Island of the Sequined Love Nun

only he could run into a woman he could talk to. A Western woman-she wouldn't have to know he was a eunuch.
    He broke out of the jungle into the open street of Colonia's main "business district." On one side was a manna with a restaurant and bar (or so the sign said), on the other a two-story, stucco minimall of shops and snack bars. Around it, in the shade of the modern portico, stood perhaps a hundred Yapese, mostly women, some young men in bright blue loincloths, all shirtless. The islanders all had bright red lips and teeth from chewing betel nut. Even the little children were chewing the narcotic cud and spitting periodically into the street. Tuck walked in among them, hoping to find someone to ask about Frick's whereabouts, but none made eye contact. The women and girls turned their backs to him. The men just looked away or pretended to pay attention to sprinkling powdered coral on to a split green betel nut before beginning a chew.
    He went into a surprisingly modern grocery store and was relieved to see that the prices were in American dollars, the signs in English. He picked up a quart of bottled water and took it to the checkout counter, where a woman in a lavalava and a blue polyester smock rang up his purchase and held out her hand for the money.
    "Do you know where I can find Commander Brion Frick?" Tuck asked her.
    She took his money, turned to the cash drawer, and turned back to him with his change without uttering a word. Tuck repeated his question and the woman turned away from him. Finally he left, thinking, She must not speak English.
    He ran into Frick coming out of the store. The spy had a six-pack tucked under his arm.
    "I was looking for you," Tuck said. "The Yapese Navy took off."
    "You could have asked inside. They knew where I was."
    "I did. The woman wouldn't talk to me."
    "Not allowed to," Frick said. "It's bad manners to make eye contact. Yapese women aren't allowed to talk to a man unless he's a relative. If a woman and a man are seen speaking in public, they're considered married on the spot. Shame, too. Ever seen so many bare titties in all your life? Tough grabbin' a snog if you can't talk to them."
    Tucker didn't want to talk about it. "You were supposed to come back to the wharf."
    Frick looked affronted. "I was on my way. Didn't think you'd desert your post. I hope you're a better pilot than you are a spy. Letting them sneak off like that."
    "Look, Frick, I need to get to Alualu right away. Can you take me in your patrol boat?"
    "Love to, mate, but we've got a mission as soon as the boys get back from fishin'. We've got to tow the Yapese patrol boat down to Darwin for repairs. Won't be back for a fortnight at least."
    "Doesn't it make more sense to leave it broken? I mean, in the interest of watching them?"
    The spy raised an eyebrow. "What threat are they with a broken boat?"
    "Exactly," Tuck said.
    "You obviously don't know a wit about maintaining job security. Missionary Air might take you out, but I hear their plane is down for a while. Fishing boats are all Chinese. Buggers wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. You might charter a dingy, but I doubt that you'll find anyone willing to take you across four hundred kilometers of open sea in an outboard. There's fellows do it off Perth, but the West Coast is full of loonies anyway. Get yourself a room and wait. We'll take you out when we get back."
    "I don't know if I can wait that long." Tuck stood up. "Where should I go to charter a boat?"
    Frick pointed to a large Mobil oil tank at the edge of the harbor. "Try heading down to the fueling station. Should be able to find someone down there who needs the gas money."
    "Thanks, Frick,, I appreciate it." Tucker shook the spy's hand.
    "No worries, mate. You watch yourself out there. I hear that doctor's a bedbug."
    "Good to know." He waved over his shoulder as he walked down to the edge of the harbor. A group of women chewing betel nut in the shade of a hibiscus tree turned away from him as he passed.
    He walked along the bank and looked into the cloudy green water at the harbor's edge. Tiny multicolored fish darted in and out of the shallows, feeding on some kind of shrimp. Brown mud skippers, their eyes atop their heads like a frog's, walked on their pectoral fins across a small mudflat that had formed around the roots of a mangrove tree. Tucker stopped and watched them. They were fish, yet they spent most of their time on land. It was as if they had evolved to a certain point,