The Navigator Page 18

  ‘I don’t know darling.’ Sally teased him with rueful humour. ‘What did they do in the old days with casualties like that?’

  ‘If they were harmless,’ said Gunnar Thorkild, ‘they were cherished as objects of amusement. If they were dangerous, they were sacrificed to placate the gods.’

  Later, back at the encampment, they talked to Tioto and Carl Magnusson. Tioto’s prescription was clear:

  ‘… You get him back to camp, Chief. I can look after him. I’ll keep him calm, take him out fishing and sailing, and make sure Barbara stays away from him. But up there, in that place, I can’t do anything; because I’m scared and he knows it. I know what’s happened to him. He’s gone back – back to the dream-time we lived in when we were kids and the old people still remembered the past. It happened to me when…well, when I was still trying to find out who and what I was. It could happen again if I stayed too long in a kapu place.’

  ‘Kapu means nothing to me,’ said Carl Magnusson. ‘And Charlie Kamakau knows that too. He’ll talk to me in another way altogether. There’s a good chance I could coax him down; then Tioto could take him in hand.’

  ‘I’d like you to try, Carl,’ said Thorkild. ‘I’d take you up close to the terrace and then let you go in alone. But let’s reason the whole thing out. Suppose he refuses to leave?’

  ‘Then,’ said Sally firmly, ‘you’ll have a sick, crazy hermit wandering the uplands until he dies. I say you’ve got to coax him down. I could tranquillize him, and keep him that way for a few days until my drugs run out. After that, perhaps, Tioto could nurse him back to normality.’

  ‘Suppose he resists, tries to escape into the bush?’

  ‘Then you’ve got a man-hunt,’ said Carl Magnusson, ‘which is dangerous and destructive to the whole community. I’m against that.’

  ‘Why not leave him there a while longer?’ Tioto persisted. ‘He wants that anyway. He wants to finish the work, then call us up and make a big show of what he’s done. He may be sick, sure; but when the work’s done he’ll be high and happy – and just that much easier to handle.’

  ‘That’s the best sense we’ve heard, so far.’ Magnusson was emphatic in his approval. ‘When in doubt, do nothing. There’s a chance he’ll survive his own crisis and find his own way back to sanity.’

  ‘I’ve got big doubts about that,’ said Sally Anderton. ‘We’re not talking about pneumonia. We’re talking about a psychic aberration, the pattern of which may become confirmed and deepened until it’s irreversible.’

  ‘And then what?’ Gunnar Thorkild put the last bleak question; but no one was prepared to answer it.

  As they sat around the fire-pit that night Lorillard raised once again the issue of their social identity. He put it clearly and bluntly:

  ‘Some of us would like this question resolved quickly. Do we or do we not agree to annex this island and place ourselves by common consent under the jurisdiction of the United States? Carl Magnusson put the case clearly for and against. He asked us to think about it and discuss it. We’ve had time to do that. Can we put it to the vote now?’

  ‘What’s the hurry, Peter?’ asked Thorkild quietly.

  ‘I’m going to have a baby,’ Martha Gilman answered him. ‘Peter wants to be a gentleman about it. He wants a divorce and a marriage that will hold under the laws of the United States.’

  ‘Let me recall our original intention,’ Lorillard was well prepared. ‘Carl Magnusson financed the expedition and contracted for my services on that basis. The other night he pointed out that a formal act would – or might – give us a certain sense of security and continuity. For myself, for Martha and Mark, I’d like to have that.’

  ‘There’s a problem,’ Gunnar Thorkild spoke earnestly and deliberately. ‘We’re eighteen people in all. At this moment Charlie Kamakau is absent and medically incompetent. Young Mark is a minor without a vote. Hernan Castillo is a Filipino national. That leaves fifteen. If we vote now, Charlie’s deprived of his franchise. Shouldn’t we wait at least a reasonable time, to see if he becomes capable of exercising it?’

  ‘I don’t see that.’ Simon Cohen was still the contentious one. ‘It’s normal voting procedure. Incompetence, whether permanent or temporary, disqualifies the voter.’

  ‘Then,’ said Thorkild, ‘I’d like to take the proceedings in two motions. Will someone move that the vote be taken now instead of being deferred to a later date.’

  ‘I’ll move that,’ said Lorillard.

  ‘I’ll second,’ said Simon Cohen.

  ‘All in favour?’

  The vote was nine in favour, five against.

  ‘The next motion please.’

  ‘I’ve written it.’ Lorillard held up a water-stained page, the flyleaf of a pilot book. ‘We don’t have much paper, so I’ll read it first and pass it round…“Moved that this community, composed, with one exception, of citizens of the United States of America, annex this island and place it under the jurisdiction of the said United States, and engage themselves to live under the jurisdiction of that Commonwealth according to its constitution, and such laws as, under the constitution, they may frame to meet the special and peculiar circumstances of their lives” …’

  ‘I second the motion,’ said Yoko Nagamuna.

  ‘When you’ve all read it,’ said Thorkild, ‘I’ll hear discussions for and against – You first Peter, it’s your motion.’

  Lorillard waited until the paper had been passed from hand to hand, then he began to speak, simply and dispassionately:

  ‘… I want to tell you three things which, in my view, make this step necessary. First, any children born on this island now, are born stateless, and must attempt to acquire citizenship by a legal act at a later date. Second, we have no legal means, other than custom – and custom is still undeveloped among us – to establish marital status and conjugal rights. Third, we have no legal recourse – in theory or in practice – against the invasion of individual or minority rights by a majority, or even by a forceful group. We are living by fact and not by law. We cannot, obviously, apply to ourselves all the provisions of existing law, either of the States or the Commonwealth. We can, however, adopt the principles of that law, judge ourselves against them, and, if ever we escape or are rescued, have a continuing recourse in our homeland. That’s as clear as I can make it. I beg you to support the motion.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then a murmur of surprise as Jenny got unsteadily to her feet. She gave them an embarrassed smile and began:

  ‘You all know I was a drop-out. I ended up on a beach, pregnant. The Professor and Martha picked me up, dusted me off and – here I am. I’m not doing so well here either; but I’ve learned something: when you get so far down that you need someone to own you, you’re in bad shape. When you have to lean on the law, you find the law is a lot of words that everybody reads to suit himself. The law busts you. The law punishes you. The law cleans up the mess when you hurt each other…But that’s where it stops. It wasn’t the law that gave me a home. It was a kind woman. I’m scared when I hear people talking like Peter. It’s like…like they had believed in some kind of magic, the flag and the constitution and all that. Our boys in Vietnam died under the flag for a lost cause. Martha’s husband killed himself with heroin because the Constitution and the President sent him to do something he hated. I don’t need the flag and the law and all that. I want us to go on doing what we’re doing now, with each other and for each other. And I don’t want what Peter calls recourse…Hell! If today’s bad, I want to wipe it out, kiss and make up and start again tomorrow. You can’t do that if you’ve got a policeman with a gun, or someone with a big black book and a lot of long words!…If you’re worried about the kids and us women, we’ll make out better with loving than with a gunboat out in the bay…I guess it’s a question of how much we trust each other; but if we don’t, I don’t see how any Government thousands of miles away can help us.’

  She was weeping when she sat down. Adam Briggs put his arm aro
und her and kissed her. Franz Harsanyi clapped loudly and called:

  ‘Bravo kid! Pity we can’t record that one for posterity.’

  The talk went round and round, sometimes harshly reasoned, sometimes fumbling and confused, but always passionate and concerned. At the end of it Gunnar Thorkild said:

  ‘I’d like to vacate the chair for a moment and express a personal opinion. May I?’

  They assured him they would be happy to hear him. His argument was brutally simple:

  ‘What does it add to our existence if, right now, we raise the Stars and Stripes on this beach-head? Nothing. What does the law tell us that we don’t know already: that we have to deal simply and honestly and kindly one with another? What do we need from Government that we cannot find among ourselves?… And if it’s a question of record, we can supply that. We can solemnize marriage for those who want it; recognize divorcement if they find it impossible to live together. As for recourse, how can any court in the future judge of what we do here? Up there on the mountain is a sick, sad man, a burden to himself, a potential danger to this community…He’s our problem. We can’t claim proxy from some distant authority. We – just we – have to look after our own…Now I’ll resume the chair. And I’ll take a show of hands. All in favour?’

  Six people supported the motion: Martha Gilman, Lorillard, Yoko Nagamuna, Simon Cohen, Willy and Eva Kuhio.

  ‘Motion defeated,’ said Gunnar Thorkild. ‘We’re on our own. The meeting’s adjourned.’

  ‘Hold it a moment.’ Lorillard was on his feet instantly. ‘That’s not the end of it, surely. Opinions may change. We must be able to bring the matter back again.’

  ‘There’s nothing to stop you.’

  ‘Except this.’ Magnusson challenged the group. ‘Keep scratching a sore and you get an ulcerous infection. The last thing we want is nuisance tactics. Let’s go about our business and see how well or ill we manage. I’d say no new motion on this matter for at least a year.’

  ‘Six months,’ said Lorillard.

  ‘Six months then.’ Thorkild closed the argument. ‘If we’re not settled down by then, this place will be bedlam.’

  Whatever their conflicts over law and sovereignty, there were none on the question of their domestic arrangements. The older couples paired off immediately, Magnusson and Molly Kaapu, Martha and Lorillard, Thorkild and Sally, Willy and Eva Kuhio. Yoko and Jenny shared one hut, Barbara Kamakau and Ellen Ching moved in together. Franz Harsanyi took Mark Gilman. Adam Briggs and Hernan Castillo occupied the last hut while Simon Cohen and Tioto installed themselves at either end of the store building. If Charlie Kamakau came back, a new hut would be built for him and Tioto.

  From the moment they took possession of their separate dwellings, a change became evident in the pattern of their tribal life. They began to make simple furniture, beds and bamboo tables and stools. Tools were passed from hand to hand, skills exchanged, simple stores distributed – a plate, a knife, a piece of sail-canvas…a cup of fuel oil to prime a shell-lamp. The single group broke into small cells. A rule of privacy was established without a word spoken: no one entered another’s hut without an invitation. Food was cooked and shared at the fire-pit, but might be eaten in common or apart. The tensions of propinquity relaxed. Talk became less assertive and more ruminative. Companionship became easier and less demanding. The women were supportive of each other. The men had their own clubbish interludes.

  Carl Magnusson seemed to take a new and stronger hold on life. His shoulder was mending. He could do simple tasks. His limp was less pronounced, and he could be heard all over the camp, shouting amiably at Molly Kaapu, as she bullied or cajoled him. Soon, Thorkild judged, he would be ready to make the long walk up the mountain to reason with Charlie Kamakau. He himself had already made two more trips up to the terrace, each time alone, to carry fish and cooked food and try to establish a dialogue with the eccentric recluse. Each time he had been encouraged, albeit faintly, by what he found.

  Charlie Kamakau was still working prodigiously; but he seemed to have fallen into a less desperate rhythm. He had consented to use the dressing which Sally sent for his sores. However, he was still obsessed by the notion that the old ones had chosen him to rule his part of the mountain, and he displayed a whole miscellany of artifacts, each one of which was a new proof of election and mystic favour. He rejected utterly the proposal that he return to the shore settlement. He would receive Carl Magnusson; but no one else must come until the whole terrace was cleared and planted. He would go down part-way to leave fruits and vegetables for the camp and receive fish for himself, provided only the men came. He was done with women; and any mention of Barbara set him off into a gibbering frenzy of threats and obscenities. As for Tioto, he was beginning to be suspicious of him too. Tioto was afraid of the kapu; which meant that the high ones were displeased with him…They were nerve-wracking interludes and Thorkild was glad to leave and turn his face to the seas, where at least there was a vestige of reason and laughter and happy talk.

  It was not all gaiety however. Jenny had begun to mope and several times she had been found, by the cascade or in a far corner of the beach, weeping miserably. Sally Anderton put it down brusquely to post-natal depression and tried, in vain, to coax and scold her out of it. Adam Briggs, who was still courting her assiduously, was in a state of quiet desperation. One day he asked Thorkild to make the round of the fish-traps with him, and as they went he opened his heart:

  ‘… I love that girl, Chief. I love her so much it hurts all the time. I know what she needs too, better than any doctor – a man to love her and give her the baby she lost and make her feel safe and secure. I could do all that. I’d be happy to spend my whole life doing it. But the way it is now, I can hardly get near her. She hates to be touched, she says; and in the next breath she says she likes me better than anyone. I ask her if it’s because I’m black; and she swears it isn’t and cries and says she just can’t help herself…I’m worried, Chief. You don’t see as much of her these days; but I tell you she’s going away – far and fast.’

  ‘What can I say, Adam? I want to help. You know that. Have you thought she might be keen on one of the others – Franz for instance – and doesn’t want to tell you?’

  ‘No way! I thought of that too. They’ve all invited her down to the beach…The only one she’ll go with is me. I even asked the other girls what they thought. They just shrugged and said women went that way sometimes.’

  ‘Do you mind if I tell Sally what you’ve just told me?’

  ‘Hell no! If it helps, I’ll walk up the mountain on my hands. What I don’t want, is to see her go like that poor crazy coot, Charlie…Anyway, thanks for listening. Let’s talk about something else. You saw what we did with the canoe. We fitted a new outrigger and the girls are working on a palm mat for the sail.’

  ‘It’s great, Adam. She rides beautifully.’

  ‘When the sail’s ready you and I could take her round the island.’

  ‘Say when, Adam. I’ll be there.’

  ‘When are you going to start on the big one?’

  ‘Pretty soon now. I wanted to get everyone settled down first. And we’ll need a lot more tools than we have yet.’

  ‘How long will it take us to build?’

  ‘Twelve months. More, maybe. It’s a big job.’

  ‘And you’ll teach me to handle it first? I want that, Chief. I want it very much.’

  ‘You’ve got it already. My grandfather named you. Remember?’

  ‘Every day and all day.’

  ‘Hold the thought, man. We can’t let the race of navigators die out.’

  ‘Could be you’ll have a son of your own now, Chief.’

  ‘Could be.’ Thorkild laughed. ‘We’re a long way from campus, aren’t we, man?’

  ‘Would you like to go back?’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Like you say Chief: to what? We’ve got our own little world down here – no pollution, no atom bomb, no muggers. It’s so close
to the Garden of Eden, I keep wondering when the snake pops up?’

  ‘He’s here already,’ said Gunnar Thorkild wryly. ‘I sit higher than you. I’ve already seen him.’

  That night, as they lay together listening to the distant boom of the surf, and the soughing of the wind through the tall palms, and the plaintive distant piping of Simon Cohen’s flute, he told Sally of his talk with Adam Briggs. She listened in silence, then rolled away from him and lay, with her hands behind her head, staring up at the slats of the ceiling. When he tried to draw her to him again she pushed him away and said:

  ‘Please! This isn’t easy. Let me think for a while…How far she’ll go, how long she’ll stay in this kind of fugue, I don’t know. I’m a physician, not a psychiatrist. Post-natal depression is common enough. Most women get over it fairly quickly. But in Jenny’s case there’s a long and complicated history: a broken home, indifferent parents, a boyfriend who rejected her when she fell pregnant, a brief period of security with Martha and you, then a late and very traumatic miscarriage. Now Martha’s pregnant and you’ve got me and she’s hacked about inside and feeling miserable and insecure…Not a very promising prognosis, is it?’

  ‘So what can you do about it?’

  ‘Me? Very little. If I were home I’d probably put her on euphorics for a while; and then, if she didn’t pick herself up, recommend a course of supportive therapy with a good psychiatrist. Here I’ve got nothing except the basics you find in a ship’s medicine chest, a few tranquillizers and the anti-coagulants I was using for Carl. I’m like a magician without his wand and his little box of illusions.’

  ‘What’s the answer then?’

  ‘We support her as best we can, make her feel cherished and wanted.’

  ‘She’s getting that already, from us – and much more from Adam Briggs.’

  ‘And it’s not enough?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Have you ever thought, my dear man, that you care too much?’

  ‘I have to care! You know that! Just the same as I’ve got to care for Charlie Kamakau. A sickness in one member – is a sickness in us all.’