Enchanted Islands

by Allison Amend

  In the middle of the night I awoke and went outside to relieve myself. When I got back to my bed, I could hear from his breathing that Ainslie was not asleep. It was only then that I allowed myself to examine my emotions.

  I was hurt. Jealous. Scared. I had cast my lot with Ainslie, and now I realized how little I knew him. I reviewed the history of our relationship. And in the new light of realizing why it was that he didn’t want to share a bed with me, I examined every time he came home late, every evening in the company of his navy buddies, every interaction he had with someone of his own sex. And I knew then that everything I had thought had been a lie. I was a useless spy, keeping information even from myself.

  I could hear Ainslie breathing. Far away, and yet so close. “Ainslie?” I said. “Was it like this always?”

  “Always,” I heard him whisper.

  I said nothing more.

  *

  The light came up slowly that morning. Because of the dense vegetation, day usually sprung up on us as soon as the sun crested the trees, but it was overcast and so it was impossible to distinguish dawn from day. Ainslie and I ate breakfast in silence. We spoke only the necessary words to get on with our day. Ainslie told me his plans while I warmed coffee, and then he was gone, so obviously relieved to be away from me that I wanted to throw something at his retreating back. This was not my fault. I was not the one lying to him.

  My anger grew along with the heat. By lunchtime I had broken the handle of our only pan. This was actually close to tragedy, as without it, we would have no means of cooking our food, and of course we had no way of fixing it. By midmorning, the anger had blossomed into rage. I cursed the sun, the chickens, the damn mongoose that wouldn’t leave us alone, because who brought a mongoose to an island? It’s an invasive species, for God’s sake. People were always doing that, compounding their problems like a cumulative children’s song: the mongoose to eat the rats, the cats to eat the mongoose, the people to kill the cats, the people to spy on the other people…

  How dare Ainslie start a relationship with the enemy? I turned my personal hurt into righteous indignation. That was the first lesson in Spy 101: no relationships (except the ones they forced you into). Relationships left you vulnerable emotionally, as well as made you a target for blackmail. It gave away for free the leverage Ainslie was always warning against. I had distanced myself from Rosalie for this very reason, and now he had violated one of the basic tenets of our mission and put us in danger as a result.

  Ainslie came back for lunch, signaling his approach by his whistle, which completely unhinged me from my supposed sanity.

  “How can you whistle?” I screamed in greeting. “How can you just whistle?”

  “It’s my habit,” he said quietly. “It relaxes me.”

  “Relaxes you.” I snapped the cloth I was using to wipe dishes. “You seem to be finding a lot of methods of relaxation.”

  “If you’re ready to talk,” he said, “we can talk.” He took out his pipe and began to chew on it.

  “How long has this been going on?” I asked.

  “Oh I’ve smoked all my life.” I glared at him. I was not amused. “A week or two.” Ainslie sat in his chair. He traced patterns on the dirt floor with his feet. “I didn’t mean for it to, Franny, it just did, somehow.”

  “And there have been others?”

  “Not on Floreana.” He grimaced. “Ever since I can remember, it’s been…I tried the military, but there were as many people like me in there as there were out. Then I tried intelligence, but that just taught me how to lie even better. I’ve never been caught. Until now.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. My anger was gone, replaced with a sadness so heavy I might have ingested glue. I sat down next to him on the bench.

  “But Franny, and I mean this.” He took my hand. His was cool though it was hot out. So much larger than mine, he encompassed it wholly. “I’ve never felt…It’s never been this way with anybody like it is with you.”

  I harrumphed. I didn’t believe him. How could I ever believe him now?

  “I’m serious, Franny. I love you. Not the way a husband should love his wife, but the way that I can love you. There’s no one else I could live with like this. Like this.” He spread his free hand out to indicate the house. “We’ve gone to the ends of the earth together. You’re not just anyone to me.”

  The words were good to hear, and I was mortified to find myself crying. Ainslie took me into his arms and I wept against his bony shoulder for a while until I calmed down. I blew my nose into the towel I was still holding.

  “I feel the same,” I said. “I’ve never been as close to anyone as I feel to you. I suppose I knew, have known all along. I was just wishing it would be different.”

  “Well, it is different,” Ainslie said. I smiled.

  I would have thought I’d be disgusted by Ainslie, by his perverse preference. That I wouldn’t want to touch him. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt calming, like it explained the answers to questions I hadn’t been able to ask myself. I also wanted to talk more, to know more. But I wasn’t sure how to ask. I wasn’t sure what answers I was looking for.

  “Nothing has changed. Between us.” When he said this, something snapped inside me, a ruler rapping on my desk calling for my attention when I’d been sleeping.

  “This is dangerous, Ainslie. Victor is the enemy.”

  “Exactly. How else does one extract secrets? Pillow talk. So to speak.”

  “What if he’s doing the same to you?” My hand had begun to feel heavy in Ainslie’s. I twisted it so he’d drop it.

  “He’s not. I’m better than he is.”

  “How do I know you’re not working with them?” I asked, cruelly.

  Ainslie looked appropriately wounded. I felt a small burst of satisfaction. “I’m not even going to give that question the respect of an answer,” he said. “How could you ask me that?”

  “There’s apparently a lot I don’t know about you,” I said.

  Ainslie sighed heavily. “He’s not a problem. He’s a fairly simple-minded man. If anyone is a spy, it’s Genevieve.”

  “This is dangerous,” I repeated. “What if someone found out? You’d be kicked out of the navy.”

  “No one will find out.”

  “We’re exposed.”

  “It won’t be a problem,” Ainslie repeated.

  *

  It was only a day or two later that Gonzalo came running to our house. Breathless, he repeated the English I’d taught him: “There is a ship in the harbor.” Then he repeated “ship, ship,” which sound like “sheep” so that I thought he was telling us that he had found a wild flock somewhere that we could butcher for food. My first thoughts in the Galápagos were always of food.

  When I finally understood he meant a boat, which most likely also meant food, I quickly put on my best and only skirt on top of my shorts. On the way down, I heard the foghorn announcing its arrival, and by the time I got down to the beach, the launch from the ship had made it to shore and all the Floreanans except the Muellers and the Weisses were crowded around its occupants.

  This was the first time I had seen Victor or Genevieve since I discovered Ainslie, and a lump grew in my throat. I had an unbidden flash of memory of Victor and Ainslie together, which I tried to snuff out. I think I even shook my head to clear it. Victor could not meet my gaze. He looked smaller than the last time I saw him, and he cowered by Genevieve, picking at the ground with a walking stick. It was just as well; I had nothing to say to him.

  The crowd of excited onlookers parted to reveal a man about my age, with a white mustache. I recognized him not only from the newspapers but also from his photo in the navy’s files on the Galápagos.

  “Mrs. Conway,” I heard a voice. “I’m Allan Hancock.”

  He stepped forward to shake my hand, and I automatically smoothed my hair behind my ears. There are some customs you can never unlearn.

  “So very pleased to meet yo
u,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about ‘the Americans of Floreana.’ I hope you and your husband will be my guests later. I have some specimens I’d like you to see.”

  I have sometimes been accused of being none too swift, but I caught his drift right away. He had obviously been sent to meet with us. It was a peculiarity of our post on the Galápagos that the usual methods of contacting operatives were unavailable. There could be no prearranged meeting points, no exchanging of briefcases in crowded squares, no drops in empty phone booths. I was excited to hear what Hancock had to tell us.

  Hancock had brought with him in the dinghy two other men. They were handing out packs of cigarettes and cartons of sugar to Gonzalo and Victor, who were eagerly holding out their hands.

  “Don’t forget the Conways,” Hancock called. “Where is Mr. Conway?” he asked me.

  “He’s arriba,” I said, automatically, forgetting that Hancock did not speak our patois. “I mean, he’s clearing a path up above. He’ll have heard the horn, don’t worry.”

  Hancock smiled. “How are you holding up out here?” There was a note of pity in his voice for our ridiculous posting. I wanted to defend our island. In the short months we had been there, I realized, it had become our island.

  “Actually,” I said, “it’s rather…lovely.”

  Hancock lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

  We all sat down on the beach to a meal provided by Hancock’s chef, which included luxuries I hadn’t tasted in weeks: butter, peanut butter, jam, milk, fresh bread made with white flour. The purpose and nationality of the visitor didn’t matter. When a boat showed up, we all got to partake of its bounty. Ainslie arrived just as we were about to dig in to dessert. He merely nodded his head at the other guests, giving no special attention to Victor, who sat apart from the group. If I hadn’t known of their relationship, I would not have suspected anything. Ainslie was good.

  He said to Hancock, “Hope I didn’t miss anything. Hello, old chap!”

  “You know each other?” I asked.

  “We’ve never actually met.” Ainslie pumped Hancock’s hand. “I’m just happy to see a fellow American, who comes bringing, what’s this? Jelly? Oh praises be!”

  Ainslie forwent the lunch to skip straight to the dessert—peaches in syrup and crackers with jelly. “It’s just that it tastes so good,” he said by way of excusing himself. “You don’t know how much you’ll miss something as stupid as jelly until it’s gone. And then, it’s delicious, even though it’s Ecuadorian jelly.”

  “We ran out of American preserves on the way down,” Hancock said. “If I had known this was a favorite, I would have purchased more.”

  I had eaten so much my stomach hurt, though I was not letting that stop me from shoving large pieces of bread and honey into my mouth.

  “No need,” I said. “It’s not roughing it if you’re not roughing it.”

  “That reminds me, I have your mail,” Hancock said. “Joey, can you get it?” One of the sailors stood and went to the waxed dock bag.

  Ainslie helped himself to another scoop of jam and another cracker. “Might as well,” he said. “Once they’re opened they won’t keep.” And we all laughed, for it’s funny to see such a skinny man eat so prodigiously.

  Gonzalo asked about the tensions between Ecuador and Peru, and I translated. I had completely forgotten their border skirmish; we were living in a country and yet knew nothing of what was happening within it. I could tell you who was arguing with whom over fishing territories on San Cristóbal, for that news reached us with every crew on every schooner, but as to what was happening in Quito, I knew nothing.

  Now Hancock looked around the beach. “Say, is that Camino de la Muerte? Wow! Did Roosevelt start New Dealing on Floreana too?”

  “I’m improving local roads,” Ainslie said with pride. He would object to the denigration of Roosevelt, who was, after all, Ainslie’s commander in chief.

  Hancock failed to notice Ainslie’s tone. “That’s a damn fool thing to spend your time on!”

  “I beg your pardon,” Ainslie began. My heart sank. Of all the things to say to Ainslie, insulting his road might have been the cruelest. “Not all of us get to sail around on yachts. Some of us work to build what we need.”

  “Okay, boys,” I said, before they turned to pistols at dawn. “Let’s finish up the crackers before the rats get at them.”

  “Ratones,” Gonzalo said loudly, as though cursing, which made everyone laugh, including him.

  As we ate the last of the lunch, Hancock asked, “Will you come with me, Mr. and Mrs. Conway, for a tour?” Though he and Ainslie glared at each other with undisguised loathing, we got into the launch and were rowed out to the yacht.

  “So,” I said, but Hancock shook his head, indicating that we shouldn’t speak.

  I was so rarely out on the water, which must sound strange for someone who lives on a tiny island. But we really rarely had reason to go, and frankly the water scared me. First of all, there were sharks. And though I couldn’t see far into the brush, at least I could see my feet. Swimming, who knew what was under there? And the thought of something going on without my knowledge terrified me. I held on to the gunwales with both hands.

  “You can relax, Frances. May I call you Frances?” Hancock asked. I nodded, afraid to speak.

  “We won’t tip. Can’t you swim?” he asked. I nodded again.

  “I’m afraid Franny’s not much of a sailor, are you?” Ainslie said. I smiled, gratefully. “Tell us about your research.” Ainslie extended the olive branch. And Hancock, being baited with this juicy morsel, proceeded to tell us in great detail about his research until we reached the boat.

  The Velero III was a fine yacht, white and teak, with just a bit of weathering to prove she was a real boat. There were three cabins and a bunk room, as well as several specimen rooms that Hancock showed us. There was one devoted to reptiles, with many of our saurian friends suspended in preserving liquid to be taken far from their natal land. They were in various states of undress: some lacked skin and some were reduced to skeletons. Hancock said, “I’m sorry, this must be very repulsive to you, Frances.” He didn’t look very sorry.

  Now he had offended me. I tried to make a joke. “Who do you think does our butchering? You don’t live on an island unless you’re comfortable with death, or grow comfortable with it. Nature is the cruelest mistress.”

  Hancock replied, “True. But humans don’t do nature any favors.” Beneath his antagonism, he was a scientist through and through, you could tell by the excitement with which he showed us his work. He was obviously uncomfortable with the position he had been put in. How had he been recruited? Enticed by the carrot or threatened with the stick?

  He continued to give us the tour. Perhaps I had misread the situation, and he really was simply showing off his yacht. We repaired to his study for coffee, brought to us by a member of his staff. Though the cabin was hot, and the trade winds were blowing nicely across through the open portholes, he closed the windows one by one.

  “I was told to give you this,” Hancock said, handing Ainslie an envelope. “I don’t like it. I’m not in the army—”

  “Neither am I,” said Ainslie.

  “I mean I’m not in the armed forces. I’m a scientist. I’m told where to go by the science, not by some bureaucrat. I’m not used to following orders like a lemming.”

  “Interesting,” Ainslie said. “I follow orders so that scientists can be free to pursue their investigations, not because I enjoy spending my time on a deserted island full of Krauts.”

  I was stung by his comment, though I knew he was just trying to get back at Hancock, who, it was true, was not my favorite person at the moment.

  Ainslie took the proffered envelope, broke its classified seal, and read its contents in silence. I looked at Hancock. “What’s the mood at home?” I asked.

  “I don’t know anything in particular,” he said.

  “I mean,” I clarified, “just your personal opinion.�
�

  “No one wants a war.” Hancock sank into his leather chair. I could see now that he was stressed at having to deliver this letter. Having foisted it off on its recipient, he looked relieved, like he’d been carrying explosives in the hold. “Especially so soon after the Great War. So I don’t think we’ll enter, even though Roosevelt…But people are concerned. There are rumors…” He trailed off.

  “Rumors about…” I prompted him.

  “That the Nazis are running work camps for Jews and Gypsies and…others.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  “Yes, and the Polish threat. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an invasion.”

  “But surely the United States won’t try to protect Poland.” I felt bad for the people who were being sent to work camps just because they were Jewish. There but for the grace of God…

  “No.” Hancock rubbed his forehead. My own was slick with sweat. Couldn’t we open the windows now that our topic was not confidential? “It’s just that nobody believes that Hitler will stop there. He’s completely insane.”

  “But some people like him.”

  “People like Stalin,” Hancock said.

  Ainslie abruptly folded the letter and stood up. “A match, please?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Hancock said. “On a ship?”

  Ainslie gave him a look that chilled my skin, even in the damp heat. “You smoke, don’t you?”

  Hancock handed him a fussy-looking antique lighter, in distressed and carved silver. Ainslie set fire to the letter, holding it by its corner until it burned into ash. Then he dropped it on the table, and Hancock quickly smothered it, cursing.

  “Thank you,” Ainslie said. “The United States Navy appreciates your service.”

  “Frances,” Hancock said. “Your husband and I have a few things to discuss. It was lovely to meet you. I’ll have you rowed back to shore with some extra provisions. I hope we meet again.”

  I said nothing. I was being exiled. Ainslie did nothing to stop this indignity, looking down at his shabby shoes. Whatever came next was above my clearance level. I was so angry I wanted to stamp my foot, steal the lighter, and burn down Hancock’s damn pleasure yacht.