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CHAPTER TWELVE
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in which Wrungel and Fooks give a small concert
and then hurry on to Brazil
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On the beach a crowd of holiday-makers in bathing suits surrounded
us, gaping, clapping, taking photographs. And the two of us looking as
bedraggled as anything! Without my uniform and stripes I felt extremely
awkward and decided I would conceal my name and rank and remain incognito,
so to speak.
So I put a finger to my lips to indicate to Fooks that he
should keep his mouth shut. But the onlookers thought I was blowing a
kiss, and it caused a new burst of delight on the shore. They shouted
"Vivat!" like mad, while I understood nothing. Still I did not let on
and just awaited developments.
At this point a young chap in a coat began to explain to
the scantily clad public that it was a mistaken notion that all natives
of the Sandwich Isles had died out since the onset of civilisation here.
The administration of the Waikiki beach had found two live native Hawaiians
who had just demonstrated their prowess in the traditional national sport.
We both kept mum.
The chap in the coat paused, then cleared his throat and
launched into a lecture:
"Natives of the Sandwich Isles, the Hawaiians or Kanakas,
as they are also referred to, are distinguished by a slim build, gentle
disposition and natural gift for music..."
I considered the description and saw it did not quite fit
me. Well, I am gentle enough, but not exactly of a slim build, and as
for musical gifts... The chap, meantime, continued:
"Tonight these two Kanakas will give a concert of Hawaiian
music. Tickets are on sale in the booking office, the prices are quite
reasonable and soft drinks will be provided in the interval..."
He talked on for a while, then took us aside and asked:
"Well, how's that for a build-up?"
"Not bad," I answered, "thank you."
"Fine!" he said. "And where are you staying?"
. "So far we've been staying in the Pacific. I don't know
about tonight. I can't say I liked it too much."
"That's strange," he said. "The Pacific is an excellent hotel.
You won't find a better one, I assure you. But we must be going. The concert
begins in half an hour."
He packed us into a car and brought us some place. There
they gave us guitars, decked us out with flowers, led onto the stage and
raised the curtain...
I saw we were expected to sing. But to sing what? In my confusion
I forgot all the songs I had ever known. Even Fooks, resourceful as he
was, looked at a loss. He stared at me and whispered: "Begin, Cap, and
I'll join in..."
We sat on our chairs silently for a few minutes. The public
was beginning to fidget, and it was either sing or be pelted with rotten
eggs. Well, I shut my eyes tight, strummed the strings and broke out into:
A bird was hopping in the field...
For the life of me I could not think of the next line. But at this point Fooks supplied in his treble:
A cow stole up and sprang...
After this we sang in a duet:
She snapped the jam,
The birdie squealed,
And nevermore it sang.
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The compere came out onto the stage:
"That," he said, "was an old Hawaiian song, which revives a forgotten method of bird-catching. The melodic structure is typical of Hawaiian music..."
We sang some encores, bowed ourselves off the stage and went to the office to collect our fee. Then we started back for the beach. We had nowhere else to go and the sea had become a sort of home element. Besides, our getups were most suitable for the beach.
As we rambled along the empty beach we espied two characters in very despondent attitudes. We came up and fell to talking. They complained to us:
"You call this respect for the acting profession? We signed a contract to represent native Hawaiians, spent a whole month learning to surf, prepared a programme of songs, and they seem to have forgotten all about us."
So that's what had happened! I was about to explain it all to them, but a scrap of newspaper was at that moment swept right under my feet. It was a long time I had a newspaper in my hands, so I picked the scrap up and started reading it. And can you imagine it? The first thing I saw was the photograph of my first mate Lom and the Rage. It seemed to have been wrecked off the Brazilian shore. There were also a few touching words about Fooks and me: "the daring explorers", "sadly missing", "a great loss", etc.
On the same newspaper sheet there was a huge ad of the Trans-Pacific Airlines: "Regular flights to the United States and Brazil..."
"Listen to me, Fooks," I said. "Go and buy air tickets to Brazil. And order some clothes for us too. A uniform for me and whatever you fancy for yourself."
Fooks dashed away with great alacrity while I stayed on the beach to keep the fake Hawaiians from going to the theatre to make enquiries. The last thing I wanted was to be detained here over some foolish misunderstanding.
"Look here," I suggested, "it does not seem likely anyone will come looking for you today, so what's the point of sitting here and moping. Why not hire a boat and go for a ride? It's nice and warm, and there's the full moon..."
I talked them into it too! Before we started, Fooks was back reporting:
"The clothes will be ready tonight, but I only bought one ticket for tomorrow's flight-for you. Captain. All sold out."
"Never mind," I said, "We'll attend to business tomorrow. Right now we are going for a ride."
It was a lovely jaunt, let me tell you. We saw all the sights and came back two hours before our flight was scheduled. Taking leave of our new friends the actors, we dashed off to the tailor.
The scoundrel must| have gone on a spree because our things were not ready. I stormed at him, but the wily rogue merely shrugged his his shoulders.
"Why, I expected you yesterday, and today nothing is ready yet." Isn't it lovely logic?
"Give me something to wear then," I said to him. "I can't board a plane wearing nothing but shorts, can I?"
"This is the only thing I can offer," he said producing a mackintosh from his wardrobe. "A gentleman ordered it last year, but hasn't come to collect it for some reason."
"Very well," I said. "How much is it?" I paid up, took the parcel, and we left.
"I'd try it on if I were you, sir," Fooks advised. "What if it does not fit you?"
Indeed, it wasJa sound idea.tt unwrapped the mackintosh in the shade of a oanyan tree, and put it on. I was out of luck again. The gentleman who had ordered it must have been twice as tall as I-or perhaps he expected to grow. At any rate, the skirts trailed on the ground.
What was I to do? Take it back-that rogue of a tailor had nothing else. Cut off the skirts-it would be a dreadfully crude job, and they'd probably refuse me admission on board the airplane. Wearing it as it was was also out of the question-I'd be tripping on the skirts and stumbling all the time. While I was racking my brains, Fooks came up with a real whopper of an idea.
"Why!" he cried, "it's splendid! We'll both board the plane in this here mackintosh-with one ticket. Bend you down, Captain, let me climb your shoulders."
And he scrambled onto my shoulders, put on the mackintosh, buttoned it up and straightened it."Now full steam ahead," he commanded, "for I see a policeman taking an interest in us."
Off I trotted to the airport. Fooks showed the ticket and the stewardess led us to our seat. We sat down, that is I sat down, while Fooks stood on the seat, his head nearly propping the ceiling.
I peeped through a buttonhole and saw that there were five more passengers besides us, all belted in their seats already. It was nice and clean in the salon, there were mirrors and carpet-runners, and the passengers seemed a decent lot.
Soon the engines roared, the airplane skimmed the water and'we became airborne. The night was calm and starry, and the flying was very peaceful, despite the noise of the engines. The other passengers fell asleep, I dozed off too, and Fooks alone stayed awake and standing all night long.
I woke up in the morning to hear the passengers chatting excitedly. I peeped through the buttonhole and saw them all glued to the portholes admiring the view of the Andes. Fooks also bent down to the porthole, while I was condemned to sitting in the darkness like a prisoner in a solitary cell and missing such a lovely sight.
I felt terribly deprived. To cheer myself up, I took my pipe out of the mackintosh pocket, filled it, lit up and fell to thinking. Suddenly the salon resounded with alarmed cries. The passengers had jumped up from their seats in a panic, and I could hear the word "Fire!" repeated on all sides.
Then Fooks kicked me with his heels as though urging on a donkey. I pinched him in return and looked through the buttonhole to see what the commotion was all about.
I saw clouds of smoke erupting from every opening in my mackintosh. Indeed, it was not unlike a fire.
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