A Coup in Paradise; Episode 5

For the next couple of months, I will serialize my current novel, A Coup in Paradise. Each installment will be numbered so the reader can identify where they are in the story.

Episode 5

Trace awoke on his third day and prepared breakfast, sausage, and eggs. He brewed a small pot of coffee and sat in a lawn chair a few feet from his door.

Coop was already up and painting the house.

Trace watched the old man move slowly. At times, it appeared painful.

Trace sat his coffee on the arm of the chair and walked over to Coop. “I’ve kind of run out of things to do. If you have another brush, we can make this job go twice as fast.”

“Nah,” Coop said, “I rather enjoy painting, and besides, you’re in Fiji to enjoy yourself.”

“You know something; I would rather enjoy painting as well. And the way I see it, when you insist on not letting me paint, you’re taking some enjoyment away from me. I’ve got a lot of experience painting. I was raised on a ranch, and my granddad used to say if it doesn’t move, you better slap some paint on it. I’ve painted houses, barns, and fences. And the decks of ships.”

Coop smiled and handed Trace a brush. “My hands aren’t as steady as they used to be. You can do the trim work.”

The two-day project abated only by pleasant conversation and long lunch breaks.

At the end of the second day, Trace helped Coop clean up and store away the paint and utensils in a small shed to the rear of the property.

They walked toward the house.

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be still painting next week,” Coop said.

Trace joked, “What are you going to do with all that time on your hands?”

“At my age, your options are limited.”

“When my granddad slowed down, he began doing things he’d never done before. He took up painting. He drove into San Antonio just to take lessons.”

“I’ve tried painting,” Coop said, nodding toward the house. “I’m not good at details.”

Trace chuckled. “When I was about fifteen, we had a barn that had to be painted. Grandpa gave me a brush and a bucket of red paint. I painted the front, the back, and one side. He did one side. It was amazing; the side he painted blended with the distant mountains. When you look at the barn from that side, you don’t know it’s there. It just blends in.”

“He must be very imaginative.”

“It’s a side I never saw in him, and it all came about by him having the crazy idea he’d like to paint.”

“He never painted before?” Coop asked.

“Never, he couldn’t draw stick men.”

They reached the house. Coop bent down and grabbed a rag. He wiped his hands and tossed it to Trace. “You’ve given me something to think about. So here’s the deal. I’ll give you a month of free rent for helping me paint the house and another for a really great idea.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Trace wiped his hands and handed the rag back to Coop.

“Yeah,” Coop pressed his lips. “Yes, I do.”

“How ‘bout if I pull a couple of chairs under the palms?” Trace said. “I have a couple of beers in the fridge just waiting to be consumed.”

“Sounds good,” Coop chuckled, “but what are you going to drink?”

They sat in the lawn chairs facing the harbor that lay a mile to the north. Coop reminisced about the days when the harbor was not so busy. “Things seemed to be manageable in those days. Look at it now; four ships are waiting to come to the docks. This island doesn’t need that much stuff.”

“It’s a want and need world,” Trace said. “What keeps it going is convincing folks their wants are needs.”

“I suppose I’m to blame as much as anybody,” Coop said. “What need do I really have for a car? Then it has to have gas. That takes a gas station. Then there are tires and spark plugs; it never ends. I don’t need a television and antenna, and before all that, you had to have a station.”

“By the way,” Trace said and motioned to the back of the yard, “what beauty do you have hidden under that canvass? I’ve been very curious.”

“Oh that,” Coop smiled, “that’s my yacht. It’s called The Tinytanic. Until two years ago, I’d sail it around the island or just beyond the bay. A good day on the waves can free a man from whatever troubles him. I suppose your granddad figured a good day riding the range on a horse did the same.”

“Well, my granddad and dad used to say something like that, but they both had their time on the waves.”

“You said you can sail, right?” Coop said.

“How about with me around the island?” Trace smiled.

“Nah,” Coop sat back in his chair. “Just you. You said you’d like to do some island hoping.” Coop pointed south. “Twenty miles that way are a dozen or so islands. She’s ready to go; she just hasn’t had anybody to go with her.”

Coop stood and walked toward the canvassed boat. “Come on, sailors. Let’s lift this little lady’s skirt and see what she’s hiding.”

They pulled back the canvass.

“She’s a beauty!” Trace said.

“I was going to take her out one last time before selling her,” Coop said. “She’s been re-caulked. And she could use some paint topside; I’ll take that off the selling price.”

Trace ran his hand along the hull as he walked around it.

“She’s a twenty-five-footer,” Coop said. “She’ll do well in these seas. I’ll tell you what, take her out for a while; as long as you like.”

Trace walked completely around the boat. He stepped back with an appreciation smile. “Sweet,” he said. “I’ll take you up on it.”

“Let’s hitch it up tomorrow morning,” Coop said. “We’ll pull her down to the marina and launch her. How does that sound?”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, what good is a boat in a backyard? We’ll take it for a short sail to make sure it’s seaworthy, and then you can have her for a while.”

“How long is a while? There has to be some sort of time limit.”

“That will be up to you.”

“If you should change your mind by tomorrow morning, that’s no problem,” Trace said.

“If you should change your mind,” Coop countered, “that will be no problem.”

The next day Trace and Coop hitched the boat’s trailer to his car. They drove to the marina and launched it. A half an hour later, they were a half mile into the bay. And another half hour beyond that, they had cleared the harbor and into the open sea.

Trace handled the rudder, tacking into a westerly wind.

“What do you think of her in the open sea?” Coop said over the splashes of water and a flapping sail.

“She’s sure spunky,” Trace said. “How far have you sailed?”

“Only around the island, and I’ve always kept shore in sight. I’m not one for any other type of adventure.”

Trace sensed from what Coop said he would not take The Tinytanic any further from land than they already were. This was enough to give her a test.

“In the cabin are charts for all the Fiji islands,” Coop said. “At one time I thought I was a good enough sailor to sail to most of them, but it takes a certain amount of courage that I don’t possess.”

“The deep is full of courageous fools,” Trace said.

“It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed my little ventures,” Coop said. “There has been nothing to compare. I’ve never lived life on the edge. I’ve always been the cautious type.”

“Some might think Fiji is a big risk,” Trace said.

“Frankly,” Coop said, “the bigger risk for me was to stay in England.”

Trace looked at the sail and the sea as if nothing had been said.

“There you go,” Coop said, “I’ve opened a door.”

Trace’s attention was removed from the sail and the sea. “I hate it when a door is opened and you’re not really invited in.”

“Sometimes we open the door by instinct; it’s just something we do.” Coop cast his eyes to the sail and the sea. Said. “Then we realize it’s an unwelcome distant relative who wants a free meal.”

Trace added, “Or a stranger.”

“You’re hardly a stranger at this point.” Coop breathed deeply and shrugged his shoulders. “The short of it is I was a POW during the war. My father had a small but successful company that made gaskets for automobiles. Before the war, they did business with France, Sweden, Norway, and most of the countries in Europe, even Germany. It became apparent Germany was losing, but business goes on. It is the constant. Governments change, leaders change, but business is business. English POWs were being executed for the smallest of things. A German businessman contacted my father and told him he could see to it his son would be spared if there was a promise of doing business after the war. My father agreed. And after the war, I made it out of camp and back home. Shortly after the war, what my father did was discovered. It appeared as if he was a traitor. The pressure was so great he took his life. I took over the company. I was regarded as not much better than my father. I sold the company for shillings on the pound. And Fiji her, I come. I had enough to have a comfortable life while repairing—televisions, what else?”

“Did you ever marry?”

“Native woman, Nia. Very pretty. Funny. Smart. And she died—cancer.”

“Children?” Trace asked.

“No, it appears fatherhood was never going to be in my future. It is likely for the best. After Nia’s death, I wasn’t much good to anyone. I depended on her much more than what I realized.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Trace said.

“Thanks, Trace. I know you mean that, but I’ll tell you something: I’m a satisfied man. I do have what they have: survivors guilt, but nearly everybody who lost mates in the war has that. My dad taking his life; I never quite understood that one, but I know it all came about because he loved me. There’s no evidence to prove my life was spared because of what he did. He did what he thought was right—many would have made that decision; many did and never got exposed. It was more common than what we might think.”

“My dad was in Korea. He was a lieutenant in the infantry. He made a decision that some questioned, but it saved lives. Some thought it was cowardly, but there’s a whole lot of men and women alive today because of what he did. Most of his men keep in contact with him to this day.”

“It’s called uncommon valor,” Coop said. “I’ve come to understand it and admire it.”

Trace turned The Tinytanic, and the wind pushed them back toward the Suva’s harbor. Trace used a small outboard motor to maneuver into a dock space.

Trace and Coop stepped onto the dock and tied the boat down. They walked toward the car.

“I’ll talk to the guy at the marina’s office. Wait for me in the car.” Coop turned toward the marina’s office. “When do you want to sail out of here?”

“Maybe in three or four days,” Trace stopped and stroked his chin. “Need time to plan.”

“I’ll see if I can wheedle a couple of free days tied up,” Coop said. “If not, I think we could come up with two dollars a day.” He smiled and walked to the marina’s office.