The Bungalow (8 page)

Mary nodded. “Very,” she said, swallowing a bite of Spam with a strained gulp.

“It’s too bad, though,” Stella continued. “Word is that he’s deeply in love with a woman back home. A married woman.”

Our eyes widened in unison.

“He could have his pick of women here,” she went on, shaking her head, “and yet rumor has it that he spends his leave holed up in his bunk writing in his journal, brooding about her.”

“How romantic,” Kitty said dreamily.

I nodded. “A man who loves a woman that much is very rare.”

“Or very stupid,” Stella rattled back. She went on about her plan to capture Elliot’s attention, while I picked at my plate.

I took another look at the table, where this man, Elliot, sat. He did resemble Clark Gable. Handsome, with dark eyes and thick ebony hair that came to a curl at the front. Yet my eyes were drawn instead to another, seated to his left. Tall, but not nearly as built, with lighter, wispier hair and sun-kissed skin with a dusting of freckles. His left hand shoveled food into his mouth while his right cradled a book, one he was clearly engrossed in. As he turned the page, he looked up. His eyes immediately met mine, and the creases of his mouth formed an instant smile. I quickly snapped my head back around.
What has gotten into me?
I instantly regretted the breach of decorum.

I felt my cheeks burn as I forced a bite of Spam, trying my best to avert the gag reflex rising in my throat. Stella had seen the exchange, and she shot me a mocking glance, but I turned away, willing myself to regain composure.

Tropical nights were better than tropical days, I decided, even if there were mosquitoes. The break from the sun made the air more agreeable. And then there was the cool mist wafting off the sea, and the stars, those luminous stars, so close you could almost reach out and pluck one from the indigo sky.

Kitty and I walked arm in arm along the gravel path to the center of camp to join in the evening festivities, she in her yellow dress and I in my red one. Kitty had urged me to wear something more daring, and at the last moment, I’d conceded.

It wasn’t much of a walk, maybe the equivalent of five city blocks, but it felt like a great distance in heels. We passed the infirmary and noticed an interior light shining.
Is Nurse Hildebrand inside?
We scurried past swiftly. As we neared the men’s barracks, Kitty and I pretended not to hear the whistles from the men smoking outside.

A safe distance past, Kitty tugged at my arm. “Look,” she said, pointing to a large green shrub erupting in the most breathtaking blossoms.

“They’re beautiful,” I said. “What are they?

She picked a red bloom from the bush. “Hibiscus,” she said, tucking the flower behind her right ear, before offering one to me. “In French Polynesia, when your heart is taken, you wear the flower in your left ear,” she said. “When it’s not, you wear it in your right.”

“How do you know that?”

Kitty grinned. “I just do.”

I stared at the enormous bloom in my hands; its crinkly petals were a brilliant shade of crimson. “Then I must wear it in my left,” I said, dutifully tucking the flower behind my ear.

“How lovely,” Kitty said, pointing to a makeshift dance floor in the distance. It had been cobbled together from plywood. “Fairy lights.”

Strands of tiny white lights hung above, crisscrossing the rafters constructed of palm fronds. Men huddled together on the sidelines, whispering among themselves, as a group of nurses made their way across the lawn. Five musicians took to the stage, tuning their instruments while an announcer wielded a microphone.

“I would like to welcome the corps of nurses to our little island,” the announcer said. “Let’s show them a good time, lads.”

There was a round of cheering and applause before the band started, and for a moment, no one moved. “What are we supposed to do?” Kitty whispered. Her breath tickled my shoulder.

“Don’t do anything,” I said, wishing I had stayed behind in the room with a book.

Stella and Liz ventured forward a few steps, and two of the men followed suit, one bolder than the other. “May I have this dance?” a soldier with a southern accent and a swagger in his step said to Stella. The other sidled up to Liz. Both women obliged.

“Look at them,” I said to Kitty. “So fast.”

Kitty was too distracted to hear me. I knew whom she was looking for. Suddenly, though, a man approached us—well, approached Kitty. I recognized him from the morning on the airstrip. “I saw your flower,” he said, bowing in an exaggerated way. Men did strange things around Kitty. “I’m Lance,” he said, extending his hand to her, and she relinquished hers, allowing him to lay a mock kiss upon it.

I rolled my eyes. He was tall and athletic, with hair a forgettable shade of brown, sharp features, and a coy smile that made me distrust him instantly.

“I’m Kitty,” she said, clearly flattered.

Lance grinned. “Would you like to dance?”

Kitty nodded, and he whisked her off to the dance floor, leaving me alone on the sidelines. I tapped my foot to the music. It was a fine band—for the middle of nowhere. I felt prickles on my arm when I heard a clarinet play the introductory lines to “A String of Pearls.” I’d last heard the Glenn Miller tune on the Godfreys’ lawn. At our engagement party. I sighed, suddenly feeling lonely. Out of place. Awkward. I tugged at my dress. I unfastened a wayward pin in my hair and clasped it back into place.
Where is Mary?
I looked around, but saw only strange men staring at me.
Thank God for the flower.

But oblivious to the ring on my finger or the code of the flower, a man approached me. His shirt looked wrinkled, and I could smell alcohol on his breath even before he opened his mouth. “Care to dance?”

“Thank you,” I said politely, “but no. I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“You’re much too pretty to be a wallflower,” he protested. “Besides, I’m tired of
wahine
. I want to dance with a real American woman.” He pried my hand from my side and led me out to the dance floor.

“Well, you see,” I said, startled by his bravado, “I think I better not.”

“Nonsense,” he said, grinning. I could smell the sour odor of beer—too much beer—on his breath.

He pressed his cheek against mine and I could feel the scratchy stubble on his jawline. “You’re pretty,” he said, as the band struck up a melody.
Please, not a slow song.
His hands were hot and moist on my dress, and his embrace suffocating, yet I willed myself to endure; I could not cause a scene. I would have to make it to the end of the song.

But, to my horror, the song ended and another man approached, presumably a friend of my dancing partner’s, and as the tempo hastened, I found myself caught between them. One twirled me by the arm, spinning me into the other. I bobbled back and forth like a ball on a tether. I looked around desperately for Kitty, and spotted her tucked into the arms of Lance. She looked happy, amused.
Don’t cause a scene.
I felt a hand brush my breasts.
Whose?
I froze, even though my legs were still moving. My eyes darted from left to right, and another hand cinched my waist, this one firmer. The room began to spin, or maybe I began to spin. Men were all around me. Hot, sweaty. The humid air was thick. I felt my voice rising up in my throat, but nothing came out. And then, there was scuffling and a loud thud. Someone fell to the ground. The music stopped, and a crowd formed around my original dancing partner. Blood trickled from his nose. He was out cold.

I pushed my way through the crowd off the dance floor, self-consciously keeping my head down. I felt guilty, even though I’d done nothing wrong. I didn’t want to be followed. I darted for the path back to the barracks, quickening my pace to a light jog when I passed the men’s barracks. I felt tears welling up in my eyes as the wind whistled through the palms overhead. It was a lonely sound, so foreign, so strange. I missed the walnut tree. I missed Seattle.

Spooked by a sound in the bushes, I instinctively turned to the infirmary instead of continuing on. The poorly lit path and the island night seemed impossibly dangerous without Kitty by my side.
Kitty.
I worried about leaving her there. She’d be fine, though; Lance looked decent enough. Or so I convinced myself.

A light shone inside, and I expected to find Nurse Hildebrand at her desk. Seated there instead was a man, the very man I’d seen in the mess hall at dinner.

He smiled, and I offered a startled smile in return.

“Hello,” he said from across the room. “Don’t let me frighten you. I’m just looking for a bandage. I thought I could find one in here, but you all must have the place soldier-proofed.”

I squinted, and could see that his hand was bleeding. I ran over to the box of bandages I’d rolled that afternoon. “Here,” I said, pulling one out, “let me help you.”

I told myself not to be embarrassed. I was a nurse. He was a patient. There was no reason to feel odd about the interaction, no reason to feel awkward about being alone with this man after dark.

“What happened?” I asked, dabbing his wound with gauze I’d soaked in rubbing alcohol.

He winced, but continued smiling. “You didn’t see?”

“See what?”

“I couldn’t bear to watch Randy Connors have his way with you on the dance floor,” he said.

“Randy Connors? Have his way with me? I beg your pardon—”

“What? His hands were all over you.”

He’d stated an obvious fact, but still I looked down at my feet, ashamed.

The soldier lifted my chin with his hand. “It’s why I punched him.”

I grinned. “Oh,” I said, trying my best to compose myself.
Does he notice the tears in my eyes?
“It was you. Well, then I owe you my gratitude.”

“You’ll have to forgive the men,” he said. “They haven’t seen women like you all in months, some longer. We’ve been on this rock a long time.”

I remembered the word the soldier had uttered,
wahine
. It had sounded dirty and harsh on his breath.

“Do you happen to know what
wahine
means?”

His eyes twinkled. “Why yes,” he said. “That’s Tahitian for
woman
.”

I nodded. “Well, I don’t care if these men have been away from women for a century. It’s no excuse for barbarism.”

“It’s not,” he said. “Which is why I avoid most of them. There are a few decent men here. You must learn to be direct with them. At home you can play coy; you can expect decorum and genteelness. Not here. The tropics bring out the savage in all of us. The island dulls your inhibitions. It changes you. You’ll see.”

“Well,” I said dismissively, wrapping his knuckles with a linen bandage in just the way Nurse Hildebrand had instructed. “I, for one, don’t believe that something can change you unless you
want
to be changed. Haven’t you ever heard of free will?”

“Sure,” he said, looking very amused. “I’m just saying that this place has a way of revealing the truth about people, uncovering the layers we carry and exposing our real selves.”

I fastened the bandage with an aluminum bracket, and exhaled. “Well, I’m not sure about that,” I said. “But you’re all fixed up.”

“I’m Westry,” he said, extending his bandaged hand. “Westry Green.”

“Anne Calloway,” I replied, shaking his hand gently.

“See you around.” He headed to the door without lingering.

“See you around,” I said, catching a glimpse of red in his left hand. As the door clicked closed behind him, I reached up to my ear. The hibiscus was gone.

“W
hat time did you come in last night?” I asked Kitty the next morning from my bed across the room. I’d been awake reading for at least two hours, waiting for her to stir.

She took one look at the clock, then pressed her head back into her pillow. “Late,” she said, her voice muffled by down stuffing.

“It’s nearly nine,” I said, remembering our good fortune to have arrived on the island on a Friday. Saturday was our only day of leave. “I won’t let you sleep away our only day off. Come on, let’s get dressed!”

She yawned and sat up. “I can’t believe it’s nine already.”

“Yes, sleepyhead,” I said, walking to the closet. I wanted to explore the beach today and I’d need to wear something light.

Kitty stood up quickly. “I have to hurry,” she said. “Lance is taking me into town for the day.”

My heart sank, and Kitty could tell.

“You can come too,” she offered. “He invited you.”

“And be the third wheel?” I shook my head. “No thanks. You go on your own.”

Kitty shook her head, unbuttoning her nightgown and letting it fall to the floor, exposing her breasts, two perfect spheres. “You’re coming with us,” she said. “A few others are going too. Lance is taking a jeep. Elliot’s coming, and Stella.”

“What?” I said. “How did she wrangle him into going?”