The Three Sirens (2 page)

Therefore, it was with shock and dismay that I read—it was three or four years ago, I believe—in our local weekly,
Les Debats
, of your husband’s decease. I was too moved and awkward to write to you at the time, but now that the years have passed I tender my sincerest condolences. I can only hope that you have withstood the loss, and are now recovered and in strong health, and teaching, writing, and traveling again.

I pray this letter reaches you, for I have only your old card with this address, but if you have gone elsewhere, I am sure that the postal authorities will locate one of your renown. The reason I say that “I pray this letter reaches you” is because I feel that the subsequent contents may interest you deeply, and may have a profound effect on the course of your work.

Before I inform you of the remarkable curiosity that has come to my attention, I must refresh your memory—if it is necessary—on a portion of our conversation ten years ago. It was after the dinner in Papeete, when we were having our liqueurs, that you and your beloved husband thanked me for the minor anecdotes and histories I was able to relate. We drank in silence for some minutes, and then you spoke to me the following, and I base my remembrance of your words not on faulty memory but on passages of a journal I have faithfully kept for years. You said:

“Professor Easterday, our field trip to Fiji, our side trips throughout the Melanesia area, and now our brief visits to Tonga, the Cooks, the Marquesas, and here to Tahiti, have been so productive and stimulating, that my husband and I feel we must return. We want to come back to Polynesia, specifically Polynesia, in the near future. However, there must be a reason, a purpose, for such a visit. This is where you come in, Professor Easterday. We make this request of you: if ever you learn of a Polynesian people, on an unknown atoll, whose culture remains uncontaminated by outside contact and has not been subjected to scientific scrutiny, I want you to be certain to let us know of this discovery at once. If the people and their atoll are worthy of a study in the field, if they can teach us something about human behavior, we would undertake an investigation. For your part, you would be amply rewarded.”

When I heard this, Dr. Hayden, I was moved by your faith in me. At the same time, if you recollect, I had to admit that I doubted if I could be of any help to you. I told you that, to the best of my knowledge, there were no important islands—that is, populated islands—that were not already known, charted, visited, investigated. I told you, frankly, that the explorers, missionaries, whalers, traders—and since then the militarists, tourists, beachcombers, anthropologists—had seen all there was to be seen in these parts, and it was unlikely that there was anything new or virginal left.

Despite my firm statement, if I recollect accurately, you were undiscouraged. I have since learned that this was typical of you, that your perceptions, optimism, persistence are some of the characteristics of your fame. And so, at the time, you were able to say tome:

“Professor Easterday, while you know Oceania better than we ever shall, I must tell you that our experience in many places has taught us that all is not discovered, all is not known, and nature has its way of withholding its little surprises. As a matter of fact, I have personally met several anthropologists who served in the Pacific during World War II and who confessed to me that they had come across at least a half-dozen obscure islands, inhabited by primitive tribes, that were not on any existing maps. These anthropologists are being very secretive about their previously undiscovered islands—are not mentioning their location to anyone—for fear that they might be placed on public maps and charts. These anthropologists are hoarding their little atolls against the day when they have time and funds to make their exclusive studies. As you surely understand, exclusivity—that is, new ground to be covered—often counts for much in the social sciences. Now, I have a feeling that, among the more than ten thousand atolls, coral islands, volcanic islands in Oceania, there must be some so-called lost islands worthy of study in depth. I repeat, Professor, if ever you should hear of one such island, with a people whose customs are yet unknown to the outside world, please remember the Haydens and their deep interest. Do not forget what I speak of tonight, Professor Easterday. Do not forget. I promise, you will not regret your trouble.”

I have never forgotten what you spoke of that night, Dr. Hay-den. You may have long forgotten, after these many years, but I have not. Your request was always in the back part of my mind. True, in recent years, especially as Western jet civilization encroached more and more upon the South Pacific, I thought your hope, and my quest on your behalf, an impossible chimera. We are both aware that the world map still displays unexplored areas—the interior of Dutch New Guinea, portions of the China-Burma-India range, the upper part of the Amazon River Basin—with tribes never seen by outside eyes. But your dream of a previously un-visited, populated island in Oceania? I confess that I had finally almost abandoned listening to any rumor or gossip that might substantiate your dream. Then, suddenly, last week, by accident, when I had all but given up thinking about the matter, your old request bore fruit.

Yes, Dr. Hayden, I have found your lost island.

Forgive me, if my stiff English belies the thrill within me as I put these words to paper. How I wish for eloquence in your language, this moment of fulfillment. Handicapped as I am, I will do my best to convey to you my enthusiastic emotions.

After a decade of years, I have found, among the thousands of islets of Oceania, the hitherto unknown island and unknown people that you once sought. This is not hearsay or native gossip, Dr. Hayden. I address you with the authority of firsthand evidence. For, I have walked on the soil of this minute high island. I have consorted briefly with its inhabitants, a mixture half-Polynesian and half-English, as in the instance of Pitcairn Island. I have observed, and since heard more of, the customs of this tribe, and these customs reveal one of the most peculiar and strange isolated civilizations on the earth today. I try to see this find of mine through your expert and experienced eyes, and I see a study that might be of great importance in your work and a useful contribution to every man and woman alive.

The name of this overlooked South Sea island group—one small but lush volcanic isle, and two tiny atolls—is The Three Sirens.

Do not attempt to locate The Three Sirens on any map. They are not there. They have not been officially discovered for the authorities or the public. Do not attempt to research The Three Sirens in any learned books on Oceania. As far as history and geography are concerned, they do not exist. You must trust my scholar sense: The Three Sirens, if microscopic by comparison, are as real as Tahiti or Rarotonga or Easter Island or, for that matter, Pitcairn Island. As to the populace of the Sirens, no more than two hundred I should venture, they are also as real as you and I. With the exception of myself and two other Caucausians, they have not been seen by anyone alive on earth today.

What is most unique about these people on The Three Sirens—I must state this as a preliminary, for if this does not interest you, then you need not trouble to read further, and I shall reluctantly turn elsewhere—what is most unusual about these people is their advanced (I might add amazing) attitude toward the practice of love and marriage. I am sure there is nothing similar to their historic behavior in any other society on the globe.

I cannot comment if the sexual and marital customs on The Three Sirens are good or bad. I can only remark, without equivocation, that they astound me. And I, Dr. Hayden, speak not as an ignorant, inexperienced undergraduate, but as a scientist and a man of the world.

If I have piqued your interest, as I pray I have, you must read on. Remember, as you read, that I am no teller of tales, that I speak with the cold objectivity of a German-trained archeologist. Remember, too, the words of the immortal Hamlet, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

I will discuss, chronologically, my own involvement in this accidental discovery, as well as what I found, what I observed, what I heard, and, as it may concern you, what may be done about this, in a practical way.

About six weeks ago, there came to my shop a tall, aristocratic, middle-aged Australian gentleman, who introduced himself as Mr. Trevor, of Canberra. He said that he had just completed a tour that encompassed Western Samoa, the Marquesas, the Cooks, and that he could not return to his homeland without bringing some souvenirs. He had heard of my stock, and my reputation for honesty, and he wanted to purchase several small artifacts. I led him about the shop, explaining this item and that, its origin, its history, its uses and meaning, and soon he was so taken by my broad knowledge of the South Seas that he began to question me about many of the islands and my travels and buying trips among them. Eventually, his stay extended to several hours—I served him tea—and although he departed with purchases amounting to no more than i,800 Pacific francs, I regretted his leaving. It is rare one finds literate listeners in this lonely place.

I thought that was the last of Mr. Trevor, of Canberra, Australia, so you can imagine my surprise when, shortly after I had opened my shop the following morning, he reappeared. He had not come for artifacts, he said, or to listen to my stories, but rather to receive my answer to a business proposition he was about to offer me. He had been impressed, he said, by my acquaintance with the many islands and natives of Polynesia. He had been hunting for such a one as myself, he said, and in his entire tour he had found no one reliable as well as knowledgeable, until he had chanced upon me. Because he thought me too good to be true, he had made inquiries among prominent officials the night before, and they had supported and recommended me.

Without further prologue, Mr. Trevor revealed his mission. He represented a syndicate of Canberra businessmen who believed in the future of Polynesia and desired to invest hard pounds in it. The projects were many, and diversified, but among the first was to be a fleet of small passenger airplanes to carry tourists between the lesser but most picturesque islands and the larger ones. The company, Intra-Oceania Flights, would undercut, in fares and freight charges, Qantas, the French TAI, South Pacific Air Lines, New Zealand’s TEAL, and several others. Essentially, it expected to offer a shuttle or ferry service, giving it greater mobility and latitude than the larger companies. Because light aircraft would be employed, small and cheap landing fields and inexpensive facilities could be used, and rates could be kept low. Mr. Trevor explained that arrangements had been made throughout Polynesia, in cooperation with foreign home governments, but the site for one more airfield was still missing.

Mr. Trevor could remain no longer to locate this last elusive airfield. He needed someone to act in his stead. That was why he had come to me. His proposition was the following: he wanted me to take several aerial surveys, by private plane, in two directions. First, he wished me to study the corridor between Tahiti and the Marquesas Islands. If that provided no adequate site, he suggested I range southward from Tahiti, covering the broad triangle formed by the Tubuai Islands, Pitcairn Island, and Rapa Island, and if necessary to go even further south and away from the traffic lanes.

What was wanted by Intra-Oceania Flights was an uninhabited small island, with a plateau or level area that could be bulldozed, on which to erect an airfield no more than a mile and a half long. An uninhabited isle was preferred, because then the land could be leased cheaply from the neglecting government that had possession.

On the other hand, if the appropriate island showed itself to me, but happened to be inhabited by a single tribe or a mere handful of natives, exclusive of whites, that would do, too. The natives could be removed or, indeed, bought off and segregated, and the land would still be cheap.

It would be my task, said Mr. Trevor, to locate three or four such islands from the air, and then land and visit them, and then submit a fully detailed report to Canberra. Mr. Trevor’s experts would sift my report, narrow focus on one or two islands, and send their specialists to make the final decision. For my scouting expenses, I could have $500. For my completed report, if successful, I could have $3,000 additional.

Despite my joy of travel among these islands, this was not an undertaking to my liking. For one thing, I have an aversion toward flying. For another, I have little energy left for trampling over barren or nearly barren and remote tracts of land. Still, Dr. Hayden, I keep no pride from you that lately my pecuniary fortunes have been low. I do not make myself out more than I am. My day-to-day life now is a struggle to make ends meet. I have growing competition from native dealers. Valuable artifacts are increasingly difficult to come by. Therefore, whenever there is an opportunity to supplement my meager income from the shop, I cannot disdain accepting it. Even though Mr. Trevor’s expense budget was limited, his final payment was considerable, certainly more than I profit in an entire year from my shop and other enterprises. I had no choice but to accept the assignment.

After I had received my full instructions, and Mr. Trevor had flown back to Australia, I immediately set out to charter a private seaplane. The number that were available in Papeete—for example, the two flying boats of the RAI which taxi tourists to Bora Bora—were all far too expensive for private use. I continued making inquiries, and when I mentioned my problem to the bartender in Quinn’s, he told me that he knew just the man for me. He said that one of his customers, Captain Ollie Rasmussen, whom I remembered hearing about, owned an old amphibian flying boat that he had bought from an American firm after World War II. The bartender said that Rasmussen owned a cottage and Polynesian wife on Moorea—which, you know, is a stone’s throw away from us—and that he had a warehouse just below the Quai Commerce.

Rasmussen was an importer, the bartender thought, and he used his seaplane for freighting. In any case, he came into Papeete at least once a week, and I would have no trouble seeing him.