After his stirling effort at the hari-kari-oke night, Takatau got plenty of smiles and cheerful hellos when he dropped his towel on the grass. Brian returned the smiles, then ran down the slope and dived in. The water was as good as it looked, except this time Brian had to share it with the kids and four turtles. The kids gave Takatau a bit of cheek, Takatau gave some back along with several splashes of water. He swam around the jetty, let one of the turtles tow him along for a few metres then got out. Back in his room Brian got under the shower, washed the remaining paint from his face, then put on a pair of shorts and a blue T-shirt and walked down to the kitchen. Milne was seated alone, in a pair of old shorts and a yellow T-shirt, drinking coffee; Lengi was fussing around at the stove.
‘Here he is,’ said Milne. ‘The Doc Neeson of Lan Laroi.’
‘Don’t remind me about it,’ said Brian. ‘I’m glad I forgot my camera. Hello, Lengi.’
‘Good morning, Takatau.’
‘So what’s doing, Ron? How’s it going?’
‘Good.’ The President started to get up. ‘We’ll have breakfast in the conference room. Lengi’ll bring it in. I want to have a look at ol’ CC’s address to the nation.’
‘Okay,’ said Brian.
The conference room was painted dark green, with matching hemp scatter rugs. A long table with seating for ten people sat lengthwise along the middle; one end next to a set of yellow curtains covering a balcony overlooking the harbour. Along the right-hand wall were wooden shelves stacked with CDs, books and videos, there was a stereo, a VCR, a bar fridge and a big-screen TV. A ceiling fan hung above the conference table, the flag stood in one corner and on the opposite wall was a large map of the world.
Milne indicated the end of the table closest the door. ‘Why don’t you sit down there, while I get the VCR going.’
‘Righto.’
Brian sat down and made himself comfortable. Lengi arrived with their breakfast on a large tray. She put it on the table, set the food out and left.
‘Don’t wait for me,’ said Milne. ‘Get into it.’
‘Okay.’
Brian put his scrambled eggs in front of him, sipped some orange juice and started on the sliced papaya and lime. Milne sat down, drank half his orange juice and pressed a button on the remote.
‘Righto. Let’s see what shit-for-brains had to say last night.’
President Clooney was seated at his desk in the Oval Office, wearing a very sober dark blue suit and a red and blue tie. The American flag was displayed prominently on one side of the drapes behind him, on the other side was the flag with the seal of the President of the United States. On a table in between were arranged the President’s family photos. President Clooney was combed down and made-up and doing everything he could to look conciliatory and statesmanlike.
‘My fellow Americans,’ intoned President Clooney. ‘As the world knows, the United States of America is a peace-loving nation. It is not an aggressive nation. And despite its great military might, it never seeks to impose its will on any other nation. We would never violate another nation’s sovereignty unless it was an absolute necessity. So it is with a heavy heart, I regret to say, a necessity has arisen. On an island in the Pacific, known as the Republic of Lan Laroi. A republic run by a notorious drug dealer who calls himself President Ronald Milne.
‘Two officers of the American Drug Enforcement Agency. And a female member of the French secret service. Are being held hostage by the Lan Laroian government. President Milne, for reasons known only to himself, is about to throw these people to the sharks. I will repeat that. Throw these people to the sharks. People who were doing no more than their duty to free the world from the scourge of drugs. Despite overtures from the United States, the Lan Laroian government has refused to negotiate, or cooperate. And is going ahead with this barbaric action. One of our agents. Officer Tanton Lee Britt. From Hog Jowls, South Dakota. Has five little children. My fellow Americans I cannot and I will not, let this happen. Therefore, within the next twenty-four hours, forces of the United States of America, along with our French allies. Are going in to free the hostages. I must stress. The United States has no intention of invading the Republic of Lan Laroi. That is not the American way. We just want our people back. But. If American interests in the Pacific. And the interests of our allies. Are being compromised by this drug dealer, Ronald Milne. We may have to consider the possibility. We want a drug free America for our children. I don’t see why there shouldn’t be a drug free Pacific, for the children there. I will say no more at this stage. But in the meantime. I want you to pray for our brave service men and women. And wish them God speed. Thank you. God bless the flag. And God bless the United States of America.’
The tape finished and there was silence in the conference room. Brian was still staring at the blank TV screen, slowly chewing on his scrambled eggs. The look on President Milne’s face was a mixture of stunned disbelief and total bemusement. He turned to Brian.
‘Can you believe that goose?’
Brian slowly shook his head. ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or go and have a giant Edgar.’
‘Hostages,’ retorted Milne. ‘Did you notice how he referred to Lee Britt and those pricks as hostages?’
‘Yeah. And overtures from the United States,’ said Brian. ‘Have they been in touch with you at all?’
‘In touch with me?’ said Milne. ‘I went to their poxy fuckin embassy in Konipeau. And got brushed for my trouble.’
‘I noticed something else, Ron,’ said Brian seriously. ‘He kept his options open about invading.’
‘Yeah,’ scoffed Milne. ‘A drug free fuckin Pacific. Who’s he trying to kid?’
‘Evidently all of America,’ said Brian. He speared another piece of egg. ‘And now you’re President Milne. The notorious drug dealer.’
‘Yeah. That’s me. The Robert Trimbole of Micronesia.’ Milne washed down some scrambled eggs with coffee and started laughing.
‘What are you laughing at?’ enquired Brian.
President Milne looked at his watch. ‘Well, I just noticed. It’s not getting any earlier. And they haven’t come for the prisoners — sorry — hostages yet.’
Brian looked at the sun shining in on the balcony. ‘Yeah, that’s a thought. I wonder what’s going on. They generally pull these things off at dawn.’
Milne casually sipped his coffee. ‘Maybe they got lost. Lan Laroi can be a tricky place to find. Especially if you don’t know this part of the Pacific.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Brian.
‘So how are you finding the breakfast?’ asked Milne, changing the subject.
‘The grouse. What’s this salsa Lengi’s put on the eggs? It’s got lime, chilli, tomato. I’ve never tasted anything so nice.’
‘Isn’t she a treat. That’s Airu’s mother.’
‘Fair dinkum. I thought I noticed a couple of mannerisms.’ Brian sipped his coffee. ‘So what do you intend to do, Ron? About all this shit going down.’
‘Do? I’m going to take you for a run out to the farms and that. Like I said.’
‘Okay. Sounds good to me.’
‘I’ve also arranged a present for you. You’ll like it.’
‘Another present,’ said Brian. ‘Jesus, Ron. You’ve been that good to me, I’m starting to wonder.’
‘Wonder? Wonder what?’
‘You’re not a pooftah are you mate?’
‘Ohh get fucked will you.’
They finished breakfast. Brian went to his room, got his cap and sunglasses and his camera bag and met Milne in the backyard. There were a number of bikes and trishaws on the grass; Brian surmised all the families were still in the house with Keleu and the other girls having breakfast. Milne told Brian to throw his bag in the Rodeo and follow him into the warehouse. Leaning against a wall near the surfboards was a brand-new brown Kona-Caldera mountain bike with a small metal trailer next to it.
‘There’s your transport while you’re on the island,’ said Milne.
‘You can use the cars if you want, but you’re better off with that if you want to go for a surf. All you have to do is hook the trailer to the back, and Windmills is ten minutes away.’
‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ said Brian. ‘That’s the same bike I’ve got back home. Only mine’s dark blue. Thanks, Ron.’
‘That’s okay. Righto, let’s get in the car and we’ll make tracks.’
Brian climbed in the front of the Rodeo, they reversed around and drove down the side passage. Brian noticed a small esky in the back and guessed Lengi must have packed their lunch again. They cruised down the main street. A few people were standing around the shops, and they waved at the car and Brian and Milne waved back. They left the short paved road and got on the trail. Milne slipped a tape in the stereo.
‘You’ll like this tape,’ said Milne. ‘It’s one of yours.’
‘Thanks.’
The Rodeo bumped along and Keith Glass ‘What This Baby Will Do’ started twanging out the speakers.
‘Whoah. Honky tonk,’ said Milne, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. ‘Well done, Takatau.’
‘Hey. Just watch the road, Sawi,’ said Brian, ‘before the Highway Patrol pulls you over. Unless of course …’
‘You got it, baby,’ said Milne, letting the wheel go completely. ‘I am the Highway Patrol.’ With Keith Glass twanging away, they motored along and Milne took the fork to the right.
The trail bumped along through beautiful green rainforest. Here and there narrow paths led off the trail to white adobes nestled amongst the trees. Neat little yards full of flowers sat out the front, poles poked out of the walls and each home had a Lan Laroian flag on the roof. Now and again people would be out the front gardening, or just sitting around, taking it easy. As soon as they saw the car they would wave and offer greetings. Milne would toot the horn and he and Brian would wave back.
They crossed several log bridges over crystal clear streams; on one wider one, a waterfall spilled like bubbling champagne down a rise of glistening black rocks. Huge trees towered overhead, shading the trail, then gaps between the branches would let the light filter through onto the smaller trees and lush vegetation below. Delicate ferns flourished between the smaller trees and flowers of all colours stood out everywhere amongst the cool green. Screeching parrots with long, thin tail feathers flew over the car as they approached and fat green geckos would scurry away from the trail and run up trees then hide amongst the leaves, staring back with bulbous, red eyes. The trail continued on and Brian rather liked it, sitting back listening to his music and taking photos out the windows. The rainforest began to thin out, then the trail widened into a vast, flat plateau surrounded by rainforest before the plateau ended at the bottom of a mountain range.
‘Here we are,’ said Milne. ‘This is the farming area. Either side are the fields. Further up on the left are the factories and warehouses.’
‘Anybody working today?’ asked Brian.
‘No. It’s all locked up. We lock everything in case some kids might go in there and injure themselves on a machine or something.’
Brian gave a double-take when he noticed the fields going past on the left. There were hectares and hectares of Indian hemp plants over seven metres high. Some of the fields were cleared and the hemp was stacked in the open like tepees.
‘Christ! I’ve never seen so much pot,’ said Brian.
‘That’s not pot. That’s all hemp,’ said Milne. ‘It looks the same. But you could smoke the whole field and you wouldn’t get stoned. Have a look on the right.’
On the opposite side of the road were smaller fields, crammed full of healthy marijuana plants, three metres high, all heading peacefully in the sunlight. Brian could see the resin shining in the open air like dripping crystal.
‘That’s the ganja primo, mon,’ said Milne. ‘There’s enough there to stone Woodstock a thousand times over.’
‘Unreal,’ said Brian, snapping a few photos.
The hemp finished, then all through the valley were other fields full of fruit and vegetables. Apples, mandarins, oranges, peaches. Strawberries as big as your fist. Kiwi fruit, grape vines. Rows of fat brown pineapples. Sugar cane, hops. Peas, beans, lettuces. Big red tomatoes. Every variety of fruit and vegetable imaginable, all tended carefully and thriving in the rich brown soil. Back from the fruit and vegetables were concrete sheds and wired off areas full of free range chickens or fat, floppy-eared pigs wallowing in mud.
‘You got animals here, too?’ said Brian.
‘Ohh yeah,’ answered Milne. ‘We don’t mind a pork chop now and again or a chicken dinner. And I insist on eggs for breakfast. The slaughteryard’s down the back. We don’t raise cattle, though. It’s too much trouble. We import a few steaks and that. And some Kiwi lamb. And powdered milk.’
‘Looks like you got it made,’ said Brian.
‘We’re doing all right,’ replied Milne.
‘So who organises all the labour and the wages and that?’
‘The three chiefs are the foremen. Ebonee and the other girls are the bookkeepers. I’m the overseer. Ah’s massa.’
‘Is all this hard work?’
‘Ohh yeah. With overtime, the locals can put in up to twenty hours a week. Two in the morning, and two in the afternoon.’
The President pulled up at a clearing on the left side of the road, in front of a row of white stuccoed buildings with solar panels on the roofs. Back from the buildings were several wooden sheds with galvanised plastic roofing. The truck Brian had seen earlier was parked under cover in front of one building, next to a forklift and a tractor with a slasher. Standing near a loading dock were several wheelbarrows and trailers.
‘Jump out and I’ll show you around,’ said Milne.
‘Righto,’ replied Brian, holding his camera.
They got out of the car. Brian was about to tell Milne to stand at the front so he could take a photo of him, when the President started cursing.
‘Ahh fuck it!’ he said.
‘What’s up?’ asked Brian.
‘I forgot the bloody keys. We can’t get in the buildings. Fuck!’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Brian. ‘What’s in there, anyway?’
‘All the presses and the looms. The crusher to make the oil. Bales of hemp. Bolts of cloth. I wanted to show you the brewery and the bottling plant, too. Bugger it.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Brian. ‘We can always come out again. I can photograph the people working, too.’
An odd-looking machine in one of the sheds caught Brian’s eye. It looked like a huge jaffle iron full of metal spikes. There was a metal funnel above it and an arm with a big metal fork at the one end. Scattered around were tufts of white fibre.
‘What’s that?’ asked Brian.
‘That’s the shredder,’ said Milne. ‘We strip the leaves off and all the stalks go in there to get shredded. It comes out as fibre, then it goes to the looms to get made into cloth.’
‘It’s a solid big thing,’ said Brian. ‘It looks like it could grind blue metal.’
‘It has to be. Hemp fibre’s about the toughest plant going around.’
‘Yeah?’
‘You know much about hemp?’
‘Not really,’ answered Brian.
‘It’s the greatest plant on the planet,’ said Milne. ‘There’s not much you can’t do with it. You can make paper, food, cloth. Building materials, oil, biodegradable fuel. The best sun block available. Anything you can do with oil or coal, you can do with hemp. Did you know half the world was founded on hemp?’
‘No.’
‘All the old ships’ sails. All the rope. That was all hemp. America is the only country in the world that bans the commercial harvesting of hemp. Yet the whole country was opened up on hemp. The pilgrims’ ships for a start. All their bibles were printed on hemp. Then the pioneers’ covered wagons. The covers were all canvas hemp. The wheels were lubricated with hemp seed oil. Cannabis is just a Dutch pronunciation of canvas. America used to
grow thousands of acres of hemp for paper using slaves. When slavery was abolished, the paper manufacturers figured it was cheaper to cut down a rainforest to make paper than grow hemp. Then President Roosevelt signed the Hemp Tax Act in 1937 and stopped farmers growing hemp completely.’
‘Why?’
‘The big oil companies discovered plastic. An oil by-product. And started making nylon and rayon. It’s a huge conspiracy. If Roosevelt hadn’t signed that tax bill, we’d still have half the world’s rainforests. Now they’re gone. And they’re still going.’
‘So why don’t they grow hemp now?’ asked Brian.
Milne started laughing. ‘The American DEA and the Attorney-General’s department said it would confuse their police officers. And send a wrong message to the children.’
‘Ohh bullshit,’ said Brian.
‘I’m fair dinkum,’ laughed Milne. ‘The Seppos are terrified someone might smoke it. So now they import millions of dollars’ worth of hemp from other countries. Half the stuff we grow finishes up over there. There’s a video back in my office called The Emperor of Hemp by Jack Herer. I’ll give you a look at it. He’s been trying to get the silly fuckin Yank government to see the light of day for years.’
‘How did he go?’ asked Brian.
‘Ohh how do you think?’ said Milne. ‘Ronald Reagan had him put in gaol.’
‘Fair dinkum?’
‘So he wrote a book called The Emperor Wears No Clothes. It’s in my office somewhere.’
The Ultimate Aphrodisiac Page 18