CHAPTER VI.
KANAKA.
He had never before come across a white woman of this kind. There was Autonna, the wife of Tari, three parts white, and Le Paru, the half-Portuguese; all sorts of others, some half Chinese, some nearly English, but never before had he come across the white woman of high civilization.
The effect of the vision on Fernand was curious in the extreme. He was attracted yet repelled.
The attraction came from June—lithe, young, good to look upon, dressed by Roberts of Frisco. The repulsion came from the sore that Yakoff had hit that afternoon:
“You damned Kanaka.”
The Kanaka spot in Fernand was only a spot, only a drop of blood that was not European, and yet it was the spoiling thing in his life. A grit is a small thing, but when it gets in a man's eye, it is no longer small.
The missionary had once unconsciously dropped a word that had made Fernand see the gulf between the half-caste and the pure white. Channen, the beach comber, had let himself go freely one afternoon on the same subject, and to-day Yakoff the trader had spoken the thing full out when, turning to Fernand, he flung the fact in his face with an oath.
Then, as if to complete matters, the California had come in, bringing this strange white girl, a creature that appealed at once to his heart and his senses, seized him with all the power of the new and strange, yet repelled him through his pride and imagination.
“She is white,” said his pride, “and you, yes, you are white, white as she is—only for that drop that does not show at all, yet which is there, and which she would sneer at did she know.”
He wished now he had not promised to bring the canoe to the yacht in the morning. She wanted to see it and sail in it and feel how it went under the steering paddle. Just so, but was he a common canoe man that she should make such a suggestion to him? Why had he not said to her: “If you wish to sail one of our canoes, I will tell Lipi to bring his for you in the morning?” Why not do that anyhow? Yes, to-morrow morning, instead of going himself, he would send Lipi. Lipi's canoe was old and dirty—no matter. Why should he bother?
Now, as he stood there smoking and thinking things like this, the moon began to rise above the eastern reef line. She broke clear of the sea and reef, giving every palm tree a shadow on the white sand and showing the schooner clearly as she lay, the lights of her ports and deck house casting amber dribbles on the moon-silvered lagoon waters.
Fernand flung his cigarette end away and, turning, began to clean the canoe. As a rule the shell of the day's catch would have been left in her till next morning, but he began to-night by taking it out and stacking it on the beach. He would send Topi to fetch it when he had finished with the canoe.
Why was he cleaning her? If he had determined not to go on the morrow but to send Lipi instead, why was he preparing the canoe?
The job finished, he came along toward the village to find Topi and send him back for the shell.
Fernand's house was near the entrance to the village. Anything with a roof to it is a house at Araffura, and “shack” would have been a better name for the dwelling place of Fernand. All the same, it had two rooms and a kitchen at the back; a native woman kept it clean and did the cooking. She had even left to-night a lamp half on in the front room, the light showing through the slats of the shutters.
He did not go in but went on to find Topi. Topi lived in the last house, a palmetto-thatched shack that he shared with three others, and when Fernand reached it, Jalu, one of Topi's house mates, was sitting outside with knees up, smoking a pipe and contemplating the moon.
When Jalu saw Fernand he made a hurried effort to rise and scatter. Fernand saw at once that something was wrong and came close to the other.
“Jalu, where is Topi?”
“Topi has gone to the fishing on the reef,” said Jalu.
“Then what is that noise I hear?” asked Fernand.
“What noise?”
“That—listen!”
“I hear nothing but the speaking of the reef,” said Jalu.
Fernand came to the shack door and opened it, and there lay Topi, his arms extended and snoring.
It was always like that when he got hold of the cursed opium, and now he would be no use next day.
“He must have come back,” said Jalu, quite unabashed. “He is weary.”
“Jalu,” said Fernand, “who gave him the dope?”
“Which?” asked Jalu.
“Don't fool with me. Who gave him the opium?”
“He had no money,” said Jalu.
“I am not asking you that. Who gave him the opium?”
“Well,” said Jalu, hesitating like a little child, “it was Yakoff, the trader.”
“Oh, he gave him the opium and got no payment for it?”
“No,” said Jalu, “he was paid nothing. It was to spite you for stopping his selling opium and to spoil your fishing on the morrow. Yakoff is like the monkey they brought on the trading schooner from Papeete. He is full of mischief and never forgets an enemy.”
“I will break his neck if I hear much more of him,” said Fernand, hot wrath surging up in him against the scoundrel who thought nothing of damning men's bodies and souls for the sake of a few dollars and who had insulted him in so deadly a fashion that morning.
“I will break his neck and then the devil will take him where he is overdue. Well, there lies Topi and I had wanted him to-morrow as I have a special business to perform.”
“He will not be right to-morrow,” said Jalu, a fact that required no demonstration.
Fernand returned to his house.
He had decided even while cleaning the canoe that he would keep his promise to the white girl in the morning. If there had been anything wanting to keep the decision firm, the action of Yakoff would have supplied it.
Yakoff knew nothing of the girl. He only wanted to serve Fernand a nasty turn, and he had done so. Put up an obstacle in his path, and an obstacle to Fernand was the one thing needed to stimulate him to action.
Topi being out of count, he would take the canoe to her single-handed. He returned to his house and, not bothering to fetch the shell he had left on the beach, went in and fell asleep.