The Three Sirens (3 page)

Within a few days, I had met Captain Rasmussen and his copilot, a native in his twenties named Richard Hapai. Rasmussen had whiskey on his breath, and also profanity, and his appearance was disreputable, and I had some misgivings. He did own an aged Vought-Sikorsky—a clumsy, creaky twin-engined plane with a maximum cruising speed of 170 miles an hour—and I found it clean and well cared for, and this engaged my respect again. Rasmussen was colorful and voluble, deploring at length the necessity of giving up his old pearl schooner in 1947 for a flying boat, but I think he liked the flying boat more than he would admit. He took trips through the islands every week, for two days at a time, yet he had spare time enough and had no objections to chartering his seaplane and services to me. We haggled for an hour, and at last he agreed to take me on three scouting flights, two short ones and one longer one, and to land no more than three times, for $400.

Two weeks ago, with Rasmussen and Hapai in the nose cockpit, we took our first exploratory trip. Captain Rasmussen, I must say, knew the area between Samoa and the Marquesas better than I did, and he directed me to a fair number of uninhabited atolls, which you had always suspected might exist but were on no maps. However, not one was suitable for Intra-Oceania Flights. A few days later, a second scouting expedition proved equally unprofitable, although I directed Rasmussen to one landing and visit ashore. I was disheartened—I saw that I might not earn the $3,000 offered me—but still retained hope that the third and longest flight might uncover what I wanted. Then, for a number of days, this final trip was delayed. Rasmussen was absent from Papeete, and was nowhere to be found. At last, he presented himself at my hotel, five days ago, ready to take off at dawn for what was to be a two-day survey, interrupted only by fueling stops, an overnight stay on Rapa, and my own orders to land whenever I sighted a good possibility.

There is no need, Dr. Hayden, to have you suffer the desperation of that last empty excursion aloft. The first day was fruitless. The second day, leaving Rapa at dawn, we ventured south, flying high and low for hours, far afield from the beaten ocean paths, examining coral islands one after the other. None was suitable for Mr. Trevor’s purposes, and there was no use in deluding myself. It was mid-afternoon when Rasmussen switched to the auxiliary gas tanks, and turned his ship for home, already grumbling that we had gone too far to return to Tahiti by any reasonable hour of the night. I suggested that he pilot the seaplane back by a northeasterly route, so that eventually, we would skirt the Tubuai Islands as we headed for Tahiti. Rasmussen complained about this, and about his diminishing fuel supply, but then he took pity on my dejection and obliged me between swigs of Scotch.

Hapai was at the controls, and Rasmussen well on his way to total inebriation, and I was crouched behind them, peering beyond the window, when I saw a vague hump of land, coruscating in the setting sun, far off in the distance. Except for the Tubuai group, which we were yet nowhere near, I was not familiar with the area, yet I sensed that this hump of land was no traveled or major island.

“What is that, way out there?” I inquired of Captain Rasmussen.

Until this moment, despite his uncouth aspect, I had found Rasmussen the most congenial and cooperative of companions. Certain vulgarities of his speech I considered disagreeable, and I overlooked them, yet I shall attempt to reproduce his locution from the life, so that you may experience what I experienced in the air that late afternoon.

To my inquiry about the hump of land in the distance, Captain Rasmussen replied, with a snort, “What is it? It ain’t nothin’—some lousy atoll—deserted—a little grass—guano maybe—no water, no life, ‘cept albatrosses an’ terns an’ plovers—it’s for the birds, not for airplanes.”

I was not satisfied with this explanation. I have had some knowledge of the islands, I remind you. “It does not appear to be a small atoll,” I persisted. “It seems to me to resemble a somewhat larger island with a coral plateau, or even a volcanic island. If you do not mind, I should like to inspect it more closely.”

With this, I recall, Captain Rasmussen sobered, and a hint of asperity crept into his voice. “I do mind wastin’ time on a detour. Anyways, I done my job—it’s almost comin’ on night—I’m low on fuel—an’ we still got a long ways to go. We gotta skip it.”

Something about his tone, his manner, the evasiveness of his eyes, made me suddenly suspicious of his integrity. I decided not to surrender. “You told me it was uninhabited,” I said.

“Yup, that’s what I told you.”

“Then I must insist upon seeing it more closely. As long as we are in this plane under my charter, I suggest you accommodate me.”

His eyes, watery with drink, seemed to clear and harden. He glared at me. “You tryin’ to cause trouble, Professor?”

I felt uncomfortable, but I took a gamble. There was too much at stake for me to be timid. I replied to him in kind. “Are you trying to conceal something from me, Captain?”

This angered him. I was sure that he would curse me. Instead, his body lurched toward his native copilot. “Awright, let’s get him off my neck—take him in a little closer, Hapai, show him there’s nothin’ on the Sirens but cliffs an’ stone an’ a few hills.”

“Sirens?” I said quickly. “Is that the name of the island?”

“It’s got no chart name.” He had become extremely surly.

By now, the seaplane had swung about in an arc and was laboring toward the distant speck of land, which gradually became more distinct, so that I could make out the definition of steep seaward cliffs and what might be a plateau with a mountain crater beyond.

“Okay, far enough,” Rasmussen was saying to his copilot. Then he said to me, “You can see for yourself, Professor—no landin’ place.”

This was true, if there was no plateau, but I suspected that there was a plateau, and I told Rasmussen what I thought. I demanded that he fly in even closer and lower, so that I could satisfy myself one way or the other. Once more, Rasmussen, fulminating under his breath, was about to object aloud, when I interrupted him with all the severity I could muster. “Captain,” I said, “I have a fair idea where we are. If you refuse to give me a proper look at this island, I shall find someone else who will, and I shall return tomorrow.” This was sheer bravado, for I was nearly out of Mr. Trevor’s money, and I was not sure of our exact location, but I almost believed my threat.

Rasmussen was silent a moment, blinking his eyes at me, licking his cracked lips. When he spoke, at last, his voice was faintly insinuating and sinister. “I would not do that if I was you, Professor. This has been a friendly arrangement, a quiet, private-like trip. I’ve been pretty generous with you. I never took no one in this area before. I wouldn’t want you takin’ advantage of the captain.”

I was a little frightened of Rasmussen, but I was equally frightened of failing on my assignment. I prayed that I could maintain my note of bravado. “It is a free sky and a free ocean,” I said. Then I repeated, “No one can keep me from returning here, especially BOW, when I am positive you have something to hide.”

“You’re talkin’ through your hat,” Rasmussen growled. “There’s a million barren islands like that one. You won’t never know which one. You won’t never find it.”

“I will find it, if it takes me a year,” I said emphatically. “I’ll enlist my Canberra backers and their entire air fleet. I have some idea of the general area. I’ve observed certain landmarks.” I made my final gamble. “If you are going to obstruct me, very well. Take me right back to Tahiti. I shall handle this matter with charter pilots who will perform what they are paid to perform.”

I feared that Rasmussen would explode or do me violence, but he was sodden with drink and his reactions were slow. Muttering to himself, he gestured in disgust at me, and turned to his partner.

“Take the sonofa — over the Sirens, Hapai. Maybe that’ll shut him up.”

The next ten minutes of ocean were traversed in prickly silence, and then we came over the island, which I now observed was not one island but three. I had a glimpse of two miniature atolls, each less than one-quarter mile in circumference. These were coral, hardly above sea level, each with dry land, some grass and brush, and coconut palm trees. One had a tiny but lovely lagoon. Relative to these, the main island was large, but actually, as compared to other islands in Polynesia, it was small, I should guess no more than four miles in length and three miles in breadth. In the speed of our passage, I could make out the high volcanic crater, steep slopes, thickly covered with green foliage, screw pines, hardwood forests, several valleys heavy with vegetation, a brilliant, copper-colored lagoon, countless gullies and ravines, with enormous rocky cliffs guarding the land.

And then I saw my plateau. Green vegetation covered it like a massive carpet, and it was flat and straight, unbroken by boulders or ravines. Blurring before my eyes, the plateau dipped into almost jungle slopes that led down a ridge to a narrow band of sandy beach.

“No anchorage for ships,” Rasmussen was saying, with satisfaction. “Shallow—submerged reef—boulders—north winds would smash any vessel. That’s why I never touched the place when I had a schooner. Only possible when I got this plane.”

“There is a plateau,” I said, hardly suppressing my enthusiasm. “It is perfect.”

So entranced and absorbed had Rasmussen been by the sight of the larger island, that he seemed to have forgotten my purpose. My words brought him up sharply.

“I want you to put down,” I said. I think I repeated this several times, like a chanting child who has found a sweet. “I want to see it for myself.” My heart was swelling with hope, for I knew this was suitable land. I would fulfill my assignment for Mr. Trevor and Intra-Oceania Flights. I would have my payment.

“No,” said Captain Rasmussen.

“No?” I said incredulously. “What do you mean?”

We had eased around for another pass over the main island. Rasmussen gestured vaguely toward the window. “Surf’s runnin’—poundin’ hard—bad wind—we’d pile up.”

I looked below. “The sea is glass. It is perfect.”

“I don’t know,” Rasmussen mumbled. “There’s other things. It’s dangerous. There’s head-hunters—cannibals—”

“You said it was uninhabited,” I reminded him sternly.

“I forgot.”

I knew there were no cannibals in this area. Yet, I could not brand him a liar. I said, “I’ll take my chances, Captain. Please request Mr. Hapai to land. I shall only require an hour or two.”

Rasmussen remained strangely adamant. “I can’t do it,” he said weakly. “I’m responsible for you.”

“I am responsible for me,” I said firmly. “I have said this twice and I will say it a third time—if you continue to prevent me from seeing this island, I shall return tomorrow with someone more cooperative.”

Rasmussen stared at me for many seconds, and we could only hear the hammer of the monoplane’s two engines. His Nordic countenance, wrinkled and stubbled, was a portrait of consternation. Finally, almost without emotion, he said, “I should open the hatch an’ heave you in the ocean.”

I could not discern if he was jesting, but there was no humor in his face. “People know I am with you,” I said. “You would be guillotined for it.”

He glanced out of the window. “I don’t like this at all,” he said. “Why’d I ever get mixed up with you? If I go takin’ you down …” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “You’re causin’ me an awful lot of grief, Professor. I made my pledge never to bring no one to The Three Sirens.”

I felt the blood throb in my temples. So these lost islands were likely inhabited. To whom had Rasmussen made his pledge? What was Rasmussen shielding about the patch of land below? The mystery excited me as much as the potential airfield.

“Are you going to take me down?” I demanded.

“You’re givin’ me no choice,” said Rasmussen, with evident despair. “If I was you, I’d wear blinkers ashore. Look for your damn airstrip, an’ nothin’ more.”

“That is all I am interested in.”

“We’ll see,” said Rasmussen, enigmatically. He glanced at Hapai. “Let them know I’m comin’ down. Then retract—cut her slowly to sixty-five miles per hour—sea’s good enough to bring her in half a mile from the beach. I’ll untie the dinghy.”

As the seaplane turned, Rasmussen lifted himself from his seat with a sigh and went aft to the portside. Immediately, I took his place in the pilot’s compartment. Hapai had brought the flying boat back over the center of the main island. He came in low across what I made out to be a deep valley hidden in shadows. Unexpectedly, he rolled the plane, dipping the wings, once, twice, almost throwing me from my seat. Then he appeared to gun the plane upward, soaring over the volcanic crater, and easing around in the direction of the cliffs and beach.

The descent was rapid and even, and when we perched on the water offshore, Hapai left his place. I found him opening the main entrance hatch on the portside. After that, he helped Rasmussen move the dinghy free, and lower it into the water.

Rasmussen preceded me into the bobbing dinghy, and reached up to help me down beside him. He called to Hapai, “You stay put. We’ll be back in two hours. If we’re longer, I’ll have Paoti or Tom Courtney send someone.”

My mind held on the curious pair of names—Paoti—Tom Courtney—provocative because of their juxtaposition, although one was obviously Polynesian and the other sounded Anglo-Saxon, despite the fact that Courtney is of French derivation. Before I could remark upon this oddity, Rasmussen gruffly ordered me to take up a paddle and go to work.

Even with the smoothness of the sea, the exertion of rowing—combined with the discomfort of the almost airless, muggy afternoon, unrelieved by any stir of breeze—had me soaked through with perspiration by the time we had made the beach. The stretch of sandy beach, the crags behind, met us in silence. When I alighted, it was as if I had stepped on the earth of Eden the fourth day after Genesis. (Forgive my eloquence, Dr. Hayden, but this was how I felt.)

After Rasmussen had secured the craft, he lost no time. “It’ll take a half-hour’s stiff climb, if we keep movin’, to reach your god plateau.”