The Far Reaches (22 page)

Though this was a shrine surely erected by the natives of Burubu, it had been put to use by the Japanese. A native man, horribly scoured by hundreds of slashes, was attached to the cross by big rusty iron nails pounded through his wrists and ankles. Above his sagging head was nailed a small plank about two feet long and six inches wide, and a message was carved on it. There was also a design scratched into the dark mahogany vertical timber of the cross, just below the crucified man's feet. Josh read the message on the sign and then studied the design. He noticed Sister Mary Kathleen was also pondering the symbol, her lips moving in silent prayer. “What do you make of it, Sister?” he croaked, but she chose not to reply.

When Nango arrived, he picked up a stone and struck himself in the forehead. “Chief Moruno!” he cried in recognition. Blood running down his face, he made to hit himself again.

Josh sprang to stay the second blow. “Nango, take it easy!” He pried the stone out of the man's hand and tossed it away. “Now look-see, Nango. You
must stop hitting yourself, you and your fella boys. It does no good and is probably not healthy in the long run.”

Nango was not convinced. He struck himself on the side of his head with the flat of his big hand, then cried, “Chief Moruno good fella boy, good chief! Now all finish! Damn all Japonee!”

Tucker walked around the cross to stand beside Josh. “What does it mean, sir?” he asked.

Josh shook his head, then walked out onto the point to get away from the smell of the dead chief, and to think. Other fella boys soon arrived and took the island chief down; Sister Mary Kathleen stayed on her knees, her head bowed, her lips still moving in silent prayer. Josh wondered what kind of man would commit such an atrocity. And what did he want?

At least there was a partial answer to that, and it put an icy grip on Josh's heart. For Colonel Yoshu had communicated one desire quite clearly. It was a message the colonel had sent to the people of the Far Reaches, transmitted through the example of a murdered village and a tortured chief nailed to a cross, plus four simple words engraved on a rude plank:

GIVE ME THE NUN

As soon as the villagers were properly buried and the fella boys had finally beaten themselves enough according to custom, Josh gathered everyone at the outriggers. “We should head back to Tarawa,” he declared. “There is nothing worthwhile that can be done on these islands. And Sister, there is no doubt now that this place is not safe for you.”

“Do not concern yerself about me, Captain,” she retorted. “Colonel Yoshu is far away, back on Ruka. He has made his foray, a terrible one to be sure, but now he will rest.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know the man.”

“Far Reaches home for fella boys, Jahtalo,” Nango said. “We stay.” Tucker spoke up. “Well, I'm with Captain Thurlow. We need to get while the getting's good.”

“I'm with the captain, too,” Garcia put in. “My outfit's probably halfway to Honolulu by now. I need to catch up.”

“How about you, Bosun?” Josh asked, when Ready didn't say anything. Ready's face was a neutral mask, as was his response. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

Josh frowned at Ready, sad that the man was so obviously lovelorn, then turned to the nun. “Well, Sister?”

“Tahila is twenty miles west. Let us sail there and allow a short rest. Then, if you and the marines and Bosun O'Neal still want to leave, you can take an outrigger and go, and blessings be on ye.”

“We need to talk,” Josh said.

“I believe we are talking, sor.”

“Just you and me,” Josh replied and nodded down the beach.

She inclined her head in agreement, and together they walked away from the others, along the booming surf. Josh was quickly winded and had to stop to catch his breath. “What's wrong, Captain?”

“Nothing,” he growled.

“Faith, it does not appear to be nothing. You need a long rest, I'm thinking.

“I said it's nothing. Anyway, it isn't me you should be worried about. It's yourself. Why does Colonel Yoshu want you enough to slaughter an island and crucify a chief?”

Her response was bitter. “Do you think he needs any pretext, Captain? I have told you he is cruel beyond measure.” She looked eastward, toward the island of Ruka, then said in a small voice, “I was a possession. He does not like to lose his possessions.”

“What did he do to you, Sister?”

“Use your imagination.”

“I have, but there's a world of possibilities. What does that symbol carved on the cross mean?”

“Snow,” she answered after a moment.

“Snow? Here, so near the equator? That don't make sense.”

“Perhaps the colonel meant it as a joke. Now, Captain Thurlow, the others are waiting for us beneath a blazing sun. The fella boys believe the re-cent dead stalk the night for three days, and they will not care to stay here past sunset. We will speak on this matter again, that I promise ye, but now we must go to Tahila.”

Josh pondered her, then said, “How about this? Me, Bosun O'Neal, and the marines take one of the outriggers right now and head back to Tarawa. You and your fella boys go on to Tahila.”

“No,” she replied.

“What do you mean, no?”

“No, it is an empty threat. I know ye wouldn't abandon me or me boys.” “What makes you so sure?”

“Because we are friends.” She raised her eyebrows. “Tell me I'm wrong.” He mulled over her accusation. “Yes, we're friends,” he grudgingly confessed. “But sometimes friends have to hurt friends, to get them to see the light”

“I shall be happy to see the light. In Tahila.”

Josh hung his head. He
was
tired, they were all tired, and perhaps a brief stop was in order. With a little sleep, maybe he could argue out of his head the emotions storming around in it. “All right, Sister,” he relented. “You
win. We'll go to Tahila and hope the Japanese aren't there. Then my boys and I will head back to Tarawa after a couple of days. I hope you'll go with us, but if you won't, I'll have done my best.”

“Thank ye, Captain.” She cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled to Nango and the fella boys in their dialect. They cheered in response.

“What did you tell them?” Josh asked as he followed her back to the outriggers.

“Never ye mind, Captain, darling,” she said over her shoulder. “All is well, for God almighty is with us.”

“That don't mean He gets a say in our affairs,” Josh griped.

“Oh, Captain, of all the things ye have uttered since we've met, that is the most foolish!”

Josh would have argued except he believed she was right. He decided he needed a drink, that's what. Maybe two or even three.

The navigation was accomplished, the easy sail made, and Tahila loomed before the orphans of the sea as the sun disappeared in a splash of crimson and gold, and the blue-white stars popped out, twinkling brilliantly in a wash across the sky. All was serene, but it was hard to tell in the darkness what or who waited for them on the island. “Let's wait for morning to go ashore,” Josh proposed to the nun.

“But the Japanese are not there,” she argued. “If they were, the village would be burning.”

“You are probably right, Sister,” Josh sighed, “but let's wait until first light, and then we can be certain.”

“I'm already certain.”

During the voyage to Tahila, Josh had turned restless and edgy, and he knew if he wasn't careful he might explode in ways unpleasant to all. “Please, Sister,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just this once. Don't argue with me.”

“Faith, Captain. I don't mean to be disagreeable.”

He relented, tamping down his anger. “I know you don't. I don't, either. Get some rest, Sister. Let me rest as well. Here, on the outrigger.”

She started to argue further but then caught his expression, which was dangerous, and lowered her eyes and nodded agreement. Relieved, Josh had a word with Nango, who whistled up to the other captains to lower their sails. Though they could be heard complaining, such was accomplished, and the outriggers were adrift on their bare poles once more. There was little current, and the breeze was gentle, and so they kept their position throughout the night, aided occasionally by a little paddling by the fella boys. Giving up sleep, which would not come in any case, Josh watched the island. A
few small fires could be discerned, and snatches of voices heard between the swish of fronds of the tall palms lining the shore. All remained peaceful except for Josh's mind, which would not turn off. He felt odd, and his mind roamed on to discover why, but no answer came.
Simple exhaustion,
he muttered inwardly, but he feared it was more, that he was becoming unhinged. He thought again of drink. Surely this island would have rum! A real man needs a good drink now and again, he told himself, especially one who had been so grievously wounded!

Sunrise, purple and gold and dazzling, was accompanied by the eruption of what sounded like a hundred crowing roosters. A village crystallized in the fresh light, and Josh saw a number of big outriggers pulled up on the beach along with dozens of smaller lagoon canoes. Several bamboo frames on the beach were apparently for drying fish, and a street of sand stretched into the interior, along which were built houses of bamboo and thatch with artful designs woven into their walls. All in all, it seemed a prosperous village, and at peace. Sister Mary Kathleen emerged from her hut to stand beside him. “What say you, Captain?” she asked.

“It looks safe, though the Japanese are masters of camouflage.” “Colonel Yoshu's way is simple mayhem. Nay, if he was there, we'd know it. Let us go in.”

Josh nodded his agreement and told Nango to whistle up the other captains. “Bosun, I'd like to see a rifle in your hands,” he called over his shoulder.

“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Ready answered and retrieved an M-1 from the stash of rifles brought from Tarawa. He locked and loaded a clip and prepared his mind for battle.

Paddles quickly filled the hands of the fella boys, the island being too near to bother with sails, and the outrigger captains, obviously familiar with the approach to the village, threaded their way through coral heads. The beach that fronted the village curved around almost in a half-circle, creating a lagoon that ended at rocky headlands on both points. The reef forced any boat entering the lagoon into a narrow slot between the headlands and then broadside to the beach before a final turn to land. Josh thought it was the perfect place to be ambushed, and he was relieved when he saw the people of Tahila emerge from their homes, and no evidence of the Japanese.

A big man, wearing a bright red lava-lava, emerged from the onlookers and gravely watched as the outriggers pushed up onto the sand. Josh stepped out and walked up to him, followed by Nango, Sister Mary Kathleen, and all the others. The man looked Josh over, his flat nose flaring as if trying to catch his scent, then inspected Sister Mary Kathleen, the marines, Ready,
and, last, the fella boys. A great grin spread across his wide, tattooed face, and he and Nango embraced. Nango said, “This fella boy Chief Kalapa.”

The chief walked up to Josh. “My word, you Jahtalo, cabum boy with old
Bad-sheba,”
he said. “You savvy me?”

Josh recalled a long-ago visit to Tahila and a spindly youth, the son of a chief, who had swum out to the
Bathsheba
and demonstrated his diving skills when Captain Fairplay tossed out coins. Clearly, that had been many years and meals ago. “Chief Kalapa, good fella,” Josh greeted him, just before he was enveloped in the huge arms of the chief, followed by ritualized sniffing of the air on both sides of his face. Josh reciprocated.

“Jahtalo, good fella,” Chief Kalapa replied fondly. He held Josh by his shoulders, searching his eyes, and then said something in the island dialect.

“He said he saw you returning to this island in a dream,” Sister Mary Kathleen translated. “He says he hopes you have come to chase away the Japanese.”

Before Josh could respond, little boys and girls rushed to the nun, draping her neck with garlands of flowers and tugging at her habit for attention. Then they turned to the other visitors, who were soon also festooned with flowers and children.

Chief Kalapa and Josh were shortly joined by a white man attired in a white suit. He wore a Panama hat and carried a folded black umbrella, which he was using as a cane. His face was thin, adorned with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and mustache, and his eyes were gray-blue and crisp. He held out his hand to Josh. “The Honorable Robert Bucknell, representing the interests of His Royal Majesty's Colonial Government, such as they are these days. And who might you be, sir?”

“Captain Josh Thurlow,” Josh answered. “United States Coast Guard.” “Jahtalo old hand these parts,” Chief Kalapa apprised the diplomat. “He cabum boy on old
Bad-sheba.”

Bucknell raised his silvery eyebrows. “A homecoming, then, Captain? Bloody odd time to play the tourist, isn't it?”

“I ain't on a vacation, Mister Bucknell. I'm here because … well, it's complicated.”

Bucknell frowned. “I see. Actually, I don't see at all, but I expect I shall.” Then Bucknell peered along his thin nose at the nun, who was still being sung to by the people. She was now so thoroughly draped with garlands, her mouth and nearly her nose had disappeared beneath them. “I recognize her,” he said. “Though I never saw her before that she didn't have a broom or mop in her hand. Served as a maid for the other three nuns on Ruka,
best I could tell. She reminded me of Cinderella, a pretty girl the old hags enjoyed ordering about.”

Josh called over Ready and the two marines and introduced them to the chief and Mr. Bucknell. Tucker and Garcia had both developed grins, perhaps brought on by the number of quite shapely and bare-breasted young women in the crowd. “Bosun, take charge,” Josh ordered. “First thing, haul the ordnance ashore.” He turned to the chief and the diplomat. “We brought along rifles and a couple of machine guns plus a considerable amount of ammunition. Where can we secure it?”