by R. R. Irvine
Elliot nodded toward the crowd. “Judging by the look on Yali’s face, he might pay more than that.”
“So I’m to be a peep show in the name of John Frum, is that it?”
“Think of it as your duty as an anthropologist,” Buettner said, smiling.
“I’m an archaeologist,” Nick responded, trying to look angry. But unfortunately Elliot and Buettner were right. When working in the field, both archaeologists and anthropologists were expected to blend in with primitive cultures, if that’s what it took to fully understand the mores and customs. If that meant eating bugs or going naked, so be it. The trouble was, the English-speaking Baleseans weren’t Nick’s idea of a truly primitive culture. And archaeologists usually dealt with long-dead cultures. This time, however, the airplanes and airstrips she was after belonged to the living.
“What the hell,” she said, “at least there aren’t many mosquitoes on the beach.” She began unbuttoning her shirt.
“Hold it,” Buettner said, looking panicked. “I’ll bathe further down the beach.”
He hurried away, with Elliot right behind him.
So much for Uncle Curt’s ogling, she thought with a sigh of relief. She quickly removed all of her clothes and carefully folded them so they would be as sand-free as possible. Then she closed her eyes and pirouetted slowly, giving the gallery an eyeful. Even twenty-five yards away, the “ahs” of satisfaction coming from the villagers could be heard over the incoming waves.
That’s enough, she thought, and plunged into the surf. Her fist dip in Balesin Bay had reminded her of hot Jell-O. But today, the water felt cool and refreshing. The itching on her arms and face quickly subsided. She submerged completely, swimming underwater long enough to spot several colorful fish. When she surfaced, the water was breast deep and her feet were treading on sharp coral. She retreated until she was about twenty yards out from the shore, where she floated on her back for a while. Finally, she came out of the water to fetch her soap.
By then, the gallery had thinned to a few diehards, Yali and the chief among them.
“Show’s over,” she called out, and started shampooing her hair. The last of the onlookers seemed to lose interest and began straggling into the trees on the path that led to the village.
Thank God for some privacy, Nick thought as she submerged again to rinse off the suds. When that was done, she headed for shore.
Halfway there she heard the airplane. She should have known better than to stay put and look up. But she did, and just in time to see the Widgeon flash overhead. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet off the ground. It banked immediately, circling. Coltrane’s face—close enough for Nick to see his eager grin—was pressed against the Plexiglas. His passengers were getting an eyeful, too.
“Swell,” Nick murmured as she grabbed her clothes.
Coltrane didn’t stop circling until she was fully dressed. By then Elliot and Buettner had rejoined her.
Nick pointed a finger at Buettner. “Your pilot is a dead man. What does he think I am, some kind of tourist attraction?”
“I’d say he appreciates a good-looking woman when he sees one,” Elliot said, trying to repress a smile but failing badly.
“Join the club,” Buettner said.
Nick flushed. “Give me some of that bug lotion Lily provided. Maybe it repels pilots as well as mosquitoes.”
CHAPTER 17
As the Widgeon taxied toward shore, the villagers reappeared and began lining the approach. By now, the eighty-degree early morning air had given way to a steamy ninety degrees, maybe more. As the heat intensified, the mosquitoes became more frenzied in their swarming. But so far, Lily’s lotion was keeping them at bay. And even the lotion’s noxious smell had subsided somewhat. Or maybe Nick’s nose just didn’t care anymore.
She left her father and Buettner behind and headed for Lily, hoping the woman might provide insight into the islanders’ attitude toward airplanes, and the Widgeon in particular. The last time the seaplane had arrived, Nick had been a passenger and too exhausted to think clearly enough to observe the islanders’ reactions.
Lily greeted her with a smile and a comment that was lost in the deafening roar of the Widgeon’s twin turboprops. But the noise didn’t stop Henry Yali from gesturing excitedly as the plane maneuvered. Surrounded by his admiring followers, Yali reminded Nick of a fighter pilot using his hands to describe a dogfight. Judging by the look in his eyes, he loved airplanes as much as she did. Only in his case, there were religious overtones.
Or maybe she was misreading Yali. Certainly the traditional Cargo Cult was more interested in what airplanes carried than in the aircraft themselves.
But what would happen if one of the passengers had red hair, particularly if that passenger turned out to be male? Would his arrival be seen as an omen? Would he be viewed as an emissary or even as John Frum himself, the returning messiah? Would he have to strip himself naked just as Nick had done? For that matter, what had the fact that Nick was a real redhead proved? Maybe Lily would tell her.
Don’t start making guesses, Nick reminded herself. Just ask questions, listen, and observe.
As Coltrane cut the engines, Yali raised a triumphant fist in the air. The gesture drew a cheer. No doubt it was meant to show off Yali’s priestly power. Probably he was taking credit for luring the Widgeon back to Balesin.
Stop, Nick told herself. Stop making assumptions.
A high tide allowed the seaplane to drift right up to the beach before bumping against a sandbar. An instant later the fuselage door opened and Coltrane appeared. He paused on the threshold to wave, then jumped into the knee-high surf, carrying a rope with which to anchor the Widgeon. Right behind him came two people who Nick assumed were Buettner’s students. Both were very young and very tanned. They waded ashore holding hands like lovers, oblivious to the heat that had staggered Nick the first time she’d set foot on Balesin. Both had dark brown hair, with not so much as a hint of red.
It seemed to Nick that Yali looked disappointed, while Lily looked relieved. Or was that another assumption? No, Nick decided, it was a valid observation until proved otherwise.
She turned to Lily and asked, “Have you ever flown in an airplane?”
“That’s Henry’s province, not mine.” “Has Henry flown, then?”
Lily paused for a moment before answering. “He says he flies every night in his dreams. John Frum is with him there, he says. Of course, as John Frum’s priest that is expected. It is also his right.”
“Maybe we could arrange a real flight for you?”
“I’m tempted, child. But Henry would never forgive me if I went first.”
“I meant for both of you,” Nick said.
Lily smiled. “I know, but I would still be tempted to go first.”
“Should I ask Henry to go first?”
Lily gazed at Yali, whose group now included Elliot and Buettner, then shook her head. “A priest’s dreams are very important. They can be God’s way of communicating with him, and to all of us. To actually fly might hinder that.”
“Is that what Henry says?” Nick probed gently.
“Everyone knows that revelations come in many forms. Even the Reverend Innis says that the Christian God sometimes reveals Himself in dreams. The reverend is from America, you know, and has his church on the other side of our island. Ever since the war, we have heard about America. We want to be like Americans. You are a powerful people. We wish to be the same. That is why we attend the reverend’s church, to become Christians and be like Americans.”
“Even Henry?” Nick asked.
“He is often to be seen among the reverend’s flock.”
That didn’t answer the question exactly, Nick realized, but decided not to push the matter. Many primitive cultures welcomed missionaries with open arms, converting to a new faith while continuing to cling to their old beliefs. To them, two faiths were better than one.
“Nice perfume,” Coltrane said into her ear.
; Nick jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I saw him coming,” Lily said.
“Then you should have warned me.”
Lily eyed Coltrane. “A woman my age knows better than to interfere with young people when they’re courting.”
Nick started to protest, then caught herself. She had a better idea, one that would be helpful in her work.
“Lily,” she said, slipping her hand into Coltrane’s, “Lee and I would like to go flying together.” Nick squeezed his hand, hoping he’d have sense enough to keep quiet. He got the message all right, and took advantage of it to kiss her cheek.
Lily smiled like a matchmaker sensing victory.
“We need your blessing,” Nick continued, “because we’d like to go sightseeing over the island and wouldn’t want to upset anyone or infringe on any of your customs.”
“You are right to ask ahead of time,” Lily said. “Henry can be very touchy about such things. I will speak to him for you. But you must understand that certain places belong to John Frum and must not be violated. Even Henry doesn’t have the power to set aside such restrictions. Those who have ignored them have lived to regret it.”
“Maybe you’d better tell her what you had in mind, Doc,” Coltrane interrupted. “You know, the surprise.”
“You go ahead,” Nick said, since she had no idea what he was talking about.
“You haven’t forgotten about our special cargo, have you, Doc?”
Nick managed a smile.
“You don’t have to worry,” Nick said. “When we drop our cargo, we’ll be so high the ground will be nothing but a blur to us.”
“How high will you fly?” Lily asked.
“We’ll be no more than specks in the sky,” Coltrane assured her.
Lily craned her neck, staring up into the bright blue sky as if assessing altitude.
“You might not even be able see us from the ground,” Coltrane added.
Lily bowed her head. “You mustn’t get too close to Mount Nomenuk. That is John Frum’s high place and the entrance into His world.”
“We promise, don’t we, Doc?” He squeezed Nick’s hand.
“We’ll be careful,” she responded without committing herself.
“Wait here,” Lily said, and hurried away to speak with Henry Yali.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Nick whispered, “I hope the hell you have some cargo we can drop.”
“You haven’t been listening, have you, Doc? Like I said, I’m a pro. A pro is ready for any contingency. If you get forced down somewhere, you have to be able to survive. One way to do that is to come equipped with trading material to pay for your keep if the natives take you in.”
“What kind of materials?”
“Fireworks for one thing, and an extra flare gun. Loud noises and pretty colors are always popular. But what I’m thinking about is my stash of canned food, which includes plenty of the local favorite, Spam.”
Nick was impressed. “What about your fuel supply?”
“We can probably run the engines on that perfume of yours.”
“You know damn well I’m not wearing perfume. It’s insect repellent. The islanders make it.”
He grinned. “Kiss me and you might learn something.”
“Keep your mind on flying.”
“Kiss me and you can have some cargo too.”
“All I want is another aerial view of the island.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“You conceited—”
Coltrane burst out laughing. As she glared at him, it suddenly dawned on her that he was putting her on.
Without warning he leaned close and said, “Is your nose out of order?”
She was about to kick him where it would hurt the most when she realized he smelled as badly as she did. “You’re wearing repellent, too, dammit. How long have you known about it?”
“If you fly these islands like I do, you learn the ins and outs. If you don’t, you’d better go into another line of business. I get my bug juice from an old-timer on Guam.”
“You could have told us about it,” she protested.
“You didn’t ask.”
“Bastard.”
He kissed her, a peck on the cheek, and jumped back out of the way before she could retaliate.
“I should have kicked you when I had the chance.”
She was sizing up his shins when she realized he was also wearing another item of indispensable island uniform, rubber sandals. “Where the hell did you get those?” she demanded.
“Like I said, Doc, I’m a professional. Out here you’ve got to keep your feet as dry as possible. Otherwise, you get jungle rot.”
“I know.”
“Now maybe you’ll be interested in some of my other cargo. I tracked down your luggage. How about another kiss?”
“I’ll write you a check for your trouble. Now tell me about your fuel supply.”
“You’re all heart, aren’t you, Doc?”
Nick sensed that she’d hurt the pilot’s feelings, but she didn’t like to be teased. “Let’s stick to business,” she said.
“Suit yourself. I’ve got enough extra fuel for a short flight, maybe fifteen minutes. Will that do it?”
“I’d like to get a look at the airstrip you told us about on the radio yesterday.”
He shrugged. “I hope I can find it again, Doc. Maybe another kiss will refresh my memory.”
She groaned inwardly. Did he really think she’d fall for that airborne-soldier-of-fortune act of his? All he needed was a flying helmet and goggles. Except for the sandals, of course. They spoiled the image of the rugged aviator.
She was about to point that out when Lily returned.
“I had to vouch for you two,” Lily reported. “Even so, Henry isn’t happy about it, but he won’t stop you from delivering cargo. That would be against the wishes of John Frum. But you must stay away from the mountain. That is in Henry’s keeping.”
“Thank you, Lily.” Nick leaned over and kissed the older woman on the cheek.
Lily smiled. “In his dreams, Henry has flown higher than the birds. What he sees from there is John Frum’s will. It would not be revealed to outsiders. So you and your airplane are safe on that count.”
Her expression changed as she continued. “Be careful. A storm is coming. You can smell it in the air.”
Nick smelled only dampness and the pervasive hint of rotting vegetation that continually hung in the air.
“When the storm comes,” Lily went on, “John Frum will unleash His thunderbolts.”
CHAPTER 18
Once the Widgeon was airborne, Nick outlined what she had in mind, a low-level look at the landing strip on Mount Nomenuk, a definite breach of John Frum protocol.
“What happens if they see us?” Coltrane asked.
“I’m not certain, but you should have seen the look on Henry Yali’s face when he overheard me talking to you about it on the radio. But the airstrip is key to my work if I’m ever going to discover what type of plane John Frum prefers.”
“You act like he’s a real person.”
“To the islanders he is.”
He shrugged. “The way I figure it, we’ve got to make it look good if we’re going to get away with our spy flight.”
“On the radio you said the strip you saw was on the far side of Mount Nomenuk, didn’t you? On the side away from the village?”
“We’ll be out of sight of the village, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So can you do it or not?” Nick asked, her tone deliberately challenging.
“How does this sound? I’ll come back onto course and head directly for the village in a shallow dive. That way, we should be hauling ass when we make our cargo drop. Our speed will insure that the chutes drift a long way. When your priest and his friends start chasing them, we make our move. Your move, actually, since I’m just the chauffeur.”
“We don’t want to make it look too obvious
.”
He nudged her in the ribs. “Just stand by the door and wait for my signal to dump the cargo, Doc. The chutes will blossom over the village, then drift like hell. All the way across the river if we time it right. While they’re trying to catch up with them, we go for it. What do you say?”
Nick thought it over. Lily and Henry were too old to go running after cargo, no matter how tempting. Even so, chances were they’d supervise the recovery. With luck, every eye would be diverted from the Widgeon.
“What about the engines?” Nick asked. “They may not be able to see us, but hearing’s another matter.”
“I’m way ahead of you. I’ll cut them back and glide over the target.”
“Does this thing glide?”
“Like a stone, Doc. Trust me.”
Nick sighed. “One more thing. It would be nice if the cargo didn’t actually land in the river.”
“If you shove it out the door when I give the word, we’ll be fine. Unless, of course, we crash. In that case, they’ll have to settle for hamburger instead of a nice leg of redhead.”
“These people are much more sophisticated than you think,” she shot back.
“You can tell me about it on the headset while I get the cargo ready.” He set the autopilot.
Nick peered through the windshield. “What do I do if I see something coming?”
“Disengage the autopilot and take evasive action.”
“That sounds easy enough,” she said sarcastically.
He blew her a kiss and left his seat. Nick heard some thumping behind her and then Coltrane’s voice over the intercom. “Okay, Doc, enlighten me while I work.”
She clicked the transmit button. “Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Doc.”
“What do you want to know?”
“You’re the professor. Tell me about the Cargo Cult.”
Nick scanned the sky once more, saw nothing but blue and a line of dark clouds building along the horizon, then settled back. Last night, unable to sleep, she’d glanced through Sam Ohmura’s book on the Cargo Cult again and come up with some fascinating lore. Those points that had interested her, however, might bore a bush pilot to death. Still, Coltrane could tune out if he didn’t like it.
