Stories of the Southern Sea

It lives in the hole where the moon used to be. And for most of the worst part of the northern winter, over the last two decades, so have we. The real South Pacific was not a Bali Hai musical, but a drama of cannibals and castaways, headhunters and slavers, paradise and perdition.This is a book of saline psalms. This is water.

Amnesia

“Balboa found the Pacific and on the trail one dayhe met some friendly Indians whom he was told were gaySo...he had them torn apartby dogs on religious grounds they saythe great nations of Europe were quite holy in their way...”

Castaways

“Ese era su cueva, allí.” Said one of the lobstermen. That was his cave, there.

Tide Table

“It seems like most Chilote myths were oceanic.” I said. Miguel smiled.

“From the bottom of the sea to the floor of the forest, every act of life was governed by the brujos’ witchcraft, and their magical creatures.”

Headhunting in Kansas

When the men were finally allowed back into the village, they were met by jealous and possessed women, who tried to steal or bite the heads.

Fiji Bitter

“I think this one used to be a clown.” He said.

“A clown?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He said. “Tastes funny.”

The Most Beautiful Beach in the World

On my plate, it looked like someone had dismembered a large bat, and tried to reassemble it with yams and taro and island cabbage. It was never going to fly again.

Prow of the Canoe

I formed a mental image of a nguzunguzu, mounted near the waterline on the prow, so that it dipping in and out of the water, picking up spiritual momentum, and guarding against hostile spirits, with each stroke of twenty paddles.

Alice in Wonderland

To get to where Alice was, you needed to get beyond Monique, and to get beyond Monique, you needed to get to Sylvanna. To get to Sylvanna, you needed to get through Rose. To get to Rose, you needed to get through Immigration, and to get through Immigration, you needed to get your pack off the slowest carousel in the world.

Storyboarded

There is nothing to tell you when the ocean will begin, except the soft recoil of deceleration, far too slow to turn back now. The water tastes like blood, and it should, for we come from it, and your bubbles escape while they still can.

Big Money

The people of Yap have a long history of making big money the hard way. But the real big money, is coming down the tree, head first.

Pepper, Palisades and Pearls

“ We looked around and saw the dogs. All their throats had been simultaneously cut and their bodies, still breathing, pierced with rods, were turning on those pits. The chief insisted we join in the meal but Marina had turned green and I asked if we could just have ours to go. They carefully wrapped the dogs in leaves and we carried their bodies away.”

Happy Lucky Welcome Fun

It’s not as if the Americans were deliberately trying to kill them. It was simply that they were measuring how they would die, in the lethal environment they had decided to create for them.

Mysterious Paradise of Mud

I asked the lady next to me.

“Why do they call it the mysterious paradise island?”

“I don’t know.” She said.

“So that’s why.” I thought.

Aground in the Abode of Love

You know you’ve arrived in Polynesian waters when the vowels begin to drown the consonants.

Fara Way

“Fara.” Said Julie. “So much fun.” And she was gone. And then, for an hour or so, so were we.

My eyes were just beginning to wobble, and then I heard it, just once.

Strummummummummumm.

A Proud and Caring People

He rolled out of the Holden like he had been freed from its frame, looking up the hill at his namesake on the AAsign, and smiling, like Samoans smile. He whipped off his hi-flow cat tinted sunglasses and, after a long Pacific pause, put out a brick-like hand for me to shake.

“Equator.” He said. And why not.

One Foot

All our clothes came off, and would only come back on for the two hours every morning when we attended the wedding in our front yard. We abandoned time, but it would keep track of us, counting down paradise.

Luxury Link

“Pull up a chair.” Said the old guy with the silver crew cut. “Swing in. Swing in.” He was sporting two small airline bottles of José Cuero tequila, and a grey sweatshirt. Hammered and Happy.

Birdman

Later, I dreamt. Of trees and frangipanis and fish and ice cream, and eggs unbroken.

Ghosts of the Rock

The geckos on the roof of the restaurant that evening flew into a feeding frenzy, on the gigantic triangular moths that had taken refuge around the lights, in the overhanging eaves above. Moth juice fell into our wine glasses, and onto our lamb dinners.

The Blood in Wineglass Bay

Tasmania, haunted by extinction, was the first place in the Southern Sea where the headhunters and the cannibals had been the white guys.

A Speck under the Forefinger of God

The real decadence returned in my dreams, with visions of bloodstains between the grains, seeping through the creamed rice.

White Villa Blues

“You’ve never even seen this place you bought” He said. “You want to live in Northland?” I responded with another question.“Why not?” I asked. “There’s history, and I think we’ve found the perfect quiet place.”“It won’t be quiet, mate.” He said. “And you’ll have more history than you can handle.”

The Author

Lawrence Winkler is an ancient physician and phenomenologist, traveler, mushroom forager, and natural philosopher. As a young man, he hitchhiked around the world, for five transformative years.His middle age is morphing from medicine to manuscript. He has a passion for habitat protection, including the (hopefully) final repairs on a leaky roof. Westwood Lake Chronicles was his first book. He lives on Vancouver Island with Robyn, tending their garden and vineyard, and dreams.