Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

Well after midnight, Meding held the tiller while Jess waded and pushed his boat away from the beach. When he was up to his chest in the water, he scrambled aboard and started the old pump engine while Meding lit the boat’s running light, a candle waxed to the bottom of an old wine bottle. The other fishermen from the village were already gone, their running lights barely visible miles away beyond the reef. The night was warm, wet, and black like the ocean water; the only sounds the quiet lap of the sea on the reef and the chug-chug of their engine. Jess sat on top of the engine hatch, bamboo tiller in hand, and steered the boat carefully through the gap in the reef, then pointed the bow toward Arena Island. They couldn’t see the island, but knew that from their village it lay directly beneath the three stars of the constellation Orion.

The boat was slow, so it was much later when they saw the black profile of Arena looming ahead. Jess killed the engine and dropped the anchor, careful not to make a splash. He then lowered a sounding line and pulled it back up, measuring the depth of the water beneath the boat. Satisfied with their location, he made himself comfortable on the engine hatch. They would wait, then put out the net about an hour before dawn. The fish would be feeding then.

Meding poured two cups of coffee from her thermos and handed one of them to Jess.

“This morning, when the child came to get me, you were about to tell me of suspicions you have about the American,” she said.

“Yes,” Jess replied. “At the party, Tassig told the men that whatever the bandits want we should give to them so they do not make trouble for us. The other men were unsure of what we should do. The American said that what Tassig suggested would be the wrong thing to do; that the more we give to the bandits, the more they will take, and the worse it will become for us. He suggested that instead we should all of us, as a group, make a stand and tell them that their cause is not our cause; that we will not make trouble for them but neither will we give them our food or pay them a tax.”

Meding said nothing. Jess sipped his coffee, then continued. “It was about two days after this discussion at Paquette’s party that the unexplained things started happening in Antipuluan. I suspect that he wants us to believe it is the bandits who are responsible so that we will become angry and do as he advised us to do. The American is a professional soldier and knows of using such tactics to make things happen. Also, he would not have to actually do anything himself. He has money and there are many in this province who will steal animals and make people disappear if they are paid enough pesos to do it.”

“I don’t understand why you believe the American would do this,” Meding said.

“The American has said that he wants to live here with Paquette and his son. I think he is concerned about what will happen here in the future. He knows that he is not one of us and fears that he may have to face the bandits alone.”

“That would be a reasonable fear,” Meding said, “but I don’t think the American is so easily frightened and I think you may have misjudged his character. Have you considered that perhaps it is the bandits who are doing these things; that they want us to suspect the American and make him leave Antipuluan so that they will feel free to come and go in the village as they always have before? Perhaps they are nearby but are afraid to come into the village while the American is here.”

“It is another possibility,” Jess admitted. He finished his coffee and rinsed the cup. “We must get ready to fish now,” he said.

The sky was growing light in the east as Jess pulled up the anchor. With an oar, he sculled the boat along, parallel with the island’s shoreline, while dropping sections of his fishing net over the side. Floats began to trail out in the water behind them. In a few minutes the net was out. Again he dropped the anchor and sat down to wait, this time without conversation.