Chapter 5

During the next two weeks Topaz took on the air of carnival. The drug industry had put unlimited funds at Vic's disposal, and rushed in at a moment's notice whatever men and material he needed. He hadn't hesitated to take advantage of the industry's generosity, either. He imported four American engineers, about twenty skilled laborers, and had lumber, paints and other supplies flown in. He brought in several heavy duty generators to step up the electricity-there would be lots of lights, lots of air conditioning, big freezers and refrigerators. No convenience was to be left out.

The island hummed with activity. A constant hammering came from the hotel. A bulldozer roared nearby, clearing a place for a dance area. Several men were sawing lumber down at the dock for a new pier, and from every corner came the babble of ignorant natives brought in to do the heavy work. From somewhere came the sound of a trowel striking slate for a new path leading to the hotel, and from the hotel itself Vic, down at the pier, could hear the whining of a vacuum cleaner, which had been working overtime throughout the dusty hotel.

Vic was applying a final coat of creosote to the new pier. There was a look of anxiety on his face, because things weren't nearly as shipshape as he had hoped, and the yacht was due tomorrow, the yacht carrying three dozen of the top executives in the industry, the big-shots from Washington, and an equal number of girls rounded up from the classy cathouses among the islands.

"Get a move on," he yelled to three natives rowing food supplies into shore from a seaplane. "That stuff'll spoil at the rate you're going. Tobias! You can carry three slabs of slate at a time. You there, get off your tail. I'm not paying you for nothing. Hey Carl, we'll need another log to bolster up this pier."

He stood up and took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He mopped his forehead and neck, cursing. He hadn't been cool in weeks, and he was bone weary. A dozen times he had almost decided to throw the whole thing over, but he knew he'd be ruined forever if he didn't come through for Sparling and his friends. Still the urge grew strong in him to kiss it all goodbye and paddle off to some quiet island and live like a vegetable. He'd throw himself into his work with more vigor than ever, obliterating the doubts and the objections until they came again. When they threatened to possess him he'd get himself soused on Antoine's rum, which was every bit as outstanding as the man had said it would be. It was probably the only thing of any value at all on Topaz, except for Isabela. And her daughter Carmina.

Carmina. Now there was a funny kid . At least once a day he'd look up and there she would be, concealed behind a tree or a building, observing him with those large dark eyes. But when he made a gesture towards her or opened his mouth to say something she'd vanish. Literally vanish. There'd be a rustle and she was gone. He didn't know where she came from and where she. went. He'd been in every room of the hotel looking for her. One of them was extremely neat, with feminine, frilly curtains on the windows and a pink bedspread. But it was deserted otherwise, as though she had packed up and gone off somewhere. He suspected her mother Isabela was hiding her, but he said nothing to Isabela. He knew the woman had good reason to keep her out of the way, especially now, when corruption was but a day's sail away. He didn't want to get involved with the girl, just get to know her a little. Hell, just get to see more of her than those gorgeous eyes.

That afternoon he got his chance.

Everyone else had knocked off and gone up to the hotel. Vic wanted to inspect the area and then take a swim. It was growing cool-at least relatively cool-as the sun sank behind the gables of the hotel. He was hammering a few loose planks down when he heard a stirring from a tall plant near the path. He shifted his eyes just enough to make out the glint of those pretty almond eyes.

He couldn't ignore them, but he knew what would happen if he made a move to recognize the presence of the girl. He went on hammering, racking his brain for a way to bring her out into the open.

As he was attacking a plank near the end of the pier he got an idea. He went close to the edge of the dock, pretending to fix a loose board, lost his footing and fell into the water.

He started to struggle furiously, sending up a great splash and clamor, yelling "help," but not loud enough to attract the attention of anyone up at the hotel. He let himself sink down once, and when he came up he yelled again, weakly. Looking towards the shore he saw her standing on the beach, jumping up and down like a monkey. Her face was contorted with worry. She started to run up the path for help and he let out a cry as if it was his last gasp before going down for good. She ran back to the beach, shaking her hands helplessly, struggling between going for aid and risking his drowning or saving him herself and exposing herself to him for the first time.

Vic took a deep breath and went under, leaving one hand on the water's surface to show her where to find him. It worked. He heard a plunge and a splashing, and in a moment he felt a thin arm around his waist. She tugged at him and tried to pull him to the surface, but he was too heavy for her, so he gave a couple of sneaky kicks and propelled himself upwards.

She grabbed hold of his shirt and started pulling him into shore. She wasn't making much headway, poor little halfpint, and at one point she almost went under herself. He kept helping her with concealed scissor kicks and flapping of hands, and after a noisy struggle they finally landed on the beach. She collapsed beside him, heaving and panting and coughing up water.

It was a dirty trick, but he'd gotten his girl.

He lay very still, waiting for her to catch her breath. When at last she seemed to be rested he let out an agonized moan. She kneeled over him and poked him in the back, probably to see if he was alive, possibly to see what it was like to touch a man. He let another moan go, and he heard her sobbing. She began caressing his forehead, babbling quietly in the island pate:', lamenting her waterlogged hero, who was surely in the last throes of a life filled with misery and woe.

Her sobbing grew unbearable. He opened out eye to let her know that all was not lost.

She let out a gasp, half of joy and half of fear. She was glad he was alive, but now that he was, what was she going to do with him?

Her head was tilted solicitously, he observed through one wet eye. Her little bud-like lips were pouting sadly, and her eyes, deep brown, almost black orbs, were hazy. Her face was so delicate he could crush it between his fingers. Her cheekbones were high, but not prominent. His eye wandered down a lithe, sleek neck and rested on her body, which was covered by a bright red and green floral sarong affair.

It was still damp and clung to her like finely tailored upholstery over an expensive chair. Evidently the girls on these islands didn't believe in underwear. The top of the garment was wrapped tightly over her breasts, which were high and small, but young, firm, and infinitely soft looking as they swelled over the dress. They described two tan arcs of flesh that continued subtly beneath the silk. The faint outlines of her nipples could be seen, now soft and relaxed, through the wet material. Her legs were long and slender, a creamy tan, covered with a fine down that glistened as the last rays of the sun caught the tiny drops of water remaining on her skin.

She was an enchanting creature, a raven-haired angel. She was something that ought not to be touched, but if you are going to touch it you have no choice but to enfold it, engulf it, gather it up and consume it. He couldn't resist opening the other eye to take her beauty in to the fullest extent.

The picture was even lovelier seen through two eyes. She smiled shyly. "What happened?" he muttered groggily.

"You drowned in the water."

He suppressed a smile. "Then I am dead," he moaned, and shut his eyes.

"Oh no," she cried, shaking him. "You are not dead. Only drowned."

"I am not dead but I am drowned," he repeated philosophically.

"Open your eyes."

He opened his eyes.

"I rescued your life."

"I'm grateful, even though I drowned anyway. Who are you'.

"I am Carmina. You are Vic."

"Thanks for telling me. Haven't I seen you around the island?"

"No," she said quickly.

"That's funny. Somebody who looks just like you has been watching me ever since I came to Topaz."

"That is not funny."

"I didn't mean funny, ho ho ho." She laughed timidly.

"Say," Vic said shrewdly, "Isabela has a daughter named Carmina. That wouldn't be you, would it?"

"Yes."

"Yes it wouldn't or yes it would."

"Yes, I am Carmina."

"Oh," he said dully. "But if you're Isabela's daughter, why don't you live in the hotel with her?"

"I do, but not now."

"Why?"

She squirmed a little. "My mother said I should live in another place for a time."

"Then where are you living?" he asked innocently.

She pursed her lips. "I am not permitted to say."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me. Just let me escort you there. Your mother didn't say anything about escorting you there, did she?"

It was a puzzle for her. Her nose wrinkled in wonder. "No," she said hesitantly.

"Good. Will you help me up? I'm very weak from drowning."

She got up daintily and put her hands under his arms. She tugged and gave a little grunt. He put out a hand and she took two of his fingers and polled. He got to his feet laboriously and clasped her hand in his before she could let go. It was small and tender like a child's. She looked apprehensively at him but made no attempt to free herself. She looked up with trust, and again there was that shy smile and the fluttering eyes.

She led him northwards up the beach. The sand was cool and dry, and their feet squeaked as they walked, he taking big steps, she little ones. She remained close to his side, glancing up at him often. It seemed like a new experience for her, walking beside a man this way. She looked like a puppy let off the leash for the first time, staying close to the master and referring to him often for assurance that she was doing the right thing.

He turned to her frequently. There was something in her innocence that made him feel free, more at ease than he had even been in his life. He had no compulsion to do anything in particular except be with her, to walk with squeaky noises,, to smell the clean island air which carried a faint tang of salt and the subtle odor of the tropical flowers that open to the evening coolness, to feel the trusting hand nestled in his, to hear the chirping and gabble of a thousand birds and insects.

After a few minutes they cut in from the shore, over a prim path that went straight for several dozen yards and then veered to the right in the general direction of the hotel, whose lights they could make out through the trees. Ahead of them Vic could see a red glow, as from a fire or a lantern.

At last they came to a clearing, and before them stood a small, neat hut. It was up on stilts like every home in these parts, and it was constructed of local lumber covered with a combination of thatch and old shingles. The red glow came from a lantern hanging from a rafter inside.

They went in. It was quite roomy and pleasant, in spite of the fact that all the furniture was rough-hewn, the ceiling kind of low and the lighting primitive. "Very cozy," he murmured.

"Let me offer you some warm rum. It is very good when you are cold and tired."

"Gladly," he said. She poured the stuff out of a gourd and into a pan sitting on top of a Coleman stove. She pumped up the gas gingerly and lit the stove. The blue glow threw her face into strange relief, and he felt himself in the midst of some primitive ritual. She served him the rum in a coconut shell, and it was very good going down.

She sat in front of him and watched him with fascination, as though each thing he did presented an entirely unique situation for her. Her dark, dark eyes fastened on the cup when he put it to his mouth, on his mouth when he put it down, on his hands when he put them behind his head and stretched back, uttering a sign of deep contentment. "Tell me, is this house only for you?"

"Yes, but sometimes my mother comes here to stay with me."

"Why was it built?"

"Sometimes Antoine gets very drunk. Then he gets very, very crazy. He beats mother if he finds her, but most of the time he cannot get her because she is here. With me. She keeps me here when Antoine is like that. Otherwise...."

"Otherwise?"

"Hs is like an animal. Once he got very, very drunk. Mother was in the garden. He comes to my room and he pulls off all my clothing. I yell and he puts his hand on my mouth. With one hand he closed my mouth, with the other he takes off his clothes. He is very fat. He is very ugly."

Vic said nothing. But his blood began to boil as he thought about Antoine assaulting this girl. "Yes, go on."

"He ran his hand over me and then he got on top of me."

"That filthy pig," Vic murmured, getting out of his seat.

"Where you going?"

"Nowhere. Well, what happened then?"

"He is so very heavy I think the air will all go out of me and never come back. He starts to kiss me and push his tongue into my mouth. I cannot turn away. His tongue goes so deeply I think I will swallow it. His hands are running up and down me. His legs are trying to push mine open."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she threw her hands over her face. Vic encircled her with his arms and murmured soothing words to her. "Did he...?"

"I bit his tongue with all my might. He cries out and I get my hands free. I scratch his shoulders so that the blood soaks my hands. Then I see my mother over him. She has death in her eyes. She raises her fists and like this," she came down with fists together as if carrying a sledgehammer," strikes Antoine on the neck. He cries out again, this time like a bull. He falls off me and gets to his feet. He is puffing and making horrible noises. He swings at her but he misses, and then she puts her foot back, so," she got up and performed an intense pantomime, "and kicks him. Very very hard. In the crotch."

Vic sat down again, smiling and gloating over the triumph.

"Since then he doesn't come near me. But just in case, Mother has this place built, and she sends me here when he is like that."

"Doesn't he know about it?"

"Yes, but it is very hard for him to get here."

"I love you," Vic said, swept up by some unseen and overpowering impulse.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, running his finger tips over her cheeks. "I love you very, very much." She nodded like someone cordially agreeing with a person speaking to her in a foreign language she did not understand. "Do you know what I mean when I say I love you?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"Well, I hope to teach you some day."

She smiled proudly, the way children do when they're told they're going to go on to a new lesson in their textbooks. "Now?" she asked.

"No, my little flower, not now. Now I will say goodnight to you, and you will go to sleep.

She nodded submissively. He touched her lips with his, turned away and walked out of the cottage and into the night. It was a cool night, a starry night, the most beautiful night that had ever covered the troubled little world. It was an innocent night, and Vic was for the moment innocent.