The Pacific Ocean is a broad, beautiful vision of purest blue. As far as the eye can see, there’s nothing but the gentle rolling surface of the water–no trees, no islands, nothing at all to spoil the harmony of the scene. There are even peaceful places on that vast expanse where there are no birds or even any insects to disturb the tranquility, and if there are any fish they’re so far beneath the surface that you couldn’t spot ‘em in a million years. Just the thought of leaning on the rail of a luxury liner and looking out across the vast vista of the Pacific gets poets and romantics all misty-eyed.

Of course, it’s a little different when seen from sea level, especially the part about nothing on the horizon but more water. Personally, I’d rather have been looking at it from the deck of a ship, even a beat-up cargo ship like The Fallen Angel, which was carting me off to Australia after the various nations of South America decided they didn’t have no more use for me than the last four continents that had kicked me out, but after the captain proved to be a poor loser–and I’m convinced he’d have been a poor loser even if them two extra aces hadn’t fallen out of my sleeve at a most inopportune time–I was given a stern lecture on the sin of gambling or cheating, I’m still not sure which, and set adrift in this little yellow raft that looked like it should be sitting in some rich person’s swimming pool, or maybe his bathtub.

There are probably slower ways to travel across fifteen thousand miles of Pacific Ocean, but there sure ain’t any more uncomfortable ones. I only made one friend during the first week that I was adrift–a fish what I named Murgatroid in honor of the only teacher who never whacked me with a ruler when I was exploring the universe, or at least that portion of it that resided in the Dimples Maloney, a cute little blonde girl who always seemed to sit directly ahead of me in school–but truth to tell Murgatroid was a pretty poor conversationalist, and after a couple of days I ate her.

Another week passed, and I figured I was making about five miles headway a day, and I gave up trying to compute how old I’d be when I actually got to Australia because I figgered numbers didn’t go up that high. I was getting mighty sick of eating raw fish, and the only reason I kept doing it was because I figgered it was better than eating no fish at all. Saw some mighty big ones, too, including a flock of whales, or maybe it was a herd of ‘em, and there was a couple of sharks that dropped by to see if they could share a bite with me, or of me as the case may be. My faith never wavered the whole time, though I did have a couple of emergency pow-wows with God to remind him that Job was the one he was supposed to be testing, not a man of the cloth like myself. Of course, there wasn’t a lot of cloth left after the second week, but I still had my well-worn copy of the Good Book, and I found endless inspiration in it, especially the racier psalms and the part about all the begatting.

After seventeen days I realized that I was going to run out of water pretty soon. Not that I had any to begin with, but on the first night of the voyage I’d hidden a stash of the captain’s best drinkin’ stuff on the raft, little knowing that I was going to wind up right alongside it. I never much liked salty foods, and I figgered salty water wasn’t going to be to my taste neither, but I only had one bottle remaining of Dom Perignon, who I think used to play left tackle on the Green Bay Packers before he went into wine business, so I spent more time than usual scanning the horizon for something besides more water, of which there was an awful lot, and lo and behold, on the eighteenth day I saw something kind of green off in the distance.

The closer I got, the more it looked like land, but it wasn’t like any kind of land I’d ever seen before, because while most islands of my acquaintance grew trees, and a bunch of ‘em grew flowers, and more than a handful grew people, this was the only island I’d ever encountered what grew statues. The statues kind of resembled people, but I figured whoever carved ‘em must have either been puritanical or maybe a bit on the shy side, because they all stopped at the necks (or maybe the chins).

Anyway, the more I looked, the more statues I saw, and I figgered this must be a pretty wealthy island, since they seemed to have so much statue-carving time on their hands. And then I thought, well, maybe they didn’t carve ‘em at all, maybe they planted them and were the sole possessors of these special seeds that grew into big ugly heads, and while I never understood why people liked ugly art instead of paintings and statues of ripe naked women, the fact remained that there was definitely a market for the ugly stuff too, and that meant there might be a market for the seeds.

Then the thought occurred to me that maybe I’d got it all wrong, that it was always possible that they buried their dead feet downward, and I was viewing the top half of an island-wide cemetery of really big potential basketball players, and I began wondering if anyone was left alive, and failing that, if the local dentist had inserted any gold fillings before he joined his clientele in the graveyard.

For a minute there I thunk I was going to pass right by the island, but then a couple of dolphins decided to play a little water polo, using the raft as a ball, and by the time they lost interest I was back on course again. In fact, I’d been so busy cursing ‘em that I hadn’t noticed that a welcoming committee had assembled on the shore to greet me, which certainly gave lie to it being a deserted island. And when I saw that a bunch of them was tender young maidens what clearly weren’t on speaking terms with the local clothing shop, I knew for sure that the inhabitants of the island had bodies as well as heads, which was a definite comfort.

The raft finally made it to shore, and I got out of it and smiled at all the folks what had come up to greet me, especially the round ones with hardly no clothes on.

“Welcome to Easter Island,” said the tallest guy, which was a friendly thing to say but his face looked like his shorts were too tight, and he wasn’t even wearing any.

“Thanks, Brother,” I said. “It’s been a long trip filled with no end of hardship and more than a little starvation tossed in for good measure.”

“How soon will you be leaving?” he asked.

“Well, since you guys seems to be celebrating Easter, I think I’ll stick around for it, since celebrating holidays is one of the very best things I do.” I was about to explain that I was a man of the cloth, though most of my cloth was currently missing, but he didn’t give me no chance.

“We don’t like strangers here,” he said.

“Where do you like ‘em?” I asked, hoping that maybe one or more of the girls would accompany me to the stranger-liking area.

“Elsewhere,” he said kind of grumpily.

“I just came from elsewhere,” I told him. “And take my word for it, it ain’t got much to recommend it.”

“Just make sure you stay out of my way,” he said, turning and starting to walk off.

“If he’s your official greeter,” I said to the rest of ‘em, “I hate to think of what your constabularies must be like.”

“He is our High Priest,” said one of the girls.

“If this was a movie, he’d be played by some guy named Boris or Bela or maybe Basil,” I opined.

“He is Balok,” said another.

“I knew it!” I said. “Why do religious evildoers always have names beginning with a B?”

“Don’t let him overhear you,” said one of the men. “He could turn you into an insect and step on you.”

“I suppose it all depends on what kind of insect,” I said thoughtfully. “Even a High Priest wouldn’t relish stepping on a scorpion.”

“Have you no fear of him?” asked one of the girls, her pretty little eyes wide with wonder, while a couple of others looked like they wanted to ask what a scorpion was. “He is the High Priest of Makemake.”

“Mockey Mockey?” I said, sounding it out. “I thunk he just told me it was Easter Island.”

“It is,” she said. “Makemake is our god.”

“I was just testing you, my child,” I said. “So he thinks he’s going to boss me around?”

Suddenly they all looked at me with awe.

“You are Makemake?” gasped one of the girls, who didn’t say much but were still a lot more talkative than the men.

“Yeah,” I said. “I just came by to see how things are going.”

“You are really Makemake?” said another.

“Right.”

“You created all the moai?”

“Sure did,” I said. “What’s a moai?”

She kind of frowned. “Those are our stone idols. If you are Makemake, why do you not know this?”

I done some quick thinking, shot her a confident smile, and said “In heaven we call ‘em Michelangelos.”

“But you did create them?” she persisted.

“Damned right I did.” I pointed to the nearest one. “That one there looks like Uncle Herman, and this here one is Cousin Chester, and over there is Cuthbert, who’s always been the black sheep of the godly family, though of course down here he’s more of a gray sheep, or at least a sand-colored one. And that one is poor Aunt Petunia, who never could attract a feller with that grim expression, which looks a little like Balok now that I come to mull on it.”

Well, I guv ‘em an insider’s tour of their religious artifacts, and I’d have gone around the whole island telling ‘em my source material for each, but after about five minutes I couldn’t walk no farther because a couple of the girls had fallen to their knees and were busy kissing my feet, while all the guys started bowing and kneeling. It kind of guv me some confidence that all them stories I’d heard about Pacific islands was true.

Finally one girl stood up and smiled at me. “Makemake, you are welcome to Rapa Nui.”

“I am?” I said, quickly looking the girls over one by one. “Any Nui at all?”

She frowned. “There is only one Rapa Nui,” she said. “You are standing on it.”

“I knew that,” I said quickly. “I was just testing you, me being God and all.”

She looked a little confused, but finally she guv me a winning smile. “Oh,” she said. “We are not used to being tested by our god.”

“Sure you are,” I said. “What about all them hurricanes I send your way?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said another girl. “Why do you send them?”

“Us gods gotta be mysterious and unfathomable,” I said. “It goes with the territory. If I answered all your questions, you’d know us as well as we know ourselves.”

“Oh!” she said, kind of startled. “I never thought of that.”

“I absolve you your transgressions, my child,” I intoned. “Maybe a little later I can introduce you to some more transgressions that I can absolve you of.”

“Really?” she said curiously. “What kind of transgressions?”

I learned over and whispered a few of the more unique ones to her.

“Can a god do that?” she asked when she was all through blushing.

“I created man in my own image,” I told her. “Anything a man can do I can do better.”

“It sounds…interesting,” she said thoughtfully.

“Makemake!” said one of the men, pointing across the island. “Black smoke!”

“Someone’s got a cigar?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “It is Balok, lighting a fire and praying.”

“Not much sense to it,” I said. “If he wants a prayer answered, all he has to do is walk over here and discuss it with me.”

“He is praying to the evil god Malimali.”

“My kid brother,” I said. “Not to worry. Whenever he gets too big for his britches, I tan his hide and he’s okay again for another month.”

That first girl was staring at me curiously, and finally she spoke up. “You do not speak like the other white gods who visited us,” she said.

“You been visited by a lot of other gods, have you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “They claim to be something called”–she frowned as she pronounced the word in syllables–”sci-en-tists.”

“Yeah?” I said. “And what were they doing here?”

“Examining our moai,” she replied. “They say they are worth millions to sci-ence.”

“Millions?” I repeated.

“Yes, Makemake,” she said. “Millions.”

“You don’t say,” I said, and suddenly I wasn’t nearly so anxious to leave the island. “Well, well, well.”

“I have a question, Makemake?”

“Yes, my child?”

“What is millions?”

“Just like thousands, only better,” I told her.

“I do not understand,” said another girl.

“It’s just God talk,” I said. “Don’t none of you worry your pretty little heads about it”–I shot a quick smile at the menfolk–”nor your handsome ones neither. And speaking of heads, we all of us here agree that these oversized ones belong to me, right?”

“Yes, Makemake,” said one of the girls.

“Good,” I said. “I want you to hold that thought when the scientists come by.”

“We will protect them with our lives when you return to heaven,” said one of the men.

“That’s right thoughtful of you,” I said, “but I ain’t going back to heaven.”

“You’re not?” they all said kind of together.

“I’ve decided to set up my heavenly kingdom right here on Thanksgiving Island, surrounded by all the heads I made.”

“Easter Island,” one of the girls corrected me.

“I knew it was one of the other,” I said. “Hard to tell in a country where it don’t never snow.”

“Will you be needing anything, now that you are going to live among us, Makemake?”

“Well, I’ll need a hut, of course,” I said, “and seeing as to how I’m a god, it ought to be the biggest and most luxurious on the island.”

“We will begin work on it immediately,” said the men.

“And since I’m setting up shop here, I’m going to need a High Priestess to help me out.”

Well, you never saw so many women stop whispering amongst themselves and snap to attention.

“I volunteer, Makemake,” said the closest one.

I looked her up and down in godly fashion. The round parts were mighty round, the smooth parts were mighty smooth, and she had a smile that showed off the whitest teeth I ever saw.

“You got a name, my child?” I asked.

“Valeria,” she replied, kind of shaking her head so’s her hair swirled down to her waist.

“Valaria,” I repeated. “Good name for a High Priestess. We got any other candidates?”

Another one, what might have been Valeria’s better-looking twin sister, stepped forward.

“My goodness!” I said admiringly. “I sure outdid myself when I made the women on this here island. And who are you, Honey?”

“I am Sylaria,” she replied.

“You related to Valeria here?” I said. “Other than both of you being beautiful and naked, I mean?”

Before she could answer a third one approached me, looking even better and rounder and nakeder than the first two. I took a quick peek at the men to see if they were getting a mite peeved with the situation, but they seemed to think having these young ladies throw themselves at a god was just the most natural thing in the world, or maybe the most supernatural (but in a good way).

“Well, ladies,” I said, “I’m overwhelmed by your beauty and enthusiasm, but I can’t just choose a high priestess on the spur of the moment, or on looks alone, so if you’ll show up at my hut, once it gets itself built, we’ll go to work on some of the more esoteric ceremonies and practices I got in mind.”

“I would do anything to be a high priestess,” said Valaria, walking over and whispering her notion of what constituted anything into my ear.

“I, too, would do anything,” Sylaria assured me. She shot me a sly little smile. “But I would do it better.”

The third one just stood where she was.

“You ain’t got nothing to say?” I asked.

“When the supreme test comes, I will let my actions speak for me,” she replied with a wink.

“Where will you want your hut, Makemake?” asked one of the guys, who had a friendly and eager expression on his face, like if he did a good job of it maybe I’d toss him a losing candidate or two.

“Which head do you guys think is the most impressive one on the island?” I asked.

He frowned. “They are all identical, Makemake.”

“All right, then,” I said. “Where’s the biggest cluster of ‘em?”

The frown didn’t go away. “You created them, Makemake.”

“I done a lot of creating that afternoon,” I told him. “Trying to make the Chicago White Sox respectable wore me out so much that I’ve forgotten some of the other details.” I looked around the island, or that part of it what I could see. “There’s half a dozen or so facing the ocean. What about them?”

“Ahu Akivi,” he said.

“Gesundheit,” I said. “Now, what about them heads?”

“Ahu Akivi,” he repeated.

I was torn between wishing him an Ahu Akivi himself or looking around to see if someone had accidentally dropped anything that might be an Ahu Akivi on the ground.

“We need a decision, Makemake,” he said.

“About what?” I asked, confused.

“About whether to build your heavenly hut by the Ahu Akivi,” he said, pointing to the heads.

Now that I knew what he was talking about, I took another look. “Nice high ground, far enough inland so it ain’t gonna get ravaged by whales, sharks or hippos, and it’d be hard for Balok to sneak up on it. Yeah, that’ll do.”

So they went to work, and you’d be surprised how fast they could erect a heavenly hut, especially when their definition of pleasant working conditions is a 95-degree day where only twelve billion bugs come out of hiding before noon. One of the men ran off and came back a couple of minutes later with a sleeping mat and a couple of pillows. He tossed ‘em on the dirt floor, and presto!, the hut was fully furnished just like that.

I was just about to make up my mind which apprentice High Priestess to school first when Balok came over from his side of the island, surrounded by three or four guys who looked like they spent all their time working out in the nearest gym, as well as swimming to it and back each morning.

“What is this?” he demanded when he’d come to a stop.

“I don’t know what you call it,” I replied, “but over here on this side of the island, we call it a hut.”

“I gave you no permission to build it,” he said angrily.

“That’s probably because I didn’t ask for none.”

“But I am the High Priest.”

“And I’m Makemake,” I said. “Wanna bet which of us got a bigger throne up in heaven?”

He kind of snorted and glared at me. “You are no more a god than I am.”

“All right,” I said. “If I prove I’m a god, will you get back on your side of the island?”

While he was thinking it over, I pulled a deck of my favorite cards, the ones with the little patterns on the backs, out of what was left of my pants, and walked over to Sylaria. “Pick a card,” I said, fanning the deck in front of her. “Any card.”

It was pretty clear she’d never seen a card before, but I held ‘em out and she picked one. “Now look at it,” I said, and she looked at it like it might bite her at any second. “Okay, put it back,” I said. She stuck the card in, and I shuffled the deck, then held it up to my head and closed my eyes. “You picked the jack of clubs, right?” She didn’t know a club from a heart, or a jack from an elephant, but I shot her a great big godly smile, and she smiled back. “See?” I said, pointing to her happy face. “Could any mortal do that?”

Balok looked really annoyed, like he suddenly figured out he was playing in the big leagues now. He was silent for a minute, and then he spoke up.

“If you are a god, my knife cannot break your skin, and you cannot bleed,” he said with an evil smile as he pulled out a wicked-looking knife. “Shall we put it to the test?”

“Bad idea,” I said. “Knives are in short supply in these here parts. I wouldn’t want you busting a good one trying to pierce my invulnerable flesh.”

“That’s not a problem,” he assured me. “I have eight more.”

“I can’t let you do it,” I said.

“How are you going to stop me?” he said, taking a step forward.

“Like this,” I said, shutting my eyes, stretching my arms to the heavens, and yelling “Hopalong Cassidy!”

He paused, staring at me curiously. “What was that?” he said.

“The magic words what temporarily turned me into a flesh-and-blood man,” I said. “I told you I wasn’t going to let you ruin a perfectly good knife. You cut me now and I’ll bleed real blood, but every drop of it will be an extra year that you suffer when I get my hands on you in the afterlife.”

“When I get to the afterlife, my skin too will be invulnerable,” he said.

“Yeah?” I said. “Just watch.” And in quick order I yelled out “Ichabod Crane!” and then “Teddy Roosevelt!”

He frowned, moved his arms a bit, and then turned to me. “Your magic is weak, false god,” he said. “I don’t feel any different.”

“You aren’t–now,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“When I yelled ‘Ichabod Crane’ I turned you into a godlike critter with invulnerable skin, just to prove that I could,” I said. “Clearly you’re too un-godly to notice it. And when I yelled ‘Teddy Roosevelt’ it turned you back into a flesh-and-blood man. That’s what you are now, and as long as I’m around, that’s what you’re going to remain, here or on the next plane of existence.”

Balok kind of gently prodded his forearm with the point of the knife. “Ouch!” he yelped. “That hurt!”

“Gonna hurt a lot worse after I get you alone in the afterlife,” I said.

“We can talk,” he said suddenly. “I’m not unreasonable.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’m sure we can come to an accommodation, me being a compassionate god and all.” I put on my thinking cap–that’s just an expression; actually I didn’t wear no hat at all, so the girls were free to run their fingers through my hair, which they hadn’t shown no inclination to do yet, but which I was sure they’d be thrilled to do just as soon as they overcame such inborn shyness as didn’t have nothing to do with their dress code–and I started considering my options.

“You expect them scientists back here on Independence Day Island anytime soon?” I asked at last.

“Easter,” said Balok. “And they are due to return tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll take all the heads off your hands–”

“They are not on my hands,” he said, looking kind of curiously at his palms.

“Try not to confuse the issue when I’m making a godly pronouncement,” I said sternly. “You get to remain High Priest, and to run the worship of me however you see fit.”

“And what do you get?” he asked suspiciously.

“I get ownership of all these here heads,” I said, gesturing to the moai. Then I looked at the apprentice High Priestesses. “And them three tails.”

Now you’d have thunk a guy who had so much trouble understanding simple things like card tricks and heavenly manifestions would have a real problem with that concept, but as it happened the three young ladies were on their knees straightening out my sleeping mat and had their backs to him at that very moment, and he took one admiring look and knew right away what I was referring to.

“I agree,” he said.

“Fine,” I said. “It’s a deal.”

“One other thing,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I get all failed candidates for High Priestesss.”

“You’re sounding a lot more like a dirty old man than a High Priest,” I told him. “Get back to your side of the island before you bring my heavenly wrath down upon you.”

He guv me a dirty look, but he left, and I gathered my little band of worshippers around me.

“You heard him,” I said. “The scientists are coming back tomorrow, and despite the fact that we made a deal, Balok’s got a mighty un-High-Priestly look about him. I don’t want him selling these here heads behind my back, or in front of it neither, so I want you four”–I pointed to the four men–”to take up positions around the island tonight and give a holler the second you spot their ship.”

“But Makemake,” said one of the men, “you’re a god. Surely you don’t need our help to know when the ship arrives.”

“Ordinarily that’d be true, my son,” I answered, “but I got a lot on my mind these days. Word on the heavenly street is that War Admiral and Seabiscuit are gonna be hooking up in a few weeks, and Dizzy Dean’s arm just ain’t what it was, and an awful lot of hearts was busted with the untimely passing of Jean Harlow, so you can see I got a whole world to run, not just New Year’s Island.”

“Forgive me, Makemake,” he said. “I had not considered that the rest of the world also had problems.”

“Sure they do,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe how many human cesspools I’ve had to visit and clean out.”

“What’s a cesspool?” he asked.

“What’s a human?” added Sylaria.

“It’s too complicated to explain to mere mortals,” I said. “Just take my word for it.”

“Yes, Makemake,” he said. “We will go to the four ends of the island and watch for the ship.”

“The island is circular,” said another guy. “It doesn’t have four ends. In fact, it doesn’t have any ends.”

“Put your heads together,” I said. “You’ll figure it out.”

“We can’t, Makemake,” said the first guy. “Our heads are not like the moai. We cannot detach them and put them together.”

I could see that what we had here was just a simple matter of samaritans, so I pointed to where I wanted each guy to go and take up his vigil.

“Our vigils?” said one of ‘em. “Is that like our girlfriends?”

“Sure, why not?” I said, wishing they’d get the hell out of there so I could begin the long and arduous task of schooling the three apprentice high priestesses.

They finally left, and I was looking the candidates over, trying to decide which of them to start with, and remembering that I used to feel exactly like this when looking over the selection in old Doc Ratherman’s candy shop back in Moline, Illinois, when I was a boy–and while I was making up my mind, six guys with spears suddenly showed up.

“If Balok sent you,” I said angrily, “he can kiss his frock good-bye! I’m gonna ex-communize him.”

“Balok does not wear a frock,” answered the closest one. “He wears a loincloth like everyone else.”

“We are here to protect you, Makemake,” said another.

I pointed to the apprentice High Priestesses. “From them?” I demanded.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Of course not! We are here to guard you against the demons of the night, the evil spirits that lurk behind every tree.”

“Not a problem,” I said. I raised my hands and yelled “Wild Bill Hickock!”

They all hit the ground and covered their heads with their hands. A minute later they slowly got back on their feet and began looking around. “Where is it, Makemake?” asked one in a shaky voice.

“Where is what?” I said.

“The creature you just called down from heaven to kill the demons of the night.”

“He et ‘em all and went back up to heaven,” I said.

“Already?”

“He’s a fast worker, and he’s got a powerful appetite on him,” I explained. “But I’m totally safe now, so why don’t you fellers go on back to your women and your huts, and leave the Priestess candidates to their continuing education?”

“No,” he said. “As long as we’re here anyway, we will protect you from all your supernatural enemies.”

“It ain’t necessary,” I assured him.

“What kind of worshippers would we be if we left you alone?” he said.

I shot a hungry glance to the apprentice High Priestesses.

“Thoughtful ones,” I said.

“Pay no attention to us,” he said. “Just go on about your godly duties, knowing that we will keep a watchful eye on you all through the night.”

Well, I could tell that they meant business, and that in turn meant the High Priestess school wasn’t going to be open for another day or two, until I could figger how to build some walls around the hut, but just so the night wouldn’t be a total waste I pulled out my cards and introduced the six men to a lively pasttime dealing with the mathematical combinations that make up the number 21, and by morning I found myself in possession of six spears and six loincloths and some very chagrinned bodyguards.

Suddenly a voice pierced the silence. “Makemake!” it cried. “They come!”

I couldn’t tell north from south without no street signs, but I knew they were coming from the right, so I ambled off in that direction to meet ‘em. I decided to leave the Priestess candidates behind, just in case any of these here scientists had got bit by the collecting bug, so to speak.

The island didn’t have no docks, but the ship came to a stop about half a mile out to sea, and a bunch of men clambered down into a little boat and started paddling to the shore, and let me tell you that lifting them oars out of the water was the only thing I ever seen a scientist type lift except maybe a glass of wine from someplace or other that no one would ever really want to visit.

Finally they hit the beach, and I saw that there was five of ‘em, which didn’t disturb me none since I had my six warriors with me, even if they didn’t have their spears or their unmentionables no more.

“Who are you?” asked the one what seemed to be the leader.

“Makemake,” I said. “But in my earthly form I’m Lucifer Jones, late of North America, Africa, Asia, Europe and South America.” I decided that telling ‘em why I was late of all them places would just give ‘em the wrong impression of me, so I decided to keep that historic tidbit to myself. “How can I accommodate you gents?”

“We’re here to take more photographs and measurements of the moai,” said another. He chuckled. “If you can find another thing to do on this island, I salute you.”

“Oh, I found one,” I assured him, “but so far no one’s left me alone long enough to do it.”

“I don’t recall seeing you here before, Mr. Jones,” said the leader.

“That’s Doctor Jones,” I corrected him. “The Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Lucifer Jones, at your service,” I said. “And now maybe we’d better talk about how much you plan to pay for the privilege of photographing and measuring my heads.”

“You only have one head, and I find it singularly uninteresting,” he said.

“I mean my moai,” I corrected myself.

“They are not your moai,” he said. “They belong to the island.”

“Same thing,” I said. “The island belongs to me.”

“That will be of interest to the government of Chile,” he said. “They think they own it.”

“That’s probably why they ain’t won no wars nor any Olympics lately,” I said. “Besides, we don’t recognize the government of Chile.”

“The moai belong to the world!” said another.

“When the world shows me a certificate of ownership, we’ll talk,” I said. “Until then, they’re mine.”

I noticed that the littlest scientist, who was standing at the back of the pack, was staring intently at me. Finally he smiled, leaned forward, and whispered something to the leader.

“No!” said the leader, looking surprised. “That Lucifer Jones?”

The little one nodded.

“43?” said the leader.

“44,” replied the little one.

The leader turned to me. “I hadn’t realized I was speaking with a celebrity,” he said. “You’ve actually been banned from five continents and 44 countries?”

“A series of unfortunate misunderstandings,” I said.

“And you have claimed asylum here?”

“I’ve claimed ownership here,” I corrected him. “And now let’s finish haggling about how much you’re gonna pay to photograph and measure the heads.”

“How’s this for an offer: I won’t report you to the authorities?” said the leader. “I’m sure they would like to know what kind of man they’re harboring.”

“He is the ultimate authority!” said one of my bodyguards.

“Boys,” I said to my men. “See them five scientists?”

“Yes, Makemake,” they said in unison.

“Eat ‘em for lunch.”

“I’ll tell the government of Chile where you are!” threatened the leader.

“You tell ‘em you’re bringing me back to Chile and they just might eat you,” I said.

My men took a couple of steps closer.

“All right!” cried the leader. “Five dollars a head!”

“Ten,” I said.

“We don’t have that much money,” he said. “We’re just hard-working scientists.”

“Okay,” I said. “You say five, I say ten. Split the difference. Nine dollars a head and we leave you alone.”

The five of them went into a huddle, and finally the leader turned to me. “All right. We can’t go back empty-handed. We accept your terms.”

“In advance,” I said.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“You’re scientists,” I said. “That makes you next of kin to politicians. I want the money up front.”

“No!”

“Suit yourself,” I said with a shrug. “Why don’t one of you men have Valaria hunt us up ketchup and relish?”

“All right, all right,” he said unhappily. “In advance.”

Money changed hands. So did a bunch of curses, but since most of ‘em were invoking me I just shrugged ‘em off.

Pretty soon they got to work, and it turned out there was a lot more heads than I’d thunk. Just about everywhere you looked there was a head sticking up out of the ground, each looking like something they’d et disagreed with them.

I had to keep putting off High Priestess training school, because these guys worked around the clock and in shifts, with a bunch more scientists from their boat joining them. In fact, just about the time I decided it was time for them to finish their work and head home so I could get on with my work, they started building little houses along the shore.

“This wasn’t part of the bargain,” I said when one of my bodyguards reported it to me.

“You are Makemake,” he said. “You can make them leave our fair island.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I think maybe I will.”

“The betting is eight-to-one that they won’t go,” he added.

“Who taught you to figure out odds?” I asked.

“You did, Makemake,” he said, “when you taught us all those card games.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Eight-to-one?”

“Yes, Makemake.”

I pulled a couple of sawbucks and a ten-spot out of my pocket. “Put this on my nose,” I said.

He stared at me, then the money, and then me again. “But it will blow away, Makemake.”

I explained what I meant, and he ran off to lay the bets down. When he returned and told me he’d actually got ten-to-one from a couple of guys, I decided it was time to get these scientists off the island the way a strong wind gets…well, something off of something else.

“This here island was clean and pristine when I found it,” I said, “and by myself, it’s gonna be again. Until these guys showed up, I never saw a single speck of garbage. Now it’s all the hell over the beach. I may have to charge ‘em a clean-up fee.”

Suddenly I heard a shout of “Watch out!” and I spun around to see what was gaining on me–and as I did so, I fell backward, and kept falling, and finally landed with a nice squishy thud!

I looked up, and saw a couple of my bodyguards staring down at me. “What the hell happened?” I said.

“You fell into our newest garbage pit, Makemake,” said one of them.

“Well, get me out!” I said. “I’m covered with fish guts and overripe fruits, and I ain’t turning into any nosegay neither.”

“It will take me about ten minutes to get a rope and return,” said one of ‘em, and a second later I heard him starting off at a run.

I tried to clean myself off while I was waiting, but all I did was get more fish innards in my hair, and more rancid fruit juice all over my face and hands. Finally the guy came back with his rope, and a couple of minutes later I was back on the ground, trying to brush myself off while everyone gave me a wide berth.

“We’ll follow you to the beach while you throw the intruders off, Makemake,” said one. “But if it’s all the same to you, we’ll follow you at a respectful distance.”

“A very respectful distance,” said another, holding his nose.

“Well, now I know why the island is pristine, except for where it ain’t,” I said, heading off to the beach.

I arrived just as all the scientists were having dinner, so I walked up to them to give them their walking papers.

“My God!” said the little one. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“You look terrible.”

“A minor mishap,” I said. “I feel fine. And I got to talk to you.”

“Talk to him!” shouted the little one, backing away from me.

I turned to the leader. “It’s time for you and your crew to be moving along,” I said.

He was staring at me with his eyes so wide upon I thought his eyeballs might pop out.

“It’s past time!” he said, backing up toward one of their boats. “I’ve never seen a tropical disease like this!”

“And he looked normal–well, normal for him–just this morning!” said another. “This is the fastest-acting leprosy I’ve ever seen!”

And then everyone began talking at once, though the only words I could make out were “leper” and “leprosy”, and suddenly they all made a beeline to the boats, and the last I saw of ‘em they were paddling like crazy in the direction of their ship.

“You see?” I said, turning to my men. “That’s why I made ‘em pay in advance. You can’t trust no one what hangs diplomas in his office, instead of tasteful things like photos of Bubbles La Tour and Voluptuous Velma.” I walked to the very edge of the water and yelled at the ship: “And stay out!” Then I faced my men again. “Okay, fellers, let’s get back to my hut and I can finally get to work evaluating High Priestess candidates.”

“We’re happy to protect you on the way back,” said one of ‘em, “but I think we’ll do it from fifty feet away.”

“Eighty,” said another.

“Make it an even hundred,” said a third as the wind shifted.

Well, we got back easy enough, and I et dinner, and then I went into the ocean to wash myself off, and finally I decided Valaria would be the first candidate to be thoroughly schooled in the High Priestess trade, and I guv her The Look and invited her into my hut.

“I would never want to offend the god of my people,” she said, “but you still…uh…you are not yet as fragrant as a flower, Makemake. Perhaps next week?”

Her eyes were watering, but I couldn’t tell if she was crying over her lost romantic opportunity or because I hadn’t got the smell of fish guts and rancid fruit totally off me. I kind of guessed it was the latter since my bodyguards’ eyes looked exactly the same, and as far as I knew none of them were counting on a roll in the hay with me.

Sylaria had the same reaction, and the third candidate simply went missing.

Well, this went on for another week, and after seven days and 83 saltwater baths I finally got rid of the last visual and olefactory traces of the garbage pit.

Or I thought I had, but none of the women was waiting for me when I got back to the hut, so I figgered if they didn’t want to be High Priestess there was plenty of gorgeous naked womenfolk who did, so I moseyed down to the village to start recruiting ‘em. But the wind changed again, and when I got there Valaria and Sylaria and all the other larias had flown the coop, and the only person of the female persuasion who was still there was a pudgy grandmother with a cold and a stuffed nose.

I trudged back to my hut and went to sleep alone yet again. When I woke up I looked out and saw a tramp cargo ship, not all that different from The Fallen Angel, maybe four hundred yards offshore, and I made up my mind on the spot that my godly charms weren’t being appreciated on the island, and besides I had nothing to spend my winnings on, so I went down to the beach, hunted up my little yellow life raft, and began paddling like all get-out.

After I’d gone about fifty yards I turned back to take a last look, and there were Valaria and Sylaria on the beach, looking even better than usual.

“We were wrong, Makemake!” yelled Valaria. “You are a god! We had no right to refuse you!”

“Right!” chimed in Sylaria. “If you will not desert us, we will spend every day and night in your hut as your willing vassals!”

The second I heard that I tried to turn the raft around, but the current was too strong, and it started carrying me directly to the ship. I was about to dive in and swim back to shore, but I noticed a couple of mighty large, mighty hungry-looking fins circling the raft, so finally I just put the paddle away and waited to reach the ship. They hauled me up onboard, told me I could stick around until they hit their next port of call, and that was that. They guv me a noisy cabin right next to the engine room, and promised me three squares a day as long as I defined a square as undercooked fish and watered rum, and then they left me on deck to take one last look at Christmas Island and the paradise I rafted out on.