Chapter Three: The Incident At The Cave
“It is possible to drive around the whole island in less than one day.”
• • •
It had been a good day. All in all. Stuart sat on his own, cross-legged, leaning back, supporting himself on his open hands, the fine sand seeping into the legs of his shorts and running between his bare toes as they sank deeper, and watched the local boys playing football on the beach. The sun was beginning to set: they would all have to pack up for the night soon. Courtney had been a little tiresome and the incident at the pool had been rather strange, but otherwise it had definitely been a good day.
Courtney had driven, and drove well. She was someone that could concentrate on the road ahead and hold a conversation with someone in the back seat at the same time.
“Have you heard about the cheese-thief?”
“The what?” Stuart wasn’t sure that he had heard her words correctly.
“The cheese-thief. They were talking about him in the reception this morning. I say ‘him’ but it could be a ‘her’. No one knows who it is.”
“What? Who what is?”
Courtney was beginning to lose patience. She had primarily been speaking to Jenny, seated next to her in the front passenger seat, but the ‘boys’ in the back kept on wanting to be a part of their discussions. Hardly surprising, they neither of them appeared the most vocal duo left to their own devices. Whenever she chanced to glance at either of them in the rear-view mirror they would either both be sitting in silent contemplation of the landscape, or Stefan would occasionally be reading his book. She had been mistaken in thinking that Stuart looked quite cute in the truck last night. It had been dark. They were both losers. Jenny had been telling her about some of the French men around the camp. They sounded far better value for money.
All four windows in the car were wound down and as the car sped along the highway, the breeze which was successfully keeping the Renault’s occupants cool was also casting Courtney’s voice to the wind, such that Stuart was having to strain his ears to keep track of the conversation. Courtney repeated herself, stressing each word painstakingly - and finally.
Once he had caught the drift of the discussion Stuart asked, “So what does this cheese-thief do?”
“Steal cheese,” said Stefan, breaking into a loud peel of laughter, much to the surprise of the other three. German humour?
Jenny continued the story, “I’ve heard about this too. Two guys from N.Z. warned me not to leave anything valuable in the communal 'fridge, because it wouldn’t be there the next day. In this sort of heat, what can you do though?” she shrugged.
“So it’s not just cheese then?” asked Stuart, ever the stickler for precision.
“No, apparently it is,” Courtney reiterated. “I heard it was a fetish. The couple I overheard discussing it said whoever it is has a real ... you know ... thang,” she drawled the final word, seductively.
“But sure-ly,” Stefan joined in, “is it not com-mon for such thiev-ing? At my un-ivers-ity, it hap-pened all the time where we shared rooms.”
“I thought just the same,” said Jenny, “but people here are talking about this like it is a real mystery. Apparently he leaves some sort of calling card even. I don’t know all the facts. But it is the talk of the camp.”
“Nothing better to do with themselves,” said Stuart contemptuously.
“So you’re not interested?” inquired Courtney, mischievously.
“No,” said Stuart, and as if to emphasise the point, turned to Stefan, “Can you tell where we have got to from that map of yours?”
By way of answer, Stefan pointed to a large sign that flashed past the window at that moment. “Gauguin Museum.”
“Stop. Stop. Back up. We must stop there,” said Stuart.
Courtney’s hand flexed back and forth, smoothly moving through the gears, bringing the car to a gentle halt by the roadside. She turned off the ignition, undid her seat belt and turned around to face Stuart, “Votes.”
“What?” said Stuart, surprised.
“We are operating a democratic car here,” Courtney continued, “Votes. Who wants to see the museum?” She mimed stifling a yawn as she said the last word.
Stuart stuck up his hand. Class monitor: old habits die hard. Stefan pointed to an entry in his guidebook, “It says that it is a ‘must see’ in here.”
“So that’s two, is it?” said Courtney, taking charge. “And two against. I currently hold the keys. So I think I have the controlling vote.” Without further discussion, she swivelled back around and restarted the engine with a roar.
“Hey!” shouted Stuart in protest.
It took Jenny to come up with a compromise, “Why don’t we drop the two of you off here for ... how long? Will an hour or so do? And we’ll come back and pick you up later.”
“And what will you be doing?”
Courtney’s mood was combative. “What’s it to you. We’re off to have fun.” She clapped her hands impatiently, like a school matron calling the end of playtime amongst a group of nursery children, “Come on, hurry up, if you’re getting out.”
Stuart yanked open the rear door and walked off with a snort. Stefan was more practical. “It is eleven o’clock now. You will be back by twelve?”
“Make it twelve-thirty,” said Courtney and, without more ado, sped away, leaving the young man standing alone beside the metal crash barrier, on the grassy verge at the side of the carriageway. He turned and hurried after Stuart.
It was actually closer to one by the time the familiar shape of the red Renault reappeared, and Stuart’s mood, which had been pacified by the beautiful and calming surroundings of the museum gardens, had begun to simmer up with the midday sun. Jenny was at the wheel of the car. Of Courtney there was no sign.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jenny was leaning out of the window, as the two men picked themselves up from where they had been sitting in the shade of a large, broad-leaf banana tree. “I just couldn’t drag Courtney away. We found a great bathing spot and it seemed a shame to miss the best of the sunshine. I said I’d pick you up and then go back for her. How was the museum?”
“OK,” said Stuart, sulkily. “The grounds were fantastic, though,” he continued with more enthusiasm.
“I have cross-ed off many plants,” said Stefan. He flicked through the pages of his guidebook, reading out the names of the different species like a registration roll-call, “Palm, bam-boo, pam-ple-mousse, hib-isc-us. They were my favour-ite.”
“What about the Gauguins, though? I thought that was the point of stopping,” asked Jenny.
“There weren’t any,” said Stuart. “At least no originals. They were all reproductions. I guess the real pictures were snapped up by galleries and collectors years ago. I suppose it was a bit naïve to think it was going to be anything different. You know how it is, just because it seems like you’re so far away from England here, you imagine that you are somehow going to be the ... well, the first. I’m beginning to realise these islands are not quite as innocent as I had presumed.”
“Come on, get in,” said Jenny. “Do you want to sit up front?” she continued to Stuart.
The two men climbed aboard, Stefan immediately returning to the study of his guidebook, while Stuart and Jenny chatted.
“It’s a valuable lesson to learn early on,” said Jenny.
“What is?”
“That the road less travelled is actually very well worn.”
“How do you mean?”
Jenny explained, “I came out here like you. Full of ideas, full of dreams. I’m not saying that was wrong. It’s just that things never live up to how you anticipate them in that case. Now I have given up with my expectations, and have just started enjoying each day and whatever it may present. No expectations, no disappointments.” She nodded backwards to indicate Stefan. “That’s why I chucked away my guidebook.”
“I thought you had only been her
e a few days?” said Stuart.
“Yes, that’s right, but I had been travelling around Fiji for a few months before I moved on here.”
“How long do you plan to be away for?”
“I don’t know. Remember, no expectations, no disappointments.”
“Traveller philosophy?” said Stuart, smiling.
“It won’t be the last you hear.” Jenny returned his smile.
The rest of the ride was completed in companionable silence. Stuart watched as the car sped past lush, green vegetation, a constant reminder of their tropical location, and around twisting, winding bends, which brought to mind Monaco rather than Mahina, the blue sea an intermittent companion on their left-hand side, tall, white cliffs hemming them in on the right. Stuart rested one arm on the open window sill, sunk back in his seat, and closed his eyes. A fast car, a beautiful companion, a jet-set lifestyle: it wasn’t so far removed, was it? OK, so a hired Renault’s not a Ferrari, but eyes shut the rush of air feels just the same. Let his imagination do a minor erasing job on Stefan sitting in the back and ...
“This is the place.”
Stuart opened his eyes. The car slowed, and Jenny brought the vehicle to a halt on a sloping gravel expanse, just off the roadway, on the opposite side to the ocean. The even gravel, gradually changed to a natural carpet of loose and rugged scree, smattered with the occasional larger boulder that had evidently fallen from the high, unstable-looking rock buttresses that towered above.
“It does not look so nice,” said Stefan, picking his way carefully across the uneven ground; shaking his feet, where the small, sharp stones had found a way inside his open-toe sandals.
“It’s just around here.” Jenny led them to a point from where it was possible to see that the base of the cliffs suddenly gave way to form a large cave entrance, the bottom of which was filled by a clear, salt-water pool. There was the sound of laughing and splashing. Courtney was standing at the water’s edge, wearing only a dark blue bikini, bending over and scooping up handfuls of the cool water, which she preceded to throw over a large, white man, who was sitting a little further out in the pool. Both were laughing loudly, oblivious to the new arrivals. Finally, stung into retaliation, the man stood up and with a giant windmilling motion of his arms sent a vast shower of water over the young American woman, drenching her from head to foot. He charged at her with mock aggression and then with one arm around her waist, swept her off her feet and swung her around, finally depositing her with a splash in the shallow waters. Courtney’s initial look of surprise was once again replaced with one of amusement, and the pair continued to frolic noisily.
Stuart’s attention had been captivated by the man. He was not a European as Stuart had initially thought, but a local man, his wide features, broad nose and full lips were more apparent now that they were closer. The man was an albino. The white complexion that had initially fooled him, looked like an artificial dusting against features that should so naturally be tanned. Hair that would usually have been black and curly, was snowy and cropped short. The man was naked. Stuart was not surprised by this fact, as much as he was by Courtney’s apparent lack of recognition of the matter. The man was evil. Stuart couldn’t tell which one of his senses was tugging at his internal alarm chord to make him think this, but it was the over-riding feeling he had as he watched the scene before him. He wanted to be away from this place. Even the sun, that had shone all day, had momentarily gone behind a cloud, and the bright waters of the pool, which had once looked so inviting, appeared sinister, dark and unfathomable. Even Jenny appeared a little disconcerted.
“Perhaps we should leave them to it?” she suggested.
It was then that Courtney caught sight of the watching threesome, and still laughing, stepped past her new consort, and picking up her towel from where it lay drying on a rock and wrapping it around herself, in one skilful movement, to form a makeshift sarong, ran up to them. “Ready to go?” she asked, unconcerned, as though nothing were amiss.
“Are you?” asked Jenny, a slight challenge of disapproval in her voice.
“Of course. Where next?”
• • •
The remainder of the afternoon had passed quickly. Jenny had continued to drive. Courtney had sat in the back next to Stefan, where she had remained unusually quiet for most of the rest of the trip. She stared absentmindedly out of the window, a self-satisfied, knowing expression on her face, which somehow managed to distance herself from the car’s other occupants. No one directly mentioned the incident at the cave again, although Stuart was secretly pleased that his comment that “a modern-day Adela Quested would probably have walked away with a phone number rather than a scandal” had brought a conspiratorial smile to Jenny’s face.
They had stopped briefly in Papeete. Stefan had visited the post office because he had read that they had an impressive philately display, which he wished to tick off in his book, while the other three decided to walk down to the harbour front. The town was gearing up for the month-long Bastille Day celebrations - a festival that the Polynesians celebrate with even greater fervour than the French - but other than a few market stalls and some forlorn-looking, multicoloured streamers strung across the Boulevard Pomare there was little sign of any activity.
“I think I might hang around here and see if it gets any livelier this evening,” said Jenny. “Would one of you mind making sure the car is back at the camp by five. I’ll catch a bus back later.”
“Do they still run in the evening?” asked Stuart, suddenly concerned.
“What? Been reading in Stefan’s guidebook that they don’t?” said Courtney, rather scornfully.
“It’s OK,” intervened Jenny, “if I can’t catch le truck, there are plenty of cars that I can hitch a lift from.”
“But won’t that be rather ...” Stuart begun.
“Dangerous,” finished Courtney. “For God’s sake, Stuart. Live a little. Learn to take a few risks.” She turned her back on the other two, “I’ll see you back at the car.”
Jenny lay a hand on Stuart’s arm, “Don’t worry. Really. I’ll be fine. But thank you. So, about the car?”
“Yes. No problem. I’ll make sure it’s back on time. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Grab something to eat. Check out a couple of bars. I won’t be late, dad,” she added, jokingly.
“I wasn’t ...” Stuart started to explain.
“I know,” said Jenny smiling. “One thing. You couldn’t do me a favour, could you?”
“Sure.”
“Would you lend me three thousand Francs? I seem to have run out. I’ll pay you back later.”
Big Fish Page 4