by John Harding
‘That is where you is make one big damn mistake,’ said the man. ‘My mamu is be frighten by bomb blast when she is carry me inside she. I is be born with arm like this.’
Gold sighed. ‘There is no way that can be proved. There is no record of your mother having made a complaint at the time.’
‘No, of course is not be.’ The man sniffed with frustration. ‘She is only think of this yesterday.’
‘She never mentioned it before? Isn’t that a little strange, my friend?’
‘Nobody is ever offer dollars before. Dollars is make you is think of they things.’
Gold dismissed the man with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘Nice try!’ he called after him.
The next customer squatted on the ground before him and mouthed some words but no sound emerged from his mouth.
‘What was that?’ said Gold.
The man stared at him blankly.
‘I said, “What are you claiming for?”’ repeated Gold. Again the man’s expression didn’t register any understanding. At this moment another man pushed his way through the watching crowd.
‘I is be he brother. He is be deaf,’ he explained. He squatted in front of the first man and began a series of elaborate hand signals. The other man watched intently, then looked at Gold and shouted, ‘BOMB BLAST IS MAKE ME DEAF. I IS NOT HEAR NOTHING NO MORE. BOMB IS BLOW EARS INSIDE OUT.’
Gold nodded. He picked up his clipboard and wrote something on it. He looked at the man’s brother. ‘When did this tragic event occur?’
More semaphore followed and again the victim watched carefully. When the brother’s hands were finally still the claimant shouted, ‘WHEN I IS BE SMALL BOY. I IS NOT CAN HEAR ANYTHING SINCE.’
Gold nodded and wrote something else on the clipboard. He looked up suddenly. ‘Want to take your dollars now?’ he said.
‘Sure thing, man!’ said the man. Everyone around gasped. Gold smiled. The man slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. His brother launched himself upon him and began slapping him around the face. ‘You is be one bloody damn fool!’ he shouted. ‘I is tell you for let me put stick in ears but you is say, “Oh no, I is go get dollars and keep ears.”’
‘If you is be so smart what for you is not be one who is be deaf?’ screamed his brother back. He started hitting in return and the crowd parted as the two men fell to the ground and rolled around wrestling and punching.
Gold smiled at William. ‘Tricks of the trade.’
William waited until the day was almost ended and most of the villagers had grown tired of watching and listening and had drifted away to prepare their evening meal before he turned to Pilua. He thought about insisting her story be heard in private, but decided that as she would almost certainly have to testify in an American court one day, rehearsing the story before a sympathetic audience might not be a bad idea.
He sat her down beside him. Managua lowered himself stiffly the other side of her. Beach and Gold sat on the dirt opposite them. Managua shooed away curious onlookers and they mostly respected his desire for privacy and stood a little way off, close enough to hear still, but far enough away for Pilua not to be intimidated.
‘OK Pilua, when you’re ready, tell us what happened to you that day.’
‘Which day would that be?’ asked Beach. ‘Date?’
‘It’s in the written submission you have there,’ said William. ‘There’s no need for her to repeat it. This is not a cross-examination. It’s a preliminary presentation of evidence. Now perhaps my client can begin.’
Beach shrugged, as if to say, OK, if William wanted to be tough about it, he wasn’t going to bother to argue because it wouldn’t make any difference in the long run anyway, so they might as well get on with it, get it over and get on to the kassa.
Pilua looked at Managua. He took her hand in his and William saw her squeeze it until her knuckles showed white. She looked at William and he nodded. She licked her lips and began to speak in a hushed tone, staring straight at Beach, or rather not at but through as though he wasn’t there. In a way, thought William, he probably wasn’t, least not for her. She was seeing something long ago.
‘I is be young girl. I is have all my life before me this day when I is walk out for water. Is be very hot day. I is fall asleep so I is not go water hole same time as other girls. I is meet they come back when I is be on my way. “Hurry up,” they is say, “is be poto game tonight.”
‘When I is be near water hole I is hear voices. I is not recognize they voices, so I is think is mebbe boys from outside village on way for poto game. I is walk into clearing around water hole and is find three American soldier is be sit there. They is take boots off and is dangle feet in water. They is each have rifle on they back. I is not know is be call rifle then. I is know now.
‘When they is see me, one of they is smile. He is jump down in water and is reach out hand towards me. “Give me you pot,” he is say. “I is get water for you.” I is smile back, say thank you. I is pass he my pot and he is fill.’
‘He spoke to you first, you claim?’ snapped Beach.
Pilua lifted her eyes from the floor and stared at him. ‘Is be what I is say. Is be something you is not understand?’ Beach lowered his own eyes at this onslaught of dignity.
‘Go on,’ whispered William. The clearing was quiet now. Even the distant noise of children playing had been stilled. The villagers had lined up around the edges of the clearing to listen, keeping the respectful distance Managua had demanded of them.
‘He is hold out pot for me. I is bend my knee for lower myself and is take pot. At this moment I is hear noise behind me. I is turn. One of they other two is give third one he rifle. He is undo he – he—’
‘Belt,’ whispered William.
‘Yes, he belt. He leg clothes is drop on ground. He is show me he pwili. I is be too shock for think clear. Is be thing of great disgust for man is do this. I is never expect for see such thing in my whole life. I is drop pot. Pot is land in water. American in water is jump on bank and is grab my arms. He is push me on ground. One who is undress is lie on top of me. I is struggle, but other one is hold my arms, like so—’ here she extended her arms above her head. It made her look suddenly young. She had the careful intensity of a child explaining something. ‘One on top is enter me. Is make fug-a-fug. I is turn head one side so I is not have for look in he eyes. He is call me names. I is not remember words. Most of them I is never hear before. I is look in eyes of other one, not one who is hold my arms, but one who is hold they rifles. He is smile at me. I is stare in his eyes for ask him what for he is allow this for happen and in end he is not can stare back. He is turn eyes away.
‘When soldier on top of me is be finish, he is get up and is dress heself. Then he is go take rifles from one who is hold them. Then that one is undress and do same as first one. That is be how is happen. One is make fug-a-fug, one is hold rifles and one is hold me. I is lie there and is not can believe this is be happen for me. All I is can think is one is hold rifles, one is hold me, and they is treat guns with more care.
‘When third one is finish first one is start again. He is do other things against me, things I is not ever dream man is do with woman. One who is hold me is lose grip for one moment and I is try for get free. One who is do things is hit my mouth with he fist. Is knock out tooth.’ Here she lifted her upper lip to reveal a gap between her teeth, although in fact there was almost no gap now, the adjoining teeth having grown together to close it, but you could tell there was a tooth missing because of their crooked alignment.
‘My mouth is bleed. My nose is bleed. Every part of me is bleed. With this blood I is feel all my dignity is drain from me. All my strength is be in that blood, all my hope is be wash out of me, all my future is flow away.’
‘And when it was over?’ asked William. ‘How did it all end?’
‘When they is all finish, when they is not can think of any new things for do with me, one of they who is hold me from behind is move he hands from hold do
wn my shoulders and is put they underneath me and is lift me up. He is lift me and I is have no strength left for resist. When I is stand up one who is speak first is jump in water hole. He is take my pot and he is fill up. He is climb out from water hole and he is lift pot on my head for I is carry. He is smile. Is be a kind smile as if nothing that is happen is happen. “There is be you water,” he is say. I is lift my hands for make sure pot is be firm on my head. Then I is turn and I is walk away.’
SIXTY-THREE
THAT EVENING, AFTER Pilua’s testimony, the mood at the Captain Cook was subdued. Even Beach seemed unable to deny the simple truth of her story. The foolishness of challenging her, at least here on the island, had penetrated even his thick skin.
The three Americans sat around one end of the mahogany table which had temporarily reverted to its original intended use. It was spread with food the natives had given them: minoa bread, hard-boiled turtle eggs, cold fish stew, fresh king prawns and a variety of fruit. William, thinking of Pilua, touched hardly any of it and even Dr Gold, a large man you would have expected to put away a good portion of anything, was merely picking at the meal. Only Beach ate with voracity, tearing off a hunk of bread and stuffing it into his mouth and before he had even swallowed it thrusting in a prawn or half an egg.
William, who had never before in his life so much as contemplated violence, felt like hitting him. He thought how good it would be to haul the little runt onto the table and shove turtle eggs into his mouth until he burst. If Beach’s table manners weren’t enough to merit this, his insistence on talking all the while just about tipped the balance.
‘You can go to court with this, my friend,’ he told William, ‘but where’s the proof? No medical evidence. No eyewitness corroboration. Only the testimony of certain natives who saw her when she returned to the village. That may or may not prove rape and sexual assault. It certainly doesn’t prove US military personnel were responsible.’ He paused to push another king prawn between his lips which rendered everything he said next incomprehensible. William sighed. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t understand a word Beach was saying. He’d had enough experience to write the script for government lawyers like him.
He thought of the American soldiers taking it in turns to hold the guns. He imagined the tenderness the men lavished upon these same weapons; the way they caressed them as they cleaned them; he contrasted this with the brutality of their assault upon Pilua.
Perhaps sensing the tension between the two other men, Dr Gold rose from his chair and went over to his medical bag. He opened it and took out a bottle of bourbon. He held it up with a smile. ‘Come on you two, I think we all need a drink,’ he said.
It soon became apparent that not only could Beach not hold his kassa, he couldn’t hold his liquor either. After a couple of glasses he began to boast of his drinking exploits, a sure sign of a man with a weak head for booze, thought William. After another two or three, Beach became lascivious, regaling them with tales of his sexual conquests. After an hour or so of this even the good-natured Dr Gold grew weary.
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll turn in,’ he said. ‘Or rather on.’ And he hauled himself up onto the mahogany table, rested his head on the pile of clothes he was using for a pillow, and was soon emitting the snores which the night before had been the metronome for Lintoa and Perlua’s lovemaking.
‘Look at him, the old fart,’ said Beach with a chuckle. ‘He has a wife and three kids back in Albany. Imagine ending up like that.’
William tried. It didn’t seem that bad to him. He would have liked a wife and three kids back somewhere, even Albany. He would have liked the ability to be content enough to sleep soundly on a strange table.
‘What do you say we go into town and find us a couple of babes?’ said Beach. William had never heard anyone talk like this, at least not outside of a really bad movie. ‘I think I’ll pass,’ he said. He wanted to check out Lucy’s place again although he felt sure she wasn’t there. When you thought about it, if she was hiding from him, she could have holed up anywhere on the island. What was he supposed to do, mount another expedition? With Lintoa as his guide?
Beach rose from his chair. He swayed uncertainly for a moment or two, then picked up the bourbon by the neck of the bottle. ‘Suit yourself.’ He staggered from the room.
William delved into his bag and took out his copy of Hamlet, the twin of the one he’d given to Managua, to pass the time until he figured Beach would be in the village and so not see him on his way to Lucy’s. He’d taken to reading Shakespeare since his last visit to the island. He sometimes felt that if there were an answer to anything it would be here, somewhere in this great play. To be, or not to be, was that the only question? Were those the only choices life offered? To get on with it or get out? He settled himself to read the gravedigger scene and thought for the thousandth time of the exhumation of Tigua’s body. How long ago that seemed now! He imagined the little she-boy’s bones, picked clean, white as old driftwood, bleached by the sun and the sea. And then he thought of Lucy’s pale limbs, those short legs and the arms, wrapped around him, offering shelter from his fears. He didn’t even notice his thumbs holding the book, squeezing ever so slightly as he read. Right-left-left right, left-right-right-left, to the steady beat of Dr Gold’s bear-like snores.
As he staggered along the shore in what he hoped was the right direction to the village, Sandy Beach was glad William hadn’t come along. From what he’d seen of the guy at Harvard, Hardt would probably just have cramped his style. Besides, he still did that weird thing with his eyes that he’d done at school; how likely was that to attract a woman? Beach was in the grip of a fervour he’d been fighting all day that was now fuelled by the alcohol he continued to swig as he made his way along the strand. He wanted that big girl in the red dress. He’d had a hard-on ever since he woke up that morning, just thinking about her. He reckoned that if he didn’t have her, if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he wouldn’t be able to go on living and the problem with that was that he’d be pitched prematurely into an eternity he’d have to share with his mother.
In addition to the girl’s possible – though unlikely, he thought – reluctance to welcome his advances, there was a practical obstacle to the instant furtherance of his romance. He had no idea where the girl lived. If the natives had already gone to bed, the way red-necks did back home the moment the sun showed the slightest inclination towards the horizon, then he’d never be able to find her. On the plus side was the way she dressed. She was easily the most Westernized of the island people he’d seen so far. The rest wore grass skirts and, in the case of men, vegetable thongs. A girl who dressed like this one must be after a good time; she was unlikely to be in bed early (unless of course she’d already found her good time, something he didn’t even want to think about because he knew it would burn him up with jealousy); moreover, her clothing surely indicated she would be impressed by and attracted to someone from the civilized world.
Of course what Sandy Beach wasn’t counting on was magic. He had no idea that his kassa-induced session with Purnu the night before had enhanced his own amorous feelings. And who knows? maybe magic didn’t play any part at all in his desire for Lintoa. Perhaps it was just that Lintoa was the only woman he’d seen on the island who conformed to his rigidly conservative, strictly Western taste and was also BIG, that attracted Beach. But, if so, what would you say about luck? Is luck just another name for coincidence, like magic?
Who can say? But maybe luck played its part in what happened next and so in the fate of the entire island and every one of its inhabitants. As Sandy Beach swayed along the shore who should come right towards him but the very person he sought, Lintoa. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t luck; this was the very time when Lintoa sneaked out of the village every night for his tryst with Perlua at the Captain Cook, and so it was inevitable that he would meet Sandy Beach.
When Beach saw Lintoa he about dropped the bourbon bottle. If he had, things might have en
ded there, but he didn’t and they didn’t. Eventually the two met.
Now Lintoa was looking his she-boy best. He’d seen William Hardt’s dismay at his dishevelment and resolved to tidy himself up. He’d hemmed his dress and he’d fixed the zip. He’d polished a machete blade up bright as a mirror and checked that his make-up was perfect. Of course it would all be coming off the moment he reached the upstairs of the Captain Cook, but until then he would play to perfection the role life had assigned him. The upshot was that he took Beach’s breath away. As the two got within speaking range, for just about the first time in his life, Sandy Beach found himself speechless.
‘Y-you, you are – I mean, you are—’ He wanted to say, you are so beautiful, but the words stuck in his throat because he was aware of their inadequacy.
Lintoa looked at him, puzzled. Was the white man ill? He seemed to be having trouble speaking. Perhaps Lintoa should run for help? Then he noticed the bottle in the man’s hand. He had never heard of bourbon but he had seen Miss Lucy drinking from a similar bottle.
Beach took a swig of liquor and tried again. He screwed his eyes up tight and attempted to think of something witty and sophisticated to say. No words came. Finally he held the bottle out to the girl and said, ‘Want a drink?’
Well, of course Lintoa wanted a drink. He’d seen Miss Lucy down a couple of glasses of the stuff and he knew that it was like beer only more powerful. He reached out and took the bottle from Beach. He wondered if he should say thank you or if to do so was taboo among white people. Probably, because he remembered the first time Miss Lucy had given him a beer and he’d thanked her, she’d said, ‘Don’t mention it.’ So he didn’t mention it now.
All along the beach there was the detritus of last night’s storm, and right where they stood was a convenient tree that seemed to have been ripped from its roots by the wind and deposited here just for them to sit on. Sandy Beach lowered himself onto it. It seemed only polite as he was about to drink the man’s bourbon that Lintoa should do so too. He took a swig expecting something cool and refreshing like beer.
