STRANDED!

by Pace, Pepper

  The idea of this baby made his heart soar with joy. There was a brightness to this existence that was now his life. Having a family here; Oceans, a baby...how could it be anything but good? He wanted this family as much as he wanted to get off the Island! This baby was his and he wanted it as he wanted Oceans. And yes, he knew that the reason he wanted it so strongly was more than likely because there was nothing but the three of them...but again, the reason didn't matter.

  It was close to dawn before Marshall finally fell into a restless sleep, these thoughts haunting his dreams.

  Their life cycled with the sun; which meant that they normally rose at sunrise and were asleep not long after sunset. When Oceans awakened she immediately looked over to Marshall's hammock. He had finally come in at some point while she slept. He didn't move and she figured that he had been very late coming in. Their first fight had left her feeling hurt and confused. The confusion had nothing to do with her decision to abort the baby, but the fact that for the first time ever, their connection to each other was broken. She had cried most of the night, but knew that her decision was the right one. If she was going to end this pregnancy she had to do it now, as the longer she waited the more dangerous it would be. Marshall didn't understand because it was not him that would carry, nurture and birth a human being. He didn't understand how much it cost her to make this decision.

  Quietly she dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that was perfect clothing for the task she had at hand. She was going to break one of the few rules they had, which was not to go into the forest alone. But she couldn't ask him to go with her. That would be too cruel. With one last look at the sleeping man that she loved, Oceans slipped out of the hut.

  The forest was filled with items that even with her practiced eye, she couldn't identify. Maybe some of them would be considered delicious food or maybe a deadly poison. But she avoided anything she didn't know. There were plenty of herbs and roots that she could identify, and any number of them could cause a miscarriage. Most under-ripe fruit could do the job, but would also cause a lot of cramping and pain. However, Oceans already knew what she wanted to use.

  There was a bright red root whose official name she did not know. But the women of her little Jamaican town knew of this plant and had passed down its uses from mother to daughter for generations untold. Though she did not have a mother to teach her these things, Oceans felt confident that she knew how to use it. First the dark outer bark would need to be removed revealing the tender bright red root that would then need to be shaved into fibrous bits. The shavings then had to be soaked in water. After some time the poison laced water was squeezed and drank. Within hours it would cause violent contractions and the pregnancy would come to an end.

  She found the root easily, but also searched for items high in iron that she could stew into a healthy broth. Afterwards she would need good food and plenty of water to wash away the toxins from her system. It only took her less than an hour to forage for what she needed and when she returned to the outer fire, Marshall was still sleeping. That was probably good. It wouldn't take long to prepare it.

  Quickly she stoked the fire back to life and then positioned the pot to boil the broth that she absently prepared. Now that it was time to do this thing she was afraid. No woman wanted to go through what she was going to put herself through...She was squeezing the red liquid into a clay cup and thinking that she would throw the cup away afterwards, when she noticed Marshall standing behind her, watching her actions intently.

  She jumped and almost spilled the precious liquid. "You scared me!" She bit out, annoyed that jumping made her appear guilty.

  "What are you doing?" He was staring at the bright red liquid that now stained her fingers as if the deed had already been done.

  She looked at the red shavings in order to not look at him. "I'm making the medicine." After a moment he moved a few short steps to look into the pot of stewing broth.

  "So you're going to do this?" He finally said.

  "Yes." was her simple response.

  Marshall squatted down in front of her. "I don't want you to do this...but I suppose that won't change your mind." He paused. "So just tell me what to do to make this go smoothly."

  Her eyes grew wide. She couldn't believe that he would be willing to do this for her. After a brief nod she explained what would happen, how long it would take and the things that he could do to help her. Marshall never interrupted once. When she was done talking his face had gone whiter then she'd seen it in months, but he nodded his understanding.

  She looked down at the liquid in the cup and before she lost her courage she drank it down quickly. When she looked back up Marshall gave her a quick, shaky smile but his eyes seemed bright and they glistened.

  Oceans grimaced at the bitter taste that flooded her mouth and she fought not to vomit it up. Marshall handed her a ripe mango which she gratefully accepted, biting into the tough outer skin to get to the juicy sweet fruit within. While she worked on the mango, Marshall wrapped the red shavings of the toxic root into a banana leaf. He looked into the cup and before Oceans could say anything he tasted the last few drops there. Quickly he turned his head and spit into the sand.

  It was foul tasting and Marshal wanted to get it out of camp as soon as possible. Maybe it was a superstitious way to feel but he didn't want it anywhere near him. "Oceans, I'm going to bury this in the forest. Will you be okay for a few minutes? I want to check the lobster trap. I won't be long-"

  She smiled softly. "Marshall, go. I'm going into the hut to rest."

  "Well carry a spear with you," he passed her the hunting knife, "and this as well."

  She accepted the hunting knife although it seemed ridiculous. A wild boar was incapable of climbing into the hut. But she supposed she understood what he was feeling. Marshall watched her until she had disappeared into the hut and then he hurried into the forest, using a stick and his fingers to dig a shallow grave to deposit the offending articles. Afterwards, he rushed to the ocean to check the lobster trap. There was one small crab whose meat would be perfect for the broth that Oceans was brewing. Every second that he was away from her felt like hours, so he sprinted back to camp, tossing the small crab into the pot as he passed it. He didn't stop until he was standing panting in the doorway and Oceans was watching him curiously. She gave him a brief solemn smile which he returned before he backed out of the hut.

  This was the first time since being stranded that Marshall didn't want to be in the same room with her.

  ***

  The day was long, each minute dragging on endlessly. Though he should be used to it, the heat was stifling and he pulled his long hair back to the nape of his neck and tied it with a piece of string that he always kept shoved into his pants pocket just for that purpose. At noon he entered the hut with a bowl of broth and some fresh water. Oceans was dozing in her hammock. She was also covered in sweat.

  "Babe. I brought you something to eat." She looked at him with sleep dazed eyes.

  "I'm not hungry." He put the soup on the stump that served as a table.

  "Try. It's really hot out and we don't need you getting dehydrated." He placed the clay cup to her lips and reluctantly she took a few sips. She grimaced then closed her eyes again. Marshall went to her suitcase where she had rags from a torn dress. He poured fresh water on one of them and used it to dab her face. She didn't open her eyes.

  "Is it supposed to make you sleepy?" He whispered.

  "I don't know." She murmured after a few moments. She sounded drugged.

  "How do you feel?" He was anxious that she didn't know if she was supposed to be sleepy. Maybe she was having an overdose.

  "...stomach hurts."

  He had an equal desire to sooth her pain as he did to yell at her for putting herself through this. Instead, he placed his lips on her forehead and left for a while.

  ***

  ~Two days later~

  Ocean rocked back and forth slightly in her hammock. It swayed, reminding her of the tire swing
that had been in the backyard of her house when she was a kid. Daddy had put it up and painted it white and red. The white paint would come off and end up on her jeans and then Mama would fuss about it. But after a washing it would always come out. Oceans remembered staring up at the sky and swinging slowly, back and forth, daydreaming about god, her future, a boy that she liked—what her future would hold.

  She used the tip of her toe to keep her little bed swaying. She still didn't have very much energy, though it had been two days since she had squatted in the forest and expelled the contents of her womb. That pain had been bigger then she had expected; sharp and never ending. And now there was just a soreness that she associated with childbirth—though there was no baby to hold in her arms to minimize that pain.

  She wiped her brow. The hut was stifling and slightly dark even though the entrance had no door to shut out the sunlight--just something that Marshall propped up against it in the event that it was raining or the night grew cold. It was mid-day and they generally napped or rested during this hottest part of the day. But Marshall hadn't come in...again. She climbed out of the hammock and reached for the broth that had been her food for days now. Marshall kept it going by adding more ingredients when he found them like a starter yeast back home on the island. She knew a woman that had used the same base for her bread for twelve years! She finished the broth and carried the cup outside to wash. This and plenty of water is what would rid her body of the toxins she had taken.

  Marshall was making a second lobster trap, hoping to improve on Ocean's design. He'd studied engineering in college, not sure if he would take that career path or accounting. A part time job as a bookkeeper pretty much solved that dilemma. He had always been good at working with his hands and puzzling out things...like how to trick a lobster into this odd looking device. But it worked for Oceans so it should work for him.

  He heard Oceans' approach and noted the empty cup in her hands. He felt ashamed. She should not have had to get up for more food.

  "Hi babe." He hurried over and took the cup. "How are you feeling?" He filled it with warm broth.

  "I just drank some. I don't want anymore." He handed it to her anyway and with a sigh she drank most of it. After she had finished as much as she could stomach, she watched him for a moment. "Marshall, you know what I'd like to do?"

  "What?" He asked absently as he continued with his lobster trap.

  "I'd like to go down to the waterfall again."

  He gave her a surprised look. They hadn't gone back there since she killed the baby pig. It was by unspoken understanding that they not go back there.

  "Why?"

  She rubbed her elbows. "It's so hot. I'd like to stand under the waterfall." She wanted to bath...wash everything away.

  "No."

  He turned back to the lobster trap and continued weaving the strong vines through the structure. At first Oceans didn't think she'd heard him, or maybe she thought he'd add more. But he didn't.

  "What do you mean, no?"

  He glanced up at her. "I'm busy, babe, can't you see? I'm going to be working on this most of the afternoon. Then I'm going out for wood."

  "By yourself?"

  "Well I can't very well expect a woman that just had an ab-...miscarriage to help carry heavy wood. You should rest, at least until your cycle is over."

  Oceans stared at him silently. But Marshall had already returned to his task. Reluctantly she returned to the hut.

  ***

  Marshall had kept himself very busy since the day he helped her into the forest to squat amongst the rotten leaves and dirt to eject his dead baby. Though he knew that he should see things differently, maybe even be grateful that there wouldn't be another person doomed to the Island—he didn't feel that way at all. What he felt is that he was supposed to protect them...and he hadn't. He certainly hadn't protected Oceans from having to do this thing that he could see she didn't want to do. He hadn't protected himself from the resentment and sadness he felt at her decision to do it...and he certainly hadn't protected the little fetus created from an act of love that now was forever to fester in the earth of a lone Caribbean island.

  So all he could do these past two days was to try to turn his brain off and to not think about how little control he had over the things that could devastate him. Sometimes he wondered if it would not have been better to have been alone. He didn't want anything to happen to Oceans, it's just that she held so much power over him. Her actions brought him joy or pain.

  For the next few days he never spoke unless it was to ask her to eat, drink or if she needed help to relieve herself. When he left her to sleep in the hut he roamed the beach or filled the jugs and carried them back to camp, repeating the trip over and over until there were no more water jugs to fill. Then he had to think of something else to occupy his body. He made rope from vines, and then patched the roof where it had grown threadbare. He did whatever he could find to keep himself from having to be in the hut with Oceans.

  He loved her. But he thought that he might hate her a little, as well.

  ~Month 6~

  Ocean's counted the scratches on the piece of fiberglass. She could barely believe that it had been six months on the Island. Time had stood still for them. Marshall was so different from the man that had stepped onto the small jet plane. Now his skin was a nut brown and his hair was bleached to nearly white and hung to his shoulder blades. He'd resisted cutting it since it could be held back out of his eyes with his trusty piece of parachute string. His body was chiseled perfectly. His hands and feet were toughened by his labors and did not seem the same hands that had pressed the keypads of his calculator, or scribbled figures into a record book. He definitely wasn't the same man that had worn an Armani suit and had dined on a Cesar salad and a glass of pinot before boarding a doomed plane.

  Ocean's transformation was no less severe. Her rounded figure was now tight and wired with muscles. It was a rare day that she didn't have to climb, pull, drag, or lift item after item. Her short curls were now long braids that she tried to maintain, redoing them on a weekly basis. In her thirty years, Oceans had seen the loss of her parents, the abuse of a man, the feel of loneliness...but it took this Island to remove the joy from her beautiful dark eyes. Now, life was a routine of cooking, foraging, repairing, eating and sleeping. She didn't even have the comfort of her best friend, for Marshall barely spoke to her--or when he did speak to her he never looked at her.

  She knew that he couldn't stand the sight of her, which is the reason he found more and more of a reason to be outside of the hut. And truthfully, when he was around, the tension made it difficult for her. The guilt of abortion had to be relived over and over at his silent accusation. He never verbally threw the act in her face. He didn't have to. His silence and reluctance was word enough. Sometimes she'd watch him as he slept and remembered a time when neither could stand not to touch the other, and then she would long for the pleasure that he always brought her.

  She left the hut and went out to the fire where Marshall was whittling a flat spatula. The other had gotten burned when he'd left it in the pot unattended. That had been very boneheaded of him. He was usually more responsible than that. These items were precious as they took a lot of effort to create. It wasn't like he could just walk over to the nearest TARGET to buy more utensils! He heard her approach and wondered what she wanted this time. She had her tasks, he had his, so why did her tasks become his?! 'Marshall,' she'd say, 'this ackee fruit is under-ripe the berries aren't fully exposed. 'Marshall the hut is too dark,' or 'Marshall your lobster trap won't work, the opening is too large.' Worse is when she'd come to him and say, 'Marshall lets swim like we used to.' Or 'Marshall lets watch the fire together.' Then he'd have to think of a nice way to say no.

  No Oceans, I don't want to cuddle with you. No Oceans I don't want to listen to you tell me all the shit I'm doing wrong. Oceans, why should you care when my birthday is? I'll be 28 forever because time has stopped here. And I'm trapped. I'm trapped with a w
oman that I can't even look at!

  "Marshall?"

  "Yes?" He said as he delicately thinned out the wood with the blade. He concentrated very hard on the knife and on the spatula.

  "It's been sixty days since we said we'd go to the other side of the Island." He didn't say anything and she squatted down on the mat and sat down next to him.

  "Marshall?" She prompted after a full minute of silence. He lowered the knife.

  "I heard you Oceans." Then he gave her a steady look. "The other side of the Island? What EXACTLY is the other side of the Island? Is it the RIGHT side? The LEFT side? This is a freaking circle! All sides are going to have the exact same thing as this one. EXCEPT it won't have a hut, a clearing, a fire pit, and ALL of the work that we put into making this camp...HOME."