On The Coral

Route

By Jps.

“TNDIA, did you say, sir?”

“Lord, yes; was yeahs out theah.

Fascinating place, y’know! But no place to retah to, of course. Mamu!

Fill these things up again, will you.

Yours was a double, too, wasn’t it, old man? Good!

“Yes, couldn’t leave the tropics, of course, so decided Tahiti was as good as anywheah. That was a yeah or two back. Got hold of a little cottage at Taapuna, y’know. Been here ever since.”

We were reclining in long chairs on the coolly pleasant patio of the Tropiques, facing down-harbour to

wards Fareute, where the last of the day’s sunshine turned the bright dural of the big Solent at her moorings to gold. The heat of the day was over and Papeete at its best, with a little breeze rustling the palms, and the dull soothing sound of the surf break ing far out on the reef towards Moorea Island, coming in in soft waves.

“Yes, Colonel. I can understand why you’ve never left,” I observed.

“No worries here, I would say.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that; I wouldn’t say that, exactlah. Oh Lord, no! ’St’ordinary bunch of charactahs drop in heah, y’know. Not so much now —but a yeah or two back. Been quite a lull latelah, actuallah. Mamu!

MAMU! There’s a girl!”

“A lull. you were saying, Colonel,” I prompted him, as Mamu returned with rum-punches.

“Yes, suicides I mean. Been very little doing since the War, actuailah.”

The Colonel was peering along the shoreline as though getting his bear ings in the fast fading daylight.

“Yes, the blightahs seemed to be coming heah speciallah to do the job —suicide I mean. ’M, yes, it must have been just about theah,” he said —indicating a general area of water about 50 yards away, in the direction of Moorea.

“Seemed to go in fashions, y’know.

Fancied the rope for a while, then a later school switched to poison.

Then they started messing up the reef —’str’ordinary bunch, reallah!

“Didn’t actualah know any of them, reallah, until, damme sir, if old Ostrovsky didn’t turn on a show.

Forgotten just what he was—Czech, or some such —but quite a decent old scout, reallah. Walked with a slight limp. Ex-Armah man of course.

An expression of intense dis pleasure came over the Colonel’s weatherbeaten, florid face.

“Can’t understand the blightah.

Damn poor taste, sir. Damn pooah!

Used to have a round or two at the Yacht Club with him before lunch.

Seemed happy enough. Of course, this place wasn’t heah then, y’know.

Had to go right on in to town. Passed here every morning, y’know. Drain that glass, old man; we’ll get her again while the going’s good . . .

“Yes, couldn’t believe my eyes. ’Str’ordinary case, reallah. Right theah, sir. No mistaking Ostrovsky, of course. Always wore the left heel down badly. Bung up, sir—legs straight as a die—might have been on parade y’know. Trouser legs quite dry—but floating, mind you—just riding there on the swell —legs straight up.

Amazing case! Would have been damn funny, except that he was ex- Ahmah, y’know. Damn disgrace reallah. Had him fished out as quickly as possible, of course. But the good Martinique rum was off by the time I got in to the Yacht Club.

Damn pooah show, sir. MAMU!”