Black Cat Weekly #26

SHIMA MARU, by James Holding-3

Toward evening of the third day, we found the Shima Maru.

Michiko, whose turn it was to dive, stayed below for almost four minutes, longer than on any dive before. Then he shot to the surface beside the boat and, the moment his mouth was clear, shouted something in Japanese. Likuva and I did not understand the words, but there was no mistaking the excitement with which they were uttered nor the expression of triumph on Michiko s normally impassive face. As we pulled him aboard, dripping, he switched to our tongue. “She’s there!” he cried. “The Shima Maru!” He fought to recover his breath.

I said, “Are you sure, Michiko? It is the Shima Maru?”

“Yes! Yes! She’s down there, directly below, lying on her side, corroded and weed-covered, but it’s the Shima Maru beyond any doubt. Part of her name is still legible on the bow.”

Likuva’s joy at the discovery manifested itself in loud, mindless laughter. He pounded Michiko on the back with his fist until Michiko sharply asked him to desist. I offered Michiko, the discoverer, a can of tepid beer from the fishbox.

He waved it away. “This is no time for beer, Vetuka!” he said tensely. “Will you go down now and tell me I am not dreaming?”

I nodded in understanding. Michiko could not believe his luck until I had confirmed his find. I dived over the side and swam rapidly down along our anchor rope. At about eight fathoms I could clearly make out the Shima Maru beneath me, canted on her port side, a rust-ridden hulk now, but very impressive still in her enormous bulk.

Fish, large and small, darted in their thousands about this artificial reef which had been created for them by warring men. Several of my blood cousins, the tiger sharks of Ironbottom Sound, cruised in leisure about the bomb-pocked ship, unconcerned by my presence. I knew that they would not harm me. We of the Shark clan are their kinsmen and, as such, are safe from them.

I stayed down only long enough to attach a marker line securely to the Shima Maru’s bridge rail before surfacing with a triumphant shout of my own. Michiko and Likuva hauled me aboard. I said, gasping, “You were not dreaming, Michiko.”

“Vetuka,” he said, relieved, “you are truly a fisherman in a million!”

I said, “Your brother said the gold was in the captain’s day cabin?”

He nodded. “Just behind the bridge, in a small iron safe built into the bulkhead.”

“Well,” I said, “it is getting late. It will soon be too dark to see anything down there at all. Do you wish to go down again?”

He laughed. “If it were midnight and no moon I would go down!” He stood up from his seat on the transom and began to prepare his lungs for diving.

“At most,” I cautioned him, “see if the captain’s day cabin can be entered without difficulty from the bridge—and, if so, whether the iron safe of which your brother spoke is still sealed against us.”

Michiko dived. After three long minutes, during which Likuva and I said nothing to each other, he reappeared. “I found the safe in the day cabin,” he said as we pulled him aboard, “but in the darkness it felt still stout and resistant to my fingers—although the iron door did seem, to my touch, somewhat pitted by corrosion.”

“We shall need crowbars, then,” I said, “to break it open. And lights to work by which will shine underwater. And baskets to draw up the gold once we have breached the safe.” I checked the plastic water bottle marking the location of the Shima Mara, making sure it floated free with sufficient slack. “Tomorrow, after we have obtained these items, we will begin the work of salvage. Do you agree, Michiko? It is yours to decide.”

“I agree,” said Michiko.

We returned in buoyant spirits to the Honiara wharf, ate a hurried dinner, and retired to my sleeping loft early in anticipation of tomorrow’s golden labors.

* * * *

But, alas, a strong wind from the east arose during the night—the moon and stars hid behind a heavy overcast, the seas got up, and when we arose at dawn the waters of Ironbottom Sound were streaked with angry whitecaps.

I looked out across the water and said to Michiko, “We cannot dive today. In those seas, the boat could easily founder. Certainly we could not hold it in diving position over the Shima Maru. We must wait until the weather moderates to try for the gold.”

Michiko and Likuva were glum.

“What evil luck!” said Likuva bitterly.

“Think rather, nephew,” I reproved him, “how lucky we were to enjoy three days of perfect weather while we located the Shima Maru. Now that we have found her, we need only wait a day or two before we obtain the gold.”

“A day or two?” asked Michiko. “Is that all?”

“You may believe me,” I said. “I have spent my life here. I know our weather.”

Michiko cheered up. “Then let’s get the crowbars and lanterns today, while we wait. Will you buy them, Vetuka?”

I shook my head. “I have caught no fish for three days now. Nor have I offered my customers any explanation for my remissness. Today, therefore, I shall fish—and hope for a good catch to make amends.”

Michiko looked at me as though I were mad or attempting to gull him. “You said your boat would founder in these seas.”

“I shall fish only in the lee of Point Cruz where the water will be relatively quiet. You must buy the crowbars and other gear. Have you money?”

“Enough,” said Michiko unhappily. “Where can such things be bought?”

“Likuva knows,” I said, “where the Chinese merchants have their shops. Let him do the buying, Michiko. As an islander, he can get a better price.”

* * * *

Far sooner than I could have hoped—by the second hour of the afternoon—my fishbox was full; I had brought aboard more than enough fish to supply my British customers and my Chinese customers as well. By an hour before tea time, I had delivered my catch and my apologies, blaming a faulty outboard motor for my recent failure to meet their needs.

At four o’clock when I returned to the house Michiko and Likuva were absent. Two crowbars, two watertight flashlights, and several small baskets of woven coconut fronds with strong handles to bear their weight when filled with gold pieces were lying on the earthen floor inside the door.

I nodded in satisfaction. The boisterous wind of the morning had abated and the five-foot seas had flattened to a manageable chop. It seemed quite likely that we could begin our salvage on the following morning.

I secured a can of cool beer from the mountain rivulet and drank from it slowly, savoring the refreshing taste and wondering idly where Michiko and Likuva might be. Then, remembering Michiko s inquiry about whiskey on the night of his arrival, I guessed that he and my nephew might be celebrating the discovery of the Shima Maru in the dim interior of Soon Fat’s bar across the Matanakau River in Chinatown.

I finished the beer, took my machete from a nail on the wall, sharpened it on my flat honing stone, and went out to the encroaching jungle behind my house, intending to pursue my running battle against the lalang grass, vines, and tangled bush that threatened to take over my small clearing.

It was then that I discovered the tins of petrol and preserved food, and the plastic bottles of fresh water hidden in the brush—carefully hidden. It was apparent to me that the lalang grass masking them had been brushed upright again where feet had recently trodden a narrow path through it from my cooking shack.

I felt anger and shame—the shame for my nephew, the hot burning anger for his friend, Michiko.

I prepared an evening meal for them nevertheless—a savory fish chowder to be served with baked breadfruit and followed by ripe mangoes given me by the Information Officer’s wife when I delivered fish to her that afternoon. But before I prepared the meal, I returned to the wharf, stepped aboard my boat, and spent five reluctant minutes in the wheel-house.

* * * *

Likuva and Michiko returned at sundown. Likuva was very cheerful. Michiko was stinking again of sweat and whiskey and wearing once more his red-and-black tropical shirt.

I greeted them pleasantly. “The seas are diminishing, and I believe we can dive tomorrow. Where have you been?”

“At Soon Fat’s,” answered Likuva, laughing, “where I had too much beer and Michiko too much Japanese whiskey.”

“Half a bottle only,” said Michiko sullenly.

After we had eaten and were well filled, I said to Michiko, “I see that you obtained the crowbars and underwater lights.”

“Yes,” he said, licking mango juice from his fingers.

“And did you,” I asked, “also buy the petrol, water, and food hidden in the bush back there?”

Silence greeted my question. Michiko and Likuva exchanged startled glances.

At length Likuva said, in a nervous voice, “What are you talking about, Uncle? Why should we buy petrol and food?”

“Do not call me Uncle ever again,” I said. “And do not take me for a senile fool, I beg you. Now that I have found the Shima Maru for you, you plan, quite obviously, to steal my boat, salvage the gold, and depart without returning to Honiara. You have hidden enough petrol, food, and water to carry you for hundreds of miles without again touching land. Enough to get you, indeed, to Bougainville or New Britain, whence you may fly to Australia or Japan with the gold. And it is equally certain that you do not wish to leave me behind as a witness to your thievery and your betrayal of me. Is this not true, Michiko?”

Michiko, his equanimity recovered, shrugged. “We thought you might not wish to leave Guadalcanal, Vetuka, that is all.”

“Why then did you not ask me my wishes? Why did you think it necessary to hide your supplies from me?” I looked with contempt from one to the other. “It is because you intend to kill me, is it not?”

At these words, Michiko moved very swiftly, and I understood why he was wearing his red-and-black shirt again. His hand dived under it and emerged holding a large revolver, which he directed at me. “Yes,” he said in an insulting voice, “we intend to kill you, Vetuka. And now that we know where the Shima Maru lies and that we shall be able to dive tomorrow, we need wait no longer. Did you think we would share our gold with a stupid fisherman of Honiara?” He laughed aloud at the thought of such innocence.

I turned my eyes away from the revolver and said to Likuva, “Or with the nephew of a stupid fisherman. Have you thought of that?”

He said nothing.

“You agreed to my death, Nephew?”

“Why not?” said Likuva defiantly. “The years of your life are nearly spent anyhow.”

“Thank you, Nephew,” I said. “I am glad my sister has passed to the land of the spirits and cannot feel shame for her son.”

Michiko s finger tightened on the trigger of the revolver. “Even your friends, the American Marines, could not save you now, Vetuka.”

I held up a hand. “Wait. Do not be too hasty, Michiko. You cannot find the Shima Maru again without my help.”

Likuva spoke up. “I can find it.”

“How?” I asked cunningly.

“It is simple. We go to Kakaombono beach, head due north until we reach the sixteen-fathom line on the underwater ridge, then west along the ridge until we pick up your water-bottle marker.” He smiled smugly, proud of his newly acquired seamanship.