All I Ever Dreamed

by Michael Blumlein

  Hunger demanded it, but she resisted the temptation. The safest thing, actually, would be to leave the plant alone. Tighten her belt, suck it up, and get the hell out. She proceeded to do this, finding seams in the rock, handholds and footholds as if they were placed with her in mind. As if nature, in its grand design, were smiling down on her sorry plight. Not that it was easy. She had to work for every inch, pushing, pulling, clinging, balancing, stretching beyond the point of what seemed possible, all the while taking care not to move her gimpy arm, or to move at all when her head was light, which was often. It took every bit of strength, discipline, and courage she possessed to climb that wall.

  And then she had. Or almost: she stopped one last time within shouting distance of the top to catch her breath.

  The opening, of course, was much wider up close than it had appeared from afar. It wouldn’t be a squeeze in the slightest. She could see a fair amount of sky, blue blue blue, and the light streaming in was glorious. Her heart pounded from the climb, which was nothing compared to her mind, which raced with excitement.

  One last push should do it, and she searched for the best route. A broad and implacable overhang stymied her from above. To her right was empty air, and a fall best not to contemplate. To her left, solid rock and a handhold, which, if she could reach, would be a hauling point. There was a foothold beyond it, and after that, what appeared to be a smooth ascent. There were only two problems: one, she couldn’t reach the handhold; and two, the arm that would have to was useless.

  It was a setback, but in no way a defeat. Backtracking, she tried a different route, which was no better. Then another, which was worse. She approached the first one again, eyeing the handhold like a horse its carrot, willing her arm to move by an inch. It screamed. Then a second inch. More screaming, and that was it. The pain was indescribable. Unless the handhold miraculously floated closer, and she had no reason to think the rock would cooperate in this, her climb was finished­.

  Always harder to get down, slower, more tedious. Worse when combined with hunger, fatigue and frustration. She stopped at the shrub, defiantly broke off a clump of berries, stuffed them in her pocket, and completed the descent.

  She rested on the sand, battling various dark thoughts. If she couldn’t get out, she’d die. And she wasn’t getting out, not unless some angel came and lifted her.

  It was the first time she’d cried in many years. She sobbed herself to sleep, dreamed of food, and when she woke, pulled out the berries. She could waste away slowly, or waste away a little less slowly. Life was precious, and you only got one shot. If they made her sick, so be it. If not, and they bought another hour, another day if she was lucky, then why the hell not?

  She had a nibble. The taste wasn’t bad. Not bitter, which would have warned her off. Slightly sweet, though nothing like a ripe blueberry. But not offensive. She waited to see what would happen, and when nothing did, she finished the berry and had another.

  ROSE

  There was a fruit on the island that grew on trees surrounding the fresh water lagoon. It was a succulent, delicious fruit, and decidedly nontoxic. The two of them had scarfed it down without ill effect. The only danger was eating too much, which was the danger of anything so good. The seeds, however, were another story, or they could be. Some of the sweetest fruit, like apricots, cherries, and plums (all of which, she noted with a certain amount of pride, were members of the rose family), contained some of the most toxic seeds. She considered daring Marl to eat them, which was just the kind of bait he would rise to. Having survived his ill-fated voyage, he felt more invincible than ever. His embarrassment at her having seen him flailing around only fed his need to prove himself by dominating all things. He would not be afraid of the small black seeds. Unfortunately, neither were the bushy-tailed, fox-sized rodents, who ate them with impunity. Humans weren’t rodents, it was true, but biologically, if not temperamentally, they were similar. The seeds might give him a bellyache, but it was unlikely they’d kill him.

  She was not that disappointed, as she hadn’t expected to find something instantly or easily. She actually looked forward to widening her search. The problem was getting free of him. He liked to keep an eye on her and didn’t like the idea of her traipsing around without him. The most casual onlooker would have found this nonsensical, if not bizarre, as her presence gave him little pleasure, other than the pleasure of being surly, ill tempered, and abusive. But Rose understood.

  She tried to sneak away one night by the full of the moon, when he was sleeping. This was when she discovered that he never slept, not when it came to her. Eyes closed or open, pointed away from her or focused narrowly at some task at hand, he was always watching.

  He did allow her to get water, which they drew from a shallow pool in the jungle fringe above the beach where they camped. It was good water at first, but at a certain point its taste changed, as if something had been added to it. There was a nearby orchid, lovely to look at, foul to smell. Depending on the time of day, its odor ranged from rotten to repulsive to shit. The water tasted similar, perhaps from petals of the flower having fallen into it, perhaps more insidiously from chemicals in its bulb and roots leaching in. Marl, naturally, blamed her. She swore her innocence with the straightest of faces. In any case, it was no longer drinkable.

  The nearest alternative source was the lagoon, and Rose offered to take on the chore of making the hour-long trek. And it was a chore, carrying the unwieldy, woven baskets they’d had to make to replace the glass jugs he’d destroyed, and she made sure he knew it. It was easier once she started using the bamboo pole across her shoulders, and she nearly made the mistake of mentioning this, and of compounding the mistake by hurrying back, just so he could admire her speed and ingenuity. But she heard a voice, sharp as a thunder­clap, that said, “Don’t be an idiot.” And she listened to it.

  So she had a little extra time, a little leeway, which she could stretch by various means. The first few trips all she did was sit by the lagoon, or swim in it without his watching, or treat herself to a piece of fruit, whose flavor, given his absence and her now undivided attention, she appreciated even more. It reminded her that the Earth was not to be denied, that its creativity was rich beyond measure. Some of its riches were sweet, some juicy, some bitter, all interesting. There were pleasures under every bush and in every clearing. Life was truly a feast.

  She rediscovered the delight of exploration. One of her best days came when she stumbled upon a cave inside an outcrop of lava that rose above the jungle and looked like the head of a sheep dyed red and splashed with splotches of ink. What made the discovery so good was not the cave so much, which she had no use for and knew enough to avoid without a source of light, but a plant growing nearby. By its leaves and flowers she recognized it immediately as a Solanaceae. It clearly wasn’t a tomato or potato or eggplant. It wasn’t tobacco or jimson weed. By its size, shape, and shiny black berries, she thought the chances were fair to good it was a nightshade. Not precisely deadly nightshade—the flowers were the wrong color—but a relative.

  There was a fair-sized clump. It seemed to enjoy the porous, gritty soil surrounding the cave. Her delight in discovering it was enhanced by the interesting question of what to do next. She needed to test the various parts of the plant to find out their effect. Nightshade berries were commonly—and erroneously—believed to be the most toxic part, simply because they were responsible for most poisonings and deaths. But this was because they were showy and tempting to eat, and, temptation being what it was, many people, especially children, couldn’t resist filling their hands with the fruit and gorging themselves. Gram for gram, the leaves and roots were often more toxic. But every species was different, and you never knew unless you were told, and since there was no one around to impart that wisdom, she was left with having to experiment.

  Using a bird as a subject was a possibility, except that a bird’s reaction said little about a human’s. And she didn’t relish catching and caging one, not to mention tr
ying to feed it against its will. She felt the same, or worse, about using one of the bushy-tails, which had done her no harm. The fact that they were mammals, and therefore more similar to humans, merely added to her reluctance to poison them. (Although the thought did cross her mind one day, after watching a big one first bare its teeth, then proceed, unnecessarily she felt, to take a king-size chunk off a smaller one’s ear.)

  Once she had sifted through her thoughts and eliminated what she couldn’t do, she was left with what she could. There was only one animal on the island that was not exempt from experimentation. This simplified things enormously. And it couldn’t have come at a better time, because hauling water, gathering food, and staying out of Marl’s way had become so tedious she was ready to scream. Now she had something different to look forward to, something new, and she had to hand it to herself. As he himself had once said—and she remembered the day vividly because saying it had come close to killing him—she was not only intelligent but resourceful, not only resourceful but resilient. She could spin gold out of straw, pluck diamonds from dross, see silver on the cloudiest day. She really was an amazing person.

  VIOLET

  She slept better than she had, which wasn’t saying a lot. Nervousness and excitement woke her several times during the night, until morning came and she woke for good. She showered, then dressed and put on a little makeup, humming to herself, thinking of Shep. She checked the time, then went outside to walk off the butterflies.

  The souvenir guy was at his stand, ready for customers. He smiled as she approached. She didn’t intend to stop, but before she knew it, was walking away with an extra-large, short-sleeved, tropical shirt. She passed a liquor store, thought twice, then entered. She’d robbed him of a drink the night before, and wanted to make it up to him. Feeling carefree and immune to risk or temptation, she bought a pint of expensive rum, then changed her mind and made it a full bottle.

  She checked the time and returned to her room. She picked up her clothes. She made her bed. She checked the time. It was ten to nine. Then it was five to nine. Then it was nine on the dot.

  She went to the balcony outside her room. She looked down the street. It was empty.

  She waited and eventually returned to her room. She sat on her bed, periodically checking her watch. In a lifetime of mistakes this had to count as the most humiliating. She wanted to die. Put an end to the suffering once and for all. No one could change who she was. No one could save her. It was time to stop kidding herself.

  At half past nine she left the room, one and only one thought in her mind: to do what she came to do. Now. She was done waiting.

  At half past nine Shep was fast asleep. Hours before, when he should have been asleep, he was wide awake, puking his guts out. He suspected the fish, which was ironic, considering he’d once been a fisherman and had lived for a time solely on denizens of the deep. Not the healthiest diet, but several steps up from starvation, which he’d also tried. And everything in between, in an effort to find a steady, reliable source of nourishment. Food was a stand-in, but hardly superfluous. Besides, he loved to eat.

  He rarely thought of his stomach as a line of defense, but he was pleased it was doing its job, getting rid of the poison. Not so pleased at its violence. For hours, in cycles, it had been cramping, knotting and exploding, hurling its contents, even when there were no more contents, into the toilet bowl. When that activity ran its course, the cramping moved south, and his bowels opened up like a faucet. He’d seen his share of sickness and malady, but this, this gushing, this deluge . . . it was quite a performance. He was in the bathroom all night. Finally, as the sky was growing light, he staggered back to bed and slept.

  He woke with the sun in his eyes. The room was an oven. He was dying of thirst, and stumbled to the mini-fridge for a bottle of water. Then he realized the time.

  Shep Levy was not a man to curse. He asked himself if his oversleeping was by unconscious design and for the best. If Violet would rise to the occasion. The answer: he was many things, but unconscious he was not. Violet was in grave danger.

  He cursed, threw on some clothes, and raced to her hotel. The door to her room was open. A bottle of rum, half consumed, sat on her dresser. Tipped over next to it lay an empty bottle of pills. He rushed outside and to the beach, scanning the ocean, not finding her. He saw a knot of people on the sand and hurried over.

  Violet was on her back. Her hair was wet and streaked with sand. Her eyes were closed. Someone was barking into a cell phone.

  Shep knelt beside her. He felt her pulse. He watched her chest. It rose and fell ever so slightly. She was breathing, which meant she wasn’t dead.

  But then she stopped. A sound erupted from her mouth, a kind of croak, and her body went stiff. Her eyes opened, then rolled back in her head. Her jaw clamped shut. Then she started to shudder and shake, as if possessed.

  DAISY

  She lay face up on the sand. The sun was nearly overhead, and it poured into the cave through what looked like a mouth. Where it struck the wall, it seemed to shatter into particles, which dripped on her like drops of rain. She wished it were rain. She was dying of thirst. Her tongue was swollen. Her throat felt like burnt toast. The water that she ladled with a cupped and shaking hand from the pool for some reason didn’t help . . . when she was able to drink it. She seemed to be losing her ability to swallow. Her hunger, unfortunately, remained painfully intact. It gnawed at her like a worm, from the inside out. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had real food in her mouth.

  The berries were gone. The branch where they’d been was denuded of fruit. Its once green leaves were sickly and limp. Though not always. Sometimes they came alive. They shivered sometimes. They pulsed, and they crawled. They were beetles sometimes, or gunmetal green colored creatures with wings made of thread. Or tiny jade wafers.

  She was having visions, and she had one now. Food was falling from the sky. Loaves of bread and baskets of vegetables and fruits. Fat green beans, cucumbers, and carrots. Candy too, coconuts, and cakes. They were drifting slowly downward in a multitude of colors, sizes, and shapes. Like hot air balloons. Like manna from heaven. But nothing was reaching her. All of it stopped and hovered in the air just beyond her grasp. It hung there, suspended, begging to be eaten.

  Well, that was easy enough. All she had to do was stand up and grab it.

  She nearly fainted when she tried. Would have cracked her head on a rock if she hadn’t kept her wits and fallen forward, not back. Tasted sand instead of cake. Spat it out, wiped her mouth, then got to her knees, holding that position until the light-headedness passed, then staggered to her feet.

  The food was gone. Other things she couldn’t name floated in its place, ribbons and streamers and snaky shapes, as if the air had thickened, congealed, and given birth. The columns of rock were melting. The little waterfall dribbled and oozed like a wound. The smell in the cavern made her nauseous, as though she were breathing stink.

  She wasn’t herself. The details were hazy, but she knew she was sick.

  Stumbling forward, she plunged her face into the pool. Its iciness revived her a little. She eyed the dancing wall of rock. She had failed to scale it. There were reasons for this. Possibly it couldn’t be scaled, not ever, but something inside her would not admit defeat.

  She stood, teetered, then lost control of her legs and collapsed. She lay on the sand in misery, until mercy smiled on her, and, fitfully, she slept.

  VIOLET

  She opened her eyes. Winced at the bright square of light in the wall. Saw a man in a chair.

  “Where am I?”

  “In a hospital,” he said.

  “Am I dead?”

  “No. You’re alive.”

  Her mouth felt like glue. Her head, a disaster. “I’m supposed to be dead.”

  “You were saved. You saved yourself.”

  She tried to get out of bed, but something held her against the mattress. “Who? Who interfered?”

  “Two guys in
a kayak. They pulled you out of the water.”

  “Why?”

  “You were weaving around, they said. Trying to get back to shore. Then you stumbled and went under.”

  “Who told them to pull me out?”

  “They didn’t need to be told.”

  “They had no right.” She fought to free herself. “I can’t move.”

  “You’re restrained. For your safety.”

  “My safety? I wish I was dead.”

  “You had a seizure. From all the pills you took. They pumped your stomach and gave you medicine.”

  “Without asking. Leaving me feeling like crap.”

  “Are you thirsty? Can I get you some water?”

  “How about a knife to cut my throat?”

  He brought her a cup with a straw. She took a few sips, then realized who this man was.

  “You,” she said.

  “Me.”

  She snatched the cup from his hand. “Go away.”

  “I was sick, Violet. That’s why I didn’t come when I said. I couldn’t. I came late.”

  “Save it.”

  “I was up all night. I had food poisoning. I didn’t fall asleep till dawn.”

  “You slept in?” She was incredulous.

  “It wasn’t my intention.”

  “Fuck your intention.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly I am.”

  “Tell it to someone who cares. Can I get some help in here?” she shouted, fumbling for her call button. “Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

  ROSE

  She decided to use the root. It was colorless and easy to remove from the decoction she made by soaking it for several days in a small quantity of water. Its bitter taste all but disappeared when this water was diluted in the lagoon water she continued to faithfully fetch.