The Island (Fiction)

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 18, 2020

  The catamaran appeared. Two hulls, supporting a broad plywood platform, a motor on each hull, the pilot, standing, a woman in long pants and a t-shirt. It headed to the more open side of the lagoon. It stopped at a point there, and the boat approached it, ready to be led in.

  As the boat entered the lagoon, a double-hulled canoe rowed out to meet it. A platform extended from the deck level. Four people stepped onto it, and a mechanism slowly lowered it to just above water level. The canoe with four rowers pulled alongside. The boat was some distance from shore and the people were difficult to see, but James, fascinated and with professional curiosity, concentrated on the process. The canoe pulled broadside up to the platform, and a person was helped into one of the hulls. The canoe then turned to bring the other hull alongside, and two people climbed in. No luggage was loaded. The canoe rowed toward the reception office, the catamaran came into position, and the fourth person on the platform stepped onto it. He and the pilot pulled up a rope attached to a buoy, which produced what looked like a heavy fuel or water hose, which they screwed into a coupling on the side of the boat. The platform was raised again. Another group of passengers, these laden with luggage, descended and stepped onto the catamaran, which then powered off elsewhere across the lagoon,

  The canoe skimmed quickly over to reception office. Malia came out to join Afitu at the shore where two of the paddlers jumped out, the four of them firmly beaching the canoe. Liz stood on the porch watching for a moment, then walked outside to stand with James and be out of the way.

  Far across the lagoon, a cloud now towered, darkening the ground below it, and suddenly poured rain down so heavily that the noise caught Liz's attention.

  "Look at that." She pointed James' attention to the downpour.

  "Wow. They're really getting hammered."

  But there was no change in the activity of unloading the boat, and the sky was clear where they stood. James wondered how all this would be done in genuinely bad weather. He noticed oil drums being manhandled onto the deck.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 19, 2020

  Conspicuous in the approaching canoe was a broad, flowery hat, worn by a woman of a certain age, who also wore a similarly flowery pareu wrapped cleverly around her waist with a pleat that allowed her to take the wide step necessary to get out of the canoe. With a paddler on each arm, a heavy, muscular older man and an athletic woman of about twenty, naked as all four of the paddlers were, she allowed herself to be steadied firmly up the slight slope of the beach, where she put both hands into Malia's to further steady herself as the paddlers let go.

  "Malia! So good to see you! Oh, I love being back here! It's been so long!" She pulled Malia into a tight hug.

  Malia took a half step back to keep her balance, leaned into the hug, then with her hands on the visitor's shoulders pushed away to arms' length, and with a broad smile answered "Miss Miller, welcome. Did you have a good trip?"

  "Oh, horrid. LA to Honolulu we sat on the tarmack forever. We just ran for our connection in Hawaii, no time to even pee, and the catering cart... Afitu! You're looking good!" Miss Miller pulled away to administer another firm hug, going on tiptoes to bring the brim of her hat over Afitu's head, bracing them together with a firm hold on his butt. She gave a squeeze. "Handsome as ever! Malia's one lucky woman!"

  Over her shoulder, Afitu saw two naked men, each about thirty, stepping out of the canoe. These were not the distinguished British couple he'd imagined might be arriving today. "You've brought us company?"

  "Oh, yes, yes. They didn't tell you? Wonderful boys. Conceptual artists. You'll love them."

  "Hello!" she said, spotting James and extending her hand. "Helen, Helen Miller."

  James took her hand with some hesitation, but he was not pulled into a hug; Helen took his hand into both of hers and looked him up and down. "James. James Edgerton. This is Liz." He nodded his head in Liz's direction.

  "Jimmy! Have you been here long?"

  "James. I go by James. No, we flew in this morning."

  Helen let go James' hand, pulled off her hat and gave her head a shake. She went to Malia, handed her the hat, undid her pareu and handed her that. "Darling, I just can't wait!" And ran naked into the sea.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 20, 2020

  The paddlers pulled away back to the boat, and would soon enough return with luggage.

  The two unexpected visitors stood alone for a moment, while Malia climbed onto the porch to set down Helen Miller's things. Afitu went to them to offer a handshake and welcome, and lead them up to the reception office.

  Liz and James remained on the sand. James noticed the catamaran now loaded heavily with crates and oil drums, pulling away across the lagoon, barely above water, while the boat sat a bit high. "Quite the process, doing all this without a dock. I suppose there's no water deep enough."

  "She's quite the character, Helen. Wanna go up and meet the new guys?"

  "The chairs on the porch?"

  Liz led the way, ducked into the office quickly to get a towel for James, set the chair for sitting upright. James took the one next to her. The canoe was headed back with luggage, James noted, and the boat had continued to rise in the water, now precariously high. They must be pumping out the bilge. But why into a hose? Afitu came onto the porch to answer the question. "Are they pumping fresh water out of the boat?"

  "Yes," Afitu said, "they bring us water every time. Then fill up with seawater to go back." He went to the canoe as it arrived, and he and the paddlers hefted luggage up onto the porch. They conferred in words James did not understand, apart from "Mr. and Mrs. Bradford" and "Pago Pago."

  "The British couple coming in later?" James asked.

  "They delay. Fly in tomorrow."

  Helen came happily out of the lagoon, shaking off water like a dog, and Malia swept down the stairs to meet her with a couple of towels. The two young men followed her as far as the porch. James stood in greeting. "Hello. Welcome. We just got in this morning. I'm James."

  "Mark." He extended his hand. He was rail-thin, not very tall, with a noticeable dusting of blond hair over his whole body and thick shock of it falling into his face. "This is Wolf." Wolf was brown-haired, heavy muscles gone a bit slack. He avoided eye contact until he made the effort to offer his hand. Wolf said a heavily accented hello.

  "Wie war deine Reise?" James ventured.

  "Gut genug", Wolf replied, then, translating himself, "Good enough trip."

  "This is Liz." Which Liz took as her cue to stand and shake hands around.

  Each man identified his pack and picked it up. One of the paddlers asked if there were more, but that was all, and he offered to walk them to their cabin whenever they were ready. Helen sufficiently dry and wrapped in a towel, Malia came to say which cabin, and to apologize that someone would be along shortly to make up the bed and bring linens. She then went back to tend to Helen, with two more of the paddlers acting as porters. They headed off. Afitu and the remaining paddler pushed the canoe back into the water and headed off across the lagoon.

  Mark and Wolf lingered. "Have you been here before?" Mark asked.

  "No, this is the first time Liz and I have been here.
  "
  "Same for us. Helen loves this place. And we love being naked. It's how we got famous."

  "You're famous?"

  "A project we did in Berlin. Got a walk-up apartment we could outfit with bars to allow views into all the rooms. Then, for a year, we made ourselves an exhibit, like a zoo. Anybody could come, any time, bring us anything. They'd feed us, give us things to play with. Totally, absolutely, no privacy, which was kind of the point. Give us money, a lot of money as it turned out. The toothpaste and toilet paper were nice, too some people are genuinely kind."

  "And some are assholes," Wolf interjected.

  "Yea. We wondered how dangerous it would be. But Berlin is a safe city."

  "And you were naked through all this?"

  "Mostly. If somebody brought clothes we'd play with them, maybe put them on, maybe not. We're usually naked at home, anyway, so we just did our thing. Not naked for show, just being ourselves for show. We got great writeups. Helen manages us in LA."

  James looked at Liz for silent permission to speak for her. "We're headed back to the cabins. May we walk with you?"

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 21, 2020

  The sun angled under the coconuts as James and Liz, Mark and Wolf, and their paddler guide, walked into the area of the cabins. Liz and James followed along as the group made its way to the new arrivals' cabin. Liz caught sight of a net strung between two trees some distance away, now lit sunset-orange. "Is that for tennis?"

  Their guide reported "Can be. Ground not so good for tennis. Badminton, volleyball things at dinner house for the games.

  "Dinner ready when you ready. Maybe hour? Bar open. Someone come show you way."

  James thought to object that he knew the way. Then, knowing how abruptly night falls in the tropics, allowed the offer to stand; it would be pitch dark in an hour. The group said their goodnights; the guide stayed with the new arrivals to check that their space was ready. As soon as James and Liz got back to their own cabin, James went to the toilet, lifted the lid of the tank, and dipped in a finger. "Seawater. They're flushing with seawater to conserve, the way they do in Hong Kong."

  Liz couldn't help laughing. "You're really doing your homework. Peter had better appreciate that you tasted toilet water for the greater glory of Haverford Resource Management."

  James sat on his bed, Liz sat on hers. They were naked together in a room for the first time since college days a decade ago. A silence fell. Out on the grounds they had lost consciousness of their nudity, but it weighed on them now. Liz realized there could be no rule requiring her to be naked in the cabin; she'd brought a beach wrap and outfits to travel in. Before that thought turned to action, James broke the silence. "Want to go on over to the bar?"

  "That or fall sound asleep. It's been a long day. I guess we should show up for dinner. Give me a bit to get ready."

  "OK. I'll be back in a minute. I left my flip-flops outside somewhere."

  Get ready. It was such an automatic thought, a ritual, before going out. The ritual was mostly conducted by fussing with clothes, but it was indispensable. Well, she could brush her hair and splash water on her face, use the toilet in this brief moment of privacy.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 22, 2020

  James leading the way in dim light, they easily found the pavilion, lit by torches under its eaves all around, providing light and a little extra warmth.

  There was no one in the dining area, but a bit of bustle in the kitchen, and as they came in, the bartender appeared. Liz was surprised to hear James address him by name. "Anjelo how's business?"

  "Excellent, with such a distinguished gentleman and such a lovely lady" - with this, a slight bow - "as customers. What can I do for you?"

  It was James' turn to be surprised. This was the shy, quiet kid he'd met this afternoon? He was not a kid now, he was the handsome young bartender, and playing the part well. Certainly physically qualified, tall had he been tall this afternoon? - slender with the muscles of a swimmer and paddler, a line of tattoos running around one arm and onto his chest, tawny skin just a touch lighter where a swimsuit sometimes sat. "Let us think a bit. Looks like you have everything back there?"
  "We try. Just ask. Do have a seat would you like a table or will you sit at the bar before dinner?"

  They chose the bar. Was there a charge for liquor? They didn't know. But it would not do to ask, and this was a thoroughly expense-accounted trip. Before they could order, an approaching group caught their ear. Helen. And Mark and Wolf. Being led through the dark by Afitu. Afitu took a table for one in a corner at one end of the bar, and the others headed for barstools.

  "Looking good, Madame. Welcome back. One Adonis on each arm, I see you're in good form. Mark and Wolf beamed, and Helen charged up to the bar, reached over, and touseled Anjelo's hair.

  "You gorgeous child! How about getting your sweetheart a glass of white wine?"

  Liz had been wondering where Anjelo was getting all this flirtatious patter. Now it was plain if Helen had been coming here for years, she'd been touseling Anjelo's hair since childhood. Bartending, he was cribbing from her act. "You got it. Gentlemen?"

  "Beer" Wolf replied.

  "Local?"

  "Why not."

  "Hinano," Anjelo produced the bottle with a quick flourish. "Pour for you?"

  "In the bottle, thanks."

  Anjelo held the bottle for Wolf's inspection in a sommelier's gesture, caught Wolf with a one-eyed blink, "We want the gentleman to be satisfied." Then he popped the cap. "And our blond Adonis?"

  "Same, thanks."

  To James: "Sir?"

  "Martini."

  "Classic?"

  "Certainly. Your girlfriend come in today?"

  Anjelo's posture softened, and James was answered by the shy kid with the sweet smile and a touch of his father's pidgin accent. "Yes, she come. I see her tonight."

  James had intended his question as a sally in the bawdy conversation, but changed course just in time. "You miss her when she's gone?"

  "I miss her a lot." A pause, And then, raising the energy a couple of notches, "Classic martini, coming up, Mr. Bond." Anejelo crisply assembled the ingredients in the shaker and, judging the clientele perfectly, stood in front of Wolf to shake it, over one shoulder and then the other, much longer than it really needed to be shaken.

  Liz thought this was cute, and funny, and pretty to watch. Out of the corner of one eye she noted, due to the particular expressiveness of the male anatomy, that Wolf was well entertained.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 23, 2020

  Martini in hand, James stood, and stretched, nodded a goodbye to all, and sought the comfort of a table and chair, taking a seat at a two-top in the pavilion. A moment later, Mark approached with his beer. "May I join you?"

  "Please. Have a seat."

  "You're from England by your accent?"

  "Originally. North of England. I came to America for school, and been based there ever since. I work for a company that does industrial commodity brokerage, mining, heavy stuff, all over the world, so I travel a lot. Never seem to get back to England, though. I mostly do hand-holding with clients while the high-priced commission guys come and go to make the deals. Just spent three months in Poland. They're really opening up their economy now that the Soviet Union's gone."

  "Wow. Wolf's from Vienna; I've spent time there, and Germany. Never been anywhere else but US, mostly LA."

  "You grow up there?"

  "Close. Lancaster, edge of the desert."

  "So how did you end up locked in a cage in Berlin?"

  "The conceptual art scene. I was part of that in LA that and waiting tables and there was so much going on in Vienna that I just had to go. Fun, but way too hardcore. Wolf's ex this was after we left for Berlin died in a project. He set himself up as an exhibit in a museum, lying on the floor circled by live electrical wire, and that circled by buckets of water the idea to make himself vulnerable to any attendee who cared to kick over a bucket. Somebody did. The courts decided it might have been an accident. And another guy did one too many body modifications, basically cut himself to death. And the Nazis. A lot of them were Nazis, sort of. Which they would not put up with in Germany, but in Vienna it got kinda fashionable. Among people, of course, that the real Nazis would have had no patience with. But close enough. Sending the occasional enthusiast to North Africa to keep Yasir Arafat warm at night, that sort of thing. Anyway, too much. So, Berlin. The cage thing was an inspiration, no accounting for that, but it got Wolf out of Vienna. It kind of creeps me out that Mr. Nakamura was in and out of that scene."

  "Mr. Nakamura?"

  "Yea, the guy that owns this place. Old guy, famous for being rich, some kind of industrialist in Japan, big arts guy. He and Helen go way back. I think he's going to be here."

  "What's the connection with Helen?"

  "Nakamura knows lots of artists, Helen's an art dealer. I don't really know, exactly."

  The party at the bar quieted, and in the visible part of the kitchen, two women appeared. One, very large, strong, regal bearing, of indeterminate age; the other, younger. The bartender invited the three at the bar Liz, Wolf, and Helen to take a table, which they did as a body, leaving Mark and James to themselves. In their wake came the younger of the two women from the kitchen, with napkins and silverware with only five people expected, they had not pre-set tables.

  As the server arrived at James' table, he felt acute embarrassment. She was stunningly beautiful tall, a thick braid of black hair down her back, broad-shouldered, statuesque, her nudity offset by an anklet woven of leaves and the attached dry fruits. She moved with a dancer's grace, and, setting the table, was necessarily very close. The embarrassment was that James did not know what to do with his eyes. Did she know she was beautiful? Would she welcome his gaze? She seemed in this regard the opposite of the young man at the bar. He followed her hands. She went to the bar for water, set that before them. "Will you want wine?"

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 28, 2020

  "Mind if I join you?" Mark asked, bringing his morning coffee out from the pavilion to a chair beside the volleyball court. James glanced at Liz for a signal whether she felt they were through with their conversation. Liz answered with her reply to Mark: "Please. Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

  James excused himself to go back to the pavilion, coffee cup in hand. "Back in a minute can I bring you anything?" "No, thanks," Liz answered. "I'll go later."

  James found Malia at work in the kitchen and took a seat at the bar to watch her prepare a plate of fish and rice. "Anything you need?" "Just coffee, thanks, I'll help myself, Wonderful breakfast. A question, though. I'll want to make a phone call later, and we were told there's a phone we can use?" "Yes, radio. Someone take you to radio when you ready. When you want call?" "A couple of hours OK?" "OK. Find you then." Malia decorated the plate with a piece of fruit, gathered tableware, and headed out to the volleyball net to give Mark his breakfast. James was refreshing his coffee when Anjelo rushed in. "Good morning, Mr. Edgerton. Is mama here?" "She's out by the volleyball." James followed him there, coffee in hand.

  "Mama, they say the plane will be coming in early. The Bradfords, and an American named Heather Green. I asked Sarah and Kahoa to come meet it."

  "Who fly the plane?"

  "They didn't say."

  "Take a thermos coffee for pilot, whoever. I come later maybe."

  "OK." Malia and Anjelo went back to the pavilion and in a few moments Anjelo re-emerged, naked now, with the coffee, and headed off.

  Malia, watching her customers with a waitress's patient invisibility, came out to the net at just the right time to take away the breakfast dishes. Mark stood to offer a hand and walked away with her, returning in a few minutes with rackets and a ball. "Tennis, anyone?"

  "On sand?" Liz wondered. "Sure. Beach tennis rules. You don't bounce the ball, just volleys. I'll show you." Liz stood and accepted a racket. James was content to sit and digest his breakfast.

  Liz and Mark took up positions on the court and began gently batting the ball back and forth while Mark laid out the rules. They exchanged a competitive volley or two, then relaxed into a leisurely rhythm. After a coffee break, Mark asked "Ready to keep score?" "You're on." And the pace picked up sharply.

  Neither player spoke, except as Mark called the score. They were both good athletes, James thought. Even scuffling in sand their volleys were a ballet controlled, exact. Only the softest parts of their naked bodies swung and jiggled without purpose. One of the Russian czars, he remembered reading, had a private ballet corps who, on command, would perform naked. And a ballet master complained that this spoiled the ballet, Not for reasons of modesty, but because the breasts and male genitalia aren't controlled by muscles. For the movement and music to match, the music would have to be written with a final, extra off-beat or two.

  Liz won the first game, and after only a moment to catch their breath, they started the second. Even naked, Mark was starting to sweat, as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  Ballet dancers bind those parts so tightly, James thought, to produce an appearance of absolute control, as the ballerinas tightly bind their hair. Maybe people in everyday life cover them for the same reason. It feels risky and vulnerable to expose a part of the body whose presentation you can't fully determine. Maybe that's why people spend so much time on their hair. Or cover it, too. Or cut it. Of course, in some cultures...

  "James?" It was Afitu, whose approach James hadn't noticed, transfixed as he was by the game. "When you want to make radio call? I take you."

  "Thank you. Any time. Let me go back to the cabin to get my notes."

  "I walk with you."

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Dec 31, 2020

  Liz proved that at least once she could beat Mark at his own game, and satisfied with that, they both lay down their rackets and sat exhaustedly at courtside in the shade of a big umbrella. From one direction came Helen and Wolf Helen armored against the sun with another large hat, Wolf armored against the sand with conspicuously heavy sandals, both otherwise naked. From another direction came James and Afitu. Mark rose to join his travelmates as they scrounged brunch, and Afitu went to assist them; Malia had gone off.

  Liz, now alone courtside, called out to James. "How did that go?"

  "Brief, and frustrating. Peter didn't want to hear much about the place. He's focused on Nakamura, and I don't know why; he never so much as mentioned the man when we set up this trip. He told me to make conversation about art, and to call him at home again tomorrow."

  "Well, it's a living, and he's the boss. I'm going to shower and lie down for a while." A few yards on, Liz crossed paths with a woman around thirty years old, slender, with a big mop of auburn hair. "Beautiful day. Are you just getting in? I'm Liz." Liz turned to backtrack with the new visitor.

  "Yes, just flew in this morning. I'm Heather."

  "Welcome. Have you been to the kitchen pavilion? It's just up ahead. This is..." Liz thought to say husband, and decided not to, thought to say friend, and decided not to, and after a hesitation she hoped would not be noticed: "...James. I'm headed back to the cabins for a while. I'm sure I'll see you later. Have a great visit."

  "James, Hi. I'm Heather. Can I join you?" James gestured his assent. "I'm a creature of the darkness, and your umbrella calls to me."

  "It'll probably cloud up soon; it certainly did yesterday." "James, have you been here long?" "No, we flew in yesterday morning." "You and Liz?" James quickly calculated an evasion on the question of their relationship. "Yes, she's fun to travel with." Heather continued her questions. "Is this your first time here?" "Yes." "What brings you here?" "Curiosity about the place. It's been a good experience so far."

  Afitu walked up to them. "Miss Green, Mr. Edgerton. Mr. Nakamura invite guests to dinner today at his house. No dinner here at kitchen. You can come?"

  "Certainly. Thank you," Heather answered. "Of course," James answered. "You tell Mrs. Edgerton?" James said he would. The "Mrs. Edgerton" caught him short; he was trying not to continue the pretense that they were married, but this had gone wrong. He expected a sharp look from Heather, and he got it. "Someone come find you to walk to Mr. Nakamura house later."

  Seizing the initiative, James posed the standard query to Heather: "How do you know Kenji Nakamura?"

  "I don't know him personally. I know he's run into legal trouble in Japan. I know he's been active in the European art market for a long time and is a major collector."

  James volunteered "I hear that he's engaged with the modern arts scene in Vienna Wolf, one of the guests, is from there, and his partner Mark had some stories to tell. He's not fond of the guy. Have you met these people? Let me introduce you."

  With that, James rose, and Heather followed him toward the pavilion, where the guests shared a table, tennis rackets leaning against a nearby chair, occupied otherwise by Helen's hat. "Heather, this is Mark, Wolf, and Helen. Heather's just gotten in this morning." Mark immediately stood. "Welcome, how was your trip? You hungry?" "Oh, no, not right now." "Up for beach tennis?" "I'll give a try, sure." Mark picked up a racket and handed it to her. James walked back toward the court with them.

  Wasting no time, Heather asked Mark "I hear you've run across Kenji Nakamura in Vienna?"

  "We ran in the same circles for a while, yes."

  "James tells me you've got stories to tell."

  "Yea. It's a pretty hardcore scene."

  "Is he still buying and selling paintings?"

  "I don't think so, maybe with older people. Our scene wasn't really about graphic arts."

  They reached the court, and James yielded the umbrella to the pair, who set the rackets aside and sat together in conversation. James went to find Liz and relay the dinner invitation.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 4, 2021

  Liz dried in the sun after her shower, then went into the cabin to rest. She lay naked on her bed and closed her eyes, but found herself craving the comfort of a covering, even though the cabin was warm; she roused, and curled up in a sheet,

  James climbed the stairs to the cabin, found the door ajar, and pushed in, to see Liz cocooned and asleep. As quietly as he could, he stepped back outside. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped to feel the warm coral sand under his bare feet, to feel the nearly still air tickling every hair on his body. He widened his stance, opened his arms wide, and arched his back until he was looking up at the sky, now dotted with clouds. As he stretched he felt the warmth of his own blood, pulsing out of his tight, fatigued muscles. He relaxed, took a few steps away from the cabin, and stood again, feeling taller, more comfortable and at peace than he had been so far on the trip.

  Feeling no obligation to observe and report the details of the place, he walked aimlessly for a while, relaxing into the experience of simply moving in the warm air, his nakedness helping him to feel present, fully a part of the gentle surroundings. He chose a path well away from the resort buildings, and found himself approaching the ocean side of the island, hearing the surf. The open ocean was forbidding, powerful, and the shore was steep. He clambered toward the water, moving carefully with full attention to each movement of his bare feet, each touch of his hand onto the rock, enjoying the exploration for its own sake, until he found himself dampened with spray. Climbing along the shore, he came to a pool of water pushed up into a depression by the waves, and waded in. He watched the ocean. Felt the alternation of spray and warm sun on his skin. Sensed the rhythm of the waves. And when it felt right, he threw himself onto the surface of the pool with a splash, shuddered, turned face up, and let his body go soft. Only a moment he was too conscious of the ocean to put himself at its mercy for long and then he stood, waded out, climbed away from the water a bit, and sat looking out across the water as the shadows of clouds moved across it.

  Gathering clouds signaled the advancing day. It was time to rejoin civilization. He stood, nearly dry, brushed off a bit of sand, and headed back toward the resort.

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  Gordy57

  Jan 9, 2021

  [quote]You can't attach a link with a PDF file instead ot this long posts.[/quote] I like it ;-) It is a better read than most of what's on this site :-0

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  Gordy57

  Jan 9, 2021

  [quote]Easier for you to read a PDF or a better format as well.[/quote] I don't want to hijack the authors story. But reading it as he writes it works best for me. Short segments like this match my attention span better than a long book would ;-)

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  Barefoot5977

  Jan 9, 2021

  Very nice read, regardless of the format. Im really looking forward to the next installment.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 11, 2021

  I wish the forum format were less limited, but it's what the site offers. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 14, 2021

  Liz turned away from the bar with the tall glass of soda water she'd ordered. Helen, white wine in hand, stood speaking with Sarah Bradford. Liz watched Derek bring Sarah a tropical fruit drink of some kind, then retreat to a table where Heather soon approached to ask if she could sit with him. Mark and Wolf stood looking at the ocean. Odd person out in James's absence, she hesitated a moment and then approached Helen and Sarah. "It is so beautiful," she said, echoing Helen's words. "I can see why you like to visit here. How often do you come?" "We've been here three times," Sarah answered. "It's such a long trip from England. Helen - you've been here quite a lot, I think. Helen and I" - she turned back to Liz - "met here last winter. Derek had to go back for work. I stayed for a month." "A dance group came in from Tahiti," Helen remembered. "Exciting to see. There were so many people here!" "Usually more than now?" "Sometimes every cabin is full, of course." "Liz," Sarah asked, "this is your first time? How did you find your way here?" "James suggested it. He heard about it through his work; he travels a lot for work." "Like my Derek; such a pleasure to travel. What does James do?" "Resource management, they call it. Mostly helping mines sell what they dig up, I think." "Where's he disappeared to?" "Probably off to inspect the plumbing. He's been very curious about how things here are built and how they work." "Derek's been fascinated by that, too. I think it's just a miracle how we get by in a place so far away from the world."

  Their attention was caught by the two musicians carrying instruments across the terrace. Helen pulled away to greet Anjelo, then returned to say "Come, sit." But no one sat. Helen went to catch Mark and Wolf's attention; Derek rose to join Sarah, and Liz, scanning the space, saw James coming into view, still nursing his martini. Anjelo exchanged smiles with those he knew, but spoke only to the elder musician, in a whisper, then positioned a chair and sat with his guitar. He picked a few notes and sat silent until the elder man repeated them and began to play. They were situated to provide background music for a cocktail hour, but there was nothing casual about what they were doing; it was clear that there was meaning in the music, and it commanded silence. Everyone settled into a seat. The music accompanied the setting of the sun.

  As the sky faded from pink into bright silver twilight, the music stopped, or better said, concluded. In the language of music a story had been told, and was now at an end. Silence continued as the musicians sat for a moment lost in thought, then walked away with their instruments. James thought about Anjelo, who could gleefully riff on movie cliches and perform outrageousness at the bar, but who was so plainly rooted in this place, among these people. How fragile a place to be rooted, and how difficult, drawing life out of speck of coral rock.

  Across the terrace strode a man plainly in charge of the two younger women who hung back behind him. He was older, with the taught, trim body of an athlete who had lost muscle without gaining fat, erect, purposeful. Helen rose to greet him. "Kenji how good to see you!" "Helen, welcome. Always a pleasure to have you here. I'm glad you could come." He then picked out her two traveling companions, who stood when he extended his hand. "Mark and Wolf. You are...?" "Mark," the first of them identified himself. "Wolf." "I hope you are enjoying your stay. Take good care of Helen, will you? I've heard of some of your projects. Helen's very impressed with your spirit."

  He did not give his name, nor did he need to. The remaining visitors stood to be greeted. He extended a hand to Derek. "Derek, good to see you. I'm glad you could get away. Let's make some time to catch up. Sarah..." She extended her hand, which he took in both of his. "Sarah, it's a long trip; I trust you've had time to rest from it?"

  It surprised James that he did not have a Japanese accent, but the placelessly correct English of an educated European.

  "Heather. Heather Green, what a lovely name." She'd heard that many times before, but smiled as if it were new, and offered her hand. "How have you liked the place? I want to show you around; let's find a time."

  "Liz, welcome. Malia tells me you've been exploring, I'm happy you've had the chance. It's an interesting island, isn't it, and good people."

  He turned to James. "Mr. Edgerton, James, hello. I'm sorry Peter could not come." Just that. "I'm sorry Peter couldn't come." James flushed red, embarrassed, feeling unwelcome, angry at Peter for setting this up, realizing that he should not show surprise that his boss had been expected, recovering with a lie, "He sends his regrets."

  "Shall we eat?" With that, the two women who'd come with Mr. Nakamura ushered the group to their seats at the table.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 21, 2021

  The roofed area of the bar was now flanked by torches, As the arrived, the couples, separated by their assigned places at the dinner table, now sat together. Wolf, and Mark took a table with Heather at the table nearest the two musicians who occupied one corner of the square of light. Liz and James - Liz with her coffee, James with a sherry sat close.

  Liz edged her chair even closer, and into James' ear whispered "Did you hear that Derek Bradford asked me to tell him what I'm learning about this place?"

  "No. What's his interest?"

  "I was talking about diving for water with Malia. Until then, he'd been very standoffish. He said he didn't know much about the island, and wanted to know more."

  "Don't we all. Except Peter, who wasn't interested. I'll get back to Peter tomorrow morning on the radio. Just hold off..."

  Derek and Sarah Bradford appeared from the darkness. Liz and James dropped their conversation and said hello. Then they turned their attention to the music.

  Some time later Liz heard more people approaching, and looked up expecting to see Helen and perhaps Mr. Nakamura. But it was Malia and Afitu. They stood in the line of torches until the musicians reached a stopping point, then Malia stepped forward, caught Liz's eye, and Sarah's, and knelt among the tables, to say "We here when you need ride. Stay long as you like, OK?" She signaled the musicians, who began another number, and retreated to the shadows. Afitu conferred quietly with the bartender and did the same.

  "I'm ready to go," Liz told James.

  "Go on ahead. I'll stay for a while."

  Liz walked out through the line of torches. The evening clouds had cleared and a round moon low in the eastern sky cast long shadows across the terrace, its silver light brightening as Liz's eyes adjusted from the flame yellow of the bar. Malia and Afitu sat at a nearby table. They invited her to sit with them. Wolf found them there, verified that they would wait for him, then returned to the bar. Sarah joined them, and Wolf returned with Mark. The group assembled, Malia and Afitu led them across the terrace and bridged entrance, and onto the path to the water. The path's white coral surface glowed in the moonlight, six naked walkers in single file easily finding their way. Afitu carried a flashlight, but did not use it.

  At the shore, a group of paddlers idled by a fire. Three of them took Mark and Wolf across, leaving one of their number with the visitors on the on the other side of the narrow channel. The remaining two returned for Liz and Sarah, Malia and Afitu. Once across, Afitu offered to walk Sarah to her cabin. Malia addressed Liz. "I walk you to cabin?"

  "I'd appreciate that." Walking easily in the moonlight, more cautiously in the shadows of the coconuts, they made their way. "I'm impressed with Mr. Nakamura's setup. It's quite a house. And so many people working there I wouldn't have thought that many people even lived here."

  "We there for him when he need us."

  "Do you have to go back tonight?"

  "No, I off work, " Malia grinned. "Go drink..." She stopped midsentence. "You drink kava?"

  "Kava?" Liz was not sure she'd heard the word. "Kava. I've heard of it. No, I never have."

  "You like come?"

  "Over to the village?" Malia nodded assent. "What should I wear?"

  "What you like. I wear skirt."

  "I have a pareu at the cabin?"

  "OK."

  At the cabin, Liz wrapped the rayon cloth around her waist. Malia, still naked, walked them to the pavilion, from whose back room she produced a wrap of her own. The water washed only ankle-deep across the low ground between the resort and the village. On the other side, Liz found the path difficult as they relied on moonlight to climb to one of the houses. Attached to the tiny frame structure was a porch, larger than the house, low-roofed, thatched with coconut fronds. Dim electric light underneath barely outshone the moon.

  Malia called a quiet greeting as they approached. Not in English, Liz realized. Malia took a few steps forward. Liz was suddenly self-conscious, standing there bare-breasted in cheap beachwear, unable to understand the language, alien to the culture. She for a moment considered a retreat, but could not have found the path back. She would just have to let herself be led. She followed Malia under the thatch. On mats on the bare earth, around a small, low, table, sat a circle of women. Malia addressed one very elderly woman with a few sentences, of which Liz understood only one word - "Liz."

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  Barefoot5977

  Jan 22, 2021

  Man, Im hooked on this tale! Check in couple times a day to see if theres an update. Had gotten tired of the same old topics rehashed and hashed again, thanks for sharing your story here.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 23, 2021

  Liz sat on the floor next to Malia where the circle opened to accommodate them. A young woman across from them smiled. "Hello, Liz." She wore a red-and-green patterned sundress, her hair tight in a bun at the nape of her neck. Liz returned the hello. Another woman about Liz's age wore shorts and a T-shirt. The elderly woman to whom Malia had introduced Liz wore a skirt made of a stiff handmade fabric, patterned with shades of brown, with no top but accessorized with a heavy bracelet woven from split leaves. Next to her was a second elderly woman similarly dressed, her generous gray-flecked hair trailing down her back to the floor, with a girl of four or five on her lap, the only person in the room who was naked. Into the room walked a beauty draped in a pareu tied over one shoulder. She exchanged muttered greetings and nods with the seated women. Noticing Liz, she nodded a "Mrs. Edgerton," her New Zealand accent making Liz recognize her as the greeter from Mr. Nakamura's, now evidently off work. "Liz," Malia corrected her. Then looking to Liz, "This Elena." Elena took a place in the circle, and the little girl crossed to fall into her lap, burrowing her head into her mother's belly.

  The mother rubbed her hand in the girl's hair, then lifted her onto her feet and sent her back. On the table was a wooden bowl of pale brown liquid. The oldest of the women ladled some into a coconut-shell cup, and set the girl on her way, with very careful steps, to carry it back to her mother. With both hands, the girl presented her mother with the cup; with both hands the mother accepted it, with words Liz did not understand, and took a sip. Around the circle, the girl served each woman in turn. Malia, accepting her cup, replied as the others had, and then added "Thank you" in English. Liz, grateful for the hint, gave her own "Thank you" when her turn came.

  Liz took a tiny, cautious sip. The drink tasted like mud. A sweet, medicinal sharpness crept into the taste as she let the liquid sit in her mouth. She swallowed, and took another swallow of saliva to clear the taste from her mouth. Following what the others did, she held the cup in her hands, and after an interval took another sip, which sat more easily in her mouth now that she knew what to expect. What surprised her next was a tingling numbness on her lips. This was strong stuff. Brief conversations came and went, outside Liz's understanding. The little girl, restless, wandered out from under the thatch and into the moonlight. Liz was surprised that no one dashed out after her. One of the women went into the house and returned with a plate of sweetened coconut confections. Liz found them the perfect antidote to the taste of the kava. Malia nibbled one, then took another in hand and stood to go out; Liz could see that she easily found the little girl, and offered her the treat. The mother went out to join them. With the only people she'd spoken with now outside, Liz sat in shared silence with the group. People began to stir; one woman excused herself to go. Malia came in to suggest to Liz "Come out watch moon."

  The mother sat on the ground outside leaning against the side of the house, the girl now sleeping in a fold of her pareu. Malia sat next to her. The air was still; with any movement Liz felt a bit of chill. She pulled the pareu off her waist and threw it over her shoulders for warmth, then sat with the others.

  The moon was now high above the horizon. The ground glowed diamond-bright under the black sky. Shadows shortened.

  "I worry sometimes," Malia said. Liz and Elena let a long time pass for Malia to gather her thoughts.

  "Before time, we fish. We grow garden, we grow coconut. Hard life, mostly come and go other island. Now we go school, go doctor, kid can stay on island, work resort, work Mr. Nakamura. He here long time, build electric, build water, build radio. What we do if he not here? Old man. Trouble in Japan, you know. We all know."

  "He's had his place here my whole life," Elena explained to Liz. "And longer."

  Liz felt sadness with them, but felt no need to speak. They shared a feeling. There was sweetness even in the worry. The moon crossed the sky. The stars turned. There were a few words now and then. The little girl whimpered in Elena's lap. "I'll get her to bed." Then it was just Liz and Malia and the worry and the moment and the movement of the moon, now descending from the top of the sky. Black turned to purple on the eastern horizon, the stars no longer sharp pricks of light, but sequins on velvet.

  Liz thought that she had not felt any effect from the kava, besides the tingling in her mouth. And in thinking that, broke its spell and came to realize that she had just sat up all night, calmly alert, and now felt as rested as if she'd slept.

  Malia turned to her and smiled. "You like? You OK?"

  "Yes, thank you very much for this."

  "I walk you home."

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 24, 2021

  Liz was not in the cabin. James dismissed his concern with the thought that it was a bright, calm night and she would be fine wherever she was. He stirred awake when she came in, enough to know that it was nearing dawn, then he slept more soundly, until bright sun reached the cabin window. Liz was still asleep when he left to go in search of breakfast.

  James found Mark and Heather together in the pavilion. "I put coffee on," Mark said. "Seems to be serve-your-own-breakfast day."

  "Glad for the coffee. Thanks. Good morning, Heather."

  "Good morning," she said. She finished her coffee in one gulp, and to Mark, "See you later. I'm going to go back to my cabin for a while."

  "She didn't sleep well," Mark said to James by way of apology for her abrupt departure. "I hear you guys had an intense conversation last night after we left."

  "She got upset over something, I could see that. Pretty much broke up the party."

  "Well, yea. Nakamura's trying to sell a bunch of Jewish-owned art that he smuggled out of Nazi Germany."

  James had only vaguely understood what 'provenance issues' meant. Now he knew, and he was part of it. He turned the conversation to the weather.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 25, 2021

  Liz woke to the warmth of the cabin in the morning sun. She kicked down the covers and lay on the bed, listening. Surf whispered in the distance. Coconut fronds rattled. She padded outside, barefoot and naked, and ground her toes into the sand, glad to find herself alone. For the joy of feeling the sand under her feet and the breeze on her skin she moved among the trees, wandering finally to the edge of the grove, where she came to the stretch of low beach that separated the resort from the village. The tide was low, and the surf high enough that between waves the way ahead was completely exposed above water. She walked on, stopping with each wave to let the water splash past her, stepping forward when the ground was again visible, finding and then not finding the rhythm of the waves.

  Onto higher ground, she advanced along the ocean shore, until she came to the spring where she had dived with Malia. She sat, looking across the Pacific, her mind on the island behind her, the houses and yards that she would see if only she turned around and climbed a few steps. But she did not intrude even so much as that.

  A chicken appeared beside her, examining the ground for insects, close but only so close to where she sat. She turned to look at it, and it edged away, finding something of interest a bit further on, and further still.

  A confusion of waves threw water noisily into the air. A cool mist settled on Liz's skin.

  Powerful and dangerous, this ocean had supported generations of islanders or borne them away. What supported them now was equally powerful and dangerous. Boatloads of propane and diesel fuel, visitors and videotapes, flour and beer and beef. Liz understood, she thought she understood, Malia's worry. They had shared a great deal between silences last night.

  Another, wetter, splash caught Liz where she sat. She stood. With a ruffle of feathers, the chicken scrambled away.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Jan 31, 2021

  Heather had listened with some interest to Helen's story, but bristled at this last remark. "I never said he was a Nazi and I don't care. What I care about is that he and his father bought goods in coerced sales, and very possibly bought goods that had been seized or stolen, and that those goods are sitting right here and are apparently about to go on the market."
  
  "The Nakamuras never coerced anybody!" Helen shouted. "How could they have? Seized or stolen? No way. That just didn't happen."
  
  "How do you know that? You've heard Nagy's story, OK, but Nagy didn't have anything of great value to sell; he was a new artist. And he was just one case. Do you know all the other people they bought from? Nakamura obviously knows he has a problem. You said so yourself: "provenance issues'. Provenance where the works came from, who they came from, how they were obtained. Why else do you think he's kept the whole collection under wraps for fifty years? Why has he taken everything out of Japan before starting to talk about selling it?"
  
  "I dare you to find once piece of stolen art in that collection!"
  
  "Oh, sure, like he'd let me look!"
  
  Liz caught James's eye and motioned him to follow her outside. "I think Nakamura set this up. Heather wouldn't be here if he didn't want her here. Just like you. He knew way more about you than you knew about him. Do you mind if I tell her about your experience with that?"
  
  "Go ahead. My situation with Peter may be beyond redeeming. But attempting discretion certainly hasn't worked."
  
  They re-entered the pavilion to see Helen rising out of her chair, Mark putting his hand on her elbow. "Helen, just listen," Mark said. "Just listen for a minute." Heather began to stand; Liz quickly took a seat at Heather's table. "Heather, can I talk to you about this?" Heather dropped back into her chair; Helen, her attention now on Liz, did the same.
  
  "Heather, you may not know it, but you are here because Mr. Nakamura wants you here. I've been talking a lot with Malia. She tells me that when Nakamura is here, the place is closed to the public. No one can book a cabin. They get a guest list from him, and handle the arrangements. With us, he must have put out a feeler to James's boss who quote "suggested' this vacation to us. We had no idea. We thought we were incognito, scouting the place for a possible real estate offer. Maybe that's what Nakamura wanted, but James's boss is more into the art collection as it turns out. Anyway, I'd bet the same sort of thing happened with you."
  
  "Eisenthal Foundation got a tip that the collection was being moved," Heather said. "They asked me to come investigate. I was not invited here."
  
  "Where do you suppose the tip came from?"
  
  Heather contemplated the question. She didn't know; she hadn't been told. That was not unusual; sources were commonly kept anonymous. She wanted to call Eisenthal to ask. But of course she could not. There was a radio connection somewhere, she'd heard. But otherwise she was completely isolated. She sensed her vulnerability. "We are a long way from anywhere, aren't we?" she said.
  
  "Yes, we are. We have each other, and that's about it. And the locals I'm completely sure we're safe here. James arranged a radio call back to the US yesterday; you can do that too, I'm sure. I doubt if it's a private connection. Look, you have no secrets from Nakamura. I'd suggest you just go talk to him."
  
  "Liz," Helen said, "don't be so suspicious. I'm sure the invitation confusion was just a misunderstanding. Kenji was perfectly straightforward in asking me if I could come out for a visit."
  
  "He knows you, and he knows Derek; Heather and James are strangers to him, and I don't think he knows James's boss very well. So he's been really cagey about getting us here without revealing anything. Let me ask you this when he invited you here, did he tell you he'd have his whole collection here for you to look at?"
  
  "He told me he had some pieces for me to look at. But no. I found that out last night."
  
  "Once you were over here and couldn't tell anyone."
  
  Malia came in with apologies. "Good morning, good morning. Sorry I late this morning. You find food, good. I cook if you still hungry."
  
  "I'm famished," Liz said. "Don't fire up the grill just for me. What can you do in a pan? Scrambled?"
  
  "Omelette, vegetables, with toast? How that?"
  
  "You're on. Thanks."
  
  Liz went to sit under the umbrella at the volleyball court. After her intervention in Helen and Heather's argument, thankful for the interruption of breakfast. James brought her omelette when it was ready, and sat with his coffee to watch the morning unfold.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Feb 4, 2021

  Liz was mopping her plate with the last of her toast when Derek and Sarah appeared at the volleyball court, each carrying a plate of food.

  "May we join you?" Sarah asked.

  "They're having quite the serious breakfast meeting over there," Derek added.

  James invited them. "Welcome to the peace and quiet of the volleyball court. Please, do have a seat."

  Derek asked "What did you think of our Kenji Nakamura last night?"

  "I can see what a powerful personality he is," James replied. "and why he's been such a success. But he's done. There's an air of resignation and defeat around him. I didn't research him before I came, was barely aware of him, but I know he's in legal trouble - over bribery, I think. What's the status of all that?"

  "There's the threat of jail, but they won't lock up a man of his status or a man of his age. The main charges have to do with his paying bribes in third-world countries to secure his right to do business there. Little of it has to do with what he's done within Japan. Charges like that are new; Japan is bringing them only under international pressure. So their heart's not in it, and it may go off very easily for him. But if they decide they have to make an example of him, t could go very badly. It's a situation he can't control, and I know that weighs on him."

  "Is he a refugee here?"

  Derek was surprised by the thought. "No, he'll go back. It would be dishonorable to run away. When he invited us for this trip, he told me that he might never be here again - which of course he repeated to all of us last night. He's ready to let the place go."

  "It's a shame," Sarah said, "after so many years, being forced to sell the island. It's been a wonderful retreat for him, for all of us."

  For James, it was no retreat at all, but a business opportunity to analyze. It was hard for him to imagine lounging naked on the beach, taking it all for granted. But that experience, exactly that, was part of the place's value. He fell into the language of a travel brochure. "Yes, it's a unique experience, as far as you can get from the cares of home, in a beautiful setting with a welcoming climate." He saw the beauty of the sunsets in his mind's eye, but pulled himself back to practicality. "It's also a big project for someone to take on, if Nakamura leaves it behind. It would take someone like Peter Prost or Richard Branson to step in; there aren't many men with the means to pull it off. Derek, I see the feelers going out, but have you had anything concrete about the possibility of a sale?"

  "No. Kenji plays close to the chest. I've wondered if he's invited us both here to maneuver us into bidding against each other."

  "More likely just to increase the chances he can unload the place."

  Liz had never heard James fall into businessman mode, and she didn't like it. Particularly because the men were talking about the island as if it were uninhabited real estate. With the tone of a reprimand, she interrupted. "There is nothing to sell." James gave her the floor. "What do you mean?"

  "There is nothing to sell. Not the land, not the cabins, not the house. The island doesn't have private land titles; their national government wouldn't let them sell land even if they wanted to. The islanders treat Nakamura like a demigod and their economy depends on him, but he doesn't own any of it, not even the house he lives in. He's here because they want him here."

  Derek was incredulous. "Who owns it, who's in charge? There must be some way."

  "They all own it. The people in the village. Collectively. They decide together how to use it, how to live on it. Officially, they're a democracy; if things got really bad the national government would expect them to take a vote. But they never do; they just agree on things. With respect given to elders and traditional leaders. I've never spoken with the oldest of them, because they don't know English. But I've gotten to know a few people. If you want to talk to someone who's in charge, try Malia Obermeier. In her generation, she's the highest-ranking person here, or one of them, and people respect her."

  "Queen of the Island." Derek was not being kind. Liz let the comment echo in a moment of silence. "Maybe two hundred years ago Westerners would have called her that. But she can't order people around; even back then she couldn't have. And if the people aren't comfortable with her, they'll just start looking to someone else. In the generation after her, that grew up in contact with the outside, it's probably Anjelo."

  "Anjelo?" Derek did not know the name. Sarah reminded him. "The young fellow at the bar the other night." Derek felt the need to confirm this with James. "The bartender kid?" James addressed Derek's doubt. "Yes, the bartender kid. He's a nice guy, and smart, and has a serious side." Liz was relieved to hear James defend him. "Anjelo or one of his sisters," she said. "Malia thinks Anjelo has the right energy to be a leader. Look, I know she's concerned about what happens after Kenji Nakamura. James is right that it would take someone like your boss or his to step in if things are going to keep on the way they have been for most of her life. Why not go talk to her?"

  Derek did not reply.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Feb 20, 2021

  James stood with his empty plate and gathered Lizs. "Can I get you anything?" he offered to Derek and Sarah. "No, thank you," Sarah answered.

  James took the dishes back to the pavilion and set them on the bar where Malia retrieved them to wash. Mark wast there, and Wolf, with a big breakfast in front of him. "I thought I might find Heather and Helen still arguing," James said. Mark shook his head with a smile. "Oh, theyre probably still arguing, for sure they were when they left."

  James took a seat at the bar. With breakfast served, Malia was tidying up the kitchen. "Weve been talking to Derek Bradford, vague notions about the fate of the island. You know the man who owns his company already owns an island, right?"

  Malia surprised him with her awareness of it. "I know. Necker Island, Caribbean. Mr. Branson make deal with British Virgin Islands for resort. Mr. Bradford say he want another resort?"

  "He hasnt been so clear. But I think Dereks exploring the possibility, maybe at Bransons direction, maybe not. Liz tells me youre the person to go to about it."

  "I talk to Liz about what happen if Mr. Nakamura go. I worry, she know. I talk to Mr. Bradford, sure. He come here many time but he not know island not too well. Maybe we take walk together. You want to come?"

  "I can come if you think its appropriate."

  "No secret here. Your boss, who know, he might want island, too. He by volleyball? We go ask."

  Malia disappeared into the room behind the bar, and reappeared with a simple dress covering her shoulders and flowing to her calves, a floral print with a midnight-blue background. She startled James with this; hed never seen her dressed in anything but a waist wrap, and seldom that. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, chest out and head high, and when she exhaled she was taller. She walked to the ball court, James naked beside her. Liz, Derek, and Sarah looked up from their conversation, speechless at her appearance. James, aware that Derek barely knew here name, introduced Malia. "Malia, this is Derek Bradford. Derek, Malia Obermeier. Weve been discussing the fate of the island, and shes invited us to walk with her." Derek rose, Malia extended her hand. They accepted the introduction as if they had not been acquainted for years. This was a new start.

  "Malia, thank you. I look forward to it," Derek said.

  "You want to go now this morning? Any time you ready, Derek."

  Liz, who still had never brought herself to address Derek by his first name, was struck by Malias deliberate assertiveness. Malia, she understood, was prepared to insist on a level relationship. She was acting the queen. "You guys should dress for the walk," Liz advised, disinviting herself, and Sarah. Malia was on this.

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Feb 23, 2021

  "What sort of investment are you looking for?" Derek asked. Elena answered. "Investment is not the right word. Investment implies an ownership stake, and that is something we cannot grant. The arrangement with Mr. Nakamura has never been formalized. We can't expect anyone to step into a situation like that. Nor would we want it. We might offer a lease medium term or long term or lifetime lease on the house he built and the land it stands on. We might include the resort area, or manage it ourselves. That would depend on the person. We would require that no outside labor be brought in without our permission knowing that that limits what can be done here."

  James thought about the series of mining and trading and political entrepreneurs he'd worked with over the years, some of them difficult and dangerous. "Do you care what nationality any investor what shall I say leaseholder would be?"

  "No. We have adopted English as our working language, because of the opportunities it opens up to us; we'd want to be able to deal with the person in English. Naturally we'd investigate any offer, and the person behind it. To the extent possible, we would also consult Mr. Nakamura. He's widely acquainted, and we would respect his opinion. This is his legacy, and we will treat it with respect."

  James wondered, "How much of this have you discussed with Nakamura?"

  Malia responded. "Mr. Nakamura concern with what happen to island. He have no child, he know island belong to us. He always ask, never tell us what to do."

  "He's from a world of handshake agreements," Elena added. "He may wish that someone could just step in as he did decades ago. But he knows how the world works now."

  "He must have thought that someone tied to one of our companies might step in," James offered.

  "I'm sure. And what do you think?"

  Derek answered. "I think first of Richard Branson. And frankly I doubt it. He doesn't operate in this part of the world, and he already has Necker, which he owns outright. But he knows a lot of people, and I know a few. Now that we understand what you are making available, we can spread the word."

  "I have to give you the same answer," James said. "I spoke with Peter Prost the other day from here, and he didn't want to hear anything about the island; his interest was in Nakamura's art collection. But he knows a lot of people, too, we both do."

  Elena flashed anger. "We are not happy that he brought that collection here."

  "He invited Heather Green to come this week, didn't he?"

  "Everyone. Yes."

  "Do you know that she's with the Eisenthal Institute? Here specifically to investigate the collection?"

  "No, I didn't know that."

  "Last I saw, she and Helen were in an intense discussion about it. Liz thinks that Nakamura wanted that discussion to happen, and I agree. Just as I think Nakamura intended our discussion to happen. He may not tell you what to do, but he's been aggressive in opening possibilities."

  Derek jumped in. "The success of a party is in the guest list."

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  SteveOriginal Poster

  Feb 25, 2021

  Left alone, Liz went to the pavilion to see that Wolf was there, his empty breakfast plate still in front of him, a few unwashed dishes on the bar, the last of a pot of coffee on a warmer. She offered coffee to Wolf, and poured away the rest. Malia had plainly turned to other priorities. Liz drained cold dishwater from the sink and set about finishing with breakfast cleanup. Wolf wandered into the sun with his coffee to see Anjelo coming his way at a trot. They came into the pavilion together. Anjelo offered to take over the dishwashing. Wolf took a seat at the bar. Momentarily, Afitu followed his son into the kitchen. Afitu wore a waist wrap which he removed and tucked away when he arrived. Anjelo had arrived naked.

  "We want to talk to Nakamura." It was Heather, Helen just behind her. Suddenly the pavilion was full, but this was no lunch crowd. Afitu responded to Heather's abruptness in kind. "Soon?" "As soon as we can." Anjelo looked to his father for guidance. Afitu gave him brief instructions in the local language, and Anjelo was off, running naked and barefoot into the sun. "We ask," Afitu told the women. Take seat. I get you anything?"

  Liz watched Anjelo dash out of view. In a man's body, this was one of the naked children scampering about the village, running for the joy of running. He came back wet, panting. He'd swum the channel that lay between the resort and Mr. Nakamura's house. He relayed a message to Afitu. Afitu then let Heather and Helen know "Canoe ready. Mr. Nakamura see you now."

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