The Far Reaches (23 page)

Chief Kalapa nodded toward a large house on stilts by the beach. “Go along boathouse,” he said.

“Boathouse it is. See to it, Ready. Also bring Sampson ashore and fashion him a crutch. He needs to move around, avoid clots in his stump. Now, gentlemen, shall we have a quiet word?”

“Certainly,” Bucknell answered while the chief inclined his head in agreement. “May I suggest we retire to the temporary government house of the Far Reaches? My woman will prepare a breakfast. No use discussing important matters on an empty stomach.”

“Lead the way,” Josh said, grinning, pleased that perhaps a meal of something other than fish and rice was in the offing. And where there was a British diplomat, surely strong drink would be available, too. His mouth suddenly felt very dry, and in great need to be made wet.

Sister Mary Kathleen, observing the men leaving, broke away from the children to intercept them. “Mr. Bucknell, how do ye do? Do ye recall me at all?”

Bucknell bowed. “Of course, Sister. I am pleased to see you still alive. May I present Chief Kalapa?”

“Faith, the chief and I know one another. I visited Tahila twice with the other sisters on medical missions.”

“Sister,” Chief Kalapa grunted as they accomplished the ritual sniffing of their respective faces.

“If ye are meeting to discuss the situation,” she said, “I believe I should be in on it.”

“I think not, Sister,” Josh replied. “I am in charge of this expedition and will do all the talking required.”

Surprised at Josh's sudden swagger, she took a moment to understand it, concluding it was because he was in the company of big men, rather than men he could order about. “I don't know that you're in charge, any more than I am,” she stubbornly replied.

Bucknell and the chief shared a glance; then Bucknell said, “Let us hear from the captain first, my dear. I assure you we will consult with you after we better understand the situation.”

“Very well,” she said, after an apparent internal struggle. She looked at Josh. “But I'm surprised at your mendacity, Captain.”

Josh jutted out his scarred chin. “I don't care to argue with you on the street, Sister. Mendacity? If that means a man has to do what a man has to do, I plead guilty.”

“Posh!” she snapped, then gladly went back to the children, who quickly gathered around her with their shy smiles. At least they were not afflicted with false and foolish pride as were so many adults, especially big American captains.

“She's a spirited thing,” Josh said, watching after Sister Mary Kathleen, “but she's often wrongheaded.”

“We will be pleased to hear all about that and more, Captain,” Mr. Bucknell replied as diplomatically as his post required. Then he led the way toward food and words.

The “temporary government house of the Far Reaches” proved to be a board shack with a tin roof. Waiting inside was a young woman who wore a high-neck gown and had a flower in her long and shimmering black hair. She was apparently expecting visitors, as she had already set out on a rude table several plates of diced coconut, banana slices, and other succulent fruits. While Josh and the chief ate, Bucknell explained the shack had been built by an Australian named Old Burt who had tried to make a go of raising coconuts for copra. “This was his plantation house,” Bucknell said as he set three tumblers on a makeshift bar consisting of a plank laid between two barrels. “His grave is out back. Died of fever, which is not common here. He was an old Solomon Islands hand. Caught it there, most likely.”

The chief provided a little more background. “Old Burt belong many wimmins. Old Burt sick. All wimmins go. Nobody come. He die.”

Bucknell smiled. “Precisely. Now, although it is still morning, may I propose a gin and tonic for a round of toasts prior to our conference?”

“You wouldn't happen to have any rum on you?” Josh asked.

“Sorry, old man. Gin is the preferred anesthetic of the white man in these islands.”

Bucknell retrieved an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid from a termite-riddled hutch, as well as ajar of liquid Josh supposed was tonic, then mixed them in another jar and poured the contents into the only slightly dirty tumblers. “We take it neat in the Far Reaches, of course,” Bucknell said. “I haven't seen an ice cube since the war began. Come to think of it, I haven't seen ice since I've been here, which is going on eleven years, save a bucket on a yacht sailed by a trio of American millionaires who bumbled out this way back in ‘35.” He handed the drinks over, then proposed a toast. “To
the king, God save him, the president, God bless him, and our friend the chief, God have him.”

“Salut,”
Josh toasted, raising his tumbler.

Chief Kalapa also raised his tumbler, then downed its contents in a single gulp. “My word! Good fella gin!” He belched and smacked his lips in the island style.

Josh took a swallow and felt the liquid burn all the way down his gullet. Then he followed Chief Kalapa's example and finished it off. “Fine stuff, Mr. Bucknell,” he rasped.

“I managed to escape with a good stock from Ruka,” Bucknell said after an appreciative sip. “What I will do when it runs out, I have no idea. Probably kill myself, I shouldn't wonder.”

They had another drink and exchanged more pleasantries, in the course of which Josh discovered that Mr. Bucknell had inherited a pile of money, then lost it due to a combination of the Depression and gambling, and that his posting to the Far Reaches was to get rid of him when his poverty had become an embarrassment to his peers. “In other words,” Bucknell concluded, “I'm an Englishman, down on his luck, but fortunate to have an opportunity to serve my king and country.”

Josh said, “A good story, and I like it. As for me, I am the son of a light-house keeper, grew up on the island of Killakeet on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and am now a professional coast guard officer.”

Bucknell's eyes sparkled impishly. “And sent amongst us savages for what purpose, Captain?”

Josh pondered the question, then said, “I was shanghaied by that nun.” Then Josh explained how she'd accomplished it, becoming angry as he told the story and letting his repressed resentment boil over.

Bucknell and Chief Kalapa shared a glance, and then Bucknell said, “I confess when I first saw you I hoped you had come to send the Japanese packing.”

“With two sound marines and a bosun? No, Mr. Bucknell. I fear not.”

Chief Kalapa said, “We know you go along Burubu. One Tahila fella boy fish Burubu. See Japonee come along. Too much smoke, too much peoples cry, Burubu peoples all finish, he think. Then Japonee go, you come along, and Tahila fella boy come along here, say all same.”

“That about sums it up, Chief,” Josh said.

“Tell us what you found on Burubu, Captain,” Bucknell said.

Josh described the massacre, and upon his conclusion, Chief Kalapa struck himself in the face to demonstrate his grief.

“Please don't do that, Chief,” Josh begged.

Bucknell said, “It is most odd, Captain, that suddenly we see Colonel Yoshu on the move. He has been content to stay on Ruka and leave the outlying islands alone. Now, for whatever reason, he's become active. We assume this island will be next.”

“And I assume you're correct,” Josh said, “and when he comes, he will do the same thing here he did on Burubu. So here's my proposal, gentlemen: Let us load the outriggers with everyone on Tahila and clear out.”

The chief frowned. “No many marine come along Far Reaches?”

“No, Chief. No many marines. No Americans at all, other than us.”

“Why is that, old man?” Bucknell asked.

“I'll draw you a picture, Mr. Bucknell. Could I borrow your umbrella? Thank you.”

Josh used the tip of the umbrella to draw on the sand floor of the shack. “Here's Australia—see that, Chief?—you savvy Australia? Now, just to the east are the Solomons—Guadalcanal, New Georgia, and so forth. We finally took the Solomons …”

“I didn't know that!” Bucknell exclaimed. “Good show! How are my fellow colonialists there? I knew more than a few of the plantation owners.”

Bucknell's question stirred up a few painful memories for Josh, who had fought for so long in the Solomons. “Most of the British left before the Japanese arrived,” he informed the diplomat. “Those that didn't, for the most part, I'm sorry to tell you, were murdered. A few men served as coast-watchers or formed irregular forces using loyal natives. When the Japanese started building an airfield on Guadalcanal, our marines landed, followed by regular army and National Guard troops. I was there, too, on an inspection trip for the secretary of the navy. We were all raw, and it was a close-run thing for nearly a year as we fought up through the chain of the Solomons. But finally, though we lost a bunch of fine men, we beat them. New Guinea and Tarawa were next. They were bloody, awful battles, but we beat them there, too. I'm sorry, Mr. Bucknell, but on all the islands, the old plantations have been abandoned. Most of the British colonists have decamped for home or Australia.”

“I fear this war will spell the end of our empire,” Bucknell said after absorbing Josh's story. “Perhaps all empires.”

“I don't know, Mr. Bucknell. You could be right. First we got to win the blamed thing, then sort out the results.” Josh went back to his sand cartoon. “Now, look here. Up here to the north of the Solomons is New Guinea, and then way up here the Philippines. General MacArthur with
mostly army troops plans to sweep up this line. He wants to free the Philippines before moving on to Japan.”

Chief Kalapa stared at Josh's drawing, tugged at his chin, then shrugged. “Wrong way,” he said.

“Yes, Chief. It's the wrong way, at least for clearing the Japanese from this part of the Pacific. But the United States Navy, under Admiral Nimitz, has a different idea.” Josh sketched on. “Here's Tarawa over here. See where I'm dotting the sand, Chief? North are the Marshalls about here, then the Marianas, the Volcanos, Okinawa about here, then Japan. You see? That's the way Admiral Nimitz is going to go with his navy and his marines. All the way to Japan. The Army Air Force likes this plan since it will allow their bombers to get closer to the cities. They plan on pounding them into dust.”

“How long do you think victory will take?” Bucknell asked. “Depends on who you talk to. I figure the army and the navy will get to Okinawa about the same time and then join up. That will take about two years. Then it'll take another three to beat the Japanese in their home islands.”

Bucknell's face fell. “Five more years of war?”

“At least. Unless somebody has a big secret weapon up their sleeves. From what I saw on the Solomons and Tarawa, we'll have to pretty much kill every man, woman, and child in Japan to beat them. I don't know if we have the stomach for that. Anyway, Chief, look here. About here is the Far Reaches. See how they're way off by themselves? See the two arrows I've drawn pointing toward Japan, one going up the left and the other the right? You ain't on either one of those tracks. So killing Japonee here won't help the Americans get up to Tokyo. Savvy?”

“Many Japonee belong this place,” Chief Kalapa insisted.

Josh handed him Bucknell's umbrella. “Show me your islands, would you, Chief? I don't quite recall how they're laid out.”

Chief Kalapa looked doubtfully at the umbrella, then poked its snout into the sand. “What I do?”

“Draw the Far Reaches.”

Chief Kalapa stared at the sand, stirred it with the point of the umbrella, then handed the implement to Bucknell. “Far Reaches belong here,” he said, touching a finger to his head. “Me see all land. Me see all ocean water. Me see village here, there. Me see all. No see nothing in sand.”

Bucknell stirred Josh's war cartoon into oblivion and started drawing. “I can show you, Captain. The Forridges include many small islands, some inhabited, some not. The main islands run along an east-to-west arc. The biggest is Ruka, over here to the east. It is the seat of government. Then,
going westward, Burubu and Tahila. Tahila is the far reaches of the Far Reaches.”

Josh studied the map. “Tell me what happened when Jap arrived on Ruka, Mr. Bucknell.”

“Certainly. Though we knew the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor and attacked across the Pacific, we hoped for a time we might be spared their attention, though their aircraft flew across us several times. Then, one fine day, they waltzed in aboard two barges, marched into town, tore down the Union Jack, ran up the Rising Sun, and gave a big
banzai!
After that, they proceeded to round up any Europeans they could find. That included me, the priests and nuns, and an Irish-American barkeep named Carl Spurlock plus his wife Gertie and his other wife Tilly. We were herded inside the government house, and there we waited, for what we did not know.”

Bucknell frowned at what was an obviously unpleasant memory. “We were made to squat on the floor of the library, our hands tied at our backs, until a tall, handsome Nip all trumped up in braids and brass strutted in as if he owned the place, which, I suppose, he did. This proved to be Colonel Hideo Yoshu, a charming monster, who harangued us for a while, not that any of us could understand him, and then a young officer put it all into English. The upshot of it was that we were beneath the good colonel's interest but if we had any money or gold or jewels or anything of value, and if we turned it over to him forthwith, he might decide not to execute us. Father Ballester, as brave an Irishman as I've ever known, stood up and argued that we were all civilian noncombatants and that the colonel had no right to keep us prisoners or take our worldly goods. Yoshu conceded that the priest had presented a most excellent argument, and to demonstrate his appreciation, he had one of his bully boys thank the good father with a rifle butt. After that, several of them stomped on Father Ballester until they'd broken both his arms and a good number of his ribs, which must have punctured a lung, as he began to spit up gobs of blood. The rest of us, to our shame, did nothing. Some of us even looked away.”