However, McDuff was still unable to discuss his feelings freely. Proper Bostonians simply didn’t talk about sex, even with the people with whom they were sharing it. Hesitantly, he asked, “Have you ever been...” He tried to think of a way of saying what was on his mind. “...involved with him?”
Gale downed his third Scotch and said, “Ha! Wouldn’t think of it. It would definitely get in the way of our work out here in the islands. You just learn to put your feelings aside until you get to port.”
McDuff blushed and turned away. “I know what we are doing is sinful. And I feel like such a fool and a hypocrite,’ he said.
Leslie laid a gentle hand on his arm. “For what? Our lives are our own to do with what we wish. We’re certainly not alone in our preferences...”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he said. “I was part of a terrible scene back on the island with Thompson and a guest of his. I saw myself as an avenging angel of God, not tempted by the gross behavior of men like Thompson.”
“What happened?’ Gale asked.
“They were having an ... an orgy with the native women Thompson kept at the big house. I broke in at the height of the excitement and made a scene.”
“You didn’t!” Gale smiled. “You tried to save the damsels in distress?” He started to laugh lightly but it grew in volume. “I can’t believe it,” he chuckled and spilled some of his drink. “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you. Those women were his! He paid two pigs apiece for them.”
“But that’s slavery, Leslie. One person can’t own another person. That’s contrary to God’s law.”
“Get a hold on yourself, Moses,” he said getting more serious. “Remember where you are. It may be against the law in Boston, but you’re in the middle of the bloody Pacific Ocean, man. On these islands, one man can do anything he damn pleases to another man if he is stronger. God’s laws notwithstanding, might makes right. And mind you, The British Empire is not winning these people over with benevolence, Moses. It’s telling them they better damned well get into line or suffer the consequences.”
“Does that include raping the natives?”
“If you ask me,” Leslie said, “the ones that only get raped are getting off easy. I’ve heard stories about whole populations getting annihilated. I’m sure they’re true.”
“How so?” McDuff asked.
“Sea Captains have been known to send their sick sailors ashore, not for treatment, but to spread the illness among the islanders. I’ve heard that Samoa went from 150,000 inhabitants to 15,000 courtesy of four sailors with the measles. It made the Samoans a lot easier to subdue; I guarantee you that.”
“I can’t believe white men could be so heartless. There must be some mistake. They wouldn’t do that. I would have to assume that these ships’ captains are from Christian countries,” McDuff argued.
“You know, Moses, for an educated man you make some terribly rash assumptions. Look at your own country ... your people killed all the natives who got in your way. From what I understand, all your aborigines are allowed to do is sell blankets to wealthy tourists on holiday. You’re a Christian country, I’ve heard. How to you justify having done in all the Indians so you could build bloody railroads?”
McDuff immediately became defensive. “It’s my understanding that we have federal agencies that administer the Indian reservations, and make sure they are taken care of ...”
Leslie Gale cut him off. “Have you ever heard the theory of ‘The Superior Savage?’”
“‘The Superior Savage?’ No, I can’t say that I have. What is it?” McDuff said warily.
“When I was in Paris as a student, there were some archeologists and anthropologists who were having a raging academic battle about the Neanderthals. If you remember, they were the race of men who preceded our own species.”
McDuff wanted to show off the equality f his New England education, and said, “Yes, we’re Homo Sapiens. As I understand it our ancestors were a little more quick-witted, and mastered the skills of civilizing themselves more easily than the ape-like Neanderthals. Our ancestors were able to hunt better and learned how to plant seeds and become farmers.”
“Granted,” said Gale, “but what one faction of the argumentors maintained was that Homo Sapiens was the ‘superior savage.’ The reason our species won out was that we were better at the art of warfare and survival — better killers, if you will. The reason we became the dominant species was the fact that we successfully slaughtered all the stupid Neanderthals.”
“What a dreadful thought,” Moses McDuff said. “I have always believed that they were absorbed into the evolving population. Leslie, I fear you dwell on dark thoughts. You’re a born pessimist.”
“Well, I have lots of company. Our ‘friend’ Adolf, up in Berlin, has whole teams of people proving the purity of the German people ... all that Aryan People nonsense. But I’ve read where some of his anthropologists have come up with some convincing arguments for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“All these dark-skinned natives — both here in the Pacific and those in Africa — are descendants of the Neanderthals. While the white race, on the other hand are true Homo Sapiens.
“Thompson said something along those lines when I first got there. You folks aren’t as democratic as you would have the rest of us believe,” McDuff said.
“Hell, man, you lived on Christ’s Despair. You’ve seen them first hand. They kill and eat each other. I assume that you got out of there before you had a chance to see Jeremy Thompson’s head stuck on a pole on the beach. We’ve outgrown that behavior. Do you think you belong to the same species of man as these bloody, fucking kanakas?”
“Please watch your language. I don’t know what I think. I’m still sorting it out. I haven’t quite recovered from my experiences on the island,” McDuff said.
“Well, I think we — the white race — are Homo Sapiens. We have continued to evolve. We have made progress. We’ve managed to civilize ourselves. They’ve stayed the same over the past million years.
“But here’s the ironic part —” Gale paused for another sip of Scotch. “We’re still the ‘superior savage.’ We don’t kill and cook each other, but we are still engaged in the same battle we were fighting 30,000 years ago. We’ve let them keep their jungles for the most part, but the time has come to tell them to straighten up and fly right. If they can’t handle the joys of civilization then, as I said, they will have to suffer the consequences.”
“You sound amazingly like Thompson’s guest. He wasn’t kidding when he said you people take this White Man’s Burden business seriously. They even recited Kipling,” McDuff said.
“Then you must be talking about Professor Vogel. Old Jake used to be a professor of literature before he went to sea. He recites Kipling wherever and whenever he gets drunk,” Gale said.
“That’s who it was, all right. He had me believing that everybody knows the poem but me. But I’m an American, so I guess I have to settle for “Listen my children and you shall hear, of the midnight ride of Paul Revere...”
Leslie Gale poured Moses McDuff about three fingers of scotch and offered it to him saying, “Take up the White Man’s burden — Send forth the best ye breed — Go, bind your sons to exile to serve your captive’s need...”
The Australian Patrol Officer’s smile was disarming. Moses McDuff sat down next to him on the bed, and accepted his first drink — but not his last. They talked for a long time, clarifying the American’s picture of himself. He realized that he had truly left his former life behind him and was about to do something Jake Vogel had described as “very British.” He was going to get quietly drunk.
After his third Scotch, Moses McDuff went out on deck and dropped “A Missionary in the New Hebrides” by The Reverend John G. Paton, off the stern into the churning wake of the Wombat.
Chapter 23
Mr. Wembly was coming up from the engine room when he found Yani peering anxiously down the stairwell. He
was trying to see past the door that concealed the roaring diesel engines. “What are you up to, Yani, old boy? Is something puzzling you?” he said, reading the expression on the young man’s face.
“Yani try to see Kilibob,” was his simple answer.
Thinking the name was a Booga-booga word for a power source, Wembly said, “Only authorized people are allowed in the engine room. Sailor-fella and Captain only ones go into ... what did you call it? ... Kilibob room.”
“Can Yani see Kilibob?” Yani asked, eagerly.
The restrictions on who could enter the engine room were intended to prevent accidental sabotage of the engines by people who knew nothing about them. Well, thought the Patrol Officer, if the boy has developed an interest in mechanics, it can’t hurt to let him see how things work.
“Okay, Yani,” he smiled, “just this one time. But you no go in when I’m not here.”
He led the way to the door and opened it to the din of the churning twin-diesels. He raised his voice over the noise, and said, “These engines make the Wombat fly across the water.”
The racket hurt Yani’s ears, and the vibrations frightened him. This noise was worse than the Witman’s big egg that carried them to Heaven. He watched the two crewmen doing mysterious things to the behemoths, like wiping them and turning valves. Looking around at the cramped quarters he finally asked, “Where Kilibob?”
Believing he understood the question, Wembly responded, “This Kilibob!” With a grin, he pointed with pride at the mammoth engines.
Yani was amazed, and thought, Wait until I tell Ooma that I have seen Kilibob in a magical shape like nothing anyone has ever seen before on the island. There is no end to the power Kilibob has and the things he can do. I wonder if Manup is able to become such a wonderful creature.
The Chase Islander addressed the diesel engine in his native language, and asked if he planned to stay on the island when they got there. However, the motor continued to drone on without changing its pitch, indicating it did not wish to communicate with Yani at this time.
When Yani recognized the situation, he thanked Kilibob for his attention, and went to the door. Once they were in the relative quiet of the stairwell, Yani observed, “Kilibob have much power.”
“Yes,” said Wembly. “They were made in Germany and are fine-tuned machines. We’re not sure what their actual maximum horsepower is.”
***
“Chase Island off the starboard bow, Mr. Wembly,” Gale announced in British naval style. “According to the charts there’s no way the Wombat can enter its lagoon.”
“Percy!” Wembly called to the stern where the two natives were talking. “Would you come forward, please? We’re in sight of your island, but we need your advice on how to get ashore.”
The islanders came onto the bridge where a rather crude, hand-drawn chart of Chase Island was unfolded on a table. Yani had only a passing acquaintance with Witman maps, but Percy seemed to understand them very well. He explained the map to his young friend, who quickly learned the correlation between the island’s volcano, the lagoon, and the fresh water lake that covered the interior of the flat plain on which the tribe lived. In all, the island was ten miles across from east to west, and slightly longer on the other axis.
The key to landing was breaching the coral reef that created the three-mile-long, shallow lagoon that ran roughly north and south. The two natives discussed the projected location of the opening in the coral reef, with Yani having a more recent recollection of its whereabouts. Percy had not been home in ten years but felt not the least apprehensive about returning. A shaman was always welcomed back to his island, regardless of how long he was gone.
“Entrance here,” Percy said, pointing to a spot on the sketchy outline of a reef. “The Wombat cannot fit through. We put dinghy in water and row to shore.”
“Well, let’s start loading our supplies into the dinghy and get going,” McDuff said, his exuberance getting the best of him.
“I think not,” Gale said. “We had better send Yani and Percy in first to pave the way.”
“Leslie’s right,” Wembly agreed. “Don’t forget that Yani was kidnapped by white men, and they might attack us before we have a chance to explain what’s going on. What do you think, Percy?”
“I think Mr. Gale is correct,” he said again exhibiting his English vocabulary to emphasize his status in this situation. “Sun is past the high point now. It is better to begin changes when the sun rises tomorrow. It is island custom.”
“Yani and Negeb go now in boat?” the younger man said.
“Who?” said McDuff.
“That’s his island name,” Gale said. “We call him Percy as his English name. It’s best for him to reestablish himself with the tribe today, before we go any farther.”
“Sort of the Prodigal son returning,” McDuff commented. Wembly went out on deck to direct the lowering of the small boat by the natives. Once they had it in the water, Yani and Negeb stripped naked. They took nothing with them. It was another island custom. In spite of himself, McDuff found his thoughts dwelling on the question of whether their prominent sex organs were indicative of a Neanderthal heritage. If so, Homo Sapiens had been short-changed by evolution.
***
The approach of the Wombat was detected almost as soon as it appeared on the horizon. No one had visited Chase Island since the Salvation had carried Yani away. A wave of uneasiness spread among the people, remembering the last unpleasant visit of the Witmen. A quickly assembled council of elders determined that no one would go down to the beach to greet the visitors. Instead, a war group armed with bows and slender, barbed arrows would hide itself at the jungle’s edge. Anyone who stepped onto the beach would be a perfect target for the warriors in the bush.
Ooma and the reception party stayed in the dark shadows of the palm trees. He was surprised to see the little boat go directly to the break in the reef, alerting him that there was something slightly different in this arrival.
___
Out on the lagoon, in the dinghy Yani and Negeb discussed their situation. “No one comes to the beach,” Negeb said. “That is not good. They are afraid that the Witman has come to do them harm. Maybe Ooma no longer lives. Maybe they cannot see we are sons of Ooma,” he said pointing to the shaman tattoos on their chests.
“I think I see movement among the trees at the edge of the beach. They are waiting to see who we are,” Yani said.
Negeb thought for a bit, then said, “When we beach the canoe, each of us will hold the paddles above our head. This will show them we have no weapons. While you hold the paddle over your head, I will gather shells to make a circle in the sand with them.”
“Yes,” Yani said. “When you finish the circle, you hold the paddle over your head and I will gather driftwood for a fire in the center...” Suddenly, Yani faltered and looked frightened. “We have no means of making fire.”
Negeb laughed. “Have no fear. If we are not already dead, they will bring a torch from the village fire to signal their willingness to talk with us.”
____
Ooma and his men watched the two men beach the boat. Their actions were the proper ritual requesting a conference with the island’s Big Man, and Ooma’s heart beat a little harder than normal. Crazy notions ran through his head. No. It cannot be. It is clear that the men are not Witmen, but how could they be whom they appeared to be. It would take unbelievably strong magic to bring one of them back, but two of Ooma’s sons at one time would be impossible. It must be one of the Witman’s tricks.
When the circle in the sand was completed, driftwood was stacked in the center. Within the circle of shells, the two men sat cross-legged and motionless facing the jungle. Several very anxious warriors calculated that they could hit both of them with arrows in a matter of seconds if Ooma gave the signal.
Ooma worried that these were evil spirits who had gone to a lot of trouble to take the form of two of his sons. If they captured his spirit, then they would make short work
of the rest of the village. After watching them sit without moving a muscle for half an hour, Ooma finally shouted a command. “Bring fire from the village, and light the center of the circle.”
The tension broke and a cheer went up from the crowd, but no one dared to advance to the beach until the protective firebrand arrived. Ooma took the torch and walked boldly to the circle. It took all his willpower to keep from smiling as he entered the circle and set the stack ablaze.
Negeb and Yani stood up as soon as the fire was lit, and Ooma threw the torch into the flames. They positioned themselves in front of the old man and he put each of his hands on their chests. When he felt their hearts beating, he knew they were not spirits. All three men fell into a group embrace and burst into tears. Their joy was so great that they continued weeping for a good fifteen minutes before anyone spoke. Meanwhile, the entire village gathered around them, respectfully observing the ring of shells and staying outside.
Once the initial emotions subsided, the three men sat at the cardinal points, leaving North vacant as a seat for benevolent ancestral spirits to protect the circle. Ooma was the first to speak. “How is this possible?” he asked.
Yani was quick to explain how he had been dragged on board the Salvation by Captain West, and proceeded to recount all of his adventures as any son might to a beloved father.
Ooma asked him, “Did you find Kilibob?”
“He is on the Witman boat,” Yani reported, with a nod out to sea. “I spoke to him this morning, but he will not come to the island.”
Negeb’s eyes widened. It was against all custom to speak anything but the truth within a talking circle, so Yani must have had an experience he had not discussed with him. Furthermore, it was not their practice to deny what another said in the circle without a life and death challenge. He let it pass as a spiritual experience Yani had not mentioned but was certain he would have seen Kilibob if he were on board.
“I have not brought Kilibob home, but I have brought a powerful bis with me. His name is Big Man Duff. He is a Witman, but we have nothing to fear from him. I am able to control him. I learned two Witman languages. I have learned many powerful word chants from him. One is called ‘Sheepy-sheep’ and the other is ‘Our fadda.’”
When John Frum Came Page 19
