“You don’t believe any of that,” said Poplar accusingly. He searched for pain but there wasn’t any. Someone had made use of the Vatat1^ medical kit.
“No, Dr. Poplar, not really. Tangaroa knows why.”
Poplar thought of something, started laughing. Elaine looked at him in alarm, but he quickly reassured her.
“No. I’m still sane, I think, ‘Laine. It just occurred to me that I can’t go stalking around the office like Ahab himself, with only a lousy foot taken. What a cruddy break.”
“Don’t joke about it,” she blubbered, then managed a weak smile. “It will ruin your rhythm at the wedding.”
He laughed, too, then slammed a fist against the deck. “We’re going back to Tutuila. I’m going to get a ship from the Navy base, somehow, and harpoons. We’ll come back here and …”
“Poplar,” began Ha’apu quietly, “no one will believe you. Your Navy people will laugh at you and make jokes.”
“Well, then I’ll get the funds to hire a bigger ship, someway. One big enough to haul that thing back on. My God, one day I’ll see it stuffed and mounted in the Smithsonian!”
“They’ll have to build a special wing,” Elaine grinned tightly.
“Yeah. And don’t you go putting out any fishing
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lines on the way back, you hear? I don’t want to lose you on the trip in.”
“How about after we get back?” she replied, staring at him.
He looked at her evenly. “Not then, either. Not ever. Hey, you know something? I’m famished.”
“You’ve been unconscious for five hours,” she told him. “I’ll fix you something.” She rose, moved below decks.