by John Shors
Of course, Annie also remembered the terror of her childhood illness, remembered how very alone she’d felt, even with her mother at her side. And that terror had left a scar within her, a scar that ultimately made her more interested in questions than answers. Ted had seen this side of her and called her a coward for being uncertain, for not knowing her path. And even though a part of her loved him, she also resented him for those words, for they represented her darkest fears.
“How do you always stay so strong?” Annie asked, stopping near a broken shell.
Isabelle scanned the undulating sea for floating debris. “I’ve never had a choice.”
Annie nodded, resting against her sister the way Nathan’s son leaned against him in the photo. “I could never ask for more than you, Izzy. You know that?”
“I know that I could say the same,” Isabelle said, the intimate and timeless way in which Annie touched her making her want to share a secret. They’d always traded secrets, and Isabelle felt a sudden desire to tell Annie what she’d told no one else.
A bottle rolled up the beach toward them, and Annie reached down to retrieve it. “Maybe there’s a message inside,” she said, plucking it from the sea.
“Maybe Ted’s sent you a rescue note.”
“Sent me a rescue note?” Annie replied, smiling at the thought. “Now, that’s something I’d like to see.” She pocketed the empty bottle. “It would be nice to rescue someone else for a change. I’m tired of being the one who’s always saved.”
Isabelle decided that she’d tell Annie later, that this moment wasn’t quite right. “Well,” she said, “we’d better get back to camp if we want to do any rescuing.”
“But what about his wound? We need to keep looking. We need to find something.”
Isabelle gazed down the beach. The tide was coming in and she could discern several objects floating in the distance. Even though she wanted to return to Joshua, she also needed to help Annie and the man who’d saved her. “Fine,” she said. “But let’s walk with a purpose. We can leave the talking for later.”
As they strode through the rising water, Annie was reminded of a distant time when they’d seen the sea and had rushed, holding hands, into its vastness—a time when they’d been intent on nothing other than exploring the wonderful new world before them.
WHILE HE ATE his second banana of the morning, Joshua watched his fellow survivors, studying each face. The Japanese patient lay atop his bed of palm fronds, and though he was awake, only his eyelids stirred as he stared at the sea. Nearby, Scarlet used her fingers to try to brush sand from her tangled hair—a process that greatly frustrated her. Ratu and Jake had tossed a coconut into the harbor and were throwing rocks at it. Nathan had his photo out again and alternated his gaze from his loved ones to the rock-throwing game. Closest to Joshua, Roger used the machete to sharpen several spears. After their tips were as deadly as he could get them, he hardened their points in a small fire before him. Roger’s face reminded Joshua of a wind-filled sail—his skin seemed taut, his lips stretched too thin. Everything from his gray eyes to his short, dark hair to his ears appeared to be pressed tightly against his head, as if a bizarre gravity pulled these features toward the center of his skull.
As he often did, Joshua thought of Benevolence, said a prayer for those killed, and then forced himself to face the challenges of the moment. “We need to get a much better feel for the island,” he said to Roger. “And to look for places where we can hide. I think we should have a couple of different options. That way, if the Japs land, we can hurry to whichever hideaway is farthest from them.”
Roger turned toward Akira. “That monkey can speak English,” he said, pointing a spear at Annie’s patient, hating him for the memories he stirred. “You listen to our every word, don’t you, Japper?” When Akira didn’t alter his gaze from the sea, Roger stood up angrily and started to move toward him. “I asked you a—”
“That’s enough, Lieutenant.”
“But he’s not—”
“I said that’s enough.”
Roger stopped a few paces from Akira, though he continued to menacingly hold his spear. “He sits here, pretending to be peaceful. But remember how the Japs acted like they wanted peace before Pearl Harbor? Well, this one here’s no different.”
“This one saved my sister-in-law. And probably my wife.”
“Says who?”
“And I was at Pearl Harbor. I watched Arizona burn. So don’t tell me what I already know.”
As Akira continued to gaze at the sea, Roger silently seethed. He wanted the prisoner to be afraid of him, and yet Akira showed no such inclination. The monkey will learn to fear me, Roger promised himself. A headache throbbed above his eyes, and wishing that he held a cigarette, Roger spat contemptuously into the sand.
Joshua stepped toward Nathan. Motioning for Roger to join them, Joshua moved farther from Akira. When both officers were near him, Joshua looked at Nathan. “We need to explore the island,” he said, wondering what his officers thought of him, aware that everyone must consider him a failure. “The lieutenant and I are going to be gone for a few hours. While we’re gone, you’re in charge, Nathan. Please see that people stay close to camp. Watch the prisoner carefully. And for Pete’s sake, keep out of sight if a ship or plane should come by.”
“Do you want us off the beach, Captain?” Nathan asked, wanting his orders to be as exact as possible.
Joshua looked into the jungle, his gaze pausing on a trio of sand flies that feasted on a banana peel. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. Just keep everyone nearby, and be ready to run if you have to.”
“Yes, sir. And the prisoner? Do you want him bound?”
“Oh, he can’t even walk on that gimpy leg of his. I don’t think he’s a threat. But you and Jake tie him up if he gives you any reason to. Better safe than sorry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Noting the photo in Nathan’s shirt pocket, Joshua said, “I want you to get home to them, Nathan. To get home soon. If we’re all careful, if we all work as one, you’ll see them again.”
The older officer nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll certainly do my best.”
Joshua studied Nathan, wondering how many fathers had died aboard Benevolence. The thought of grieving wives and children abruptly assaulted him, made him want to flee this place and his memories. A part of him wished that he’d died alongside everyone else. In many ways, that should have been his fate. Why, Lord, did they die and I live? he silently asked, his fingers twisting beads that weren’t there. Why, by all that is holy, did you take them from me?
Reminding himself that he needed to look after Isabelle, that he could protect her, Joshua picked up the machete and handed Roger another spear. Within a few minutes, the two of them were deep in the jungle. Wanting to find a good water supply, additional sources of food, and hiding places, Joshua moved slowly through the dense underbrush. Thirty feet above, a seemingly endless canopy of treetops blotted out the sun. Brightly colored birds protested the presence of the two men below. The birds’ screeches mingled with the softer symphony of the millions of nearby insects, creating a discordant and primeval reverberation of sound.
As Joshua parted the ferns and vines before him, he wondered if anyone had ever stepped where he was stepping. Aboard Benevolence, he’d studied charts of this island, as he did for every landmass he navigated around. The charts had proclaimed the island to be uninhabited by humans, but Joshua couldn’t help but ask himself if the charts were accurate. His uncertainty caused him to proceed with care and to keep his machete raised defensively. Mosquitoes assaulted his exposed flesh, and he silently derided himself for not standing in the campfire’s smoke before they left. Moving faster to flee the flying devils, he headed toward the hilly interior of the island. Sweat dropped from his face as if it were a water pouch that had sprung several small leaks.
When Joshua paused to remove a thorn from his ankle, Roger swept past him. The underbrush quickly consumed Roge
r, and Joshua had to hurry to catch up. As he followed the younger officer, Joshua watched how he navigated the jungle. Though Joshua had grown up outdoors and knew how to traverse its obstacles, he quickly realized that Roger moved with stealth and fluidity that he himself could never replicate. The man didn’t walk around fallen trees or boulders, but seemed to glide over them. He didn’t push branches aside but ducked under them. Very few twigs cracked beneath his feet, and even fewer stones tumbled from below him when they began to climb a hill.
Joshua’s breath became ragged. After being aboard Benevolence for the past nine weeks, he wasn’t used to such physical exertion. And yet Roger seemed completely unaffected by the heat and humidity and the steep rise of the land. Joshua saw the sharply outlined muscles in the calves before him, the effortless way in which Roger’s legs propelled him upward. Even when they came upon a stream that trickled from above, Roger paused only long enough for Joshua to strip bark from a tree with his machete in an effort to mark the spot. Before he’d even finished gulping the cool water, Roger was once again headed up the hill.
What point is he trying to make? Joshua asked himself as he struggled to keep up. That he’s stronger? That on Benevolence I might have been his superior, but in the jungle he’s more powerful? Joshua had read Roger’s files, and knew that he was gifted—both physically and mentally. And though at first Joshua had been glad to have Roger on the island, he sensed his hostility and uncomfortably pondered its origin.
Deciding to try to befriend the lieutenant, Joshua hurried to catch up to him. When he finally did, he tapped Roger on the shoulder and handed him the machete. “If you’re . . . if you’re going to lead, you should have this,” Joshua said, his chest heaving.
Roger nodded, took the machete, and handed Joshua one of the spears. Though he pretended not to notice, Joshua saw that it was obviously inferior to the other. Seeing the stronger and better armed and somewhat intimidating man before him, Joshua suddenly felt vulnerable in a way that he hadn’t for many years. For so long, his subordinates had tried to please him. For so long he had been in control.
And now things seemed quite different.
“WHO WANTS TO GO SHING?” Ratu asked, looking from Jake to Nathan to Scarlet to Akira. After Jake nodded, Ratu picked up several spears. “And who else?” he added, assuming that everyone would be eager to fish. “You’ll most certainly want to join us. You’ll be able to eat whatever you catch—tuna and snapper and crab and maybe even some shark. I’ve watched these waters and they’re full of delicious fish.”
Nathan smiled at Ratu’s enthusiasm, reminded of his own son’s eagerness. “It sounds tempting, but I should stay here with the prisoner,” he replied, musing over how much he loved fatherhood, longing to see his family.
“He’s only got one good leg,” Ratu replied. “And I tell you, he’s not going bloody far on one leg. Have you ever tried to hop through a jungle on one leg? You’d get farther by crawling.”
Nathan shook his head. “You go. And Scarlet, you should go as well. I’ll stay and watch.”
“I’ve never fished,” Scarlet said as she rearranged a pile of firewood. “I wouldn’t even know what to do.”
“Big Jake and I will show you,” Ratu promised. “It’s not hard, trust me. If Big Jake can do it, anyone can do it.”
Jake pretended to reach for Ratu, who giggled and sidestepped him. Scarlet smiled at their antics, dropping the firewood. “Why not?”
As Scarlet moved toward Ratu, Akira raised his head off his makeshift bed. “I hope that you have excellent luck,” he said, bowing slightly to show his appreciation.
Ratu hesitated in replying, torn by the fact that he liked this man and that his father was fighting the Japanese. Finally he asked, “What’s your favorite fish to eat?”
“I enjoy maguro the most.”
“Maguro? I’ve never heard of that. It sounds like a bloody monster.”
“So sorry. I mean . . . tuna. Tuna is wonderful.”
Ratu nodded. “Then I’ll catch you a fat maguro.” As Akira thanked him, Ratu picked up another spear and started toward the beach. Jake walked before him, and Ratu feigned stabbing the big man with his spear. “What a cracking good catch you’d be,” he said. “You’d feed us for weeks!”
Jake grabbed Ratu’s spear and held it firmly as Ratu tried to pull it from him. “I reckon you’re about to bite off more than you can chew,” he said, repositioning a large blade of grass between his teeth.
“You and those bloody sayings,” Ratu replied. “I never know what you’re talking about. Bite off more than I can chew? How would it be possible to bite off more than I could chew?”
Scarlet smiled. Ratu’s British accent and slang, coupled with Jake’s slightly southern drawl and slow way of speaking, made for a lively conversation. Though they both spoke English, to Scarlet it seemed as if they often conversed in different languages.
Jake let go of Ratu’s spear and hurried toward a distant collection of large, dark boulders that were partially submerged by the rising water. The rocks were at the far side of the beach, where the shore was exposed to the sea. When Jake spied a fist-sized crab atop one of the boulders, he immediately stopped. Ratu moved beside him, raising his spear. The crab was about ten paces from them, its blue-black legs holding it in place as waves pounded against the rock. Ratu switched his grip on the spear so that he held it like a baseball bat. “I’ve heard about your Babe Ruth,” he whispered. “How many big slams did the Babe hit?”
“Grand slams,” Jake softly replied. “Ain’t no such thing as a big slam. But the Babe, he hit a bunch of grand slams.”
Ratu turned toward his friend. “Grand slams? Not bloody likely. That makes no sense, Big Jake. I tell you, no sense at all.”
Jake smiled, momentarily removing the blade of grass. “You ever played baseball?”
“No, but I’m a cracking good cricket player.”
Ratu was about to move closer to the crab when Scarlet tapped him on the shoulder. “Look,” she said quietly, pointing to another rock. Toward the middle of this rock a much bigger crab glistened in the sun.
“Brilliant spot, Miss Scarlet!” Ratu whispered excitedly. When the next wave rolled in to envelop the crab, Ratu hurried ahead, swinging his spear downward as soon as the wave started to withdraw. The almost-wrist-thick end of the spear struck the crab squarely in the middle of its shell, caving in the shell and sending the crab into the swirling water. As Ratu lunged to retrieve his catch, Jake swung his spear at the smaller crab. His blow wasn’t quite so precise, but he was able to finish off the crab with a second swing.
Scarlet clapped. “Throw them here,” she said, jumping backward when the two crabs landed by her feet.
A wave rolled in and caught Ratu squarely in the face. He coughed, simultaneously wiping his eyes and struggling to draw air. Jake moved to him, grabbing his arm so that the receding water didn’t pull him out to sea. As Jake held Ratu, he noticed something wedged between a pair of rocks that were deeper in the water. At first he thought that perhaps a life jacket had floated ashore, but when the water dropped he realized that the life jacket held a body that was lodged between the boulders. The body was dressed in what had once been white clothes. Knowing that the deceased was either a doctor or nurse from Benevolence , Jake turned Ratu toward the beach. “Come,” he said, pointing farther down the shore. “As sure as a puppy piddles, them big rocks are full of fat crabs.”
Ratu continued to cough until they were beyond the reach of the waves. When his lungs finally stopped aching, he thanked Jake for pulling him from the sea. Jake picked up the two crabs and started walking to the distant rocks. Taking a quick glance toward where the body lay, he decided that at dawn the next day he’d return to bury the deceased. He would dig a proper grave, create a tombstone of sorts, and say some prayers. But he’d tell no one about his discovery. His fellow castaways had enough to worry about without carrying the additional burden of wondering whether bodies would float ashore.
“Might you want, miss, to try your hand at hitting one of them critters?” Jake asked when Scarlet glanced in the direction of the deceased.
“Me?” Scarlet asked, clearly surprised by the question.
Ratu pressed a spear against the palm of her hand. “Take this,” he said. “I know that a beautiful woman like you has never held a spear before. But, I tell you, the more spears we have, the better.”
Scarlet started to give the spear back to Ratu but decided to hold on to it. She might not kill anything with the weapon, but had to admit that she liked the feel of it in her hand. “Thank you, Ratu.”
“For what?”
She looked closely at him, studying his expressive face, recalling how his dark eyes often darted about, and how his nose flared and his mouth opened wide when he was trying to make a point. No one had called Scarlet beautiful in a long time. People occasionally told her that she had beautiful hair, but this comment was the extent of the praise that she attracted. In her experience, strangers didn’t call an overweight, middle-aged woman beautiful. “Thank you for being you,” she finally replied, smiling.
“For being me? Who else would I bloody be?”
“I think, Ratu, that a lot of people . . . a lot of people pretend to be people they’re not.”
Ratu slapped at a troublesome fly. “Oh, my village is full of such people. Just full of them, I tell you. Our priest thinks he’s Jesus Christ himself. And the bloke next door tells us that he’s been to New York City. Can you imagine such a thing? A poor sugarcane farmer from Fiji traveling to New York City? Of course, I pretend to believe him.”