We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [68]
Jack Lewis always relieved me at midnight, precisely when the middle watch began. I wondered about it at first, then decided there had to be a secret side to him that forced him to be alone with the stars. One warm evening, when the sails hung limp and the calm surface of the sea mirrored the Milky Way, making its white starlight seem like surf breaking over a submerged reef, I fetched my bedding in order to sleep on deck.
Jack Lewis immediately ordered me below, his voice sharp.
"Kanaks sleep on deck. It's not appropriate for a white man." I hesitated. I felt no urge to return to the muggy cabin below. "All right, stay here and get some fresh air." His voice was conciliatory now, and I could tell he wanted to talk. I seated myself on the rail. It was very quiet, apart from the squeaking of the rigging. "I've lied to you," Jack Lewis said. I could hear him chuckling to himself in the darkness. "I know very well who Jim is. But you won't believe me."
"Out with it. I'll believe you. But tell me, why do you want to tell me the truth now?"
"Oh, so I've got your blessing, have I? Lucky me. Why do I suddenly feel like telling you the truth about Jim? Because the story's too good to keep to myself. That's the strange thing about a good story. No pleasure if you can't share it. So listen to this: Jim's real name is"—here he paused for dramatic effect—"James."
I gave him a disappointed look. "So what?"
Jack Lewis laughed. "I'm guessing his surname will mean more to you than his first name. Cook. James Cook."
I gasped. "The James Cook?"
"Yes, the James Cook. Captain of the Resolution and the Discovery. The man who discovered the Tonga Islands, the Sandwich Islands, and the Society Islands. That James Cook."
"But that's impossible!"
"Show me his grave, then. Go on, tell me where he's buried." I shook my head. I didn't know. "James Cook was killed on Hawaii. In Kealakekua Bay. He was strict but fair. You have to be if you're dealing with Kanaks. When one of them stole a sextant, James Cook cut off his ear." He fixed me with his eyes to make sure I'd understood what he'd just told me. I had. One of his own Kanaks had an ear missing, and I didn't doubt who'd inspired him. "James Cook shot a chief on Hawaii who'd tried to steal a boat from him. Thousands of natives surrounded Cook and his men, but he could have been all right. The natives thought he was their missing god, Lono, making a return."
"He shouldn't have shot their chief."
"I thought you might say that. But the opposite's the case. Shooting the chief was vital. By making an example of him, Cook showed his strength. His mistake was that he showed them his weakness too. The natives were scared of attacking—though they had Cook and his men well outnumbered. But then one of them fired an arrow. Maybe it was an accident. No one knows. But the arrow hit James Cook. It didn't cause any serious injury. That wasn't what killed him. He died because he blundered." Jack Lewis sent me the look he always used when he wanted to educate me. Though I couldn't see how James Cook had blundered, I guessed that some cynical remark about mankind's wretchedness was about to follow, and I wasn't mistaken. "In the eyes of the Kanaks he was a god, and gods don't flinch. But Cook screamed when the arrow hit him. That gave them their signal to attack. Fifteen thousand men came at him and tore him to pieces. Literally. They roasted his flesh over an open fire—except for the nine pounds they sent back to the Resolution. They hung his heart inside a hut, where three children found it. They ate it, thinking it was a dog's. Some of his bones were discovered later by his officers, and they buried them at sea. But his head was lost."
"So how did you find it?"
"It wasn't easy. The Kanaks kept it secret, you see. It became a trophy in their internal wars. Finally the head left Hawaii and started wandering the Pacific—almost as if it was copying its owner's