Ching was sitting quietly by the driftwood fire as Captain Gringo came back down from the rocks above the pocket beach waving a length of green wood. He said; “Look what I found. It’ll only take a while to whittle a new tiller bar and by then well both be dry.”
Ching stared morosely across the fire at the beached boat and said, “We’ll never get out of here. Even if you fix the tiller, we can’t relaunch the boat in such a surf!”
He stared out to sea at the eerie bright green foam in the entrance of the cove they’d managed to wind up in. She was probably right, but what the hell, they had to do something.
He walked over to the boat. The mast and rigging were gone, but the hull was sound and they could improvise paddles from driftwood. He tested the branch he’d cut against the rudder’s empty socket and started whittling as he leaned his hips against the craft. He was still at it when Ching came over to him and said, “There is only one way to get this boat out to sea again.”
“I’m listening, doll.”
“We have to get another boat. If someone swam a line in here, others out beyond the breakers could haul it back to sea.”
He said, “That makes sense.” Then he looked up at the cliffs towering over them and added, “Just one problem. Nobody knows we’re here. So I doubt like hell anyone’s coming to offer us a tug.”
She shuddered in her damp black cotton and said, “I know. It is up to us to get back to the village. Nobody ever comes here.”
He said, “Scaling those rocks in the dark would be suicide. I’d say we’re stuck here until it’s light enough to see what we’re doing.”
She said, “It will be risky, even then, but I see no other way. Come back to the fire. We won’t be able to climb anywhere if we catch a chill.”
He tossed the wood he’d been working on aside and followed her across the dark sand. They sank down near its comforting glow and he said, “Too bad we didn’t think to bring marshmallows. Are you hungry?”
“No. I was sick from the seawater I swallowed, but I feel better now.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth and said, “Yeah, my mouth feels like the bottom of a birdcage, too. You stay here. I’m going to see if I can find fresh water.”
She called after him to be careful. He legged it beyond the fire’s glow and started exploring along the base of the nearest cliff. There was enough moonlight to see wetness on the slate colored rock, but they’d told him some of it was acid. So he didn’t try to feel his way.
He was about to give up by the time he’d almost circled the entire cove. Then he came to a break in the wall and called, “Hey, Ching! Over here I found a lava cave!”
Before she could join him he’d struck a waterproof match and peered inside. A trick of long cooled lava had left a tunnel lined with what looked like black glass, leading back into the bowels of the volcano.
The air inside was fresh smelling and the floor was fine black sand. As Ching joined him, the first match went out. He struck another and moved deeper as the Chinese girl warned, “Be careful!”
He intended to be. It wasn’t really much of a cave. He went around one corner and found a ledge blocking his passage at chest height. He held the match up and saw the cave ended as a natural niche. The ledge formed a shallow bowl full of something wet. He cursed as the match burned down to his fingers. He pulled a couple of his own hairs in the dark before he lit another. Then he tested the liquid with the tuft of hair. Nothing interesting happened. The hair just got wet. He touched it to the tip of his tongue, gingerly. Then he called, “Hey, anybody want a drink of water?”
Ching rejoined him and they both refreshed themselves with the sweet tasting water. Then the ground under and all around them groaned and tingled as if in pain. The match went out and Ching sobbed, “Oh, the volcano is erupting!” and wrapped herself around him as if she expected him to do something about it.
He held her steady until the dull rumbling faded away and then he said, “I think it just has a little gas on its stomach. I felt that before and nothing happened.”
Then, since she was still in his arms, he kissed her.
Ching stiffened slightly, responded, then turned her head aside to ask, “Why did you do that, señor?”
He said, “Nerves, I guess.” And tried to do it again.
She pulled away and said, “Please stop, I belong to Wo Fang.”
He frowned in the dark and started to ask if his ownership of her included kissing privileges. Then he decided that was a stupid question and said, “Right. We’ll move our fire to the mouth of the cave and be snug little bugs in a rug.”
“What if the volcano erupts while we’re in here?”
“We’ll be dead. What if a real wave sweeps across that exposed beach out there? Same answer. This cave is dry and ought to be above high water mark, judging from the surface.”
Leaving Ching to work it out, he went back to the fire and hauled some burning driftwood to the cave by the cool ends. He piled it just outside the overhang so the smoke could rise, then went back for more. He tossed some of the driftwood to one side for later and sat down by the girl in the sand. Ching was pretty in the firelight, but she still looked chilled. He said, “It’s not the night air that’s freezing us. It’s these damned wet clothes. We’d better get out of them and hang them near the fire to dry.”
She looked startled and said, “We can’t do that, señor!”
He said, “Sure we can, and you can call me Dick.” Then he started unbuttoning his shirt. Ching’s almond eyes grew wider as she said, “A man, perhaps, can strip to the waist. I would rather freeze.”
He said, “You’re liable to, honey. I can see your goose bumps under that thin sateen.”
She glanced down and flushed a becoming shade of orange as she saw the way her nipples showed through the damp thin cloth. He nodded and said, “Come on, you’re not hiding anything I haven’t seen and felt already, Ching.”
She turned to face the other way as she said, “Well, perhaps I could take off the top.”
He didn’t answer. She unbuttoned her top and took it off to reveal a nicely formed and tawny back to him. He said, “There, doesn’t that feel better?” Then he started peeling off his boots and socks with a contented sigh. She turned and held her arms over her naked breasts as she protested. “Not your pants, señor!”
He grinned and said, “I was just getting around to that. I don’t know about you, but that wet cloth between my legs is really binding and itching hell out of me.”
She turned away and sat stiffly as she murmured, “I refuse to look. I told you I belonged to Wo Fang.”
“Are we talking about modesty or property rights?” He asked, adding, “I don’t belong to Wo Fang. I’ll be damned if I’ll freeze my crotch for him.”
Ching laughed, despite herself, and said, “You’re an awful man, Dick.”
He said, “That’s what they keep telling me. Do you really intend to sit there in wet britches all night?”
She said, “I’d give anything to have them off. I mean, if I was alone.”
He said, “Hey, just pretend I’m not here.” He finished peeling off his pants and tried his damp buttocks experimentally on the black sand. It was sort of gritty, but it only clung where he was really wet. He said, “Take off your pants, damn it. You’re safe as a nun, here. I’d forgotten how Navaho women discourage rape. But this sand is discouraging as hell.”
Curious, Ching half turned to ask him what he meant, saw he was sitting there stark naked, and quickly turned away as she asked, “What do those Navaho women do? I think I’d better find out fast!”
He grinned and said, “Well, it’s not delicate, but you see, Indians don’t wear underpants and they tend to live sort of crowded together. So when there’s a guest in the hogan and a nice Navaho girl isn’t sure she can trust him not to roll over in his sleep, she squats in the sand and – need one say more?”
“Ugh! What a nasty man you are!”
“Come on, I wasn’t the one who thought it up.”
Ching kept her back to him, but he could tell she was trying not to laugh. Then she suddenly said, “It’s that or pneumonia!” and rose high enough to untie the drawstring on her pants and slip them off her chilled shapely derriere. Captain Gringo pursed his lips but suppressed a whistle as the determined Chinese girl reached down between her thighs to scoop a handful of sand into her damp groin. Then she turned back to the fire, defiantly nude and lovely to look at as she said, “There. Now we have to be good, so it doesn’t matter if you see me or not!”
He grinned and said. “Right. A couple of innocent babes in the wood, or maybe a sandbox. Doesn’t that fire feel good, now?”
“Heavenly,” she sighed, closing her eyes to soak in the warmth. He gave her time to get used to the idea. Then he got up to gather their clothes. Ching opened her eyes, looked away with another blush, and said, “You’re terrible. That thing of yours is waving at me!”
Just in a brotherly way, honey. I’m just going to prop our clothes up to dry.”
She said, “Tell me when it’s over.” and closed her eyes firmly as he went about his chores. As soon as he had their clothes steaming near the fire he put another log on and sat down beside her, saying, “You can peek, now. How’s your sand holding out?”
“It itches. I’ll bet you knew it would, didn’t
“Shucks no, I’ve never had the equipment to try that trick. We’d better try and get some sleep.” He leaned back and pulled her with him. She sighed and nestled her head against his shoulder, but said, “I don’t want to do anything but sleep. Do I have your promise?” He shrugged and said evasively, “Jesus, do you really think I could do anything after you’ve made an honest Injun of me?”
She laughed, snuggled closer, and said, “All right. No tricks now.”
He held her gently and watched the firelight flickering on the glassy roof above as he absently ran his free hand over her now dry flesh. Ching opened her eyes and warned, “I said no tricks, damn it!
He said, “Hell, we know I can’t do anything. Look, I’ll show you.”
Before she could stop him he ran his hand over her sandy groin, teased a finger into the gritty groove, and said, “There. Doesn’t that feel icky?”
She sobbed and sat up to glare down at him in the firelight. Then she said, “You … bastard!” and sprang to her feet. He stayed where he was until she ran out into the night and, after a time, came back, soaking wet again below the waist. He nodded and got up to spread his dry shirt on the sand for her to sit on. As she did so, she said, “There, it’s all washed free of sand. Are you satisfied, you awful thing?”
Captain Gringo knelt between her trembling knees, shoved her on her back, and said, “No, but we both will be, poco tiempo”
She sobbed, “I belong to Wo Fang!” as he entered her tightly built little body. He kissed her and muttered, “Fuck Wo Fang!”
So she wrapped her legs around him and murmured, “Oh, I have to, at least twice a week, but it never felt this good!”