“Oh, foo! For what they charge the poor slobs to stay in that concrete doghouse they’re entitled to a little wish-fulfillment.”
“Courtesy of downtown Brooklyn, hmm,” he grinned in spite of himself. He swung the wheel hard over and they headed south-southwest. The powerful twin diesels purred evenly below deck.
Wreathed in gold-gray clouds, Mt. Rainmaker, all 530 meters of it, watched them from astern long after Tutuila itself had vanished into the sea.
The trip was uneventful, except that Elaine insisted on sleeping stark naked. She also had what Popfar felt was a childish habit of kicking her sheets down to her feet. He considered going over and replacing them,
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WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ..
but hesitated. He might wake her and that would be awkward.
Ha’apu was clearly pleased at the situation, and there wasn’t anything Poplar could do about it. Well, if she wanted to expose herself, he’d simply ignore her. Clearly she was looking for attention, and he didn’t intend to give it to her.
So until he fell asleep, he spent a lot of time staring at the sterile cabin wall that separated him from the sea.
And the other wall remained equally unbroken.
Like most small, low-lying Pacific islands, Tafahi was nonexistent one moment and a destination the next, popping out of the blue ocean like a cork. The white sand beach sparkled in evening sun, devoid of the usual ornaments of civilization . . . beer cans, dogeared sandals, plastic wrappers, empty candy papers, beer cans.
There was a broad, clear entrance to the small lagoon. Poplar had no trouble bringing the Vatai inside. Ha’apu climbed into his paopao, its little sail tightly furled, and paddied ashore. Poplar and Elaine followed in the Vatai’?, powerful little runabout.