kicks, she at least had a certain amount of courage, to take the night’s events in her stride and risk more of the same.
And if, as seemed quite possible, she was something else entirely, it was still a good act well performed. In either case, it looked as if I wasn’t going to be suffering from loneliness if she had her way.
Well, I hadn’t been feeling exactly neglected in Honolulu even before she came along.
7
In the morning I went swimming again, on the theory that it’s not a bad idea, in critical times, to give the impression of being a creature of habit. It has been known to throw people off guard, even people who should know better. Besides, I was kind of curious to see if Jill would show up for our surfing date after what had happened between us last night. I wasn’t laying any bets either way, since the decision wasn’t hers, but the Monk’s, and I couldn’t predict how clever he’d try to be.
It was another clear tropical morning, with the sky brightening behind the rim of volcanic rock to the east of Waikiki, but today I didn’t have the sunrise to myself. Down the beach a little way, a couple of pretty, sleepy-looking girls in bikinis were being entertained by a couple of husky, wide-awake young men wearing sawed-off khaki trunks and military dog tags. I assumed they were off the transport we’d seen heading into port the night before, and I admired the speed with which theyhad established diplomatic relations with the natives.
They barely noticed me as I braved the cool morning waves very briefly. Afterward, I took a long time drying myself and sat on the sea wall for a while just looking at the ocean. I was a little surprised, as I had been before, at the lack of traffic out there. It was my impression that in good weather just about anywhere along the edge of the American continent in summer you’d see multitudes of assorted vessels day and night. Here, off the largest harbor in the Islands, one distant freighter was the only ship in sight.
There were no pleasure craft visible at all, except for a couple of the twin-hulled, sloop-rigged catamarans used for taking tourists for nautical joy-rides. They were being made ready down the beach for the day’s business. I wondered idly about the deserted ocean: maybe these waters were too dangerous for small boats, for reasons hidden from a landlubber like me…
“Oh, there you are!” said Jill’s voice. “When I didn’t see you, I thought… I was afraid you’d decided not to come.”
I looked up. She was wearing a different bathing suit this morning—if you could call it a suit—and the guy who’d invented checked blue gingham would have wept to see what she was doing to a couple of scraps of his theoretically demure and modest material. She had the same old red board on her head, however.
I said, “Hell, are you still around, Sexy? I figured after last night’s flop, you’d run to Big Brother and have him find you somebody easier to seduce.”
Jill turned pink. “I… I brought another board,” she said resolutely after a moment.
“My God, you’re a real little optimist,” I said. “If I don’t trust you on dry land, what makes you think I’m going to trust you in forty feet of water?”
“It’s not that deep,” she said. “Just a minute. Let me get rid of this one.” She started toward the water’s edge, and looked back awkwardly, hampered by her unwieldy burden. “Please? Be nice, Matt. You know I’m only obeying orders.”
“That’s what the commandant of Auschwitz said as he fired up his ovens each morning.” I sighed and rose. “Oh, all right. Where is this damn board? I suppose you’ve got it rigged so it’ll either blow me up or sink me…”
The boys with the dog tags revised their opinions of me steeply upward when they saw what I’d drawn for a surfing instructor. They stared so hard and so long that their girls turned audibly peevish. Meanwhile I was learning how to stand on a surfboard in
And if, as seemed quite possible, she was something else entirely, it was still a good act well performed. In either case, it looked as if I wasn’t going to be suffering from loneliness if she had her way.
Well, I hadn’t been feeling exactly neglected in Honolulu even before she came along.
7
In the morning I went swimming again, on the theory that it’s not a bad idea, in critical times, to give the impression of being a creature of habit. It has been known to throw people off guard, even people who should know better. Besides, I was kind of curious to see if Jill would show up for our surfing date after what had happened between us last night. I wasn’t laying any bets either way, since the decision wasn’t hers, but the Monk’s, and I couldn’t predict how clever he’d try to be.
It was another clear tropical morning, with the sky brightening behind the rim of volcanic rock to the east of Waikiki, but today I didn’t have the sunrise to myself. Down the beach a little way, a couple of pretty, sleepy-looking girls in bikinis were being entertained by a couple of husky, wide-awake young men wearing sawed-off khaki trunks and military dog tags. I assumed they were off the transport we’d seen heading into port the night before, and I admired the speed with which theyhad established diplomatic relations with the natives.
They barely noticed me as I braved the cool morning waves very briefly. Afterward, I took a long time drying myself and sat on the sea wall for a while just looking at the ocean. I was a little surprised, as I had been before, at the lack of traffic out there. It was my impression that in good weather just about anywhere along the edge of the American continent in summer you’d see multitudes of assorted vessels day and night. Here, off the largest harbor in the Islands, one distant freighter was the only ship in sight.
There were no pleasure craft visible at all, except for a couple of the twin-hulled, sloop-rigged catamarans used for taking tourists for nautical joy-rides. They were being made ready down the beach for the day’s business. I wondered idly about the deserted ocean: maybe these waters were too dangerous for small boats, for reasons hidden from a landlubber like me…
“Oh, there you are!” said Jill’s voice. “When I didn’t see you, I thought… I was afraid you’d decided not to come.”
I looked up. She was wearing a different bathing suit this morning—if you could call it a suit—and the guy who’d invented checked blue gingham would have wept to see what she was doing to a couple of scraps of his theoretically demure and modest material. She had the same old red board on her head, however.
I said, “Hell, are you still around, Sexy? I figured after last night’s flop, you’d run to Big Brother and have him find you somebody easier to seduce.”
Jill turned pink. “I… I brought another board,” she said resolutely after a moment.
“My God, you’re a real little optimist,” I said. “If I don’t trust you on dry land, what makes you think I’m going to trust you in forty feet of water?”
“It’s not that deep,” she said. “Just a minute. Let me get rid of this one.” She started toward the water’s edge, and looked back awkwardly, hampered by her unwieldy burden. “Please? Be nice, Matt. You know I’m only obeying orders.”
“That’s what the commandant of Auschwitz said as he fired up his ovens each morning.” I sighed and rose. “Oh, all right. Where is this damn board? I suppose you’ve got it rigged so it’ll either blow me up or sink me…”
The boys with the dog tags revised their opinions of me steeply upward when they saw what I’d drawn for a surfing instructor. They stared so hard and so long that their girls turned audibly peevish. Meanwhile I was learning how to stand on a surfboard in
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