Conway tried to spit at an orange fish. 'Sorry, Abe,' he said. 'It's not you, mate, or the boat. It's something else.'
'Your girl in the big club?' asked Abe casually.
'Not on your life,' said Conway allowing himself a smile. 'That girl is a pioneer of the birth pill in the Pacific. The only regular taker between Honolulu and Darwin. She got them from a man in Hawaii.'
Abe smiled with admiration. 'That's nice,' he said. 'That must be real nice. No messing about, eh? I'd like to get a stock of them baby things. Maybe I could get the agency.'
Conway continued looking over the side. 'Just one every night,' he said.
'Monday's child is full of woe, Tuesday's child has far to go,' recited Abe reflectively. 'That's what they say, ain't it? That's the sort of thing your pal ought to have been peddling, not butter and fats. Who wants butter and fats, anyway.'
'Looks like he had a wasted journey too,' shrugged Conway.
'So you did as well?' asked Abe, very Jewish. He rested his stomach on the wheel.
'Looks like it.' Conway spat at another fish, a blue one this time, a harder target. He thought he hit it. 'Listen, Abe, I'm going to tell you something because I may need your help, and this boat. Anyway, your know‑how. You'll get paid, Abe, but you've got to keep your gate shut about this, whether you're in it or not. Understand?' He made a quacking, duck shape with his fingers. 'No talkie‑talkie, okay? More people know than is healthy even now.'
'You can trust me, son,' said Abe, hitching up his belly symbolically. 'If I get paid, particularly, you can trust me.'
'That island back there,' began Conway. 'That God‑fearing, God‑for‑bleeding‑saken island. That's my bother.'
Abe nodded with immediate understanding. 'I'm not one to ask,' he said with suburban primness. 'Never poke my nose anywhere that's private, but I knew you didn't get over there, among those heathen savages, just to help get ,em along with Jesus. When I saw you helping to build the grandstand for the Ascension Day thing, I thought to myself I'm buggered if that Aussie is filled with the Holy Ghost! I thought "He's after something".'
Conway told him what he was after. Abe slowed the boat even more so that the story could finish before they reached the jetty at Sexagesima. He kept shaking his head. 'Dangerous,' he said at last, with a round whistle. 'Very dangerous. They're very touchy that tribe. Very touchy indeed. When they used to have a war with St Mark's it was terrible to see. Cutting up and bashing in, crucifying, stakes through the hearts. All that sort of business. For Christians, Aussie, they ain't very charitable.'
'I know all that,' said Conway impatiently. 'What I want to know is that when I do something drastic ‑ and it's going to be soon ‑ can I rely on your help in case anything goes wrong.'
'As long as I'm clear of the St Paul's lagoon and this boat is repaired enough to break the record between there and here, I'm with you,' said Abe, throwing a rope to a Melanesian on the quay. 'Otherwise I ain't with you.'
Conway clambered up to the jetty. 'Get that leak plugged then. And give that engine a birthday. It's not had a rag over it in six months.'
'I will,' promised Abe laconically. 'I'll get a sail rigged up too.'
'Any beer?'
'Two left. Funny there always seems to be just two left when you poke your head in.'
Davies felt under his bed and came up with the two bottles holding them by the necks like animals. He gave Conway one. It was hot in the room again. The gekkos on the cream walls half closed their eyes in the heat, too indolent to eat the slow flies. The sun came through the break in the blind like a dagger.
'It's always so flaming hot in here,' complained Conway.
'It's a choice room,' said Davies. 'Sun all day. What did you want?'
Conway slowly drank half the bottle of beer. He checked the level, took enough to fill his mouth again, and set it down on the floor. 'Well,' he said. 'It's got to be done. The business over on St Paul's. There's no other way.'
'They don't want to join, eh?'
'Do they hell. The black bastards are too busy waiting for Ascension and all that crap to think about anything else. Christ, I've got some blisters helping them to put that stage up too. And nothing for it.'
Davies said: 'You asked them straight?'
Conway shrugged. 'More or less. I said it was a HolyWar, but shit they were struck dumb at the idea of anybody asking them to leave when Ascension Day is coming up. You'd think it was the Melbourne Gold Cup.'
'Maybe it is to them,' pointed out Davies.
'You always were such a great big bloody help.'
1 thought you wanted my help.'
'Later. Just now don't bother.' He swigged the rest of the bottle, looked regretfully at its green hollowness. 'I put it straight to that fat fool Joseph and said it was a special invitation from Her Majesty's Australian Government and he more or less said that Her Majesty's Australian Government could go and screw itself.'
Davies had got halfway with his beer. He saw Conway looking at it, but he deliberately drank the rest himself. 'What are you going to do? Give up?'
Conway snorted: 'Aw, come away. You know me better than that. Hell am I going to give up! I told you I'll take those boys back to Aussie if I have to blackbird them.'
'So how?'
Conway licked the blisters on his hands. 'Look at those, for God's sakes, working like a black putting up their concert party stage. Look at them.'
He held up his hand like a traffic policeman. Davies nodded. 'You could get ten bob an hour doing that in Sydney.'
'You're right you could. Anyway, I'm going ahead with the other thing.'
'Not the motor bike!'
'Yes, the motor bike. They're waiting for this Messiah, this Dodson‑Smith of theirs and they're convinced he's going to turn up any minute and ride his perishing motor bike down to them. They won't do anything without him, let alone go to Vietnam. But if the sign came from him, son, they wouldn't hesitate. They'd be out of here on the next boat.'
'Jesus,' said Davies quietly, looking at the Australian's face, 'I always knew you were mad, but it's got worse.'
'Listen,' said Conway, leaning forward. 'You can get people to believe anything. People mate, any sort of people.
People in cities, in out‑stations, on funny little islands. Tell them something properly ‑ anything, tell them it's going to rain blue frogs or the sun is coming up black tomorrow, and they'll swallow it. How do you think politicians and public relations blokes get by? Telling the truth? Do they hell! They get by because the bigger the lie the more people believe it. And especially if they want to believe it. And over there, on St Paul's, they want old Dodson‑Smith to come riding down that hill on his motor bike more than anything. More than life even. They're ripe for it.'
'Couldn't you have offered them money to come with you?' interrupted Davies practically. 'Money usually works anywhere.'
'Anywhere else,' Conway conceded dolefully. 'I tried that. They said no thanks because they can manage till the copra collection. So I could stuff my money.' He looked thoughtful. 'Mind you, I did get a scent of an idea. But I'll leave that for now.'
'Well how are you going to work this miracle? And, what's important to me, where do I come in?' said Davies.
Conway picked at the stubble on his chin as though seeking out weeds. 'You and Abe,' he said.
'You've told Abe?'
'Yeah, I had to rope him in. I need his boat.'
'What about Pollet?'
'No, not yet. In a funny way I think he'd be a risk.'
'You mean he's got a decent regard for the natives?'
'If you like.'
Davies said: 'All right, what is it and when?'
Conway grinned. 'I wish it was as simple as that, sport. But it just ain't. It will need to be soon. During the next three nights, I think. We've got to get over there in the dark, get around the back of the island, the volcanic side, and climb up over the top...'
'We've
got to?' queried Davies.
Conway glared at him. 'Maybe me, maybe both of us. It depends on how much help I need. Maybe I won't ask you, anyway. I can handle it myself. I need a bell...'
'A bell,' said Davies.
'A bell,' confirmed Conway. 'And a sort of black cloak, which is what this Dodson‑Srnith character is supposed to arrive in ‑ according to all the stuff in the records and observations of the island.'
'Where did you get that?'
Conway shuddered. 'Mrs Flagg,' he said. He glanced at Davies but Davies did not react. 'The bell rung continuously is a sign that they must prepare for war. I mean, I don't intend to ride that motor bike down to the village and tell them in my Sydney accent that I'm Dodson‑Smith and they've got to go off to Vietnam like good fellas.'
'That is a bit thin,' commented Davies wryly.
'And risky,' agreed Conway.
'So you ring the bell like a muffin man and they'll follow you anywhere,' said Davies.
Conway glanced at him. 'They're only going to see me from a distance,' he said. 'The whole village will go down on the beach.'
'In the middle of the night.'
'I've worked out a little diversion there ‑ a sort of counter‑attraction. Like a sign, shall we say, or a vision.'
'Like what?'
'Not yet. You']] see if you come. Anyway, when DodsonSmith turns up he's going to ride through the village ‑which will be empty because they'll all be on the beach ‑and along that track that runs just above the beach, remember it?'
Davies nodded: 'And ringing his bell,'he said.
'Right. So they know he's turned up and so they know he's sounding the war signal.'
'Then what?'
'Then old Dodson‑Smith pisses off along the track for a mile to the little pebble beach at the north of the island where Abe's boat will be ‑ with you and Abe in it ‑ and we get the sacred bike on board via a ramp from the pebbles, no tracks or anything see ‑ and clear out quick.'
'And the next day you'll go over there and then we get a dozen men with their bags packed, itching to get at the VietCong,' said Davies. 'Absolute bloody lunacy.'
'Listen,' said Conway. 'I'll bet you that they'll come with me within a few days. How much will you bet?'
Davies said: 'It's so mad. It's unbelievable.'
Conway looked at the Welshman's negative face. 'Listen,' he said fiercely. 'Can you picture that day when we went over with the harmonium. Was anything more mad, more unbelievable, than that? Go on tell me.'
'I suppose it was really. Judging by normal standards.'
'That's the trouble. You're using the wrong measure. Normal standards don't count here. I know you think the whole thing is far out but what you've got to admit is that everything is like that here. Look at this Mrs Flagg and her natives with their dicks all bound up. Look at this Unknown Soldier business. If that's not looney I don't know what is. Look at this nut with his bread sign flashing all night, and this Chinese place where they have their meetings. And the meetings. It's like an insane asylum, anyway. What might seem madness in your place, what d'you call it? ...'
'Newport,' said Davies helpfully. 'Mon.'
'Yeah, Newport, Mon, and what might seem like madness in Sydney is normal here. It works! It's got something to do with the sun and the isolation and the way the moon is, and the season. It has got everything to do with all these.'
'I still think it's barmy,' said Davies. 'God, is it worth all that?'
Conway bit his top lip into the stubble. 'It is. To me it is anyway. I never start a thing I don't finish, son. I'm known for that.' Davies got up and looked out of the split in the window blind. The ancient Chinese across the road was putting up the communist flag of his homeland and a large photograph of Mao and his contribution to the street decorations for the royal visit. Davies shut his eyes and turned into the room again.
'What sort of chance does Abe give it? 'he asked.
'Every chance. He's like Pollet, he knows this place, these islands, and these people. He knows the mad things that happen, and especially with the natives. He knows their minds, the superstition, even when it's supposed to be religion.' He leaned forward towards Davies. 'Listen, people in these islands sit down and die, just like that, because somebody else says they've got to sit down and die. They kill their parents if they feel they've got to kill them. And it's not just to go to the bleeding orphans outing, either. Their whole lives, mate, are built up on terrible fears, bogie.. wogies, ghosts, and Dodson‑Smith if you get me.
'Look, in the South Hibernian Islands the people went religion mad. They were so full of the Holy Ghost they ate all the missionaries and their wives. So brimming with the spirit that they couldn't help themselves. And that wasn't any voodoo religion, it was a substitute for voodoo, and they called it Christianity. They put everything primitive into it, everything that's powerful in their lives and the lives of their tribal ancestors for donkey's years back. They call on Jesus and then lay down on a bed of red hot coals. And they get up again without a blister. I'd like to see your Archbishop of Canterbury do that.'
Davies said: 'And you're prepared to stir them up, nutty children though they are, just to get your little thing going.'
Conway said: 'Aw, now come on, sport. Don't let's get down to ethics. If you like I'll give you the whole works, Hbombs, napalm, women, and kids. I can recite the lot. Because I've seen it. I've been there. Ethics are no worry of mine. I just want to get these blackies on the way to Aussie.'
He took an impulsive swig at the beer bottle, found it empty, and dropped it dully on the floor. 'Are you still with me? 'he said to Davies.
Davies had gone to the window again. He looked out on to the enclosed hot street. The Chinese shopkeeper was showing his flag and his portrait of Mao to his Vietnamese neighbour.
Davies said slowly: 'It seems that the insanity in this place is catching. It must be the heat or something.'
'Good,' smiled Conway. 'I'm going to need you.'
'Well, listen before we go any further,' said Davies. 'First of all I want to tell you that at the first sign of murder, even if it's yours, I'm pissing off out of it with Abe.'