The Ambassador's Son Read online

  Kennedy rode along, following the network of vines. “Beats me. Transportation, perhaps? You know, crawling along them? Maybe even walking on them?”

  “I don’t think so. Why bother? All these boys can climb a tree as easily as you and I can walk a path.” She sighted down a line of trees. “This row seems to be the end of the vines.”

  Kennedy dismounted and scanned the palm fronds and the intertwined vines, trying to make some sense of it. He put out his arm and leaned on one of the inner trees while scratching up under his hat. To his surprise, the tree moved. “Hey!”

  “What?”

  “This tree moved!”

  “Yes, Jack, coconut palms are always moving. Their fronds are like sails in the wind.”

  “No! I mean it moved at its base.”

  “You mean at its bole? That’s impossible.”

  “Base, bole, whatever you want to call it. I tell you it moved!”

  Felicity climbed off Delight and put her shoulder to the swollen bole of the tree. To her amazement, it did move. She looked up into the fronds. “I think it’s been sawn off at the base. The vines are holding it up. Jack, the vines must be holding all of them up!”

  Kennedy began rapidly walking back and forth, following the network of vines, shoving trees as he went. He was able to move most of them, and now he could see saw marks at their bottoms. “Sawn off perfectly level with the ground,” he said. “I think they form a big rectangle.” He stared upward, scrutinizing the waving fronds. “Felicity, the fronds. How long will they stay green?”

  “Coconut palm fronds? For a very long time. They’re mostly pulp. It takes quite a bit of drying before they start to turn yellow.”

  “But how long?”

  “A month. Maybe longer.”

  Kennedy looked around. “I know it’s crazy, but I think this might be . . .”

  “What?” Felicity demanded when Kennedy hesitated.

  “Felicity, listen. I’m not certain, but I’m sure David knows. And he might just tell me with a little booze under his belt.”

  Felicity stared at Kennedy until she understood he was asking her to help him. “All right, Jack,” she relented with a sigh. “We’ll give it a go.”

  50

  Josh sat on the cushioned bench the Jackson twins had built for Kennedy in the cockpit and contemplated the torches in Joe Gimmee’s village. All day, canoes had arrived filled with people who excitedly piled ashore. The canoes, he discovered from a friendly villager, came from all over, some as far south as Guadalcanal. Josh even ran across a fisherman he recognized who worked the reef off Melagi. When Josh tracked down Penelope, he found her with a dozen other women, all of them squatting with big wooden pestles in their hands and pounding taro root. “We must feed the people,” she explained in between exertions. “Every island in the Solomons has sent a delegation.”

  “Why?” he asked, with little hope of a straight answer.

  Her answer didn’t disappoint. “Because my father has invited them here, of course,” she said. “Do you desire more information, mastah? As you know, I only live to serve you.”

  Josh went away, grumbling to himself. The people bustling around him paid scant attention, having become used to the big American who “make’m gate fly along beach.” The women were busy building sleeping huts or carrying baskets of bananas, plums, taro root, and breadfruit and laying it all up in a central storage hut. Sharp squeals in the distance were evidence that pigs were being slaughtered. Josh went looking for his boys and found them helping to bury the pigs in a big fire pit. “This is going to be a great celebration, sir,” Ready said, practically licking his lips at the thought of barbecued pig.

  “You do understand we’re on a Japanese-occupied island, don’t you, Bosun?” Josh demanded. “And our gunboat is undefended?”

  Ready blinked a couple of times. “I get your meaning, sir. I’ll put someone on the guns.”

  Josh wandered back to the village and stood in the shade of the banyan tree, trying to decide what to do. Before he came to any conclusion, a handsome young man dressed in a clean white lap-lap and a shark’s tooth necklace approached him. “I am Ogomo,” he said. “Joe Gimmee’s son. My father would like to speak with you.”

  “Then you’re Penelope’s brother. Are you the one who brought Lieutenant Armistead here?”

  “I am, indeed. It was a long distance, and it was necessary I hide from the Japoni, who were everywhere, but it still took me only five days. I am a very strong paddler.”

  “Did you and Armistead talk very much on the way?”

  “Alas, he was too weak from his wound. So I mostly sang my little songs while I paddled and he listened. He is a good listener, for an American.”

  “Your accent is Australian,” Josh observed.

  “Yes. I was born there. My father and I lived in Sydney until I was ten. Please. He wishes to see you now.”

  Josh followed Ogomo to a small hut. The young man drew back its cloth door flap and indicated Josh should enter. In the cool darkness within, Josh found Joe Gimmee sitting serenely on the wooden throne that had been aboard the tomako. Joe wore no ornamentation, save a hibiscus in his hair. He smiled at the youth. “Thank you, Ogomo. You may leave us.”

  “Yes, Father,” Ogomo said, and backed out of the hut, closing the flap.

  “I’m afraid I have no chair to offer you,” Joe Gimmee said. “But please take a seat on those blankets, if you like.”

  Josh liked, and he sat down and crossed his legs. “Are you going to tell me where I can find David Armistead?” he asked.

  Joe Gimmee cocked his head. “I think you have a one-track mind, Commander. Sometimes I do, too. Tell me, what do you think of Penelope? Before you answer, I am wondering if I should I get out my shotgun. A father gets upset when his daughter is tipped by a man without a proposal of marriage.”

  “She’s already married, Joe.”

  “Not in a way recognized by your government. Whitman bought her from me.”

  “Then I’m even less concerned about your shotgun,” Josh replied. “I understand you abandoned her when she was a child to Minister Clarence. And now you’re telling me you sold her? That doesn’t exactly make you father of the year.”

  Joe Gimmee nodded. “You have me there. But when I handed her over to Minister Clarence, her mother was recently deceased. Her cousin Kwaque had kai-kai’ed her, I regret to say. And since I was leaving for a long sojourn in Australia, I thought it best to find a safe home for my daughter, and Minister Clarence was willing to take her in. Then when I returned, Whitman asked to buy her, and I needed the pigs he offered. I thought he’d make a good husband. I have never claimed to always be right about everything.”

  “Joe,” Josh said tiredly, “this is all interesting, but how about telling me what you want to tell me?”

  “It’s not what I want to tell you,” he said, “but what I want to ask you. How do you get your treasure?”

  “What do you mean?” Josh asked, taking his cap off and placing it on the blanket beside him.

  “Your boat, the food you eat, the clothes you wear. How do you get those things?”

  Josh scratched his head. “Well, it’s all government issue.”

  “Explain government issue, please.”

  “That means the government gave it to me.”

  “Did you pray for it first?”

  Josh stared at the old man, trying to figure him out. But then he remembered that Joe Gimmee was Penelope’s father, and the likelihood of figuring anyone out in that particular family was probably going to be remote. “Praying ain’t required, Joe,” Josh finally answered. “Paperwork, that’s the ticket if you want the government to issue you anything.”

  “Do you think I could get this paperwork?” he asked.

  “I suppose you could, but it wouldn’t do you any good. You have to be authorized to make a requisition from the government.”

  “How do I get authorized?”

  “Well, you’d have to b
e in one of the armed services of the United States.”

  “May I join one of those services?”

  Josh rubbed the old polar bear scar on his chin. “I doubt it. With all due respect, you’ve got a few too many years on you.”

  “How about Ogomo? He is young and healthy.”

  Josh shrugged. “I don’t think we’re recruiting Solomon Islanders just yet.”

  “He’s Australian. His mother was a white woman who entered my life for a brief time.”

  “Sorry, Joe. It don’t matter. He can’t join.”

  Joe Gimmee chuckled, then looked slyly at Josh. “I knew you would not allow him, for he might discover the great secret if he did. For many years, the people of the Solomons have watched the English receive many treasures, and we have asked them again and again how this occurs. They always lie. For instance, when I asked Minister Clarence where his tins of food and his metal cooking pots and his Bibles came from, he said he prayed and God provided. But I knew that was false. The people of the Solomons have prayed for many years, but the gods have never provided anything for us, save the hot sun and rain. Or perhaps those things that were meant for us were intercepted by the English. I stole a cooking pot from Minister Clarence, just to see if that was true. I knew the gods had meant for me to have it as soon as one of my wives used it for cooking.”

  “That’s crazy talk, Joe,” Josh said.

  “Is it? I traveled to Australia to see for myself. I took a job on the docks moving cargo here and there. Sometimes, it was stacked in warehouses. Other times, on trucks or ships. It went here, it went there. I asked the English blokes and Aussie mates where did all these things come from, and how do you know where it goes, and who gets it? They showed me paper, or simply waved their arms and talked very fast. Once, a crate was dropped and from it spilled many very fine dishes and cups, all with wonderful designs on them. I asked those blokes how these dishes and cups were made, and how the designs were put on them that could not be rubbed off no matter how hard I tried. But they could not tell me. I knew then that the gods must have made these dishes and cups. How do I know for certain? Because the men who are given them do not know how they are made. For instance, do you know how the uniform you wear is made? How did it get that color and that tight, perfect weave, impossible for even the most talented woman to sew? Tell me exactly, please.”

  Josh looked at Joe Gimmee and considered telling him a lie, but the old man’s eyes, deep and luminous and intelligent, were unsettling. He was certain that he’d be caught in any fib he tried. “Joe, I don’t know much about cloth,” he confessed. “There are sewing machines, but I’m not sure how they work. That don’t mean the gods made my uniform.”

  Joe Gimmee laughed good-naturedly. “White people are all excellent liars. But I don’t blame you. If I knew the great secret, I would keep it to myself, too. Yet when I was in Australia, I began to divine the truth, and then one day it came to me. First, special places must be constructed to receive treasure. Then proper ceremonies must be performed. All this is done, of course, to please the gods. Then, and only then, will the treasure be delivered.” Joe Gimmee leaned forward and inspected Josh’s expression. “I am very close to the great secret, aren’t I?”

  “Joe, you’re not even in the ballpark,” Josh said, shaking his head. “You want cooking pots, or even a truck? Get yourself some money and you can buy anything you want. That’s all it takes.”

  “How do I get money?”

  “For money, you have to work.”

  “I wondered when you would mention money and work in the same breath. The English always got to that, eventually. It was their way of making the Solomon Islanders do their bidding. But you have already admitted you get your treasure without money or work.”

  “Joe, I work for the federal government, don’t you see? It’s like this big man gives me stuff, and working ain’t always required.” Josh thought about what he’d said, then added, “Forget that last part.”

  “How can I forget it when you nearly told me the truth? By the way, I saw many times treasure delivered to the plantations without ever seeing any money handed over.”

  “They’d likely paid in advance,” Josh muttered. He was glad he’d taken his cap off, though he was ready to throw it across the hut. Joe Gimmee had him all tied up in knots.

  “I believe I have figured out one of the ceremonies that works especially well these days,” Joe Gimmee said. “All that is required is a special place.”

  Josh perked up. “Is Lieutenant Armistead at that place?”

  Joe Gimmee chuckled. “There is that one-track mind of yours again. Yes. He is there, but he is about his own business.”

  “It’s very important that I find him and take him home. I think he is sick in the head.”

  “He seems perfectly sane to me.”

  “What did Armistead have to say when you asked him about the great secret?”

  “Nothing much. Sadly, he also has a one-track mind. He has a plan to stop the war between you and the Japoni.”

  “Did he say how?”

  Joe Gimmee smiled. “He did, but I can’t tell you. I have enjoyed this conversation, Commander Thurlow. I sense that you are a good man, though a bit rough around the edges. I would like to have you around, but I suppose I’ll have to settle for being the grandfather to your child.”

  “I have known your daughter for only one week,” Josh said. “She ain’t pregnant, or at least I don’t think she is.”

  “But you coupled with her, didn’t you?”

  Josh reddened but kept silent.

  “I shall enjoy bouncing your child on my knee,” Joe Gimmee said, then clapped his hands, and the door flap was pulled back.

  “Commander?” Ogomo said, by way of an invitation for Josh to leave his father.

  Josh came outside. “Ogomo,” he said, “you seem a bright lad. I say this with all due respect, you understand, but I believe your father has a screw loose. Nobody’s going to give him treasure, no matter how many ceremonies he performs or special places he goes.”

  “Do not underestimate my father,” Ogomo advised. “By the way, what are you going to do about my sister? She’s pregnant with your child.”

  Josh sighed and trotted out his defense once more, though he supposed it wouldn’t help with the brother any more than the father. “I’ve known your sister for only one week,” he said.

  “You could do worse than Penelope,” Ogomo replied, as if Josh hadn’t said a word. “Like any good woman of these islands, she would live only to bear your children and to keep you pleased all the days of your life, in every respect.”

  Josh considered Ogomo’s appraisal of Solomon Islands womanhood. “The women out here are already the best treasure a man could have, Ogomo. I don’t understand why you and your daddy think you need anything more.”

  “If you really believed that, Commander,” Ogomo answered with a smile, “you would turn heaven and earth to keep Penelope at your side forever.”

  Ogomo had him dead to rights and Josh knew it. He shook his head and walked away.

  51

  Armistead came to the plantation after dark, appearing from the starlit shadows of the bush near the beach. Surprisingly, he was accompanied by a young woman. Mumba, a red hibiscus blossom stuck in the perfect black ball of his hair, ran up to them holding a lantern aloft, then escorted them to the veranda, where a table had been set, complete with candles. Armistead wore a flowery blue lap-lap and combat boots. His tattoos went from his neck down along his arms and were a stream of linked symbols, stars, crescents, and some designs that reminded Kennedy of barbed wire. He had traded the large bone earrings he’d worn the night before for smaller ones, and around his neck hung a necklace with a carved fish pendant. String amulets around his arms held colorful tassels that hung down to his elbows. The woman wore only a pale green lap-lap and a garland of flowers on her head. Armistead introduced her. “This is Victoria, the daughter of a holy man named Joe Gimmee.”

&n
bsp; Kennedy reached to shake her hand, but she leaned in and nuzzled his cheek with hers, first on one side and then the other. Her scent was of musk and coconut. She also nuzzled Felicity, then stepped back into the light of the lantern that Mumba held high, his arm rigid as a statue, his face an expressionless mask.

  Kennedy made a quick study of Victoria. Her face was rather plain with a high forehead that glistened in the lantern’s light, and she had a small nose and thin lips. Her cheeks were full, and her eyes were a bit too far apart. Her sun-streaked black hair was shoulder length and a bit limp. She had wide shoulders, which were her most attractive feature, but small breasts and thin hips. Her bare feet were a little large for her size. She was not black, but more nearly a light tan. Put all together, Kennedy thought, she was a fine-looking woman, though certainly not as attractive as Penelope, who apparently was her sister. He broke the ice with a comment that he and Felicity were most fortunate to have met Penelope, and Victoria replied, in a wispy, shy voice, “My sister is very beautiful and knows how to kill a man, if she has to.” Kennedy thought that was a comment one would not hear too often in Massachusetts regarding one’s sister.

  Armistead was clearly surprised that Kennedy and Felicity knew Penelope. “I see we have more to discuss than I imagined,” he said.

  Mumba was jarred from his frozen posture by a sharp order from Felicity. He raced off after placing the lantern on a nearby table, enthusiastic squadrons of fluttering moths and buzzing mosquitoes instantly clustering about it. Soon afterward, he reappeared with a tray of drinks, the inevitable gin and tonic. Armistead handed Victoria her glass, and she took it and held it against her chest, as if unsure what to do with it. Kennedy proposed a toast. “To our hostess, Missus Felicity Markham,” he said.

  Armistead raised his glass. “With many thanks for your kind hospitality.”

  Kennedy drank, eyeing Armistead over the rim of his glass. The incongruity of the boy he’d known at Choate and Harvard now dressed and tattooed as a savage was a bit difficult to absorb.