They surfed the lefts for … Brian couldn’t tell how long. He just kept effortlessly picking up one perfect wave after another, throwing the board around with almost contemptuous ease, totally into his own expression session. The waves were that good it was almost impossible to fall off. Milne left him to do his own thing, then after a time paddled over.
‘Well, what do you reckon, Brian?’ he asked.
‘What do I reckon?’ replied Brian. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘You should have been here earlier.’ Milne nodded to the other side of the channel. ‘Come on over on the rights. They’re just beginning to look filthy.’ Milne started paddling with Brian following.
The entrance to the channel was deep and a little spooky in parts and the incoming tide pushed against you. They paddled right around and came out behind the break. It was a good workout and further out than Brian thought. When they got behind the line up, Brian dangled his legs over the sides of his surfboard and had a look around while he got his breath back.
Another long beach full of coconut trees began under the second headland, then ran past some rocks, and on towards the cliffs at the end of the mountain range he saw earlier. More wind generators turned in the breeze and flocks of brightly coloured parrots squawked at each other as they hovered above the jungle. There was no one around and the place had an eerie, almost prehistoric beauty, like it was another world. Brian turned to call something out to Milne, only to get a brief glimpse of the President dropping into a two-metre tube. One second he was there, the next he was gone, and Brian was completely on his own. A movement in the water behind him startled him and he spun around. A pod of dolphins swam past blowing air as they nonchalantly dived up and down in the swells. Before Brian had time to say or do anything, a perfect two-metre wall rose towards him with ‘Rip me to bits, Brian Bradshaw’ written all over it. Brian swung his board around, gave a few quick strokes and he was away.
The rights were faster. Brian faded left then snapped a right turn and just had time to trim and crouch before he got locked into a filthy tube with the wave peeling over his head. He stood up when the wave started to shoulder, jammed in a cut back, then worked the wave over before it started to suck up again. He got another turn in, then trimmed, ran up the nose and hung a lazy five right up in the curl till the wave finally ended not far from the sand. Exhilarated, Brian flopped face first into the water, convinced it was the best wave he had ever ridden. He shook the water out of his eyes then climbed back on his board and started paddling out again. Milne was waiting when he got there.
‘Well. What do you think of the rights at Windmills?’ asked Milne.
‘El Presidente,’ said Brian. ‘I am gabberflasted. Completely stoked.’
‘It’s something else, isn’t it. Warm water, no pollution. And no fuckin crowd. You get to like it after a while.’
‘Unbelievable,’ agreed Brian. ‘Hey Ron, there is one thing though.’
‘Yeah. What’s that?’
‘What about sharks?’
Milne shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen any. Have you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what are you worrying about?’ Milne spun his board around, dropped into a bowling right and disappeared into the tube.
He’s right, thought Brian, straightening his leg rope. What am I worrying about? You get something like this once in a lifetime.
Brian lost all track of time and caught more waves than he could count. A few clouds drifted across the dazzling blue sky, fish jumped out of the water and another pod of dolphins joined the first one. He didn’t see any men in grey suits. But he saw plenty of turtles and sea birds and the whale sharks were still hanging around. Brian couldn’t believe it when the sea became tinged with gold and he noticed the sun was starting to go down. Milne came paddling over.
‘Well, mate,’ he said. ‘It’s time to rack our cues. They’re starting to fill up. And we got to get back for the reception. We don’t want to keep your fans waiting.’
‘Righto, me old,’ said Brian. ‘You’re the boss.’
Milne spun his board around and hooked into a right just over a metre high, and started hot dogging it towards the beach. There was a bigger wave straight behind. Brian picked it up, worked it over, then paddled back across the channel behind Milne and they both walked up the beach to the car.
‘Jesus my legs are tired,’ said Milne, putting his surfboard in the back of the ute. ‘I must have walked miles up and down my board today.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ replied Brian. ‘I’ve been locked in that many tubes. My eyes still haven’t adjusted to the light.’
‘And you had the hide to ask me if we had any surf on the island. You fuckin tourist.’
‘My apologies, Mr President,’ said Brian, sincerely. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
They piled into the ute and headed back the way they had come. Brian was in a great mood and Milne was pretty bubbly too. It had been a sensational afternoon and Brian was looking forward to surfing Windmills again. When they got to the main street, people were already starting to gather and women were hanging up flowers and lights and putting out extra tables and chairs around the bar and onto the road. They all waved and smiled as soon as they saw Sawi and Takatau.
‘Hello, what’s going on here,’ scowled Milne, as they drove past. ‘Looks like some prick thinks they’re going to block off all the traffic and have a street party. I’ll soon put a stop to that.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Brian. ‘You can’t have people enjoying themselves.’
‘I’ll ring the fuckin licensing police.’ Milne turned and looked at Brian. ‘Hang on. I am the licensing police. Shit! The ignorant savages have outwitted me again.’
They swung into the back of the Presidential Palace, took the boards out of the ute and gave them a quick hose before putting them back on the racks. Brian then followed Milne up to the landing. The President stopped outside his office.
‘All right, Brian,’ he said, ‘iron a dress and fluff up your Dolly Parton wig. I’ll come and get you in an hour.’
‘Righto,’ replied Brian. ‘That should give me time to shave my legs as well.’
Brian got under the shower and washed away the salt from a fantastic day. The sun was hotter than he thought and despite the zinc cream and nose block his face had still got burnt. Next time he’d wear a floppy hat. He was also going to have to remember to start taking a camera with him. Even if it was just his little Canon Z135 for a few happy snaps. He got out of the shower and put a tape in the ghetto blaster while he got his very laid-back island shit together. Skunk Hour were bopping out ‘Stadium’ as Brian went through his clothes. He decided on his white cargo shorts and a brown Hawaiian shirt with orange coconut trees and yellow pineapples. He slapped a little Preferred Stock on his face, then had two glasses of water while he made a few notes in his diary about the trip. He got that finished and there was a knock on the door. It was Milne with a smiling Sohte and Ohlo behind him. The boys were in fresh fatigues. Milne was wearing white slacks and a white Hawaiian shirt with pastel parrots all over it. He looked like an undercover cop in Miami Vice.
‘Whoah! Check you out,’ said President Milne. ‘You’ll have these island sheilas throwing themselves at you like javelins.’
‘You don’t look too bad yourself, Sawi,’ replied Brian.
‘For an old bloke,’ smiled Milne. ‘Come on, Takatau. Let’s hit Main Street.’
‘After you, big daddy.’
With Ohlo and Sohte leading, they took the stairs to the front door. When they stepped outside, a swarming, happy street party was in progress. The bar and shops were hung with Chinese lanterns and flowers, the jetty across the road and the nearby trees were lit up with fairy lights and the road was spread with chairs and tables. They’d even brought the tugboat round and hung it with fairy lights and palm fronds. People had come from all over the island, wearing their most colourful clothes and face paint. Flowers and feathers adorned
their hair, and every bead and shell they could find was either hanging round their necks or worn as bracelets. As soon as Brian and President Milne appeared, a huge cheer went through the crowd. Sohte and Ohlo ushered them through the people and into the bar like they were rock stars.
Similar to the bar in Kahiap, the Key Bar and Grill had plenty of room, open sides and tables with bench seats. The bar was to the right and there was a raised section at the opposite end, only instead of a pool table, it was a cordoned-off VIP area. The dancefloor was in front and over to the right was an empty DJ’s booth with a black curtain hanging behind it. Soft island music was playing through a bank of Mission 77 speakers hanging above the dancefloor and the place was packed with people sitting or standing near the bar. Another cheer went through the crowd as Ohlo and Sohte led Brian and President Milne across to the VIP area, where Ebonee and Keleu were seated with Airu, all wearing black flowered wihros and tight cut-away black tops. With them were the chiefs and their wives, wearing coloured wrap-arounds, beads and flowers in their hair. Everybody smiled as they entered and there were greetings all round. Then Brian sat down between President Milne and Keleu.
‘Okay, Takatau,’ said the President, rubbing his hands together. ‘You said you didn’t know how to thank me for the grouse surf today. You can have the first shout.’
‘Fair enough,’ replied Brian, looking around the table. ‘Who wants what?’
The shout was five beers and six rum punches. Three pineapple, two papaya and one rockmelon. President Milne said he would accompany Brian to the bar and help him with the drinks.
Brian felt every eye in the place on him as he stood up and followed the President across to the bar. The military was rostered on for the night and there were four soldiers in cammies behind the counter. They all bowed their heads and smiled when they saw Brian and addressed him as Takatau. Brian returned their smiles and ordered the drinks from a soldier named Honchi.
The rums arrived in tall, frosted glasses, garnished with fruit. The beers came in large recycled Grolsch bottles with a rubber stopper on a swivel.
‘How much is that?’ asked Brian, producing some American money as Honchi placed the last drink on two trays.
‘That will be five dollars fifty, thank you Takatau,’ said Honchi.
Brian wrinkled his nose and turned to Milne. ‘Five dollars fifty? How much are the fuckin drinks in here?’
‘Fifty cents,’ replied the President. ‘Hey, just because you’re Takatau, doesn’t mean you can drink here for nothing.’
‘Yeah … right,’ muttered Brian. He gave Honchi ten dollars and told him to keep the change for the next round. Honchi looked at Milne. The President nodded that it was all right, then he and Brian took the drinks to their table. They were soon passed around and Chief Namalek was elected to propose a toast.
‘To Takatau,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘As much as our island’s beauty may consume him, may he never take cruel liberties with her innocence.’
Everybody agreed to that. They clinked their glasses and took a drink. The beer was icy cold and, like the local mineral water, not too gassy with a unique taste all of its own. It was delicious. Everybody settled down with their drinks when Brian pulled President Milne aside.
‘Ron,’ he asked quietly. ‘What exactly did Chief Namalek mean by that toast?’
Milne put his beer down. ‘Brian, friendly and all as the chiefs are, they’re straight shooters. And they never take people on face value. Especially the white man. I might be President, but it took me a long time to gain their confidence.’
‘All right. I can understand that,’ Brian nodded slowly.
‘What Chief Namalek meant was, Takatau or not, you wouldn’t just come here, have a good time, then dump on us in the end. It’s an old island saying that refers to a young maiden. Even though you lust for her, you wouldn’t take advantage of her weakness then leave her with a broken heart. In other words, do the wrong thing.’
‘Do the wrong thing? Is he fair dinkum?’ Brian was shocked. ‘Christ, Ron. I’m rapt in Lan Laroi already. I’d do anything I could to help.’
Milne smiled over a mouthful of beer. ‘Anything, Brian?’
‘Yeah. Anything.’ Brian paused for a moment. ‘Well, almost anything.’
‘But not quite anything.’
‘I’d certainly give it a lot of thought,’ replied Brian evenly.
‘That’s a fair enough answer.’ Milne clinked his bottle against Brian’s. ‘So, apart from Chief Namalek telling it like it is, and getting ripped off on the drinks, how’s the night so far?’
‘Getting ripped off on the drinks. You sure set me up there, didn’t you?’ said Brian.
‘Oh, I might have,’ smiled the President.
‘I don’t know how you do it.’ Brian looked at the bottle. ‘And it’s a bloody good drop into the bargain.’
‘It’s seven per cent, too.’
‘Seven per cent! Shit! I’d better take it easy.’
‘No. Get into it. It’s not as if you’ve got far to go home. And the night hasn’t even started yet. We’ll go right through till twelve.’
Brian drank some more beer and felt the bite. ‘Too many of these and I won’t see twelve o’clock. I won’t even make it home.’
‘Well, stay away from the rum punches. They’re sixty per cent.’
Brian was about to say something, when Honchi came over and pointed to his watch. ‘It is time, Sawi,’ he said.
‘Righto,’ replied President Milne. ‘Thanks, Honchi.’
‘What’s up?’ asked Brian.
‘I got to rouse the DJ,’ said President Milne, rising from the table. ‘The natives are getting restless.’
Brian glanced over at the empty booth. ‘Who’s the DJ?’
‘Bebop Bazil,’ replied Milne. ‘You’ll love him.’
A buzz of expectation went through the crowd when Milne took his beer and walked over to the DJ’s booth. He fiddled around with the controls, then came up with a cassette from somewhere beneath the turntables and placed it into a tape deck. A ‘dubdub-dub’ echoed through the speakers as Milne tapped the microphone, and a muted cheer came from the crowd.
‘Okay, music lovers,’ said President Milne, lifting his voice. ‘Welcome to another night at the fabulous Key Club in beautiful downtown Key Harbour. The entah-tainment capital of Lan Laroi.’ The applause and cheering swelled. ‘Allrighhhtttt. Yeah. Hey. What a crowd. What a crowd.’ Milne smiled round the bar. ‘Righto. Now we all know why we’re here.’ Milne raised his hands and paused for effect as more cheering came from the crowd and the people out in the street moved closer. ‘That’s right. It’s a very special occasion. For a very special person. So I want you to put your hands together and give a big Lan Laroi welcome to our special guest. He came a long way to be here. Ladies and gentleman. The one — the only — Takataaauuu.’
A huge roar went up from the crowd. People whistled and cheered, clapped their hands and stomped their feet. Everyone at Brian’s table clapped and smiled. Brian turned all colours of the rainbow.
‘Come on, Brian,’ said President Milne. ‘Take a bow, son.’ Brian rose to his feet, nodded his head to acknowledge the crowd’s applause, held up one hand and waved. ‘That’s the idea,’ continued Milne. ‘You’re the man, Brian. That’s him. Come on, let’s hear it for Takatau.’ The crowd roared and cheered. Brian waved again then sat down.
‘What a crowd. What a night,’ announced Milne. ‘Do we know how to make people welcome on Lan Laroi? Oh yeahhhh. And for all those who weren’t here this afternoon when Takatau arrived, don’t be shy, step up and say hello. Takatau loves people. And any of you ladies in the audience who want a dance, Takatau’s one hot-steppin’ strutter. He can dance, he can prance, he can make romance. He can roll, he can stroll, he’s the king of soul. Oh baby — that’s a what I like.’
Milne played the crowd and the natives roared their approval. Brian wished a hole would open up in the floor and he could fall in. Soul
and all.
‘Oh yeah. What a crowd. What a night,’ continued Milne. ‘And thank you, Takatau.’ The crowd gave another cheer. ‘Anyway, besides greeting Takatau, we all know the other reason we like to come to the Key Club.’ The crowd roared again. ‘That’s right. So without any further todo, I will now turn the microphone over to our fabulous disc jockey. The king of swing. The hound of sound. The lord of the chord. The master chef, with the treble clef. Beeeebop Bazzilll.’
The crowd roared as Milne drew back the curtain and rolled out a black rubber punching torso attached to a water-filled base on rollers. It was wearing a white Basil Fawlty T-shirt, mirror sunglasses and set of headphones under a 2MMM baseball cap. The President moved the rubber torso over to the microphone.
‘Come on. Let’s hear it for Bazil,’ said Milne. The crowd cheered and whistled. ‘Alllrigghhttt. Now, it’s over to our DJ. And the first song for the night, a Key Club favourite. The Beach Boys aaannndddd “Little Deuce Coupe”.’
Milne hit the pause button on the cassette and that unmistakable Beach Boys sound pumped crystal clear from every speaker. By the time the President was back in the VIP area the dancefloor was packed. Young and old. Men and women. Dancing like crazy, banging their feet up and down, going round in circles with their arms out by their sides. It looked like they were doing some kind of rain dance, but it was the surfers’ stomp. A fresh round of drinks arrived as the President sat down.
‘I don’t believe you, Ron,’ said Brian. ‘Where did you come up with the bloody disc jockey?’
‘Bazil? He’s a ripper, isn’t he?’ Milne picked up a fresh beer and had a swallow. ‘I used to get the girls to tape tracks for me off different CDs. Which was okay. But then I figured on special occasions, and maybe weekends, a hip DJ would give the place a certain — ambience. But I could never get a DJ.’
The Ultimate Aphrodisiac Page 9