South Seas

"See that white yacht in the bay?"

"That's the boat?! Wow!"

"No, you

bodoh

. It's the one totally underwater.

Ayuh

! Of course that's the one. It's the only one that you see."

"Oh... I just thought you meant the other one... Hehehe... I mean all the boats out there are white you know."

Jac just shook his head in exasperation. Hassan was not stupid, really. He was just called that, "

bodoh

" which means "stupid" in Malay, a reverent title for the best friend that he had in the islands. In actuality, Jac had only a handful of friends. And Hassan was right as usual. All the small fishing boats had been painted white.

"She's a beauty, Hassan. Full 20 metres. That's 65 feet for you, who hasn't quite grasp the intricacies of the metric system."

"Um... Why are you pointing it out to me?"

"Because kawan, I want your help in stealing her. It should be easy. Besides, the nearest police station is on Barandung. It'll take them at least 4 hours to get here. In that time, I'd be quite far away. It should be fairly easy and straightforward. So, are you with me?"

"I don't know

Janggut

. Stealing a boat could mean hanging... And... Um... why do you call it a '

her

'?"

"Tell you what, I'll steal the boat while you go and distract the owner. I'll sail it to Tawarin. You know that cove I'm speaking of. I call it a she because that's the normal nautical term."

"But... But we don't call our fishing boat a '

she

,'

Janggut

. You always told me it is an '

it

', not a '

he

' or '

she

.' Besides I don't see any breasts or... um... you know..."

"Grrrrr! Is that all you think about?"

"No, I think about sex a lot more."

"That's what I was talking about. Anyway, are you with me or not?"

"Okay. Okay. No wonder Marlissa always leave afterwards. You are no fun at all. But please, Jac, no killing. We don't get enough tourists as is."

"Agreed, no killing. Now go. I'll signal you when I'm ready. I'm going to go out to have a closer look, and see if anyone else is on her. And later you can tell me what else Marlissa says about me while I pull all your eyebrows off."

"Hahaha! Don't forget your signal... And be careful."

"Someday Hassan, you're going to forget to say that and the sky will fall down... See you in while..."

Hassan jokingly called Jac '

Janggut

' which literally means beard. Jac was probably the only one here amongst islanders on the nearby islands that can actually grow a full beard. The rest of the islanders have stubbles and can get away without shaving for weeks at end. Jac on the other hand, had to shave at least once a day, or he will be itching like mad. When Hassan used that nickname, it meant that he was on the scheme as a partner.

Jac's full name was Jacob Edwin Calhoun, formerly a British Citizen, now a fugitive. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, bad timing really when the Marine Police came a tad too early, he had to run and disappear for a while until things cooled down. The details of it were really boring. Suffice to say that another half an hour more would have made him a rich man, rich enough to never work again for the rest of his life. Retirement by the time he was 30 really sounded fantastic. Anyway, not only was Interpol looking for him, so too were the Triads, for flushing 10 million pounds sterling worth of cocaine into the sea.

He got lucky by escaping in a deep-water fishing trawler. It was one of those that blatantly flout international laws by fishing in other countries' national waters; basically well inside the 15-miles Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ). The area between the South China Sea and the Sulawesi Sea abound with islands, natives and rich fishing waters. The trawler was heading for the Spratly Islands, a grouping of oil, natural gas and fish-rich islands disputed by at least five nations. The reluctant passenger had no choice in the destination, not that he was complaining.

When they reached Arang Archipelago, Jac decided that he had enough of the leaky trawler. He figured that one island would be the same as another. The fact that one of the Spratly's had a new People's Republic of China Naval base made his decision much easier to come by. He had to swim in because the trawler could neither spare a boat nor the time to stop long enough. He was however, grateful for small miracles, and the waters were warm enough that it presented no problems, except for the occasional dark fin on the surface in the distant.

It was easy for Jac to blend in, since his mother was a Chinese. He had inherited his mother's oriental looks, with his deep brown eyes that in weak light, looked black. And he also had that narrow with double-eyelids eyes that oriental women favoured so much. Another advantage was the fact that he spoke a smattering of Malay, legacy of an Indonesian nanny and maid. It was just a tad enough for him not to starve.

That was two years ago. He had since gained full command of the language. The sun and surf had bronzed his skin enough so that he could pass easily as a native. Nevertheless, Jac had his father's genes build-wise. He was 6' 4", towering a head above the natives. That was a problem, but sometimes freaks of nature happened, and he took it in stride that the natives accepted him as such. His biggest problem however, was his blonde hair. He had no choice but to submit to continuously hiding that fact with black hair colouring. The islanders used coconut milk to make it, so unless one really like the coconut, Jac smelt of coconut milk gone sour almost all of the time. He thought after a while he could get used to it, but he never did. His pillows, bed and clothes always smelled of spoilt coconut milk.

The Arang Archipelago, with Arang as the main island, was typical like the ones always touted in tourist brochures. Once a fortnight, a supply ship would pass through. And it was close to international shipping lanes, so it was not as isolated as many people thought. They could get books, newspapers and even magazines. They even had a satellite dish for TV reception. The dish was pretty much used as a school tool something called distance learning. The government, which claimed this archipelago, was adamant about universal literacy, a sound policy that Jac approved heartily.

Most of the inhabitants were several generations already on this island. They were not rich, and would not be for a long time, since the tourist traffic was almost non-existent. But they were happy, and Jac soon learned the quiet, dignified, and often understated, humour inherent in them. Facing the occasional cyclones would do that to a person. He still remembered vividly the first time he experienced a tropical cyclone. He was buried inside the rubble of his hut for two days before Hassan came and dug him out. From that day forward, Jac learned lying real fast, almost becoming as good as Hassan and his brothers.

The skill that Jac learnt and was most proud of was the making of Toddy, coconut alcoholic drink. It started by placing a container where the growing fruit got the sweet drinking water. Collecting the containers 30 feet up in the air, while avoiding the ever-present red fire ants was a challenge. But the end result of fermentation was worth the effort. And he made the best toddy on the island. The colour was milky, but the taste was sweet, and extremely intoxicating.

Jac usually exchange that for food, even trading as far as Barandung. Toddy was illegal of course, and drinking unclean toddy sometimes killed people. A lot of people would use discarded fertilizer and insecticide containers to ferment the brew. Jac made sure that he only used clean ones. He had bought them off a small merchant ship carrying plastic wares that passed through.

Life was fairly hard with a lot of work involved, but he was enjoying his stay. So one day it surprised him that a motor yacht would drop anchor in the bay and visit Arang. It was unusual because it was a private yacht. During his two years here, this had not happened before. So it piqued the entire island's interest. Jac, on the other hand, was leery initially, but he saw the possibilities that lay ahead. Criminal possibilities if truth to be told. He surmised that two years would be enough for the Triads to lose interest in him.

Jac saw the islanders gleefully welcoming a handsome blonde man on the beach. The short introduction gave him all the information that he needed to surmise that this would be an easy caper. He doubted that there was anyone within a thousand kilometres of here who could speak the visitor's language. So, he took the opportunity to row out in a sampan and get a closer look at newcomer's mode of transportation, hoping to make a transfer of ownership. (Terms to be used in polite circles.)

The motor yacht was a beauty, like he told Hassan. The exterior was both stylish and functional, and expensive looking. The side decks were wide, allowing safe access from the spacious aft deck to the sunning area on the foredeck. The fly bridge had double helm seats, plus ample and plush seating for guests. Jac even tweaked a few buttons and was glad that the entire ship was all fully automated. She even had a bow thruster and active stabilisers. Jac assumed that the engine was large, keeping in tune with the rest of the boat. He surmised that she could probably do somewhere between 20 to 25 knots.

The interior of yacht was scrupulously clean. Adjacent to the aft deck was the roomy saloon with soft leather sofas and rich handcrafted woodwork. The best part was the 42" plasma screen TV that rose on a lift from the starboard locker. Forward of the saloon was the gourmet galley, large dining area and pilothouse. Jac was about to venture further below into the cabins when he heard a cough and a long groan. Someone was onboard and in slight pain it seemed. Jac decided that he had enough time to make his plans and execute them without being discovered. So he quietly left, making sure that everything was back in place beforehand.

He made a great show of rowing off and then doubling back so that if anyone happened to see him, it would appear that he was just heading out there.

******

Ana Felicidade Silva Peixoto crinkled her nose in added distaste, when the slight smell of spoilt coconut milk wafted into her suite amidships. Her eyes were still red and bleary, but she was recovering after two days of being seasick. She was now able to hold down an entire meal of soft bread and plain water. She suspected that her face was tinged with greenish pallor, but did not want to confirm by looking in mirror. Her formerly lustrous brown hair could use entire litres of VO5 hot-oil/protein-pack treatment. She did not believe that a human being could throw up that much. She suspected that the seasick pills were in actuality placebos.

Ana suspected a lot of things. But she had a rather reticent nature, so she loathed confirming her suspicions. Just as she had suspected that her husband was cheating on her. She had come along this trip as a favour to her husband. He had actually gone down on his knees to plead with her. But she never suspected what kind of trip this turned out to be or even where they would be. She thought that a short one-day of sailing would be enough for her husband to be bored, and save her from her agony.

After three days of sailing, Ana did not have enough energy left to ask or complain. This cabin was the only place that she dared to be. It had its own private head so it was close enough that none of her puke spilled on the deck. She rarely saw her husband, except during meal times. She did not even notice the days passing into nights.

She was not always like that, she kept telling herself during the long hours lying on the soft satin covered bed. The suspicions gnawed on her, making her short and snappish at times. Even some of her closest friends were beginning to avoid her. She used to be such a happy and outgoing person, until about a year ago when she found a pair of panties that did not belong to her. She would never have worn canary-yellow coloured panties. She had initially thought that Marcelo was cross-dressing. That was what she had fervently tried to believe. But deep down, she knew that she was only lying to herself.

She did not confront Marcelo, or alert him to her suspicions, until such time when it got better of her and she tried to follow him. But Marcelo was too careful and smart to be caught. Besides, Ana was too clumsy in following him, and too afraid to hire an actual private investigator. Not that she could not afford it. No, she was just too suspicious and not brave enough to confirm her suspicions.

She never understood why he strayed. Ana was a virgin when she met him. She had deeply fallen in love with him the first time she saw him. It was a whirlwind romance for sure, but she was happy. Her family thought he was only after her money, but she took those comments as jealousy. She could afford it anyway, since her father had left her a fortune. She suspected that the fortune was ill gotten through smuggling and drug trafficking. She did not want to confirm that suspicion anyway. She had money, and was determined to spend it. Besides, he was not too bad off financially either. It was not one of those match made in heaven, but she thought she was happy and that was to be enough.

And now regrets and unending suspicions replaced that happiness. He did not have to plead, as she would have grabbed any chance to keep an eye on him.

Ana had never sailed before, so when she flew out to meet him on their new yacht, she was very nervous. But Marcelo's charm that first drew her to him, won over and she quietly assented to all his suggestions. He was suave and convincing, and so she suspected nothing else beyond his infidelity. She was a good Christian, a little unworldly perhaps in the deceit that lay in men's hearts.

******

When they dropped anchor after three days out, Ana was so grateful to have the chance to be standing on solid land that she had almost forgotten about her unhappiness. He said the stop was for supplies, and he went ahead to arrange for that.

She thought that he was still on board when she heard some noises. When she got enough energy to get dressed and up onto the weather deck, she found that she was completely alone. Then, she saw a small boat being rowed out to the yacht, and all thoughts were now turned to the beach that beckoned so strongly.

"

BOA TARDE. VENHA, VENHA

..."

Then she realized that she was speaking Portuguese to a native who probably have not even heard of the Portugal. She panicked, as she knew only a few words of English, which would probably elicit the same blank response from that native in that rickety boat.

"Hello..." At least that was universal.

Jac heard Ana yelling something to him. He guessed that she was greeting him. Although in his experience, sometimes a threat sounded like a greeting. So, he gave her a blank look, and refrained from smiling. She would probably thought he was stupid or something like that. That oft time image of a half-dressed savage who could not understand a word of English. Well, she was half right since he was stripped to his waist.

Ana wanted so much to be on solid ground that she gave the universal sign of parley and beckoned the sampan closer. At least she thought the sign was universal. Because the native had stopped rowing and just let the momentum bring him closer. She could see the muscles on his chest and arms straining, almost in anticipation of violence. Although she could not see how she could match up with him physically. He was tall and well built, quite unlike the image that she had of islanders.

Jac thought he saw her flinch. He realized he was biting his lower lips and straining his body. He was ready to bolt the first sign he saw his trespassing had not gone unnoticed. Jac immediately relaxed and let his sampan hit gently against the side of the yacht. Her frantic and sometimes decipherable sign language allowed him to help her onto the sampan. He was taking a dangerous chance to perceive that she wanted to be on the beach. Ana gripped the sides until her knuckles were white, as the sampan got under way. The sea was gentle, but in her mind, the minutes seemed like hours. The thing, which helped her from emptying her stomach, again was his face. She had sat facing him, as she did not want the chance to look as waves any more than she had to.

She thought she had detected a trace of European ancestry by his jaw line. He was handsome, almost as handsome as Marcelo. He certainly had more muscles, rippling as he attempted to fight against the waves with his paddle. His eyes were the deepest brown. She felt herself getting lost in them. His gaze was penetrating, as if his eyes could look past her defences and laugh at her soul. She could see that his sarong did a poor job in hiding his interest in her. She put that out of her mind, telling herself that it was the way that he sat in the sampan.

Jac had a very good look at her during the short trip. He did not know why she would face him, but he guessed by her paleness that she would not look at a wave if she could help it. He was not complaining since she was very beautiful, even in that conservative summer dress and sandals. For some reason, the image of a belly-dancing gypsy kept intruding in his thoughts. She had that classic Latin/Isabella Rosellini looks, resplendent with long brown hair, deep blue eyes and a body that any man would kill for. Her breasts were not large but firm, shaped like young papayas. Her slim figure and long legs brought blood to his lower extremities. He had to refrain himself from rocking the boat too much to try to hide his burgeoning erection.

He had been a few times with Marlissa, the local who slept with just about anyone. Jac thought he was pretty satisfied. But this woman in his sampan trying to keep the contents of her stomach in was just too much. Besides, Jac had not much of a success in trying to keep his cock from having a mind of its own.

His beaching of the sampan saved him from further embarrassment. Or so he had hoped.

Ana tried to get out as dignified as possible. She did not, however, realise that her legs were beginning to get used to the sway on the boat. She would have fallen head first on the soft sand if not for the quick reaction of this native. It was like in all those movies that she had seen. A strong, tall, dark man catching her in his arms, with his face so close to her that she can smell his manly smells. There were hopes that he would kiss her. As she was gently lowered onto the sand, she could not but help cringe her nose at that awful smell that he had. It was certainly unlike anything she would have expected.

The thoughts of the famous Rhett Butler and Scarlett O-Hara kiss faded from her mind quickly.

Ana could not have missed the huge tent in front of his sarong. She reluctantly looked up only to be faced by his guilty smile. His teeth were pearly white, quite in contrast to his bronzed skin. Almost like her favourite actor, George Harrison. She felt her heart skip a beat, and she quickly suppressed sinful thoughts by turning her attention to where she was.

The beach, with its golden sands and swaying coconut trees, was just like in the postcards. Very picturesque. It was as deserted as she had imagined. There were distant noises, sounding like a celebration going on in the village. But she was not up to celebrating, just to stop and rest so that the ground would stop swaying. She did not even notice that native had disappeared. Just as well because she was feeling strong urges in the area of her loins. Little electrical-like tinges on her clitoris when she felt his arms cradled her. She silently scolded herself, saying that it was a sin as she was a married woman.