The Sun Is God (16 page)

“On Kabakon do you not also live by bizarre rules and mores? You bow down to a totem. You are vegetarians,” Will added.

“I bow because it pleases me to please Engelhardt. He believes that the Earth itself is a deity, the Earth is alive.”

“The vegetarianism?”

“Eating animals is morally indefensible. Here we eat only—”

“I know. Coconuts and bananas. And opium. Quite a bit of opium too it seems.”

“The Sumerians called the opium poppy
Hul Gil
, the joy plant. They believed, as we do, that in its path we are led to another realm beyond this one. And what we take is Bayer heroin: opium perfected by German science.”

Fräulein Schwab leaned forward and by accident or design her arms were pushing her breasts together to form a décolletage. “And you Mr. Prior, what do you believe?” she asked.

“I do eat meat. Deer and pig and fish and beef when I can get it.”

“But what do you
believe
?”

“What everyone else believes. I am no backwoodsman. I have read Mr. Darwin, but I am not yet convinced by his arguments.”

Fräulein Schwab laughed as if this were the greatest joke in the world, but then her hand reached to her mouth in embarrassment when she saw that Will was serious.

“But my dear sir. Doctor Schopenhauer and Doctor Darwin have solved all of the philosophical problems of humanity. Doctor Darwin has removed a need for a first cause, Schopenhauer has shown us our modern dilemma!”

She smiled and put her hand on his. Will felt the electricity in her fingertips.

“You must read Schopenhauer again. Please, sir, allow me to give you my copy of
Die Entstehung der Arten
.”

“All right.”

“Follow me,” Anna said, and putting her shawl over her head she ran across the piazza to one of the huts.

Will followed Fräulein Schwab to her rather drab little bungalow, almost identical in every respect to the dwelling he shared with Klaus, but somehow bleaker because it was filled with furniture and pictures. There was a large German bed and next to it a smaller camp bed. No mosquito netting on either, Will noted. Under the window (which had glass) there was an armoire, a dressing table, and on the opposite wall a frightening looking tribal mask of the Duk Duk variety. A bookshelf ingeniously snaked around all four walls. Heavy German volumes of forbidding texts. A strange looking chair and a Persian rug completed the set-up.

“How do you like my accommodation?” Fräulein Schwab asked, lighting an oil lamp.

She looked younger in here and Will realized that he'd been wrong about her age. She may have just turned twenty-two or twenty-three. A healthy diet and avoidance of the sun would return her to rude health if she would but allow it.

“Charming,” Will said.

“Sit in the “ergonomic” chair; it is very comfortable; it was designed by a Swedish professor of anatomy. And call me Anna if you wish,” she said.

Will sat in a hard, wooden, incredibly uncomfortable chair that was only a step above an Inquisitorial torture device. “Will you tell me the truth about something, Mr. Prior?” Fräulein Schwab said, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling again.

He really liked her smile. Her whole face glowed when she smiled. “May I ask you a question of an intimate nature?”

“If you please,” Will replied.

“Do you have syphilis?”

“Do I have . . . ?”

“Do you have the syphilis?”

“No. I do not have the syphilis.”

“I mean no moral censure. I ask only as a precaution. I do not wish to be lied to.”

“I do not have syphilis,” Will insisted.

“But when you visited low houses, you may have contracted the disease. And please do not tell me that you have never frequented such places. You were a military man.”

“In, in South Africa I used a method of contraception which science tells us is an effective prophylactic,” Will said, amazed by the turn in the conversation.

“You are free of all the social diseases?”

“I believe so.”

“We may indeed have intercourse, then,” Fräulein Schwab said. She was just about the most attractive female who had ever said or suggested such a thing to Will in any language. Anna Schwab was a magnificent specimen of womanhood. Long proportionate thighs, delicate breasts, and a deeply intelligent, inquisitive face. Yet although they were east of Greenwich and south of the line, Will had grown up in the dark heart of Yorkshire and he still found himself shocked by the proposition. Fräulein Schwab was German, a nudist, a Cocovore, but undoubtedly a well-born lady. Will coughed.

“Why do you hesitate? Do you not desire me?”

“Madam, perhaps I misunderstand your, er, philosophy. I thought you said that the purpose of living on Kabakon was to free yourself of desire,” Will uttered lamely.

“Of course! Which means that desire is both meaningless and the most important thing in the world. On Kabakon we will live for a hundred years because we repress nothing, we say everything, we tell the truth. When we wish to act we act.”

She pulled Will toward the bed and kissed him on the lips.

“Be warned though that for you the satisfaction of this desire will be both transitory and meaningless,” she whispered. “But perhaps you are not able?”

Will kicked off his plimsolls and undid the braces holding up his canvas trousers. He pulled the shirt over his head and, since he was wearing no undergarment, within a trice he was as naked as the wet September day in 1880 when he'd been born.

“You have no difficulty becoming aroused,” Anna said with a cold, biological glint to her eye.

“Who would, looking at you my dear?” Will said, clambering onto the bed.

Fräulein Schwab waved her hand in the direction of the window. “Most of the men on Kabakon,” she replied sadly.

“Malaria will do that to you,” Will said and kissed her on the mouth to silence her.

And yet after a minute or so she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Is there anything the matter?” she asked.

“No!” Will said.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I . . .”

She gently pushed him off. “You have done this with a woman before now?” she asked.

“Of course!” Will said.

“Perhaps you prefer boys?” she suggested.

“I have a . . . There is a young person to whom I am greatly attached, she . . . this is . . .” Will stuttered.

“There is no need to explain. Hand me that tin of Turkish cigarettes next to the bed,” she said.

He did as he was bid and she lit a cigarette and did not offer him one.

Fräulein Schwab shook her head. “It was mere curiosity on my part. A passing foolishness. The character of the will is suffering. The only way we can escape suffering is to cease to strive.”

“Very true,” said Helena, the Countess Höhenzollern, coming into the hut with Miss Pullen-Burry. Both were naked but for clog-like shoes on their feet. Both were carrying large black umbrellas, which they proceeded to shake just outside the hut door—a valuable two seconds that allowed Will to pull a sheet over his privates.

“Refusal to be driven onto the rocks of suffering by the relentless will is the source of our true escape,” Helena said and then seeing Will she exclaimed, “Good evening Herr Prior!”

“Good evening Countess, Miss Pullen-Burry,” Will said with a steady voice.

“Good evening, Mr. Prior,” Miss Pullen-Burry responded.

“Is he bothering you?” the countess asked Fräulein Schwab.

“Not at all,” she exclaimed and then laughing, added, “I'm afraid that the heart was willing but the body incapable.”

Will clamped his teeth together, appalled.

Miss Pullen-Burry pretended a lack of understanding. “You are feeling unwell Mr. Prior; perhaps the diet does not agree with you?”

“I do very well madam. Ladies if you will excuse me, I must go, there has been a um . . . Fräulein Schwab and I were . . . If you will just step outside for one moment, please.”

Miss Pullen-Burry got up to go, but the countess waved her down again.

“You are in
our
domain, Mr. Prior, this is the Augustburg, the settlement of the Sonnenorden. We choose not to leave.”

Will's cheeks stayed the same color, but they changed from the red of shame and embarrassment to that of outright anger.

“Madam, I am attempting to be discreet. I wish you to leave so that I may get dressed,” Will said with cold rage.

“Sir, as you can see
we
are undressed. On Kabakon we practice naked cocovorism—that is our raison d'etre.”

“Very well,” Will said aggressively, throwing back the sheet and grabbing his clothes from off the floor. He pulled on his trousers and slipped his feet partially into the plimsolls.

“Goodnight ladies,” he said, and slinging his shirt over his shoulder, he walked back across the piazza to his hut.

Inside, Kessler was dozing under his Deutsches Heer mosquito tent. He looked dry, composed, and restful, without a care in the world.

“Klaus!” Will tried but he got no answer. “Klaus!”

Kessler moaned but did not open his eyes.

Will went to the doorway and looked out—he could just make out the ladies talking in Fräulein Schwab's hut on the other side of the piazza. Laughing at him, no doubt. He closed the door, hunted for a towel, found one of Kessler's, and dried himself.

He shook Kessler until the German awoke. “Klaus!”

“What? Is it morning?” Kessler asked.

“No.”

“What is the matter?” Kessler asked. “Is there a fire?”

“No. No fire.”

“What then?”

“I questioned Fräulein Schwab.”

Kessler looked at him and sat up. He climbed out of the mosquito net, grabbed his pen and notebook, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me your report,” he said.

Will was relieved to see this side of Kessler. Wandering off and missing his appointment with the
Delfin
had made Will think that Klaus might have experienced some kind of psychic break freed from his regimented life in Herbertshöhe.

“I don't have anything concrete to report, not yet, not as such. I don't think
she
killed him anyway,” Will said.

“Who did?”

“I have no idea.”

Kessler put the pen and notebook away. “In that case I am going back to bed.”

“Where did you go earlier?”

“I went for a walk.”

“In the rain?” Will said.

“I speak in euphemisms.”

“Bowel trouble, eh?”

“I do not wish to talk about it. Good night, Will.”

“I want to tell you something, Klaus,” Will said urgently.

“What?” Kessler asked, a flicker of concern around his green, saucer-like eyes.

“I don't like this place, there's something unwholesome about it.”

“There's something unwholesome about the entire South Pacific.”

“No, here, there's something wrong here. We should leave as quickly as we can.”

Kessler yawned. “Of course, Will, as quickly as we can,” he agreed and yawned and went cheerfully back to sleep.

13

LEAVING THE GARDEN

T
he Night Witches came on ramshackle brooms on which perched crows, magpies, ravens, and other more exotic creatures from the infernal aviary. Their robes were vermillion lianas weaved from their hair. Under their death hoods Will could see the white of a pure skull glinting in the light of the crescent moon. He was running naked on the beach, he had no weapon or hope of escape . . .

“Aaauhhh,” Will gasped and woke, staring into the dull face of one of the blacks who had helped carry their luggage from the beach on that first day.

“Aaauhhh!” he screamed again and the poor fellow jumped back. “Sorry,” Will said. “Bad dream. Duk Duk men. Night Witches . . . you know. Nonsense.”

The servant attempted to tell him something but his mouth was crammed full of betel and he was speaking in pidgin German. Will only got one word in three—apparently Harry wanted to see him.

“Run along now,” Will said and dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. “I need something to drink. Is there any coffee?” he asked, but Klaus was not in the hut.

He lay for a while examining his fresh bites until Harry von Cadolzburg and Christian Weber came into the hut. Both, naturally, were quite naked, although Harry was wearing blue tinted glasses which gave him either a comic or demonic air . . . Will couldn't decide which.

“Good morning, Will,” Harry said.

“Good morning,” Will replied. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“What do you have planned to do today?” Harry asked.

“I haven't planned anything,” Will said.

“We thought perhaps we could take you on a little tour of the island and the plantations this morning. Would that suit you?” Christian said brightly.

“Is the weather clement?”

“The rain has finally stopped,” Harry said in English, enunciating each of his words as if they were individually wrapped birthday presents.

Will looked dubiously through the window. The sky was grey and a small cassowary wandering across the piazza looked wet and depressed. “Well, it's kind of you gents to offer, but I don't know—I have not even breakfasted yet.”

“We will have some refreshment first, of course,” Christian added.

Will yawned and swung out of the hammock. To his horror the floor was alive with tiny scarlet crabs that had been washed down from the plantations in last night's downpour. It must have been a common occurrence, for Harry and Christian apparently hadn't even noticed them. “You couldn't possibly pass me my shoes, could you, old chap?” Will asked, keeping his feet an inch above the floor and examining his fresh harvest of mosquito bites.

They gave him his plimsolls, and tip toeing through the crabs he grabbed his kit bag and looked through it to see if Siwa had packed his quinine pills. She had not.