Chapter 41

McDuff began to think of the removal of the stacks of boxes right in front of the drop-door as sort of a mining operation. The analogy held because he would find things like mess-hall-sized cans of peaches in a box that simply turned up at random.

When he had removed the first tier of empty cartons, he came across a huge pallet-load of something named ‘SPAM.’ He called John and said, “What does S-P-A-M stand for?”

“What? Spam is Spam,” not understanding the question.

“Well, what in blazes is Spam?”

“It’s canned pork. Lunchmeat. It’s the big thing back home in the States, and the Navy’s greatest discovery. It serves Spam for breakfast, lunch and supper. You get Spam and eggs, Spam without eggs, Spam sandwiches, Spam and noodles, Spam and gravy. You name it, they serve it with Spam.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Dr. McDuff said. “Can we get some out of a carton?”

“Sure. I’ve sort of lost my enthusiasm for it, but we can fry some up. How about you, Yani, would you like some Spam? It’s pig meat.”

They found a mess kit and a primus stove in the crew’s quarters. John pulled a couple of the odd-shaped cans from a box and Yani watched with eager anticipation.

He tossed the rectangular can to Yani, who showed promise as a first baseman if they over got an island baseball team together. “Open it!” he said as if there were nothing to it. The G.I. can-opener did not quite fit. Yani’s puzzlement was written all over his face.

He saw the key soldered to the bottom of the can, and a tiny protrusion of metal at the beginning of a concealed strip of metal, but made no connection in his mind between the two. He studied the can for ten minutes, as John watched him shift it from hand to hand, and even tried to chew at a corner. Finally, he handed it back to John. He smiled and said humbly, “This fella no have magic. I think John Frum have magic open can. You tell this fella magic.”

In Yani’s world, nothing worth doing was done simply as a matter of logic and convenience. There was significance in everything — even opening a can of Spam.

McDuff watched the interplay and intoned his words carefully, trying to telegraph a message to John that Yani might not fully understand. “I’ve found that anything having a technological skill requisite, also necessitates the invocation of magic in the eyes of island acolytes. That reinforces loyalty and insures his assistance. If John Frum wants to maintain his image as a Big Man, he had better share his magical formulas with Yani.”

John caught the drift of the message, and said, “Yani, John Frum is going to initiate you into the Sacred Order of Key Twisters.”

Using his best stage magician flourish, the American took the can in his left hand and turned it upside down so the key was exposed. With the fingernail of his right index finger, he pried the key up and bent it back and forth until it came loose.

Holding the key in his right hand, he showed Yani how to thread the little rounded end of metal at the top of the can through the hole in the key.

“Now you say ‘Cin-cin-nati.’” He whispered the words slowly, and as he finished saying the word, he twisted the key. There was an audible hiss as the vacuum broke.

Yani cocked his head much like the RCA Victor fox terrier, Nipper. “What is sssssss?” he asked.

Thinking fast he said, “It is the spirit of the pig in the can. Now he has left. The meat must be eaten before the sun goes down or it becomes poison. When pig spirit gone make a fella very sick if not eat same day can open.”

This made perfect sense to Yani and it saved John the hopeless task of explaining the rapid growth of bacteria in a tropical climate.

Now the real magic of opening a Spam can began in earnest. John showed Yani how to turn the key ever so slowly and evenly so that the metal strip came off in a rigid little coil wrapped tightly around the key. When the entire strip was only a quarter of an inch from the end, John whispered, “O-hi-o.”

Yani repeated “O-hi-o,” and there was a ‘ping!” as the top became separated. John handed the watch-spring coil of metal wrapped tightly about the key to Yani, and said “You keep.”

Yani accepted it with reverence and held it in his hand as John removed the lid. He turned the can upside down on a metal mess kit and the tiny monolith of pig-meat stood in pink splendor, dripping salty gelatin. Yani examined the can and saw that the edge was cut absolutely even all around the top, and was sharper than any native knife. In fact, John used the can for a knife and sliced the Spam into six evenly spaced slabs.

Yani’s face held an expression of awe. Here were slices of pig-meat ready to be eaten with no further preparation necessary. But John was not satisfied with eating the meat ‘as is’. He took three slabs and laid them out in the mess kit, using it as a frying pan. Over the primus stove, the meat browned quickly and the smell was tantalizing.

McDuff thought it was delicious. John withheld his opinion, pleading overexposure, but Yani declared it the most delightful food he had ever tasted. He had previously been in love with British corned beef, but now he begged to practice his key-twisting skills on another can.

John could not believe Yani’s reaction. He looked like his mother’s cat on catnip. He turned to McDuff and said, “How much of this stuff did you find out there?”

“I think the word ‘unlimited’ would describe it,” he said. “No disrespect intended, but if the other natives like this as much as our man, Yani, I think we might have founded a new religion,” John quipped.

***

In the evening, the natives were allowed to make another raid on the C-Rations. This time everyone took an extra minute to get a look at John Frum up on the bridge. He waved to them and some even got up the nerve to wave back.

John took Yani aside after the evening food frenzy, and said, “Yani, when do I get to meet the people. Especially some of the girl people. I see some women who are pretty attractive.”

“John want Mary?”

“Oh, do you have someone in mind? Who is Mary?”

“All women called Mary in Pidgin. Yani find Mary for you tomorrow.”

“How about tonight?” John said.

“You wait. I bring Mary here to boat.” He started toward the open end of the craft, but John caught him by the arm.

“No. I don’t think Big Man Duff would like it. Ministers are funny that way. I’ll go ashore with you while he’s taking a nap.”

“Yes. Churchfella Duff no like Mary. Him never take Mary all the time I know him.”

“I don’t know how they do it,” John said.

“Him like Patrol-fella Gale. Him only like boy-fella.”

When he finally figured out what Yani meant, John said, “Well, I’ll be God-damned. He’s a fairy... All the more reason I think I’ll spend the night on shore.” 

***

Yani and John came back to the LSM in the morning. They both looked like they hadn’t slept, but John was on the point of collapse. He made it to the bunk bed and fell into it. He mumbled to himself as he surrendered to sleep — “Who the hell would have thought you could catch up on three months in one night? She was ... was ... zzzzzzz.“

___

At about noon, McDuff woke John up. When his eyes opened the older man said, “I was worried about you and Yani last night. I woke up and found you were gone. I was afraid something might have happened to you.”

“It did,” John said. “If I ever get back to the Navy, I will have the shore leave story to end them all.”

“I’d rather not know, if you don’t mind, John,” McDuff said stiffly. Discussion of sex with strangers was still more than he cared to undertake. “Yani wants to take some Spam to the village elders. It could be a way to break down the barriers.”

***

After John was introduced as John Frum, a great but friendly bis from the island of Boston in America, each of the elders placed a hand on his chest to feel his heart beat. They were satisfied that he was human and not a spirit.

Yani picked up a can of Spam and opened it in the manner he had learned. The mess kit was placed on the embers of the fire set up in the middle of a newly built palm-frond hut. In seconds, it was sizzling and after a few minutes, it was thoroughly browned and crisp on both sides.

Outside the hut a small band of people had formed, drawn by the smell of the frying Spam as well as plain curiosity. Among them was Poon, whom John had correctly assessed as the oldest man in the village. He had proved his right to the position of tribal wise man by having started climbing the mountain two hours before anyone did to avoid the tidal wave. He was toothless, and his body was shrunken to about two thirds of its original size.

It did not take much imagination to realize he desperately wanted a piece of the Spam. Saliva was dribbling down his chin. John took pity on him and gave him a slice of the cooked delicacy, served on a large green leaf. 

The old man devoured the piece of strange meat hungrily. The others watched him eat the crispy morsels and savor the taste. They were silent while he gummed the foreign treat. He rolled his eyes and said, "Natum, geko. Natum geko." Some of the villagers made a face of disgust but the older men made questioning noises.

"Geko?" one warrior asked.

"Natum geko," the wise man answered.

John looked at Yani. "What did he say?"

"Poon say taste like long pig. The other men want to try some."

John broke the pieces in half and gave them to the outstretched hands. Some turned away, choosing not to try the fried Spam. However, those who took pieces seemed to agree with Poon. "Natum geko," was the prevailing opinion.

John opened another can and cooked all the pieces that were not eaten uncooked. Yani reported that there was general agreement that Spam tasted like long pig.

When the economy of the island returned to normal, John was thinking of opening a trading business. Spam could be traded for fish, breadfruit, coconuts, bananas and other jungle fruits — even Marys. Spam was the currency and he would be the banker.

Yani held the official position of "Spam can-opener." He would never allow anyone to take away a sealed Spam can. He was the only one who was authorized to open them, complete with the invocation of Cin-cin-nati, O-hi-o.