"Nauru is hardly typical," said Moreland.

"But it's instructive." Hoffman turned to us. "Any of you heard of Nauru? Tiny island, southeast of here, smack in the center of Micronesia. Ten square miles of guano- bird dirt. Two hundred years of hands-off colonization by the Brits and the Germans, then someone realizes the place is pure phosphate. The Brits and the Germans collaborate on mining, give the Nauruans nothing but flu and polio. World War Two comes along, the Japanese invade and send most of the Nauruans to Chuuk as forced laborers. After the war, Australia takes over and the native chiefs negotiate a sweet deal: big share of the fertilizer profits plus Australian welfare. In sixty-eight, Australia grants full independence and the chiefs take over the Nauru Phosphate Corporation, which is exporting two million tons of gull poop a year. A hundred million dollars in income; per capita income rises to twenty-thousand-plus. Comparable to an oil sheikdom. Cars, stereos, and junk food for the islanders. Along with a thirty-percent national rate of diabetes. Think of that- one in three. Highest in the world. No special hereditary factors, either. It's clearly all the junk food. Same for high blood pressure, coronary disease, gross obesity- I met an Australian senator who called it "land o' lard.' Throw in serious alcoholism and car crashes, and you've got a life expectancy in the fifties. And to top it off, ninety percent of the phosphate is gone. A few more years and nothing'll be left but insulin bottles and beer cans. So much for unbridled prosperity."

"Are you advocating the virtues of poverty, Nick?"

"No, Bill, but the world's changed, some people think we need to stop looking at ourselves as the universal nursemaid."

"We're talking about people. A way of life-"

Creedman said, "Whoa. You make it sound as though everything was hunky-dory before the Europeans came over and colonization spoiled everything, but my research tells me there were plenty of diseases in the primitive world and that the people who didn't die of them would probably have died of famine."

I expected Moreland to turn on him, but he continued to stare at Hoffman.

Hoffman said, "There is some truth to that, Bill. As a doctor you know that."

"Diseases," said Moreland, as if the word amused him. "Yes, there were parasitic conditions, but nothing on the scale of the misery that was brought over."

"Come on," said Creedman. "Let's get real. We're talking primitive tribes. Pagan rituals, no indoor plumbing-"

Moreland faced him slowly. "Are you a waste-disposal expert in addition to all your other talents?"

Creedman said, "My resear-"

"Did your research tell you that some of those primitive rituals ensured impeccable cleanliness? Practices such as reserving mornings for defecation and wading out to the ocean to relieve oneself?"

"That doesn't sound very hygien-"

Moreland's hands rose and his fingers sculpted air. "It was fine! Until the civilized conquerors came along and told them they needed to dig holes in the ground. Do you know what that ushered in, Tom? An era of filth. Cholera, typhoid, salmonellosis, lungworm fever. Have you ever seen someone with cholera, Creedman?"

"I've-"

"Have you ever held a dehydrated child in your arms as she convulses in the throes of explosive diarrhea?"

The gnarled hands dropped and slapped down on the table.

"Research," he muttered.

Creedman sucked his teeth. He'd gone white.

"I bow, doctor," he said softly, "to your superior knowledge of diarrhea."

The door opened. Zondervein and three sailors, kitchen smells, more food.

"Well," said Hoffman, exhaling. "Bon appétit."

18

Other than Hoffman, no one ate much.

After his second dessert, he stood and ripped his napkin free. "Come on, Bill, let's you and me catch up on old times. Nice to meet you all."

A glance at Lieutenant Zondervein, who said, "How about the rest of us head over to the rec room? There's a pool table and a big-screen TV."

Outside in the hall, Ewing gave him a disgusted look. "If you'll all excuse me." He left swiftly.

"This way," said Zondervein.

"Do you get cable?" Creedman asked.

"Sure," said Zondervein. "We get everything, have a satellite dish."

"Excellent."

"Isn't there a dish at the Trading Post?" I said.

Creedman laughed. "Broke a year ago and no one's bothered to fix it. Does that tell you something about local initiative?"

Creedman and I played a couple of games of pool. He was good, but cheated anyway, moving the cue ball when he thought I wasn't looking.

The big-screen was tuned to CNN.

"News lite," he said.

"Only thing I get from the news is depressed," said Pam. She and Robin were sitting in chairs too big for them, looking bored. I caught Robin's eye. She waved and sipped her Coke.

A few minutes later, Zondervein brought Moreland back. He sagged with exhaustion.

Pam said, "Dad?"

"Time to go."

After we landed, Creedman walked away from us without a word. No one spoke during the ride back to the estate. When Moreland pulled up in front of the house it was nine-forty. "I think I'll catch up on work. You all relax." He patted Pam's arm. "Have a good night, dear."

"Maybe I'll go into town."

"Oh?"

"I thought I might go for a night swim."

He touched her arm again. Held on to it. "That could be tricky, Pamela. Urchins, morays, you could run into trouble."

"I'm sure Dennis can keep me out of trouble."

He must have squeezed her arm because she winced.

"Dennis," he said, just above a whisper, "is engaged to a girl studying at the nursing school in Saipan."

"Not anymore," said Pam.

"Oh?"

"They broke up a few weeks ago."

She touched his arm and he dropped it.

"A pity," said Moreland. "Nice girl. She would have been valuable to the island." Fixing his eyes on his daughter: "Dennis still is, dear. It would be best for all concerned if you didn't distract him."

Turning on his heel, he walked down toward the bungalows.

Pam's mouth was wide open. She ran up to the house.

"Fun evening," I said. We were up in our suite, sitting on the bed.

"The way he just acted," said Robin. "I know he's under stress, but…"

"Loves the natives but doesn't want them dating his daughter?"

"It sounded more like he was shielding Dennis from her."

"It did. Maybe she's got an unfortunate history with men. The first time I saw her I noticed the sadness in her eyes."

She smiled. "Is that all you noticed?"

"Yes, she's good-looking but I don't find her sexy. There's something about her that sets up a clear boundary. I've seen it in patients: "I've been wounded. Stay away."'

"That obviously doesn't apply to Dennis."

"The old man really lost it," I said. "Perfect capper to a charming dinner."

She laughed. "That base. Night of the uniformed dead. And Hoffman. Joe Slick."

"Why do I get the feeling Hoffman's sole purpose for the dinner was the half hour he and Moreland spent alone?"

"Then why not just drop over here?"

"Maybe he wanted to be on his home turf, not Moreland's."

"You make it sound like some sort of battle."

"I can't help but think it was. The tension between them… as if the two of them have some issue that goes way back. At any rate, Moreland didn't get what he wanted for Aruk. Whatever that is."