Island of Desire

Despite occasional naps on the plane, Brigid had gone past tiredness to some distant place beyond. She stared out the window, wondering if she had made the proper decision. There would be some, she knew, who would see this as a sign of cowardice. Proof that she didn't have the courage to stand up for her convictions.

It's not cowardice to choose new ground for your battles, Brigid, she chided herself. You weren't going to accomplish anything in Europe. And you can do a great deal of good here.

In the seat next to the grizzled pilot, Connor was having a shouted conversation, fighting to be heard over the drone of the propellers.

"What are they like? The islanders?"

The older woman shrugged, her wispy blond hair swaying against the dark leather of her pilot's jacket. Just looking at her made Brigid feel hot and sweaty. "They're nice enough, I suppose. I don't come out this way too often. They're...traditional. Not like some of the places you see in the Caribbean," she said with a quick glance. "You know, how as soon as you get off the cruise ship they're trying to sell you crappy little knickknacks?

"They just want to be left alone, is what I think. They're not hostile, that's for sure. I've had some nice visits. But they've never caught the white man's disease."

"The white man's disease?" Brigid echoed.

Piercing gray eyes in a weather-beaten face looked at her from over her shoulder. "It's what they call it out here. You know. The need for things. How some people are never satisfied with what they have, and always want more, more, more." She made a spitting sound. "I came out here to get away from that." She slapped the instrument panel fondly. "I just want to fly my plane and meet new people."

Brigid nodded, and wondered about her brother. She was used to a transient lifestyle, never putting down deep roots. But Connor? She didn't think he was the sort to pine for material possessions, but he had grown used to being able to buy whatever he wanted. Would he be able to adjust to a culture where his whims couldn't be instantly gratified through Amazon?

"There it is." Pilot Kay lifted an arm to point through the windshield. Squinting, Brigid was able to make out a green smudge on the horizon. As the minutes passed, it grew larger, and was joined by others, more distant and to either side of the first. As they approached, Kay slowed the plane and drifted lower, then banked the plane in a long, slow sweep, circling the island.

"Perfect landing conditions," she murmured, "as usual.

"No runway here," she explained. "We land in the lagoon on the west side. But I always buzz the island so they can get out of the way."

Now only a few dozen feet above the turquoise water, Brigid could see slender canoes being rowed towards the beach. The sand was a white so bright it nearly hurt her eyes, the curve of the shore stretching out to either side like a pair of welcoming arms.

The plane lowered and slowed, lowered and slowed, until it hit the water with a subdued thud, barely tangible through the metal hull. It taxied up to a dock which jutted into the waters of the lagoon. Two people waited there. One small, slender, and dark. The other tall, stiff, and white.

Connor opened the door and jumped out nimbly, then extended a hand to help Brigid disembark. Kay retrieved their luggage and passed it through the door to him.

While they took care of those matters, Brigid faced the two strangers.

"Brigid Flaherty?" The voice was hopeful. She nodded.

"I'm Governor Shaw." She recognized the name, though not the voice, through the short, static-filled phone call she'd had a few nights previously, when she called the governor to let him know when she would be arriving. The patrician face and dark hair, streaked with silver, gave her the impression of a particularly well-off bank manager. But his expression was pinched with bitterness and frustrated ambition. "With your arrival, I surrender the governorship of the Paradise Islands to your authority." He shot a venomous look at the woman standing a few paces away. "Thank God."

Not looking back, he climbed into the plane. "Get me the hell out of here, pilot," they heard, before the door slammed shut. In short order the propellers began to whirl rapidly. The plane turned, taxied away from the dock, and sped across the lagoon. As they watched, it climbed upward, heading east, until it was only a distant white speck in the sky.

Nonplussed, she looked at the remaining woman. "What was that all about?"

She smiled, the expression showing deep dimples at the corners of her mouth. "Governor Shaw was very...set in his ways," she said. Her English was flawless, but held a strange accent, a mingling of British and American, combined with the liquid vowels of the native Polynesian language. The effect was not unpleasant. She gave a tiny shrug. "He could not accept that his ways were not ours." She extended a hand. "I am Elenoa Kahele. I serve as the liaison between my people and the governor's office. Welcome to the Paradise Islands, Governor."

"Thank you." Truth be told, Brigid could see why the islands had earned their name. The sun was warm on her shoulders through the light suit she had changed into in the airport in Tahiti. A soft breeze wafted in from the sea, amazingly pure and clean. In the sky, light, puffy cumulus clouds drifted overhead. Distant shouts caught her ear. In the lagoon, several large metal canoes, apparently made of aluminum, were heading back out from the shore, paddled by bare-chested, muscular men. On the beach, a group of small children ran back and forth, apparently engaged in a game of tag. Beyond them, the slopes of the island rose into the east, cloaked with lush green vegetation.

"Please," she said, feeling some of the tension of the last two months drain out of her. "Unless it's official business, I would prefer you use my given name. Call me Brigid."

"Brigid." Her name sounded strangely lovely coming from her lips.

"And this," Brigid continued as her brother came up to join her, "is my brother Connor. Connor, this is Elenoa Kahele. She'll be helping us get our feet on the ground.

"Connor?" She turned to her brother when he didn't react.

Well, he is reacting. Just not to me. She had never caught such a look of vacuous adoration on his face before. He stared at Elenoa as if she were the only woman in the world.

In fairness, Brigid had to admit that Elenoa was worth a stare or two. She seemed to be around their age, with clear brown skin and hair so black it threw back blue highlights in the tropical sun. Dark eyes and full, pouting lips gave her a sensuous, earthy beauty. Petite, she wore her conservative suit with grace, for all the world as if she were a member of a board of directors for a multi-national corporation somehow whisked away to a tropical beach.

Brigid slapped her brother's arm. "Close you mouth, boy. You'll catch flies."

He started and blinked. "God, I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Kahele."

"Elenoa, please." She shook his extended hand. Was it her imagination, or did Elenoa's fingers linger on Connor's?

"Let's get you settled," she continued, taking one of Brigid's bags. "Your luggage arrived yesterday afternoon. I had it moved to your rooms here in the residence." She gestured to a large white building only a few hundred yards away, connected to the dock by a meandering path, bordered with nodding flowers.

The house proved to be made of white clapboard, set facing the lagoon. An American flag, fluttering from an angled pole near the front door, was the only sign that this was the seat of authority for the entire island chain. The interior was bright and spacious, with wide, open doorways connecting the rooms. The windows were open, allowing the flower-scented breeze to waft through. It was, Brigid thought, like she was barely inside a house at all.

"The governor's office is downstairs," Elenoa said, gesturing to a room to the right. Through the doorway, Brigid glimpsed a dark wooden desk and matching bookshelves. "There's also a kitchen, formal dining room, den, library, bathroom, and rooms for the maid and cook."

"Maid and cook?" she repeated.

Elenoa nodded. "The house is large. We hire local women to care for it. Girls!" she called, then added something in her own language.

From a room to the left two women emerged. "This is Kalele," said Elenoa, gesturing at the first, a shy young girl who would barely raise her head to meet her eyes. "She cleans house for you. She comes from Tangahiri, the next island north.

"And this is Pelika. She is the cook. She is my second cousin, the daughter of my mother's cousin Puna." The short, stumpy woman, looking to be in her mid-forties, nodded at her, her broad face giving nothing away.

Brigid frowned. The two women seemed...not hostile, but wary. Even their movements seemed cramped and stifled. She looked at the heavy clothing they wore, dark, clinging skirts and white blouses, with dark jackets over all. She raised an eyebrow. "Tell me," she said, keeping her voice even and noncommittal. "Did Governor Shaw order you to wear those uniforms?"

The older woman, Pelika, nodded. "Yes, mistress."

Her frown deepened. "Not mistress. Brigid, please. Governor, if you must." She sighed. The previous governor had obviously been a fool. "I'm not going to force you to work in clothes that make you uncomfortable. I'll wager you don't wear this at home, do you?"

The younger woman, Kalele, gave a sudden giggle, then clapped her hand to her mouth as if she had committed a terrible offense.

She smiled. "Tomorrow, wear what you like. I only ask that you do your jobs well."

The two women smiled back; Kalele happily, Pelika more reserved. "What time would you like to have your evening meal, Governor?"

She rubbed her eyes, feeling suddenly drained. "God, what time is it?" She glanced at Connor. "Heck, what day is it? We've been chasing the sun so long I don't even know anymore. Maybe an hour?" she hazarded, looking back at the cook. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy.

"And, Elenoa, will you join us? I have a lot of questions about my new home."

She smiled and inclined her head. "Of course."

*****

Brigid busied herself for the next hour unpacking some of her clothes and stowing them neatly away, although there wasn't nearly enough time to set everything up as she would have liked. She found, to her gratified surprise, that both she and Connor had small suites on the upper floor. Hers consisted of a living room, bathroom, and bedroom. Connor's, when she risked a quick peek inside, seemed to be the same. The furnishings were slightly antiquated, but her brother had pronounced the wiring to be first-rate. At the very least, she thought, setting her portable stereo on a side-table, they would be able to listen to music and watch movies. And if they had a decent internet connection, Brigid thought, they would be able to stream sports and shows on their laptops. And she had been sure to ship all of her books. Connor had done the same. If all else failed, they could read to pass the time.

She washed and changed into a pair of light slacks and a green cotton blouse, suitable, she thought, for a informal meal. At the appointed time, she descended the main staircase to see Pelika setting a tray on the table in the dining room.

"The meal will be ready shortly, Governor," she said. "If you care to go to the veranda, you will find Elenoa. There is wine," she hinted.

She smiled in reply. Pelika wasn't the first woman she had met who didn't enjoy having a strange woman intrude in her domain. She walked across the hardwood floor, her low heels sending back bright-sounding taps of sound from the walls. Opening the gauze netting, she walked out onto the stone-paved courtyard behind the house, her eyes feasting hungrily on the greenery. Tropical flowers, their names unknown to her, lined the stone paths that led towards the wilder land, a few hundred yards away. Sprinkled among the flower beds, small fruit trees raised their slender limbs to the sky. She thought she recognized mango, guava, and papaya. She squinted. Was that? Yes. The unmistakable profile of a pineapple bush, as well.

She took a deep breath, reveling in the heady scent of growing things. Less than a day ago she had been surrounded by cold and snow. Now she stood in a veritable Garden of Eden.

"Welcome to Paradise," said a warm voice at her elbow. She turned to reply, then stopped, staring.

It was Elenoa. But the cultured, cosmopolitan woman she had met was gone. In her place was a true native of the islands. She had shed her formal attire. Instead, she wore a brightly-colored skirt, dyed in fantastic geometric patterns in a blinding array of hues, wrapped around her waist. Aside from that, however, her body was completely bare. Brigid flushed violently as she took in the inward-dipping curve of her waist, the saucy dimple of her navel, and especially the high, proud breasts, brown as toast, capped by dark nipples.

She realized she was staring, and tore her eyes away. "I beg your pardon," she muttered, feeling as if her face was about to catch fire.

"Does my appearance trouble you?" Elenoa's voice was soft, but there was a hint of a challenge in her tone.

"No." she shook her head. "I apologize. I know it is the custom here for women to wear the pareu." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "However, it is one thing to know something intellectually, and another to experience it, don't you think?"

Unexpectedly, Elenoa laughed, her voice high and clear. "Yes! Exactly! When I was getting ready to leave for the University of Hawai'i, my mother had to sit me down and tell me all about the strange customs I was going to have to learn. About how women there did not wear the pareu, but instead wore things like shirts and blouses and dresses.

"'But Mama,' I said, 'what about my nipples? Won't they get sore and chafed if I wear these clothes?'"

"It was then she told me about bras, and I ran out of the house screaming."

"But surely," she floundered, "you'd seen pictures in magazines. Or TV shows. Or movies."

"And surely," Elenoa countered, "you'd seen pictures of us before this evening. But that did not stop your surprise when you saw me."

She smiled ruefully. "True." A terrible thought struck her. "If you will give me a moment."

She walked back into the house, nearly colliding with her brother as he came down the staircase. Gripping his arm hard, she leaned close to him and hissed. "She's naked from the waist up. And I swear to God, Connor Flaherty, if you stare at her tits and embarrass me, I'll stab you in the eyeball with my own fork."

*****

"Tell me, Connor," asked Elenoa mildly. "Do you find me repulsive?"

Connor chewed a piece of mouth-wateringly good fish, and chased it with a sip of decent wine. From the corner of his eye, he could see his sister glaring at him. "No."

"Then why won't you look at me?" The last three words were sharp as a whip-crack, and he found his eyes jerked to her face.

She nodded shortly. "Better." Her voice softened. "Let me tell you how it works here, young man. And for you, too, Brigid," she added, slanting a look at his sister. "Because you are going to be living near some amazingly attractive men, if a woman can say that about her kin. Looking is fine. We are raised to value and cherish beauty in all its forms.

"However, when looking becomes ogling, then you will make us uncomfortable."

"How do I know the difference?" His voice sounded plaintive in his own ears.

She raised her brows. "It's the difference between watching a waterfall or a sunset or a falling star in the night sky, and looking at a dirty magazine, hiding it from others' eyes.

"Appreciation is fine. Even desire. But when desire becomes the urge to possess, to take, that is where the boundary lies between good and evil."

"So tell me about the islands," Brigid asked, changing the subject, to Connor's great relief. Elenoa was a stunningly beautiful woman. But the word that came to mind at the moment was formidable.

Elenoa lifted her eyebrows. "Tell me about America."

"Which part?" Then Brigid laughed. "I understand. Too much at once?"

"Exactly. Do you want to know about the geologic history? Or the weather? Or maybe about the botany? Or the social structure? Or the different islands, and how Alohilani is different from Tangahiri or Mokolia or Nakanonu? Or the economics? Or our history as a British protectorate, as opposed to that as an American territory? Or the political climate, and whether those hotheads in the Paradise Islands People's Party are actually going to carry through on their threats?"

"What threats?" Brigid frowned in sudden worry. Had she somehow managed to fall into a nascent rebellion?

"No threats." Her cheeks dimpled. "I made that last bit up."

"You....You're as bad as he is." She pointed at Connor.

"Really? How interesting." She grinned at her brother, who returned it with substantial interest.

Brigid sighed. "Start with the islands. Population?"

"About twelve thousand. Three thousand here on Alohilani. Maybe fifteen hundred on Tangahiri and Nakanonu. Several hundred each on the rest, except for Bligh's Atoll and Scarper Rock, which have never had a permanent population. There isn't a reliable freshwater spring on either island. We fish there, and once in a while send out a hunting party for wild pigs, but that's about it."

"So nine islands will actually need the solar arrays put in," Connor said thoughtfully. "What sort of experience will I have to draw on as far as installation and maintenance? I don't want to have to bring people in from off-island if I don't have to."

The dark-skinned woman nodded. "We have several good local electricians. They don't do it full-time, but they have a lot of practical experience repairing things around the islands. That's the way a lot of things work here. Almost everyone can do more than one thing. Our dentist is also the barber. The head constable spends most of his time in his fishing boat. Our doctor moves from island to island with her nurse, and also oversees the primary schools as a kind of roving, two-woman clinic."

Connor whistled, impressed. "What about you?"

"Well," she dimpled, taking a dainty bite of fruit salad. "I'm the liaison between our people and the governor here. And I'm a trained botanist and biologist. And I have my own house where I grow food and sell it at market. And I'm also a priestess."

"A priestess," he repeated blankly. "Not Christian then, obviously. What...deity...do you worship?"

"Faumea. She is the Lady of Wind and the Ocean." She looked out through the open window of the dining room, her gaze seeking out the rolling surf. "She is one of the three great deities of our islands. The others are Mahuika, the Woman of Lava and Fire, and Tanirongo, the Man of Fertile Earth."

"I thought Pele was the volcano goddess," put in Connor.

"In Hawai'i, she is. Here, we do not worship Pele. Or fear her. Our volcanoes are gentle things that do little more than bubble in hot springs. We see them as a force of creation, not destruction. There is a volcanic seamount about thirty miles east of here. The geologic society told us there will be another island there in about twenty thousand years. It gladdens my heart that the islands will increase." She said it with such perfect calm it seemed she was willing to wait for it to appear.

"The schools?" Brigid, ever practical, turned the conversation back to its path.

Elenoa blinked, drawing away from whatever inner vision she had had. "We have good schools. The local high school is here on the main island. Though for some of the outlying islands it's correspondence work, mostly, once you reach that level. About fifteen or twenty girls and boys leave the islands every year to go to college. Almost all of them come back, so we have a solid professional class."