Actually, we would. On the Aquidaban, a rubber hose dangling into a stricken toilet doubled as a handheld showerhead. Here we’ll discover that individually wrapped soaps and shampoos are freely available in the tiled showers, as are clean towels. Indulging our physical comfort appears to be Mister Date’s only priority. He’s already made beds for us, he says, in case we need a nap after such a long journey. He apologizes repeatedly for not being better prepared. “We weren’t expecting visitors,” he reiterates.
“So,” he asks, “what is it you would like to see?”
Well, we’d like to see what 12 years of dedicated labor in pursuit of earthly perfection looks like. The Aquidaban is scheduled to hit the end of its weeklong route this afternoon, turn around, and stop here again sometime in the evening. We’ve got 15 hours, maximum, to find out. “Everything,” I answer.
The place, Mister Date says, is all ours.
A FEW HUNDRED YARDS from the guard station, I spot a sportfishing boat docked at the riverside. It’s big—about 30 feet long, fiberglass, with a prominent cockpit. I ask Mister Date about it.
“Ah yes,” he says. “Reverend Moon designed that boat himself. It was brought here from New Jersey.”
Does the Reverend fish? I ask.
“Oh yes,” says Mister Date. “He is a world-champion tuna fisherman.”