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22
Finding Spam
The octopus jetted across the bottom, over a giant head of brain coral, and tucked itself into a tiny crevice in the reef. Sarapul could see the light purple skin pulsing in the crevice three fathoms down. He took a deep breath and dove, his spear in hand.
The octopus, sensing danger, changed color to the rust brown of the coral around it and adjusted its shape to fit the cra
Sarapul broke the surface cursing. Only three fathoms, eighteen feet, and he couldn’t stay down long enough to tease an octopus out of its hole. As a young man, he could dive to twelve fathoms and stay down longer than any of the Shark men. He was glad that no one had been there to see him: an old man who could barely feed himself.
He pulled off his mask and spit into it, then rinsed it with seawater. He looked out to sea, checking for any sign of the sharks that lived in abund-ance off the reef. There was a boat out there, perhaps half a mile off the reef, drifting. He put on his mask and looked down to get a bearing on his spear so he could retrieve it later. Then he swam a slow crawl toward the drifting boat.
He was winded when he reached the boat and he hung on the side for a few minutes, bobbing in the swell, while he caught his breath. He made his way around to the bow and pulled himself up and in. A huge black bat flew up into his face and winged off toward the island. Sarapul cursed and said some magic words to protect himself, then took a deep breath and examined the bodies.
A man and a woman—and not long dead. There was no smell and no swelling of the bellies. The meat would still be fresh. It had been too long since he’d tasted the long pig. He pinched the man’s leg to test the fat. The man moaned. He was still alive. Even better, Sarapul thought. I can eat the dead one and keep the other one fresh!
PART TWO
Island of the Shark People
23
Deus Ex Machina
The Sky Priestess first appeared in 1944 on the nose of a B-26 bomber. Conjured out of cans of enamel by a young aviator named Jack Moses, she lay cool and naked across the aluminum skin, a red pump dangling from a dainty toe, a smile that promised pleasure that no mortal woman could offer. As soon as Moses laid the final brushstroke on her black-seamed stocking, he knew there was something special about this one, something electric and alive that would break his heart when they flew her off to the Pacific. He caught a kiss in his palm and placed it gently on her bottom, then backed down the ladder to survey his work.
He stood on the tarmac for perhaps half an hour, just looking at her, charmed, wishing that he could take her home, or to a museum, or lift her off the skin of the bomber and put her on the ceiling of a cathedral.
Jack Moses didn’t notice the major standing at his side until the older man spoke.
“She’s something,” the major said. And although he wasn’t sure why, he removed his hat.
“Ain’t she,” Moses said. “She’s off to Tinian tomorrow. Wish I was going with her.”
The major reached out and squeezed Moses’s shoulder; he was a little short of breath and the Sky Priestess had set off a stag film in his head. “Put some clothes on her, son. We can’t have muffin showing up on a newsreel.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t have to put a top on her, do I?”
The major smiled. “Son, you put a top on her, I’ll have you court-marshaled.”
“Yes, sir.”
Moses saluted the major and scampered back up the ladder with his brushes and his red enamel and painted a serpentine scarf between her legs.
A week later, as a young pilot named Vincent Be
A half century away, Beth Curtis pi
Vincent Be
The copilot chattered over the intercom to the navigator, airspeed, fuel consumption, and now descent rate. If they lost any more airspeed, the B-26 would stall, so Captain Vi
“I’m going to level her off at two thousand,” Captain Vi
The navigator did some quick calculations and came back with: “At two thousand we’ll be short of base by three hundred miles,
Captain. I recommend we level at three thousand for a safer bailout.”
“Oh ye of little fucking faith,” Vincent said. “Check your charts for somewhere we can ditch her.”
The navigator checked their position on the charts. There was a flyspeck atoll named Alualu about forty nautical miles to the south. And it showed that it was now in American hands. He relayed the information to the captain.
“The chart shows an uncompleted airstrip. We must have chased the Japs out before they finished it.”
“Give me a course.”
“Sir, there might not be anything there.”
“Ya fuckin’ mook, look out the window. You see anything but water?”
The navigator gave him the course.
Vincent patted the throttles and said, “Come on, sweetheart. You get us there safe and I’ll build you a shrine.”
Sarapul was heading for the beach and the men’s drinking circle when he heard the drums welcoming the Sky Priestess. That white bitch was stealing his fire again. He’d been thinking all afternoon about what he would say at the drinking circle: how the Shark People needed to return to the old ways and how he had just the ritual to get everyone started. Nothing like a little ca