She knew it was this that she would remember most, the perfect moment when she lost herself to him completely. Finding her own Shangri-La, there in Michael’s arms.
Holding onto him was the only thing she’d ever really wanted.
And it was the only thing she just couldn’t have.
Part Two
Ten
6th December 1941
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, USA
Slim Baxter was laughing harder than Marlon Stone had ever seen him laugh. But little wonder – Joe Henry Jr was shaking his hips like there was no tomorrow and even the dancing Hawaiian girls couldn’t hold it together, doubling up with their graceful hands across their flat stomachs, tears pouring down their pretty faces. No-one ever had a chance with any of them but God how the men loved to watch the girls move and sway. Marlon stood and clapped with the rest of the crowd as Joe finally fell in a heap on the sandy bar floor and crawled back to their table.
‘Think you need to fix your nuts,’ Marlon said, pointing at the makeshift bra Joe had made from the coconut husks their cocktails had come in.
‘Or find them,’ Slim said, still laughing.
‘Oh a wise guy, eh?’ Joe said, swaying. ‘Hey, I think I got it now…’
‘Keep practising, sweetheart. Hey barkeep – ’nother round. We need some more nuts,’ Slim yelled.
Marlon decided he’d better find some room for that and made his way to the Men’s, pushing past an array of drunken US personnel dressed mostly in Hawaiian shirts, shaking hands and slapping backs as he went. It was turning into a wild old party, as per usual for a Saturday night at the Grand Tiki Bar, and a far preferable scene to Marlon than the officers’ party he was supposed to attend. Just because he’d been promoted didn’t mean he was about to turn around, demote his buddies and become a snob. He’d had enough of those types back in his Harvard days. This was much more his thing, although as he returned, he made a mental note to stop drinking at midnight. He and Slim had planned an early morning flight, more for sightseeing than anything else, although it was officially under the guise of combat practice. Not that any of them were particularly worried about England’s war. It seemed a long way off from here.
He had almost reached his table when he saw her, the same beautiful woman he’d been flirting with the last few Saturday nights. A six-foot, killer-curved paradigm of blonde womanhood, surrounded by a throng of drunken men all dying to see what lay underneath that tight red dress of hers. He managed to catch her eye and an unspoken message passed between them. Maybe tonight would finally be the night but Marlon knew a girl like that needed to come to him, not the other way around, so he went back to the guys and continued drinking. Not too difficult, considering the fine form they were in.
The band started up and the drumming got Joe dancing again, a wide circle around him as the throng cheered.
‘Wooh! Give it to ’em, Joe!’ Slim shouted as Joe put his hands behind his head and did some very enthusiastic gyrations before tripping over his boots and falling into the crowd. They pushed him back into the circle and urged him on and Marlon clapped and cheered too, laughing.
‘I’m thirsty,’ someone said in his ear and he glanced over his shoulder, playing it cool at the sight of the blonde behind him, hand on her hip, trying to look bored. He turned slowly, taking his time, and placed a second straw in his coconut cocktail. Then the woman leant forwards and took a long sip from his drink as he took the other straw, their faces inches apart. He could smell her musky perfume and read the daring in her eyes, but still he waited.
Joe flew past and landed on the ground next to Marlon and he and the woman both glanced down but continued drinking, this time each with a smile at the corners of their mouths. Then she lifted her lips away from the straw, saying the words he’d been waiting for: ‘I want you.’
Maybe she’d chosen him because he was the only guy taller than her in the bar, or maybe it was because he’d learnt long ago that the hottest broads needed the least attention to find a man challenging, but, looking at her mouth, he didn’t care. He wanted her too. And that feeling exploded into hot desire as she bit her lip, her expression darkening with all sorts of secrets before she mouthed another word.
‘Now.’
He put down the drink and steered her deftly through the crowd, barely making it outside before she pulled on his tie and they fell against the wall around the corner. She kissed him urgently as he tore his way through her clothes to where he wanted to go. Then he took her hard against the concrete wall and she was crying out and panting and her breasts were falling out of her dress but he didn’t care if anyone heard them or saw them. What man would at a time like this? The sight of her abandon was the end of him and they climaxed together.
Inside the crowd was chanting ‘Go, Joe! Go, Joe! Go, Joe!’ and they began to laugh.
‘Sure that isn’t your name?’ the woman said.
‘I think it is tonight,’ he replied and kissed her beautiful mouth once more. She returned the kiss with a pleasured sigh then patted his chest, pulling her dress back into place.
‘I’d better go home. My husband thinks I’m in bed with a headache.’
Marlon tried to hide his surprise, which was difficult, considering how drunk he was. ‘Where is he?’
‘At some boring work function. I can’t stand those types of things.’
Marlon had a bad feeling as he asked, ‘What does he do?’
‘Runs armies.’ She shrugged, blowing him one last kiss before hailing a taxi and getting in.
Marlon stared after her, realising who she was as the car’s lights receded down the road. Looking towards his base, he made a mental note to avoid any contact with Major Hamlin. Now that he’d slept with his wife.
‘Aloha-aaa-ee…aloha-aaa-eee…’ Joe was singing as they hitched their way home. He was still wearing the coconut bra and they were receiving some ribald comments from other revellers as they went.
‘You’re gonna have to see her again. She sure is the swell – hic – swellest-looking gal I’ve ever seen. Ever,’ Slim repeated for emphasis.
‘She’s also the major’s wife,’ Marlon reminded him, dragging on his cigarette and trying to walk in a straight line, both activities proving challenging in his current state.
‘Damn, I’d heard she was hot but this mama was smokin’! Can’t figure why she’d take such a risk on a bum like you! ’Specially when she coulda had a talented fella like me!’ Joe bowed in front of them and they laughed as his coconuts finally fell off. ‘Nuts,’ he said, retrieving them on wobbly legs.
‘Hard to fathom,’ said Marlon.
‘A dame like that would never go for the likes of us,’ Slim slurred, stopping to light a cigarette. ‘Marlon here, he’s got that whole Tyrone Power thing going on. Sits back and lets the gals chase him.’
‘It’s that Injun blood. He’s a good hunter.’
Marlon just laughed, although once it would have bothered him to be called an ‘Injun’ by a white man. Here, it didn’t matter. His buddies said it with a kind of pride and he suspected they thought his mother’s family lived some kind of noble native life back in Sausalito. Truth was they were just hanging on to pieces of the old culture like his wealthy father’s family held on to Christianity: a picture on the wall here, a carving on the shelf there; tokens of past faiths. His mother’s relatives pretty much led modern, conservative lives, their skin paler with each generation, Marlon included. All except his grandmother. Marlon smiled at the thought of her crinkled, nutmeg face with its chin tattoos. No-one would ever bleed the Coast Miwok out of Liwa, who held on to her native name with pride.
‘Yeah, well, he sure hunted some nice-looking prey tonight. Come on, spill the beans, did you make a home run?’ It was Joe who asked but they both looked at him hopefully.
‘A gentleman never tells,’ Marlon said as a truck slowed and they clambered awkwardly onto the back.
‘Aw, come on!’
The ribbing went on most of the way
back to Hickam Field, where they alighted, yelling their thanks over the engine to the driver, before stopping to sit near the runway for one last smoke. Their barracks, nicknamed the Hickam Hotel due to the size and amenities, were quiet and Marlon wondered how they would get Joe in and up to the third floor without waking anyone – he was still humming Hawaiian tunes to himself as he lay on his back next to them.
‘Here she comes,’ Slim noted, pointing at an approaching B-17D. The bomber glided in and Marlon figured the pilot was doing a pretty good job as it landed quite gracefully.
‘Not bad for a flying monkey,’ he said and Joe changed his humming to ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road’. The Wizard of Oz had been playing in town and they’d seen it several times over the past few weeks.
‘Yeah, well that monkey’s better at flying in the dark than me. Need to get more hours up,’ Slim said, yawning. Marlon had done plenty of night flights back in San Francisco, where he’d worked as a domestic pilot for a year before joining the air force. Liwa still couldn’t understand why he would want to serve a country that had decimated his people and he couldn’t really explain to her that he was a modern American too – that wouldn’t be something she would want to hear.
‘Don’t spill your Miwok blood for white war,’ she’d said. ‘There won’t be any war, Liwa. I’m just getting in a bit of travel while I’m young,’ he remembered telling her.
‘You just keep your head down and stay that way,’ she’d replied, wagging a bony brown finger at him. Marlon smiled at the memory.
The night was quiet now and moonlight outlined the mass of American military power that lay here: planes, buildings, runways, hangars. All ordered and waiting – a long way from any real war. They looked to Marlon as though a child had lined them up in perfect formation for imaginary games to begin. A soft breeze whispered against that weaponry and the moon touched the tips of the swaying palms and hibiscus trees nearby, their red flowers bowing in a dark, delicate dance.
‘Wonder why they called it Pearl Harbor?’ Slim said, watching the night too.
‘Wai Momi,’ Marlon said. ‘That’s the Hawaiian name. It means “water of pearl”. Used to have a lot of oysters out there back in the day.’
‘Reckon there’s some still there? I got a gal back home who likes pearls. Her name’s Pearl.’ Joe laughed to himself, still lying down, but now with his eyes closed. Marlon had thought he was asleep.
‘Doubtful. Mostly been farmed. Lots of the locals aren’t too happy about that. Aren’t too happy ’bout all this either.’ Marlon gestured at the buildings around them, thinking about the long conversations he’d had with Kalani, a bartender at the Grand Tiki Bar.
‘Should be happy we’ve come to protect ’em,’ Slim said, lighting another cigarette.
‘Nah, some believe they already had protection from the gods but we’ve made them angry by wrecking their land. Blame the quakes on it every time.’ Marlon paused, trying to remember what Kalani had told him. ‘They say the shark goddess…what was her name again? Ka’ahu pahau, I think, and her brother Kahi… something –’ Marlon stopped again, frowning against the alcohol in his brain. ‘Kahi’uka! Yes, that’s it. They guard the locals from trouble…especially man-eating sharks. They’re supposed to live in a cave at the entrance to the bay.’
‘How the hell d’you remember stuff like that?’ Joe mumbled.
Marlon had never really thought about his knack for remembering interesting cultural facts. He guessed he got it from listening to Liwa all these years. He was surprised he was remembering them now, though, and said so.
‘Yeah, well, here’s hoping the gods want to protect us too. Not too fond of sharks meself,’ Slim said. ‘Wouldn’t want to be greeted by a bunch of fins if I land one of those in the drink.’ He nodded at the A20-As lined up in a row, the planes they’d been training in, and Marlon looked too, remembering their flight in the morning. He stood up, yawning, and reached down to haul Joe to his feet.
‘Time to hit the hay.’
‘Why, whaddid the hay ever – hic – do to you?’
Marlon chuckled, telling him to shush as they made their unsteady way to the barracks. But as he looked back at the A20-As, he had to agree with Slim. He wouldn’t want to meet any sharks in the water either, so for what it was worth, he offered up a little apology to Ka’ahu pahau and her brother before turning in.
That night he dreamt of Liwa, singing beneath the palm trees and chanting in the old ways. He watched as she grew fins and dived into the bay, swimming out to meet with the Hawaiian gods. To tell them that she was Liwa, a daughter of the Miwok, and that her name meant ‘water’. That she too was from a coastal tribe and that her blood ran with the tides. And to ask that they protect her grandson, Marlon, named for the great fish. Not really a white man.
To keep him from the man-eating sharks too.
Eleven
The church bells were ringing when Marlon woke, caught up in his sheets and head thumping. He wished they would shut the hell up. Slim was groaning and Marlon joined him as he sat slowly and began to get dressed, wishing he could sleep in like Joe, who was passed out like a starfish, coconuts on the ground next to his bunk.
‘Ready to fly, monkey?’
Slim groaned again but sat up too, pulling his undershirt off and finding a fresh one. ‘Don’t know how I’m gonna fly. Can’t even see,’ he mumbled.
It was even harder to do so when they walked outside into the dazzling morning sunshine. They both reeled from the glare.
‘Sweet mother of God,’ Slim said, clutching the side of the building and finding his sunglasses in his pocket. Marlon cursed the fact he’d lost his a few days ago; it was physically painful waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the brilliance of the day.
They walked to the hangars, each lighting a cigarette. Despite his hangover, a familiar excitement began to build in Marlon, the same feeling that had arrived the first day he’d ever felt wheels leave tarmac. That cruel sun was relaxing and settling into morning, dazzling in a sky that was clear Hawaiian blue, and it was calling to them to find wings and rise too. Suddenly Marlon couldn’t wait to get up there and he began to sing.
‘One more line about that goddam wizard and I may have to kill you, buddy. Man, I definitely need a coffee. Want one?’ Slim asked, looking over at the mess.
A few officers and their wives were on their way to church and Marlon and Slim paused to salute them.
‘God, we must look a sight,’ Marlon muttered as they passed, feeling shabby in his crushed gear against the crisp shirts and dresses on parade. He kept an especially wary eye out for a tall blonde on a major’s arm.
‘Coffee?’ Slim repeated.
Marlon went to reply in the affirmative but was stopped by something he heard.
‘Hello? Marlon?’ Slim asked, waiting.
‘Yeah, I just…hold on,’ he said, searching the skies as the distant humming increased. He wondered if some new Flying Fortresses were arriving today – rumour had it they were due.
Then he heard it, a sudden rumble.
‘Look,’ said Slim, pointing to a trail of black smoke rising into the air from the harbour. ‘Boy, somebody sure fouled up.’
They stood and watched and a few of the churchgoers did the same.
‘Could be a gas explosion,’ Marlon said. But the humming was getting louder.
‘There they are,’ said Slim, pointing at black dots in the sky. ‘Maybe it’s the Japs,’ he joked. ‘Say, they’re really going places.’
The black dots were fast emerging in plane form. Marlon was about to reply when he noticed something that ran his blood cold: they were diving. Fast.
‘Say, slow down, buddy,’ Slim said, confused as one approached, low. ‘Holy shit! Is that…?’
‘Meatballs!’ someone yelled nearby, pointing.
Marlon stared in shock at the red dot on the wing, realising it was, unbelievably, a Japanese dive bomber. They ran and pressed themselves against the hangar wall as the en
emy plane powered over the ground, seeing clearly that it was a two seater with a gun in the rear cockpit. Both pilot and gunner were goggled and helmeted, and Marlon had a second of mad wonder that they were real people, this mystery half-enemy. Then any delusion of non-reality was blasted into a million pieces as gunfire began to hail down on them and glass shattered from the windows.
Large numbers of planes were now heading to the harbour and they watched the stubby, pencil-like bombs sail down, that glorious sun reflecting off them in innocent Hawaiian welcome. Explosions shook the earth and Marlon watched the rising plumes of black clouds in disbelief. Japan had awoken the sleeping American navy by introducing them to hell.
But before they could really comprehend what horrors were unfolding on the water, the pencils were coming towards them and Slim yelled ‘Cover!’ grabbing Marlon’s shirt as they hauled themselves towards the sandbags.
This time the earth didn’t just shake, it bucked like a giant mule, kicking the wind out of them as they landed. The deafening roar of bomb blasts and gunfire was all around and Marlon saw hell first-hand as the hangars exploded and the planes were fired upon like ducks in a row. Flashes of how he’d thought their neat arrangement almost childlike last night interrupted his panic momentarily before they burst in masses of splinters, falling against each other, consumed by flame.
Noise – the rat-a-tat, crashing, whirring cacophony of war – assailed him for the first time in his life, a terrifying soundtrack to the scene playing out before them as they crouched in horrified audience, helpless to stop it. The planes kept coming, like vicious dogs; attack, attack, attack. Menacing and relentless, they dropped their bombs and sent America’s air force back into the sacred Hawaiian soil in a deranged mass of twisting fire, too fast for anyone to comprehend. Then one bomb fell on the mess hall, where Marlon and Slim knew so many of their buddies would be. There were screams in the cacophony now as the pride of the US military, the million-dollar Hickam Hotel, ignited in a series of massive, mighty fireballs.
Worth Fighting For Page 8
