Redhead

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Redhead Page 10

by Ian Cook


  “Are you sure you will be okay on your own here?” he asked. “Is there anything you need?”

  “No thanks. I’ve got my paints and my water, that’s all I need.”

  “What time should I come back for you?”

  “About six o’clock will be fine.”

  As the sound of the motorbike faded into the distance, Rebecca walked around the statues looking for the best perspective. In the golden sunlight, they seemed friendly and protective rather than mysterious. She saw them now as guardians of the island.

  The clunk of a car door disturbed her thoughts, and she saw a car with the four tourists head off in the same direction as Pablo.

  The whole area was now completely deserted. Sitting down on a rock, she looked out to sea. A few seagulls wheeled around, their urgent cries piercing the air, and then even they flew away, leaving only the sound of the waves breaking gently on the shore.

  She decided the best view would be had by walking a little further inland and painting the statues with the sea behind them, to show their faces. Walking across the rough grass, she selected a rock, sat down and leaned against it.

  Now on her own and enjoying the peace and quiet, she put aside Pablo’s concerns and decided to concentrate on her painting. She took out her small tin of watercolours and opened it. She then poured some of her mineral water into a plastic bottle cut in half and set it down beside her. Taking out a blank card and her pen, she started to draw in the outlines of the painting in black waterproof ink.

  The outlines completed, she chose to paint in the sea first. It took several attempts to find the right blue. Absorbed, she mixed colours fastidiously until, to her eye, she had achieved a perfect match with a delicate shade of aquamarine. She then washed in the colour of the sea behind the drawings of the statues.

  Satisfied and weary, she leaned back against the rock again, gazed over the open sea and let her mind drift over the events of the day.

  The image of a little raft appeared from nowhere on the horizon. She watched it dreamily, as it floated slowly over the sea towards her, until she could just make out the tiny figures perched under a single sail, swollen by the wind.

  The cry of a seagull made her start, and she realised that the sun, although still above the horizon, was beginning to set. But there was no longer any sign of the little sailing craft.

  She quickly mixed up golds, browns and reds to paint in the statues, highlighting the eyes in white, with black pupils. Using a chrome green, she washed in the grass in front of the statues and finished the painting by stippling in patches of darker green, to denote the larger tussocks of grass.

  By now, the sun was hanging just above the horizon, staining the sea blood-red and forming long shadows behind the statues. She shivered as the air chilled slightly.

  With her pen, she scribbled her initials in the corner of the painting, dated it and carefully slipped it between the remaining blank cards for safekeeping.

  She checked her watch; Pablo was already half an hour late. But as she wandered back to the road she could make out the sound of a motorbike, and in a few seconds, Pablo drew up in a cloud of dust.

  “I was beginning to think that you had forgotten me,” she said, half frowning.

  “Sorry,” he said brightly. “A couple of Germans needed a hotel for the night. It took me a while to find one.”

  He parked the bike and walked over to the statues. “You know, I love this place. It’s so peaceful,” he said, looking out to sea. “Can I see your painting?”

  “It’s not very good,” said Rebecca, reluctantly pulling it out of the pack and handing it over.

  Pablo studied it carefully. “The little raft is interesting.”

  “What little raft?”

  “Here,” said Pablo, touching the card.

  Rebecca took it back. He was right. It was there, painted on the sea between two of the statues; a tiny raft with a white sail and three tiny figures on it, one of them waving.

  “I was just thinking about a little raft on the water when I was looking out to sea. I remember that quite clearly, but I’m sure I didn’t paint it. It must have been all those stories I’ve been hearing today, playing tricks on my mind. I must be going mad.”

  Pablo laughed. “Well, if it wasn’t you, I don’t know who did it. One thing’s for sure – it wasn’t me. Listen, we should leave now. They are expecting us around eight o’clock and I know what you English people are like about punctuality.”

  Rebecca climbed on behind him. “Home, James,” she said, laughing.

  CHAPTER 25

  The stars of the Southern Sky shone brightly over Orongo, and the sea glittered under a large silver moon. In the crater of Rano Kao, pools of water sparkled far below with reflected light. The wind had dropped and the air hung heavy and warm.

  Larry and Jim had worked hard to make the archaeological site look as attractive as possible for the dinner. The digging equipment had all been carefully tidied away, and a few choice stone carvings had been put on display.

  The table was already laid for the dinner, a sheet serving as a tablecloth and mugs supplementing the few glasses they possessed. The cutlery was mainly odds and ends but adequate, Jim having set himself a sheath-knife. Gas lamps were slung over the table, and moths of every description were flitting blindly around them. Larry and Jim were leaning back in camp chairs, pleased with the day’s work and relaxing, drinks in hand, while they waited for their guests.

  In the background, among the tents, a meal was being prepared. Señor Nata crouched and took something steaming from a shallow hole in the ground. In the gas-light, it was possible to see that he was fine-featured, with high cheekbones and kind, smiling eyes. His skin was weather-beaten and lined, and his dark red hair was flecked with grey. Though he moved like a much younger man, he was clearly middle-aged. Nearby, his mother, an old, white-haired lady, was preparing vegetables. Her wizened features revealed a close resemblance to those of Señor Nata. The two younger red-haired men, now wearing brightly-patterned loose shirts, were collecting plates and implements for carving and serving.

  When Pablo and Rebecca drew up noisily on the motorbike, Jim jumped up and went over to greet them. He put his arm around Rebecca and shook hands with Pablo. “Glad you made it all right. Come and join us.”

  Rebecca, in skin-tight jeans, slid from the pillion seat with some difficulty. She noticed straight away that Jim had put on a clean shirt, but that one of the buttons was about to fall off.

  Larry got up, strode over to them and shook hands, offering each of them a glass of red wine. They sat down, Pablo seating himself next to Rebecca.

  “You know, we’re in for a real treat tonight,” Larry said, joining them at the head of the table. “Señor Nata and his family are cooking us a local speciality – suckling pig and sweet potatoes wrapped in banana leaves, all baked in the ground.”

  “Did you know it’s also a food offering to keep the aku-aku happy?” said Pablo. “They’ll certainly put some by for them.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Pablo, what on earth are the aku-aku?”

  “The ancestral spirits, of course,” he replied, and waved his arms around theatrically. “They’re everywhere. Some are good – some are bad. There are people here who believe that they can take human form. Sometimes they even live as part of the family.”

  “Really?” said Rebecca, laughing again. “Did you invite them, personally?”

  Pablo ignored her. “Some people are supposed to be able to communicate with the aku-aku,” he went on mysteriously. “They call themselves ivi-atua.” He looked meaningfully over at the old lady. “Señor Nata’s mother, for instance.”

  As he spoke, Rebecca thought she detected a movement in the darkness behind the old lady. It seemed to hover for a few seconds, and then a dark figure emerged out of the gloom.

  “Looks like the other guest has arrived,” said Pablo. “Funny, I didn’t hear a car.”

  Dr Neferatu strode over to them. He was wel
l-dressed in a light suit that emphasised his powerful build. However, his smart appearance seemed out of place on an archaeological site.

  Rebecca took an instinctive dislike to him; greaseball, she decided, in an instant judgment.

  Jim, though, welcomed him warmly. “Ah, Dr Neferatu, pleased to see you again. It seems Easter Island is a popular place to visit. May I offer you a glass of wine?”

  “Thank you – white,” he answered slowly, in a deep gravelly voice, calmly looking around and taking in the scene.

  “I think it’s chilled enough now,” Jim said, fishing a bottle out of an old bucket. “Let me introduce you. This is Rebecca Burns from the Metropolitan newspaper in London. Rebecca’s here to cover the spate of murders on the island.”

  He turned to Pablo. “This is Pablo Rapu, who is lucky enough to live here. And you, Dr Neferatu? I suppose that it’s your antiques business that’s brought you here?”

  “Yes, indeed,” replied Dr Neferatu, expressionless.

  Ignoring Pablo, Dr Neferatu grasped Rebecca’s hand. As he did so, she felt a sharp stab of pain and, glancing down, was startled to find that one of his nails was digging into the side of her hand.

  “Enchanté, mademoiselle.” He dragged the words out, still holding her hand.

  “The pleasure’s mine, monsieur,” replied Rebecca, trying not to wince. Then he dug his nail in even further. A sudden tiredness almost overwhelmed her, and she felt her body starting to sag.

  “You have travelled a long way. You must be feeling quite drained,” he drawled, emphasising the word ‘drained’ almost comically. “With jet-lag, I mean,” he added, continuing to hold her hand and staring at her with his green eyes.

  “Tired – yes, just a little, but Pablo’s helping me with the story,” she said, making an effort to stand up straight, whilst trying to extricate herself from his iron grip.

  “He helps everybody here,” Larry said, obviously blind to Rebecca’s discomfort.

  “I also work for the tourist board,” Pablo explained.

  Slowly, Dr Neferatu released Rebecca’s hand and briefly shook Pablo’s outstretched hand.

  “When did you arrive, Dr Neferatu?” Pablo asked.

  “Wednesday. Two days ago.”

  “Two days ago?” said Pablo. “I didn’t know they were doing flights on a Wednesday.”

  Dr Neferatu sighed. “It might have been Tuesday. I travel so much, I never know which day it is.”

  Pablo gestured around the site. “Do you have a special interest in all this too?”

  Dr Neferatu looked around and shrugged his shoulders, as if he could scarcely be bothered with pleasantries.

  “Not exactly. I’m in import-export, and you have some very nice antiquities here. The petroglyphs, for instance. Also, some of the carvings.”

  Pablo looked put out. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be letting all these things go out of the country. It is our heritage, after all.”

  Dr Neferatu looked down his long nose at Pablo. “That may be so, but I have to tell you, your authorities have already agreed to sell certain things. I operate entirely above board, I always obtain all the necessary papers, and I pay a fair price.”

  He turned away, made for Jim who was setting out the plates on the table and took him to one side, out of earshot of Rebecca. “Dr Cavendish – the report you did is excellent. I think we shall be able to work together. We shall talk further.”

  “If you want to hear about the work we’re doing here,” Jim replied, “we’ll be presenting in Aberdeen next week. You would be very welcome. It would also be a good opportunity to talk some more about funding.”

  “I shall be there,” intoned Dr Neferatu, and he went over to look at the stone carvings.

  Rebecca was still nursing her hand, when she became aware of Pablo staring at her. “You know, it’s not everyday I get to work with such a beautiful girl,” he said, in a low voice.

  Rebecca groaned inwardly. “Thank you, Pablo. You really have been very helpful. I’d have been lost without you.”

  “Perhaps we can take a walk after the meal. You must see the view from the cliff top at night.”

  She gave him a sunny smile. “What I really want to do is get as much information as possible, while we’ve got the opportunity. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Of course,” said Pablo, appearing to take the hint. “It’s just that it’s not everyday that I meet somebody like you. A real professional.”

  Rebecca turned away and was raising her eyes to the sky, just as Larry called out that the meal was about to be served. Larry took the head of the table, and Rebecca ended up opposite Dr Neferatu and Jim, with Pablo beside her.

  The meal was served on a large platter by Señor Nata. The suckling pig had been carved into pieces and placed in the centre of the plate, with the vegetables arranged attractively around them.

  Dr Neferatu held up his hand as soon as a small portion had been placed on his plate, politely declining the second serving Señor Nata offered him. Rebecca, on the other hand, was ravenous, and gratefully accepted a double helping.

  Dr Neferatu was not the easiest dinner guest, making only perfunctory comments whenever attempts were made to draw him into the conversation. He seemed to prefer simply observing the other guests.

  The talk soon switched to the purpose of the dig and the findings. Larry and Jim’s enthusiasm for their work was catching, and Rebecca found it easier to chat to them, rather than attempting to force a one-sided conversation with Dr Neferatu.

  As the glasses were being refilled, she became aware that Dr Neferatu had not eaten a single thing. He had carefully moved the portion of pork from one side of his plate to the other, and had covered it with a banana leaf. Pork of any kind was clearly a dish he did not wish to eat, and yet it was only Rebecca who seemed to notice.

  She decided to try and find out more about the antiques he was hoping to find on Easter Island. “Have you got your eye on anything special here you’d like to buy?” she asked.

  Dr Neferatu looked up from his plate. “Not really. There’s nothing much new here that I haven’t seen before. But that carving over there – that looks rather interesting.”

  He was looking in the direction of Señor Nata’s mother, who was holding a carved wooden figure in front of her and staring at it. As he pointed to the figure, Rebecca noticed that the nail on his index finger was about half an inch long.

  “It’s called a moai kava-kava – an ancestor figure. That’s the sort of thing I am most interested in. You see the long ears. The old lady is perhaps a long-ear descendant.”

  Rebecca could make out some of the figure’s features, but certainly not the detail of the ears. The carving was about a foot high and appeared to be an image of a decaying male corpse. The rib-cage stood out clearly over a sunken stomach, and she could just about make out the eyes, but only because they were set with black and white inlays.

  “How on earth can you see the ears from here?” she asked.

  “Oh, you see, I have very good eyesight,” was all he offered in way of explanation.

  “It looks like a dead body to me,” said Rebecca.

  As Dr Neferatu picked up his glass and took a sip of wine, it was clear that the fingernails on both his index fingers were long. She wondered how he stopped them from breaking.

  “The islanders used to put their dead on platforms to rot,” he said, in a low oily voice that made Rebecca feel distinctly uneasy. “After that, they collected the bones together for safekeeping.”

  “And why did they stretch their ears?”

  Dr Neferatu looked thoughtful. “I suppose it is just tribal practice. The tribe of the Buddha is the most famous for this. Think of the images of Buddha.”

  She was about to ask whether the tribes could be related, when the urgent sound of a drumbeat came out of nowhere.

  CHAPTER 26

  Rebecca had not noticed that as soon as the islanders had served the meal, they had disappeared from sight. They had
now returned and were sitting in a group some distance away by the side of the carved rocks. On their heads they wore crowns made of leaves threaded together, not unlike laurel wreaths. One of the younger men was playing a drum placed between his crossed legs. As the drumbeat became louder and more complex, Señor Nata and the other younger man got to their feet, started swaying to the rhythm and shuffled around in a circle.

  Suddenly, the sound of a high-pitched wail floated above the drumbeat, and it took a moment for Rebecca to realise that it was coming from the old lady, who was still seated. She was holding the wooden figure straight in front of her and chanting directly at it.

  Rebecca turned to Pablo. “What’s that about?”

  Pablo’s face was serious, and his eyes glistened with emotion. “It’s a traditional song. It’s only rarely that you hear this. They are singing to Make-Make to bring good luck to the dig.”

  Conversation lapsed while the diners watched.

  As the two men stopped dancing and sat down, the drumbeat became louder and more urgent. The old lady held the carving closer to her face and began to shake it.

  From behind a rock, a young girl appeared. If she had been present before, nobody had noticed. Her long red hair was striking, redder than that of the others, and down to her shoulders. She was barefoot, wore a loose green dress and could have been no more than twelve or thirteen.

  She seemed oblivious to any onlookers and, as if in a world of her own, she started to turn around on the spot, slowly at first and then rapidly faster and more wildly, arms held high in the air.

  Completely absorbed in watching this, Rebecca began to feel dazed as the insistent drumbeat got inside her head. She seemed to be losing her inhibitions in some strange way and was seized by an almost uncontrollable urge to join the girl in the dance.

  A surge of deep excitement flowed through her, until her skin glistened with perspiration. Unconsciously and against all usual rational thinking, she could not stop herself from slipping her hand under the table and placing it on Pablo’s thigh. Pablo, taken aback at first, and then pleasantly surprised, lightly placed his hand on hers. Feeling her hand trapped and realising what she had done, Rebecca snatched it away, coming quickly to her senses and shocked by her own actions and instincts. Pablo now looked totally confused.

 

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