Tales of the South Pacific by James A. Michener Page B

religion in the family was all in the men. Not the women. Although I did know Bishop Paton. He was a fine man."
    The old woman droned on and on until it was obvious to me that she was drunk again from too much of Tony's rum. Toward morning she left us and went into her bedroom. I sat drumming my fingers on the table and Tony said, "Come on! We'll drive Lucy home."
    "I don't want to go home!" she cried.
    "Get in the jeep!" Tony commanded, adding in a low voice, "You've done enough for one night."
    The crazy girl climbed in behind us. At the hill Tony drove very slowly and pushed on the horn. The reaction was delayed, but when it came it was more explosive than before. Kids from everywhere piled out of the old house and came screaming in the night. "It's Lucy!" they shouted. "Lucy comin' home in the American jeep!"
    "So she blew up the bulldozer?" I asked.
    "That's right," Tony said sleepily. "She and Teta."
    "Fry," I said coldly. "Those two women could never in a million years figure out how to explode dynamite." A guard stopped us.
    "Good evening, commander," he said. "Saboteurs about. Blew up a half-track."
    "They couldn't figure it in a million years, Tony."
    "It was an old bulldozer anyway," Fry said as we drove back to Teta's. "Something somebody in the States didn't want. Commander, I can just see him, rubbing his hands and saying, 'Look! I can sell it to the guv'mint. Make money on the deal, too. And it's patriotic! You can't beat a deal like that!' Well, his tractor did a lot of good."
    "We need that bulldozer for the airstrip."
    "I don't think you do," Tony replied. "As a matter of fact, I'm damned sure you don't. Because that's the one that broke down this afternoon and the Army man said it couldn't be fixed." He brought the jeep to a stop by Teta's fence.
    "Fry," I said. "You could be court-martialed for this."
    Tony turned to face me. "Who would believe you?" he asked.
    "By God, man," I said grimly. "If I had the facts I'd press this case."
    "With whom?" he asked. "With Ghormley? With Admiral Kester? You tell your story. Then I'll tell mine. Can you imagine the look on Kester's face? There was an old, useless bulldozer. A couple of women blew it up as a last gesture of defiance. A woman ninety and a crazy girl. That story wouldn't stand up. Especially if I said how you came here to do a job and just couldn't make up your mind to knock down a few trees. It's too fantastic, commander. Kester would never believe that."
    "I could understand your helping them, in peacetime," I said. "But this is war."
    "That's when people need help, commander!" Fry said quietly. "Not when everything is going smoothly."
    "It's all so damned futile," I said, looking away toward the stone stables. "Blowing up one bulldozer."
    "Commander," Fry said with quiet passion. "Right now I can see it. Some sawed-off runt of a Jew in Dachau prison. Plotting his escape. Plotting to kill the guards. Working against the Nazis. One little Hebrew. You probably wouldn't invite him to your house for dinner. He smells. So futile. One little Jew. But by God, I'm for him. I'm on his side, commander." Fry punched me lightly on the shoulder. I hate being mauled.
    "These people on Norfolk can't be dismissed lightly," he continued. "They're like the little Jew. Some smart scientists can come down here and prove they're all nuts. But do you believe it? We took down a map the other day, Teta and I. We figured where her grandsons are fighting. She can't remember whether they're grandsons or great-grandsons. All the same names. They're in Africa, Malaya, India, New Guinea, England. One was at Narvik. Crete. They may be stupid, but they know what they want. They knew what they wanted when they mocked that Nazi Bligh off his ship. They knew what they wanted when they turned their backs on the prison lands. Refused convict homes all ready waiting for them. The saints knew what they wanted when they went north as missionaries. I'm on their side. If blowing up a broken