The Hurricane Page #2

It's very funny what a difference

a cap makes in the world.

In Tahiti, when I wear this cap,

everybody is my friend.

You think I'm just Terangi who swam

with you when you were a little fish.

In Tahiti, when I sit in a cafe with

this cap on I'm the same as a white man.

Take me with you.

No, please. I like to, but I can't.

Please! I won't take any room.

I'll sleep on top of the mast.

You can hang me over the boat's side

at night and pull me along with a rope.

Only take me. Please, take me.

Quiet, quiet.

What in blazes are you doin' aboard

this boat, Marama?

Please, I go to Tahiti.

- How did she get aboard? You bring her?

- No, I come in a bag like a coconut.

What's wrong with going to Tahiti?

I never been. I go just once.

Listen, the longer you stay aboard,

the further you'll have to swim back.

You have no reason to go to Tahiti.

Oh, yes. I buy a dress with a ribbon on.

And red shoes with high heels.

And a hat with a feather,

and a petticoat with flounces.

And a doll that dances.

All right. You stay on board.

But we'll take Terangi's cap away

and he's through being a first mate.

I can't have a first mate with a bride.

He'll be an ordinary sailor.

Scrubbing decks. Gimme that cap.

Oh, no, no. Don't take his cap.

No, Terangi, he won't.

Good-bye.

Hurry back.

Aloha!

I can't give you anything but love

Marama!

Get up!

Get up!

Get up, I said!

Clear out!

Get up when a white man tells ya!

Terangi, get back on the ship.

My warrant says

the man's jaw was broken.

I don't care if his jaw was broken!

Pity it wasn't his neck.

I saw the whole thing,

and my mate is not to blame.

If you're his witness, Captain,

there won't be any trouble.

But he's got to be surrendered.

All right. Come on.

But I'm going along.

I'll see the governor about this.

I've spent hours, Governor,

trying to find out why my first mate...

is sentenced to six months in jail

for doing exactly as you or I would do.

Your boy hits too hard.

Not hard enough. I saw the whole thing.

I even testified in court.

The sentence is unjust.

But surely six months in jail

isn't unheard of...

in a serious case

of assault and battery.

Come, Nagle, it isn't a matter

of life and death.

You don't know the Tuamotu natives.

They're not like your Tahitians.

They can't stand confinement.

There's something behind this. A matter

of maintaining European prestige?

A native mustn't raise his hand

against a white man?

Your boy not only hit too hard...

but he hit the wrong man.

That rum-soaked bully.

Strange as it seems,

he has influence at home.

As soon as he recovered consciousness

in the hospital...

he cabled the Ministry of Colonies.

So Terangi is made a victim of politics.

I'm afraid you're right, Nagle.

I sail for Manukura in three days.

You can't pardon him?

Later, perhaps. Not now.

I've done all I can.

You'll have to take your punishment

quietly and cheerfully.

You hit too hard, man. That's all.

The next time you hit a man,

take care not to break his jaw.

You're too much of a man

to store up any bitterness.

Your berth will be waiting on my ship.

Time will pass quickly.

I'll explain everything to your wife.

Will you give her this?

Sure, I will.

Don't you worry about her.

Remember what I've told you.

I'll tell you what I'll do.

I'll put him on the road gang.

Keep him outdoors all day.

He's going to take his medicine

all right.

I hope so.

Wasting water, eh, convict?

The Katopua.

And wouldn't you like

to be going home on her!

Come on, pick 'em up. Get movin'.

Captain Nagle!

Chappeli, coffee.

Captain Nagle!

I wouldn't have had this happen

for anything, son.

It just hangs another year

on your sentence. That's the penalty.

That's what I've got to go by: The law.

Lucky you didn't break from the inside.

That would've added five years.

Now you behave yourself.

We don't want to keep you here

any longer than we've got to.

The long and short of it was,

I couldn't do a thing for Terangi.

How silly, how unjust.

- It's up to you.

- To me?

I fail to see in what way.

As governor of his island, you can ask

to have him paroled in your care.

And much as I should like

to do just that...

I don't think it wise to interfere

with the administration of the law.

Oh, administration of fiddlesticks!

The man's absolutely right.

It isn't a matter of law.

It's political pull and injustice.

Just a minute. Let me explain the case

a little less legally.

De Laage, our friend Terangi

isn't just an errand-running islander.

He's the best loved of every man, woman

and three-year-old child in Manukura.

You're not only allowing him to rot

in jail, but offending your subjects.

And what's worse,

you're hurting yourself.

Your concern for my soul

has flattered me for some time.

I must ask you to concern yourself

with my more physical ailments.

He means well, dear.

He's only saying what we all think.

I know he means well.

I know you all mean well.

But I am not the representative

of well-meaning points of view.

I represent a civilization...

that cannot afford to show confusion

or conflict to the people it governs.

The law has spoken in Tahiti.

I must uphold that law.

Would it influence

your sense of duty at all...

to know that Mrs. Terangi

is about to be a mother?

Really?

That's wonderful!

That puts everything in a different

light. Explain to the authorities.

No. It puts me in a worse light.

Now I'm not only Terangi's persecutor,

I'm the oppressor of an unborn child.

I think it's unfair to appeal

to a side of me that's very strong...

but that simply cannot

function as governor.

I understand you, de Laage.

Thank you.

And my heart feels sad for you.

Though six months isn't forever.

Terangi's young.

Let's make the best of it.

So easy to say, Father.

But I have to tell her.

Yes. He sent her a little gift.

Oh, I'll take it to her.

There's no need for you

to put yourself out, darling.

Yes, there is.

In six months, it'll all be over.

He'll be back, and you'll both

forget so soon.

Go away.

I want you to come with me and live

in my house while you're waiting.

There's a lovely garden

and you can sit...

I don't go to your house.

It'll be easier.

I don't want it any easier.

Terangi in a jail.

You're right.

It won't be long...

because no jail can hold Terangi

very long.

If it has a window, he'll fly away.

If it has water around it,

he'll swim away.

And everybody will laugh at the jail

that tried to hold Terangi.

They'll laugh.

It's another two years, Terangi.

Every time you try to break out,

it's two more years.

Understand? Two more years.

That's two more years, Terangi.

He cannot possibly escape.

- You have jurisdiction over this case!

- I don't deny it.

You're the only man who can save him

from this mad thing that's happening.

- He's broken the law.

- What law?

The law that condemned him

unjustly to prison?

That refused him the simple rights

of a human being?

I can't.

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