On the Makaloa Mat/Island Tales by Jack London

hastily, almost stumbling, up the steps to the lanai. Despite that

he knew what he was to see, when he did turn his head and beheld

his wife and Sonny, the pair he had seen thieving in the dark, he

went suddenly dizzy, and paused, supporting himself with a hand

against a pillar, and smiling vacuously at the grouped singing boys

who were pulsing the sensuous night into richer sensuousness with

their honi kaua wiki-wiki refrain.

The next moment he had wet his lips with his tongue, controlled his

face and flesh, and was bantering with Mrs. Inchkeep. But he could

not waste time, or he would have to encounter the pair he could

hear coming up the steps behind him.

“I feel as if I had just crossed the Great Thirst,” he told his

hostess, “and that nothing less than a high-ball will preserve me.”

She smiled permission and nodded toward the smoking lanai, where

they found him talking sugar politics with the oldsters when the

dance began to break up.

Quite a party of half a dozen machines were starting for Waikiki,

and he found himself billeted to drive the Leslies and Burnstons

home, though he did not fail to note that Ida sat in the driver’s

seat with Sonny in Sonny’s car. Thus, she was home ahead of him

and brushing her hair when he arrived. The parting of bed-going

was usual, on the face of it, although he was almost rigid in his

successful effort for casualness as he remembered whose lips had

pressed hers last before his.

Was, then, woman the utterly unmoral creature as depicted by the

German pessimists? he asked himself, as he tossed under his reading

lamp, unable to sleep or read. At the end of an hour he was out of

bed, and into his medicine case. Five grains of opium he took

straight. An hour later, afraid of his thoughts and the prospect

of a sleepless night, he took another grain. At one-hour intervals

he twice repeated the grain dosage. But so slow was the action of

the drug that dawn had broken ere his eyes closed.

At seven he was awake again, dry-mouthed, feeling stupid and

drowsy, yet incapable of dozing off for more than several minutes

at a time. He abandoned the idea of sleep, ate breakfast in bed,

and devoted himself to the morning papers and the magazines. But

the drug effect held, and he continued briefly to doze through his

eating and reading. It was the same when he showered and dressed,

and, though the drug had brought him little forgetfulness during

the night, he felt grateful for the dreaming lethargy with which it

possessed him through the morning.

It was when his wife arose, her serene and usual self, and came in

to him, smiling and roguish, delectable in her kimono, that the

whim-madness of the opium in his system seized upon him. When she

had clearly and simply shown that she had nothing to tell him under

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their ancient compact of frankness, he began building his opium

lie. Asked how he had slept, he replied:

“Miserably. Twice I was routed wide awake with cramps in my feet.

I was almost too afraid to sleep again. But they didn’t come back,

though my feet are sorer than blazes.”

“Last year you had them,” she reminded him.

“Maybe it’s going to become a seasonal affliction,” he smiled.

“They’re not serious, but they’re horrible to wake up to. They

won’t come again till to-night, if they come at all, but in the

meantime I feel as if I had been bastinadoed.”

In the afternoon of the same day, Lee and Ida Barton made their

shallow dive from the Outrigger beach, and went on, at a steady

stroke, past the diving-stage to the big water beyond the Kanaka

Surf. So quiet was the sea that when, after a couple of hours,

they turned and lazily started shoreward through the Kanaka Surf

they had it all to themselves. The breakers were not large enough

to be exciting, and the last languid surf-boarders and canoeists

had gone in to shore. Suddenly, Lee turned over on his back.

“What is it?” Ida called from twenty feet away.

“My foot–cramp,” he answered calmly, though the words were twisted

out through clenched jaws of control.

The opium still had its dreamy way with him, and he was without

excitement. He watched her swimming toward him with so steady and

unperturbed a stroke that he admired her own self-control, although

at the same time doubt stabbed him with the thought that it was

because she cared so little for him, or, rather, so much

immediately more for Grandison.

“Which foot?” she asked, as she dropped her legs down and began

treading water beside him.

“The left one–ouch! Now it’s both of them.”

He doubled his knees, as if involuntarily raised his head and chest

forward out of the water, and sank out of sight in the down-wash of

a scarcely cresting breaker. Under no more than a brief several

seconds, he emerged spluttering and stretched out on his back

again.

Almost he grinned, although he managed to turn the grin into a

pain-grimace, for his simulated cramp had become real. At least in

one foot it had, and the muscles convulsed painfully.

“The right is the worst,” he muttered, as she evinced her intention

of laying hands on his cramp and rubbing it out. “But you’d better

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keep away. I’ve had cramps before, and I know I’m liable to grab

you if these get any worse.”

Instead, she laid her hands on the hard-knotted muscles, and began

to rub and press and bend.

“Please,” he gritted through his teeth. “You must keep away. Just

let me lie out here–I’ll bend the ankle and toe-joints in the

opposite ways and make it pass. I’ve done it before and know how

to work it.”

She released him, remaining close beside him and easily treading

water, her eyes upon his face to judge the progress of his own

attempt at remedy. But Lee Barton deliberately bent joints and

tensed muscles in the directions that would increase the cramp. In

his bout the preceding year with the affliction, he had learned,

lying in bed and reading when seized, to relax and bend the cramps

away without even disturbing his reading. But now he did the thing

in reverse, intensifying the cramp, and, to his startled delight,

causing it to leap into his right calf. He cried out with anguish,

apparently lost control of himself, attempted to sit up, and was

washed under by the next wave.

He came up, spluttered, spread-eagled on the surface, and had his

knotted calf gripped by the strong fingers of both Ida’s small

hands.

“It’s all right,” she said, while she worked. “No cramp like this

lasts very long.”

“I didn’t know it could be so savage,” he groaned. “If only it

doesn’t go higher! It makes one feel so helpless.”

He gripped the biceps of both her arms in a sudden spasm,

attempting to climb out upon her as a drowning man might try to

climb out on an oar and sinking her down under him. In the

struggle under water, before he permitted her to wrench clear, her

rubber cap was torn off, and her hairpins pulled out, so that she

came up gasping for air and half-blinded by her wet-clinging hair.

Also, he was certain he had surprised her into taking in a quantity

of water.

“Keep away!” he warned, as he spread-eagled with acted

desperateness.

But her fingers were deep into the honest pain-wrack of his calf,

and in her he could observe no reluctance of fear.

“It’s creeping up,” he grunted through tight teeth, the grunt

itself a half-controlled groan.

He stiffened his whole right leg, as with another spasm, hurting

his real minor cramps, but flexing the muscles of his upper leg

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into the seeming hardness of cramp.

The opium still worked in his brain, so that he could play-act

cruelly, while at the same time he appraised and appreciated her

stress of control and will that showed in her drawn face, and the

terror of death in her eyes, with beyond it and behind it, in her

eyes and through her eyes, the something more of the spirit of

courage, and higher thought, and resolution.

Still further, she did not enunciate so cheap a surrender as, “I’ll

die with you.” Instead, provoking his admiration, she did say,

quietly: “Relax. Sink until only your lips are out. I’ll support

your head. There must be a limit to cramp. No man ever died of

cramp on land. Then in the water no strong swimmer should die of

cramp. It’s bound to reach its worst and pass. We’re both strong

swimmers and cool-headed–”

He distorted his face and deliberately dragged her under. But when

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