Scott shrugged and laughed. “I have no idea what that means. She’s impossible to read. Don’t worry, something will turn up.” They bid each other good night and Compton returned to his bure for yet another sleepless night.
The following morning after the guests had left for the dive and he had helped himself to a late breakfast, Compton wandered the flowered grounds to collect his thoughts. Scott will put out the word, he thought, but I’ll have to lay low, avoid Bernard and Billy and wait this thing out. Maybe I’ll reconnoiter Taveuni on my own, go to another resort. This avoidance thing is bullshit.
In the far corner of the compound, Esther was hanging laundry and Compton walked over. Perhaps he could charm some local information out of her, some cheapo resort only the Fijians might know. At this point, he was ready for just about anything. Standing before her with his best smile plastered across his face, he immediately dismissed the idea of any inquiry when she didn’t return the smile. Instead, she seemed to catch something in his face, a fleeting sign of recognition that briefly altered her stoic countenance. The intensity of her scrutiny was unsettling and he was about to turn and walk away when she asked, “There was a dolphin at your accident?”
Compton nodded, dumbfounded. Does all of Taveuni know about his episode, he wondered? He managed to blurt out, “Yes, yes, there was. How did you hear about it?”
Esther continued to hold her gaze, now directly into his eyes, as she said evenly, “Not too many dolphin in this water.”
“Really? I saw one the night before, right over there. ” He pointed out across the strait.
Esther cocked her head as if to hear with more clarity. “Two dolphin?” she said, holding up two fingers.
“Well, it could have been the same one, now that I think about it. Though, it would be impossible to know.”
Again Esther appraised him, searching his face to the point of discomfort. Then, without speaking, she returned to her laundry line. Compton felt as if he had been dismissed and was about to comment, but thought better of it.
He returned to the main bure and with Allison’s help got on the phone, calling around to the surrounding resorts. He stayed away from any that were five hundred a day or more, with no way of guessing how long this siege would last. Those within his price range had openings as soon as the flights were lifted and their guests could wing their way home, but none before that. Nor would they strive to make room for any new guests, for they feared food shortages might become a factor before the whole thing was over and there was scarcely enough for those already on board.
At the end of the day things were as bleak as ecelompton, fighting a looming depression, startled at a knock on his bure door. It was Scott who had some news. It seemed that Esther had unexpectedly decided to takes a week’s vacation and had invited Compton to accompany her home on the island of Qamea across the Tasman Strait. He added, “This might be just what you’re looking for.”
“Have you ever been to Qamea?”
“Plenty of times. It’s a pretty little island with good reefs to dive. In any case, the price is right until things settle down.”
Compton was bewildered. “I spoke with her this morning,“ he replied, fumbling for some recollection of the meeting. “She hardly talked to me.”
“Fijian’s have an odd manner about them,” explained Scott. “They’ sus a person out before they spend any time with them. Once that’s done, you have a friend for life. You must have made a good impression.”
“No, not at all, I don’t understand.”
“Well, something changed her mind. This is very unusual, even for Esther. A cab is picking you up tomorrow morning, eight sharp.”
An island cab of undetermined model and vintage, painted in garish colors with what appeared to be a burnt out Dead-Head, awaited Esther and Compton in the morning. Esther spoke Fijian to the middle-aged Indian driver as they climbed aboard. They then rattled north down the washboard dirt road past the airfield another ten minutes before stopping in front of a small building randomly painted in lavish colors of red, turquoise, white and navy blue.
“This is the Indian store,” announced Esther in a soft voice. ”We go here first for the gifts.”
Inside, goods were crammed from floor to ceiling, everything from cookies to chainsaws, marbles to Frisbees, fresh fruit to calendars. An Indian boy with a mini-calculator ran the store for his father who, from a room attached to the rear of the store and separated by a curtain of beads, observed the proceedings while stoically seated in a high backed chair.
Esther purchased a two-kilo bag of rice, a bag of sugar, a sack of flour, a loaf of bread, some leaf tobacco and a bottle of cooking oil. Compton offered to pay and she accepted, placing the goods in a large blanket, bundled it up and pointed up the road. “We go to my cousin James’ and wait for Moses.”
Compton stumbled along the rocky dirt road toting his backpack and what little was left of his dive gear in its deflated bag. “What happened to the cab?” he asked Esther, who was fairly prancing along in her bare feet with the blanket of goods thrown over one shoulder.
“It’s gone,” she said. “Jes‘ a short walk, eh.”
“Don’t these sharp rocks cut your feet? I don’t know how you can walk over them.”
“Fijian have tough feet. Strong backs and tough feet.” She laughed a choking, cough-like laugh that ripped through her lungs. “And that’s all they have.”
“What do you mean?”
“No brains and lazy. Fijian don’t work unless they have to.”
“Well, you seem bright enough. You have a job.”
“There’s always one in every family who does the work. Who pay the bills and send the children to school. I’m the one. See, no brains,” she coughed out a chuckle at her dilemma.
“You come from a large family?” inquired Compton.
“Two brothers, five sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, all over. Everywhere there is family.”
“How many on Qamea?”
“Moses, my mother, and two sisters.
“Does Moses have a job?
“He fishes, but don’t give him money. He’s no good with money, jes’ spends it on fuel and my mother and sisters never have anything.”
“Does he catch fish?”
“Of course he catches fish.” Esther’s face screwed up at the foolishness of the question. “Thet’s where he gets the money.”
They arrived at a whitewashed house trimmed in turquoise. A tall, beige colored man with a pleasant, clean-shaven face and wide dark eyes came forward to greet them. He wore a tattered pair of flowered shorts and a plain green shirt open to the navel. In his arms was a small boy with a weeping gash down the length of his shin.
“This is my cousin, James,” said Esther. “This is Michael Compton from America. He is going to Qamea with Moses.” James extended his hand and gave Compton a single shake.
Smiling broadly, he gestured with his free hand. “Come in and have some tea.”
Compton followed them inside the house which, save for an old sofa, a card table, and a single chair, was bare. A rear window had broken out and a breeze from the sea blew through. The floor was laid in remnant patches of linoleum and a newspaper had been stuffed into a hole in the wall just above the doorway. Compton glanced at himself in a discolored mirror that hung alone on the near wall. Though the house had not seen a coat of paint but once in its existence, its floor was freshly swept and the sparse kitchen was clean and uncluttered. James and Esther went into the kitchen and left Compton with the boy, who stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment that Compton attributed to the bleached whiteness of his skin.
He could hear them speaking in rapid Fijian while Esther put on the kettle. Then, as if they knew they were being overheard, they walked out the back door to the edge of the section where the green sea skidded up to a wall of gathered stones and stood for a long moment looking south before returning to the kitchen. James brought in the tea and when everyone had taken a sip, Esther spoke.
“Moses is late. The wind come up, and we don’t see ‘em on the reef. Maybe he doesn’t come. But you wait for ‘em here.”
Compton put down his tea. Concern edged into his voice. “What about you?”
“I’m going to my sister’s up the road. If Moses come, you go with ‘em. He take you to Qamea.”
Compton flicked a glance around the room. “What if he doesn’t show up?”
Esther shrugged her round shoulders. “Then he come tomorrow or the day after that. Maybe I come back tomorrow and see what happen.”
Compton resurveyed the room, his mind working all that could go wrong here.
“You don’t have to stay,” continued Esther. “You get a cab at the airstrip and go back to Allison and John. Sleep there if you don’t like James’ couch. Moses will come but he won’t be looking for you.”
Compton’s stomach twisted into what was becoming a familiar knot. He smiled self-consciously, unsure of what to do next. Esther and James did not smile back. They waited.
Compton’s first impulse was to pick up his things and leave immediately but instead heard himself say, “No, I’ll be fine on the couch, if this is where Moses will come.”
“He come here first,” assured Esther. “He always does.” She reached out her hand and Compton shook it weakly, then she turned and stood at the door, nodding to James before turning for the road. Compton watched her walk down the rutted roads as if the sharp stones didn’t exist.
James had taken a seat at the table and was reading a newspaper from another week. “Sit down”, he said motioning to the couch, “and drink tea. Moses be along.”
The couch sagged and pinched Compton’s back while his mind slipped its way into paranoia. All my money, what’s left of my gear, everything is just sitting here, ready to get ripped off. This whole thing could be a setup. I ought to go back to the resort right now while I still have the chance.
James’ melodic voice penetrated Compton’s dark speculations. “I am shamed, Michael. We have not had a European in the house before. There is bread. Here, our friends eat if they are hungry.
“No, thank you. This is fine. The tea is plenty.”
James did not return to his newspaper and Compton knew he had sensed the awkwardness of the lie.
“Tell me, James, why after all her trouble did Esther decide not to visit her family on Qamea?”
James smiled. “She only say that so you don’t get lost on your way. She go back to work. Don’t worry, Moses come this day.“
A charade thought Compton. Nothing is what it seems. I’ve fallen into some kind of rabbit hole here and Alice should be showing up any second now. Meanwhile, I make pleasant conversation with this Cheshire Cat.
The next few hours were spent restlessly by both men. James repeatedly went out back and inspected the water for a sign of Moses and Compton, at every opportunity, would look out the open door to the road, waiting for a cab to pull up and a driver to call out his name. At least back at the resort I knew how the game was played, however horrendous it had become, but here? I’m sailing without a compass into dangerous waters. It doesn’t feel safe. These people appear harmless enough but I’ve already been lied to and now I’m a hostage for someone who may or may not show up. I got to get out of here at the first opportunity.
Into the late afternoon their conversation remained infrequent and awkward, due in large part to Compton’s singular belief that a conspiracy had been hatched to rob him of his possessions. The tension was palatable and felt by the boy who found refuge in his father’s arms whenever Compton drew near.
Mustering up the courage to leave, Compton was preparing his “Goodbye, I’m sorry” speech when in through the back door, with a rush of sea wind, walked a tall Fijian man wearing a blue skirt and a tee-shirt so filled with holes that it clung to his back like a spider web. An oversized red, white, and blue striped Rasta knit cap drifted over one ear nearly touching his shoulder.
“Bula,” he said to James, smiling through a missing front tooth. James broke into a wide grin and they shook hands formally and spoke rapid Fijian. As they talked, the man’s almond-shaped eyes continually glanced in Compton’s direction, absorbing everything they fell upon. He was lean and muscular, built along the lines of a basketball player in prime condition, yet his eyes indicated someone much older than his body. A wispy moustache graced his upper lip and contrasted with a strong jaw line. He spoke with confidence in his animated discussion with James, who shortly brought the man over and introduced him as Moses.
“Bula, Michael, welcome to Fiji,” said Moses who, with an irrepressible smile, extended his hand exposing a crude tattoo of a dagger running the length of his forearm. The hand was heavily callused and enveloped Compton’s as if it were a boy’s. Moses made a one pump shake and said in crisp English, “You wish to come to Qamea, eh?”
“Well, I hear it’s quite beautiful.”
Moses appraised Compton with a bemused smile. “You have come a long way to find your dream, eh.”
The remark both charmed and unsettled Compton, for he couldn’t think of a retort or even why this man would say such a thing. What dream was he talking about? The dream? Instead he asked, “How long will it take to get to Qamea?”
Moses flashed the gaping hole in his smile. “Who knows about the sea? Some days longer than others.”
Compton nodded. He should have known better than to ask such a question.
Moses spoke to James in Fijian, turned back to Compton. “I must have fuel for the boat, then we go.” He stood expectantly for a long moment before Compton realized that he was supposed to pay for the gas and pulled out two twenties, American.
“Will this be enough?”
“Yeah, yeah, plenty.” Moses slipped the money into his pocket and went out the back door where he picked up a ten-gallon plastic jug and a string of fish from his boat and disappeared around the corner. The instant he vanished, Compton recalled Esther’s warning about giving him money and wondered if he’d made a mistake and if, in fact, he would ever see this Moses again.
Turning to the co-conspirator, James, Compton asked, “So how far does he have to go for the fuel?”