by Derek Hansen
‘More?’ Rosie asked encouragingly, but the boy shook his head weakly and allowed his head to fall back against the pillow.
‘Domo arigato gozaimasu.’
‘He’s saying thank you,’ said Red.
‘So I gathered.’ She patted the boy’s hand and stood up to take the spoon and bowl back to the kitchen. ‘All yours, but keep it brief. You can see how tired he is.’
Red sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. ‘Do you speak English? Eigo-o hanashimasu-ka.’ Red’s Japanese was rusty and barely remembered. He was surprised that he remembered any at all but, there again, how could he forget?
‘Hai! Small . . .’
‘Namae?’
‘Matsui Kuraishi.’
‘Red O’Hara.’
‘Ohira?’
Red looked away. It was such a simple mistake and an obvious one. It had saved his life and cost Archie his. A simple mistake that had caused him more pain than he’d ever imagined possible. But he couldn’t hate the boy. What was there to hate? Matsui hadn’t pulled the trigger and he wasn’t one of the guards who’d tormented and beaten them. But his mood changed, and with the change came a grim reminder of the purpose of his interrogation. ‘Namae boat?’
‘Wakarimasen.’
Red sighed. Matsui clearly didn’t recognise the word in English. He hadn’t wanted to confront the boy directly with the name of the Shoto Maru given that the boat had been fishing illegally. He was worried that he might deny it. But with no other option he decided to take a chance. ‘Shoto Maru?’
‘Hai!’ The boy’s eyes bulged large with surprise.
‘Shimojo Seiichi?’
‘Hai!’
Red rose and went out into the living room and returned with a map of Great Barrier. He pointed to a spot just off-shore from Awana Beach. He wanted the boy to confirm that the Shoto Maru had been there the previous night. ‘Yube?’
‘Hai! Yube.’
Yesterday was accounted for. Red moved his finger to a spot just north of Arid Island, and asked the sixty-four dollar question. ‘Kyo? Today?’
‘Hai!’
‘Konya? Tonight?’
‘Hai!’ Matsui took the map from Red and ran his finger along the shoreline from Arid Island to Aiguilles Island. ‘Hai, konya, konya!’
Red took the map back and bowed towards Matsui. ‘Domo arigato!’ The boy’s eyelids had begun to close. Red turned and wandered out onto the veranda. He ignored Rosie’s quizzical looks as he walked past her. He leaned against the rail and gazed out towards the horizon, noting the dark swells which crept ashore almost indolently and the slow lathering foam. Distance deceived but Red wasn’t fooled. He could hear the wind bending back the giant totaras, kauris and puriris. Hear it beat down the scrub and palms and roar in its ascendancy. He thought he could hear the sound of distant artillery, the crashing and thundering of surf hurling itself in onto Aiguilles Island. The light level dropped as the cloud-filtered sun set behind Tataweka ridge and late afternoon gloom engulfed their side of the island. The time had come but he felt no sense of excitement, only a deepening sense of foreboding. It was madness to fish close in on such a night, even madder to try to stop them. Any reasonable skipper would stay wide. But would Shimojo? He felt Rosie’s hand on his shoulder.
‘Well?’
‘He’s from the Shoto Maru.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘No problems, Rosie. He thinks Shimojo will run back south out wide.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really, Rosie.’ Red fought back the sudden flash of temper that would reveal his hand. He hated the way she’d assumed he was lying. ‘Work it out for yourself. He’s had a good night’s fishing and can afford to cut and run. He’s lost a man overboard who may be picked up or washed ashore. If so, there’d be a good chance that somebody would be looking for him. Lastly, take a look out there. When you first came here I brought you around from Fitzroy in waves one-fifth the size you see out there. Plus, the wind was blowing from the west. Now it’s blowing from the nor’-east and, I’d say, gusting over forty knots. If you had a trawler and your trawl speed was four and a half knots, and you knew the coast was studded with reefs and pinnacles, would you risk your boat in close?’
Rosie rubbed both of his shoulders, a peace offering for her unwarranted suspicions. ‘Poor Red,’ she said. ‘I do believe you’re disappointed.’
Just before evening Angus dropped by on his way up to call Mickey. He seemed burdened by more than the weight of the radio. Red broke the news to him that the boy had fallen from the Shoto Maru and that only deepened his air of doom.
‘Why don’t you let Red call up Mickey?’ Rosie suggested. ‘You’ve done enough today. Stay here and have dinner with us. Red won’t mind going. Besides, he’s convinced that Shimojo won’t show tonight and thinks he’s probably headed back south.’
Angus looked over at Red and understood immediately. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but we all have our jobs to do. I promised the Lieutenant Commander that I’d call and I’ll stick to my word. I’ll pass on your point of view. The sea’s getting up and out there is no place to be, whether it’s Shimojo or anyone else. I dare say they’ve fished worse but I doubt they’ll have done so in close. Nevertheless, I’ll press Mickey for some kind of presence. It wouldn’t hurt them to do a run out to the island.’
‘I’ll walk with you as far as my place,’ said Red. ‘There are some things I want.’
‘The offer of dinner still stands, Angus.’
Angus thought of the eggs and tin of baked beans which was all he had to make his dinner with. He’d hoped for a snapper from Red but Rosie’s proposal was by far the better option. Besides, he thought she might need some calming down if Red took off after Shimojo. ‘Thank you, Rosie. I’ll not say no to your kind offer. But excuse me now.’
The two men walked in silence until they reached the fork up to Red’s place.
‘Will you not tell me your plan, man?’ Angus asked bluntly.
‘It’s wait and see. There’s no point in going out unless he shows himself, and that won’t be until he brings his first haul aboard. Then he has to be in range. If he’s south of Arid, up by Aiguilles Island or more than four miles off shore, he’ll be beyond reach. His lights will be out by the time I clear Bernie’s Head. In these conditions, if he’s more than four miles away I’ll never find him.’
‘What do you intend doing if you do find him?’
‘Warn him off, Angus. Why, what did you think?’ Red stopped by his bach. ‘It’ll be dark by the time you’re back. Do you need a torch?’
‘No, I have all I need.’ Angus stared at the ground for a moment. ‘I’ve cut a track from my house out onto Bernie’s Head. I go there sometimes to think. It has the best views up and down the coast.’
‘Thanks, Angus.’
‘You’re a bloody fool, man, but take care of yourself.’ Angus set off up the hill to Tataweka ridge, not at all sure why he was being so co-operative. Times were changing, and that was a fact.
‘I need a good reason, Angus, give me one!’
The radio operators had discovered a hypnotic fascination with their VU meters. Gloria looked down at her note pad. Mickey’s face was flushed and he’d banged the bench top so often it was a miracle it hadn’t dented.
‘I’ve given you reason enough, man, what more do you want? We’ve identified the trawler the boy fell from and he’s confirmed Shimojo’s intentions. The seas are rough, but not too rough for the likes of him. Now, you tell me you’re just going to sit back there and let Red do your job for you. One man in an open boat to do the job of the Navy. There’ll be repercussions, I’m warning you.’
‘What repercussions? Give me a clue. Give me something to work with.’ Mickey thumped the table once more with frustration. ‘Let me explain it to you once more. There are probably a dozen foreign vessels fishing inside the twelve mile limit while I speak. We can’t send a patrol boat out to every one because we don’t have a dozen patrol boat
s. So it’s not enough for us to know that a boat is fishing illegally. All our patrol boats are committed. We have an old mine sweeper on stand-by but my superiors, in their infinite wisdom, require more reasons than the ones you’ve given me to send it out. The crew are due to go on Christmas leave tomorrow. Now give me a reason to hold them over! Tell me there’s potential for conflict or an international incident. Tell me Red’s going to start shooting at them again. Tell me there’s a risk that lives will be lost. Tell me that something might happen that could embarrass the government!’
Mickey’s diatribe was greeted with silence from the other end.
‘Angus! Are you still there?’
‘Aye! Hold your horses, I’m thinking.’
‘There’s no time to think, Angus. Tell me what you know!’
‘It’s not easy, man. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’
‘Give me a clue. What’s at stake here?’ Mickey glanced over to Gloria. He sensed a weakening in the old Scot’s resolve. ‘What is it, Angus? Help me so that I can help you. Is it risk of life, an international incident, are you and Red going to make our politicians piss their pants, what?’
‘Probably all three, truth be known.’
Mickey’s blood turned cold. ‘What’s he up to, Angus?’
‘Do you promise to send a ship?’
‘Yes, yes, yes! Get on with it!’
‘He’s made bombs.’
‘What!’ Instantly all eyes were on Mickey. Faces appeared in the doorway. Mickey’s brains trust, which had been discreetly eavesdropping in the corridor, threw discretion to the wind.
‘He’s found some old five inch artillery shells and extracted the cordite and primers. I watched him and Rosie detonate one off Bernie’s Head and, man, you should have seen the fountain of water it threw up.’
‘Angus, are you telling me Red’s going to try to blow up the Shoto Maru?’
‘Perhaps. Or maybe just warn them off.’
‘Angus, how many shells did he find?’
‘Thousands. But he’s only cut up about a dozen.’
Only a dozen! Mickey had begun to sweat. He could feel it on his upper lip and on the palms of his hands. ‘Angus, we’ll have to leave you now. Thanks for being honest with us but you should have told us hours ago. It’ll be midnight at best before we can reach you. Try to stop Red going out. Tell him we’re definitely coming and to leave it to us. Tell him I order him not to interfere again. Remind him that he let Shimojo get away once before. Tell him we won’t tolerate it happening again. Tell the stupid bastard anything, but make him put his bombs away! Now listen carefully, I want you to be our eyes and tell us exactly where Shimojo is when he lights up. I’m going to hand you back to Able Radioman Press to work out a method of relaying messages to us until we come around to your side of the island. I want you down off the ridge and close to Red. Keep your radio open and we’ll use the same relay to get messages to you. Stand by.’
Mickey handed over to the radio operator and drew a deep breath. He’d needed reasons and he’d been given reasons. Boy! Did he have reasons! He turned to pass on instructions to Gloria but she had already gone, and was more than likely already getting into Lieutenant Commander Scriven’s ear. He allowed a grim smile. The news would put Phil the Pill right off his Pimms. He looked around at his brains trust. ‘I need a volunteer for an immediate assignment.’
‘Sir, sir!’ The brains trust nearly tripped over one another in their eagerness.
Mickey picked out the youngest. ‘You. Good man. Nick over the road and get us some hamburgers. It’s going to be a long night.’
Shimojo completed the last daylight trawl at five forty-five and immediately ordered the Shoto Maru to make full speed towards the coast. He expected to relocate the snapper school north of Arid Island, over the shellfish beds off Whangapoua Beach, or even north of Waikaro Point. The school had been large and slow-moving the night before, but things could change quickly. Rough weather might have pushed them back south or further out to sea. It might even have split the school, with some making a run for shelter behind Aiguilles Island. Shimojo picked up his pencil and drew a line from south-east of Arid Island to Waikaro Point which roughly corresponded to the curvature of the coast. By starting so far south he covered the possibility that the fish had turned back the way they’d come, and he covered himself in the event that the snapper had gone deep. He took careful note of the islands off Waikaro Point and the pinnacles off Wreck Bay. They were too close in to be of any real concern but, with the nor’-easter blowing, they were hazards deserving of caution. He checked with radar. There were no other vessels or aircraft in the vicinity. He drew a second line north of Waikaro Point to Aiguilles Island.
The first hour brought little reward, less than two tons. But as they passed the eastern side of Arid Island and moved in towards Waikaro Point, they began to encounter snapper in good numbers, though still nowhere near the density of the previous night. Shimojo instructed the helmsman to sweep within half a mile of Waikaro Point and head nor’-east. The quantity of snapper flowing into the net was encouraging but not conclusive. He watched the bows of the boat come around slowly into the wind, fighting against its force and the rush of the swells. He ordered more power. The fish-finder was beginning to light up. The pattern was similar to the previous night’s, the edges not clearly defined and irregular, but becoming denser by the minute. He held his course. He needed to ascertain how far out the school extended, whether it had split or stayed intact. The fish-finder showed a solid mass, and he began to feel the drag of the giant net holding the Shoto Maru back as it tried to hammer through the swells. His net filled with fish that would soon tumble down the chutes into the holding tanks for the workers below to process while the boat pitched and wallowed. It would be a miracle if they all greeted the dawn with thumbs and fingers intact.
The density of the school began to fall off before the Shoto Maru had gone much past the two mile mark. The fish were closer in than he expected, which made working the school difficult and downright hazardous with the nor’-easter blowing. Shimojo shortened the run inshore and swung back nor’-east. He could see Waikaro Point and its guardian islands clearly on the radar screen, and knew that if he stepped outside he’d hear the surf pounding in on the cliffs. He concluded that the school had spread out in a cigar-shaped stream reaching up the coast, which left him little option. When he reached the outer edge of the school he’d have to trawl northwards. Over the course of the night they’d gradually work their way in closer to shore, where the concentration of fish would be most dense. The night would be rough, uncomfortable and dangerous, but certainly productive. He checked his watch. It was approaching nine o’clock. Mid-shift. Time to bring in the net. It seemed prudent to complete their eastward run and empty their net at the furthermost point from shore.
During dinner, Angus explained to Rosie what the Navy required of them. ‘In the unlikely event that Shimojo decides to risk fishing in close, they need us to tell them where the Shoto Maru is so that they can sneak up and nab him. If Shimojo doesn’t show, they’re going to anchor up in Tryphena Harbour until tomorrow night.’
‘What can I do?’
‘You can make us up a flask of coffee.’
‘Terrific. Thanks for including me in your adventure.’ Rosie’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t get used to seeing the two men together, almost matey. It didn’t seem right; in fact, it seemed dead fishy. She looked from Angus to Red and back again. ‘Promise me you two aren’t cooking something up.’
‘There’s nothing to cook up, Rosie,’ said Red evenly. ‘We’re going to take turns to sit out on Bernie’s Head and listen to the radio. If the boy’s lying and Shimojo shows, we tell the Navy where to look. It’s hardly my idea of adventure.’
Rosie was still not completely convinced.
‘It’s not my idea of adventure either, Rosie. It’s not something I look forward to. It’s a hot water bottle my shoulder needs, not a heavy radio.’ Angus spoke sharply t
o make his point. But, in fact, he could hardly wait to get down to the headland. The night promised precisely the sort of experiences he needed for his book. He was convinced his new book would be his best, a rare event in itself as he was usually beset with self-doubt and only believed he’d written something worthwhile once his publisher had said so. The one aspect of the night’s duty he didn’t embrace enthusiastically was the task of dissuading Red from taking his boat out. He was sure he could make the madman see reason; he just wasn’t looking forward to the process.
‘All right,’ said Rosie, ‘but before you go, you can both look in on our patient. It would be nice if he could meet his rescuer. Well?’
‘Aye, I suppose so.’ Angus stood and Red followed.
‘I’ll go in first,’ said Rosie, ‘and make sure he’s awake. The way he put his dinner away I reckon he’ll be up and about by morning.’
Angus glanced at Red, who simply shrugged. They both wanted to get down to Bernie’s Point as soon as possible but had no choice. Through a combination of Japanese, English and mime that had Rosie shaking her head in wonder, Red managed to communicate to the boy that it was Angus who had pulled him out of the water. He lifted his head and shoulders from the bed as if bowing, and thanked Angus in halting English. Angus shook his hand and backed away, embarrassed.
The boy looked up at Red, concern on his face. ‘Terefonu!’
‘What does he want?’ This time it was Rosie asking.
‘Telephone.’
‘He probably wants to let his family know he’s safe. Can’t you get Mickey to contact the Japanese Embassy?’
‘There’s a wee problem,’ said Angus awkwardly. ‘The Lieutenant Commander is withholding the information. If we tell them about the boy, they’ll tell Shimojo. That could ruin everything.’
‘But what about his parents?’ Rosie was aghast.