by Ed Lacy
I raised myself on one elbow and looked toward the stern. Henri Dubon waved as he came up the gangplank, his face wet with sweat; the dirty linen suit was stained under the armpits.
He shoved his old straw hat back on his head, dropped his battered briefcase as he sat between us, cleverly announced, “Goddamn, is very hot.” He said this in English with the phony French accent he put on for tourists.
When Eddie told him, “Then why don't you jump overboard and cool off? You could stand a bath,” Henri grunted and answered in his best GI English, “Up yours. Can you spare a nut?”
Eddie pushed a drinking nut toward Dubon, who took out his switchblade and cut an opening, put the nut to his lips. A knife had to be real sharp to slash a nut like that.
Dubon tossed the nut overboard but it struck the railing and bounced back on the deck, at his feet. Henri took out a pack of English cigarettes, lit one, and quickly slipped the pack in his pocket. Eddie blew cigar smoke in his face, said, “Dubon, you smell like a pig but there's a rumor you're human. We keep a clean ship. Kick that damn nut into the water.”
Henri slipped Eddie a lazy glance, then grunted as he shoved the nut over the side. We all watched the splash. Henri wiped his forehead with a pink handkerchief, announced it was damn hot again, and what a busy-busy morning he'd had. A large yacht from Canada had sailed into the harbor the day before—a sleek mahogany and teak yawl anchored off the quay within sight of the Hooker. Henri jerked his thumb at the boat and told us he had been busy showing three fat couples the sights of Papeete that morning. At noon he'd suggested the ladies retire to their boat, escape the heat, while he had steered the men to Heru. Unhappily, he went on in explosive fast French, she had found a bottle of wine and was so drunk the yachtsmen had turned her down. Dubon finished by wiping his sweaty face as he cursed Heru, his luck, the tourists, and the world in general.
Henri opened his briefcase and took out a battered copy of Billboard, pretended he was reading it. I wondered how in hell he ever got ahold of the magazine and Eddie gave me the eye—we were waiting for his proposition. Henri never dropped in just to chatter and he knew we were broke, so he had a deal of some sort cooking in his fat brain.
Henri kept reading and finally Eddie's curiosity got the best of him and he asked, “What kind of a magazine is that?”
“A theatrical periodical from the States,” Henri said with comic seriousness. “One day I my take a troupe of Tahitian dancers on tour of the States and Europe.”
I said, “Old hat.”
“Old hat?” he repeated, puzzled, and asked in French what that meant. When I told him he repeated the words several times with great pleasure and I knew I'd hear the phrase the next time we talked. He said, “But this will not be any old stuff like the shimmy. A Tahitian hula will knock them in the aisles.”
“A real one is pretty hot,” Eddie agreed.
Henri sighed. “But these natives, they will not—”
“Islanders,” Eddie cut in.
“Yes, these islanders, they will not rehearse, make a name here so we can arrange bookings in the States. They have no understanding of making money. Look at the pitiful tourist business we get here. The government should encourage tourists, like they do in Hawaii.”
“Hawaii? Jeez!” Eddie said, neatly spitting over the rail.
“Everything is run here on a small scale, with great inefficiency as I have often said,” Henri went on. “The few tourists who do come here, like the people from this yacht we take them for only a handful of francs. We need a package deal.” He pronounced these last two words with great care, as though tasting them.
Eddie blew out a cloud of smoke. “A what?”
“You have been in America and do not know what a package deal means?” Henri asked, amazed. “I read much about it in this magazine and in other copies I have read. Instead of a cafe hiring a band, a singer, and dancers, the agent furnishes all the entertainment. A package means less trouble and more money for all. We should have a package deal for the tourist.”
“Like what?” Eddie asked.
“Dubon means he'll have postal cards already stamped, written, and addressed—save the tourist time,” I cornballed.
“I mean,” Henri shrilled, “we sell them what they want, they will pay hundreds of dollars instead of a hundred francs!”
“You give them what they want—when Heru is sober,” Eddie told him.
Henri didn't pay any attention to Eddie; instead he turned to me and added, “Monsieur Ray, if we tied our paradise package in bright pareu ribbons, we could make much money.”
“We?” My hangover didn't allow for any hard thinking.
Henri nodded, broke into fast French. “The pretty ribbons are the coral heads off Moorea—any place not more than a few hours sailing. These worthless dabs of land with a few coconut palms are too small for any use. But for us they become islets of dollars!”
“Okay, what about them?” I asked. This was his pitch— he needed a boat.
“Suppose we take over one of them, build a thatched hut? I put Heru there with flowers in her hair, some tapa bark cloth around her hips. We stock up plenty of food, let Eddie act like a nat... an islander. Perhaps we will cut in another tone and vahine. You see the package?”
Eddie and I shook our heads like puppets.
Henri waved a fat hand in the air, sweat rolled down his neck, onto his dirty collar. “Sometimes I believe I am the only man in Tahiti with a head for business! Now listen to me: instead of hustling these tourists for a few lousy francs, I pick out a man who has money. I get into a conversation with him at a bar, and off-hand I mention I know of an unknown island, so small no whites ever bothered with it.
On this island there is a beautiful vahine who it is said longs to see a nice popaa, all for free, of course. I say I wish I wasn't married here in Papeete, or I would surely go for this beautiful and lonely girl. The sucker bites, wants to know if it is possible for him to go there in the few days he has in port. I inform him it is possible in a small boat, that in truth I happen to know of a boat for charter—yours. We start off modestly, we charge the man three hundred American dollars. Are you interested?”
“What's the rest of this sales talk?” Eddie asked.
Henri waved the fat hand again. “Mon Dieu, can you not see it?”
I shrugged and Dubon said, “You are both blind! Once the man is on this boat, the money paid in advance of course, we sail out to sea and at night we cut back, so our sucker believes we have been sailing all night. Maybe we are only two dozen miles from here, say at the other end of Tahiti, off Point Puha. The exact spot we shall have to hunt for with care. But we land in the morning and Heru welcomes him as the great popaa god. Eddie cooks a big meal, a whole roasted pig and many fruits. Maybe we even hire some fool to drum and dance. Heru and Eddie are delighted with gifts of beads and other crap. The man has been fed well, and at night Heru will take care of his other appetites. The following day we sail, return to Papeete in the morning. Our tourist is most happy. At last he has seen the real South Seas, found a lovely princess madly in love with him. He will be the hero of all the cafe gossip back in his home town. Paradise in a package! This has many angles. Now, you like the idea?”
“Nobody would be dummy enough to fall for a set-up like that,” Eddie said.
“Yes, they would,” I said. “World is full of island-happy dreamers.” I almost added, “I know!”
“So what you think?” Henri asked impatiently.
“I don't like the idea, but what's our cut?” Eddie asked, re-lighting the stub of his cigar.
“Half. You will supply the boat and the food. I find the sucker, toss in Heru and what other... islanders we need. On the Post Office bulletin board there is an announcement of a round-the-world cruise ship putting into Papeete next week. She will remain four days. That is our chance.”
Eddie fingered his prune-ear and flattened nose. “Won't my puss make the joker suspicious?” .
“We hav
e to be careful about speaking English or French. As for your face, we can tell him you really are a Lion Face... no, that would frighten him. Don't worry—with Heru around why should he worry about your face?” Dubon turned to me. “You have not made a comment, Ray.”
I belched several times by way of an answer. I felt a little better—the deal wasn't too far-fetched. Our cut would be a hundred and fifty bucks, more than we cleared on a cargo. Of course this would put us in Henri's class, kind of panders by accessory. But with seventy-five bucks I could bring Ruita something decent—even a real wedding ring. I told myself maybe that was the thing troubling me. I felt like a poor relation, a kept man; she had everything.
Dubon said, “Why the silence?”
“I'm thinking,” I said.
He stood up and pulled a wad of money from his pants pocket, peeled off a thousand franc note, said, “Perhaps this will seal our deal.”
I glanced at Eddie. He nodded. “That will bind it for Ray, but for me—maybe I'll go over and see Heru now. One partner talking to another.”
“You are welcome to her,” Henri began. “I will—”
“I didn't ask you if I would be welcome or not.”
Henri handed me the money, got his magazine and briefcase together, straightened his greasy hat as he said, “In a day or so we shall find our hunk of paradise and prepare things. Come, Eddie, I shall take you to Heru.”
As Eddie stood up, Dubon took his arm. Eddie pushed him away. “I can find her myself.” As they walked off the cutter Eddie called over his shoulder, “Save a bottle for me, Ray.”
I didn't run off the ship and buy a bottle—right away. I sat on the cabin, a little excited about the deal. Maybe I could make the Hooker a part of a real sightseeing business, daily cruise around Tahiti? Hell, I was only helping Heru make some folding money—if she gave it all to Henri that was her business. And if the tourists were looking for that, it really didn't make any difference where they found it. There was talk of more cruise ships, tourist planes, stopping at Papeete, this could be the start of a real business; I could settle down in Papeete with Ruita, be a big man in the islands.
The idea was full of holes—I didn't want to be a big man, Ruita hated Papeete. Also there was no point in kidding myself, I was pimping. Without arguing about it, I decided I was going through with the deal. That decided, I went ashore and bought a litre of rum, got properly juiced.
Two days later, with Dubon and Heru aboard, we pulled anchor, went hunting for our islet. Although we were leaving port we didn't bother stopping at customs. The Papeete gossip already was broadcasting our plan and customs knew we weren't doing any trading on this trip. Henri was in a bad mood; he had wanted Heru to stay ashore and tend to her regulars, but she hadn't been sailing since she came to Papeete, and like all atoll people, she loved boats.
Eddie wasn't in a bright mood either. The night before he had been against the whole idea, saying it made him feel crummy. I'd told him, “But we've spent Dubon's francs.”
“Let him whistle up his nose for it. So he put on a show with his knife, slashing that nut open—a shiv don't mean nothing to me.”
“No, we've committed ourselves, we're in it,” I'd said, and somehow the whole messy idea fascinated me—as if I was punishing myself for being such a jerk with Ruita.
We sailed around Tahiti's tail end, which sticks out like a clam neck, with a number of coral heads long ago fertilized by bird droppings and seeds till palm trees and brush had sprung up. But there were too many villages on the mainland, not to mention a car scooting along Boom Road now and then.
We sailed around Moorea, whose jagged mountains made the sunsets as seen from Papeete so terrific. We found a tiny island which would do, but it was impossible to bring the boat up close, and I wasn't risking the Hooker for any seventy-five bucks. We decided to try the island of Huahine, which is about eighty miles from Tahiti—a six-hour sail for a fast boat.
We got there late in the afternoon and found our islet— an oval-shaped hunk of sand and coral about three hundred feet long, with a cluster of coconut trees in the center, plus some brush. It was part of the reef, and about a half a mile from the main island of Huahine, but there was enough water for the Hooker and we couldn't see a hut or a person on the mainland.
We spent the night on the boat, all of us sleeping on deck, each of us taking a three-hour anchor watch. Henri had been thoughtful enough to bring a couple of jugs of vin ordinaire and Heru got high. She seemed stupidly vulgar to me, a coarseness which was neither islander or Western, but rather unreal.
When the sun awoke us we went ashore. Heru looked pretty bad. She was wearing a gaudy green satin dress, wide feet crammed into slightly cockeyed high-heel shoes. Her eyes were bloodshot, her dress stained with sweat and wine. Eddie managed to climb a palm tree and throw down some nuts and leaves. A drink of coconut water seemed to straighten Heru out and she kicked off her shoes, washed the dirty make-up off her face, and wove the leaves into mats. For a second I thought of Ruita on our islet and felt so angry with myself for being a lousy coward that I started working like an eager beaver. We cleaned the island of coral rocks, built several lean-tos and one good hut, dug a fire pit, and in general made things look livable. We all worked hard, even Henri who refused to take off his shirt or linen suit although they were both soaking with sweat.
An old man paddled over from the island, politely asked what we were doing. He was a fat man with a very large face making him look bigger than he was. Somehow his name was Jack Pund. We told him we were about to rehearse a movie. He asked if Bill Cody was with us as he saw him every week on the screen. Eddie later found out they had one movie on Huahine, a Western, which was shown over and over.
Dubon gave Jack a slug of wine and a few francs and he helped us make more mats, showed us a spot where it was possible to swim without cutting yourself to pieces on the coral. Henri sort of hired Jack to look after things—and mainly to keep his mouth shut and keep any of the other islanders away—with the promise we would bring him a glass ash tray from Papeete. We sailed before sundown and reached Papeete in the morning.
Two days later we reached the islet in the middle of the day, put Eddie ashore with Heru, a small live pig, fishing spears, some food, and a couple of cigars. Tack Pund came paddling over wearing a torn shirt and a pair of almost new dungarees. We set up the mats to form a hut and a number of lean-tos, started a fire. Eddie gave me last minute instructions on how to sail the Hooker to Papeete and back by compass, wrote down the exact course. We agreed I wasn't to try it single-handed unless the weather was perfect.
“I can steer,” Henri said. “I have been to sea in—”
“Shut up,” Eddie said, gazing up at the sky and then at the horizon. “Don't think anything will come up within the next few days, but remember, Ray, if you have any doubts about the weather, stay in Papeete.”
Heru was sleeping under a palm tree and Jack Pund reminded us we hadn't brought his ash tray, a red glass one he wanted now. He was busy making a little brew by the simple process of putting sugar in a nut and carefully burying it. The last thing we took off the Hooker was a bolt of blue and white Pearl cloth to be worn as a pareu. Henri told Eddie, “Remember, now, plenty of flowers for Heru's hair, you and Pund wrap some of these around yourselves. Hide your clothes and her dress good. The cruise ship is due tomorrow, so we should be out by tomorrow night or the next morning.”
Jack Pund told us in Tahitian not to forget his ash tray, then asked, “Why must I wear a silly cloth around my behind instead of pants?”
“I'll explain later. It is part of the movie we are doing,” Eddie told him, then added in English, “Be best to keep this joker drunk.”
We made it back to Papeete before dark and I was damn proud of my navigating. Henri talked all the way, about how tough it was to make a fast franc in France these days and what a smart operator he was for staying in the Pacific. Some day he would surely return with a fortune and settle on the Cote d'Azure.
When I asked if the Riviera was as pretty as Tahiti he looked at me as if I was a moron and said, “But, Ray, the Riviera is in France!”
I was glad to dock and be rid of him. I cleaned the decks and slept like a rock. In the morning, flags were hoisted on the tower atop Signal Hill and a few hours later the cruise ship entered the harbor. She was a twenty-two thousand ton beauty and dwarfed everything. I sat on the Hooker as she steamed by, watched the tourists watching me. She was too large to anchor at the quay and soon boats were busy ferrying the tourists in, the men wearing slacks and loud shirts as though they were a uniform; most of the women fat and noisy in light dresses. Of course everybody was sporting a camera.
Late in the afternoon Henri rushed aboard, said he was working on a possible sucker, but this pitch took time and by tomorrow the sucker would either bite or we had wasted a few days. I was so angry at the very thought that this might fall through, you'd think I pimped every day. I cursed Henri out and he told me to stop acting the fool, gave me some francs to buy a bottle.
