This we learned at or about midnight. Even Pal was exhausted. We were drawn up along the stern of someone’s monstrously large motor-yacht, the Dissolution. All its cabins were lit, and its occupants in the midst of a frenzied celebration of some sort. While we toiled to secure the Bali for the night in a moderate swell, Flaherty tried his best to provide details of the disaster over the noise from the yacht. Champagne glasses from its decks plunked into the water around us.

The contract with Colorart was by all indications meaningless. Flaherty had sent seven cables before an answering cable, unsigned, had confirmed the bankruptcy. I imagined some melancholy functionary, the last one at his desk, taking pity on him.

After a sleepless night, I spent my first morning in Tahiti in the telegraph office. I might as well be in Mazatlán. Cables to lawyers, cables to banks, cables to Viertel and Garbo imploring them to run various errands. The crisis was averted only when I finalized the arrangements to finance the film myself, from the remainder of my savings.

Flaherty was informed. His gratitude seems insufficient.

The next item of business is to pay off the crew, and the other debts already outstanding. Strained meetings with Flaherty, who is penniless. He acts as if he’s the Artist and I’m the Producer. I know the tone. David attends looking exhausted and hungover.

My savings will not extend to cover the company’s salaries. Even Flaherty’s friends back in America are, of course, without a cent.

Nearly everyone has to be let go, including the unit manager and the laboratory man. Even Bambridge and Eddy the cook. Money is set aside to cover their passage home, with the wan promise of additional compensation later. Only Floyd Crosby, the principal cameraman, will stay and draw pay. The rest of the crew will have to be recruited locally.

Flaherty says he can run the laboratory himself, and train native assistants. Crosby will do the trickier sailing, with native help. David will take over as unit manager, and assistant to all of us.

****A desolate afternoon spent trying to nap in Papeete’s Grand Hotel, the Hotel Montparnasse. Noisome and cacophonous even at midday. The toilet in the hall features a courteous little notice in French: “Will uncertain gentlemen please avoid the floor?” Judging from the floor, the adjective refers to breeding rather than aim.

We are forced, for the time being, into the Montparnasse. Even with a breeze, the Bali’s cabins are too hot at midday. I share my room with an oversized brown-and-yellow spider, both of us enervated by the heat.