store and was relieved to see that the prices were in American dollars, the signs in English. He picked up a quart of bottled water and took it to the checkout counter, where a woman in a lavalava and a blue polyester smock rang up his purchase and held out her hand for the money.
"Do you know where I can find Commander Brion Frick?" Tuck asked her.
She took his money, turned to the cash drawer, and turned back to him with his change without uttering a word. Tuck repeated his question and the woman turned away from him. Finally he left, thinking, She must not speak English.
He ran into Frick coming out of the store. The spy had a six-pack tucked under his arm.
"I was looking for you," Tuck said. "The Yapese Navy took off."
"You could have asked inside. They knew where I was."
"I did. The woman wouldn't talk to me."
"Not allowed to," Frick said. "It's bad manners to make eye contact. Yapese women aren't allowed to talk to a man unless he's a relative. If a woman and a man are seen speaking in public, they're considered married on the spot. Shame, too. Ever seen so many bare titties in all your life? Tough grabbin' a snog if you can't talk to them."
Tucker didn't want to talk about it. "You were supposed to come back to the wharf."
Frick looked affronted. "I was on my way. Didn't think you'd desert your post. I hope you're a better pilot than you are a spy. Letting them sneak off like that."
"Look, Frick, I need to get to Alualu right away. Can you take me in your patrol boat?"
"Love to, mate, but we've got a mission as soon as the boys get back from fishin'. We've got to tow the Yapese patrol boat down to Darwin for repairs. Won't be back for a fortnight at least."
"Doesn't it make more sense to leave it broken? I mean, in the interest of watching them?"
The spy raised an eyebrow. "What threat are they with a broken boat?"
"Exactly," Tuck said.
"You obviously don't know a wit about maintaining job security. Missionary Air might take you out, but I hear their plane is down for a while. Fishing boats are all Chinese. Buggers wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. You might charter a dingy, but I doubt that you'll find anyone willing to take you across four hundred kilometers of open sea in an outboard. There's fellows do it off Perth, but the West Coast is full of loonies anyway. Get yourself a room and wait. We'll take you out when we get back."
"I don't know if I can wait that long." Tuck stood up. "Where should I go to charter a boat?"
Frick pointed to a large Mobil oil tank at the edge of the harbor. "Try heading down to the fueling station. Should be able to find someone down there who needs the gas money."
"Thanks, Frick,, I appreciate it." Tucker shook the spy's hand.
"No worries, mate. You watch yourself out there. I hear that doctor's a bedbug."
"Good to know." He waved over his shoulder as he walked down to the edge of the harbor. A group of women chewing betel nut in the shade of a hibiscus tree turned away from him as he passed.
He walked along the bank and looked into the cloudy green water at the harbor's edge. Tiny multicolored fish darted in and out of the shallows, feeding on some kind of shrimp. Brown mud skippers, their eyes atop their heads like a frog's, walked on their pectoral fins across a small mudflat that had formed around the roots of a mangrove tree. Tucker stopped and watched them. They were fish, yet they spent most of their time on land. It was as if they had evolved to a certain point, then just couldn't make a decision to leave the water, grow into mammals, and finally invent personal stereos. For sixty million years they had been hanging out on the mudflats, looking at each other with periscope eyes and goofy froggy grins and saying: "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. Want to go up on the land or stay in the water?"
"I don't know. Let's hang out on the mudflat a little longer."
Tuck completely understood. Although if he
"Do you know where I can find Commander Brion Frick?" Tuck asked her.
She took his money, turned to the cash drawer, and turned back to him with his change without uttering a word. Tuck repeated his question and the woman turned away from him. Finally he left, thinking, She must not speak English.
He ran into Frick coming out of the store. The spy had a six-pack tucked under his arm.
"I was looking for you," Tuck said. "The Yapese Navy took off."
"You could have asked inside. They knew where I was."
"I did. The woman wouldn't talk to me."
"Not allowed to," Frick said. "It's bad manners to make eye contact. Yapese women aren't allowed to talk to a man unless he's a relative. If a woman and a man are seen speaking in public, they're considered married on the spot. Shame, too. Ever seen so many bare titties in all your life? Tough grabbin' a snog if you can't talk to them."
Tucker didn't want to talk about it. "You were supposed to come back to the wharf."
Frick looked affronted. "I was on my way. Didn't think you'd desert your post. I hope you're a better pilot than you are a spy. Letting them sneak off like that."
"Look, Frick, I need to get to Alualu right away. Can you take me in your patrol boat?"
"Love to, mate, but we've got a mission as soon as the boys get back from fishin'. We've got to tow the Yapese patrol boat down to Darwin for repairs. Won't be back for a fortnight at least."
"Doesn't it make more sense to leave it broken? I mean, in the interest of watching them?"
The spy raised an eyebrow. "What threat are they with a broken boat?"
"Exactly," Tuck said.
"You obviously don't know a wit about maintaining job security. Missionary Air might take you out, but I hear their plane is down for a while. Fishing boats are all Chinese. Buggers wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. You might charter a dingy, but I doubt that you'll find anyone willing to take you across four hundred kilometers of open sea in an outboard. There's fellows do it off Perth, but the West Coast is full of loonies anyway. Get yourself a room and wait. We'll take you out when we get back."
"I don't know if I can wait that long." Tuck stood up. "Where should I go to charter a boat?"
Frick pointed to a large Mobil oil tank at the edge of the harbor. "Try heading down to the fueling station. Should be able to find someone down there who needs the gas money."
"Thanks, Frick,, I appreciate it." Tucker shook the spy's hand.
"No worries, mate. You watch yourself out there. I hear that doctor's a bedbug."
"Good to know." He waved over his shoulder as he walked down to the edge of the harbor. A group of women chewing betel nut in the shade of a hibiscus tree turned away from him as he passed.
He walked along the bank and looked into the cloudy green water at the harbor's edge. Tiny multicolored fish darted in and out of the shallows, feeding on some kind of shrimp. Brown mud skippers, their eyes atop their heads like a frog's, walked on their pectoral fins across a small mudflat that had formed around the roots of a mangrove tree. Tucker stopped and watched them. They were fish, yet they spent most of their time on land. It was as if they had evolved to a certain point, then just couldn't make a decision to leave the water, grow into mammals, and finally invent personal stereos. For sixty million years they had been hanging out on the mudflats, looking at each other with periscope eyes and goofy froggy grins and saying: "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. Want to go up on the land or stay in the water?"
"I don't know. Let's hang out on the mudflat a little longer."
Tuck completely understood. Although if he
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