The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

by Robert G. Barrett

  Brian thought for a moment. ‘All right,’ he admitted. ‘That letter you sent me. I dunno. There seemed to be a kind of bond there. You, Dad, Mum. Bondi, me. I dunno. Something drew me here. Some bond. I can’t explain it.’ Brian looked directly at Milne. ‘All right. I said it. It wasn’t just the holiday. Something drew me here. Okay?’

  ‘That’s understandable, Brian,’ said Milne. ‘There is a certain bond between you and me.’

  ‘A certain bond?’ said Brian. ‘How do you mean?’

  Milne looked at the chiefs for a moment, then back at Brian. ‘Brian. You know how I keep telling you one more little secret after the other about the island?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Brian. ‘You hand them out like swimming medals.’

  ‘Well, there’s one more secret. I’ve been saving it till last,’ said Milne.

  ‘Yeah? And what’s this one?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Brian. I’m your father.’

  Brian suddenly felt as if he’d just been slapped across the face. He gave Milne a huge double blink. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘I said, I’m your father,’ smiled Milne.

  Brian blinked again and started to sober up. ‘Bullshit.’

  Milne shook his head. ‘Mate. Why do you think we look so much alike? And why we talk the same? Ebonee knows. I had to tell the chiefs.’

  ‘Sawi speaks the truth, Takatau,’ said Chief Namalek.

  ‘You’re fuckin kidding.’ Brian was completely shattered.

  ‘It’s true, mate,’ said Milne. ‘Your mother and me had a real good thing going for a while.’ He gave Brian a wink. ‘Real good. Especially when we’d had a few drinks. But Allan got under my guard when I was up in Queensland. That was okay. We were still mates. And they finished up having to get married. But every chance I got, I’d give Renee one behind his back just to square things up. Even after they were married. Anyway. Me and Allan ended up in Vietnam. I came home on special leave and had a room at the old Astra Hotel. I rang Renee. And we hardly left the room for a week. It was glorious. I went back to Vietnam. And Allan was supposed to come home on leave a month later. But he got killed. Later, Renee wrote to tell me she was pregnant. I got out of the army after you were born. I called in to say hello. Then I pissed off on the yacht with Owen. I kept in touch with your mother for a while. But I never saw her or you again. Everybody thought Allan was your father and your mother got her war widow’s benefits. And nobody knew the truth except me and Renee.’ Milne raised his glass and smiled. ‘So say hello to your father, Brian.’

  Brian suddenly felt sick in the stomach. ‘Say hello to my father?’ he cried. ‘Fuck you!’

  ‘Shit!’ Milne was genuinely surprised. ‘I thought you’d be rapt.’

  ‘Rapt?’ said Brian. ‘Are you fair dinkum? Christ almighty! What do you take me for?’

  Brian rose from the table and lurched out onto the balcony. He gripped the railing and stared out at the harbour, ignoring the people below, as Milne’s words kept echoing over and over in his head. The low bastard. Brian adored his mother. And the way Milne spoke about her, as if she was just some moll from down the beach. Sneaking in behind Allan’s back, even when they were married. No wonder she didn’t want him to come here. And no wonder he got that funny vibe off Ebonee. She didn’t fancy him. He was her half-brother. And that rebirthed freak inside was his father. And now Tracey was his half-sister. Brian Bradshaw’s world had suddenly been turned upside down. Any feelings he’d had for Milne had quickly evaporated. Not only that. Brian had been betrayed. Lied to. Used. Milne could have told him the truth earlier. Instead the bastard exploited him and turned a decent person into a mass murderer. Brian seethed. Those stinking old chiefs would have had something to do with it, too. No. This time Milne could stick his island. And his million dollars with it. Fuck Lan Laroi. Fuck the lot of them. Keleu included. Brian was out of here. And he knew a real quick way of leaving. Extremely angry and very confused Brian stormed back into the conference room and glared around the table, finally settling on Milne.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Brian defiantly. ‘All bets are off. You fuckin disgust me. Ron Milne. Or Sawi. Or whatever it is you call yourself. Stick your shitpot island in your arse. And your million dollars with it.’

  Chief Somohl leant back in his chair. ‘Takatau. This …’

  ‘Shut up! The same goes for you three miserable old cunts, too. Ignorant fuckin savages. Throwing me to the sharks and all the rest of the shit I’ve been through. Get fucked the lot of you.’ Brian sat down, took a mouthful of beer and glared across the table.

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Brian,’ said Milne.

  ‘I too,’ said Chief Namalek.

  ‘And I,’ said Chief Somohl.

  ‘It is a sad thing,’ added Chief Isosueri.

  ‘Sad thing my arse,’ said Brian. ‘This is fucked as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Fair enough, Brian,’ said Milne deliberately. ‘So what do you intend to do?’

  ‘What do I intend to do? How about my own fuckin thing for a change.’

  ‘I see. And in what way?’ asked Milne.

  ‘First thing tomorrow. I’m going to finish where we left off. Starting with the Yanks again.’ Brian sneered at Milne. ‘Remember, Sawi, Takatau’s got the key to the garage. And he’s got the key to the car. And he’s got the fuckin power.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Milne. ‘But you must realise, Brian, if you weaken America too much, everything being held in place will explode. China will invade Taiwan. India and Pakistan will go to war. The Middle East will rise against Israel. The Balkans will self destruct into more ethnic cleansing. North Korea and South Korea. The Russians will do as they please in Europe. Not counting millions of Muslim fanatics, who hate everybody including each other. They’ll go on a rampage. You’ll destroy the world.’

  ‘Good,’ said Brian. ‘Fuck the world. I’m doing what I fuckin want.’ He pointed a finger round the table. ‘And don’t anyone try to stop me. I got the power. And plenty of it.’

  Milne made a magnanimous gesture. ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘Do what you like.’ Milne turned to the others. ‘If it is Takatau’s wish. Then so be it. Is that not right, great chiefs?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Chief Somohl.

  ‘Always,’ said Chief Isosueri.

  ‘Takatau is a member of my tribe,’ said Chief Namalek. ‘He may do as he desires.’

  ‘Fuckin oath,’ said Brian.

  ‘In fact,’ said Chief Namalek. ‘I propose a ceremonial toast. Then it is done. And can never be undone.’

  ‘Indeed. A toast,’ said the other two chiefs.

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Milne.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Brian.

  ‘We’ll have a ceremonial drink of kesi,’ said Milne. ‘Then it is done. And you can do whatever you want, Brian. We’ll be safe here on the island. And the island will always be here for you. And you will always be Takatau.’

  Brian shrugged. ‘All right. Why not.’

  Chief Namalek went to the bar fridge and came back with five coconut-shell cups and a container made from a stout piece of bamboo. He carefully placed the bamboo container on the table and put a cup in front of everybody, then took the lid off the bamboo container.

  ‘You are Takatau,’ he said. ‘This toast is for you. So I pour your kesi first.’ Chief Namalek held Brian’s cup up from the table and half filled it with kesi, then bowed his head to the cup before placing it back on the table in front of Brian. The chief half filled the other cups in the same manner, waited a moment then raised his cup. ‘To Takatau,’ he said. ‘May he soar like an eagle, have the strength of a lion, and the speed of a snake.’

  ‘To Takatau,’ said the others.

  ‘Yeah. Why not,’ said Brian. He watched the others skoll their kesi then drank his.

  ‘God! I still reckon this tastes like cat piss,’ said Milne, putting his coconut-shell cup down and swallowing a good mouthful of beer.

 
‘Yes. It is not the hairy chest,’ said Chief Isosueri, doing the same.

  Chief Somohl put his cup down and swallowed some beer. ‘Agreed. It is not the best.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Brian. ‘It ain’t that bad. Thick. Bit like a yoghurt drink.’ He put his cup down, looked at it and yawned.

  ‘What was that, Takatau?’ said Chief Namalek, drinking some beer.

  ‘I said, it ain’t all that bad.’ Brian yawned again and blinked at his watch. ‘Shit, I’m tired. What time is it?’ He focussed on his watch. ‘Is that all?’ Brian yawned again, leant back against the chair and closed his eyes.

  The others watched him for a while, then Milne reached over and slapped Brian across the chin. ‘Brian? Are you there?’ He slapped Brian again, but Brian kept snoring quietly.

  ‘I do not think he is there, Sawi,’ said Chief Isosueri.

  ‘No. It sure doesn’t look like it,’ agreed Milne.

  Chief Namalek gathered the cups and replaced the lid on the bamboo container. ‘You may say kesi tastes like cat piss, Sawi. But like cream, it all rises to the top.’

  ‘Yeah. Brian sure got the lot, didn’t he,’ said Milne.

  ‘How much do you think Takatau got?’ asked Chief Somohl.

  ‘From what I saw in his cup,’ said Milne. ‘About enough to knock him out for the next two days.’

  ‘He sleeps well,’ said Chief Isosueri, having another mouthful of beer.

  There was silence in the room as everybody watched Brian snoring peacefully in his chair. Finally Chief Namalek spoke.

  ‘Well, Sawi,’ he said. ‘What can we say?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Milne. ‘He sure took that the wrong way. I thought he would have been pleased.’

  ‘With respect, Sawi,’ said Chief Somohl. ‘I do not think it was handled very well. A thing like that should be discussed quietly and in private. Between father and son.’

  ‘Takatau is a sensitive man,’ said Chief Isosueri.

  ‘Yeah. I think I blew it,’ said Milne. ‘I’ve had a bit too much to drink.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Sawi,’ said Chief Namalek. ‘You heard what Takatau said. He is now a dangerous man. Whether it is the maru or the drink talking, it makes no difference. His heart is filled with ice. There is no love there now for you. Or any of us. Or for the island.’

  ‘It’s not good, Chief Namalek,’ admitted Milne.

  ‘And there is this power he speaks of,’ said Chief Somohl. ‘It is mysterious. But I can see it in his eyes. It oozes from him. He is not the same man who we welcomed to our island that special day.’

  Milne’s mouth was tight. ‘No. You’re right, Chief Somohl. He’s not. And I know who to blame.’ Milne looked at Brian and shook his head. ‘Power. The ultimate aphrodisiac. Like hell.’ Milne laughed mirthlessly. ‘Shit! It wasn’t that long ago we were in the bar half joking about it.’

  ‘Power in the wrong hands is no joke, Sawi,’ said Chief Isosueri. ‘It can have terrible consequences.’

  ‘Yes. You’re right, Chief Isosueri,’ agreed Milne. ‘He could bring the whole thing undone.’

  ‘But it is not only that, Sawi,’ said Chief Namalek. He looked directly at Milne. ‘You heard what he said. He has insulted the great chiefs. In such a manner as I have never experienced.’

  ‘Indeed,’ nodded Chief Somohl.

  ‘Yes. I heard him,’ said Milne. ‘He certainly insulted you all right.’

  Chief Namalek looked at the other two chiefs for a moment then turned to Milne. ‘Then, Sawi, I believe I speak for the other great chiefs when sadly I say, Takatau must die.’

  ‘Takatau or not,’ said Chief Somohl. ‘He must die.’

  ‘Yes. You’re right,’ sighed Milne. ‘It is the law. He must die.’

  Chief Isosueri nodded sagely. ‘We will do it tonight. The sooner the better. We will take Takatau to the island. Remove his mutami. Then Takatau will be as one with the shark God. He will not know a thing.’

  ‘Yes, Chief Isosueri,’ agreed Milne. ‘I guess that’s the way it has to be.’

  Chief Namalek shook his head despondently. ‘In a time of such joy, we must endure such sorrow. Possibly it is part of the prophecy. But it is so sad.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Milne. ‘This is the last thing I ever wanted to happen.’

  ‘We too,’ said Chief Somohl. ‘We loved Takatau. The whole island loved Takatau. But what can we do? It is law.’

  By now Brian had collapsed down in the chair and was snoring blissfully away. The others in the room watched him for a while, then Milne spoke. When he did, he’d sobered up and his face was very sombre.

  ‘Great chiefs,’ he said. ‘I know the law as well as anyone. And I know Takatau must die. But let me mention two things.’

  ‘Yes, Sawi?’ said Chief Isosueri.

  ‘Firstly. Takatau is my son, and my friend. And I love him.’

  ‘Yes. Takatau is your son,’ said Chief Isosueri. ‘Of course you love him.’

  ‘And secondly,’ said Milne, ‘I have a special presidential decree in which I can break the law once.’

  ‘Yes, Sawi,’ said Chief Somohl. ‘You have a presidential decree that you can use but once.’

  ‘Agreed, Sawi,’ nodded Chief Isosueri. ‘But if it is against the best wishes of the island, we can still overrule you. And Sawi. In this instance …?’

  ‘Great chiefs,’ implored Milne. ‘Allow me to use my presidential decree. And make a proposal.’

  The three chiefs looked at each other for a moment, then turned solemnly to Milne. ‘Speak, Sawi,’ said Chief Namalek.

  Carver Joe Krunstock was a patriot. Tall, crewcutted and pointy chinned, with grey eyes that rarely showed any expression, Carver came from a family of proud American patriots. His father fought in Vietnam, two uncles fought in Korea, his grandfather fought in the Second World War. The Krunstocks fought in just about every war that involved the United States going back to Valley Forge. Carver fought in Desert Storm as a sniper in a Special Forces unit and won the Silver Star at the battle of Harf el Nabq. Covered in dust and camouflage netting, Carver lay motionless on the roof of a ruined building for five days with a silenced M40A1 Sniper Rifle, surrounded by Iraqi soldiers, while he waited to take out two Iraqi generals and a rocket engineer. When he took them out, Carver lay there for another two days till the marines secured the area.

  Carver Joe lived in Skunk River, Louisiana and drove a rig hauling gravel for a mining company. Carver Joe liked hunting, fishing, his job, his dog Landmine, and his pretty little wife Charlene, until she ran off with an orthodontist from Carbuncle Springs, West Virginia. CJ went a tad quiet after that. Less socialising. But still drinking. More into his guns and hunting. If CJ did talk much, it was mainly about the commies and faggots ruining the country. And it was the damn ‘guvmint’s’ fault, handing out all the money he paid in taxes to support dope-smoking bums on welfare. Some folks said it was Charlene leaving that caused ol’ CJ to get all riled up. Other folks said CJ just had a touch of Gulf War Syndrome.

  Whatever it was, the one thing that knocked the wind out of Carver was seeing his President on the TV signing a peace treaty with some dope-smoking surfie bum from some piss-ass little island in the middle of nowhere. Who was in cahoots with some bug-eyed critters in UFOs living on the moon. Horseshit! This was no different than America surrendering. The military had managed to spin doctor a lot of the casualties under the carpet. But CJ still had friends in the army and he knew the true figures. America had been dry gulched, then sabotaged. Sabotaged by its own President. A president CJ had voted for, only to get stabbed in the back for his trouble. The once mighty United States was now a nation of pinkos, peaceniks and yeller-bellies. And one man was responsible. And glory be if that same man wasn’t already swanning around like some hero, coming down to Distemper, Alabama to dedicate a library in Muzzle Park.

  CJ grew up in Distemper, Alabama and he and his friend Sumner Beau used to play in Muzzle Park. They built a cubbyhouse in a big o
ld oak tree six hundred metres effective range from where the President would be dedicating the library. CJ had taken Charlene to Distemper for a trip one Fall and showed her where the cubbyhouse was that he and Sumner Beau built. Carver had shinnied up the tree, and even after all these years, most of the floor was still there hidden amongst the leaves and branches. CJ loaded his Chevy pick up with his camouflage hunting rig, his Parker Hale Model 85 hunting rifle and silencer, a Valmet M76 and a .357 Colt Python, plus several boxes of armour-piercing ammunition, filled the gas tank and headed for Distemper, Alabama.

  Just before midday, President Clooney’s limo and its accompanying convoy of secret service men was approaching Muzzle Park. The President was seated in the back, wearing the same char grey suit he had worn on the Warren with a blue tie. Also seated in the limo was Arlene Tandiero, looking smart in a beige suit with a cream silk shirt. She was holding a clipboard which she would tap every now and again with a biro.

  ‘Now, Mr President,’ she said. ‘You know exactly what to say, sir.’

  ‘Sure I do,’ replied Clooney. ‘It’s great to be here in Distemper, Alabama. Read all the books in the Gower K. Hurrell Memorial Library. Eat an apple everyday, and brush your teeth before you go to bed. Yadda-yadda-yadda!’

  ‘Close enough, Mr President,’ said his Press Secretary.

  Since the war, the polls were still divided over Clooney. He’d completely stuffed things up militarily. But on the other hand he’d solved the riddle of the universe. Now everybody knew where the UFOs came from. A lot of people said the chain had slipped on CC’s bike. There was a rumour going round that the CIA and a bunch of Texas oilmen were going to do a JFK on him. Nobody cared that much. The secret service did. It was their job to.

  The limo pulled up in front of the brick and glass library sitting in the middle of the park surrounded by fish ponds and gardens. A secret service man opened the door, then a flurry of men in dark suits and sunglasses worked CC through the crowd to a lectern set up outside the library, with the presidential seal on the front. State and federal police swarmed everywhere, almost equalling the number of guests and spectators. High up in the oak tree at the edge of the park, Carver Joe Krunstock was fully focussed and that well camouflaged, no one, not even the birds, knew he was there. He watched the convoy arrive then, through the crosshairs on his scoped Parker Hale, followed the President all the way from the limo up to the lectern. Standing in front of all his security and some good-looking woman in a light brown suit, the President was an easier target than CJ had imagined. CJ took a deep breath and slowly let it out again.