Mark didn’t swim, nor did Carol. Carol still wasn’t back. Mark sat in the shallows and splashed himself over and when no one was looking took a big mouthful, swished it round with his tongue and cheeks, then spat it out again. He didn’t know that the others had done much the same; Jan actually took one deliberate swallow. One only. Though she longed for more with a longing so alarming that she ran in fright from the sea. At once she knew that she had made a terrible mistake, almost a shameful mistake, for where matters of survival were concerned the others were looking to her. Not for any sound reason, not because she really knew more than they, but because she was supposed to know more. Bruce should have known as much; he had been a Scout for as long as she had been a Guide; but Bruce, the family said, didn’t have a memory, he had a forgetory. When Bruce took off his uniform he stopped being a Scout. Though he said he did remember how to build a raft.
That was what Jan found herself thinking about now; the raft and the mainland and Gerald’s idiotic bottle and Oliver Twist and the wireless set, too. That maddening little box with the big wide world locked up inside it, music and advertising jingles, rhythms and voices, all the familiar noises and excitements of the big wide world. That silent little box that wouldn’t let the world come out. They had all sat there listening, waiting on that silent box to speak to them, pleading with it in a way, begging it to make a sound, but it didn’t even crackle. For two pins Jan would have smashed it to bits. Maybe the others had felt the same way.
‘It’s the batteries,’ Gerald had said. ‘The sea-water. It’ll never work; never, never.’
Jan was thinking about all those things because she had swallowed salt water and hadn’t lit a fire. She’d tried and tried until she was jittery and frantic and her hands were in a mess – as though they’d been burnt – but she hadn’t lit a fire. She’d tried the ‘glass’ from Colin’s watch-face, but it was really plastic and a bitter disappointment; she’d tried knocking sparks off rocks; tried praying; tried everything; but nothing worked. The face of Gerald’s watch might have worked, but they couldn’t get it off.
And there Colin had sat with his shellfish, his miserable, mangled shellfish split open with the tomahawk. ‘Well, we’ve just got to eat ’em raw,’ he had said, and so they had eaten them, shuddering. And felt even thirstier afterwards.
‘Let’s hope Carol will have found something.’ Gerald had said. ‘Let’s hope she’ll be back soon.’
That was an hour ago, but Carol had not come back. They had called her name, but she hadn’t answered. Then they had taken their swim.
How far was it to the mainland? Jan tried to beat through a fog of facts at best only half-remembered. In what direction did it lie? Fifty or sixty miles away, she had said to the others, but it had been a guess. It might have been 100 miles or 200; ten miles or twenty. Perhaps from some points on Molineaux the mainland might even be visible. But how would they find out if Gerald wouldn’t let them go? Jan hadn’t bothered, ever, to look for Molineaux on the map. There hadn’t been any reason why she should. Probably it wasn’t even named on the map. There were scores of islands like that; apparently without people, apparently nameless, until something happened on them and their stories were dug up from the record books. Even in class at school, Molineaux had been mentioned only in passing; a teacher had digressed for a few minutes from the course of a lesson about sunflowers and other plants like them.
Could a raft be built quickly enough to save their lives? Could they rig sails and help it along with paddles? Could they locate the direction of the mainland and push off, say tomorrow afternoon, and travel most of the distance by night to escape the sun? They had to watch the sun. Bad sunburn could be dangerous. Colin, not properly clothed, was already burnt; not blistered, but very red. They had found a hand lotion among Carol’s things and used that on him, rubbed it into him gently and generously until he had gleamed like a well-greased wrestler. Except for his bones sticking out. Not like a wrestler really. Like somebody already half-starved to death.
The boys came back again, over the headland, bearing their insignificant little fish; four boys in a line, one behind the other; Bruce still limping, Mark dragging his feet, and Colin looking frail enough to blow away in the first gust of wind.
Jan felt for Colin a sudden concern, a sudden deep anxiety, and felt annoyed because he was so thin. God hadn’t been fair to Colin. It wasn’t fair that he should be so thin when Bruce was so burly and Gerald so healthy. And in her mind’s eye – in a moment that came without warning – she saw time move on, saw days pass away, saw as in a week from now the procession of boys coming again over the headland, but there were only three of them. Colin wasn’t among them any more. Then she saw the procession come again, but another was missing; Mark was missing. Then only one boy. Then none. And not even the girls were there watching. Not even Jan herself.
It was like a dream – but her eyes were open – a dream as vivid as any dream that terrorized the middle of the night. First four boys, then three, then two, then one, and then none. And Molineaux silent again except for the beating ocean and the gulls on the shore. A dead place again.
It was a premonition in broad daylight; the sort of thing her mother spoke about. She had seen into the future.
Oh, what an awful, awful thing. Not that they were to die, but that she knew they were to die, all of them, one by one, until she alone was left. She was to be the last. Odd, to be last; to be left alone. And then there would be no one.
Or was it something other than that? Was fate offering her a choice? The choice to leave or the choice to stay? For if they left, how could the procession possibly come true? Perhaps, rather than a premonition it was a moment of clarity, of clear thinking, that had shown her what the future would be if they stayed?
As soon as Gerald was in hearing – he was running ahead of the others – she yelled at him, ‘We’re going. I don’t care what you say. Do you know what’s going to happen if we don’t? Because I know. I’ve seen. One by one. One after the other. All dead. That’s what’s going to happen.’
‘Where’s Carol?’ he said. ‘Isn’t she back yet?’
‘Blow Carol. It’s us I’m worried about. If we stay here we’re going to die.’
‘Look, Jan, it’s twenty minutes to six. Last night the sun set just after six and it was dark so soon. Golly, I was sure she’d be back.’
‘Carol’s all right. Don’t be such a sook about her. She’s always off on her own. She was off on her own this morning and she was all right then, wasn’t she?
We’ve got to start building the raft.’
‘I’m sick of the sound of the stupid raft.’ There was a wild look in his eyes. ‘It’s Carol that matters. She’s lost. I’ll bet you she’s lost. Can’t you people understand anything? Raft, raft, raft; it’s all I hear.’ Then he looked at her sticks standing up on end, defining rooms, and threw an arm at them. ‘What’s wrong with playing houses? Mark and you. Why not keep on playing it? If you lit a fire it’d be to the point. Girl Guide and can’t light a fire!’ He threw his little fishes at her feet, gaping fish, mouths open. ‘Cook them! I’m going for Carol. I’m looking for Carol. If no one else cares, I do.’
He ran up the sand and she screamed after him, ‘Poison fish. Black teeth. Poison. Boy; and can’t catch a fish!’ Then lost her breath and would have sobbed if Bruce and Colin had not been so close.
‘Poison fish?’ said Colin.
‘Told you so, didn’t I?’ said Mark.
‘Gee; venomous, like snakes?’
‘No, no, no. If you eat them.’ Jan slumped on the sand. ‘I can’t get through to him,’ she said. ‘Surely he must know he’ll die if we stop here.’ Then she looked at Bruce. ‘I’ve had a dream. In broad daylight, Bruce; a dream. We were all dead.’
‘From eatin’ fish?’
‘I don’t know what from. Thirst, I suppose. I don’t know.’
‘Not from eatin’ shellfish, I hope. Maybe that’s what the Saints died of. Somethin
’ they ate.’
‘I wouldn’t worry much about a silly old dream,’ Colin said. ‘I don’t think that makes much difference. I reckon we can all see it coming without dreams to tell us. I say if it’s a raft we want, let’s build it.’
‘Do you, Col?’
‘Yeh. I do. And to blazes with Gerald. If we get to the mainland we’ll be all right.’
‘Could be the same as here, though, couldn’t it?’ said Bruce. ‘Gerald could be right.’
‘Gerald’s a nut and so are you. What’s wrong with you? And after everything you’ve said? It’s the Gulf Country over there. Ask your sister; she’ll tell you. Teeming with everything. Water and all. Not a blooming desert like this. Coconuts and jungles. I’ve seen it on the pictures.’
‘Well I say, start now,’ Jan said. ‘Let’s start getting the trees chopped down. We’ve got to get off this island as quick as we can. Even tonight.’
Colin whistled through his teeth. ‘I don’t know about that. I reckon it’d be better if we took the tools with us and worked out where the mainland was first, and then built it.’
‘All right,’ said Jan, ‘that’s all right, but let’s do it. Let’s cut straight across the island to the other side. That’s where the mainland is, I’m sure.’
‘Why are you sure?’
‘Because of the way we got here, across the water. There was no land out the other way.’
‘We can’t go without Gerald and Carol, though, can we?’
‘Leave them here, I say,’ grumbled Jan, ‘suit them down to the ground. Then they can hold hands all the time.’
‘You’re a character, you are,’ Colin said. She disappointed him with her moods. ‘You sure say some things.’
‘Clucking round each other like a couple of lovebirds. It’s disgusting.’
‘Come off it Jan. That’s not true. Are you jealous or something?’
‘Jealous?’ she screeched. ‘Jealous? I wouldn’t be seen dead with him! The creep.’
That made everything awkward. Girls were different from boys. Having girls around was like being trapped in a bear-pit.
‘What a shame the fish are poisonous, sis. You couldn’t be wrong, I suppose?’
*
Gerald saw Carol a little distance away. He had been running through the bush in all directions calling her name, then suddenly there she was, kneeling in a hollow of the sandhills.
He was so surprised that he stopped in his tracks. She was digging industriously with a stick. He didn’t like her doing that, not in that way. It looked funny. But he couldn’t bring himself, not then, to intrude. Her actions seemed to be private, somehow.
After a while he ventured closer, with uneasiness, because she still seemed to be far away from him, removed from him by something more than distance. What on earth was she doing?
‘Carol,’ he called, and she jumped sharply to her feet, dropping the stick, brushing down her crumpled dress with hands in agitation. Then she looked up to where he stood and seemed to be at a loss.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said, and walked towards her. ‘What are you doing?’
He had caught her off-guard. For the first time ever he was seeing her off-guard. She was quite a different person, like someone small and young and helpless. He scarcely knew her.
‘I’m not doing anything,’ she said, and dropped her eyes away from him.
‘We’ve been worried,’ he said. ‘It’s late. It’s six o’clock.’ Then saw on the ground not far from where she had been digging a heap of little fruits, nuts, and the roots of plants swollen with juices, and a dead lizard. ‘Gosh,’ he said, ‘What’s all that?’
She was still looking at her feet. ‘Things,’ she said.
‘To eat?’
‘I suppose so.’
He peered at them as though doubtful of their reality. ‘Can we eat them?’
‘Why not?’
‘Where’d you find them, for Pete’s sake?’
She made an odd sound and gestured with her hands, almost in apology. ‘Round about.’
‘But how did you find them, Carol?’
She started stammering and fell silent.
He peeled off his shirt and gathered them all into it, twirled it into a bundle, and said, ‘Let’s get back, eh?’
She nodded and took hold of the hand he offered her and went with him.
In a while he said, ‘How’d you know where to look for them? I mean, it’s black man’s food, isn’t it?’
‘That means you won’t eat it, I suppose?’ She was breathless and he could feel her tugging through her hand, trying to disengage his grasp. ‘Of course I’ll eat it,’ he said, ‘that’s a funny thing to say.’
‘What’s funny about it? You hate black people. You sneer at them.’
He dropped her hand then, like a red-hot brick. ‘I don’t do any such thing!’
‘You call them dirty.’
‘I don’t.’
‘You do.’
‘What’s it to you, anyway? It’s no skin off your nose, is it?’
She walked on and he pursued her. ‘What’s come over you, Carol? I mean, if people are dirty they’re dirty. Black or white; they’re just dirty. People shouldn’t be dirty.’
‘You’re dirty,’ she said. ‘Look at you.’
He was taken aback. ‘I’m not dirty. I’m clean. I’ve washed in the sea. I’m clean.’
‘Your clothes are filthy.’
‘Well, is that my fault? What else have I got to put on?’
‘I’m dirty,’ she said.
He was becoming confused and distressed. ‘I didn’t say you were dirty. You’re twisting everything round the wrong way. Gee, you’re not dirty. You’re the nicest girl I know.’
‘I’m dirty and sticky and smelly.’
He couldn’t find the words he wanted and his face screwed up in desperation.
‘I’ve been grubbing round the ground like a black girl on my hands and knees.’
He burst out, ‘Well, what’s wrong with that? I don’t know what you’re getting at? You’re not a black girl, are you? And I wouldn’t care if you were.’
‘I bet you you would.’
He let her walk on, then, away from him, and made no effort to overtake her again. She was walking into the setting sun, a black silhouette crowned with gold.
He saw the imagery of her silhouette. It was very striking and in a way it taught him something, though not the truth. Not the real truth. He would not have believed her even if she had told him.
On the beach they were ready to move.
‘They’re coming,’ Mark called. ‘He’s found her all right.’ He ran down to the others. Mark was glad to be up and doing (he hadn’t been much impressed by the idea of dying), though he wished he could take the house along with him. He had got as far as making the girls’ room and the boys’ room private from each other with a dense screen of sticks. ‘I can see them coming,’ he said, ‘but they’re not walking together.’
‘Don’t tell me they’ve had a tiff,’ said Jan.
They let her comment pass. Jan’s tongue, at present, was too nimble to tangle with. The idea some people had about its being a man’s world had never seemed less like the truth!
‘We’re all agreed, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘He’s out-voted. We’re going. No matter what he’s got to say, we’re going.’
‘Yeh,’ said Colin. ‘I suppose so. Though whether it’s right to go now?’ He shrugged. ‘We’ve got to walk straight and it’s getting dark. Maybe we should wait for the moon.’
‘There’ll be stars,’ said Jan, ‘and the moon won’t be long. If we’re going to get out of this alive we’ve got to be on the other shore by morning. The island can’t be more than ten miles wide. It might only be five miles.’
‘I hope so,’ grumbled Bruce. ‘I hope it’s not fifty.’
‘There’s not an island in the Gulf that big. They’re little islands. Knock out Groote Eylandt and Mornington Island and they’re all pipsqueak
s.’
‘This place doesn’t look too little to me. And you haven’t got my ankle, sis.’
‘Don’t you start again,’ said Jan, ‘or we’ll be wondering which side you’re on.’
‘There aren’t any sides,’ Colin said distinctly.
‘That depends on your point of view,’ Jan snapped. ‘If it’s got to be sides it’ll be sides. I’m not going to stop here to die just because Gerald wants to be stupid. I’ve had a dream —’
‘Oh, Jan!’
‘Well, I have. And I was the last. I was left on my own. You were dead – and Bruce – and Mark. You were all dead but me. And I was left on my own. Then I was dead, too.’
‘Yeh, yeh,’ growled Bruce, ‘we heard before . . .’
Carol came down on to the beach closer to the sea wall, but walked on, away.
‘Hey,’ Colin called. ‘Back here, Carol.’
She waved, but started crossing the rocks. ‘Hey,’ Bruce yelled. ‘Back here. Don’t go away, Carol.’
‘Where’s she off to?’ piped Mark.
‘To swim, I suppose,’ said Jan. Trust her . . . ‘Carol,’ she screeched, her voice breaking painfully, ‘come back!’
But Carol didn’t and Jan’s irritation and the hurt of her dry throat etched fiercely into her brow.
Gerald came down at that moment and stood a short distance away. His bundle dropped to his feet and his hands went to his hips in nervousness. He knew that something was up. Light was going fast but he could see the suitcase packed and sense the air of unrest. He didn’t really have to ask what was up. He knew. ‘Well?’ he said.
‘We’re going,’ Jan said bluntly, ‘whether you come or whether you don’t. And the same goes for your girl friend. We’re not going to die like a lot of ninnies just to please you.’
Colin cut in with a tremor in his voice. ‘That’s not so, Gerald. She’s put it wrong. We don’t mean it like that.’
‘We do,’ shouted Jan hoarsely. ‘We do. We do. Don’t we, Bruce?’
‘Blimey,’ wailed Bruce.
‘Don’t you dare back out. You said we’d stick together.’
To the Wild Sky Page 19