Chapter 12
We found Michiko directing the loading of supplies. The sullenness and much of her arrogance was gone. She was going home.
"Congratulations, Danny," she said. "You were magnificent."
"I was lucky," Danny said. "But we didn't come to talk about that."
"What, then?" I said, "Zell. We think he should go with you."
"What?"
"Think about it," Danny said. "The raft is Japanese style, with that big sweep on its stern. When the wind dies, someone will have to push the sweep. It's hard work."
Michiko stared at him. "You want him away from your woman?"
Danny nodded. "Partly, but also for Eve. She wants to leave the island, but not him."
Michiko tossed her head. "That one! She kills and loves in the same breath. Very well, Danny. They may both come, but he will work hard-very hard. Tell him that."
I said, "We'll have to tell Eve. Zell lost more than his eyes. He just sits and mumbles."
Ungainly, the raft floated at the beach, its deckhouse ugly. With luck, it would make the trip. High tide bumped it up and down.
They were aboard, and the sea was pink and gold, eager to be off to far places. We kissed them all good-bye-everybody but the hulk of Kane Zell. Elena Marquez cried; so did Helen Fergus. So did Sako and Kyoko. Jessie shook hands like a man. Ella was smiling bravely as I kissed her good-bye.
Voices chorused as the sail lifted, as we helped shove them away from the sand. Zell pulled at the long oar, his face blank. The sail bellied out in the morning wind.
We waved at them, then stopped and watched the sail dip beyond the sea. I held Danny in the crook of one arm.
I wondered if they'd make it, if they'd find a shattered world, or none at all. I wondered if they'd be sorry they left.
And I wondered if anyone would ever read the story I've told, the scribbled pages I put together over the months. The story of one man's heroic battle with himself to live as a man is able; to live; the story of
Danny Nixon's intransigent stand to preserve his life and self-respect. I wonder.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
MILITARY AIR TRANSPORT SERVICE is closely tied in with the Army, and so gets itself jammed with Army red tape and head-in-the-sand censorship. There's also another agency involved, more secretive, even quicker to cover up.
It's called the Atomic Energy Commission. It doesn't admit mistakes.
Did an A-blast down a place that was simply reported as "missing?"
Julie Curtis's manuscript says so.
Officials from here to the Pentagon won't say a damned thing.
So I believe Julie. I have to. I look at the water-stained, wrinkled, smudged pages that were brought to me by a beautiful Negro woman who came the long way around.
Japanese newspapers made quite a splash over the raft that sailed out of nowhere. Stateside newspapers were strangely quiet about the event.
But maybe you're like me-and just don't give a damn about official silences.
Maybe like me, you'll wish two people well-and you'll hope their island is left to them.