Chapter 2: Arrival on Kanifay Island

     There were no direct flights to Kanifay Island.  Tony had a choice between a flight to Hawaii and Guam before waiting for the next flight—a twin-engine Boeing 737—to Kanifay; and flying to the Philippines and turning eastward to Kanifay.  Either route offered only one flight a week.  Tony would by way of the Philippines and arrive late Wednesday afternoon.

     From the air, the Kanifay International Airport looked like a spot of ground in the middle of a jungle.  The 737 made a safe landing, and the tourists grabbed their carry-on items and walked toward the airport terminal.  As the tourists passed through the gate of the terminal, Kanifay Island women in traditional costumes welcomed them by placing strings of large Kanifay Island flowers around their necks. 

     The colorful “grass skirts” they wore weren’t really made of grass.  They were made from strips of flowering plants.  The upper skirts, which made the women’s hips look wider—a sign of beauty in their culture—were made from strips of banana leaves.  The skirts were very wide.  The belts on the skirts were skillfully made from natural plant fibers, and they were decorated with small seashells.  The skirts were dyed with natural plant dyes.  Around their necks, the women wore coconut leaves and strings of large Kanifay Island flowers.

     In the welcoming area, a young man held a sign that read, “O’Malley’s Inn shuttle bus.”  Tony and a few other tourists gathered around him.  After a moment, the young man counted the tourists around him and said, “That’s thirty passengers.  Your bags should be here in a few minutes.  Then we can get on the bus and go to the Inn.”

     From the outside, O’Malley’s Inn looked very much like a traditional American home with a small fence, painted white, along the front.   A small pathway, with flowers along both sides, led from the front gate to the front door.  In less than an hour, Tony and the others had found their rooms, put away their luggage, and bathed.  Some of the tourists, including Tony, remembered to look at the hotel clock and set their watches to local time.

     Tony looked over the brochures he had collected from the concierge.  One of the brochures told of a “must” for his first morning in Kanifay: the Kanifay Living History Museum.   At 8:00 AM, the tourists would receive their formal welcome to the island.

     The Living History Museum was open only two days a week—Tuesday and Thursday—from 8:00 AM until 4:00 PM.  From his Internet research, he had learned a great deal about Kanifay culture and wanted to see it for himself.  He checked the map on the brochure.  The museum was less than 200 yards from O’Malley's Inn, and from most other hotels and inns on the island as well.

     He looked at his watch again.  With luck, he’d be able to make a dive trip Tuesday afternoon—unless dive trips were made only in the mornings.  In that case, he’d have to wait until Wednesday at the earliest.  Before he ate supper, he would ask at the Chamorro Bay Resort.

     At the Chamorro Bay Resort, Tony learned that dive trips always started during the mornings.  He made a reservation for a dive trip for Wednesday. 

     At the Harbor Restaurant, Tony ordered an American-style supper.  On his first day off the plane, he thought he should play it safe.  In a six-week-long vacation, he would have many other times to eat local foods.

     During his meal, the waitress asked him if he were staying at the Chamorro Bay Resort.  “No, ma’am,” Tony politely said.  “I’m staying next door at O’Malley’s.”

    “Just wondering,” she smiled.  “Dash Tobey is staying at the Chamorro Bay.  I was just wondering if you had seen him.”

     “Not yet, but I hope to.”

     That evening, Tony stayed in his room, resting up from his long trip.  Just before ten o’clock that night, he opened his second-floor room window and breathed the clean tropical air.  The sky was clear, and the stars seemed so close that they looked like little diamonds within arm’s reach. 

     He looked toward the back yard of the Chamorro Bay Resort and wondered if Dash Tobey ever took a walk in the yard.  Then he saw something move at the edge of the yard.  He looked more closely.

     There, at the far end of the yard, among wild plants, Tony saw something that looked like a small dog.  After a moment, he realized it wasn’t a dog.  It was a red fox.  The fox stopped, sat down, and faced the Chamorro Bay Resort.  For several minutes, as Tony watched the fox, the fox watched the Chamorro Bay Resort.

     After a few minutes, the fox looked around, then suddenly looked at Tony.  It seemed to look straight into Tony’s eyes.  In a moment, the fox turned and walked among the plants and disappeared into the night.

     Tony remembered the warning he had read on the Internet—that, if he saw a fox, he should report it to someone.  Whom should he call?  He would have felt silly calling the police.  It wouldn’t hurt to mention it to the concierge. 

     Downstairs, the concierge saw Tony walking toward the front desk.  Drawing out his words, the concierge said, “Ye-es?  How may I help you?” 

     “Before coming here,” Tony began, “I read that, if I saw a fox on the island, I should report it to someone.”

     “You would like to report a fox.”

     “Yes, sir, that’s right.  From my room window, I saw one in the back yard next door.  How should I report it?”

     The concierge grew serious, lowered his voice, and said, “I suggest that you not tell anyone.  It will be more trouble than it’s worth.”

     “How’s that again?”

     “Unless a fox is caught or killed at the moment it is seen, I don’t think there’s anything that anyone could do about it.”

     “Then why are people advised to report it if they see a fox on the island?”

     “Because it makes some people think that something is being done about the problem.”

     “Why do they think that foxes are a problem?”

     “Foxes are not natural to this island, and they damage the environment.  During the 1830's, foxes were first brought to Australia for fox hunters.  Since then, the number of foxes has grown to more than six million, and they’re a major problem.  Around 1940, a Japanese businessman brought thirty-six foxes to the Carolines, hoping to raise them and to get rich Japanese people interested in fox hunting.”

     “Why not do that in Japan?”

     “They already have plenty of red foxes in Japan.  Like most good businessmen, this one wanted to create new opportunities for himself.  From the 1920's until the end of 1942, the Japanese army took over most of the Western Pacific.  They won every battle and had every reason to believe that the Pacific islands would be theirs to keep.  Rich Japanese living here—he thought—might want to do what rich people in England and Australia often do: hunt foxes.  After the Japanese were forced from the area, the foxes stayed here.  The government has killed most of them, but there are still a few left alive.  They’ve offered a hundred-dollar reward for each dead fox, and they won’t stop until every fox on the island has been killed.”

     “It was a beautiful animal,” Tony said.

     The concierge relaxed and smiled, “Yes, they are beautiful.  I suggest that you go back to your room and go to bed.  Is there something else I can do for you?”

     “No, thank you.  I enjoyed our conversation.”

     “Any time.”

     Tony returned to his room and dressed for bed.  After brushing his teeth, he turned out the room light, walked to his room window, and looked toward the yard.  All was quiet and still.  He lay on his bed, thinking about the day—thinking about the red fox he had seen—watching the overhead paddle fan turning around and around.  With each turn of the fan, Tony passed deeper into sleep.

     The next thing he knew, the morning light was entering the room.