They Call Me Ishmael by John D. Kuhns

Author:John D. Kuhns [Kuhns, John D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781637581506
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2021-12-02T08:14:33+00:00

19

Elephant Country

I had been back from Lae a week when I saw the Australian road crew outside the house they occupied across the street from the Women’s Centre packing up their pickup trucks like they were leaving.

I admired the house. At first glance, it was a typical, pre-Crisis BCL manager’s house. A single-story ranch structure, it sat up on iron stilts one floor above ground level over a two-bay, concrete-floor carport, with the ground floor containing utility rooms. The more I passed by the house on my way in and out of the Women’s Centre, the more I realized that—for Arawa, anyway—it was a good one. It had a large, wrap-around porch providing, because it was on a corner and one could see in several directions, excellent views. It had always impressed me as being secure, with a ten-foot chain-link fence topped with barbed wire enclosing the yard and gardens, and phosphorescent lights in the carport that switched on automatically after dark. My cooking repertoire barely rose above boiling water, but the Women’s Centre, with its dining room open for breakfast and dinner, was across the street. For natural foodstuffs, there was a street-corner produce market two blocks away. Across the other street was the Arawa Hospital Clinic. Not exactly Memorial Sloan Kettering, but at least it was close. The street ran from the sea straight up to the Arawa hills, was paved smooth with asphalt, and had no potholes. That doesn’t sound like a big deal, but I’d gotten waylaid on Arawa streets with potholes as big as the Grand Canyon, and wanted to avoid them.

I hustled across the road and through the driveway gates to where the men were loading their trucks. “Are you guys leaving?” I asked someone covered with tattoos.

“That we are, mate,” he said.

“Has someone already leased the house in your place?”

“The devil, I expect,” a bald guy with a full beard said, grinning when he saw my confusion. “I don’t know, mate; I don’t think so. Just ask Stanley.”

“Who’s Stanley?” I asked.

“The landlord?” the tattooed guy yelled. “The guy who owns the general store.”

I signed a lease with my friend Stanley that afternoon and spent the weekend cleaning the house, picking up the trash in the gardens, and buying sheets and towels, supplies, and groceries. For personnel at the Gold Dealer, I added to Charlie by hiring Leki and Shirley, another lady from the Women’s Centre, to be cashiers; Joe and Clepson, two experienced gold melters; and Ates and Steven, gold buyers with connections. All I needed was someone to handle security, and I would be ready for business as soon as Tete arrived.

“Have you heard about the man they call Ishmael?” I asked Leki on Monday when we were in the office.

Her eyes widened in a questioning glance. “Yes.”

“I was thinking of asking him to provide us with security,” I explained.

She was silent for a moment. “You’re a foreigner. I don’t know if he’ll do it, but tonight I’ll ask him.”

“How do you know Ishmael?” I asked.

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