by Hill, David
Darryl realised he was staring: the smile, the sudden friendliness, the dark hair and eyes. Quickly, he went: ‘Yeah. Yeah, sure. How do we get out there? By boat?’
The girl shook her head. ‘We walk. I will show.’
Mrs Davis came out of the lodge, holding her camera. ‘We’ve still got enough photos left. The reef sounds a good place to take some.’
She wore white shorts and a striped top. Alicia gazed at her. ‘You are pretty.’
Darryl’s mother touched the girl’s arm. ‘Thank you, dear. So are you.’
How about we stop all the soppy talk? Darryl went to himself.
But she was right: his mum did look pretty. Pretty and younger, somehow.
‘You have shoes?’ Alicia glanced down at their feet. ‘Good. The reef is sharp.’
‘How about you?’ Darryl’s mother peered at the bare brown toes. The girl giggled. ‘My uncle say my feet is – are – hard. Even harder than my head, he say.’
She led them along the beach, in the opposite direction from where he’d headed to climb Mount (Mount!) Duff. ‘We walk on reef there.’ She pointed towards the far end of the sand, where a dark line led out into the sea.
‘No sharks, I hope?’ asked Mrs Davis.
The girl nodded. ‘Sometime. Not now.’ As the other two stared, she said, ‘They swim north in winter, to warm parts. For to have their babies. Sometime we see whales in deep part, and … I forget the name … eagle rays.’ Wow! Darryl went to himself.
As they reached the end of the beach, Alicia lifted one hand. ‘Wait, please.’
Darryl looked where she was gazing. The same old lady he’d seen before, kneeling and tossing something into the sea. ‘She is Noah’s grandmama,’ Alicia murmured. ‘Another grandson has died on the fishing boat when my father is drowned. Noah must go to help them some days.’
They stood watching. ‘She dreams the sea has poison now,’ Alicia said. ‘She pray to the ocean, throw clean sand to make the water good again.’
After a few moments, the old figure straightened up and moved back into the trees. The other three walked on, towards where a long belt of lumpy, greyish rock curved into the ocean, just beneath the water. They began wading out, placing their feet carefully on the rough surface. Small green and pink plants swayed. They were ankle-deep, then shin-deep, then knee-deep.
Longer, thicker plants, purple and orange, stirred as they moved past. Starfish, small, plump and dark-red, or long-armed and greeny-blue. A flicker of gold-and-red, and a small fish darted by. ‘Oh, look!’ exclaimed Darryl’s mother, as others glided past. Some had orange fins and bright blue bodies; some were striped black and white like tiny ocean zebras.
‘Wonderful!’ Mrs Davis kept going. ‘Just beautiful!’
Darryl gazed around, at the perfect blue arch of sky, the sparkling stretch of sea. He wanted to remember this forever.
His mother threw her arms around him. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous, Da?’ As Darryl stood stiff with embarrassment, he saw Alicia smiling at them, but with a different look in her eyes. He thought again of how her parents had died.
They picked their way out for another twenty metres or so. The water was just above their knees now, warm and calm. Fish flitted all around; it was like standing in a tropical aquarium.
‘A photo! Alicia, would you please take a photo of us? Take two.’ His mother passed over the camera, and put an arm around her son.
Alicia aimed the camera. ‘Say fromage – is French word for cheese.’ She clicked. ‘Encore – again.’
Mrs Davis reached out a hand. ‘Thank you, dear. Now I’ll take one of you and Darryl.’
I don’t have to put my arm around her, do I? Darryl thought.
He and the girl stood side by side, not looking at each other. She was shorter than he’d realised. Her hair stirred in the soft breeze; it smelt clean.
‘Great!’ went his mother. ‘Now, I’m going to work on my report. You two can stay and look some more. Darryl, you should be wearing that sunhat. You’ll get burned, and your nose will peel.’
‘Shut up, Mum,’ Darryl muttered under his breath, as his mother started wading back towards the beach. He and Alicia still didn’t look at each other. The warm water lapped. More jewel-coloured fish slipped past. Darryl lifted his face to the sun – never mind the sunburn! – and spoke before he realised it. ‘This is just amazing!’
Alicia stood gazing out to sea also. ‘You can know now why I do not want the bomb.’
‘I know the tests must seem really bad to you, but atomic weapons can stop wars from happening. They make it too dangerous. Nuclear bombs help keep us safe.’
It sounded weird as he said it. Even weirder, Alicia just nodded. ‘I have read that, too. But our water and our beaches are how we eat, where we live. We do not want the radioactive in them.’
‘Look,’ the firmness in his voice startled Darryl, ‘my grandfather was a prisoner-of-war in Japan in World War II. The Japanese said that all of the prisoners would be killed if they were invaded. He’d survived being captured and starved and all sorts of things. And now they might all be taken out and shot.’
The girl’s dark eyes were fixed on him.
‘Grandad was a hundred kilometres away from Hiroshima, but the whole sky flashed, and there was this sound like mountains falling. The moment he saw the black mushroom cloud pouring up, he knew somehow he was going to live.’ A pause. Was he actually saying all this? ‘And sure enough, the Japs surrendered. So the nuclear weapons saved his life. And they probably saved thousands – maybe millions – of those who would have been caught up in the invasion.’
Alicia was silent for a few seconds. She looked at him, really looked, in a way no girl ever had before. ‘Thank you. That is true, too. It is trouble sometimes to decide, oui?’
She smiled, so suddenly that Darryl blinked. ‘We will not have the argument anymore. You are our guest.’ She pronounced it ‘goo-est’; Darryl made sure he didn’t grin.
She’s different, he knew. She’s not behaving like she was before. What—
The girl interrupted his thoughts. ‘I say the word right? It is goo-est?’
Darryl felt awkward. He didn’t want to sound like a teacher. ‘Actually, it’s “gest”.’
Alicia sighed. ‘My English is poor.’
‘No. No, you’re good. I— I can’t speak French at all.’
The girl’s teeth shone again. ‘I will teach you. “Fish” is poisson. “Shark” is requin.’
Darryl mumbled ‘Poison … reckon’, and she laughed. She’s teasing me again, he realised. He didn’t mind; he almost liked it. And he felt glad that the ‘Someone must stop’ business seemed all over and done with.
They picked their way a little further along the reef. It was like walking on a rainbow: fish, plants, the clean green water on either side. A small, perfectly round rock showed just above the surface. Wait until he told his friends back home about this.
A canoe with two men slid past, twenty metres away, fishing nets draped over the side. One man called out to Alicia, who waved. ‘My uncle’s cousin. They search for fish – is not easy to find now.’ She glanced towards the shore; the beach was empty. ‘I am sorry ton père – your father – has gone away.’
Darryl glanced at her, and she looked embarrassed. ‘My auntie tell me.’ He remembered his mother and Lily talking together as they strolled to church that morning.
‘I’m sorry about your dad, too.’ Once again, his words startled him. He glanced at the girl; had he put his foot in his big mouth?
But her face was quiet. ‘I am sad for him. I wish to – I will – do things for him.’ She looked at the beach a second time. ‘Will you see your father?’
At first he didn’t know what to say. ‘I hope so. Yeah, I hope so. He’s in Australia.’
Her head came up, and she stared at him. ‘My cousin, he has worked in Australia.’ She paused for a moment, then she went on, quickly: ‘You can sail on the boat to Australia? From la Nouvelle-Zél
ande?’
When he told her how far it was, she breathed ‘Oh là là!’ like the woman teacher had, and once more he had to try not to grin.
‘Your school?’ she asked next. ‘How is it like?’
So Darryl told her about the number of kids (she gasped), and the boring grey uniform (she shook her head), and how it was boys only. Alicia looked puzzled. ‘Why are not girls there?’
Because they’re weird, said Darryl – silently. She was so different from the strange, prickly person he’d talked to on the beach yesterday afternoon. He remembered something else. ‘That guy you were with—’
But Alicia was looking around at the sea. ‘The tide is coming up. We must leave. Or perhaps we ride un requin, yes?’
They smiled at each other, glanced away. Then Alicia’s expression suddenly changed. She was staring at the little round rock. It had moved, he saw. Then, as she pressed her hands to her mouth and gasped, he realised also.
The dead turtle floated face-down, shell just breaking the surface. It was black along one side. What had—
A soft surge of water lifted the body and tilted it. Darryl’s lips drew back as he gazed. The long neck and delicate head were half-burned away. One eye had gone. The beak was blackened as well. The turtle looked as though fire had stormed all over it.
‘It is the bomb!’ Alicia gabbled. ‘The bomb has killed it!’
Darryl made himself speak. ‘It could have been any—’
The girl jerked her head. Her eyes still stared. ‘Non! Les tortues – the turtles – they swim the deep ocean. They never are on land, unless they lay eggs. This one has been near Mururoa, and the bomb kills it! Horrible!’
Darryl was silent. Another little wave lifted the dead creature. Slowly it began to drift away from the reef. Alicia stood, hands squeezed together, murmuring to herself in French or Mangarevan. The water lapped higher around their legs. Finally she dragged in a breath, and said once more, ‘We must leave.’
They picked their way back, through glittering little fish, bright gardens of underwater plants, and out onto the crunchy sand. But it was the dead, blackened turtle that Darryl kept seeing.
As they started back along the beach, the girl took another deep breath, and asked: ‘Your school has pupils from our islands? From le Pacifique?’
She’d got control of herself again. Darryl felt relieved. ‘Yeah. Maybe Noah could come to us?’
Alicia nodded. ‘That is good. And perhaps I— your mother ask me. I— I go to Tahiti and then … then I think …’
Her voice trailed away. Darryl glanced at her. She must be picturing that scorched body again. It was horrible all right, no matter what had caused it. They were almost at the lodge now.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I will help my auntie for dinner.’
Darryl remembered something. ‘You’ve got a visitor coming?’
The girl hesitated. ‘Yes. He—’
But Darryl was staring ahead, at where a figure in blue trousers, sandals, and a white shirt stood by the lodge, watching them come. The man saw Darryl gazing, and raised a hand.
Alicia saw the newcomer at the same time. She checked, then moved forward, reached up, and kissed him on both cheeks.
‘Dah-reel,’ she went. ‘Dah-reel, this is Raoul. My cousin.’
SIXTEEN
Well, she had said she’d got a cousin who worked in Australia, and he – Raoul – had said on the plane that he had family here, and Lily had said that nearly everyone on Mangareva was related to nearly everyone else. So it made sense.
And he wasn’t her boyfriend. Why am I thinking about that? Darryl wondered.
Raoul sat at their table for dinner: another brilliant meal – fish, pineapple … and more pineapple! He shook hands with Darryl’s mother. ‘Madame Day-vees and Monsieur Day-vees, we follow each other around!’
Darryl glimpsed Alicia in the entrance to the kitchen, standing and listening. She turned away. She’d said nothing about the dead turtle. Maybe she realised it wasn’t something to talk about while people were eating.
Napoleon came in. Raoul stood, and they embraced each other. Imagine New Zealand guys hugging, thought Darryl. That would be so weird! ‘So you meet my nephew,’ Napoleon said to the Davises. ‘He is my—’ he counted it off on his fingers. ‘My sister’s husband’s son’s cousin. On Mangareva, it make him family!’
‘Raoul grow up sometime here, sometime Tahiti,’ added Lily as she brought fresh plates to the table. ‘When he is here, he boss Alicia; tell her what to do.’
Everybody laughed. Man, Darryl thought, can anyone do that?
‘Always he want to be flier,’ Napoleon told them. ‘He makes pest of himself at airport, watching planes.’
‘Are you flying back with us on Sunday?’ Darryl’s mother asked.
A look seemed to dart between Raoul and Alicia, who was taking the used plates from her auntie. Raoul smiled. ‘Yes. I am passenger, not pilot, though.’
He began talking about the planes he liked best. ‘Big planes get wider. Eight seats across, not just six. Lots of jet planes, and strong engines. After man reach the moon in 1969, space rockets give new ideas.’
There was a lot of talking, a lot of eating, and a lot of laughing. Napoleon told a story about Raoul’s father, who worked at the port in Tahiti. ‘He say that ships near nuclear tests, they have to wash whole ship after, with sea from hoses. To get rid of fallout. Sailors, they say best shower forever!’
More laughter. But the mention of tests made people go quiet. Darryl’s mother quickly began talking about Sydney, and whether Raoul had liked it. Once again, Darryl glimpsed Alicia watching. She and Raoul hadn’t said a word to each other all through the meal.
Nobody mentioned the march in Tahiti, where Daryl had seen Raoul swinging that sign. He thought of saying something to the other guy about it, but he’d had enough of hearing about protests. And Raoul hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he didn’t want Lily and Napoleon to know. So Darryl kept his mouth shut.
When dinner was over, the young man shook hands with Darryl and his mother. ‘I see you on the flight, Sunday.’
‘And Alicia,’ smiled Lily. ‘You will make her behave, oui?’
The girl was coming out of the kitchen to clear the table. This time, there was no mistaking the expression on her face: it was fear. Oh well, Darryl remembered, I was nervous of flying the first time. She’ll get over it.
His mother went off to write more of her report. It wasn’t seven yet, but the night came down really quickly here. Sea and sky were both dark. Darryl didn’t feel like reading, and this was a world without TV, so he wandered down towards the beach.
Voices came faintly from the dining room, where they must still be clearing away. One thing he hadn’t liked about this trip was having people working like servants for him. It made him feel awkward.
He strolled along, digging his toes into the sand. The trees stood dark and silent. He looked upwards and stopped. The Milky Way curved across the sky, a river of stars arching from horizon to horizon. He’d never seen it so bright before. The Southern Cross hung just above the sea’s rim. As he stared, a blue-white streak flashed down the sky. A meteor! Amazing!
If he could stand on Mount Duff on a night like this, and see a nuclear explosion, that would be so amazing, too. And yet, this place was so special. How could anyone start testing such weapons here? He shook his head, annoyed at his thoughts.
Darryl set off back, walking slowly, gazing upwards again at the spangled sky. He was about twenty metres from the path leading up to the lodge when he paused. Two figures stood talking in low voices near where the Land Rover was parked. Lily and Napoleon. No, Alicia – and Raoul.
The young man was angry, Darryl realised. He spoke almost in a whisper, but quick and tight. Alicia replied; she sounded worked-up too. Darryl stood still, the long shadow of a palm tree across him, hoping they wouldn’t see him.
Alicia’s voice rose. ‘Non!’ Darryl heard. ‘Non!’ Raoul began once mo
re, voice low and tense. Silence for a couple of seconds, then Alicia said something he couldn’t make out, and reached out one arm, stabbing her finger towards the trees. She turned and strode off towards the dining room. Raoul stood motionless, then began moving into the trees where the girl had pointed. He walked slowly, quietly. He seemed to be searching for something.
When he was out of sight, Darryl came out of the shadows and headed for the lodge. What was going on? Then he remembered the small brown bag he’d seen Alicia carrying into the same trees the previous afternoon. Was that what Raoul was after? Something he’d given her, something he was smuggling, maybe, or that he’d given her but now wanted back?
Something was going on here. Secret meetings, voices half-heard in the night, plans or arguments. He couldn’t tell what for sure, but he sensed them going on around him.
It’s nothing to do with me, he tried to tell himself again. But he couldn’t stop wondering.
Friday morning. As Darryl lay very comfortably in bed, bells began ringing somewhere nearby. That cathedral: why couldn’t they have church at a civilised hour, like three o’clock in the afternoon or something?
After five minutes or so, the bells stopped. He turned over, yawned, and settled back down to sleep again. Next second, someone was banging on his door. ‘Darryl? Time to get up. We’re going to the eleven o’clock service, remember?’
Going to church! At home, he went maybe once a year, if someone they knew got married or died. Here, he was having to go twice in two days! No chance of skipping it, though: it was a special Friday Mass for them, as they were leaving too early on Sunday to go to church. Which meant he was having to eat breakfast early, too – before ten o’clock!
No sign of Alicia. He remembered the two whispering figures the night before. What had it all been about? Maybe Raoul was her boyfriend; after all he wasn’t really her cousin in the usual way. But surely she was way too young for him? It was all too complicated to work out.
‘Ready?’ his mother called. She was wearing a blue and grey dress he hadn’t seen before. ‘The others are waiting.’
