Ghosts of the Pacific

by Philip Roy

  “I know. You can still keep your submarine.”

  I was so surprised. I never expected her to say that. We walked in silence again.

  “I don’t think so, Cinnamon. I belong on the sea. I’m a sailor.”

  “We’re on the sea too! We’re all sailors. We’re a sailing circus. That’s why you would fit in perfectly.”

  “I know, but it’s not the same. I travel all over the world.”

  She moved closer and held my arm. “Is that your sore arm?”

  “Yes, but it’s getting a lot better.”

  “There’s something else I want to ask you.”

  “What?”

  She took a deep breath. “Don’t answer right away, okay? Just think about it first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you think about it first?”

  “Yes. I will. What is it?”

  “Will you take me to Goa in your submarine so that I can look for my brother, and then take us back?”

  Whoa. I never expected her to ask me that either. “Take you all the way to India?”

  “And back. Don’t answer yet . . . unless your answer is yes.”

  I dropped my head. There wasn’t anything for me to think about. I knew the answer was no. But I didn’t want to say it and she didn’t want to hear it. So, we walked quietly again. I felt bad about it but I just knew it wasn’t a good idea.

  “Are you thinking about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what your answer is?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I’m sorry, Cinnamon. It isn’t a good idea. It’s very small inside my submarine, and India is far away. It’s dangerous and I can’t protect you.”

  “You don’t have to protect me.”

  “If you come inside my submarine, yes, I do. I’m the captain and that makes it my responsibility.”

  “You don’t have to be so strict about it.”

  Actually, I did. I looked down at the gunshot wound on my arm. Then I thought of all the close calls we had had since going to sea. Just a few months earlier we had given a ride to a girl on the St. Lawrence River, and she had panicked when we got stuck on a cable sticking out of the Empress of Ireland, a huge luxury liner on the bottom of the river. When the girl panicked, I had to lie to her to calm her down. That was awful. I promised myself then that I would never take passengers again, except in emergencies, because I knew I couldn’t really protect them. “I’m sorry.”

  Her face fell. “It’s okay. I guess I knew that’s what you would say. But you like me, right? We’re friends, right?”

  “Yes! I really like you a lot, I do. And I’m happy that we are friends.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  She squeezed my arm (it hurt, but I didn’t say anything) and we continued our walk in silence.

  I watched the circus the next night and the night after that. I enjoyed it more each time. It didn’t matter when you knew what was going to happen; it was still exciting and funny. I sat closer to the front each night. When the giants came out they always scared me. When Dickie the Clown laughed, I laughed harder. When he cried and said he was leaving, I really felt sad, even though I knew it was all pretend. The circus was magic, it really was, and it swept me up in its spell. If I hadn’t been so committed to exploring already I might really have considered joining them, though I couldn’t imagine what I’d do. Maybe I would just sell tickets and popcorn and help set up and take down. But could I give up exploring the world to sell tickets and popcorn? No way. Besides, I really wanted to become an environmentalist now too. I didn’t know how to do that exactly, but I would find out.

  In the daytime between performances, Hollie and I explored Saipan. We walked up Mount Tapotchau, the highest point on the island, from where we could see Tinian, the island where the atomic bomb was kept before it was dropped on Japan. And we walked through jungle and down to some of the beaches. For a small island Saipan had a lot of interesting things to look at.

  Hollie was happy with all the walking. So was I, but I was distracted too. No matter what we saw or what I thought about, my mind kept drifting back to Paul. It bothered me that he was stuck inside most of the time, that he never saw anyone but the dogs he rescued, that he couldn’t forgive himself for something he had done such a long, long time ago. That didn’t feel right. Even criminals who went to prison for murder were freed eventually. Why couldn’t Paul be? I wanted to ask him that. I decided to visit him again.

  It took an hour and a half to reach his house. It was easy to spot because of the yellow butterflies that hovered around it like yellow snowflakes. I went to the back and knocked.

  A couple of dogs yipped inside. I could tell they were trying not to bark but couldn’t help it; it was their nature. Paul came to the door and opened it cautiously. “Ahhh, Alfred, my friend. Come in. Coffee?”

  I liked that he called me his friend. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Did you visit the library?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I could tell by the look on his face that it really mattered to him whether I had or not.

  “And you’ve come back to see me again?”

  “Yes. I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Only one thing? I would expect a young man like you would have a whole lot of questions for a crazy old man like me.”

  That was true. I could have asked him questions all night long. “Yes, but there’s one question in particular I’d like to ask you. If I don’t, I think it will haunt me.”

  “Well, I can relate to that.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts? That’s not my question. I’m just wondering if you do.”

  “Yes, I do. It doesn’t matter if you believe in them or not. They’re real.”

  “Do you see them?”

  “Yes. I see the ghosts of the people I killed.”

  He poured boiling water into the percolator. The smell of coffee filled the little house. He was an old man but I kept thinking of him as a young man because he was young when he came here, and something about him felt as if time had stopped. It hadn’t though; he was definitely old. He sat down again and stared across the table at me and waited patiently for me to ask my question.

  It wasn’t easy. “Do you think . . . do you think you will ever forgive yourself?”

  He shut his eyes and slowly opened them. They were soft. They had the softness of someone who had been wounded, like a dog. He shut them again and dropped his head. A single word dropped out of his mouth. “No.”

  “But . . . why not? It was so long ago.”

  “Was it?” He got up and brought the coffee to the table. “Seems like yesterday to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Have you ever killed anybody, Alfred?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not. That would make you a murderer.”

  “But you didn’t start the war.”

  “No. But I could have cleaned bedpans. I could have been a nurse. I could have nursed burn victims back to health instead of creating them. But I didn’t. I wanted to be part of the action.”

  He stared intensely at me. “Sentencing myself to stay here until the day I die, on the very soil on which I killed innocent people, is the only way I can live with myself. And I have had to live with myself, you see, because I can never take another life, not even my own. I don’t expect you to understand that.”

  “I guess I don’t. I have to think about it. And I will. Thank you for answering my question.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He poured the coffee and we drank it. We didn’t talk about the war anymore. We talked about the island and the sea. He asked me about my sub and journeys. He said Newfoundland sounded like a fascinating place because it was so far away. I laughed at that and assured him it wasn’t. He said that if I had been born and raised on Saipan, Newfoundland would sound very exotic to me. But it didn’t have typhoons, tsunamis, v
olcanoes, nuclear explosions or world wars, I said, just lots of fishing villages and fog. He said it sounded like heaven. That made me laugh.

  When I was leaving, we shook hands at the door. There was no strength in his grip. I was used to strong handshakes— from Ziegfreid, my grandfather, and pretty much everyone else I met in Newfoundland, or on the sea. Paul’s grip felt like the hand of a man who had given up on life a long time ago. Hollie and I went out. As we passed the window, I saw him return to the stove and drop his head. I felt a pain in my heart at the sight of it. And then, a wild idea jumped into my head and I went back to the door and knocked.

  “Alfred? Did you forget something?”

  “I have just one more question.”

  “Okay. Go ahead.”

  He braced himself.

  “Will you come to the circus with me this evening? It starts in an hour. We’d have to leave now.”

  He stood there and just stared at me for the longest time, his eyes open wide. I was trying to think of something to say to convince him to come but I couldn’t find the words. He surprised me. “Let me grab my jacket.”

  Chapter 29

  SITTING WITH PAUL in the grandstands, waiting for the circus to begin, was the weirdest feeling. I felt honoured that he had come, that he trusted me enough to break his lifelong sentence. But when the people crowded in and took their seats, no one sat directly beside us, as if we had leprosy or something. I supposed many of them recognized him and were afraid of sitting too close to a “crazy” person. And he did look like a hobo that had just wandered in. He didn’t seem bothered by that though. He just sat calmly and without much expression. I wondered if seeing so many people so close might bother him but he hardly seemed to notice. He appeared unmoved by the excitement in the air.

  When the MC came out, I felt the same excitement as before but I couldn’t help stealing glances at Paul. Would the circus work its magic on him, as it did on everyone else?

  If it did, he didn’t show it. I was certain that when Dickie the Clown came out, Paul would start to laugh. But he must have been the only person in the whole tent who didn’t. While people all around us were laughing, including me, Paul’s eyes began to water. But he wasn’t laughing.

  It didn’t look like he was crying either, although tears ran down his cheeks. His eyes were lit up and he definitely seemed interested in what we were watching, but he sat expressionless while the tears made two wet lines down the front of his face. How I wished I knew what he was thinking. But I didn’t dare ask.

  During the intermission I asked him if he would like some popcorn, and he nodded, so I stood in line and brought back a bag and we shared it. I saw people staring, pointing and talking about him, but nobody dared speak to him. That didn’t surprise me. They would have if they had known how nice he really was.

  Paul ate the popcorn the same way he watched the circus—without expression. I was beginning to wonder if I had been wrong, that the circus wouldn’t affect him in a good way. But that wasn’t so. When the show was over and we followed everyone outside, I asked him what he thought of it. He took my hands in his just the way Sheba did and looked into my eyes intensely. “That was the best thing I ever saw, Alfred. I just loved it. Is it on tomorrow too?”

  “Yes, they’re performing all week.”

  “Do you think we could go again?”

  “Sure! I’d love to. Do you want me to come by your house at the same time tomorrow?”

  “That would be great. Thank you, Alfred. Thank you so very much.”

  He shook my hands, let go, and wandered away. As I watched him go I thought how he looked like a young man and an old one at the same time, and that reminded me of Sheba too. How I wished he could have visited her. If anyone could help Paul with his past, it was Sheba.

  After Paul had gone, Cinnamon came out and we went for our walk. I told her all about Paul. She listened carefully but she didn’t understand why I wanted to get to know him or visit him, or especially why I wanted him to see the circus. And I didn’t know how to explain it all to her.

  “Making people laugh helps heal them from their injuries.”

  “But what injuries does he have?”

  “In his heart.”

  “I don’t understand. He’s crazy!”

  “No, he’s not.”

  I could tell that she didn’t understand, which surprised me. I thought that she would have.

  The next night, I saw Paul smile. It was just a little smile, and it didn’t come until near the end, when Dickie the Clown flew to the moon, but it was a real smile and it was like magic, as if a whole field of flowers blossomed in an instant. I never knew that such a small thing as a smile on an old man could look so wonderful.

  When we came out of the tent that night, the winds had grown a lot stronger and there was a wild energy in the air. I found it exciting but people hurried home to board up their houses. The big typhoon was finally coming.

  Paul said goodnight and went home too. I asked Cinnamon if she wanted to take a walk.

  “I can’t. We have to take the tents down tonight.”

  “Tonight? You’re going to take them down right now?”

  She frowned. “We have to. The typhoon will destroy them. Are you going to stay and help?”

  “Of course.”

  We brought the animals back to the ship first. Then we pulled everything out of the tents and took the tents down. When things were brought onto the ship they had to be tied down. I couldn’t believe how quickly conditions worsened. I also couldn’t believe how fast everyone worked. They had obviously done this before.

  It took all night. But we didn’t see the sun when it came up. The darkness of night was replaced by the darkness of the storm. The sea tossed violently now, even in the lagoon. I couldn’t imagine what the open sea was like. Everyone was exhausted. I sat down on the deck, where Cinnamon found me.

  “Are you staying with us? We stay on the ship; it’s safe inside the lagoon.”

  “I can’t. I have to find Seaweed.”

  “Seaweed?”

  “My first mate. He’s a seagull.”

  I suddenly realized I hadn’t seen Seaweed in over a day. I wondered if he had gone back to the spot where we had submerged the sub. That’s what he would normally do when a storm was coming. Suddenly I was anxious to find him.

  “Can I come?”

  I looked at her. I wanted her to come. But I thought of the caves and how dark it was and how scary it would be to crawl through the top part for the first time. Even though she was so strong, what if she felt claustrophobic inside the cave? What would I do? What if she panicked? Would I be able to pull her through? I also had to carry Hollie. I wanted her to come, I really did, but I couldn’t imagine it. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Cinnamon. I want you to, I really do, but the caves are too dangerous. I will come back as soon as the typhoon is over. I promise.”

  She sighed and frowned. “I wish you weren’t so afraid of me getting hurt. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s a promise I made to myself. I have to keep it.”

  Chapter 30

  IT WAS A CRAZY race across the island; a race against the typhoon. I walked as quickly as I could and Hollie ran beside me. But when we left the shelter of trees and crossed the open spaces, I had to carry him in the tool bag. A couple of times—when the wind came sweeping down the road, carrying leaves and branches with it—I was barely able to stay on my feet. It was dangerous now. I had to watch carefully. Seaweed would not be in the air in this, he would be buckled down between some rocks for shelter. He was a very smart seagull, but I still worried about him. He would wonder where we were. I should have come back sooner.

  I ran along the edge of the jungle until I reached the Grotto, then up the hill to our cave. I ducked inside the open cavern, caught my breath and tried to think things through clearly. It would take at least an hour to climb through the caves with Hollie, jump into the sub and come up for Seaweed.
And it was going to be a rough ride in the undertow now. But what if Seaweed wasn’t there? I was assuming he was because that was his nature, but what if he wasn’t? It would take me a whole hour to find out. The typhoon was getting worse every minute. I decided to climb over the hill and see if he was there first.

  Something told me this typhoon was going to be a lot worse than the last one. I saw bunches of coconuts flying straight across the sky above me. Any wind that could do that could pick me up too. I bent low and held on to the rock as I scampered over the hill. The sea was wild but wasn’t showing the full force of the typhoon on this side of the island yet. The sea was always a couple of hours behind the wind.

  I climbed down the hill and found my first mate tucked in between two rocks. It was a good shelter from the wind but too close to the water for my liking. I had no doubt that the waves would grow and strike this very spot without warning. As smart and tough as he was, Seaweed had no experience with typhoons.

  He squawked when he saw us, though I couldn’t hear him above the wind. I’m sure he was glad to see us. I jumped down into the hollow and looked around. Could we sit out the typhoon here? Not a chance. The tide was out. This whole area would be under water in a few hours when the tide came in, not to mention the wrath of the winds. I stood up, looked down at the water tossing around like a pot boiling over on the stove, and I made a decision. Sometimes a desperate situation requires a desperate action.

  I pulled the tool bag off and laid Hollie down beside Seaweed. They were both safe for the moment, tucked in away from the wind. The rain hadn’t started yet, though it would soon. “Stay, Hollie!” I said, though I opened the hatch of the bag. I couldn’t leave him locked in. What if I didn’t make it back? He would have a chance to make it to the cave. But Seaweed wouldn’t. No bird could fly in this wind. “Stay!” I said to them both. “I’ll be right back.”

  I climbed down the rock, took several deep breaths and tried to calm myself. Mr. Chee’s advice to meditate and live less dangerously flashed through my mind and I couldn’t help but grin nervously. I took one last deep breath and dove into the sea.