Louie scrambled onto the dock, his tiny face contorted. He yelled something at the world in general, turned his back on his dream of fame, and trudged down the deserted village street. Lindy almost went after him, he looked so forlorn, but the sheer weight of numbers aboard the boat was too great to ignore.

The rigging sagged with children, the water between boat and dock churned with teenagers, the salon was instantly jammed with smiling island women, immaculate in clean pareus. The cockpit filled with quiet, bronze men and raucous, singing adolescents.

Chaos lasted all day and into the night. No one spoke any English at all. Their French Mitch could barely follow. When he asked for the chief, they would only smile and wave toward the houses. The population was mostly Mormon, he came to understand, so no one drank but a few backsliders, which was lucky, or they would have run out of beer in the first ten minutes.

There was no way that Lindy could feed him, let alone the crowd, so they did without dinner. When he had had enough, he showed in sign language that he was sleepy. They simply crammed over to give him room to lie down on a cockpit seat.

Long after midnight Mitch went below to use the head. He moved through a moist, smoky press of female bodies. The door was open and a huge Polynesian lady, skirt hiked up, sat on the toilet, in animated conversation with those waiting in line.

Lindy was trying to play hostess. Her guests drank her in with smiling brown eyes, chattering incomprehensibly and occasionally reaching out to touch her thick bronze hair. “We’re out of Coke and beer,” she choked, “I can’t communicate, my face aches from smiling, I can’t keep my eyes open, and I’m starving to death! Now, make a move, will you?”

“It’s their island,” he said weakly.

“It’s our boat and it’s 2 A.M. Will you in the name of Christ do something?"

She glared at him, grinning all the while, and he went topside. Louie had returned to sulk on the dock. He was sitting with great dignity on a piling, under a single electric bulb. He plunked his guitar, ignoring the music from the boat, and gazed out the pass. Mitch stepped ashore.

“Louie?” he asked, defeated.

Louie deigned to swing his eyes to him. “Ca va bien?”

“Non.” He asked Louie to explain to the people avec politesse that le bon capitaine and Madame Capitaine were très fatigués, and tomorrow they would take more pictures, but tonight...

“You do not like these persons?” Louie wanted to know. Of course he liked them, it was because it was so late, and they were tired.