I dedicate this story to my friends
from Australia and New Zealand.
1
A scuba diver, working by his hands and legs energetically, swam as a sportsman past a submarine reef and a shoal of playful сoryphaenas, shining by their silver scales. From the left of him, behind seaweeds a disgraceful plaice looked out momentarily, and two brown sting rays rushed past overhead of the young swimmer. In front of himself, at a distance of about seven metres, the scuba diver saw a large turtle, swimming unhurriedly, who was accompanied by active striped pilot-fishes. A soft, not bright light, pleasant blue radiance, penetrated with rays of the tropical sun, transformed surprisingly the unique submarine world and its inhabitants. Having taken pleasure in his twenty minutes’ swimming, the young man began to rise higher and higher until he could see a motor yacht, waiting for him in the Pacific Ocean. Long, calm waves rolled on the ocean’s surface. The snow-white yacht with bright-blue borders sometimes rose on the crest of the wave, sometimes was lowered to the hollow.
Having gone upstairs to deck, the swimmer, inhaling the fresh sea air with pleasure, took off his aqualung and mask hurriedly. The yacht was surrounded with the boundless blue ocean and dark blue colour of the cloudless sky far and wide. After a night storm astonishing calm was in the ocean. A long-winged frigate bird soared high in the air, not numerous flying fishes flew from a wave to another one, and not far a merry pair of dolphins frisked in sea water. The muscular, not tall scuba diver was not elder than twenty-six. The water’s streams flowed down from his black crisp hair, and a slightly self-assured smile played on his sunburnt beautiful face.
“Oh, it’s a pity, I hadn’t my arbalest”, the swimmer complained. “What an appetizing plaice I could shoot!”
“Andrei, have you also a passion for submarine hunting?” a slim, sunburnt girl with bikini on was surprised, looking admiringly at the young man.
“It stands to reason,” Andrei answered with pride, having straightened his damp shoulders. “It’s my hobby from my childhood. I began to dive for fishes at the Black Sea, when I lived in Sevastopol. By the way, I finished a technical school there. And when I found myself in Australia four years ago, I don’t lose any opportunity. For example, two months ago north of Perth I fished mackerels of about twenty kilos. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t in luck on that day. When I dragged out the fishes, sharks attacked them and therefore there was nothing for me.”
“How terrible! Did you not suffer from sharks?” she asked in fright.
“In that time I didn’t,” the young man answered imperturbably, as if they had a talk about trifles. “Before this incident sharks attacked me twice. But I had my arbalest always near me. Once I poked a shark by the arbalest’s arrow and it swam away at that very minute. Another time I met an importunate predator, who swam around me long. I was forced to shoot at it. The shot was good and it was all right. Generally speaking, it’s important to be with sharks on the alert,” Andrei instructed as though he was an experienced mentor, “to swim under without splashes, not to do active motions and to look around constantly.”
“As I see, you’re an extreme guy, finding keen sensations,” a grey haired, strong man, wearing variegated shirt and shorts, took part in the talk.
“Well, Boris, I’m not a bridled bear to stay put,” Andrei, putting his summer clothes on, knit his brows. “I like such life. We live in the world only once. What’s the good of long life, if you’ve been nowhere, saw nothing and have no notion of anything? It’s fearful boredom! As to me, although I moved to Australia recently, I had time to visit the islands of Norfolk, Sumba and New Caledonia. By the way, there’re excellent places for diving and wonderful nature there.”
“That’s all right, Andriuha, don’t get into a passion!” forty-year-old Boris smiled ironically, taking off his dark glasses. “It’s not difficult for me to understand your craving for wanderings. I’m a sea captain, who served fleet for twenty years. It’s easier to say, where I haven’t been. Last seven years, after our family moved to Sydney, I transported loads to Panama, Honolulu and Vancouver… And now there’s one of the Cook southern islands to the right of us,” continued he, staring at his binoculars. “It’s Atiu Atoll, if I’m not mistaken. No words, a splendid view! It can be a fine location for an adventure film. Take it, Christina, look there,” said the man, giving the binoculars to his daughter.
The experienced sailor was absolutely right; indeed, Atiu Atoll, covered with dense vegetation, was visible within a kilometer of the yacht. Coastal ferns and high coconut-trees, surrounding the small island, as if grew from the water plain, shining by soft colours. An uninhabited part of the sunlit atoll appeared before the tourists; they did not see neither Polynesian houses nor huts. The small island’s coast was broken here and there, the lagoon, separated from the ocean by coal reeves, showed green in its depth.
“And what are we doing here?” Andrei said impatiently, having admired Atiu’s beauty in his turn. “Atoll isn’t far, we need to sail there faster and acquainted ourselves with it better”
“Do you think so, running man?” asked sailor, bantering on the adventurer. “OK, I’ve nothing against it. Let’s go to the captain cabin.”
Three travelers came down without hesitation. Boris started a motor, and then, having taken a rudder in his hands, he turned rapidly the yacht to opposite side. At that very instant the snow-white yacht, cutting deeply the ocean’s blue surface, rushed along the waves.
The people on board, the young man and the father with his daughter, made their acquaintance in Аvarua, in Rarotonga Island only a week ago. However, for a short time they struck up friendly terms, began to sympathize with each other and found a lot of common interests. As it turned out, Andrei Galitsky, Boris and Christina Stoph, migrating to Australia from post-Soviet countries, as before, maintained their contacts with their Ukrainian and Russian relatives, and at free time they liked an active holiday in the open air and travelling through exotic places. Without doubt, Andrei, finishing a polytechnic school formerly, was a real extreme fellow among them. Having worked at a Sevastopol tourist agency not long, the young man, as his cousin, decided to try his luck in Australia. Last three years in the seaport of Newcastle Andrei worked as a driver of a lorry with carrying capacity of sixty tons.
Boris Stoph, an impressive, slightly severe man, was born and graduated from the sea academy in Vladivostok. Before their migration to Australia, he collaborated with different navigable companies, until he made his contract with Sea Containers Australia Ltd in 2002. A year ago the sea captain became a widower. Having lost his beloved wife, Boris wanted to leave the service and to take more care of his only daughter. In Sydney he planned to open his own business, connected with tourism.
Eighteen-year-old Christina was a fascinating, pretty girl with long chestnut hair and dark-blue eyes. Christina was full of romantic dreams and hopes, which were characteristic of her young age. After the journey through the Cook Islands, the girl was going to become a stewardess of Qantas Airways.
Having arrived by air to Avarua from New Zealand, Andrei, Boris and Christina acquainted themselves actively with sights of Rarotonga during four days. They visited both an old Christian church and the ethnographic village of Arorangi, built by missioners, admired the picturesque peaks of Raemaru and Te Rua Manga, had a rest near the heavy waterfalls of Wingmore in the shadow of ferns and citrus plants. Among traditional souvenirs Christina was surprised by original handicrafts of black pearls and necklaces of the tiny snails’ shells. Certainly, these adornments were beyond her father’s pocket, and he could buy a fan and a small handbag, decorated with embroidery. At the end of their fourth day in Rarotonga indefatigable Andrei persuaded the sailor to rent a small yacht, which was used by the tourists next day, when they went to visit the other Cook southern islands.
2
The motor yacht, going around a barrier reef carefully, went to the lagoon and moored near the atoll’s coast. When it was dropped anchor, the travelers with rucksacks behind went downstairs to the ground. Atiu showed its magnificent nature to them. The atoll’s coast, surrounded by bright verdure of flowing mimosa shrubs, hibiscus, casuarina and pandanus trees, was strewed with blinding white coral sands. The seaweeds of caulerpa and sea kale, oysters, crabs and starfishes, thrown by surf, were visible here and there, not far from the water. High palms with brown grey trunks stretched along all the coast. The damp breeze, shaking large green nuts, swayed tenderly their hard, as if varnished leaves.
“It’s fantastic! The magic world!” Christina exclaimed ecstatically, having taken her mobile phone and begun to photograph a wonderful view.
The girl, taking no notice of anything, came too near to one of the palms, hanged with massive coconuts of the size of two-year-old child’s head. Suddenly under the influence of the wind a ripe nut broke off the tree and flew down quickly, to the side, where Christina stood care-freely. At the last moment Andrei ran to the girl and pulled her to a safe distance in time. Several seconds later the heavy nut with a thick green shell fell down within ten steps of the young people.
“What an excellent reaction!” Boris said emotionally, having shaken Andrei by the hand strongly. “But for you, my dear fellow, it’s terrible to think that it could happen.”
“As to me, I even can’t say how I’m grateful to you,” Christina blushed. Now in the girl’s eyes Andrei became a hero, who existed only in her imagination before.
“It’s a trifle!” the young man waved off, although he was glad to hear the kind words. “It’s more difficult with sharks. However, Christina, you must be careful next time. When I was in Sumba last year, guide told us about a tourist, who was killed by a coconut, and another guy got a concussion of the brain… Our natural gift, I think, will weigh about three kilos,” noticed he, raising the ripe nut from the ground.
Not far from the tourists a big sharp stone lay on the white sand. With the help of it Andrei struck an adroit and strong blow on the coconut, which was split into two equal parts on the instant.
“This is your compensation for the extreme situation,” he said with a smile, giving two halves of the nut with snow-white pulp to Boris and Christina.
“Аnd what about you?” Christina asked solicitously.
“As for me, I brought in temporary moratorium on coconuts,” Andrei made a joke. “They remember me about Indonesia till now.”
After a short break Andrei and Boris with his daughter continued their journey. The sun, shining in the clear sky, lit up an uneven path with the travelers by its bright rays. Step by step they went farer and farer to a natural tropical forest. Heliotropes, tung trees, numerous ferns and lianas, attracting the tourists’ attention by their splendid green foliage, crowded each other. The unusual forest thicket was full of different birds, disturbing of quiet by their ringing various twitters. Fruit pigeons and Borabora kingfishers, gleaming by the rainbow’s colours, fluttered in the air, a red long-tailed cuckoo sat on a high branch with importance, a small brown white warbler flew smartly from a bush to another one, a fearful grebe with a black brown plumage hided in dense shrubs.
“Аnd how much do you earn as a driver of a lorry?” Boris asked suddenly, when they went past a brook, babbling under the green branches.
“Ninety thousand for a year,” the young man answered without reflection. “Well, what of it?”
“You see, on our return to Sydney I’m going to buy a yacht for sea cruises,” having looked attentively at Andrei, the sailor began to explain. “I need a partner. You’re a fidgety fellow, like the see, and, of course, I thought about you. Now sea tourism is a profitable thing. We can convey people along the bays of Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, Sydney bay near opera and Harbour Bridge, to the islands of Whitsunday and Hunchinbrook, to the Great Barrier Reef. Routes can be very different.”
“It will be great,” Andrei showed interest. “But I must think about it.”
“I don’t hurry you, Andriusha,” Boris agreed. “I can promise: you’ll earn twice as big. Besides, I’ll find easily a flat in Sydney for you.”
About twenty minutes later the travelers, stepping on a soft carpet of damp grass, came to a volcanic slope, overgrown with ferns. On the left of the slope, within ten metres two coconut-trees rose above the environs; two-metre wide net for the birds’ catching was fastened to their trunks. When the tourists approached nearer, they saw two frugivorous pigeons, which got tangled in firm cells. The birds with grey rose and green feathers, trying to become free unsuccessfully, twitched nervously, but the net’s threads held their paws and beaks.
“Poor birds,” Christina said with sympathy, having sighed heavily. “Why do they hinder somebody at liberty?”
“By the way, the rare birds’ catching is prohibited in the Cook Islands,” Boris remembered. “Probably, there’re poachers in Atiu.”
“Fortune favours the brave,” having said only these words, Andrei smiled and cut threads, hindering the birds to get free, with his sharp knife. Having waved by their wings with gladness, the pigeons flew up momentarily and disappeared in the blue sky a minute later.
“Well done, Andrei!” the sailor nodded his head approvingly and a kind smile appeared on his severe face. “But I think it’s not an only trap, there’re the other ones near.”
“Let’s look round the environs,” the adventurer offered, who did not want to stay in the same place. “Anybody can’t catch us in the net.”
Having come back and gone round the slope on the right, Andrei, Boris and Christina saw several casuarina and pandanus trees with thin green, growing on the hilly ground separately. The poachers fastened not big metallic cages for the small birds’ catching to both casuarina trees, located within three metres of each other. When a naive bird, attracted by a bait, flew into the insidious trap, it closed automatically with the help of a spring. In one of the cages a small Atiu swiftlets jumped anxiously. Christina opened the cage at once and the dark-brown bird, living in the island only, jumped out swiftly and flew away.
“Ah, here are the tracks of the people’s activity,” Boris noticed with irony, having shown by his hand to cigarette-ends, scattered near trees, a crumpled pack of “Marlboro” and a tin from under beer. “Evidently, our friends, poachers, have a rest somewhere not far from us.”
While advancing along the volcanic slope to south-east, the tourists went down gradually along bent roots of climbing plants and small lace ferns, going into the endless distance. Shortly after the young man and sailor with his daughter found themselves in a small grove, where creeping lianas with original foliage alternated with fragrant mimosa and acacia shrubs. The contours of several high caves were visible distinctly from behind the shady grove and dense heliotrope bushes. Having come close to the bushes, at a distance of fifteen metres travelers saw suddenly two poachers, sitting on the ground, not far from a tarpaulin tent.
3
“Don’t worry, Mike! I’ll make a great man of you,” promised a fat, drunk poacher, clapping his friend on the back. “I didn’t tell you, but I’m a veteran of Afghanistan war.”“Wow! You’re so strong guy, Frank!” a feeble man was astounded very much, having taken the beer’s gulp from his tin. “You can be a star of any blockbuster without a problem.”
Actually both profiteers had very shabby, unattractive appearances and they as were like Hollywood film-stars as deserts of Central Australia remembered evergreen meadows and forests of New Zealand. Mike and Frank, overgrown with beards and blushing of constant drunkenness, put faded T-shirts, old jeans and sandals on. The tourists, who hid in the bushes, heard the poachers excellently and made serious efforts to stop a good laugh at their drunk chatter.
“What are we talking about, Mike?” Frank looked big. “I always was drastic, it’s my nature. When I was seventeen, I blew up the chemistry’s room and they drove me out of school. But I didn’t lose my head: the mother’s boyfriend wanted to strike at my muzzle, and in consequence he was outed by me in a split second.”
“Wow! Jesus Christ!” exclaimed the second poacher, taking the next gulp of beer.
“Every dog has his day. Remember it, Mike. In Afghanistan I served as a sergeant, everybody respected me there. Those, who played the goats, didn’t get off with a whole skin. Darkey Afghans followed me like sheep, supplied me heroin for resale every other day.”
“Wow!”
“Stick to me, Mike,” Frank talked on and on, but slower and more indistinct. “I have great connections in Washington. Even Senator Phillips would like to buy our birds for his personal zoo… You were in luck, when you met me at that bar. I’m a very strong guy, and know, how to make money.”
About half an hour lasted the poachers’ talk, which became more incoherent with every minute. Towards the end intoxicated men tottered to the tent, and after a short time the tourists heard their loud, whistling snore.
“Stay here, I’ll reconnoitre,” having moved apart heliotrope bushes carefully, Andrei whispered to Andrei and Christina.
While going along the stony ground with thin vegetation by noiseless steps, the young man looked round attentively. There were no caught birds near the tent, but one of the deep lime caves rose not far, at a distance of about ten metres. Andrei decided to go there just in case. He came slowly to the cave’s foot and went up the stones’ conglomeration. Four latticed metallic cages with handles stood almost near the cave’s entrance. Two big cages were full of scared birds of different kinds: rare fruit pigeons, mossy-nest swiftlets, boobies, brown-winged plovers, kingfishers, Australian black wild ducks. Without a moment hesitation the young man took the cages and went down on the ground.
“We need to set the birds free,” having returned to his friends, Andrei said quietly and gave a metallic cage to the sailor.
After his words the tourists ran back across the grove. They stayed only at that instant, when saw the same volcanic slope, decorated with a green carpet of numerous ferns.
“Well, here nobody can hinder us,” Boris, opening one of the cages, sighed with relief.
Christina took example by her father and opened the second cage. Soon ringing twitters resounded in the air, the happy birds, radiant by the all colours of spectrum, flew to different sides on the instant.
“To my mind, the poachers can dislike our surprise”, Andrei smiled ironically, watching as the birds disappeared in the sky.
“I’m not so extreme fellow as you, Andriuha,” the sailor said with a smile, “therefore I’m not sure that I want to see their reaction. I think, we have nothing to do in Atiu. It’s time to return to our yacht.”
The reasonable offer of Boris did not raise an objection, and the travelers went hurriedly to the sandy coast’s side.
* * *
A blinding tropical day was replaced by evening twilight. The sunset rays fell on the calm ocean and as if hit against a hard diamond surface, and then lifted a sparkling haze, playing by its changeable shine. Darkling foamy waves broke against a side of the motor yacht, situated at a distance of two kilometres from Atiu Atoll. In the captain cabin Andrei and Christina, sitting at the table, drank a pineapple juice and looked with tenderness to each other, while Boris drove the yacht by his exact, confident motions. “It’s interesting, what’s visible in the horizon?” the sailor said suddenly, having broken the silence. “It’s like the coastguard’s cutter… And so it’s indeed! We need them. The police must know about the poachers’ tricks. All the more that we destroyed the evidences and our new acquaintances will be not very frightened,” summed up he, switching off the engine.When Boris and Andrei went upstairs to the yacht’s deck, they discerned better the coastguard’s patrol, which approached to them, and three policemen on board.
“Officers, wait, please! I have an important message for you!” shouted the sea captain, having given a wave.
“What’s up, sir? Can we help you?” a dark-complexioned lieutenant, Maori, asked, soon after their cutter went nearer.
“The point is we met two poachers in Atiu Atoll,” began his tale Boris, having described shortly the law breakers’ appearances and explained how to find them.
“Yes, these well-oiled guys are really merry, free and easy,” the lieutenant noticed mockingly, having shown his snow-white smile. “In our islands they have a sensation of full comfort, as if at home. Thanks for your information, sir. We’ll check it. Have a happy voyage!”
“All the best to you, lieutenant!” the captain answered.
“Boris, I decided to work with you,” having come into the cabin, Andrei said solemnly to the sailor.
“Well, it’s fine, partner,” rejoiced Boris, embracing the young man strongly, who was sympathetic to him for a long time. “I promise, you’ll be never sorry for this.”
The dark evening, giving nature mysterious, fantastic contours, came to the Pacific Ocean and Cook Islands, which hided their splendid beauty from people now. From far away the motor yacht, running along waves, looked as a small glimmering point, which floated along the endless ocean.
