An Island Called Moreau Read Free Page A

distrust.
    â€œAre you fit enough to walk?” the blond man asked me.
    â€œI can try,” I said.
    â€œYou’re going to have to try, hero. This is where you get out! No ambulances here. I’ve got the fishing nets to see to, and that’s trouble enough to do. George here will take you along to HQ. Get that?”
    Involuntarily, I looked at George with suspicion.
    â€œHe won’t hurt you,” the blond man said. “If you drifted through the minefields okay, then you will be safe by George.”
    â€œWhat sort of a place am I getting to? Are there other—white men here? I don’t even know your name.”
    The blond man looked down at the deck and rubbed his soiled deck shoes against each other.
    â€œYou aren’t welcome here, hero, you ought better to face that fact. Moreau Island is not geared exactly to cater to the tourist trade. But we can maybe find a use for you.”
    â€œMy work is elsewhere,” I said sharply. “A lot of people will be looking for me right now. The ASASC shuttle I was in crashed in the Pacific some way from here. My name is Calvert Roberts, and I hold down an important governmental post. What’s your name? You still haven’t told me.”
    â€œIt’s not any damned business of yours, is it? My name is Hans Maastricht and I’m not ashamed of it. Now, get on shore. I have work to do or I will be into trouble.”
    He turned to George, slapping the carbine over his shoulder to emphasize his words. “You take this man straight to HQ, get that? You go with him to Master. You no stop on the way, you no cause any trouble. Okay? You no let other People cause any trouble, savvy?”
    George looked at him, then at me, then back to the other man, swinging his head in a confused way.
    â€œDoes he speak English?” I asked.
    â€œThis is what he savvies best,” Maastricht said, slapping the carbine again. “Hurry it up, George. Help this man to HQ. I’ll be back when I’ve checked the fishing nets.”
    â€œSavvy,” said George. “Hurry it up. Help this man HQ, come back when I check the nets.”
    â€œYou just get him safe to HQ,” Maastricht said, clouting him across the shoulders.
    The hulking fellow jumped down into shallow water and put out a hand to help me. I say “hand”—it was a black leathery deformed thing he extended to me. There was nothing to do but take it. I had to jump down and fell practically into his arms, leaning for a moment against his barrel chest. Again I felt in him the same revulsion as struggled in myself. He moved back one pace in one hop, catching me off balance, so that I fell on my hands and knees in the shallow waters.
    â€œSort yourselves out!” Maastricht shouted, with a laugh. Swinging the carbine round on its sling, he fired one shot in the air, presumably as a warning, then headed the landing craft toward where the channel widened.
    George watched him go, then turned to me almost timorously. His gaze probed mine; being almost neckless, he hunched his shoulders to do so, as if he were shortsighted. At the same time, he extended that maimed hand to me. I was still on my knees in the water. There was something poignant in the fellow’s gesture. I took his arm and drew myself up.
    â€œThank you, George.”
    â€œMe George. You no call George?”
    â€œMy name is Calvert Roberts. I’m glad of your help.”
    â€œYou got Four Limbs Long. You glad of your help.” He put his paw to his head as if trying to cope with concepts beyond his ability. “You glad me help. You glad George help.”
    â€œYes. I’m feeling kind of shaky.”
    He gestured toward the open water. “You—find in water, yes?”
    It was as if he were striving to visualize something that had happened long ago.
    â€œWhich way to your HQ, George?”
    â€œHQ, yes, we go, no trouble. No stop on way, no cause any