Tales of the South Pacific Part 24

"Why, look!" Achille said. "Every De Gaullist in the islands is what Petain said in his speech. Undisciplined!" In Noumea, where people understood such things, most substantial men were Petainists. Only the rabble were De Gaullists. Latouche herself was proof of that. A half-caste! A b.a.s.t.a.r.d half-caste, too! You might as well call her a De Gaullist. The words meant about the same.

The Barzans were pleasantly surprised, therefore, when Latouche suddenly became disciplined, accepted her husband's judgment, and became a respectable Petainist. They were even more surprised when two boats put into the bay and a group of fiery men, led by Latouche's own father, stormed ash.o.r.e and placed everyone under arrest. Everyone, that is, except Achille, who fled to the jungle.

"There they are!" Latouche reported icily. Standing before the two miserable Barzans she denounced them. "They want to give up," she laid with disdain.

"Take them away," Latouche's father ordered.

At this old Madame Barzan's peasant mind snapped. "Thief! Wh.o.r.e!" she screamed, beating at Latouche with her bare hands. An undersized De Gaullist from Efate tried to stop her outcries, but old man Barzan thought his wife was being attacked. Grabbing a stick of wood, he lunged at the little man and beat him over the head.

"Throw them in jail!" Latouche's father commanded.

Madame Barzan, gabbling of "thieves and murderers and wh.o.r.es," died in the boat. The old man remained in jail. The little fellow he had beaten was still affected after two years. His head jerked and he couldn't p.r.o.nounce the letter s.

Latouche rarely spoke of the wretched family. She brought her three sisters to the plantation before the Americans came. She reasoned that the Yanks would occupy Luana Pori. She wanted her sisters ready. Even during the agonizing days of the Coral Sea battles she refused to move inland. "I think Americans, they win. If they lose, I finished anyway. j.a.ps probably make that dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d Achille Barzan commissioner of Luana Pori, I s'pose."

Shortly after she told me about her husband I left the Navy camp and moved up to the plantation. Latouche and I had one of the little white houses among the flower gardens. It was made of bamboo, immaculately clean. Six or eight of Latouche's dresses hung along one wall. On the other was a colored print showing a street in Paris. Six books were on the wicker table. Gone with the Wind and five Tauchnitz editions of German novels. There were two chairs, one covered with flowered chintz.

Latouche and I were very happy in that little house. Mostly she wore a halter made of some cheap print from Australia and a pair of expensive twill shorts a colonel had got her from Lord and Taylor's, in New York. She went barefooted. We slept through the hot afternoons, waiting for the crowd to come out for dinner. Noe would bring us cold limeades, slipping into the little house whether we were dressed or not.

I often try to recall what I wrote my wife during those days. "Darling: The deep sores on my wrists are better now. It is cooler on this island." But the sores that ate at my heart, I didn't tell her about them.

It was about this time that Lt. Col. Haricot led his raid on the plantation. He stormed into the salon one night about seven and stood at attention like a gauleiter. "Everything on this plantation stolen from the United States government will be hauled away tomorrow morning," he announced. He even clapped his hands, and a very young lieutenant made a note of the order. Then he nodded to a French woman much older than Latouche and started to go.

"But I own everything," Latouche said, interrupting his pa.s.sage.

"Are you the madame's daughter?" he asked, pompously.

"I am the madame!" Latouche replied, nodding. "Madame Barzan!"

Haricot, who had been given his job of civil affairs officer because of a year's French he'd had in Terre Haute high school, bowed low and said, "Eh, bien, Madame Barzan..."

"I know!" Latouche cried. "I know very well, Colonel Haricot. You think I some mean old woman steal government property from U. S. A." She pouted at him.

"No," he replied cajolingly. "Not steal. But you have it all the same, and I've got to get it back."

"What you think you take?" Latouche asked, her chin stuck out. "That electric generator," Haricot replied.

"Colonel Hensley gave me that." The colonel was taken aback by the name.

"He had no right to do that," he bl.u.s.tered.

"And I have it rebuilt," Latouche insisted. "No d.a.m.n good when I get it. Salvaged! See, I got bills right here. I no s'pose you take that away, Colonel Haricot!"

"Everything goes tomorrow morning. We start at nine o'clock. This stealing of government property has got to stop." He clicked his heels again and left. He'd teach these Frenchmen a thing or two.

Of course, we worked half the night hiding G. I. gear all through the jungle. In the morning Haricot appeared with his men and hauled away the odds and ends we had overlooked. But they didn't take the generator! Latouche calmly loaded a Marine revolver with American ball cartridges, and stood guard over the power plant. Haricot studied her wryly for a moment and ordered his men elsewhere.

When the work was completed the colonel appeared in the salon. "Gentlemen," he said dramatically. "This place is now off limits. A guard has been posted! You will all leave!"

Sure enough, at the white picket fence two soldiers stood guard with automatic rifles. "The heat's on!" an officer whispered to me, but that night we all sneaked back along the sh.o.r.e for dinner in the bare room. Latouche was pleasant and even happy.

"I jus' find out the colonel is not married! I think we have some very good fun with him!"

The fun started when the sergeant in charge of the guard applied to the colonel for permission to marry Mlle. Marthe De Becque. "Who's she?" the colonel asked. "Some little tart?"

"She's Madame Barzan's sister, sir."

"You mean up at the plantation?"

"Yes, sir!"

"d.a.m.n it all! I told you to guard the place, not invade it. How long has this been going on?"

"I fell in love with her."

"What were you doing inside the gates?"

"I wasn't inside the gates, sir! She came outside. That is, after I went inside."

"What in the world goes on here?" the confused colonel shouted. "You jump in that jeep!"

Latouche greeted Haricot with demure attention. "Something missing at the camp?" she asked.

"Sir?" the colonel bellowed at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Problem at the PT base, sir," I explained. "Important business."

"Oh!" the colonel replied. After all, it was customary for the Navy to have a lieutenant doing what a colonel did in the Army. He studied me and then turned toward Latouche.

"Army in trouble, Colonel Haricot?" she asked.

"This man says he wants to marry your sister."

"My sister? Laurencin? Noe!" she called. "Send Laurencin."

"It's Marthe," the sergeant protested, but Latouche ignored him.

"You shut up!" the colonel ordered.

Soon Laurencin, blus.h.i.+ng prettily, entered the room. She, like her sister, had a sprig of frangipani in her hair.

"What's this I hear, Laurencin?" Latouche demanded abruptly. "You fall in love with this boy?"

"It's Marthe!" the sergeant protested.

"You be still!" Haricot thundered. He was rather enjoying the scene By heavens, he could understand how the young fellow... Laurencin held up her frail hands. "I never seen him before," she said. "What's that?" Haricot demanded. "It's her sister!" the sergeant said again. "I know it's her sister," the colonel shouted.

"Oh!" Latouche cried in mock embarra.s.sment. "Oh, Colonel Haricot!" She gently pushed the colonel in the chest. "Of course! My other sister! Noe! Ask Marthe to come in!" She took the colonel by the arm and pressed quite closely to him. "Come over to this chair," she suggested. "It's warm today."

When Marthe came in there was no acting. She went to the sergeant and held his hand. Colonel Haricot, b.u.t.tered up by now, smiled at the young girl. "And what is your name?"

"Marthe," the girl replied.

"And you want to marry my sergeant?"

"Yes."

"Well, you can't do it!" Haricot bl.u.s.tered. "Too many marriages out here. Bad for morale."

This turn of events pleased Latouche highly. She did not want Marthe marrying the first boy she met. As a matter of fact, Latouche had her eye on Haricot as a very proper husband for either Laurencin or Marthe.

He had money, was not ugly, and looked as if his wife could manage him pretty easily.

"You hear what the good American officer says, Marthe?" Latouche asked, shrugging her shoulders. "You cannot get married!" Latouche patted the sergeant on the arm. "It's maybe better." Then she returned to Colonel Haricot and brushed against him several times. "I s'pose maybe it's best if the sergeant doesn't stand guard any more. My sisters are so pretty. Always the men fall in love with them."

"Ah, no! The guard remains!" The colonel bowed stiffly as he had seen Prussians do when delivering unpleasant ultimatums to French girls in the movies.

Before we went to sleep that afternoon I whispered, "That's a mean trick."

"Marthe's all right," Latouche replied, fluffing her hair across the pillow. "Do her good. Girls got to learn about men. Got to learn fast these days!" She laughed and started to hum "The last time I saw Paris..."

"You better keep your eye on Marthe," I said. "The girl's in love."

"Skipper?" she asked. "What's Paris like in winter? Snow?"

I tried to recall. So far as I knew, it was just like any other city in the cold. I was about to say this when I remembered an opera I had seen in New York. La Boheme. A Spanish girl sang it. In the third act, I think, this Spanish girl is trying to meet a soldier in a snowstorm. I told Latouche about it, and the little guard house. She rose on one elbow. Her eyes flashed as if she actually saw Paris in the snow. When I stopped speaking she cried, "Oh, Bus!" and the wildness of her emotion made the little house creak until I was sure it could be heard in the salon.

That night Lt. Col. Haricot returned to the plantation. I could guess what turmoil had brought him back. He said to himself, "I'll go back there and look the place over. See that the guards are on duty. See that everything's on the up and up." I'm sure that's why he thought he was coming back.

But when he entered the dining house and found a dinner party in progress, he was taken off guard. "I..." He sputtered a bit. Then he became ashamed of himself and his motives. He snapped to attention and said in low, harsh tones, "Madame Barzan! If you don't quit this, I'll close this joint up forever. And," he threatened darkly, "I'll close your two houses up there on the hill, too!"

Like an angry cat Latouche sprang at the man and slapped his face four times. Then she kicked him in the legs. I was first at her side and pulled her away. "Never say that, Colonel Haricot!" she hissed, trembling in my arms. "They not my houses! Next time I kill you!"

The colonel was astounded. He absolutely did not know what to think. He had never a.s.sociated with women who slapped and kicked. He never met such women in Terre Haute. In his world when a house was put off bounds, it was off bounds. No right-thinking officer would trespa.s.s. But here on Luana Pori everything was different. Even officers ignored the rules of common decency.

He turned sharply and left the dining room. At the wicket gate he stopped and gave the sentries strict orders to shoot if any officers tried to leave the plantation. Then he drove hurriedly down the road.

"He can raise plenty of trouble," a captain said.

"He not gonna do nothin'," Latouche replied.

"Why are you so sure?"

"The colonel all messed up inside," Latouche said simply. She reached over and patted Laurencin's hand. "He get himself fixed up pretty soon. He's all right."

At that moment Colonel Haricot was pacing up and down his bare office at the base. He was trying to dictate an order arresting all military personnel at the plantation. The words wouldn't come. "Oh, go to bed!" he told his typist. "What was it, after all?" he asked himself. "I insulted a young woman and she slapped my face. I never insulted a woman before in my life. My Mother taught me better than that. That girl had a right to slap me." He began to build up a pretty impressive case for Latouche. But he knew that his authority was being flouted. And he loved authority.

"Corporal!" he shouted. That sleepy fellow came back to the bare office. "Oh, go on back to bed!" the colonel said.

"Wish he'd make up his mind," the corporal muttered.

"I'm sorry," the colonel shouted. Deep within him a voice kept saying over and over, "They were having a good time. And I'm not having a good time. I've never had any fun since I left high school in Terre Haute. Maybe they sing after dinner! Or maybe they just sit around and talk. There was nothing wrong there tonight. And they were having a good time."

"I'll go back and apologize," he said firmly. "That's what Mother would tell me to do. I was terribly rude up there. I'll go back and apologize. Corporal! Corporal!"

At the gate the sentry challenged him. "It's me! Colonel Haricot. Anybody leave yet?"

"Oh, no, sir!"

"Pretty scared in there, I guess?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

When Haricot arrived we were all in the salon. The officers rose and bowed. Haricot was in his early forties and fat. His rump was quite round and bobbed grotesquely when he clicked his heels before Latouche. "I have come to apologize," he said simply. "I acted like a fool."

Latouche rose, extended her lovely hand, and forgave him. She managed to brush against him hesitatingly as she did so. Col. Haricot made a motion as if he wished to sit down and apologize further. But Latouche had foreseen this. Gently twining her arm in his she said, "I am so sorry, Colonel Haricot. After you so nice to come back this way. I have engagement with the pilot here." Whereupon, with no further comment, she grabbed my arm and led me from the salon.

Outside she sprang into activity. "Noe!" she called in a low voice. "Hurry! Find Laurencin!" When that frail girl, then only seventeen, came up, Latouche hurriedly adjusted her sister's dress, straightened the flowers in her hair, and kissed her. "Look pretty," she whispered. She patted Laurencin's hips, fluffed up the frills of her dress. "Now you' big chance!" She half slapped, half pushed the hesitating Laurencin toward the salon door where Colonel Haricot was preparing to leave. "Good luck, Laurencin," she whispered. "This you' big chance!"

A few days later the guard was removed. This was a mistake, because one night the plantation was aroused by shooting. Latouche and I had already gone to bed. Colonel Haricot was in the garden with Laurencin. I hastily dressed and went out toward the sound of the shooting. To my surprise I found a naval officer in the salon. An enlisted man was arguing with him, trying to get a revolver away from him.

"Where's the girls?" the officer bellowed.

"Come on, Lieut. Harbison!" the enlisted driver begged.

"Don't pull me, son!" the drunken officer cried. He waved his gun at the serious enlisted man. Then, seeing me, he lurched across the salon to greet me. "Where's the girls?" he demanded.

"There are no girls here," I said.

"Don't give me that. I know you fliers! Keep everything for yourself! I know you. Girls used to be here. Plenty of them!" He banged into a post as I sidestepped him. The bamboo walls shook. Latouche appeared at this moment.

"There she is!" Harbison cried. "You remember me, baby! That time the PBY went down. You remember me!"

"Throw him out, Bus," Latouche said quietly.

"You try to throw me out!" Harbison bellowed. "Nothin' but a G.o.ddam wh.o.r.e-house. I know you, sister! I know you!"

I leaped at the intruder. But he saw me coming. With a quick football manner he sidestepped me, tripped me, and smashed me in the face as I went down. The revolver b.u.t.t knocked my jaw loose, and I fainted.

About three o'clock in the morning I came to. I was in Latouche's little house. On the bed. And I had the strangest feeling. My jaw was numb. The Army doctor had shot it full of cocaine. And I thought I heard my old friend Tony Fry talking, from a great distance.

"I should never have brought that foul ball down here," Tony was saying. "But don't worry! Latouche and the enlisted man beat him up. Swell job."

My eyes closed with pain and Tony patted me on the head. "You tried, Bus," he said. "But you should see what the enlisted man did to Harbison. Latouche helped, too."

Later that night, when the room was empty, I heard Tony's voice again. He was talking to Latouche in that quiet, earnest way he had. He was saying, in French, "Paris is the city most lovely. I went there with my Mother as a little boy." And I knew by the silence that I would never sleep with Latouche again. The pain in my heart grew greater than the hurt in my face. I tried to bury myself beneath the covers, but the Army doctor had them pinned to the sheets.

When I awoke next morning a French woman about twenty-five was fixing up the room. "Who are you?" I asked, through clenched teeth.