chilling, Mick thought, was that he and the black and white dog had been standing directly over the engine bay at the helm when the damage had been done. He had a couple of bruises and a patch of splinters along one leg but the dog seemed completely unscathed. “You were bloody lucky,” Derek said peering at the engine. “What do they say about the luck of the Irish?” Mick wondered about his luck too. The Zero had been coming straight at him and to all intents and purposes he should have died.
Ba reached the saddle in the late morning and shared the food that Sakiata had prepared for him with the dog. Then he walked up to the cave. He stood in the entrance for a few moments and then went inside. The dog waited patiently outside. After dusting off the vacant space on the shelf at the rear of the cave he came out into the sunlight. He patted the dog. They walked together back to the saddle and then down to the black basalt platform. Ba carefully placed his bilum and bow and arrows beside him on the rock and sat down with his legs crossed. The dog sat beside him. He could see the ocean sweeping empty to the horizon. He blinked and watched the sea. Slowly the islands began to appear. First the big islands, Anu and Kosia, then the small specks of Tisin, Kas, Owa and Sia. It was as if they were emerging from a mist that wasn’t
287 The Floating Island there. He repeated the names. The dog listened intently with its head on one side. The black basalt had warmed in the sun and Ba curled up on it and drifted off to sleep. The scruffy dog stretched out beside him.
The makeshift repairs to the Jade’s steering held up until the sea became rough. A black billowing storm had sprung up from the east and while it sped them along it was difficult to keep the boat on course. To make matters worse when he crawled into the aft space to make adjustments to his repairs Mick discovered they were taking on water. “It’s not a lot coming in at the moment but I can’t work out where the leak is, I thought we’d got away with it but apparently not. I’m not that keen to go crawling around down there with a lantern with all that fuel and oil floating around. We’ll just have to keep on the bilge pump. If we get knocked around in this weather it will start to open up and then we’ll be in real trouble.” Derek was fiddling with the radio. When the Japanese fighter had taken the top of the mainmast off most of the aerial had gone with it. They had rigged up a new aerial but all they seemed able to get was static. Without the engine to recharge the battery they had to be prudent with its use. There was also the danger that their signal might be picked up by the Japanese. Derek tapped out a Morse message before he switched the set off. The storm worsened towards midnight but Mick managed to get a fix on their position in the pre-dawn when there was a lull in the wind and enough clear space among the scudding clouds. Despite their efforts on the pump the Jade was starting to list. “She’s really feeling heavy,” Mick said as he went below to plot his reading. “I think our best chance is to run her aground on the first atoll we see.” Derek nodded glumly from the wheel. He was inwardly cursing himself for deciding to drop off Matsui and Hirado. So much for compassion he thought. A few minutes later Mick came back on deck looking puzzled. “What’s wrong?” “I don’t know, I can’t see through this bloody mist but I think I know where we are.” “I’ll get back on the radio, have you marked up the chart?”
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“Yeah, our position is written in the log, its lying on top of the chart.” He took the wheel from Derek and peered into the yellowing mist. The boat was starting to really wallow he noticed. He heard the static from the radio and Derek shouting into the microphone. He thought he heard a reply then Derek was repeating their position over and over again. Then the static died. He came back on deck. “Bingo!” he said. “Moresby got the Morse message and alerted Kiriwina. They’re sending a Cat out as soon as the weather clears. Do you think the old girl will stay afloat that long?” But Mick wasn’t listening. He was staring into the mist. “What is it?” “There,” Mick said pointing into the rapidly clearing haze. Derek squinted. At first he couldn’t see what had caught Mick’s attention. Then he saw it. An island had appeared. Two distinctive green peaks separated by a narrow saddle sat on the horizon. White cloud was gathered in a ring around the base of the peaks like a fluffy skirt spilling into the blue sea.
“There’s a gap in the reef; it’s pretty narrow and windy but we should make it; we’re sitting low in the water but we’re on a high tide; if we don’t try now while there’s a lull in the weather we’re done for and will be swimming with the tiger sharks.” “It’s your island, the one you’ve been trying to find?” “The very one!” The black and white pied dog was running back and forth between the bow and the stern letting out the occasional howl. “That thing seems to know where we’re going.” “This is a Tokwai island; it can sense it.” “I guess we haven’t got much choice.” “There it is, hang on, this could be tricky.” Mick struggled with the helm while Derek hauled in the sails. For a moment it looked like they were going to meet the reef broadside on but at the last minute the bow swung around and they entered the gap surfing on a high wave. There was a crunch as they hit a coral head but the wave, following the line of least resistance, swept them twisting and shuddering into the lagoon. Mick had been knocked over by the force of the bump and the subsequent rocking of the boat. Derek was hanging on to the mast
289 The Floating Island for dear life and the dog had been swept overboard. “That was a hell of a lot easier than going the other way,” Mick said shaking his head. He stood up. The dog was stroking towards the beach where an outrigger canoe was being launched. He waved and an answering wave came in turn.
They ran the Jade up onto the beach. As its keel bit into the sand it slowly leaned over. Mick jumped overboard and waded through the shallow sea water to the outrigger canoe. He reached out and gently pulled it towards him. He placed a hand each on Teone’s and Little Sister’s heads. He then gazed in awe at the two nut-brown and naked infants sitting in the bottom of the canoe. Sakiata waded from the shore and stood beside him. The black and white pied dog watched intently from the beach. “This is Aivara,” she said. “He is your son. This is Tuatua, she is your daughter.” The lazy drone of a Catalina could be heard in the distance.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Philip Fitzpatrick was born in Oxford and migrated with his parents to Australia in 1956. He was a field officer in Papua New Guinea between 1967 and 1973. Between 1974 and 1994 he worked as an Aboriginal Heritage researcher. Since 1994 he has worked as an independent social mapping consultant in both Australia and Papua New Guinea. He is widely published and writes fiction for pleasure. His books include:
Bamahuta: Leaving Papua Dingo Trapper Harry Flynn’s Last Odyssey Inspector Metau: The Case of the Angry Councillor Inspector Metau: The Case of the Missing Professor
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