by Morris West
Magnusson’s cabin was air-conditioned, and after the swelter of the open deck, the cool was grateful. Lorillard’s mint juleps were made with an expert hand. Magnusson was relaxed and cordial; and the discussion began in a desultory, informal fashion, with no hint of danger at all.
‘Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasant run, so far. Everything’s shaken down nicely. Anything to report from your watch Thorkild?’
‘No. We’re on course and on time. The engine-room’s O.K. We’ve filled the batteries and they’re charging evenly. We’re making almost enough water for daily consumption. Oil pressures are steady.’
‘Let’s talk about schedules then. Today’s Wednesday. We’re making twelve knots under motor. So, Saturday morning we’re in Nuku Hiva. We’re pratiqued into French Territory. We take on fuel, water, and fresh food. From Nuku Hiva it’s a twelve-hour run down to Hiva Oa where we pick up your grandfather. Then it’s Papeete, which is our real starting point for the enterprise and our last port for bunkering and topping-up supplies. After that, we’re on our own, until we find our landfall…or we break off the expedition and head for home. So…let’s talk about what happens from Hiva Oa, onwards…You first, Thorkild. Your grandfather will come on board. He will tell you where he wants to go …’
‘Let’s be clear.’ Thorkild cut him off in mid-speech. ‘What my grandfather tells me, and how he tells it, will be quite different from what you imagine. He will not lay a course as we do, and tell the helmsman to sail it. He is a kapu man, dealing with a secret thing, a privileged knowledge. He will take the wheel and set his own course. When he tires, he will call me, and show me where to steer until he wakes. He will explain nothing, give no reasons. We have to trust him. He has to know that we trust him…You talk about going to Papeete. He may not choose to take that route. We cannot, we must not interfere.’
There was a moment’s silence before Lorillard interposed:
‘With great respect, Professor. It’s a lot of ship and a lot of people to trust to an old man.’
‘It’s the deal I made,’ said Magnusson calmly. ‘It’s the deal I’ll stand on. However, we do have certain insurances. We have on our navigational aids, radio, radar, direction finders, the log and our daily sunsights. While the Professor and his grandfather are sailing their course, you Lorillard, and I will be plotting it on our charts. We won’t interfere, but we won’t be blind either…Fair enough for you Thorkild?’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Which brings me to Mister Lorillard here and what he’ll be doing for us, and for the Navy. He’s got all his boxes of tricks set up, and he’s ready to start work. First he’ll work a daily, coded, radio schedule with the Navy; he’ll be reporting our positions, sightings of French naval units, and more especially on the incidence of radio-active atmospheres in the areas of the Tuamotus and the Societies. Second, he’s brought some very sophisticated gadgets in the shape of marker buoys which emit a radio signal over a long range. When your grandfather leaves us to make the last leg of his voyage, alone, we want you to persuade him to carry one of these markers, and drop others along his course. That way, both we, and, when the time comes, the Navy can home on them. Even if your grandfather were lost at sea, we’d have his last position…’
‘I’d like to know.’ Thorkild was ominously calm, ‘why the Navy was prepared to involve itself with expensive hardware and a ranking specialist like Lieutenant Lorillard.’
‘Let me read you something.’ Magnusson leaned back in his chair, pulled a volume from the bookshelves and opened it at a marked page. ‘This is Hall on International Law … “A State may acquire territory through a unilateral act of its own, by occupation, by cession consequent upon contract with another State or with a community or single owner or by gift, by prescription through the operation of time, or by accretion through the operation of nature”…Now!’ He closed the book with a snap and set it down on the table. ‘That’s a nice clear definition of what we’re going to do. We’re sailing in my ship, under my command, to find and take possession of an island, which we shall occupy, and whose sovereignty we shall cede by contract to the United States of America, in the person of Lieutenant Lorillard here. In return for that promise of cession by contract, the Navy will aid, comfort and protect us on our voyage and guarantee our safe possession of such lands and territories as we may chance to find. Objections?’
‘Plenty!’ Thorkild slammed his fist down on the table. ‘But I’ll make them to you, in private.’
‘You’ll make them now.’ Magnusson was cold as a hanging judge. ‘Before a witness.’
‘Let’s have it in writing then, by Christ!’
‘If you want.’
‘Do you write shorthand, Mister Lorillard?’
‘No. I’ve got a tape recorder. We could record the talk and certify a typescript later.’
‘Would you get it please?’
When he had gone, Magnusson held out his glass to Thorkild.
‘Would you mind making me another drink? You look as though you could use one yourself.’
‘The same?’
‘No. Bourbon on the rocks…You’re making a big mistake, Thorkild.’
‘You’ve already made yours.’
‘Have I? Let’s wait till we get it down on the record. And by the way, let’s be clear that this is the record, Thorkild; and I’ll hold you to every goddam word of it, right up to the Supreme Court!’
Lieutenant Lorillard came back with the recorder and loaded it with a cassette.
‘Ready when you are, gentlemen.’
Thorkild looked at Magnusson.
‘Do you want to start?’
‘No. It’s your case, Thorkild. You make it. I’ll cross-examine as we go along.’
Lorillard switched on the recorder. Thorkild waited a moment and then began:
‘The matters under discussion on this tape were transacted during the month of June of this year between Carl Magnusson and Gunnar Thorkild of Honolulu in the State of Hawaii. There is no contention as to date, only as to substance and interpretation. Do you agree that, Mr Magnusson?’
‘Yes.’
‘I, Gunnar Thorkild, approached Carl Magnusson to charter his vessel, the Frigate Bird, for a voyage to the South Pacific to confirm the existence of an island, called in legend the Island of the Trade-Winds or the Island of the Navigators. Mr Magnusson refused to charter the vessel but agreed to accept me and guests nominated by me and to defray the costs of the voyage. It was agreed that, for political reasons, the voyage should be called a study cruise, but its original intent remained the same. Correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘Mr Magnusson raised the question of the annexation and colonization of the island, if we should find it. He suggested that we should annex the island to the United States while claiming land rights to ourselves. I agreed this with the proviso that no attempt at annexation or colonization should be made, if the island were occupied by an indigenous population. Mr Magnusson accepted this. I reserved also my right to withdraw from the enterprise if it should appear that I were infringing upon any kapu, affecting my grandfather or his people, who are also mine. Mr Magnusson reserved his right to continue the enterprise and to use, to this end, any knowledge which he had acquired, directly or by deduction, from me or my grandfather.’
‘Correct. Now will you agree that our arrangement involved a partnership in which I would supply the vessel and the physical resources of the voyage, while you would provide the knowledge and information which were the basis of the expedition? Will you agree also that you disposed to me certain rights of publication and exploitation of information arising out of the voyage; and that you would share in the rewards, if any?’
‘Yes.’
‘You also agreed that I should captain the vessel, and that you would serve as mate?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thereby giving me sole responsibility under maritime law for the safety of the vessel and the souls who travelled in her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, Professor Thorkild. Go on please.’
‘Four days out from Honolulu. You, Mr Magnusson, announced to me that you had made an arrangement with the U.S. Navy, whereby certain equipment was installed on board and an officer to run the equipment. You further informed me that you had made, unilaterally, a deal whereby the U.S. Navy would receive, in the name of the United States, a contract of cession of sovereignty over any new land which we might discover.’
‘Correction. I informed you before our departure that I had asked the Navy to supply personnel and equipment.’
‘And I protested that.’
‘You protested but did not object it.’
‘Agreed. But I had no idea then, of the scope of the activity proposed.’
‘Did you ask for details?’
‘No.’
‘Now that you have heard them, would you not say that they offer an additional safeguard to the ship and the passengers?’
‘They could, yes.’
‘And that such safeguards are the captain’s normal responsibility?’
‘Yes.’
‘As to the act of cession, we had already agreed this, subject to your original reservation.’
‘Yes. But I ask now, in the presence of the Naval representative, was my original reservation communicated to the Navy?’
‘It was.’
‘Do you confirm that, Lieutenant Lorillard?’
‘I’m sorry sir. I’m a junior officer under orders of secondment. I have no knowledge of upper echelon communications.’
‘So I ask you now, Mr Magnusson, did the Navy agree my reservation?’
‘No. The Navy is a service, not a sovereign state. They supplied facilities on the basis of our intent to make a contract. The contract would still have to be ratified by the State Department.’
‘Which could act unilaterally and annex without contract?’
‘It could, yes. I doubt it would.’
‘Therefore, Mr Magnusson, I submit that you have acted without due consultation or regard for my rights as a partner, and have in fact placed those rights in jeopardy. I state now that I reserve my position and may in fact withdraw from the expedition.’
‘And I state, Professor Thorkild, that by the non-exercise of your rights you have passed the responsibility for their exercise to me. I further state that, should you withdraw before your rights have been actually infringed, I shall sue for recovery of the costs of this expedition, and for contingent loss and damage.’
There was silence then. Lorillard switched off the recorder and looked from one to the other.
‘Is there anything more gentlemen?’
‘Not from me,’ said Carl Magnusson.
‘I’m finished.’ Thorkild stood up. ‘Do you want one of my girls to type it?’
‘Martha Gilman will do it. No point in spreading our quarrel round the ship. I’m sorry Thorkild, but I did warn you. I play rough when I’m pushed.’
‘Go play with yourself!’ said Thorkild bitterly. ‘Life’s too short for children’s games!’
Lieutenant Peter André Lorillard said nothing at all. The Navy had taught him well. The silent ones got the stripes, and the talkers ended with a mouthful of bilge-water.
That evening Thorkild absented himself from the dinner-table. He scribbled a brief note of excuse to Magnusson, ate a sandwich with Molly Kaapu in the galley and returned to his cabin to read and rest until midnight. His anger had subsided. He had humour enough to know that he had allowed himself to be gulled into a trap. What troubled him was his own confusion, his almost pathological sensitiveness to anything that touched his tribal relationship.
In all logic and legality, Magnusson was right. Any territorial discovery must involve the sovereign state of which one was a citizen. Every expedition, to the top of Everest or the bottom of the sea, was a testing ground for new equipment; and the custom of the trade, the usages of patronage and sponsorship, prudence itself, dictated a close co-operation with the services which controlled the funds and the gadgetry.
The roots of the dispute went much deeper. They were tangled in his own psychic life, that shadowy domain of dreams and memories and legends in which his identity – if he had one – ultimately resided. It was this domain which Magnusson had invaded and whose confines he would continue to harry, until Gunnar Thorkild could define and defend them adequately. So far the definition had eluded him. For all his scholarship he lacked the words or the images to make it clear even to himself. As he lay on his bunk, listening to the throb of the engines, the creak of timbers, the chatter of the wash along the skin of the hull, he felt like a man groping through a fog, blind, half deaf, choked with dank emanations.
Then, slowly, the fog solidified two shapes; two men, very much alike, yet quite different, one from the other. Both were old, both had reached that moment of life when death stood plain before them, not beckoning but waiting, patient and inexorable, for them to come forward to the encounter. Both were committed to make the last passage by sea. Each stretched out a hand to Gunnar Thorkild, inviting him to join them in the final rite; but for each the rite was different, and the pieties they demanded were in contradiction.
Carl Magnusson was rich, sceptical, proud, a taker and a ruler. He had fought for power all his life. He had surrounded himself with its panoply. He would hold it, until it dropped from his dead hands. Even then, his testament would bind his heirs and assigns; his will would dominate their dispositions long after they had sealed him in the vault.
Kaloni Kienga would go out, naked, in a small boat, which he had built with his own hands. He would carry nothing but food for the last journey. He would leave nothing but a knowledge which he had received in trust from the high gods, and which he would pass on in trust to blood-kin.
To each of them, Gunnar Thorkild was bound: to Magnusson by gift and largesse, which must be repaid, to Kaloni Kienga by blood and the mana that flowed with the blood. But how to reconcile the duties, when Magnusson, with his politics and his perversities, intruded into a spiritual relationship which he did not understand at all? Conclusion for Professor Thorkild, scholar and ethnographer: how the devil can he understand it if no one has the grace or the time to explain it? …
There was a knock on his door and Martha Gilman came in with a handful of typescript. She was unhappy and abrupt:
‘Mr Magnusson asks you to read and sign these. One copy for him, one for you.’
‘Leave them. I’ll do it later.’
‘Is this why you didn’t show up for dinner tonight?’
‘Part of the reason, yes.’
‘Gunnar, I’m ashamed of you.’
‘Martha, mind your own damn business!’
‘This is my business. You invited us on this trip. Magnusson accepted the three of us without question. He couldn’t have been more generous. He’s so kind to Mark. And you…you start this sordid little feud that can poison the whole ship.’
‘Did Magnusson say that?’
‘Of course not! Whatever else he is, he’s a gentleman. But Peter Lorillard was there and he told me …’
‘Did he? Now there’s a real gentleman for you!’
‘It wasn’t like that!’
‘What was it like, sweetheart? Tut-tut-tut and a lift of the eyebrow and dear madam, don’t let these vulgarities distress you? Grow up Martha!’
‘You’re the one who should grow up! You’re like a big selfish child who wants everything his own way. Carl Magnusson’s given you the chance of a lifetime and you …’
‘I thought we were talking about Lorillard?’
‘O.K., let’s talk about him. He’s a pleasant friendly man who’s paid me some attention. Which I’m glad to have; because I’ve had damn little from you on this trip.’
‘From where I stand, you haven’t needed it. You’ve got a Navy doll to play with.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Isn’t it? You burst in here like the angel of t
he Lord and deliver your little judgement on matters you know nothing about, except by hearsay. I don’t need that. Certainly not from Peter bloody Lorillard, U.S.N.!’
‘You’re jealous of him!’
‘On the contrary. I think you’ll be good for each other. To me he’s just a stuffed shirt – and, through no fault of his own, a bloody nuisance.’
‘And to hell with you too, Gunnar Thorkild!’
‘Aloha, sweetheart!’
When she had gone, he got up, signed the documents, tidied himself and walked along to Magnusson’s stateroom. The old man was still up, playing gin-rummy with Sally Anderton. His greeting was less than cordial:
‘Oh, hullo Thorkild. Over your tantrums?’
‘I’d like a few words with you – alone if possible.’
‘I have no secrets from my lawyer or my physician. Sit down – Drink?’
‘No, thanks. I won’t keep you from your game. First I’ve signed the papers, so that there can be no question I’m ducking the issue between us. Second I want to apologize. I was hasty and rude. I forced us both into an argument which was irrelevant to the real matter of contention. I had never defined it properly to myself. I had certainly never exposed it clearly to you. I want to try to do so now – if only to avoid further dissension and discomfort for other people. May I?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘There are two aspects to this venture. I have confused them – for myself and everyone else. We’re all embarked on what we hope will be a voyage of discovery, which, if it succeeds, will have certain consequences; for me the vindication of my scholarship, for you a territorial acquisition, for my students a chance to participate and learn. In respect of all those things, what you have done is advantageous and proper. I might wish it otherwise; but I have no real ground of complaint. The other aspect is more difficult to explain. In respect of my grandfather and my people, I am engaging in a ritual act. I have no right to invite or procure the intrusion of any other parties into that sacred area. Nevertheless, I have done so, by the mere fact of accepting your generosity. The idea of asking my grandfather, in his last days, to participate in a naval exercise is as repugnant to me as it would be for a Christian to defile the sacrament. So, I am in dilemma. I cannot ask you to resolve it. I do not yet know how to resolve it for myself. So, if I infringe your rights, you have the right and the document to call me to account. You may not understand my motives. I hope you will accept that they are not base. That’s it I guess. Again, I apologize.’