( 10 Nov. 86) Cassidy is an expert at hunting with coral rocks, a skill learned by Pacific islanders thousands of years ago and perhaps tens of thousands of years ago by the Australian aborigines. He had spent about twenty minutes outside the Omelek security building this morning looking for Fairy terns. He returned with one he brought down with a coral rock thrown at high speed.
Cassidy defeathered the bird and I thought he was going to cook it but, once again, the microwave was chosen for this mission. He placed the bird, without gutting it, on a paper plate inside our microwave and set the timer for the magic number of two minutes. Meanwhile, he opened a can of corn and a can of English peas, mixed them in a pot with salt, pepper and ketchup, and placed the pot on a burner.
After two minutes Cassidy checked the bird and decided to let it ride for two more. When the bird was placed on the table, we both studied it. It was pink, as if it got sunburned. He offered to cut a piece for me.
I told him thanks but I had eaten a large breakfast and wasn’t hungry at all. I pretended to read while he sat down. He took a bite, chewed once, then looked at the bird again.
He grabbed the ketchup bottle and applied it liberally, along with salt and pepper. Taking another bite, he chewed a few times until the ketchup flavor disappeared, then froze and looked at me. I was engrossed in my book. Taylor left the room but returned a minute later to finish the pot of mixed vegetables. Afterward, he dumped the pink bird in the trash can.
There was, I noticed, a strange smell surrounding the scrawny, naked creature for a distance of about three feet. I was reminded of the time I visited a chicken rendering plant near Reidsville, Georgia. I decided to take the trash out to the burn barrel.
Cassidy’s hunting technique is to pick up available coral rocks until he finds one that’s suitable. He will pick up a rock and turn it over in his hand and check it for weight and shape, preferably thin so that it can fly quickly and right to the target. When he picks out a target, he raises the rock to a position near the back of his head and pauses for a few seconds. Then in a quick, smooth motion he steps forward, bringing his arm down and to the front. His throwing motion is like that of a major league submarine pitcher, releasing the rock in a side arm finish with the release point depending on the elevation of the target. I saw one constable release a rock toward a bird flying parallel to the ground. He would have hit the bird in the chest but the tern lifted up a fraction at the point of impact and the rock missed by an inch. Pacific islanders have also used rocks as weapons in battles.
I talked with Cassidy later in the day, after he had recovered from his attempt at microwaved fairy tern. All the while he carefully searched the dial on his portable radio for the capital city of Majuro.
Cassidy was born on Rongelap Atoll, to the north of Kwajalein Atoll. He and his family live on Ebeye now, refugees from a nuclear accident, the infamous Bravo test that occurred on March 1, 1954 at Bikini Atoll.
That test of a hydrogen bomb was rated at fifteen megatons, the largest ever exploded by the United States. With full knowledge that the winds were blowing toward Rongelap, American officials did not evacuate the islanders from the danger. On the day of that test, when radioactive dust was falling to a depth of two inches over the atoll’s islands, the USS Gypsy, a Navy destroyer, was anchored at the entrance to Rongelap’s lagoon.
When the ship’s monitors showing radiation levels increasing, the crew sailed away — leaving bewildered men, women and children to suffer the pain of severe radiation sickness. They were not evacuated until seventy-two hours later. Cassidy said that he and his mother were on Ebeye when the bomb went off. The rest of his family were not as fortunate, however. His father died from cancer a few years ago and his two sisters have had thyroid operations.
Merle Haggard started coming in loud and clear as Cassidy smiled. I told him I was sorry to hear about his family. He looked at me and his face took on a thoughtful appearance.
“That wasn’t a nice thing to do, was it?”
I agreed as Merle finished and Loretta Lynn began to sing a sad song. “I notice that a lot of Marshallese like country and western music. Why is that?”
“It’s because the music is like our Marshallese music — soft and slow. Not like rock and roll.”
I’ve got to admit that the island music is similar to country and western. Still, I can’t picture Pacific islanders sitting among the palm trees, weaving baskets and listening to Dolly Parton.
Filed under: Almost Paradise Volume 1
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