They just stared at him. They didn’t speak. He screamed at them, daring them to deny it, daring them to speak at all.
“Oh, you’ve been careful,” he said. “But you’ve overplayed it. You’ve been too careful. I haven’t been fooled.”
Fran stared at him another moment and suddenly laughed.
At the sound of her laughter, Krayer went wild. He began to tremble violently like a reed in a hurricane. His hand shook so badly he dropped the harpoon.
“Stop it!” he yelled at her.
She just looked at him and went on laughing, tears welling deep in her brown eyes, brimming them and toppling down her cheeks.
Krayer clutched up the harpoon, jerked his arm upward over his head and lunged at her.
Webb moved without knowing what he did. He leaped forward, shouting, and as Krayer turned, he brought the driftwood down across his head. Krayer took one more long step toward Fran, stumbled to his knees and pitched forward into the sand.
He struck the dirt on his face and lay still. At first Webb stood stock still, sure that Krayer was unconscious. Then he saw his shoulders move and his hands dig into the sand.
He heard the sob start deep in Krayer’s belly, and he felt an attack of pity for the man that went all the way through him. He and Fran weren’t the only ones being tortured on this island, and he knew he faced a problem without an answer — because there wasn’t anything any of them could do about it.
He turned slowly and strode away, leaving Krayer crying into the dirt at Fran’s feet.
SIXTEEN
WEBB WALKED out on the beach and kept walking. He moved slowly in the blistering sun and wished he had a drink of whisky, straight and raw.
He was on his way to being really fouled up. He’d never believed that he could feel any pity for Alfred Krayer. But now he was sorry for him. What a hellish mess they were in: Three people on an island less than a mile long, less than a quarter of a mile across its widest part.
He wished he could live on it feeling pity for Krayer and nothing else. But that was impossible, because of Krayer’s belief that people were either slaves or rebels and also because of Fran. He couldn’t live near her without wanting her. How much longer would it be before he and Krayer would clash again? And what would happen to his feelings of pity then?
He walked around to the lee side of the island. He reached the small palm-ringed lagoon and started around it. When he got to the far side, he paused and listened. There was an odd sound of slapping water ahead of him.
He pushed aside the thick growth of water fern and reed. There was a large stand of coral, showing where the water once had been on the island. He went closer. Behind the coral barrier was a hollowed place and beyond that the opening of a shallow cave.
He crawled around the coral and into the cave. It was less than four feet high and the light was gray inside even at noon. The pound of the water had hollowed out this cave. Now with the water having receded, it was like a warm dry room.
He moved all over it, finding shells and bits of broken coral. His mind was busy all the time. His first thought was of survival. Krayer would have been proud! This cave would make a good place in which to live — out of the elements, protected. He stepped out, moved through the ferns and looked back.
There was no sign that the cave was there. A person would never find it except by accident. He walked slowly all the way around the area. It was shielded from the rear by twisted palms and thick crawling creepers.
He never from that moment thought about it again as a place where the three of them could live. His heart had speeded up, and his mind was riotous with plans, He warned himself he had to hide his excitement.
He forced himself to walk to the north tip of the island. Flopping down on the silent white beach, he stared out across the flat calm water. In his thoughts he saw how everything was going to be different on this island — from this day forward.
He sat a long time, planning how it would be, seeing how it must be, feeling the sun on his bare shoulders.
Suddenly, instinct warned him that he wasn’t alone and he quickly turned his head.
Krayer stood behind him. Webb stared at Alfred’s rigid face, the pallor showing under the blistered skin. He wondered how long Krayer had been there, how long he had been following him. His heart sank. Had Krayer seen him find that cave? He hated the way the man got around — like a cat in an alley.
His gaze moved to the harpoon Alfred Krayer carried in his right hand. Webb felt a shiver move up between his shoulder blades. How long had Krayer been standing behind him? What had kept the man from hurling that knife into his back?
Webb breathed in deeply. He had to find out if he had been seen entering the cave. He didn’t know yet how to do it.
Getting up slowly, he said, “I’m sorry, Krayer. About back there.”
Krayer’s voice was cold. “What about back there?”
Webb felt a flare of anger but went on: “A man can’t help jealousy, Krayer. I know that. When it hits you, God help you. It’s hellish. Makes you imagine what you can’t find-”
“Save it.” Krayer’s left brow tilted. He raised his left hand and sliced the air in a signal meant to cut Webb off. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Whatever I did back there, I was perfectly justified. I’m a mature man, Millar.”
Webb’s laugh was angry. “Sure. But you’re also slightly off your rocker.”
Krayer went tense. “Because I know what’s true about you and my wife?”
“Go to hell. I tried to tell you I was sorry for you. But I retract it. I’m not.”
“Good,” Krayer said. “Let’s leave it that way. I see you daily becoming more sure you want to tangle with me again. I’d rather have it that way. I’m ready for that. But I don’t want your pity. I’m completely emotionally adjusted.”
“Sure you are. And what was that scene back there?”
Kray smiled coldly. “It would have been a warning to you, Millar. I’m not unreasonably jealous and I’m not wrong. I know what’s going on. Don’t think you can delude me. Just as you’re spoiling to fight me again. It’s all in your mind that this time you could win a fight and take my wife from me by force. I’ll keep what’s mine, Millar. I warn you I’d never even hesitate to use this harpoon. So why don’t you just keep your place?”
“Damn you,” Webb said, his voice cold. He turned and walked away.
“Millar.”
Webb stopped, wondering if Alfred Krayer would mention the cave.
Krayer said, “What happened back there is past. I’ve other things on my mind. You were able to get away with it this morning — ”
“Get away with what?” Webb groaned in frustration.
Krayer ignored that. “But don’t think that you will again. In the meantime, we’ve got to stay alive. We’re taking the raft out, we’ll try to get some fish.”
Webb smiled helplessly. “All right,” he said, “let’s go…. So you’re not crazy. Okay. But, brother, if you’re not, I am.”
At the clearing Krayer hurried to the raft and tugged it from beneath the vines. Webb paused beside Fran.
“Will you do something?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Listen. We’re going out in the raft. While we’re out, walk up to the lagoon, start around it. You’ll find some fern growing right to the water. Look behind the fern. Something I want you to see.”
Krayer had pulled the raft from beneath the vines. He leaped around and stood straight.
“What are you whispering about?” he yelled. He hefted the harpoon.
Webb stared at him. “I just told her you and I were going out fishing and that if I could I’d push you overboard. Are we going or not?”
Krayer thought that over, still holding the harpoon aloft. Finally he sighed. “Just don’t try any tricks,” he said.
• • •
Webb paddled the raft almost out to the reef. He watched over his shoulder until he saw Fran return and walk
along the beach. She waded out into the surf. He could tell by the way she walked she’d found the cave.
He pulled his gaze back to Krayer, who was crouched before him, harpoon held aloft, gaze trained on the still, shadowless water. He stared at the back of Krayer’s tawny head, hating him, but hating himself more for apologizing to the man. It was meaningless now. The cave made it meaningless….
Krayer pointed to where a four-foot shark slithered through the clear water.
“The waste we’ve been throwing in the water,” Webb said. “It must have brought him in.”
Krayer said, “Nothing had to bring sharks in here. These warm tropical waters are infested with them.”
“First one I’ve seen.”
“Ugly-looking brute. I’d like to sink this knife in his head.”
“Why? No good for anything. Might lose your knife.”
Krayer turned, his smile taunting Webb. “So finally you’ve said it. It is my knife.”
Webb wiped the sweat from his face. He stared back at him. “Has it ever occurred to you what a pygmy soul you’ve got, Krayer?”
“No. A man doesn’t become world-renowned in any field unless he is a big man. You simply don’t conceive of how important a knife is — in this situation.”
“You better look for fish,” Webb said. “It’s hot out here.”
Krayer stood up, slowly and cautiously. He spread his legs, balancing himself. He spoke, his voice low. “Throw out some meat bits, Millar. Bring the fish to the surface.”
“You’re going to bring that shark. You won’t get fish with that boy around.”
“Do what I tell you.” Krayer’s breath caught. “Wait! There. There’s a beauty!” He lunged forward, bringing the long bamboo pole downward with all his strength.
He followed it just a second too long, lost his balance and tried to heel around. He clutched wildly at the air. Then he went over hard, sending the raft rocking back. Webb fell forward to balance it, dropping the paddle between his legs.
The harpoon struck the water and was driven back by the buoyancy of the bamboo. It slapped hard on the surface and went skidding past the raft.
Webb turned, spreading his legs, keeping his weight as evenly distributed as possible. He paddled with his hands, pulling himself after the bamboo harpoon. He reached out, caught it and pulled it into the raft.
Krayer screamed and Webb turned. Krayer was frantically swimming toward the raft, his arms flailing.
Webb went cold inside. It had all happened in the space of a few seconds and yet it was like a heart-stopping eternity. Behind Krayer, the shark fin was cutting through the water with unbelievable speed. Webb pulled himself up in the raft. Below the surface he saw the distorted shadow of the shark slithering toward Krayer.
Alfred Krayer’s face was rutted and his mouth was stretched with his screaming. Webb pulled himself up as far as he dared. He jerked the harpoon high over his head.
For one second he hesitated. It was like an hour. In his mind he saw what was happening coldly. The choices: They were his; suddenly they were his.
He could hold that harpoon aloft. If he didn’t move the shark would dart under Krayer, strike at his belly and in a matter of seconds rip the flesh from Krayer’s bones. No one could ever blame Webb Millar. Krayer had fallen in the water, and the shark got him. It wouldn’t be the first such casualty, or the last….
He could hurl the harpoon, but not at the shark. He remembered the way his own back had felt, the cold knowledge he’d had that Krayer had chosen a spot between his shoulder blades to sink that knife….
Krayer’s trembling hands clutched at the side ropes, missed. He screamed again, staring over his shoulder. The fin was gone — the shark had dived.
Webb forgot Krayer. He watched that churning water, saw the black shadow writhe upward through it into the sunlight. Krayer plunged forward again, landing on the top cell of the raft, clutching at the rope ladder and kicking his feet high out of the water.
Webb hardly saw him. He watched that distorted shadow take sleek form. The shark twisted, sliced upward and broke the water, its ugly face glittering wetly in the sun.
Webb brought the harpoon down. He felt the knife strike between the shark’s eyes, felt the jarring thrust all the way to his armpit. The bamboo pole shook like a weed and was jerked out of Webb’s hand.
He saw the shark leap high, all the way out of the water, wearing the four-foot harpoon like a horn in the middle of its head.
SEVENTEEN
IT SEEMED as if the shark would leap and writhe and churn the water forever in a journey to death that would never end. Silver sheets of water splayed from its gleaming body and it tried to shake loose from the knife. But the battle was already over and the shark seemed to know this.
Webb stayed on his knees as though hypnotized by the shark’s fight against dying. His hands were clenched on the rubber wall of the raft and his gaze was fixed where the shark struck hard and clumsily, all of its grace gone, the life going.
Krayer remained huddled in the bottom of the raft, his body shaking. At last, Webb picked up the paddle and turned the raft toward the shore.
Krayer pulled himself up. “Where are you going?”
“We’re going in. We won’t get any fish now. I’ll try with the line later.”
Krayer was staring at the bamboo pole that was moving through the water like a sluggish periscope.
He said, “I want that shark.”
“What for?”
“There are plenty of things I can use that shark for. Never mind what for. Row over there.”
Webb paddled the raft in awkward wavering lines toward the dying shark. Krayer reached out as far as he could and caught the harpoon. Webb saw the pole shake as the shark made one final struggle to be free.
“All right,” Krayer said. “Paddle in to shore.”
They dragged the shark high on the beach. Krayer bent over it, as thought to make sure the shark was dead.
Fran stood on the other side of the shark and stared at Webb. In her face, he saw the flushed excitement, the light in her eyes that meant she had seen the cave, had thought all the same things he had. She nodded her head just once, tipping her tongue across her lips and smiling.
Webb pulled his gaze from her and listened to Krayer mutter about the shark. He wished there was some way to warn her that Krayer might know about the cave, too. But there was no way to tell her — not now.
They had to be careful for a while, until he found out for sure. He didn’t know how to tell her that, either….
• • •
A dream awakened Webb that night, a dream of a shark that slithered through the water and ripped the flesh from his bones. Only in his dream there was no pain, just the awful horror of watching the shark twist and rip at him. He awakened trembling, filled with the chilling terror of a nightmare.
He lay awake, staring at the stars through the leaves of the banyan tree. The dream had been too real. The whole night was suddenly filled with cold horror.
He moved his head and stared through the blue-gray darkness at the island around him. This is what you wanted, Millar, he told himself. You wanted freedom, you wanted an island. You’ve got it. Have fun. Enjoy yourself.
He shivered deeply inside himself, deep in his stomach where the feeling of wrong had hollowed an empty pit. He was hungry, and he was alone and lonely. He heard their breathing across the clearing, but that didn’t lessen his loneliness, only intensified it. Loneliness and chill broke him down and he pressed his hands against his face and tried to think about Fran. But he could only think about the shark, deadly and graceful and beautiful, and he thought of the harpoon held aloft in his hand. With that knife he could have killed Krayer just as he had killed the shark. But he hadn’t; he had killed the shark, and he knew he’d lost his last chance to be free.
He lay in the strange chilled silence, feeling the sullen rage within himself because he had not killed Alfred Krayer out on that raft.
; He had run away. Krayer had told the truth. Webb Millar had run away from laws and conventions and a life that embittered him. He hadn’t been running to anything — not this island, or any island. He had been running away, without courage.
If I had courage, he told himself emptily, I’d take what I want. She lies over there, I’ve found a secret cave, and I’m afraid — just as I was afraid out there on that raft.
He turned his head to the side, squinting his eyes shut. The sound of movement beside him made him tense, brought him fully awake. He turned and then he felt her hand against his shoulder, pressing him back like a wraith out of his dream, and then her fingers pressed silence onto his lips.
He lay still, eyes opened, staring at her. He must be dreaming. She wouldn’t dare to leave Krayer’s side and cross this clearing.
“Webb. Come. Quickly.”
She pressed her head against his, whispering into his ear, barely speaking at all.
He got up, his heart hammering and peered at Krayer sprawled asleep on his back, the firelight flickering across him. He found a long piece of firewood, closed his fingers over it. Fran took his hand and moved slowly, a step at a time through the foliage that ringed the open beach.
He did not breathe until they pushed out onto the white sand. Out here, the night was smoky gray with the moon glittering in it. The sound of the waves was a soft sibilant whisper down on the sand.
“Run,” Fran said, squeezing his fingers.
They ran along the beach, like children, their hands clinging, their feet pounding in the sand. Freedom lay out ahead, hanging like a gleaming bauble.
They were still running when they reached the lagoon.
He slowed and stopped her, pulling her against him.
The Naked Jungle Page 10