by Peter Watt
‘You could come with us,’ Gerhardt suggested gently. Despite all that his wife had done to him, he thought, he still loved her in a perverse sort of way. ‘We could leave Germany and start a new life somewhere safe,’ he continued optimistically.
‘Where?’ Erika asked.
Gerhardt could hardly believe his ears at such a simple question. It was as if she was actually considering his offer. ‘Not Europe,’ he replied. ‘I fear war will eventually come to Europe. Maybe America is the place to go.’
‘We could not obtain immigration status,’ Erika countered. ‘The party would block any application as it cannot afford to have you leave with what you know about Adolf.’
Gerhardt knew that she was right. ‘We could apply to visit your brother in Papua,’ he offered with a note of hope. ‘That would not look suspicious. All I have to do is keep up a pretence of being a loyal member of the party. Maybe Spier would consider a proposal to initiate contacts with loyal Germans still in that country. I think I can convince him that intelligence gathering in the Pacific region may be of importance to us in the future should war come to Europe.’
Erika was sceptical but Gerhardt’s plan seemed the best of the very few options they had. To take leave in Europe still placed them within range of the shadowy men of the SS and SA who enforced orders with brutal efficiency, silencing those who may prove to be an embarrassment abroad. The deaths of one or two German nationals considered outspoken against the ideals of the Nazi party in foreign lands had already occurred – unexplained accidents that the German authorities did not insist being investigated to the fullest by French or Polish police.
‘I will contact my brother,’ she finally said as the snoring from upstairs turned into a grunting. ‘You had better hide until Colonel Spier leaves,’ she whispered.
Gerhardt made himself scarce as his superior officer dressed to return home to his wife. He could hear Erika laughing with the man at the front door and he crooning soft words of love. Gerhardt suddenly felt sick. He hated himself for what he had blackmailed his wife into doing, but that was before she expressed a softness he had not known in many years. Maybe they could start again in a foreign country. He did not know much about Papua and New Guinea except that it was a mostly unexplored land of cannibals and headhunters and under Australian mandate since the war. Whatever it was like it could not be worse than what he was facing in Germany. Now he had to continue with his careful plan. He knew that he would need money if they were to establish a future in a foreign land and that was a problem equal to convincing Colonel Spier to release him for espionage duties.
Erika was bitter. She instinctively sensed that Colonel Spier was not about to clear her name of suggestions of disloyalty, and that meant her future in Germany was tenuous. She had learned from the party officials she had slept with that Adolf was already gloating over his idea for a new Germany. What she had overheard in the bedrooms and corridors of power would not have disturbed Erika except now she was also adversely reported on SA files. She knew well enough that once she was on their list of suspected persons she would always be under a cloud of suspicion, even if she were proved innocent. That was the way in a Germany where the people still blindly believed Adolf would lead them into a golden renaissance, showing the French and English that Germany was once again a power to be reckoned with. The humiliation of the Versailles Treaty still lingered in the minds of a generation that remembered the last terrible days of the war.
But Erika was not so naive to believe that the probable future leader of Germany cared for anything more than power and personal grandeur. The war clouds were on the horizon and she knew that the storm would engulf her as well. She had to get out of Germany and once again she had to rely on Gerhardt to save her. The fool had been easy to manipulate, she reflected. If Gerhardt thought that she was about to live in some godforsaken place at the end of the earth with her prissy sister-in-law and brother then he was in for a shock. All she needed to do was reach Australia and establish herself in Sydney. She had secretly accumulated a considerable amount of money from selling the many expensive presents she had received for her carnal services to the party. Fortunately, Gerhardt did not know about the hoard and she would use only a small portion of it to pay for their fares. Once in Australia she would leave him.
Erika had a perverse pleasure in inflicting pain. It had always been with her. Even as a child she had felt aroused by the sight of her father killing the goose for the Christmas dinner. The bird’s terrified honking call as it sensed its danger and the splashing of blood as it bled to death had excited her. When she crept to her bed that night she had fantasised that she was a beautiful sleek leopard tearing down a helpless fawn, and the image brought on a powerful surge of erotic feelings. Blood and pain had been key elements in her fantasies from then on.
Erika did not think of it as prostitution. After all, she was only being paid to do what she liked most in the world: dominate others with her sexuality. When the time came, perhaps she could train her daughter to perform for men as she did. At least the girl would be useful for something.
But for now she had to rely on her naive husband to get them out of Germany and the reach of the all-powerful Nazi Party. Australia was a good choice. It was far from Europe and not likely to be involved in any possible conflict in the future. After all, the Australians had lost a significant proportion of their young men fighting for the British Empire. No, the Australians were not stupid enough to do the same again, she thought.
THIRTY-ONE
The Erika Sarah sailed with fair winds to Papua in two months. She could have done better time but they were delayed by stopovers along Queensland’s coast. It was all too tempting to go ashore and spend some time lazing on the golden beaches under coconut trees.
After clearing customs in Port Moresby, Jack decided they should sail to Paul Mann’s plantation and surprise them. All that Paul had known from a short telegram sent from Sydney was to expect them in the months ahead.
Karin was sitting on the verandah reading with her daughter when one of the haus meris sweeping the yard paused to stare out to the small inlet. ‘A boat comes,’ she said.
Karin glanced up from the pages of the book. She could see the lugger slowly motoring in as her sails were being hauled down. ‘Whose boat is it?’ she asked the young native girl.
‘Don’t know, missus,’ the girl replied as she shielded her eyes against the glare shimmering off the surface of the placid waters. ‘Not a copra boat.’
Karin stood and walked to the edge of the verandah to get a better look at the lugger, now obviously seeking a berth at the newly built jetty that stretched out into the sea. A sun-bronzed man stripped to a pair of shorts stood at the bow. ‘Jack!’ she exclaimed softly and dropped the book to rush down to the jetty. Angelika followed her mother.
‘Well, if it isn’t the love of my life,’ Jack said as he leapt from the lugger to the jetty and embraced Karin in a big bear hug. ‘And little Angelika who is growing up so fast.’
‘Jack Kelly! What are you doing here?’ Karin demanded as she stepped back to gaze at Lukas who stood proudly at the helm. He carefully revved the engine to settle the hull close in whilst his father expertly secured the berthing ropes to stumps on the wooden jetty.
‘Hello, Aunt Karin,’ Lukas called. ‘Can’t talk until my useless deckhand gets the boat ropes in place.’
‘I heard that!’ Jack called up from the jetty. ‘If you are not careful I will revoke your captain’s licence.’ The boat berthed and the two men stood on the jetty beaming smiles at Karin andAngelika. ‘Where’s that big oaf you married?’ Jack asked.
‘He is up on the Laloki River with Karl for the day, visiting a planter,’ Karin replied. ‘But he will be returning before nightfall. Come inside and tell me everything. Whose boat did you steal and why haven’t I received any letters from either of you for almost half a year now?’
Jack and Lukas each placed an arm around Karin’s shoulders and walked eit
her side of her to the house. Angelika followed with a frown. The boy who had once stolen her mother’s dumplings was back. One of the first to greet them at the house was Dademo. Jack felt that he was finally home.
Paul and Karl arrived just after sunset that evening. Jack rose with a broad grin. ‘Paul, you old bastard. How the hell are you?’
The normally reserved German allowed a backslapping hug and returned Jack’s broad smile with his own. Lukas and Karl engaged in some friendly sparring and insults by way of renewing contact after such a long time apart. When all the rituals of greeting were over, Karin poured her husband a coffee and brought out a bottle of schnapps, knowing this was a time for the men to catch up. Excusing herself, she went inside to go over the lessons she had set that day for Angelika.
‘So, you are broke again,’ Paul said as he poured a glass each of the fiery clear liquid. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Kind of hoping to pick up a bit of work around Papua with the lugger.’
‘Since when have you been a man of the sea, Jack Kelly?’ Paul asked with a wry smile.
‘Since my son talked me into it.’
‘So Lukas is the sailor in the family.’
‘As far as I know we never had any nautical tradition,’ Jack mused, studying his glass against the light of the hurricane lamp hanging a short distance away. He wanted to make sure that no Papuan creatures had decided to drop in and taste the German drink.
‘I have heard that there is an American film crew in Moresby at the moment asking around about a charter,’ Paul said as he took a sip of his drink. ‘I don’t know much more than that, but if you are available I can get more information for you.’
‘I don’t exactly know what a charter is all about but I would be interested. BeingYanks, they are sure to be fairly generous in paying for the services of the Erika Sarah.’
At the mention of the lugger’s name Paul frowned. His old friend had not forgotten the woman who had deserted him so long ago. ‘I have heard that Erika is on her way out here from Germany with her husband and daughter, Jack,’ he said quietly.
‘No real concern of mine,’ Jack said dismissively. But Paul could see the change in his friend’s expression. ‘How about this Yank?’ Jack asked, changing the focus of the conversation. ‘I would like to start making a bit of money. I have to admit the trip north cost us a bit on incidental expenses.’
The next day Jack, Lukas and Paul drove into Moresby. In town Paul tracked a middle aged American film producer down to a boarding house. His name was Joe Oblachinski, and he was a portly man, built like an English bulldog. The heat of the tropics had soaked his white suit. As he stood sweating on the verandah greeting his visitors, he wiped his forehead with a big red bandana.
‘I’ll be goddamned glad to get back to the States when this job is over,’ he said as he took Paul’s and then Jack’s hand. ‘Mr Mann tells me you have a boat available for a charter.’
‘That’s right,’ Jack said, eyeing a cumbersome camera. A clean-cut young man was seated a short distance away polishing a lens. Lukas had wandered over to the young cameraman and introduced himself, leaving the negotiations to his father – movies fascinated him as gold once had his father. Many afternoons had been spent sneaking away from school with Karl to sit in the dark and watch a world of action, adventure and romance unfolding in the flickering images on the silver screen.
‘A lugger to be precise,’ Jack continued, ‘easily take you and your film crew anywhere in these waters you want.’
‘You know the Fly River, Mr Kelly?’ Oblachinski asked.
‘I do,’ Paul cut in. ‘I was on an expedition up the Fly about ten years ago.’
Jack glanced at Paul as he continued, ‘I could go with Jack at no extra cost to add my knowledge of the region.’
Oblachinski glanced back at Jack who said, ‘I would rather Mr Mann was paid to accompany us if you charter my boat.’
‘We can do that,’ Oblachinski said swiping at his brow with the bandana. ‘So long as the fee is reasonable.’
‘Shall we talk money?’ Jack asked and the American nodded.
The details were thrashed out over gin and tonics and a handshake between the American and the Australian sealed the deal. ‘So what’s the charter all about?’ Jack asked when they had reached the end of the negotiations. He had warmed to the no-nonsense Yank.
‘Hollywood has gone crazy over jungle movies lately,’ Oblachinski said. ‘We go out and get footage of genuine cannibals and head hunters to edit in. Papua and New Guinea give us the opportunity to can a few miles of film. A friend of mine, Joe Swartz, was over this way a couple of years back and chartered a young fellow by the name of Errol Flynn to take him around to the Sepik to get some footage.’
‘I met Errol in Sydney,’ Lukas said unexpectedly. Until now he had remained silent, as he knew his father would want him to. ‘He was in Sydney with a troupe of Papuan natives and his film was being shown at the same time. Karl and I had a chance to introduce ourselves at the theatre when he came out dressed in a wig and British naval uniform before the screening of In the Wake of the Bounty. We told him that we were from up his way. He is a really nice bloke and said to keep in contact.’
‘He was almost a neighbour of mine,’ Paul added. ‘He tried growing tobacco up on the Laloki River. That’s where he got his kanakas to take to Sydney.’
Joe Oblachinski’s face widened with a smile. ‘Seems you guys are all related in this part of the world,’ he said as a joke. ‘Joe Swartz predicts that Flynn might have a future in the movies – if he ever makes it to the States.’
Jack remained silent, thinking that there was a lot he did not know about his son and his life in Sydney. But then, his own father seemed to know very little about him at the same age.
After final handshakes they left the American and his film crew, Jack having arranged to set sail the next day for Moresby to pick up the Americans.
‘So why in hell would you volunteer to come on the expedition?’ Jack asked as soon as they were in the truck, which was whining its way down the track back to the plantation. ‘And you didn’t tell me that you knew Mr Flynn,’ he said to Lukas beside him.
Lucas answered first. ‘You never asked.’
Then Paul replied, ‘I’m your mate,’ he said. ‘And I know the waters pretty well. I doubt that you two are truly master mariners yet.’
Jack had to agree. Most of what he had told the American producer had been aimed to deflect from his and Lukas’s lack of experience. Not that he lied, but he was careful to steer away from subjects such as other charters they had done. At least he had negotiated payment for Paul as a deckhand and assistant navigator. And he could not foresee any real danger in what they were doing. At least he could face Karin this time.
Ironically when Paul informed his wife that he was going away for a month with Jack on the American film expedition to the Fly River she made it firmly known that Paul was to ensure neither Jack nor Lukas were to come to harm. Paul shook his head as he walked away. Women, he thought. Why had she not expressed her concern for him?
Needless to say Karl insisted on joining the expedition with the argument that Dademo was more than capable of running the plantation. In the end it was his mother who interceded on his behalf and convinced her husband that he should take his son. Paul selected a young man named Malip from amongst his plantation workers to be an interpreter. He was from a village not far from the Fly River.
The next day when the lugger berthed in Port Moresby, a truck and a car drove down to the wharf to meet the Erika Sarah. Joe Oblachinski’s film crew, three relatively young men, carefully unloaded their precious film equipment from the truck. The door of the car opened and out struggled Joe followed by the most beautiful woman either Lukas or Karl had ever seen outside a movie cinema. She was around five foot five inches tall, slim and had dark black hair and eyes that reminded the two boys of an Indian princess. She appeared to be in her mid to late twenties. Her hair was
cut short and bobbed and she wore riding jodhpurs and a flowing long sleeved silk shirt of pale cream. The two boys stood gaping from the deck of the lugger as she thanked the driver and glided down the wharf.
‘Got to be a movie star,’ Karl muttered when he was able to close his mouth.
‘I reckon,’ Lukas agreed. ‘But I don’t know which one.’
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ the Indian princess said with a sweet smile. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day?’
Both boys mumbled their greetings and rushed to help her step aboard, suddenly struck with awkwardness in the presence of such a beautiful young woman.
Jack stepped forward to relieve the boys of their clumsy attempts to assist. ‘We didn’t expect female company,’ he said as his hand went past the boys. ‘Mr Oblachinski didn’t mention you.’
‘My name is Victoria Duvall,’ she said with a smile and glanced at the boys. ‘I expected that you would have native deckhands.’
‘My son Lukas and my business partner’s son Karl,’ Jack said introducing the boys. ‘My name is Jack Kelly.’
Victoria’s face brightened at the mention of Jack’s name. ‘Would you be the same man who once was a gold prospector in these parts?’ she asked.
‘Depends on who wants to know,’ he frowned. ‘But I suppose since it appears the question is yours then I am probably the same man.’
‘Oh, what a pleasure to meet you, Captain Kelly,’ Victoria exclaimed in her delight. ‘Whilst I have been in Port Moresby I have heard so many interesting stories about your adventures over the years. You seem to be a real honest to good adventurer in the tradition of Douglas Fairbanks’ movies.’
‘Don’t believe everything you hear, Miss Duvall. And would I be right in presuming that you are the star of this adventure? It seems the two boys are under that impression.’
Victoria smiled. ‘Thank you, but I am afraid not,’ she said. ‘I have no real association with Hollywood other than enjoying the movies. Joe has allowed me to accompany him on his project as a favour, to keep a diary of events. You could say that I am a kind of girl Friday.’
