by John Harding
There was one area, though, in which William could not bow to Gold’s superiority: physical attractiveness. At heart, William could not believe that a club to which he had once belonged would admit Gold as a member. The club, of course, was Lucy.
This was how William came to be standing in the dark late one evening, outside the hospital. After a couple of days of fishing, watching reruns of 9/11, providing shit samples for curious natives and mooching around the village, he found he just couldn’t accept that Gold and Lucy were having a relationship. It was true that Lucy must know he was on the island and had made no attempt to get in touch with him or see him, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was making the beast with two backs with somebody else. William resolved to have it out with Gold. To find out just how things stood between him and Lucy. It was no use doing nothing. He had to know.
He thought he would catch Gold when he left the hospital for his home behind it. He imagined broaching the subject over a glass or two of bourbon and had rehearsed in his mind the firm handshake he would give the doctor as he congratulated him on his choice, entreated him to look after Lucy and wished him luck. He didn’t like to dwell on the happier outcome, that there was nothing between the medical man and the woman he loved. He was with the stoics on this one, better imagine the worst so you’re never caught out by it.
He didn’t want to enter the hospital because he couldn’t bear the other staff to see him and possibly witness his distress if the confrontation happened there. Anyway, Gold might be conducting an operation; he could hardly interrupt that. He didn’t want to risk getting into an argument with a man with a scalpel in his hand. Besides the danger of personal injury to himself he didn’t want an innocent bystander to lose a limb they didn’t need to, at least not yet.
Eventually the last light in the hospital was extinguished. It was getting on for midnight. The good doctor was working late, undoing William’s doings. A few moments later the door of the building opened and Gold emerged. William was about to step out of the shadows and greet him when, instead of turning to go around the building on the side where his own quarters were, Gold strode briskly in the opposite direction. Where on earth could he be going at this time of night?
William drew back into the shelter of a boaboa tree, folding a pair of its elephant ear leaves over him. When Gold had gone a hundred yards or so, he began to follow. Gold made straight for the beach and once there, struck out along it. With a heavy heart, William followed. OK, so he knew now where Gold was off to. There was only one place in this direction he could be off to. But William followed nevertheless. He had made up his mind to find out the truth tonight and he would see this thing through to the bitter end, if need be.
There was no moon, only starlight, and even that partially obscured by a few clouds, so there wasn’t any danger of Gold spotting him. The soft dry sand tugged at his feet as he struggled to keep up with the doctor. Gold was going at a punishing pace. William could scarcely bear to allow himself to think what might be making the good doctor so eager. Eventually the journey ended, as William had always known it must, at Lucy’s house. Gold took the steps to the veranda two at a time – which seemed to William to show an indecent haste – and rapped gently on the door.
‘It’s me!’ he called softly, but the night was so quiet, the sea so still that even this whisper carried to William, a hundred yards away.
The door opened and light leaked briefly out. Gold ducked inside and the light drained away.
A gentle rain began to fall. William walked up to the tree line but it was difficult to find shelter in a position where he could still watch the door of the house. Water dripped from the branches of the inadequate tree he had chosen, but he didn’t really care. He kept looking at his watch. Inside he imagined Gold’s big lips folding over Lucy’s small mouth, his beard absorbing it. Perhaps they would ration themselves to that one kiss for a while and Gold would now be drinking a beer to help him relax after his hard day. Then, as another quarter-hour ticked past, maybe Lucy approached his chair and began to massage his aching shoulders, perhaps she reached her arms around him and unbuttoned his sweat-stained shirt; it was possible that then she took his drink from him and placed it carefully on a side table.
Now they were kissing again, now the doctor had put his hands under her T-shirt and released her breasts, cupping them in his great hairy paws. By now they must surely be in bed and William wondered how out of alignment their lips might be on the downward stroke, a measurement entirely dependent upon the size of his rival’s cock. He didn’t even want to think about that. He wanted to try to stop himself casting his mind back to whether he’d happened to notice the then irrelevant length of the doctor’s member when they’d squatted together on the shitting beach all those years ago.
From somewhere in the forest came the lonely hoot of a rope-tree owl, the bird of which the celebrated South Seas naturalist Gottfried Helmer has said, ‘It has the most forlorn cry of any bird in the Southern Hemisphere; it is a solitary bird and yet it always sounds as if it does not want to be alone.’ William had never read that description but hearing the bird now he knew just how it felt.
He waited and watched until the darkness began to thin into the grey beginnings of dawn. His damp hair was plastered to his face, his wet shirt stuck to his body; the contemptuous elements mocked his cuckoldry. He turned his back on the house from which no-one had emerged during his long vigil. There was no point in remaining longer. He’d had the ocular proof. He had no wish for anyone to see him looking so ridiculous.
SEVENTY-TWO
THE PLANE CAME every week now. It had to, to meet the insatiable demand for snack foods and fizzy drinks. William decided he would take the next one out. He knew he couldn’t stay on the island when Lucy was with someone else. He couldn’t watch another man mould his child. Better the risk of Arab terrorists than that!
When he told Managua of his decision, he was touched by the way the old man’s face crumpled. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ William said.
‘Of course is matter,’ Managua replied. ‘You is miss performance of Hamlet.’
So much for affection. ‘I’m sorry. I’d love to have seen it, but I can’t spend an extra week on the island,’ William said.
‘Bugger!’ Managua spat angrily into the fire. They were sitting outside his hut. William hoped that none of the old man’s saliva had ended up in the open pot of stew cooking over the fire. He’d already turned down the stew so many times he didn’t see how he could do it again, but as an OCD sufferer still with a few hygiene issues he wasn’t about to eat another man’s spit. ‘You is be only one who is see Hamlet. Is be no-one else on island, not even Miss Lucy or Dr Gold.’
William recoiled at the linking of the lovers’ names. Managua was too preoccupied with his own concerns about the play to notice. ‘Never mind, is not can be help. If you is must go, you is must go. I is make video of performance anyway. I is send you tape for see. You is can e-mail me you opinion.’
William smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to getting the tape.’
Managua picked up a coconut-shell bowl and began ladling stew into it. He held it out to William.
‘Actually, I’ll pass if you don’t mind, I just remembered, I said I’d drop in on Lamua. Purnu said she wanted to see me.’
Managua didn’t move. He was staring angrily at William.
‘What?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Is be best you is take next plane. You is never learn manners.’
‘But I remembered. I didn’t thank you.’
Managua slammed the bowl down on the ground so that half its contents flew out. ‘That is be whole point. You is must not thank me when you is have stew. You is must thank me when you is not have stew. What is be so difficult ’bout that?’
Purnu’s hut was similarly furnished to Managua’s except that in addition to the latest electronic gadgetry there was a porcelain toilet against one wall. A waste pipe led into the ground presumably to a septic t
ank buried outside. There was no screen or curtain to conceal someone using the toilet.
Lamua, like almost everyone else apart from Managua’s family, had put on a few pounds, but she was not much overweight. Her attractiveness was of the buxom kind anyway and she could carry it. After asking William in she saw him looking at the toilet.
‘You is want shit?’ she said. ‘Please, you is help youself.’
‘No, it’s OK, thanks,’ William said hurriedly, although, when you thought about it, the invitation wasn’t so strange. It was maybe too big an evolutionary leap to go from shitting on a public beach to private bathrooms all in one go.
‘You is be sure? Purnu is tell me for ask you. Is say I is must not flush after you is use.’
William couldn’t help smiling at Purnu’s dedication to research. He was also pleased that he hadn’t been discourteous. It was obviously the proper thing to do to thank someone for the offer of a shit when you didn’t have one but not when you did.
Now these preliminaries were out of the way he noticed that the widescreeen TV was on and that a small boy was sitting before it watching cartoons. Small in terms of age, that was. The kid was the shape of a basketball. His Simpsons T-shirt was straining at the seams.
‘Is be my son, Iago,’ Lamua said.
‘Iago?’ said William.
‘Managua is find in Shakespeare. You is not like?’
‘No, no, it’s a . . . a fine name.’
‘Iago, look who is come for see you. Is be man they is call gwanga. You is remember I is tell you ’bout he?’
The boy turned reluctantly from the TV and gave William the once-over. He returned his gaze to the screen. ‘He is not be so funny as you is say,’ he muttered.
Lamua shrugged. ‘Kids!’ she said. ‘What you is gonna do?’
While he was there Kiroa dropped in to see her stepmother. It took him some time to realize it was Kiroa because half a decade of American snack foods and sugary drinks had transformed her into a linebacker. It made him want to cry. The ruin of her once-beautiful face rested on several layers of chin, her formerly proud breasts dangled dangerously around the waistband of her baggy shorts, formidable weapons in the event of any sudden movement on her part. She introduced him to her children, two more basketballs he restrained himself from patting on the head for fear of bouncing.
As he made to leave, Lamua put her hand on his arm to restrain him and hoisted herself up onto her toes to reach up and kiss him gently on the cheek. He put his hand up to the spot, unable quite to believe the gesture had occurred. She must have seen his puzzlement. ‘Is be for all you is do for me,’ she said. ‘Without you none of this is happen.’ Although the sweep of her hand took in the whole hut, the widescreen TV, the electronic equipment, the exhibitionist loo, he understood it meant none of these things, but rather the people assembled there, spherical or not. ‘I is be so lonely before you is come. Now I is have family.’
William smiled ruefully. Some good he had done, then, in spite of all else.
He found Managua in the theatre, supervising the dress rehearsal. Lintoa and another young man were on stage. They each held a long stick and seemed to be beating the hell out of one another.
‘Hit, hit! One plenty big hit!’ shouted Lintoa, catching the other fellow a good one across the shoulder blades.
‘Stop!’ called Managua. He hobbled up to the stage. ‘How many times I is must tell you, Lintoa? You is hit he first, then you is say “Hit”. How you is can say “Hit” before you is hit he?’
He noticed William. ‘OK,’ he said to the two on the stage, ‘you is can take five.’ They dropped their sticks and walked off together into the wings.
William nodded in their direction. ‘It’s looking good. I wish I could be here. But I really do want to leave tomorrow.’
Managua studied his face with the intensity other people reserved for William’s shit. ‘Is be OK for miss play,’ he said. ‘Is not be OK for not see you child.’
‘My child? You think I had something to do with it, then? I thought it was just another floating baby without a father.’
Managua didn’t smile. ‘What I is believe is not matter here. Is be what you is think that is count. Is not be good you is leave without you is see small girl.’
William looked at the scenery, a crudely drawn picture of a medieval castle, made, it appeared, not of stone, but of bamboo. He glanced at Managua. ‘You’re a very wise man.’
‘And you is be plenty stupid one. Tomorrow after we is shit together for last time, I is take you Miss Lucy’s house. Is be polite visit. You is can see child without you is be embarrass.’
‘Thank you.’
Managua shook his head and smiled. ‘Is be as I is say. You is be plenty stupid. You is never learn anything.’
SEVENTY-THREE
‘I IS NOT see what all fuss is be about.’ Managua stared at William’s dump and shook his head. ‘Some people is not have enough for do, I is think.’
The sun was still skulking below the horizon and the sky had only the grey of first light as they left the beach together for the last time. They walked along the water’s edge, where the sand was still damp and a little firmer. It made it easier for Managua with his artificial leg.
‘You didn’t get a new one?’ William said.
‘No, I is guess I is have attachment for this one. Is be damn useless but at least is be my leg.’ William knew what he meant. ‘Mebbe one day I is change. For now, I is use all money for present Hamlet.’
When Lucy’s house came into view, William could make out two figures sitting at a table on the veranda. As they drew closer one of them bulked out into Dr Gold. Lucy sat facing him and they appeared to be in animated conversation until her head suddenly turned and looked along the shore, as though she were expecting someone. Her eyes would have met William’s had he not been distracted by a movement in the doorway of the house. A small figure skipped out and William experienced a flutter of wings in his ribcage. He had thought of his child as a link to the woman he had once almost loved, a responsibility, an additional weight to be added to the burden of guilt he carried around with him, but he had never managed to visualize her. And now, here she was, all those abstracts suddenly made flesh, not an idea but a person.
As he and Managua walked from the water’s edge towards the steps to the house, the head of this small figure turned to look at them. The figure flitted down the steps and pranced towards them, a pale blur in a grass skirt.
The child halted a few paces from them. She stared at William. He could not help staring back. He was looking at his own face, the same blue eyes and blonde hair, the identical vulnerable smile. The only difference between them was that one of them was frantically blinking alternately and the other was not.
It was the child who broke the spell between them. ‘Hello. You is be one who is be call gwanga?’
‘Yes.’
‘I is know because you is do funny thing with you eyes everyone is tell me about.’ She reached out a hand and took his. Her hand was so small it fitted into his palm and disappeared when he closed his fingers over it. ‘Come, my mamu is wait for you.’
She led him up the steps. He was conscious of the tap of Managua’s artificial leg behind him. Gold smiled. He and Lucy had plates of half-eaten food in front of them. William noticed that a fleck of yellow yolk enlivened the grey of Gold’s beard.
‘Mamu, I is bring gwanga.’
‘Yes, dear. Let go of Mr Hardt’s hand and run inside and fetch another cup, would you?’ She watched as the child disappeared indoors. Then she returned her gaze to William. She looked at him boldly, confidently, in the manner, he thought, of a woman who has a new lover greeting a discarded one. ‘Hello.’
His own greeting came out as a mumble mainly because he was alternately grinding his molars as a means of keeping his eyelids still. Before William could get out another word the child reappeared with the cup and saucer. Lucy indicated an empty seat with a brusque gesture. Managua wa
s already settling himself into the fourth chair around the table. William sat down. The little girl placed the cup and saucer before him and Lucy poured him some tea. She gave Managua a glass of water.
‘Actually,’ said William, ‘my real name is William. What are you called?’
‘Perdita.’ The child clambered onto Dr Gold’s lap and helped herself to a piece of toast from his plate. William found he could not tear his eyes from her.
‘Is be from Winter’s Tale. Is mean one who is be lost,’ said Managua. He was looking at William with a wry smile upon his face.
Lucy butted in before William could comment. ‘Would you like some breakfast? There’s more toast on the way inside and I can easily fry up a few eggs and red fungi.’
‘No. No thanks,’ said William. He felt he might be sick. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to eat again.
‘He is go have breakfast with me back at village,’ said Managua. ‘I is have plenty nice stew there.’
‘Second thoughts,’ said William to Lucy, ‘maybe I will.’
Lucy rose without speaking. She went inside and he heard pans being moved around.
The little girl climbed down from Gold’s lap and disappeared into the house. William smiled at Gold. He didn’t know what to say to him. ‘You lucky dog,’ was what he felt. ‘You bastard.’ Something like that. He looked out at the sea. ‘It’s a pleasant place to have breakfast,’ was all he could come up with.