The Atua Man

by John Stephenson

  “Did you meet any of your half-brothers or sisters in Tahiti?” David and Jason burned with curiosity about Larry and his family. Melanie just smiled.

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I did meet three of Dad’s five wives. One was younger than me.”

  “Everybody in Honolulu speculates about his years in Tahiti. I’m sure the stories are exaggerated, but there are people at the Hawaii Yacht Club convinced that Larry’s offspring are Tahitian royalty now ruling Tahiti.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “What did your dad do there?”

  “I thought you both knew that story.”

  “Only the rumors,” Jason replied.

  “Dad’s family was wealthy, from Bryn Mawr on the old Main Line of Philadelphia. My grandmother was a Flagler. His upbringing was boarding schools and Palm Beach vacations in the winter and summers in North Haven, Maine. That’s where he fell in love with sailing. He graduated from Dartmouth rather young, at twenty, and left to see the world on a steamer sailing from New York to Sydney through the Panama Canal with stops in Havana and Papeete. He didn’t like Havana but got off the steamer in Papeete, where he stayed until World War Two.”

  “Then he saw the unspoiled Tahiti,” Jason said.

  “Not really. Fletcher Christian saw the unspoiled Tahiti. From then on it was downhill. At least that’s my opinion.”

  “He must have had a few girlfriends?”

  Melanie laughed. “Well, my dad’s always been curious, except about what I was doing. But he needed to know everything about everything else. So, he learned all there was to know about Tahiti, including the language. He already knew French. Of course, he loved many women. He got married to a princess from one of the chiefly families. I’m sure he never told my grandparents.”

  Melanie looked at Jason and David like the reporter she hoped to be. “If this is boring, stop me. I only heard this story last week. My mother won’t talk about him. Frankly, I have a hard time relating to him.”

  “Didn’t you see him growing up?” Jason said.

  “Not much. He got into all that Dr. Green crap and mom couldn’t stand those people.”

  The boys looked at each other and started to laugh.

  “I’m sorry.” She realized that perhaps she had hit a nerve.

  “No, it’s so honest. It’s wonderful,” Jason said. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t know Dad had so many friends in Tahiti. He and I visited James Norman Hall’s widow a few days ago and saw where the Bounty Trilogy was written. Mrs. Hall treated him like a son. Did Dad make you read the Bounty Trilogy?”

  “I’m on the last book,” David said.

  “I guess he found his paradise,” Melanie continued. “He had a son. He said he tried to work with the territorial president to create some kind of economy for the islanders—his major at Dartmouth was economics—but the war came along, and he returned to the states.”

  “I never knew any of this,” Jason said. “He doesn’t like to talk about himself.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Melanie said. “He never said boo to me until I got here and all of sudden, he never shut up.”

  “And then what happened,” David said.

  “He received a commission in the Navy and after a couple of years in San Diego he was sent back here. He was second in command at the big allied supply base on Bora Bora. He gave me a whole history of World War Two as well. Want to hear that too?”

  “I’ve nowhere to go,” Jason said.

  “Bora Bora was beyond the reach of the Japanese. War matériel from San Diego to Hawaii to here, and from the East Coast through the Panama Canal could move without danger from Japanese planes and submarines. The base supported the campaigns to take back New Caledonia and the New Hebrides. It had seaplane runways, fuel—seven thousand men—so I guess it was a big responsibility.”

  “I bet his family was happy to see him back.”

  “No. His wife and child had drowned in a boating accident. Their boat sank in a storm while sailing from Moorea to Papeete. Nobody knew how to reach Dad, so he didn’t find out until he got back.”

  “That’s horrible,” David said. Jason could see that David was readjusting his opinion of Larry and what he had suffered.

  “Well, he became one of those rogue South Pacific officers Michener wrote about in Tales of the South Pacific. He drank way too much. He started a black market in war surplus and had a fleet of schooners sailing the islands. He probably ran a few spies too! When the war ended, he had a legitimate trading company that supplied islands from Rarotonga to Samoa and throughout French Polynesia. But he said he was miserable. All he could think about was his lost family.”

  “What about the Navy? They couldn’t have liked what he was doing,” David said.

  “I don’t know. He never mentioned any problem with the Navy. He was honorably discharged in 1946, when they closed the base in Bora Bora. Two years later he sold his business to his Tahitian partner. I don’t think he ever wanted to come back. He went to New York and became an investment banker.”

  Larry came on deck with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Are you giving away all my secrets?”

  “Dad, you never told these guys your history. How come you never told me until last week at the hotel?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything. What’s human history worth, anyway? I’m not that person. Haven’t been for decades. You’ve only known me since I met Dr. Green. His teaching changed my life. I admit I can’t always live up to the ideal, but I’m trying to live up to that now.”

  “But your story is a great adventure. You should tell it,” Melanie said.

  “Bollocks on that. The greatest adventure is discovering your spiritual nature. You should ask Jason about that.”

  “Is there something going on here that I need to know?” Melanie asked.

  “We’re out to discover ourselves,” David said. “You know, face adversity to discover the depth of our character.”

  Melanie didn’t like being excluded. “What’s my role in your little drama?”

  “That’s still to be determined” Jason said. “Perhaps you’re the witness.”

  “I hope this isn’t a Greek tragedy,” she replied.

  Larry’s hors d’oeuvres were excellent: a poisson cru on slices of baguette. He baked a Tahitian snapper in coconut milk and served it with island sweet potatoes and a leafy vegetable similar to spinach. Comparing this with the first night out of Honolulu was impossible. The angle of sail was smooth broad reach with a gentle quartering sea—it was like being on a cruise ship. The al fresco dinner in the cockpit, with a warm fair wind was the kind of experience everyone wanted to remember. The setting sun over the transom turned the ocean into a golden highway, one without markers, seemingly infinite in its reach. The waxing moon was three-quarters full and already a few degrees above the eastern horizon.

  Maybe Melanie was the civilizing quotient Larry needed. Maybe now this was going to be the voyage that Jason had sold to David in Europe? David liked this Larry. And he liked Melanie, too.

  Chapter 24

  Rangiroa, Tuamotu Archipelago

  Wednesday May 31, 1989

  After two days and nights at sea, Mata‘i sailed through the Avatoru Pass into the lagoon of Rangiroa, and continued down the leeward shore of the main motu, Tahitian for “tiny island,” and dropped anchor near the Tiputu Pass. The captain and crew dined ashore that night and while Larry talked to the village chief about the weather and politics, the boys encouraged Melanie to tell them more of Larry’s history. She was a good story teller, and the boys were captivated by more than just her story telling.

  Melanie confessed that she had never been very close to her father. Her parents divorced when she was two and her mother could not let go of hating Larry. It wasn’t for anything particular; it was just a general hatred.

  “Dad worked for J. P. Morgan in New York during most of the ‘50s. He married again and in 1959, quit his job, bought a classic Sparkman & S
tephens schooner, and took his new wife back to Tahiti.”

  “Did you know her?” David said.

  “No. I don’t even know her name. They ended up back in Bora Bora, where Dad formed a hotel company with his former partner from after the war.”

  “Was she a Tahitian?” Jason asked.

  “I don’t think so. I think she was a New York socialite. Dad wouldn’t talk to me about that time. He divorced whatever-her-name-was and sailed his schooner solo to Hawaii where he met my mom.”

  “You were born in Honolulu, then?” Jason and David looked at each other, both having the same questions on their minds.

  “Yeah, in 1968. I graduated from Punahou School and just got my journalism degree from Arizona State. What else do you want to know?” Melanie was growing resistant.

  “I’m sorry. You’re just so fascinating.” David said.

  Melanie looked at the boys, took a breath, and decided to go on. “Mom and I kind of raised each other. She came from a kamaaina family, deep roots in the islands, and Dad loved that. Then he found those spiritual books and no longer cared about anything Mom liked. I barely saw him, and we lived in the same town, except in the summers when he made me spend every August on the Mata‘i in Hanalei Bay in Kauai with his new wife Helen. I think Helen always hated me.”

  David nodded his head in understanding. His parents divorced and he saw Melanie’s struggle.

  “Really? I can’t see that in Helen. She was so kind to me,” Jason said. “And, she really practiced forgiveness around Larry.”

  Melanie didn’t want to get into that relationship. “I think the reason we didn’t go to Bora Bora and the Leeward Islands is because of bad feelings down there. I know Dad says it’s because he didn’t want to sail against the wind, but I don’t believe it. This whole trip was to show me the islands, so why not those?”

  “You dad is obsessed by the Marquesas,” Jason said. “All he talked about while preparing the boat was getting back to those islands before they got ruined by tourism and everything. That’s why he didn’t want to go to the Leeward Islands.”

  “I don’t know,” Melanie answered. “I think his partner was arrested for being a subversive.”

  “Why do you think that?” David said.

  “My mother, of course. I think there were a number of Tahitians on many of the islands that wanted the French out and were arming themselves. Maybe it had to do with atomic testing, or something. And I guess he got in trouble with the government.”

  “Like he did in Papeete?” David laughed.

  “Anyway, here we are now and where’s Dad? Off talking politics with the local chief.”

  “If your mom wouldn’t talk about it, why do you think there was something subversive going on?” David asked.

  “Well, this Tahitian came up to Honolulu when I was fourteen. I’ve always been nosey, and I overheard him begging Dad for money.”

  Jason laughed.

  “Yeah. You know how Dad feels about money.” Melanie grew serious. “Well, the man left angry, shouting that Larry would get it. It scared me. Island people have long memories. Then he left for Mexico.”

  “That’s a lot of speculation just because Larry wouldn’t fund someone’s trip to Mexico,” David said.

  “I know. I’ve got to watch that if I’m ever going to be a reporter. But when I asked mother about it, she said I was better off not knowing. She could be right.”

  The next day the captain and his crew spent relaxing, anchored in the lagoon and looking for pearls.

  Chapter 25

  Manihi, Tuamotu Archipelago

  Friday, June 2, 1989

  The fifth day out of Papeete, the Mata‘i pulled into the quay at the atoll of Manihi. Larry had planned to pass Manihi and spend the night at the next atoll along the route, to be closer to the Marquesas, but the winds picked up and shifted to the east. Larry made the decision to duck into the safety of Manihi in the afternoon when the island was abeam. He didn’t want to push his luck with the weather. The way the wind was acting, Larry didn’t think they’d make the next island until dusk, and to approach the pass after dark was too dangerous.

  There were no other boats at the quay so Mata‘i tied up to the concrete wharf. The current through the pass was swift, almost four knots, and the boys doubled up the mooring lines. Larry ordered his crew to stay with the boat while he found the village leader to announce their arrival. Custom and protocol required visiting yachts to register with the local government representative—show their papers, sign the mayor’s logbook, and pay proper respect to the village chief.

  Mata‘i spent the night at Manihi and left the following morning heading to Fatu Hiva, the southernmost Marquesan island, about six hundred miles away, an estimated four to five-day sail. The wind kept pushing the boat further north, so Larry tacked and spent the day sailing south-south-east hoping the front would pass quickly and they’d catch the returning trade winds and ride them up to Fatu Hiva. That didn’t happen.

  Larry’s mood changed with the weather. It was overcast, windy and hot, and the new tack took the boat toward the atoll of Takaroa, a dangerous island that had a history of eating ships. After sailing most of the day and making less than fifty miles toward the Marquesas, Larry decided to pull in to Takaroa before dark. Again, the Mata‘i moored along the wharf in the pass where the current was strong, and the guys doubled up the lines again.

  Chapter 26

  Takaroa, Tuamotu Archipelago

  Saturday, June 3, 1989

  Everybody was tired and Larry put off reporting his arrival at Takaroa until the morning. He was in no mood to cook dinner and he retired early to his cabin. David threw together some pasta and he, Melanie, and Jason ate in the salon at the settee as the wind picked up to gale force.

  “Larry made the right decision,” David shouted over the wind singing in the rigging. Mata‘i struggled to be free of the wharf, and even with doubled up lines and large fenders she banged and rubbed along the quay.

  “Dad’s not going to sleep tonight with all this going on. He’s so attached to this boat that every time it groans, he feels pain.”

  “Let’s make sure we’re well moored and everything is battened down. I don’t want anything to come apart or break,” Jason told them.

  He and David went topside and put the sail covers on the main and mizzen sails. They checked the sheets of the roller-furling jenny, turned the air funnels away from the wind-driven rain, and made sure that nothing loose was left on deck. Jason strapped an extra line over and around the dinghy cover and took off the wooden sail from the Aires wind vane. David pulled the servo rudder out of the water and strapped it up. When they finished, they sat down at their favorite spot on the fore cabin roof and watched the storm build.

  You guys are going to get wet.” Melanie said, but she sat down next to the boys. “Wow, Dad has a nasty temper, doesn’t he?”

  “He can be unreasonable at times,” Jason said.

  “You know, when shit happens, I don’t want to have to choose between you two and Dad. In fact, you guys probably know him better than I do. Coming on this trip was a hard decision. My mom was totally against it. But I thought, if I’m going to be a journalist and all, it might provide some good material. I guess I’ll have to figure out how to deal with adversity.”

  David guffawed. “You might get to learn how to do that!”

  “More like practicing forgiveness,” Jason said.

  “I never understood how important that was until I took your mom’s class,” David said.

  “I’m not into that spiritual stuff. When I think about it, I’m stunned Dad ever got into it. It’s so unlike him,” Melanie said. “Hope it’s not like all his other passions: Once he knows all there is about it, he moves on. If it doesn’t benefit him, he’ll drop it.”

  “You can’t fault him for trying. Something in his consciousness drew him to find a deeper meaning to life,” Jason said.

  Sunday, June 4, 1989

  A ga
le blew through the night, and the next morning dawned gray and stormy. It was the seventh day out of Papeete, and Larry wanted to move on, but because of the storm, he couldn’t. Two more yachts limped in to Takaroa that morning. The crews told of towering seas and winds that tested their sanity. Larry didn’t like hearing this and believed their stories were highly exaggerated. He held to the belief that someone spiritually in tune could alter weather, and inclement weather should never limit human endeavor.

  Larry kept asking Jason what he was going to do about the delay. With every stormy hour, Larry became convinced that Jason was turning out to be useless. If he’d wanted just a crewman, he could have picked up some surfer off the beach to steer the boat and man the sails. That would have been much cheaper than supporting Jason for months—feeding him, teaching him the skills of a blue-water sailor—one who could find his way around any ocean, know the stars at every latitude, and survive any storm. But with Jason and his advanced spiritual consciousness on board, there were not supposed to be any trials and mishaps.

  Larry set the boys to work and went ashore with Melanie. Jason and David did some caulking, sanded some peeling paint, and resealed the aprons around the main and mizzenmast.

  David couldn’t figure out why Larry thought Jason could alter the weather.

  “Solomon Green did some experiments with his close students regarding the weather. In one of his books he writes about a hurricane that had been approaching Palm Beach back in the 70s. Based on the biblical statement that ten righteous men could save a city, Dr. Green thought that if enough individuals could bring into realization the presence of God, nothing destructive could take place where that consciousness of peace existed. And it worked. A group of students meditated to realize the Presence and the storm dissipated and changed direction.”

  “So, what’s going on here?”

  “Larry isn’t interested in God for God’s sake. He’s interested in having God do something to make his human experience better, like fair winds and sunny skies for this trip. That’s not how it works.”