Her head had appeared at the house’s top story attic for ten years or more since the killing time when her son went off to World War II.
…
“Who are you?” the lieutenant asked kindly.
“I do not know. The natives say they rescued me from a plane many monsoons ago.”
“My God, Lieutenant, it is a white man,” Tamery said when the speaker came into a dim light.
“Yes. I am not like the natives.”
“Will you come on out of that dark hole so I can see you better? I am Lieutenant Jim Moreland. And you have no idea who you are, and where you came from?” the lieutenant asked.
“No sir.”
“You are not pulling my leg, sir?”
“No. I do not know how I knew, but I knew.”
“Your name?” the lieutenant asked.
“My people call me, Ratu.”
“Chief, uh?”
“Yes. I am their Chief only because they have chosen me to be.”
…
“Admiral Whaite, I appreciate you taking your time to come over here and try to identify this man who calls himself, Ratu. Did you get a good enough look at him this morning to identify him?”
“Yes, Captain Nelson. At last a ghost comes back to haunt me. So many years. I’ve thought so many times about those we lost at sea that day. So many young men wasted. His name is…”
