One morning after we had taken our swim—and bath— in the lagoon and were walking along the beach to dry off, I began to trot, then to run. Ruita ran with me, not the knock-kneed jerky style most girls use, but with long firm strides. We circled the island several times, running like sprinters, sweating and fighting for air. I was pooped and dropped to the sand, trying to get my breath back. Ruita walked around slowly, her chest heaving. Finally we both took a dip and lay on the sand. After many minutes of silence she asked, “Why did you run like that?”
“I don't know. I guess I wanted to tire myself out.”
“But why do you wish to tire yourself?”
I-shrugged. “Sometimes a man simply wants to exercise.” Of course I was lying. I'd run because I suddenly felt I had to do that stupid something, have some action.
She didn't say anything and I turned over to give my stomach a chance to dry. She laughed and ran a finger over the deep tan of my middle, said, “Now you are like an islander, like us.”
I wanted to say, “I wish I were,” but instead I merely asked, “Speaking of the islanders, how soon do we have to go back to the others, to Forliga?”
Ruita sat up. “Aren't you happy here, Ray?”
“Can you doubt my happiness?” I asked, pulling her to me, feeling the smooth coolness of her skin against mine. “It's... uh... just... Eddie will be expecting me. And Nancy must be wondering...”
“We do not ever have to return. If we wish we can stay right here for the rest of our lives.”
“You mean that?” I asked, floored by the idea.
“What reason is there for us to return?” Ruita asked, using French as she always did when excited or rattled. “Oh, Mama will come out to visit us and so will Eddie. But we have land, food, shelter, and each other. That is enough for a good life. In time we'll probably have children and be even happier.”
Holding her close to me, I looked into her cool eyes as I asked, “Would you be content with that?” And I told myself that there wasn't any real reason why we shouldn't stay here and be happy, yet I knew I'd blow my stack if I had to spend another week in this solitude.
She said, “Darling, if you want, I would try it—”
“No, honey, that isn't what I asked. Look, in a crazy confused way, your answer is very important to me. Is this what you want most, our remaining on this islet?”
She shook her head. “No. What I want most is to live on Numaga with you.”
“Why there instead of here?”
“Mainly because there is more to do there. In time I would get a little bored here.”
I kissed her. “Thanks! You've taken a load off my mind. This... uh... bored stuff was making me think I was cracked.”
She kissed me, little, light, hot kisses. “Is that what troubles you, you are bored with me?”
“Nothing troubles me.”
“Oh, yes. Something worries you, Ray. I feel it. This small drawing back, this unknown thing holding you apart from me at times.”
“That's nonsense. You dream it,” I lied, and then and there I made a large mistake. For if I had told her the truth we might have talked it out, saved both ourselves months of unhappiness. “What are you handing me, this East is East and never the... whatever it is... shall meet, slop?”
She tried to pull away from me, her eyes angry, but I held her tightly. She said, “That is a... a... mean thing, a cruel thing to say. We have found in our being together the greatest contentment I will ever know. Surely you must feel the same way.”
“Forgive me, I was trying to be clever. A minor Western sickness—we must make clever talk all the time. Darling, there's no need to twist words. I have been a little restless here because I'm not conditioned to lying around all day. Although I try to deny it, I suffer from another form of sickness—a reflex known as work.”
She kissed me, then laughed, her warm breath fanning my lips. “My Ray, do not sound so ashamed. No one can live in... this scientific name I learn years ago... yes, in a vacuum. One of your silly popaa words that—”
“Don't say 'your'—it puts a thin wall between us.”
She nodded, her black hair brushing my forehead and eyes. “I am sorry. I do not wish even a cobweb between us. Now do not be angry if I use another popaa saying I learned in school—all work and no play makes Jack a dull chap. And the same goes for all play. But here we have no difference between work and play. The thing is to have a number of ways to play. You understand me?”
“Aha.”
“Aha?” she repeated. “What does that mean?”
“A slang way of saying yes.”
“Ah, I have heard much of this slang, some day you will teach it to me. Back on my island we will each have many things to teach the other. We will not only have what we have here, but also a fine house that needs little daily care, and an ice box in which many kinds of foods may be stored. And we will have a radio to be smug about the news of the peoples outside our island. Also, there will be my pearl cultures, which take up much time and are a wonderful game. We have many books and magazines, records, boats, and if we wish, we can do some 'work' by making copra. Oh yes, and there will be other people around us—not too many to spoil our privacy, but they have problems, gossip, and that is interesting. Now and then we shall go to Papeete, see the awful movies and the swaggering drunken tourist popaas, and we will be disgusted, happy to run back to Numaga again. Now, I have been waiting for you to say it first, but I will— shall we go back to Forliga?”
I nodded. She moved in my arms and I said, “But I think we have one or two things still to do.”
Late in the afternoon we put on our clothes and left the islet—not without some regret on my part, regret mixed with relief—and paddled back to Forliga. Passing the Hooker, I saw how low she was in the water, knew we had a full hold of copra. We put the canoe up on a wooden rack and waded ashore. Some kids told us Nancy was in the guest hut. Eddie was also there, along with the Chief, and several other islanders. They greeted us with the greatest casualness, as if we had merely returned from an hour's sail.
The radio in Titi's hut next door was playing a watered-down version of “La Jazz Hot” but we could barely hear it. He had probably shot his batteries playing the set all during the wedding feast. Nancy kissed Ruita and merely asked, “How are you, dear?”
“Fine, Mama. How is Titi's wife?”
“Very good and very large. I think she will have twins.”
Eddie slapped me playfully in the gut, said, “Got the boat loaded. Damn copra is almost turning rancid.”