By the morning of the fourth day on the island of Oahu, Chandler had
learned enough of the ropes to have signed a money-chit at the Tripler
currency office against Koitska's account.
That was about all he had learned, except for a few practical matters
like where meals were served and the location of the fresh-water
swimming pool at the back of the grounds. He was killing time using the
pool when, in the middle of a jacknife from the ten-foot board, he felt
himself seized. He sprawled into the water with a hard splashing slap,
threshed about and, as he came to the surface, found himself giggling.
"Sorry, dear," he apologized to himself, "but we don't carry our weight
in the same places, you know. Get that square-what'sit thingamajig,
like an angel, and meet me in front by the flagpole in twenty minutes."
He recognized the voice, even if his own vocal chords had made it. It
was the girl who had driven him back from the interview with Koitska,
the one who had casually announced she had saved his life at his
hoaxing trial. Chandler swam to the side of the pool and toweled as he
trotted toward his quarters. She was from Koitska now, of course; which
meant that his "test" was about to be graded.
Quickly though he dressed, she was there before him, standing beside a
low-slung sports car and chatting with one of the groundskeepers. An
armful of leis dangled beside her, and although she wore the coronet
which was evidence of her status the gardener did not seem to fear
her. "Come along, love," she called to Chandler. "Koitska wants your
thingummy. Chuck it in the trunk if it'll fit, and we'll head waikiki
wikiwiki. Don't I say that nicely? But I only fool the malihinis, like
you."
She chattered away as the little car dug its rear wheels into the drive
and leaped around the green and out the gate.
The wind howled by them, the sun was bright, the sky was piercingly
blue. Riding next to this beautiful girl, it was hard for Chandler to
remember that she was one of those who had destroyed his world. It was
a terrible thing to have so much hatred and to feel it so diluted.
Not even Koitska seemed a terrible enough enemy to accept such a load
of detestation; it was hate without an object, and it recoiled on the
hater, leaving him turgid and constrained. If he could not hate his
onetime friend Jack Souther for defiling and destroying his wife, it
was almost as hard to hate Souther's anonymous possessor. It could
even have been Koitska. It could even have been this girl by his
side. In the strange, cruel fantasies with which the Execs indulged
themselves it was likely enough that they would sometimes assume the
body, and the role, of the opposite sex. Why not? Strange, ruthless
morality; it was impossible to evaluate it by any human standards.
It was also impossible to think of hatred with her beside him. They
soared around Honolulu on a broad expressway and paralleled the beach
toward Waikiki. "Look, dear. Diamond Head! Mustn't ignore it--very bad
form--like not going to see the night-blooming cereus at the Punahou
School. You haven't missed that, have you?"
"I'm afraid I have--"
"Rosalie. Call me Rosalie, dear."
"I'm afraid I have, Rosalie." For some reason the name sounded familiar.
"Shame, oh, shame! They say it was wonderful night before last. Looks
like cactus to me, but--"
Chandler's mental processes had worked to a conclusion. "Rosalie
_Pan_!" he said. "Now I know!"
"Know what? You mean--" she swerved around a motionless Buick, parked
arrogantly five feet from the curb--"you mean you didn't know who I
was? And to think I used to pay five thousand a year for publicity."
Chandler said, smiling, and almost relaxed, "I'm sorry, but musical
comedies weren't my strong point. I did see you once, though, on
television. Then, let's see, wasn't there something about you
disappearing--"
She nodded, glancing at him. "There sure was, dear. I almost froze to
death getting out to that airport. Of course, it was worth it, I found
out later. If I hadn't been took, as they say, I would've been dead,
because you remember what happened to New York about an hour later."
"You must have had some friends," Chandler began, and let it trail off.
So did the girl. After a moment she began to talk about the scenery
again, pointing out the brick-red and purple bougainvillea, describing
how the shoreline had looked before they'd "cleaned it up." "Oh,
thousands and thousands of the _homeliest_ little houses. You'd have
hated it. So we have done at least a few good things, anyway," she said
complacently, and began gently to probe into his life story. But as
they stopped before the TWA message center, a few moments later, she
said, "Well, love, it's been fun. Go on in; Koitska's expecting you.
I'll see you later." And her eyes added gently: _I hope_.
* * * * *
Chandler got out of the car, turned ... and felt himself taken. His
voice said briskly, "_Zdrastvoi, Rosie. Gd'yeh Koitska?_"