The Kwinkan

by Mudrooroo

  ‘ “As I turned my face to Kumi, she grabbed my hair and pulled it. I tried to pull away, but now both my neck and wrist were in her hands. I gave up, then Kumi began to shake my body in a wild motion, her eyes wide open. Nana was between us. The girl thought we were playing some sort of game and started to giggle. I gave in to Kumi. After a time, she loosened her grip and sighed: ‘That’s right, what is important is a certificate.’ I knew then that she envied me my, my qualifications. I stroked her face, looking at her lips which were cracked. Dark red blood was oozing out. Some of the lipstick had rubbed off and she looked a fright. Then a few tears appeared in the corner of her eyes. At that moment, Nana jumped at Kumi and she fell onto the floor. She climbed up on Kumi, grabbed her hair, and pretended she was riding a horse. She kicked her mother’s chest, yelling: ‘Giddy-up, horsie, giddy up.’ I heard Kumi moan and I grabbed Nana’s arm and pulled her off. She bit my hand and I kicked her. She cried loudly as children do when they are shocked more than hurt. It was enough for me to put my hands over my ears to block out the cries.”

  ‘ “Kumi smiled at me and tried to pull herself up by holding onto my ankles. She did this suddenly and I fell face down, on top of her as if I was embracing her. Neither of us moved for awhile. I felt the heavy beating of her heart on my body. I stroked her hair. She was still. I closed my eyes while I continued to stroke. Soon I heard her regular breathing and then I bent down and tasted the blood on her lips. I lapped it up and it was so sweet, so sweet this taste of the wine of her body. And that was my first taste of blood, my very first taste.”

  ‘Miss Tamada stopped and we men looked embarrassed, and then Carla asked: “And that vacant lot, did you ever see it?”

  ‘ “I did and it was my first development for Kitsune. Now it is an apartment building and I have an apartment in it. Somehow when I am there, I remember Kumi. I feel so close to her, so close to that first taste.”

  ‘I seized the opportunity to go off for a cold beer, then returned to the deck but instead of going back to the group, I went aft to stare down into our wake. I was leaning there when something whizzed by with a scream, just missing me and plopped into the water. It was the ship’s cat and someone had flung it deliberately at me. If it had landed, I might have been a mess of scratches, or worse, in fending it off I might have fallen overboard, and so goodbye to me. Shaken, I stared at the dark spot which I imagined was the cat. I felt nothing for it. It was an awful scabby creature which befriended no one. I wondered who had used it as an instrument of attack, and whether it was a cruel joke. Then I remembered the revolver in my suitcase. Instantly, I went to my cabin to check it out. It was too bulky to conceal on my person. I shrugged and left it there. I finished my beer, got another one, and decided that the whole thing must have been a joke, or if not that the demented animal had launched itself at me. Thus quieting my fears, I went back to the group who appeared to have noticed nothing. The topic of conversation had changed to the merits and demerits of colonialism.

  ‘Carla attempted to distance herself from the colonisers. “So you had to carve out those territories, did you?” she flung at the captain.

  ‘ “Lassie, lassie, your great-grandfather was one of the best carvers in these parts. Was for their own good-got to be civilised, you ken.”

  ‘ “So to civilise them we established our plantations and forced them to work in them. If they died out, we imported Indians to do the work. So we stopped them eating each other, or dying from starvation in India, by turning them into slaves. We became the cannibals, not of their bodies, but of their souls. Now, after we’ve removed much of the native and hopefully replaced it with the slave, we are intending to give them independence while holding onto the assets and power.”

  ‘ “Or sharing it with us,” remarked Miss Tamada. “The masters and mistresses lack capital and that is where we come in. We Japanese have never been colonised nor have we been colonisers. We are not part of that world.”

  ‘ “But what about Korea and Manchuria?” I couldn't help butting in, remembering the Korean businessman I had had some dealings with and his opinion of the Japanese occupation of his country.

  ‘ “Well, what about them and your New Guinea? Our little foray ended in our soldiers eating human flesh. Now we can’t even remember those times. Once we marched out to conquer, now we wait and they, you all come to us.”

  ‘ “Oh doll, oh doll,” exclaimed Carla, suddenly getting up and moving away.

  ‘ “When we lost India, we lost everything,” the captain broke in, in a drunken voice with a sob tearing up from his imperial soul.

  ‘ “Wet, wet,” exclaimed Miss Tamada, following Carla who leant over the railing. They huddled together and the conversation came to an end. I gulped my beer and the captain sipped his whisky.

  ‘'The night grew old in dazzling splendour. Around us the sea flamed and great stretches of phosphorescent fire flowed. In the dark patches between, I imagined the naked bodies of Carla and Miss Tamada embracing as mother and child in the midst of despoiled and cannibalised bodies. I became maudlin and longed to have Carla for myself. We Europeans had grown old and tired and needed new blood to bring us energy. What use were we, when we lacked the vision to complete ourselves in this paradise? The captain and myself were far from home, whereas this was where Carla belonged and she was in the process of discarding that part which was her European heritage for another which was stronger and more, more potent. Yet, yet, I had vision and enough nous to carve out my own plantations. I would do it with Carla. I would, I would, and then for the first time I heard a sniggering within me which I instinctively knew came from that Kwinkan soul of mine. I hung over the water and in the crevasses between the waves, siren shapes formed to beckon me. Then I shuddered as I saw caught at the end of a trailing rope, the body of that wretched cat. Caught by the neck, it bobbed and thrust against the side of the boat. I vomited and bile came to embitter my lips. I found the rope and untied the end. The cat flung itself away and was gone. How I wish that I had floated away with it, for the conversation had upset me more than I could admit, then ...’

  SESSION FIVE

  ‘Perhaps with my last words you may think that I was falling into that mood of despondency which, I have heard, often befalls Europeans in the tropics. This definitely was not so. I enjoyed delightful company, had a plentiful supply of my favourite Queensland beer, the heat had lessened to an agreeable warmth and I was embarked on a five-day voyage to a chain of unspoilt islands. Any tourist would have given his eyeteeth to be in my shoes ... But, why do you mention that cat, that mangy animal which had succumbed to mania and launched itself at me? Cats are like that and the boat was better off without it. No, nothing else happened to me. I tell you I was in an enjoyable, in fact a blissful position which you are right to envy. I ask you, have you sailed along in your own enchanted world alone with the boundless ocean and sky ... and perhaps a cannibal skipper? Come on, they were having me on. And the Japanese woman and her dislike? A very successful businesswoman of the Kitsune Corporation who was attractive in her own petite way. Those oriental women ... you get me? No, I am not being sexist, I give her her due.

  ‘Well, the day after the cannibal conversation, giant birds ... were they albatross? I’m an authority on birds of a different feather, you get me, mate? Ha-ha, a joke. Now, let me continue ... These giant birds came to circle the ship with all the grace of native dancing girls. Beneath them skimmed a shoal of flying fish, and as I watched one by one the great birds fell from the sky to scoop them up. When they were finished, only a single fish floated belly-up in the now light, translucent, green water (it had changed overnight), in which the different colours of jellyfish, brown, purple, pink and rainbow hued pulsated like so many orchids. Carla came to my side and leant over the railing to point out a bluish specimen. She flashed a roguish grin at me, then dared me to dive over the side and bring it to her. I hummed and hawed. “I’m sure that the captain will heave to for a few minutes for you,” she said, kno
wing that he would do anything for her. I replied that I might use a net, and she asked: “What is the name of that one ... tell me?” I stared at the thing, what could I call it? Then, impelled by some bizarre need for honesty, I confessed: “I don’t know!”

  ‘The three words dropped from my mouth and tumbled into our wake where they floated like, well, like discovered lies. I stared at that damnable jellyfish and blurted out again, “No, I don’t know, I really don’t know,” then my Aussie cunning came to my rescue and I added: “All I know is that it is an extremely poisonous species, and if those stings dangling below touched my bare skin it would be all over with me.”

  ‘My words startled her. She placed a hand on my shoulder and said: “Don’t let it bother you. Relax, empty your mind for a moment and the name’ll come to you. It always does.”

  ‘I nodded, though I missed whether she affirmed or denied that the species was poisonous. Later, I discovered it was and if I had taken up her dare and gone over the side, I might have ended belly-up like the flying fish. Still, the lack of a suitable name for the bloody thing upset me. I banged my fist on the railing and declared: “I don’t know!”

  ‘To this display of, of petulance, she smiled sympathetically and replied: “Even a scientist is not expected to know everything. You after all are a specialist?”

  ‘ “Still,” I muttered sheepishly, hating to continue to lie to my fair companion, “it is close to my field and I should know.”

  ‘Then I heard my lying voice continue on in a sad parody of my life. I suffered from these blackouts. They threatened my career, no matter how hard I tried, the simplest things and concepts and precepts disappeared from my mind. “Why, sometimes,” I said coming perilously close to the truth, “I almost fail to remember exactly what, or who I am.”

  ‘ “But the Nobel Prize?” she hinted.

  ‘And then I cursed myself, for the Japanese woman knew who I was and if she knew then this woman also did, or did she? She, she seemed so sympathetic. Bewildered by the contradiction, I continued to exaggerate towards the edge of inanity. For the life of me I couldn’t tell this, this beauteous creature, the truth, I was stuck with my pelagic jelly, and so I, this skinny tall man in his checkered shorts and long white socks, muttered about the hardness of life when cursed by such an impediment. I even gave a wild laugh of despair, and all the recent events and humiliations which had been lurking in my subconscious drove me on.

  ‘ “So now you know that I’m not perfect, that I suffer from serious memory lapses, and you’ll despise me,” I cried, hating the sound of the whine entering into my voice. “Please, understand. It is hard, hard.” And I buried my face in my hands and wondered if I could go on in this vein, for I felt no elation in leading this woman astray, or down the garden path. Perhaps you too find me despicable, and I confess that often I have found myself despicable. I can find no excuses for my past actions. I enjoyed cheating people, I enjoyed it and often found myself following a line of lies though my victim had ferreted out the truth from others. This was the case here too, but I was blinded by, by passion, so much so that I really believed myself to be a scientist and began pointing out the differences which distinguished that blue monstrosity from other jellyfish, though my only contact with such creatures was with the stingers that infested the Queensland coast in the summer season, and it was from them that I had formed the opinion that the blue in the jellyfish signified poison as it did in the stingers.

  ‘Then my language fell away. Sentences became disjointed, verbs became lost, adjectives missed their nouns, clauses floated belly-up in the briny. I stuttered and sought for words like a toddler. I felt that I was crossing over that verge into the breakdown that I had so far avoided.

  ‘ “Terrible, terrible. A loss.” Like a parrot mouthing empty phrases. “What am I saying? Please, let it be. Everything fine. Memory, you know, lapse. Jellyfish, pelgasmic jelly.” Lie after lie. How to live like that? Sea. Ocean. Fish. Giant birds. Blue now green. Who flung that cat? A trap, trap. “Sorry, sorry for being, just being, like, well, you know, I expect you don’t. Quite brilliant, really. My resume. Why, I don’t know?” . . . Did I ramble like that to her? I don’t know. Then my language turned cloying: “You’re so sweet, so understanding, so wholesome, so all that I am not, please be my salvation, my redemption! Don’t turn your back on me, please don’t.”

  ‘Carla stared at me while I carried on in this fashion. I shot glances at her to see how she was taking it. I thought I detected compassion in her eyes. Yes, I did, and the sympathy of that adorable woman made me exult in suffering. I saw astonishment combined with a joy that I had chosen her to reveal my weakness to. They love it, don’t they, when a strong man collapses in emotional confusion? Now I saw a vast pity flowing with love for this poor academic. Yes, yes, it’s true. At that moment, I swear I saw, I was absolutely sure that the woman loved me; but then, why do I also see, why do I remember something else, that her eyes flickered with malice and irony? Why, why, except that she knew my story was a complete pack of lies? But if this is so, why didn’t she flee from me? Why did she stay and listen? Did she find some value in me? Were the bright red eyes of the Kwinkan winking out at her. Was she a Gyinggi woman anxious to trap me ... who had trapped me? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, for this loss of control, it is, was then unusual. Ask any of my previous acquaintances and good time buddies, I was an able real estate broker, the best on the Gold Coast, then I lost all, and by all, I mean all.

  ‘Finally I ran out of embellishments, and she said gently and simply: “I have read that genius is next to insanity, and in your case, it appears to be so ...” Her voice trailed off into one whispered word. It was then she gave a little laugh as she took my hand and confided in me about a scientist who had come to the islands: “This scientist, one like you. The British Government sent him out to our islands to overcome a sugarcane pest which was decimating our crop. He never ever settled down to work. Instead, he stayed on in our only town with my uncle and confined his researches to the rum we distilled. He eventually succumbed, succumbed to the rigours of our way of life. By then our sugarcane pest had long disappeared along with our crop. In a way this was a blessing, for it forced us to go into other, and more profitable, crops. In fact, because of our cultivation of rare and expensive oil plants, he was indirectly responsible for the founding of Sas Enterprises. You know, I have even named our research and development department after him.”

  ‘She gave that low little laugh again and her eyes filled with a voluptuousness as she took my face between her hands and stated: “You scumbag, you bullshit artist.”

  ‘I shuddered and tried to draw away my face, but her grip was strong. I stammered out: “Carla, Carla, please, I can’t help it. I have been through trying times. My enemies have got me down. I am at the end of my tether.” My fluttering hands touched her hips and clung. I felt her breasts quiver against my chest. I looked into her eyes which were almost level with mine as I brokenly quavered: “Carla, Carla, I love you, love me in return, please?”

  ‘It was then I felt the Kwinkan stirring in my mind. It was he who answered the message of her body. I pressed myself against her and stayed there unable to move. She held me and I could not withdraw. It was then that I should have pulled away, should have raced to my cabin and locked myself in. I wasn’t that far gone, I could have escaped; but no, I felt that she and I were of the same nature. I murmured how much I loved her and it was she who pushed me away. She looked me over and said: “I don’t know. I’ll talk to you later in your cabin.”

  ‘A flame of green fire leapt from her eyes and then she was gone leaving me badly shaken. I felt that I had lost something I needed. And what I needed then was a cold beer. I got it and returned to the deck. As I up-ended it into my mouth, I stared at the stubby masts which barely swayed, though they quivered owing to the vibration of the engine. I was like those masts, vibrating to the remembered touch of that glorious body. I became a man ready to engage in an affair. Somehow, th
e message had passed between us. I finished my tinny, then lent on the rail humming an absurd popular song about how love makes the world go ’round. I felt I had it all, but deep inside a laugh commenced and continued until I drowned it in another beer.

  ‘I felt it was time I repaired to my cabin to await my dear visitor. I pushed open my door and stumbled into disarray. A businessman is always tidy. Someone had rifled my things. Shirts and socks and shoes and shorts were flung about. The bunk had been stripped and the mattress thrown onto the floor. What was I to make of it? I saw my empty upturned suitcase. I searched for my revolver. It was gone. I created more mess as I searched feverishly for it. Not only was it a means of protection, but I had had to sign for it, and one day the Government would exact its pound of flesh for its loss.

  ‘It was then that a gentle knock touched my door. I opened it to reveal the smiling face of Carla. She pushed past me and exclaimed at the sight: “I knew that academics were messy, but this is positively diabolical. Why, I remember a professor in my university, he was dishevelled, but never like this.” She was going to detail her experiences when a shot was fired. This was followed by two more in rapid succession. “Oh, my God!” I exclaimed and raced out onto the deck. I stopped in amazement, for there stood Miss Tamada with my .357 magnum in her small fist.

  ‘ “This gun is a cheap copy of the real thing,” she stated. “It not only fires to the right, but high as well.”

  ‘ “Does it?” replied Carla coming to her friend and taking the revolver from her hand. She adopted a firing stance, two hands clasped around the butt and knees bent. Miss Tamada tossed overboard one of my discarded tinnies. Carla sighted on it as it spun around in our wake. She let go three rapid shots at the target.

  ‘ “You’re right, Riyoko,” she said. “I couldn’t even hit that can once. Obviously a cheap imitation, perhaps from Taiwan.” She passed the revolver to me and said: “Here, you try it.”