mac.thepearlharbormurders-第8章

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　Mrs。　Kuhn　asked　the　writer；　〃Did　your　German　publishers　ever　ask　you　to　offer　an。。。　explanation；　or　apology　to　your　readers？〃
　〃An　open　letter　from　me　was　published；〃　Burroughs　said；　and　Kuhn…aware　of　this…was　nodding。　〃I　didn't　apologize；　exactly。　The　novel　reflected　what　I　thought　and　felt　at　the　time　I　wrote　it。　I　wasn't　about　to　assume　a　spineless　attitude　and　retract　and　apologize　ad　nauseam。〃
　With　a　nod…though　stopping　short　of　clicking　his　heels…Kuhn　said；　〃Well；　please　allow　me　to　offer　an　overdue　apology　myself；　on　behalf　of　the　German　people。〃
　〃Thanks；　Otto…though　I　prefer　royalties　to　apologies。〃
　But　much　later　that　evening；　after　the　last　luau　guests　had　departed　the　Niumalu；　Burroughs…in　his　bungalow；　preparing　for　bed…reflected　on　Tarzan　the　Untamed；　which　since　the　German　uproar　had　been　withheld　from　all　markets。　The　businessman　in　him　was　thinking　that　the　book　was　probably　marketable　again…and；　when　the　war　came；　could　go　back　into　print；　in　America　anyway。　Tarzan　bellowing　the　victory　cry　of　the　bull　ape　as　he　stood　with　his　foot　on　the　chest　of　a　fallen　German　soldier；　whose　neck　he'd　snapped。。。　that　could　prove　to　be　a　crowd…pleaser　again；　before　too　very　long。。。。
　Though　it　was　after　midnight；　Hully　wasn't　home　yet…off　having　a　good　time　with　his　sailor　pals；　no　doubt；　prowling　Hotel　Street。　Burroughs　was　in　his　pa…jama　bottoms…he　liked　to　sleep　shirtless；　in　this　tropical　clime…about　to　shut　off　the　light　and　climb　in　bed　when　a　knock　at　the　door　interrupted　him。　Grumbling；　he　threw　on　a　maroon　rayon　robe　and　went　to　the　door。
　〃Could　I　e　in　for　a　moment？〃　Pearl　Harada　asked；　looking　up　at　him　through　the　screen　door。　The　dark　eyes　in　the　lovely　face　conveyed　urgency；　and　she　seemed　small；　childlike；　gazing　up　from　the　bottom　step　of　the　stoop。
　〃If　you're　looking　for　Hully　。。。〃
　〃No；　Mr。　Burroughs…it's　you　I　want　to　see。〃　She　was　still　wearing　the　low…cut　gown；　but　a　lacy　shawl　was　slung　around　her　shoulders；　and　over　her　dйcolle…tage；　whether　out　of　modesty；　or　because　of　the　cool　night　breeze；　Burroughs　couldn't　say。
　He　opened　the　screen　door；　glanced　around；　wondering　if　allowing　this　young　beauty　into　his　bungalow　was　an　impropriety　he'd　pay　for；　then　he　sighed　and　nodded；　gesturing　her　inside。
　He　suggested　she　sit　on　the　couch；　which　she　did；　and　offered　her　a　soft　drink；　which　she　refused。
　〃I　won't　be　here　long；〃　she　assured　him。　〃I　know　it's　late。。。　and　I　know　this　is　an　imposition。　But　it　really　is　important。〃
　〃All　right；〃　he　said；　pulling　his　typing　chair　over；　sitting　opposite　her。
　〃Has　your　son　spoken　to　you　about　me？〃
　〃No　he　hasn't。〃
　Her　eyes　lowered　to　her　lap；　where　her　hands　were　clasped。　〃Hully's　a　nice　boy…he　probably　will　say　something。　But　I　saw　him　leave　with　Bill。。。　and　I　couldn't　take　the　chance。〃
　〃What　chance？〃
　〃That　he　would　forget　to　ask　you。〃
　〃Ask　me　what？〃
　〃If。。。　if　you　would　arrange　a　meeting　for　me；　with　Bill's　father。〃
　〃Oh；　my。。。。　Young　lady；　please　don't　put　me　in　the　middle　of…〃
　She　sat　forward；　her　eyes　glittering；　the　shawl　slip…ping；　and　he　did　his　best　not　to　look　down　into　the　considerable　cleavage　of　this　girl　who　was　young　enough　to　be　his　daughter。　〃Oh；　Mr。　Burroughs；　I　know　you're　a　good　man；　a　considerate　man；　underneath　that　。。。　gruff　exterior。〃
　〃Underneath　this　gruff　exterior；　my　dear；　is　a　gruff　interior。〃
　〃I　don't　believe　it…I　can　see　kindness　in　your　eyes。　I　know　Colonel　Fielder　doesn't　approve　of　us；　Bill　and　I。　。　。　。〃
　〃Can　you　blame　him；　at　a　time　like　this？〃
　She　shook　her　head；　and　the　dark　arcs　of　hair　swung。　〃That's　why　I　have　to　speak　with　the　colonel…I　have　to　speak　with　him　privately；　and　I　know　you　can　arrange　that。　Discreetly；　Mr。　Burroughs。　It's　important。〃
　〃You　want　a　private　meeting　with　Colonel　Fielder。　Just　you　and　him…not　Bill。〃
　She　was　nodding。　〃I　need　to　state　my　own　case。　I　want　to　prove　myself　to　Bill's　father。〃
　Burroughs　smiled；　shook　his　head。　〃You're　a　determined　young　woman。〃
　〃Yes　I　am。〃
　He　couldn't　help　it：　she　impressed　him。　She　was　as　intelligent　as　she　was　beautiful；　and　she　had　courage　and　conviction。　Who　could　blame　any　man　for　loving　a　woman　like　this？
　〃I've　written　about　women　like　you；〃　he　told　her。　〃But　I've　met　damn　few。〃
　〃I。。。　I　don't　understand。〃
　He　stood；　holding　out　his　hand　to　her。　〃I'll　help　you。　I'll　talk　to　Colonel　Fielder；　and　set　the　meeting　up　here　at　my　bungalow。。。　discreetly。　Tomorrow　soon　enough？〃
　〃Oh；　Mr。　Burroughs；〃　she　said；　beaming；　and　she　almost　threw　herself　off　the　couch　into　his　arms；　holding　on　to　him；　tight。　Face　pressed　sideways　against　his　chest；　she　said；　〃Hully　is　a　lucky　boy；　having　a　father　like　you。〃
　〃Yeah；　I'm　a　peach。〃　He　patted　her　back；　gently。　〃Now　get　out　of　here　before　I　fall　in　love　with　you；　myself；　you　little　vixen。　Scoot！〃
　The　dark　eyes　were　teary　with　joy；　her　smile　a　white　slash　of　happiness；　as　she　scurried　out　of　the　bungalow；　thanking　him　as　she　went。
　Wishing　he　were　thirty　years　younger；　Burroughs　sighed　and　headed　into　the　bedroom。　There's　a　Jane　any　Tarzan　might　fall　for；　he　thought。　He　slipped　out　of　the　robe　and…bare…chested；　in　the　pajama　bottoms…　crawled　under　a　single　sheet　of　his　bed；　a　flower…scented　breeze　whispering　in　the　open　window；　fluffing　sheer　curtains；　the　lap　of　waves　on　the　nearby　beach　soothing　him；　lulling　him　to　sleep。
　Deep　asleep；　dreaming；　he　believed　he'd　awakened；　hearing　a　sound。　In　his　dream；　he　opened　eyes　that　in　reality　were　tightly　shut；　and　saw…shrouded　in　darkness…a　figure　standing　across　the　room　from　him。　The　figure　gradually　revealed　itself　to　be　female…a　tall；　beautiful　female　who　moved　into　a　shaft　of　pure；　heavenly　light；　slanting　through　the　window。
　The　woman's　flesh　was　an　emerald　green；　her　hair　scarlet；　her　voluptuous　body　bare　but　for　strategic　scatterings　of　gold　sequins　that　appeared　to　have　been　applied　to　her　naked　skin。　She　seemed　to　be　approaching　him；　reaching　out　to　him；　and　he　sat　up；　and　reached　out　for　her。。。。
　A　roar　from　the　darkness…for　the　bedroom　had　bee　a　cave…announced　a　third　player；　and　a　mammoth　man…beast　lumbered　into　view　。。。　a　pair　of　tusks；　a　huge　single　eye；　a　fiercely　muscular　build　matted　with　fur　with　two　arms　on　either　side；　each　thick　pawlike　hand　clutching　a　scimitarlike　blade；　four　swords　slashing　at　the　air；　threatening　the　green　woman；　who　fell　as　the　blades　cleaved　her　emerald　flesh；　blood　the　color　of　gold　splashing；　and　Burroughs　tried　to　move；　but　found　himself　paralyzed　in　bed；　screaming　in　protest；　unable　to　move；　too　late　to　save　the　beautiful　emerald　girl；　too　late。。。。
　Then　he　was　sitting　up　in　bed；　drenched　in　sweat；　catching　himself　in　mid…scream。
　Quickly　Burroughs　got　up　out　of　bed；　raced　to　his　typewriter；　snapped　on　his　desk　lamp；　and　sat　in　front　of　the　keyboard；　fingers　flying。　Before　it　could　fade；　he　recorded　the　dream；　in　its　every　detail。　Such　nightmares　came　to　him　regularly…often　involving　some　terrible　creature　or　unidentified　danger。　Many　of　the　plots　and　characters　in　his　novels　and　stories　had　been　literally　dreamed　up；　he　would　routinely　rise　from　a　bizarre　nightmare　and；　as　calmly　professional　as　a　secretary；　jot　down　notes。
　He'd　had　these　useful　nightmares　for　many　years；　ever　since　receiving　a　blow　on　the　head　during　his　stint　as　a　cop　in　Salt　Lake　City。　At　first　there　had　been　torturous　headaches；　as　well；　but　these　had　faded；　and　the　dreams　remained。　He　was　quite　accustomed　to　them；　but　neither　of　his　wives　nor　his　children　had　ever　got　used　to　his　nocturnal　thrashing　and　bellowing；　his　moans　and　screams　frequently　awakening　them。
　Both　of　his　wives　had　insisted　that　he　sleep　in　a　separate　bedroom。
　He　was　right　up　to　where　the　scimitar…wielding　man…beast　had　entered　the　dream　when　another　scream　echoed　across　the　night…not　his　own。
　A　woman's　scream；　a　scream　of　terror；　cut　off　abruptly！
　The　cry　came　from　outside；　had　found　its　way　through　an　open　window；　and　seemed　to　be　ing　from　the　dkection　of　the　beach。　He　threw　on　the　maroon　robe；　not　even　bothering　to　sash　it；　and　ran　barefoot　into　the　night；　finding　his　way　through　the　palm　trees　in　his　backyard；　toward　where　the　purple　ocean　blended　with　the　purple　sky；　with　only　the　stars　to　show　the　difference；　padding　down　onto　the　white　sand；　which　looked　gold　in　the　moonlight；　like　the　sequins　on　the　emerald　woman　in　his　dream。
　This　nightmare　had　a　woman　in　it；　too；　but　Burroughs　was　not；　unfortunately；　sleeping：　she　lay　sprawled　ten　or　fifteen　yards　down　the　sandy　expanse；　lying　near　the　surf；　which　rolled　gently　but　insistently　onto　the　shore。　A　man　was　kneeling　over　her；　touching　her　shoulder　with　one　hand；　blood　glistening　on　the　other。
　Burroughs　could　already　see　who　the　woman　was：　Pearl　Harada；　still　in　her　blue　gown；　askew　on　her　side　on　the　sand；　her　skull　crushed；　blood　turning　the　beach　black　around　her　rained　head。　Nearby　lay　a　blood…spattered　stone；　one　of　the　thick；　roundish　rocks　used　in　the　luau　imu…an　impromptu　weapon　anyone　might　have　picked　up。
　The　man　bending　over　the　obviously　dead　girl　was　a　handsome　if　pockmarked　Hawaiian　from　her　band…　the　trombone…playing　leader；　Harry　Kamana。
　All　of　this　the　writer　took　in；　in　a　heartbeat；　and　then　he　was　running　toward　the　kneeling　man　and　the　dead　girl；　yelling；　〃You！　Don't　move！〃
　The　musician　looked　up　sharply；　his　eyes　wild；　but　he　did　not　obey　Burroughs；　rather　he　scrambled　to　his　feet　and　ran；　heading　down　the　beach。
　Though　Burroughs　was　in　his　sixties　and　his　quarry　in　his　thirties；　the　writer　was　bigger　than　the　slight；　slender　Hawaiian；　still　in　his　dance…band　aloha　shirt；　and…as　it　turned　out…faster。
　He　threw　himself　at　the　fleeing　musician；　tackling　him；　bringing　him　down　onto　the　sand；　rolling　with　him　until　they　were　both　in　the　water；　where　the　surf　licked　the　shore。　The　writer　had　the　younger　man　around　the　knees；　but　Kamana　squirmed　out　of　his　grasp；　pulling　Burroughs　forward；　and　the　writer　lost　his　robe；　was　climbing　to　his　feet　in　the　surf　in　just　his　pajama　bottoms；　chest　as　bare　as　Tarzan；　and　Kamana　tried　to　ran　again；　but　he　was　running　in　wet　sand　and　didn't　get　very　far　before　Burroughs　slammed　a　fist　into　the　man's　back；　nailing　a　kidney。
　Kamana　blurted　a　cry　of　pain；　fell　facedown；　splashing　into　the　shallow　water；　then　flipped　around　and；　making　a　shrill　whining　war　cry；　came　up　at　Burroughs；　small　sharp　fists　flying。
　The　older　man　ducked　and　weaved；　and　threw　a　hard　right　hand　into　the　musician's　belly；　doubling　him　over；　then　finished　him　with　a　left　to　the　chin　that　didn't　have　much　power；　but　was　enough　to　drop　the　man。
　〃You　want　more；　you　son　of　a　bitch？〃　Burroughs；　looming　over　him；　asked；　breathing　hard；　but　not　as　hard　as　the　younger　man。
　〃No　。。。　no。。。　〃　Kamana's　voice　was　high…pitched；　hoarse；　he　was　on　his　hands　and　knees　in　the　shallow　surf。
　Burroughs　grabbed　the　man　by　the　arm　and　hauled　him　to　his　feet；　dragging　him　down　the　beach；　heading　to　the　bungalow。
　The　writer　paused　at　the　girl's　body。　He　didn't　bother　to　take　her　pulse…her　skull　had　been　caved　in　by　that　rock；　her　brains　were　showing。　Rage　and　nausea　and　sorrow　rose　in　him；　a　volcano　of　emotions　threatening　to　erupt。　He　turned　to　the　musician；　wanting　to　throttle　the　bastard；　but　something　stopped　him。
　The