Eviskar Island

by Warren Dalzell

  They finally drew apart. She was smiling. Her gaze was soft and understanding. Jack blushed deeply, but forced himself to look her in the eye. “Thanks, Jossy,” he murmured, “I don’t know why I got so worked up, but…thanks.”

  “She grinned, “We’d best be going.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “we still have a long way to go.”

  * * *

  From a dense clump of ferns the first animal appeared. It moved quickly towards Spencer, coming up the incline of the gulch with its head down and urgency in its demeanor. And it wasn’t a lizard wolf. It was a creature he’d never seen before, but there was, nonetheless, something familiar about it. As the distance closed, Spencer made out a human-like face hidden behind extensive facial hair. It moved with a hobbled gait, an extreme limp, but it moved quickly and was promptly by his side. Brandishing a knife, the “bearded ape” worked quickly to free his legs, whereupon it grunted, “Come,” and helped to propel him out of the dangerous ditch. No sooner had they left when three fearsome lizard wolves, salivating in anticipation of an easy meal, sniffed their way to the spot where Spencer had lain.

  At the top of the embankment, Spencer collapsed. A combination of shocks to his system had caused his brain to shut down; he blacked out from sensory overload.

  Everyone has limits to the extent of psychological trauma he can endure, and Spencer couldn’t take any more. The intense fear he’d just experienced, coupled with the helpless feeling of being bound hand and foot, the betrayal of the man he’d come to admire so much, and the blow to his head, had simply been too much.

  When he awoke, the “cave man” was staring down at him. Spencer’s hands were free and he found himself lying in Endicott’s hut, sprawled upon the Doctor’s straw bed. His rescuer poked and prodded him, looking for signs of injury. Apparently satisfied with his examination, the man ushered him to the door and pointed to the north. “You go…uh…mountain. No here safe. Mountain…der.”

  Spencer began to ask questions, but the man cut him off. He was agitated and apprehensive, anxious to be on his way. He handed Spencer a crudely made knife and a spear, and again pointed to the northern hills. “You go now. Safe at mountain.” Giving Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder, the bearded savior hobbled away to the south, towards the river valley, along the route taken by Jack and Jocelyn earlier that morning.

  * * *

  Spencer was alone but he was no longer frightened. He had experienced fear, real fear, only minutes earlier, and the incident had somehow hardened him. A feeling of intense resolve now consumed him. He knew he was lucky to be alive, and, dammit, he was going to stay that way. But remaining here at Endicott’s place would lower his chances considerably. Mr. “cave man” had indicated that safety lay in the mountains, so he’d follow the man’s advice and head that way.

  His mind was functioning cogently now. Already he’d formulated a plan. A route along mountain slopes to the north and west would ultimately bring him back to Debbie and Marcie. If he encountered obstacles, he’d drop in elevation until he’d cleared them and then continue his trek upslope. That should keep him clear of most predators and out of the steamy, humid jungle below.

  Taking off his blood-soaked shirt, Spencer tied it around his waist. He then tucked the knife into his belt, grabbed his spear and jogged in the direction indicated by the mysterious fellow who’d saved his life. Along the way, Spencer wondered about the man, who he was and why he’d appeared when he did. How long had he been in this God-forsaken place? Where had he learned the few English words he’d spoken? And where the heck was he off to and why did he leave in such a hurry? “The answers don’t really matter right now,” Spencer reasoned. He was quite certain the two of them would meet again, and he sincerely hoped that when they did, it would be under less stressful circumstances.

  * * *

  Long shadows stretched across the trail in front of the two tired students. The reddish tint to the Sun warned Jack just how low it was in the sky and how little time they had before it would slip behind the distant hills.

  “We should be near the crossing point now,” Jack said with confidence. “Like I predicted earlier, we don’t have enough daylight left to ford the stream today. What do you say we look for a place to camp?”

  Jocelyn didn’t need any encouragement to stop. She was exhausted. They instinctively began meandering uphill, away from the river where wildlife would be expected to congregate at this late hour. There would be no comfortable shelter to stay in like Endicott’s hut. A tall tree with strong, level branches upon which to construct a crude platform would be the best, most hospitable abode they could reasonably hope for. On a nearby hill, a solitary large tree stood apart from the rest. Majestic in stature, it seemed to beckon the two weary travelers. Jack headed straight for it.

  “Okay, Ms. Botanist, here’s a specimen for you. It looks like an oak. Even I know that’s out of place in this world. I wonder how it got here? Whoa,” he said as he neared the trunk, “it smells like someone lost his lunch. We can’t sleep in this guy; he stinks.”

  Jocelyn wasn’t listening. She stooped to pick up something from the ground, sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, and then became absorbed in the study of the tree’s leaves. Knowing better than to interrupt her when she was in “plant examination” mode, Jack waited for her to speak.

  “It’s incredible,” she remarked.

  “Told ya,” Jack said with pride. “The headlines will read: ‘Malinowski finds oak tree in gymnosperm world.’ I even remembered the term ‘gymnosperm,’” he beamed. “You may now applaud if you wish.”

  Jocelyn smiled. Jack was back to his carefree self. She liked that. “Sorry to disappoint you my fine phytogenetically-astute friend, but this is no oak.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a ginkgo tree.”

  “Hey, I’ve heard of that. Ginkgo balboa. It’s a vitamin supplement or aphrodisiac or something. They advertise it on TV.”

  “Ginkgoes are an ancient variety of non-flowering plant. The only surviving member in the modern world is Ginkgo Biloba. This one’s different, though, similar, but different. Like those horsetails we’ve seen all over the island, this plant has been extinct for over a hundred million years.”

  “As fascinating as all that is, let’s move to the pine grove over there. I’m tired.”

  “We can stay here. Look at the branches in this ginkgo. It’s the perfect place to sleep.”

  “Maybe you can stand the smell, but I can’t. The smell of puke makes me want to do the same.”

  “I agree, but the smell is down here, Jack.” She picked up a handful of soil. “See there?” She held several small objects up to his nose. He wretched and turned away. “The rotting seeds, the ones on the ground, are what stink. Butyric acid is produced as they decompose. Once we’re higher up we won’t smell it.”

  Jocelyn was right. About fifteen feet off the ground three large branches extending horizontally from the trunk, served as joists upon which Jack constructed another crude sleeping platform. In the growing darkness, he began to search their surroundings for strong sticks and branches. Once he’d gathered an armload, he’d pass them up to Jocelyn and then scramble up to supervise their placement. She marveled at the ease with which he ascended the tree following each successful foray. He climbed as easily as if he were walking down the street. In almost no time they had a comfortable place to rest, a solid platform of wood covered with soft cynodont hide.

  “I swear, you must be part monkey,” Jocelyn said once they were settled. “You’re so athletic. What sports do you do?”

  “In addition to climbing you mean? None, really.” Delving into his pack he produced two cynodont sandwiches. After offering one to a grateful Jocelyn, he continued, “Actually, I’m surprised that your feminine intuition didn’t peg me as the captain of the swim team.”

  “Do you have to make a joke about everything? You’re an enigma to me, Jack. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re the most unusua
l guy I’ve ever met, and,” she added in a low voice, “apparently you didn’t hear me on the trail earlier today when I told you that you’re not exactly, entirely without a modicum of acceptable assets in the area of physical appearance…as it were.”

  “Huh?”

  “Gee, Jack, do I really have to spell it out for you? I think you’re attractive, Okay?”

  Jack was at a loss for words. He stopped chewing his dinner and stared.

  She let out a deep breath. “Now that I’ve made a complete fool of myself, I’ll leave you to your dinner. I’ll eat mine as well.” She took a big bite of her meal and turned her back to him.

  “I’m really attracted to you too, Jocelyn.”

  “Oh, right.” She once again faced him. There was pain in her expression and sorrow in her voice. As they’d plodded through the afternoon heat, the young woman from Corpus Christi had become reflective. She’d found herself thinking more and more about Jack, and about how different he was from her friends back home. “How could you possibly harbor any feelings for someone like me? I’m an argumentative, unsupportive, mean-spirited, self-centered bitch. And you know what? I’m the unhappiest person alive because I hate myself. I despise the way I’ve behaved towards people on this trip, I despise the way I’ve acted in school, and I’m a real lemon picker when it comes to choosing friends.”

  Jack smiled. “I wouldn’t call you ‘unsupportive.’”

  She laughed. “What you lack in tact, Mr. Malinowski, you make up for in humor and honesty. I guess that’s what I like about you.”

  “You know, if you don’t like who you are, then change, Jossy. One of my dad’s favorite expressions is: ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’ He’s always throwing out phrases like that. He thinks he’s quite the philosopher. But if you think about it, that saying makes a lot of sense. People change. I’ve seen it many times. If you don’t like who you’ve become, make this the first day of the rest of your existence.”

  She nodded tearfully and leaned against him. Jack put his arm around her. “You know, you have a lot of good qualities, Ms. Delaney. You’ve shown that you can be understanding, caring, helpful, and you haven’t complained about anything throughout this whole ordeal with Debbie. I admire how you can be honest in recognition of your faults, but don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “Can I ask you something,” Jocelyn said. “What did you think of me before Debbie’s accident? Until then we hadn’t interacted much.”

  He thought for a moment. “Well, when you showed up with most of your worldly goods at the airport and caused Debbie all that grief, I was…” He searched for the right word, “…I was perplexed. I thought, ‘She must know she’s got to fit her stuff into two bags. What’s going on?’ But, as long as we’re being up front here, I was concentrating more on your looks than anything else. I fell prey to that fault most guys have of excusing a girl for the way she behaves simply because she’s pretty.

  “Then when you used up all that water on the boat to wash your hair…well, I guess that’s when I saw a side of you I really didn’t like.”

  “Neither did the captain,” Jocelyn interjected. “She was pissed; I thought she was gonna throw me overboard.”

  “Ah, yes, I do believe she wanted to. But look at the bright side; you’ve had your vocabulary greatly enriched by a Danish sailor. Let’s be honest here, old Doc Sørensen didn’t translate everything the Captain said. Certainly you can use some of those colorful phrases to great effect at the dinner table back at the archeological site.”

  She poked him in the ribs, “Hey, I may have run the ship’s supply of potable water dangerously low, but my hair was silky and smooth. The sharks would have been impressed with my flowing locks if we’d been introduced.”

  “Ha, now who’s making jokes?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Now, tell me exactly what you thought of me after I pulled that bone-headed stunt, and don’t hold back, Jack. If I’m going to reform, I have to really understand the errors of my ways.”

  Jack was uncomfortable with Jocelyn’s request to be critical of her. He didn’t see the point of this exercise. It was up to her to evaluate her own shortcomings and, if necessary, to alter her behavior. The change had to come from within. But when he saw the pleading look in her eyes, he gave in. After a moment’s thought he said, “Back then I figured you to be a vain and manipulative person who played at two different games. On one hand, you are very smart and get good grades. Those are things that get you in good with your parents, teachers, etc. In fact, that’s what got you accepted for this archeological study. I also thought, however, that you were good at playing the popularity card; you’d learned how to be mean and cliquish, and I would have bet money that you hung out with friends who value social standing more than anything substantive.

  “At least that’s what I thought back then,” he added defensively. “In the last few days, I’ve seen a different Jocelyn Delaney.” He hugged her and said, “I’ve, uh…I’ve really fallen for this one.”

  Jocelyn sat up and looked quizzically at him. “You figured all that out? It’s like you really knew me. No offense, but I’ve always believed you to be a typical guy when it comes to reading people’s character, you know—oblivious. You’re really very perceptive.”

  “What I am is a High School student, like you. The kids at my school fall into the same categories as those in Corpus Christi. People are the same everywhere.” He smiled, “Now it’s your turn, Jossy. What did you think of me when we first met? I came clean to you, so hit me with the cold, hard truth.”

  Jocelyn perked up, grinning from ear to ear. “Okay, here goes. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.” Jack became mildly concerned, but he’d asked for it. “Go ahead, hit me.”

  “You’re ‘Mr. Perfect,’ and I found that intimidating. When we first met, I thought, ‘He’s cute, friendly, probably a teacher’s pet, a real goody-two-shoes.’ That didn’t surprise me, though. I expected the other kids on this trip to be over-achievers: you know, class Presidents, honor roll regulars, members of every club known to man. Did you read the essays written by the four of us that Debbie sent out once we were selected as winners? When I read Spencer’s I thought, ‘There is no way a fifteen-year-old wrote this, a Pulitzer Prize winner maybe, but not some High Schooler from Brooklyn.’

  “Anyway, I thought, mistakenly of course, that the only guy I could possibly be attracted to, and who would likewise be attracted to me, would be someone with attitude, a ‘bad boy.’ I never considered you to be my type. I was also unprepared, both mentally and emotionally, for this trip. The only reason I accepted the invite was to get far away from a difficult situation at home.”

  Jack considered her words. “It’s funny how we tend to pre-judge people, how we form opinions about them before we get to know them. Jocelyn, I just realized something; you and I are a lot alike, you know that?”

  “You’ve got to be joking again.”

  “No, I’m not.” He shifted around on the platform so that he could see her face. “We both are hung up about pleasing others. You work hard in school to please your folks, and you go along with stuff that bothers you, and that you know is wrong, in order to be popular.”

  “You don’t seem to be so insecure, Jack. You’re perfect, remember?”

  “Hell, I’m ten times worse than you, Jocelyn. I strive for good grades because I don’t want to let my parents down. I’m an only child and they’re immigrants who’ve worked hard to provide me with the American dream. It sounds corny, but it’s true. They dote on me. I hear my mom telling her friends all about me, about how I’m such a great student. My dad thinks I’m this great mechanic who’ll take over his business and turn it into a big success. The pressure is incredible. I love them and don’t ever want to give them reason to doubt me or be ashamed of me.

  “And, do you know why I’m on this trip? For the same reason you are: to get away. I simply couldn’t s
tand to work in my dad’s garage this summer. I don’t want to be a mechanic for the rest of my life, but I just don’t have the guts to tell my dad. It’d break his heart.” He sighed and said despondently, “You’re lucky, Jossy. Your situation is passing. After High School your troubles will be behind you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do what I want without disappointing my folks.”

  “So what do you want to be other than a mechanic?”

  “It may seem silly to you, but I want to be an astronomer. It’s funny, really; I’ve never studied astronomy in school. Spencer and I have that in common. He developed an interest in paleontology outside of his ‘halls of learning,’ and I love reading about the night sky.”

  Jocelyn listened attentively as Jack launched into a grand soliloquy about the nature of stars: their sizes, temperatures and chemical compositions. She admired the passion he had for the subject and envied him the joy of having an interest that so captivated him. There certainly was more to this kind, considerate man than she could possibly have imagined. She suddenly felt a closeness to him that came as a pleasant surprise. Admiration for how he balanced his passion for astronomy against his concern for his parents’ feelings, with his folks taking precedence, spoke volumes about his character. He’d become an inspiration to her. Now, more than ever, Jocelyn knew she had to effect a change in her own outlook on life.

  While Jack carried on about stellar distances, magnitudes and lifetimes, she found herself fiddling with the matted, tangled ends of her hair. It hadn’t been washed in ten days, and for the past three it had become a snarled mass of knots, dirt and bugs. What had once been a symbol of status, beauty and vanity, had become, of late, a nuisance. Moreover, it represented the lifestyle she wanted to leave behind. “Jack,” she interrupted, “I have a favor to ask.”