by Mudrooroo
‘ “Do you like the ocean?” she asked me.
‘ “All Australians do,” I replied visualising the built-up strip from Brisbane to Sydney where even the smallest lot was worth its weight in gold if it had a view of the ocean.
‘ “Not all, for I have a friend who loves the desert. I go and visit him sometimes. The desert is so dry and the sea is so wet. Yet, yet, I live beside the sea. Contradiction, no?” and she flashed her teeth at me. Little teeth which, were they to give one a nip, might bring blood.
‘'Then the atmosphere turned sweet with longing as Carla appeared sleeky beautiful in white slacks and blouse. She went to Miss Tamada, ran her fingers over her bare arm, then sat down beside her. I remained standing, for I had arisen as soon as she had entered. Now both women stared up at me, and suddenly I felt ridiculous in my stubby shorts and casual shirt, long white socks and sturdy shoes. It did not help matters that the women looked at one another, then again at me. I felt as out of place as I would have in one of the Sas shops.
‘ “Please, won’t you sit and finish your breakfast,” Carla said.
‘ “A praying mantis,” spluttered the Japanese woman into her coffee.
‘She went down in my estimation at once. It was no way for a businesswoman to behave, or for one to dress for that matter. Carla next to her appeared so much more sophisticated.
‘We managed to get through the meal with the minimum amount of conversation. My whole day had been spoilt. Then it was time to leave our air-conditioned haven for the heat of the streets. Our gear was loaded into a taxi. The morning was heating up to a livid noon, as we struggled through streets blue with exhaust fumes. I dripped with sweat, the final fat of my good days melting away. I felt miserable, though I was used to the heat and should have taken it in my stride, or as perfectly as the two women who had scarcely a damp patch on them. Miss Tamada, to add to my misery, began rattling away to Carla about how the warmth made her feel as dry as a dead leaf. I heard Carla reply about how when she perspired it felt as if her soul was leaking out to fill the universe. This was a direct steal from me. The previous night at dinner, in my academic persona, I had made some inane remark about how sometimes we felt that our souls permeated the world, and Carla had eaten the proposition with avidity. To make matters worse, Carla mentioned that her Sas shops now had a line in male toiletries. This seemingly innocent remark elicited a titter from Miss Tamada and a scowl from me. I asked the taxi driver to stop and got in beside him. I had had enough of female company for the time being.
‘The taxi crawled to the harbour and died on the wharf beside our so-called schooner. Carla remarked to Miss Tamada that her family owned the boat, and it was through such remarks that I learnt that her family had a monopoly on interisland transport, and that with Independence looming in the near future, they were, in conjunction with Kitsune, developing an international airport for the emerging nation. I could understand that, as well as the need for taking aboard a Japanese partner with unlimited funds. Yes, I had done the same thing in my wheeling and dealing along the Gold Coast, though there I had been in competition with others. Here, it appeared that Carla’s family had a monopoly, or more likely a stranglehold on the economic life of the island chain, and that with independence this would continue without hindrance, though I remembered that there was an Opposition of a sorts, which might bode well for me, for if the family control could be broken, then there was room for an astute businessman to get in on the ground floor. I had to keep my ears open for the main opportunity, and being almost an accredited representative of the Australian Government would help me to extend the foot in the door to the whole leg, then Bob’s your uncle and I would be in. My mood lifted as I contemplated my profitable future and even if I failed to do a deal with the Opposition there was still Sas and Kitsune available. I felt so good that I smiled at my female companions. Yes, I could indeed establish a profitable partnership with them.
‘Most women, though I am not being sexist (these days no businessman can afford to be) have the gift of the gab, and my beauteous Carla was no exception. As our luggage was being loaded, she told me that a few years ago a minor tourist boom had startled Fiji (and most of the Pacific) after a remake of the film Mutiny on the Bounty, and the schooner had rocked on the swell and hastily been converted into the present craft which mocked the sleekness the word “schooner” conjured up. Masts and sails remained, but only for effect. The canvas rotted on the cross-trees and the two stubby masts were like the stumps on a hastily cleared block of land. A second tier of cabins had been built on the deck and these made the vessel resemble an old Sydney ferry. I stared at the top-heavy boat and inwardly shuddered. I guessed that a sea of any size might capsize the thing in a minute.
‘I mentioned this to Miss Tamada, who wrinkled her nose at me. This was a mannerism which I was beginning to find most annoying. Now she opened her computer and busily entered some figures. She tapped once, twice, three times, then closed the lid. “Yes, it is not nice, but it will be scrapped soon.” And that was that, or was it, for the captain heard her words and scowled. I looked at him. In the sleek rush of progress about to engulf the soon-to-be-independent nation, he would be as out of place as his boat.
‘He was a hulking, heavy-moustached, red-faced Pommy who had been washed ashore by the colonial tide which then receded leaving him high and dry and all at sea. He greeted Carla with a few pleased grunts, ignored me and Miss Tamada, then shouted at his “boys” as he called the native men of his crew, to gently handle the luggage. We were the only passengers and were given two of the top cabins, one for me and the other for the two women. Carla informed me that they were cooler than those below decks. This may have been true, but I entered a furnace and instantly sought relief in the main dining-cumlounge-cum-saloon where fans pushed air over my saturated body.
‘Carla came in to urge me to go on deck to see the Tui tui leave harbour. “There’ll be a breeze of sorts,” she said with a laugh directed at my flushed face and dripping forehead. I snarled at her dry skin as I followed her onto the upper deck and into the glaring heat of the tropic sun. Miss Tamada was already sitting beneath a patch of canvas, with a small hand fan fluttering languidly. I sagged beside her, as I heard a rumble and felt the deck tremble under my feet. Half-naked brown bodies untied the vessel and soon she was chugging out from a harbour which had less attraction than the remains of the Brisbane docks at midsummer. I sat limply under the sun which symbolised the heavy burden of my present as my lungs gasped pulling in the heated air, then convulsed and flung it out. How I longed for Surfers’ and the cool air-conditioned bars in which formerly I had conducted much of my business. With a muttered excuse to the women, I retreated to the lounge, saloon or what have you to find that an air-conditioning unit had purred into action. At last! I relaxed and felt my mood lightening as I opened a fridge to find it stacked with Powers beer. I cracked a cool one and toasted modern technology which had made it possible for the white man not only to live in the tropics but to turn them to a pretty profit. Only in the late afternoon did I, somewhat befuddled, return to the deck to catch a last glimpse of Fiji.
‘It was a dark smudge astern. Above and around and below was nothing but the blue of the sky merging into the blue of the ocean. The heat sent me reeling back to the saloon, to find Carla and Miss Tamada bent over the computer. They snapped it off as I entered and Carla cool and regal in a halter-neck top and knee-length shorts went to the refrigerator to get me a cold beer. She and her companion settled for mineral water. Well, that was all right with me, for it left more of the amber fluid for my good self, and if the heat continued I would need every drop. I sucked on my can and remarked on the blue of the sea and sky. The remark passed without comment, and then Miss Tamada, in her snide way, asked me how my business interests were going. I replied that this had only been a hobby to fund my research and that now I was attached to Bond University. She wrinkled her nose at this and I felt my mood falling. I brightened up as I met Carla’s s
mile. I began a probing conversation with her about the resources of the island chain to which we were bound. Miss Tamada smirked as Carla remarked that as I did not seem to have brought diving equipment along for my search for pelagic jelly, I might borrow hers when we reached the island. I nodded and towards evening, we made our way onto the deck to enjoy the stiff breeze, or trade wind which was blowing. I sat next to Carla and experienced the Pacific Ocean in all its travel poster glory. All would have been perfect if Carla had unveiled her body in the skimpiest of bikinis. Ah, but that was not to be. Still, I felt resurrected and laughed and joked with Carla as I snuffed up the air in delighted gulps. To add to my elation, Miss Tamada left and I had Carla to myself.
‘How wonderful everything was. The air held the odour of a fur which has just fallen from the shoulders of a beautiful woman. This, I knew, was the fabled perfume of the tropics. And since the sun had set, the sea and sky no longer dazzled, but shone gently with the subtle hues of paradise. The sky as translucent as the ceiling of the foyer of Jupiter’s Casino, was a golden green streaked with the pink gleams of that subdued chandelier termed the sun. The atmosphere felt like the atmosphere of the special room for high rollers and the sea pulsated with the tasteful music of a not too energetic dance number especially rendered for the rich and famous. It stretched away from us like the transparent floor of a disco illuminated with rippling wave notes. At ease and clutching my tinny, I sat next to my beautiful, red-headed companion, feeling and almost believing that I was one of those handsome males in a Sas, or better still, a beer advertisement, who glance across to find love as a slim hand gracefully offers them a cold Powers as a token of that love. It really was like that, just then, for I need not say, although I do, do say it that Carla attracted me the way rotten meat attracts blowies. I’m sorry, perhaps the image is not only inappropriate, but inept. I’ll try again, as, as, well, as your tape-recorder attracts my words. There, it was as self-evident as that ... The captain for all his dourness—he was a Scot by the way and hated the English—was charmed, and even the native crew stormed the racial barrier, though it might have been that they recognised part of themselves in this regal woman who was descended from the chiefs of the island chain. They went out of their way to please her and saw to it that all her wants were satisfied. Carla accepted this adulation with aloofness, and even gently mocked the captain who was not your canny Scot of legend, but a thickheaded, less than amusing oaf with an absurdly British sense of superiority and absence of tact which rested calmly along with his racism.
‘Perhaps, I should have, should have kept a journal to detail what I felt on that voyage. I didn’t and have only memories and even these are fragmented. Once, the night was soft velvet and the prow of our vessel parted the silken sea as gently, as gently as a lover parts the thighs of his beloved. The thud thud of the motor continued on evenly like languid heartbeats, and then, there began an absurd conversation on shipwrecks and Carla gaily quoted from the poem “The Ancient Mariner”, and laughed at the skipper who did flash a “glittering” eye. This evil eye made forays over her body. It wandered over the length of her bare legs, stopped briefly at the vee of her shorts, climbed to the twin curves of flesh pressing out her halter-neck top, and drifted up to her throat, her lips, her nose, her eyes, her forehead and tumbled down her hair. The atmosphere became charged with the musk of his lust. Then Miss Tamada whispered in her ear, and Carla smiled and directed a question at the red-eyed lout: “Have you really eaten human flesh?”
‘The captain positively looked embarrassed, then glanced at me before replying: “Can’t say that I have, but I ken them that has.”
‘ “And what would the taste be like? Did those, those friends of yours tell you?” she asked, letting a slight tone of disgust tinge her voice. The oaf stared at the dark waters and playing the old sea-dog, sniffed the salty air.
‘ “Was it delicious? Riyoko here has a taste for things exotic, and just this morning she was detailing to me the preparation of Fuju. She is absolutely delighted to find that our waters abound in puffer fish. I’m dying to try it,” ... and she gave a delicious shiver.
‘Miss Tamada smiled a smile better suited to the boardroom rather than to the deck of a schooner. All that she needed to accomplish the stereotype of a businesswoman was glasses and perhaps a statuesque body. The lean and hungry look really goes down well in business circles.
‘ “Well, she is waiting.” And I do believe that that absolute doll of a woman licked her lips, before continuing to bait the skipper. “She has heard the story that in Fiji the people, in order to terrify the Indians who were gaining dominance, once dug a long trench which they declared to be an earth oven and in which they were intending to cook them. But oddly, they are all good Christians now and have put such cannibalistic things behind them. Still, Christians do consume the body and blood of Jesus and perhaps they were ready to serve up baked Indian.”
‘The captain was ill at ease. His “glittering” eye was no more and his face was wan. He made a gesture of protest before answering in an exaggerated accent which made a mockery of his words: “Well, you ken lassie, they call it long pig out here. The heathens used to eat it as we eat mutton or beef. Some of ’em’s still got the taste for it. Just think, how succulent young pork is. How it melts in the mouth ...”
‘ “Yes, yes, I believe I can taste it,” Carla whispered, seeming to lose her composure over such a perversion. “I expect that they preferred some races ...” she added, adopting the same half-taunting tone as the captain, smiling at Miss Tamada before continuing, “such as the Indian. I don’t know about Japanese; but then I know there is eating and eating,” and she smiled again at her companion. Their eyes locked for a moment, then both stared at the old seadog.
‘ “’Tis so, Lassie, ’tis so. For starters, there’s your Chinaman,” he hesitated and looked at Miss Tamada whose eyes had turned feral. Bravely he went on: “His grub’s soya sauce, ginger and suchlike things that gets into the flesh and gives it a fragrance prized above all in New Guinea, but among these islands they preferred the Paki above the Chinee. A rare treat your Paki was. All those curries and spices give a tartness to the flesh—at least they say so,” and he broke off, suddenly flushing a deep, rich red.
‘ “And what about Europeans such as yourself?” Carla asked with a half smile directed at Miss Tamada.
‘ “Lassie, lassie ...” the captain protested.
‘ “It is a well-known fact that when their food supply gives out Europeans like a slice of, of long pig,” she replied tartly. “I have heard that they develop a craving for it.”
‘ “Too true, too true, and they who develops a taste for it, can’t stop ’emselves,” the captain whispered ...
‘'The culinary conversation was beginning to nauseate me. I was about ready to leave the group when Miss Tamada said quietly: “But there is flesh and flesh. Japanese would never eat dead human flesh, though some might like it fresh just like some like to eat monkey brains directly from the skull of the living animal. Perhaps it is possible to develop a taste for such things, just as I have developed a taste for business. It happened quite a while ago now. When I was a child I enjoyed exploring empty lots with off-limit signs. In them I imagined I would find rotten corpses, but all I found were different kinds of insects. Still, it was a delicious feeling, a scary feeling as I searched into every corner of a lot. I used to feel that the place was all mine and that something terrifying or marvellous might happen there. I had the most crazy fantasies as I roamed around. Among the wildly growing grass, I would see a scene of murder, a naked man and woman, the ghosts of a woman or child, but never, never the sight of humans cooking up a nice dish of long pig. I leave such fantasies to our captain. We have other ones ...” She looked directly at Carla who moved next to her and took her hand as she continued: “When I was much older, I had a friend, Kumi. She knew of a lot that was desolate and deserted. She said that it was very large with a big muddy pond with some fish in it. Natura
lly I wanted to go there, for she said that that every time she went to that place, she had the vague urge to kill someone. Not that she had a particular individual in mind, but she wanted to come across some one there and hit him or her with a rock. She even had decided to throw the body into the pond. She wanted to see that body rot, and watch what the water did to it ...”
‘This perhaps was worse than the captain meandering on about human flesh, and it was infinitely more perverted to hear it from the rosebud lips of that tiny Japanese woman. Carla caressed her as she continued on in her low voice: “She brought up that scary kids’ feeling in me and I wanted to go there. It was then Kumi said: ‘But I can’t promise that I won’t kill you there.’ This added to the thrill as I laughed and said: ‘Then, I’ll come back as a ghost.’ We were walking along at the time and I went along with her and stayed at her place until suppertime. She had a little girl, Nana, and as we talked she constantly interrupted us. ‘Say’, Kumi said once, ‘I’m sure that you don’t remember this, but once you told me that you wouldn’t mind if I killed you. Do you really mean it? Will you let me kill you?’ It was then that Nana wanted to pee. We took her and watched.”
‘Something was going on between the two women. Carla’s hand had stopped stroking Miss Tamada’s arm. Now, it gripped and I swear that I saw bruises start up beneath her fingers. Miss Tamada continued: “ ‘Of course not,’ I replied, pretending that Kumi was joking. It was then that Nana finished and made a face. We both burst out laughing. Kumi took her daughter on her lap, then declared to my face: ‘You were scared. I couldn’t seriously talk about dying, killing and things like that. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ I was embarrassed, and then she began to attack me. ‘You’re disgusting and sneaky. It gets to me. But you are my pet, my little pet fox. Hey, look at me. Don’t be nervous.’ ”
