The Kwinkan

by Mudrooroo

  ‘He made a gesture as if catching flies, then repeated and added and elaborated: “Embryologist? You are, eh? Like this, in the wood, up on the mountain, catching little butterflies, tra-la, tra-la. Bright gaudy butterflies spread out and stuck with pins. That little girl claims, she is a fox,” and he pointed at Miss Tamada.

  ‘She snarled and wriggled her nose and darted what was certainly a feral look at me; but what had this to do with embryology? “Yes,” I said as if in agreement, then switched: “But it is more in the classification, don’t you think?”

  ‘I expected him as a scientist to agree, for once in a company of scientists holidaying on the Gold Coast, I had been almost bored to tears with their conversation, but I had learnt that scientists always looked on classification as the science and considered that pure research, or the collecting of specimens, was nothing else but an excuse for a research grant to buy the most expensive computers and the most complex software in order to create the most elegant form of what essentially was a list.

  ‘The bait was not taken. He replied: “Very interesting, of the utmost interest is the Japanese belief in werefoxes. Werefoxes, such a, well, such a treat for an old man. Little teeth nibbling. Pretty things, foxes.”

  ‘ “A fox has a tight box,” said Miss Tamada in a serious voice.

  ‘ “Yes, but the teeth, the little nibbling teeth. Curious, very curious. An old man’s joy.” And his chin waggled up and down and his mouth moved, but no words came.

  ‘'The boy returned to refresh our glasses. Sir Joseph absently took a huge swallow, then pulled himself up from his cane chair. The chairs were like traps and once in them, it was difficult to get out. He had confided in me that this type of seating was best for the tropics as they provided an armrest to support his drinking arm on and a womb-like feeling that made for security. He reached down, grabbed my hand in his and pulled me to my feet without strain, then he took me into his office and to a heavy Chinese cupboard on the top of which stood three busts each crowned with a plastic lily. He pointed at the first: “Charles Darwin, a great naturalist, a very great naturalist, yes?”

  ‘ “Of course,” I quickly agreed. It had been a question on a quiz show, the compere of which I had met at Jupiter’s where I watched him lose more than a few thousand dollars at roulette.

  ‘The strange bird nodded wisely, then pointed to the second bust: “Mr Haeckel, another great naturalist, not as great as Darwin, but still great. This one liked little nibbling fish, little fish like butterflies,” he added with a smirk.

  ‘ “Yes, yes a great man,” I stated, then added, “though not as great as the master.” To tell the truth, I had never heard the name before and still do not know who or what he was. Perhaps one day I might look it up in a biographical dictionary, but why? Haeckel, more likely Heckel and Jeckel, for the old bloke was ready for the loony bin.

  ‘Sir Joseph placed his dried-out paw next to the lily on top of the remaining bust and declared with a shout: “Sir Richard Burton, the greatest naturalist of them all. His Perfumed Garden is superb, but he never reached Japan where the girls bloom like lotuses and the werefoxes gambol under the full moon. But still superb and far above such base imitators as Mirabeau and his Pleasure Garden.”

  ‘I hastened to agree, for Richard Burton was indeed a fine actor with a fine taste in women. Why, the eyes of Elizabeth Taylor were almost as beautiful as those of Carla.

  ‘He took me back to the women who were chitchatting about womanly things. I excused myself and went to my room. When I arrived I checked for my mouth refreshers and then for some unaccountable reason, I pulled down the sheet on my bed. Someone was playing a practical joke on me, for there lurked the strangest prawn I had ever seen. Well, the island did breed weird and wonderful characters like Sir Joseph, so why not strange prawns? I decided to play a trick on Carla, perhaps push it down the back of her dress. I would enjoy watching her squirm. I was about to pick it up when it moved. There seemed to be some sort of sting on its tail, so I manoeuvred it into a water tumbler and carried it back to the others. Miss Tamada stared at me as I entered. Carla looked up and saw the glass. “What have you there?” she asked.

  “Only a live prawn,” I grinned and went to upturn the glass into my hand.

  “Don’t, don’t, it’s a deadly scorpion,” Sir Joseph exclaimed, quickly taking the glass from me and covering it with a plate.

  ‘ “Are you sure?” Carla asked, peering at the glass. “We don’t have scorpions on the island.”

  ‘ “My dear, it’s certain. My doctoral dissertation was on scorpions and this is one of the most deadly.”

  ‘I turned pale and began shaking. Carla came to me and put an arm around me: “Oh darling, you could have got a nasty bite,” she said. I shuddered and agreed. Someone was out to get me, and alone and without aid, they most likely would. I had to get to a place of safety; but where?’

  SESSION EIGHT

  ‘I’m sorry that I had to terminate the last session. Even now thinking of that frightful insect gives me the willies. It is not often that one comes face to face with death; and not often that you realise that you have become a target of enemies unknown ... And you say that Haeckel was a nineteenthcentury German biologist, a follower of evolution and a supporter of Darwin’s theory? Well, it means nothing to me, absolutely nothing. And that Sir Richard Burton was not the actor, but the famous explorer and eroticist? But the bust was the spitting image of the film star and after all, well wasn’t he also an eroticist and an explorer of beautiful women? Sorry, I jest, I jest. Great actor, Burton; great woman, Elizabeth, at least in her prime. And this Mirabeau? A French writer, and naturally of dirty books. Well, enough of these, these old timers. What were they to me when I had discovered a poisonous insect in my bed?

  ‘I was filled with apprehension. Wouldn’t you have been? Worse, I began adding up the incidents: the flung moggy, my cabin being searched and my revolver being appropriated; the gangplank giving way under me, and now the poisonous insect. Someone was, or some people were, out to get me; but who, who? I could dismiss the old dodderer and dear sweet Carla, but Miss Riyoko Tamada was definitely a suspect. Still, who could believe that a prominent Japanese businesswoman would stoop to attempted murder? It didn’t seem possible; but stranger things have happened, and that story she had told ... Yes, definitely a suspect! Then the Tui-tui was still in port, supposedly hanging about owing to engine repairs. The old sea-dog, a suspect? Difficult to believe; but not impossible. A member of his crew, one of those Lascars, more than possible. I racked my brains throughout the night and reached the conclusion that perhaps members of some freedom movement on the island had mistakenly judged me to be a supporter of the ruling family. Could they be engineering the murder of an Australian diplomat, albeit one without the appropriate credentials, to score media attention? Yes, they could! I needed my revolver for protection. I cursed the captain for depriving me of it. Why, he might be part of the very gang plotting my death ...

  ‘A sleepless night did not help my mood and before breakfast I had a quick gin and lime to settle my nerves. It helped and I was more than relieved to be told by Carla that we were to go to her house on the mountain that very day. I would have liked to be rid of Miss Tamada, but alas she was accompanying us and I would have to remain on guard. At least the house was above such things as heat and mosquitoes. In my relief, I recalled that I had another reason to look forward to going there. Once, when I had complained about the lack of comeliness in the island women, Carla had spoken about a beautiful woman who took care of her bungalow when she was absent. She had featured as a model in a number of Sas ads, and as they only employed the most ravishing of females, I was all agog to see this creature. I expected her to meet us when our car pulled up in front of the modern bungalow halfdug into the mountain slope, but there was no sign of her. Servants, both islander and Indian there were; but no beautiful Maria. After we had settled in without undue incident, I casually mentioned her. Carla turned solemn and inf
ormed me that she had died.

  ‘ “Died?” I jerked out. “But she was young, in her late teens, or early twenties. Come on,” I said, trying for levity, “you’re having me on. Where is she?”

  ‘ “I truly wish I could produce her, but she is really and truly dead. She left me while I was away.” She said this with such solemnity and with tears starting into her beautiful eyes that I could not but believe her. Miss Tamada, who was in the room with us, went to her and held her for a long while. I looked on embarrassed, for the scene was one of some intimacy; but then women are always hugging and fondling one another. They are soft physical creatures, unlike us men, aren’t they?

  ‘The interior of Carla’s bungalow reflected her femininity, being furnished with a degree of soft luxury which I had not seen before. The furnishings there positively reeked of the decadent, as did, for that matter, the clothing which the two women changed into as soon as they arrived. Miss Tamada had dressed in a flowing kimono which could only remind me of the waitresses in the Japanese restaurants along the Gold Coast and Carla had on some sort of sheer, shimmering silk thing which draped her figure admirably. She had tried to get me into a sarong; but I resisted and settled for shorts and T-shirt and casual thongs. I seemed the odd person out as I gazed at the two women clinging to each other on a wide, silk-covered divan which Carla had informed me (she was a great one for information) had been the love couch of the Maharajah of Jaipur or some such place in India. I had to sit on a low cushion as there were no chairs and thus was on the level of Carla’s nasty little Pekinese which had welcomed me into the house by taking a piece out of my ankle. Now it reposed beside the divan with its swollen eyes staring at me. It marked my every move with a little move of its own which kept me on my guard.

  ‘Well, with the description out of the way, I should, I must return to the sad bereavement.

  ‘Carla finally pulled herself together and raised a tear-stained face in which her green eyes shone like pieces of the finest jade. “I’m sorry, so sorry about it all, darling. I felt awful, really awful when I was told. You must have noticed how out of sorts I was in Hermansburg, just as you must have noticed some of those poor creatures with their limbs all puffed up. Such a sadness, such an affliction. Miss Tamada has sent a report back on the Tui-tui and she is certain that the Kitsune Corporation will dispatch a medical team to end the malady once and for all. Such a tragedy ...”

  ‘ “You mean the gingerbread men?” I exclaimed.

  ‘ “Well, that is a bit facetious. They suffer from a variant of elephantiasis. It does awful things to human bodies, especially to male bodies ...”

  ‘ “My God, you don’t mean that I might catch it?” Visions of my limbs swollen to the proportions of a Russ Hinze flashed into my mind, and there was no escape for by now the Tuitui would have sailed. “Why wasn’t I told of this?” I demanded.

  ‘ “No need to feel concerned about your own pretty body, darling,” she said tartly. “It is endemic to the islands, but cases have only been found among the native population and some of the Indians. There is not one single case of a European or a mixed blood having come down with it. If you want to see it as anything, see it as a racial pox ...”

  ‘ “Thank God, thank God,” I exclaimed, though still keeping my options open. If there was one disease there might be other virulent ones ready to attack those without immunity.

  ‘ “Somehow,” and Carla began snivelling again, “Maria caught the disease and she found it terrifying. You know;·everything can be terrifying in the tropics: love and hatred, illness and even health, bloom and decay, stress and relaxation. You know I loved her so, so very much. She was so beautiful in that superlative fashion which I strive for in Sas advertising and which I rarely find. I found it in her. I wept and wept when I heard what had happened ...”

  ‘She broke down again, and Miss Tamada took her into her arms. I watched uneasily. Finally, she quieted and Miss Tamada ceased her physical comfortings, staring at me as if I were an intruder before talking to her in a soft voice. “You know,” she said, speaking to me as much as to Carla, “sometimes it is better that a friendship ends abruptly and finally. I am not being cruel, far from it. I remember that my relationship with my friend, Kumi, became weaker and weaker, and as it became weaker and weaker it also became virulent and inclined towards hatred. We avoided each other. Eventually, I couldn’t stand the separation and one Sunday I went to her door. It was locked. I knocked, but it continued to stand between us as a barrier. I saw that the door was locked from the inside and so she must be inside, so I kept on knocking and knocking. I called out ‘Kumi!’ No reply. I shouted, ‘Kumi, Kumi!’ Suddenly, the door opened. She stood there in only her underwear. Nana was hanging onto her waist. Seeing her like that made me lose all my strength. I had to lean against the door. A man was in the room. A man sitting by the window with his back to the door. A bald man with his back to the door. I found this very odd and he didn’t appear familiar. While I was staring at him over her naked shoulder, she banged the door shut. I heard her locking it. It was over. It had lost its savour ...”

  ‘She stopped and it was Carla’s turn to begin murmuring her woes: “When her right leg began swelling, she didn’t realise what it was at first, then the other followed. She took to wearing long skirts to hide them. Then her body and arms were attacked. She hid away in her room and only ventured out at night. The only one who was allowed to see her was an old Indian woman, believed by the islanders to be a witch. She is a herbalist, an excellent one. In fact, I’ve researched and marketed a number of her compounds. There is one especially which works wonders on the complexion. She tried to treat Maria with herbal compounds, but it was no use, no use at all ...”

  ‘ “Carla, Carla don’t torment yourself, put it out of your mind. Be like me and remember only her beauty, never her ugliness.” And now it was Miss Tamada’s turn to blubber and Carla’s turn to comfort her. “Kumi also had turned ugly, but in her mind. She called me often, accusing me of being a spy, a traitor, an informer. Before, I had been concerned about her condition, now she only irritated me. I listened to what she said without responding ...”

  ‘But Carla did not listen for long, and broke in morbidly: “The old woman described to me how Maria’s face became a giant pouch, a cow’s udder which wobbled and swung every time she moved. The disease spread rapidly. Her two eyes became like buttons stuck on a football. Oh, Riyoko, it was terrible and sad.” She began a wild wailing, and the roles were exchanged again.

  ‘Miss Tamada administered physical relief, while murmuring: “Kumi too became repulsive to me. I dreaded, I became afraid of running into her on the street. Perhaps, I should have been closer to her. I thought I could feel Kumi’s sweaty body on my skin and I loathed it ...”

  ‘ “And Maria used to steal out at night. I imagine her on moonlit nights, her body wobbling and bouncing; a soggy ball of liquid down the slope. She was looking for a particular flower which grows on our mountain, a deadly flower and she used that ...”

  ‘Suddenly the attacks on my life returned to haunt me, and I couldn’t hold myself in. “You mean, there is a poisonous flower growing on this mountain?”

  ‘ “Yes, a delicate white flower. And then she found that flower. It is somewhat rare. I can just imagine how, how tenderly she grasped it and brought it to her lips. I imagine her last thoughts. She thinks that there still might be a cure, then in a drop of dew clinging to that flower she sees the monstrosity she has become. Worse, she sees the reality of her fingers, great brown sausages struggling to hold the tender beauty of that flower—and unable to bear the sight she quickly pushes it through her great blubber lips. Oh, Maria, Maria, was it you, really you?” Again she breaks down and Miss Tamada holds her until she quiets.

  ‘I look around for some drinks. They would buck all of us up, but there wasn’t any and I feel the time is propitious to ask where they are.

  ‘ “There, there, Carla, there, there,” Miss Tamada whispered. “I
know how it is. I do, I do. I remember seeing Kumi standing at the gate of my mother’s house. She stood there alone, all alone. I must have looked nervous and startled, for she began to laugh. She wore torn jeans and a tight red T-shirt and looked haggard ... She had gained some weight. Her lips and nails were painted red: I had never seen her before wearing such vivid lipstick. It made her lips appear coated with fresh blood. It, it frightened me, and it is the thing I remember most about her now ...”

  ‘ “That old Indian amah told me a strange thing,” Carla cut in, whispering her own tale of woe. “Maria was fond of pearls and I used to make her gifts of them. These islands were once surrounded by pearl-bearing oyster beds which my family plundered in amassing our fortune. They kept some pearls aside for a rainy day. Maria became my rainy day woman and I showered pearls on her. She seemed to get almost a sexual pleasure out of decking her brown beauty with them. Such a beautiful body and the pearls added lustre to it. It appears that when the disease gained a hold on her, it affected her mind. Her love of pearls became an obsession and she wore as many as she could. Then as the disease advanced, an extraordinary thing happened, the pearls began dying. They lost their lustre and darkened until they lay against her skin like tiny, round cinders. The amah swears this really happened and I have no reason to doubt her. It is what I remember about her now, here ...” and her voice began to break ... “her bloated body and her dead pearls. Oh God, oh God ...”

  ‘ “There, there,” Miss Tamada murmured. “I remember those bloody lips. I spoke to her trying not to look at them, telling myself to have a normal voice, a normal expression and normal gestures. But the more I tried, the more difficult it became. I knew that Kumi couldn’t have failed to notice how I was acting. It began badly, continued badly, and degenerated into insults. I had loved her and now all that was left was an embarrassment which hurts when I think about it.”