Tales of the South Pacific - James A. Michener [10]
He led us through the crowd of silent islanders to a small stone cow shed not far from the pier. "But this cow shed is built of dressed stone," I said. "It's better than you see back home."
"I know," Tony said. "The convicts had to be kept busy. If there was nothing else to do, they built cow sheds."
"What convicts?" I asked.
"Gentlemen, a real welcome!" Tony produced a bottle of Scotch. I learned later that no one ever asked Tony where or how he got his whiskey. He always had it.
"This island," he said to me as we drank, "is the old convict island. Everything you see along the shore was built by the convicts."
"From where?"
"From Australia. England sent her worst convicts to Australia. And those who were too tough for Australia to handle were sent over here. This isn't a pretty island," Fry said. "Or wouldn't be, if it could talk."
"Well!" I said, looking at Tony. "About this airstrip?"
He smiled at me quizzically. "Admiral Kester?" he asked.
"Yes."
He smiled again. "You came down here to see about the airstrip?" I nodded. He grinned, an infectious, lovely grin showing his white and somewhat irregular teeth. "Commander," he said. "Let's have one more drink!"
"I have a terrible premonition that the trouble is that row of pine trees," I said as he poured.
Fry didn't bat an eye. He simply grinned warmly at me and raised his glass. "To the airstrip!" he said. "Thank God it's your decision, not mine."
At this moment there was a commotion outside the shed. "It's Teta!" voices cried. A horse, panting from his gallop, drew to a halt and wagon wheels crunched in the red dust. A high voice cried out, "Where is he? Where's Tony?"
"In there! In with the new American."
"Let me in!" the high voice cried.
And into our shed burst Teta Christian, something over ninety. She had four gaunt teeth in her upper jaw and two in her lower. Her hair was thin and wispy. But her frail body was erect. She went immediately to Tony. He took her by the hand and patted her on the shoulder. "Take it easy, now, Teta," he said.
She pushed him away and stood before me. "Why do you come here to cut down the pine trees?" she asked, her high voice rising to a wail.
"I..."
But Tony interrupted. "Be careful what you say, commander. It's the only adequate site on the island."
"You shut up!" old Teta blurted out. "You shut up, Tony."
"I merely came down to see what should be done," I said.
"Well, go back!" Teta cried, pushing me with her bony hand. "Get in the airplane. Go back. Leave us alone."
"We'd better get out of here," I said. "Where do I bunk?"
"That's a problem," Fry said, whimsically. "It's a damned tough problem."
"Anywhere will do me," I assured him. "Why not put up with you? I'll only be here one night."
Tony raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Want to bet on that?" He laughed again. "That's what the problem is, commander. I sort of don't think you should live with me." He fingered his jay-gee bar on his collar flap. "I... I..."
"Hm!" I said to myself. "Woman trouble. These damned Yanks. Let them get anywhere near a dame. I suppose Fry has something lined up. Officers are worse than the men."
"Very well," I said aloud. "Anywhere will do."
I reached for my single piece of luggage, a parachute bag battered from the jungle life on Vanicoro. As I did so a chubby young girl of fifteen or sixteen came into the shed and ran up to Tony in that strange way you can spot every time. She was desperately in love with him. To my utter disgust, I noticed that she was vacant-eyed and that her lower jaw was permanently hung open.
"This is Lucy," Fry said, patting the young girl affectionately on the shoulder.