And the Sea Will Tell

by Vincent Bugliosi

  Suddenly, there was scurrying at her feet. She looked down to find a fat brown rat staring up at her, its tiny nose quivering in the air as if trying to place her scent.

  She screamed, and jumped back. The rat held its ground without flinching, still regarding her with beady eyes. Then it went back to chewing on part of a coconut shell.

  She heard chopping off in the distance.

  “Mac!” she yelled desperately.

  “Over here,” came his unconcerned reply.

  She finally found him, standing on a fresh trail he had fashioned.

  Dripping with sweat, he was grinning widely at his accomplishment.

  “I got scared, I couldn’t find you.” She sounded accusing, but Mac didn’t bite.

  He wiped his sweaty brow with a wet forearm. “Honey, you can’t get lost on a two-hundred-acre island.”

  “I can.”

  “Then stay closer.”

  “I almost stepped on a big rat.” Muff felt she deserved more sympathy.

  “Well, they won’t hurt you. They’re not sewer rats like you find in the city. They’re coconut rats. You know, honey, vegetarians. I think they’re kinda cute.”

  At the end of Mac’s trail was a concrete bunker that had been concealed in dense foliage. It was obvious that no one had been inside for decades. Mac was amazed and delighted to find forty untouched drums of aviation gas stored there, a trove for the outboard motor on their Zodiac dinghy.

  “These things are heavy,” Muff remarked, rather than praising his find. “How are you going to get them back to the boat?”

  Mac pushed over a drum and nudged it with his foot. “I can do it.” He didn’t have an easy time rolling the drum all the way down the narrow trail back to the lagoon, but he managed, as Muff followed.

  After a brief rest, Mac said he was going back for another drum, but Muff decided to wait for him. Just then he spied a foot-wide land crab lumbering along the beach. They loved crab. He threw a palm frond on the crab and trapped it beneath his foot.

  Muff looked away, squeamish because she knew what came next.

  With no hesitation, Mac reached down and snapped off the big meaty claw. He lifted his foot and let the amputee continue on its way.

  Muff understood that snapping off the large claw would not kill a crab, which would eventually regenerate another. But she still felt it was a form of maiming, and probably painful. She’d never been able to do it herself.

  Mac gave her the claw and headed back to his private fuel depot.

  To keep the succulent meat fresh, Muff left the claw inside a large shell lying at the edge of the lagoon. She knelt down nearby, leaned over, and soaked her hair. Feeling refreshed, she sat back against a tree trunk and shut her eyes. Now that she was in sight of the Sea Wind, she felt she could relax.

  Soon, a light splashing sound got her attention, and she opened her eyes to see a big moray eel trying to steal the crab leg. The eel’s head had broken the surface of the water as it flailed at the shell. Its small yellow eyes and the row of sharp tiny teeth in its gaping mouth aimed for the tasty meat. Muff gasped in horror and leaped up, just as Mac reappeared.

  “Look!” she screamed. “I put the crab leg—”

  She watched dumbfounded as Mac calmly unsheathed his machete, walked over to the struggling eel, and with one firm swing decapitated it.

  “Ready for dinner?” Mac casually asked, holding up the prized claw.

  THE NEXT day, Mac set out on another mission, having drafted Muff again as a reluctant companion. Wheeler asked for it, Mac had convinced himself. Frequently, the mayor had talked about all the “good stuff” he’d found here, and bragged that he had hidden it so well “over by the East Lagoon” that no one would ever find it. This was just the sort of challenge Mac found irresistible. If Wheeler had really wanted to keep the stuff, Mac reasoned, he should have been cagey enough to take it with him. “Finders keepers,” he told Muff. And to the victors in life go life’s spoils.

  There were two natural lagoons at Palmyra. During the war, the Navy had divided the eastern one with a cement causeway, creating Center Lagoon and East Lagoon. The Sea Wind lay at anchor in West Lagoon, as did the other boats tied up at the dolphins. East Lagoon was on the far side of the causeway, which, at the extremes of tide, lay as deep as two feet underwater. They motored eastward across Center Lagoon in their Zodiac, got out in two or three feet of water, and lifted the dinghy over the causeway. At the far side of East Lagoon, they landed on Papala Island, a slender islet about one hundred yards long.

  Of the sixteen islets that form the broken horseshoe shape of Palmyra, Cooper, where the boats were moored and the old runway was located, is by far the largest. In addition to Papala and Cooper, the other islets are Strawn, Aviation, Quail, Eastern, Pelican, Bird, Holei, Engineer, Tananger, Marine, Kaula, Paradise, Home, and Sand. With the exception of Sand, which was adjacent to the channel entrance, all had been joined by the road built by the industrious Seabees. They had also built a narrow cement causeway through the lagoon to allow quicker access (by foot) between the islets on opposite sides of the lagoon. Seven of the islets lined East Lagoon; in places, some were not much wider than the road.

  Mac and Muff carried the Zodiac up the beach and found a safe place to leave it.

  From Papala, it was a short walk to the atoll’s leeward side. They found an ocean beach of coarse sand and simmering, unmoving air. The absence of any breeze made the heat and humidity seem even more stifling. Feeling an asthmatic tightness in her chest, Muff could breathe only with difficulty. In no time, she and Mac both were basting in their own sweat.

  After a quick and cursory search, Mac decided Wheeler’s treasure was nowhere around there.

  Back on Papala’s lagoon side with its light breeze, Muff found a shady place to catch her breath while Mac walked south to the next islet, Pelican. The connecting road, broken up and submerged occasionally, was just barely passable.

  Pelican was more densely overgrown. Rising to the challenge, Mac hacked away with his machete and soon uncovered an empty bunker and a concrete gun emplacement. It looked like a defensive position constructed in anticipation of an invasion. The find gave him renewed energy, and he turned to assault another wall of shrubbery, hacking and slashing, finding his rhythm. Two swipes with the whistling blade, then a small step forward. Hack, hack, step. Hack, hack, step. Wheeler’s taunt drove him on. “You’ll never find it.” Ha, ha. Never.

  Half an hour later, ankle-deep in fetid swampy waters, a drained Mac stopped and wearily looked around. Another bunker lay shrouded in vegetation. Was this it? More hacking…and then he cleared the open doorway, took one look inside, and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  He felt certain he’d found the hidden treasure, though it certainly didn’t live up to Jack’s constant bragging. In fact, the only things Mac took back with him that day were a ball of copper wire, a decrepit but intriguing oak water keg, and a clear glass Japanese fishing ball for Muff. But Mac Graham the adventurer had found what he was searching for, and there was satisfaction enough in that.

  Palmyra was a puzzle, a welcome challenge, and he was equal to it. A man was free here to do…just about anything. The possibilities of the place seemed to unfold endlessly.

  CHAPTER 9

  JENNIFER CLIMBED INTO THE Iola’s dinghy, rowed the fifty feet or so to the Journeyer, and shouted hello.

  Bernard Leonard peered down haughtily at her from the deck of his sailboat. He was a reed-thin fellow fond of wearing white Bermudas and long socks rolled down to mid-calf below two of the knobbiest knees in the Pacific. Buck always imagined a little plastic propeller spinning from the top of a peculiar beanie Leonard wore on his high-domed head. Leonard told Jennifer he was a high school math teacher on summer vacation. From their few conversations, she’d decided that he was one of those people who greatly enjoy the sound of their own voice. She could picture him droning on self-centeredly to a roomful of captive, drowsy teenagers. His wife, Evelyn, was som
etimes friendly, then suddenly distant. She and Jennifer had rendezvoused ashore a few times so that their lap-sized dogs could play together. Puffer was crazy about the Leonards’ pooch, Windy.

  “More coconut butter,” Jennifer announced, grasping the Journeyer’s ladder to keep the dinghy from bumping the side.

  “We so much enjoyed your last batch,” said Bernard Leonard courteously. “Did you by chance remember to bring Euell Gibbons?”

  “Yep. Got it right here.” Evelyn had asked to borrow the book so she could read up on preparing some coconut dishes.

  Leonard reached down to get the book and jar of butter from Jennifer. “I’ve some books for you,” he said. “I’ll bring them by tomorrow.”

  Jennifer was reading more than she ever had in her life. At least a book a week, sometimes two. It was terrific to have this influx of new titles. All yachties looked forward to trading books with other boats.

  She pushed off and went back to the Iola for Buck, who had wanted to avoid Bernard Leonard. “Lord Leonard has a petty mind and an overbearing sense of his own importance,” Buck had complained.

  Jennifer thought Buck was being too harshly critical. “He’s one of our few neighbors,” she pointed out. “We should make an effort to get along.”

  Besides, the couple on the Journeyer were among the few people they might barter with for food, an increasingly important consideration to Jennifer, who watched nervously as the food supply on the Iola continued to dwindle. This was made all the more critical because Buck was turning out to be not much of a fisherman, routinely returning to the Iola empty-handed.

  Buck took over the rowing for the longer trip to the Sea Wind, about two hundred yards up the western shore of Cooper Island. As usual, he was shirtless. His uniform of the day consisted of a pair of shorts and flip-flop sandals.

  Jennifer made a mental note to try to remember to call him Roy in front of the Grahams. A week earlier, Buck had blown a fuse when he read her entries in the log. “I’ve told you, I don’t want ‘Buck’ in writing. Use ‘Roy’!” “Why don’t you tell people that Buck is your nickname,” she said. “You’re not exactly hiding the tattoo.” But Buck would have none of it. In an effort to keep the peace, Jennifer started referring to him as B in her entries, but he didn’t like that any better. Her final compromise was to call him R in the log. When she imagined she was writing a B without closing the bottom loop, it seemed less contrived. She couldn’t understand Buck’s sensitivity about his name. No one was looking for him on Palmyra.

  She had not yet seen the Grahams’ boat close up. Anchored alone in the protected cove, the Sea Wind looked like a blue blood, sleek and proud. The sturdy dock and landing Mac had built seemingly overnight were entirely fitting, Jennifer thought. This boat merited that kind of respect.

  Jennifer could see Mac on deck. She waved at him. “Coconut butter,” she said, holding up a container.

  He waved back cheerfully. “I’ve got a couple papio for you.”

  “Great.”

  It wasn’t the first time Mac had shared a catch with Jennifer and Buck. He had a much better track record catching fish than Buck did, because the motor on his Zodiac made it possible to troll in the lagoon. The darting movements of the lure in the water quickly attracted fish. A hearty meal from out of the lagoon waters was the best gift anyone could give them these days, and Jennifer was grateful.

  “Come aboard,” Mac offered, as Buck aimed the dinghy with powerful and precise strokes.

  The Grahams had been at Palmyra more than a week now. The two couples had run into each other ashore a few times and chatted amiably each time. Mac had done them a big favor a few days earlier by coming over in his Zodiac to help turn the Iola around to better protect her stern from the wind that occasionally whipped across the lagoon. Jennifer and Buck spent most of their on-deck time in the stern’s cockpit.

  But Jennifer knew that the Grahams and the Leonards had been socializing even more frequently, getting together regularly for dinner, becoming real buddy-buddy. That made sense. It wasn’t just because of the age difference between the Grahams and Buck and her (Mac and Muff were forty-three and forty-one, Buck and Jennifer thirty-six and twenty-eight); the Leonards, closer to the same age as Mac and Muff, undoubtedly held many ideas and values in common with them, including some that Jennifer and Buck had in recent years rejected. Too, she figured that the older couples considered her and Buck the have-nots of Palmyra, as well as not up to the mark in social refinement.

  Although sunset was approaching and Jennifer and Buck had planned to bathe before dark, they did not turn down Mac’s invitation. For one thing, they’d heard tantalizing descriptions of the Sea Wind from others who’d been aboard her, and were frankly curious. Once on deck, Jennifer was dazzled by the boat, understanding that no superlatives could adequately describe its showcase quality.

  Mac ushered them below. Entering the Sea Wind’s snug, wood-paneled cabin was like walking into a warm embrace. Muff greeted them shyly and poured chilled white wine into long-stemmed globlets, which she set on a table inlaid with foreign coins and lacquered to a smooth and mirror-bright finish. When Jennifer admired this galley table, Muff explained that they had collected the coins in many ports of call on their world cruise some years earlier.

  Jennifer was astonished by the plush carpeting and rich furnishings. Most sailboats are fitted out in utilitarian fashion, but the interior of the Sea Wind was elegant, and the decorative appointments around the cabin, which included many objects of tribal art from their travels, added an air of worldly sophistication.

  Jennifer noticed right away that every household object was resting in its assigned place. Each pot or pan had its own enclosure in the galley. The chess set was on a special made-to-fit shelf, as was the two-way radio. Small, caring touches by a couple who took pride in their home on the water were evident everywhere.

  When an official tour was suggested, it was clear Mac had ushered admiring visitors around countless times before and that doing it again was no chore. They started out in the bow, where Mac showed off his workshop.

  Buck was obviously impressed with the collection of tools, which included a metalworking lathe for making screws and other metal parts. Mac even had an acetylene torch, which he used for making new fittings and repairing riggings.

  From bow to stern, the tour took twenty minutes, ending with a technical inspection of the Sea Wind’s auxiliary engine, a powerful inboard that riveted Buck’s attention but meant little to Jennifer. Along the way, Mac had pointed out all the detailed work he’d done himself in the past few years, especially the woodwork he had fashioned by hand.

  “Everything is so beautiful,” Jennifer sighed when they had returned to the living quarters. “And comfy.”

  “We rough it some by living aboard a boat,” Mac said, “but there’s no reason for our life to be too rough.”

  Jennifer admired the refrigerator and its small freezer compartment. “Don’t the lights and refrigerator drain your batteries?” she asked.

  Mac explained that when the Sea Wind was in a port like San Diego they ran everything—including electrical lighting and the “freezer”—off shore power. “We just plug in,” he said breezily. At sea, or in a remote location like Palmyra, they ran their utilities off four heavy-duty marine batteries—recharged every couple of days by their top-of-the-line gas-powered generator. Sometimes, during long periods at sea, they conserved battery power by using kerosene lamps for light.

  Jennifer and Buck relaxed on a settee while Mac and Muff sat across from them in matching overstuffed chairs. This was almost like a sudden trip home, far from the daily inconvenience of Palmyra and the Iola. Mac segued from talking about the virtues of the Sea Wind to recalling highlights of their round-the-world cruise. Jennifer and Buck felt like favored guests that night—their hosts were so cordial and entertaining. Mac, a natural spinner of yarns, mesmerized them, leaping up or moving around to illustrate his points. He broke out a fifth of Jamaican
rum, Muff opened a can of pineapple juice as mixer, and the four drank together like the best of friends. When it began to grow dark, Muff switched on a shaded table lamp, just as if they were in her living room in San Diego, and the soft glow of the light filled the cabin. She slowly began to open up, joining her husband in recounting their adventures. Once, when Mac found himself standing next to Muff, he casually put his arm around her and drew her nearer. Jennifer could see he was a man who was confident of himself and sure of the love of his wife.

  “So, what are your plans?” Mac abruptly asked.

  “We’re going to be staying,” Jennifer answered innocently.

  Mac and Muff were silent, but their reaction was clearly written on their faces.

  “We don’t know for how long,” Buck added, amused.

  “Two friends are going to be joining us the end of August,” Jennifer continued. “They’re bringing provisions. We have to make do until then. We’re supplementing our stores with what we can trade for and what we can find on land. I’m trying to get a vegetable garden going. What about you guys? How long are you going to stay?”

  “A year anyway,” Mac said without hesitation. “We brought enough provisions.”

  More than enough, Jennifer thought, by the look of the chockfull shelves.

  As the evening wore down and Jennifer and Buck were leaving, Mac gave Buck a tin of tobacco and a package of papers so he could roll his own cigarettes.

  “Mac, you don’t know what you’ve done,” said Jennifer, smiling. “You’ve got a friend for life now.”

  JULY 16, 1974

  ON HER TWENTY-EIGHTH birthday, Jennifer woke up alone and lingered in the bunk, wondering what her mother was doing at that moment. If she had been at home, a chocolate cake would be baking in the oven, and her mother would be whipping up vanilla butter icing, Jennifer’s favorite.

  She was by herself now because Buck had moved off the Iola the day before. It had been a purely practical decision. He was too tall to stand completely upright in the Iola’s cabin; this way they could both have more elbow room. And she sure enjoyed not sharing the boat with Buck’s two big dogs, especially since she usually got stuck cleaning up after them. He had originally asked her to move ashore with him, but there was no way she would sleep on or near the ground, what with all the land crabs and rats crawling around.