Krayer spoke sharply to Fran. “I want that bird plucked clean. We’ll have it for lunch. Get at it.”
Fran’s voice was dead. “All right, Alfred.”
She knelt beside the bird. Krayer backed up, caught the muscles of her upper shoulder between forefinger and thumb and twisted viciously. She came up on her knees, crying out.
Webb lunged forward. Krayer laughed, cackling suddenly, and released her. He jerked back on the sharkskin string, pulling the bow taut.
“How do you want it, Millar? In the heart or in the belly?”
Fran caught at Krayer’s trouser leg. “Please,” she begged. ‘I’ll do what you say. I’ll do anything.”
“I know you will, my dear. But it’s too late. It’s not enough to save your bearded gallant.” His head came up and the bow string trembled in his fingers. “I don’t need you any more, Millar. I can stay alive here without you now. Better. Much better.”
Fran was sobbing, and Webb knew suddenly why she had been so anxious to leave this island immediately in the raft with him. She knew Alfred Krayer’s mind as well as anyone could. She had seen the direction of his thoughts. He could kill his own birds, catch his own fish, net crabs, fetch water, gather his own wood….
“Anything,” Fran whispered at Krayer, her tense voice giving that single word a hundred fascinating, thrilling meanings. “Anything, Alfred. I swear it. Put down the bow, Alfred…. Two men can survive better than one. You know it…. And I mean what I say. I’ll do anything, Alfred.”
Webb stood tense, watching Krayer’s pallor-tinged cheeks, his rigid face muscles and dry wide eyes. Krayer hesitated.
Her voice went on, breathless, low, tense. “If you kill him, Alfred, you’ll have to kill me too, later. You know it. You’d never come near me again … without killing me.”
Krayer let his gaze move between them. Finally, he nodded and smiled. The smile was odd, sitting crookedly and undisciplined on his slack mouth.
“Yes. Why should I kill him now? I can exist without your help, Millar. But why shouldn’t I use you as long as it pleases me.”
He released the bow, letting it slide down to his side. “All right, Millar. Let’s say this pays you off for your gallant effort out on the raft.” He tilted the bow slightly. “But you might consider what happened to the shark.”
Webb was still taut drawn. He didn’t speak.
“I think we need wood, Millar. We always need wood. You may start gathering it. It should be very interesting to see how you’ll behave now that you know the truth. Push me too far, Millar, and I’ll kill you without thinking about it.”
The days were suddenly longer. Time on the island seemed becalmed. The heat became oppressive and every hour was an eternity, empty and without hope. Krayer found a hundred pointless little jobs for Webb to perform. He awoke twenty times a night and moved about the clearing. In his face was continually the look of a man with a fine hidden joke.
Every dawn Krayer awoke with a new law. He set up times for fishing, for eating, for defecating. He decreed certain hours for sleeping and set penalties for relaxing at any other moment. He decided the fire must be kept at a steady brilliance at all times, day and night. Webb had stopped wearing his tattered shirt. He returned from wood gathering one day to find it hung like a flag from a bamboo pole secured to a palm beside the beach.
He turned, finding Alfred watching him with a bemused smile. Krayer held the bow and arrow at his side, but he seemed waiting for Millar to protest.
Webb said nothing. There was nothing to say. This was what he had run from. All this running and all this hell — and he had gotten nowhere.
He walked slowly past Krayer. Alfred said, “If a ship comes near, it should see that signal, eh?”
“I suppose so.”
“You don’t like the idea?”
Webb walked slowly across the white sand. Krayer’s voice lashed at him. “I asked you a question. You don’t like the idea?”
Webb shrugged. “I just don’t give a damn.”
Fran kneeled beside the fire and watched a fish that was roasting over the pit.
Webb paused a few feet from her. She spoke softly, without looking up, saying it casually, giving it more tension than it would have had if she’d screamed it: “I love you.”
His voice was heavy. “What are we going to do?”
She didn’t look up, didn’t move. “Remember the Cyclops?”
He frowned, wondering if Krayer was driving Fran out of her mind. “The one-eyed giant?”
“Yes.”
He thought about it, remembering that the sailors had made Cyclops stand guard until exhaustion closed his one eye.
“Keep doing everything he says,” Fran talked straight into the fire. “Only from now on, don’t do anything willingly. Drive him as far as you can. Only Webb — for you it’s so dangerous. Please be careful.”
“I don’t think it would take much to have him use that arrow on me.”
“I know. But keep him as alert as you can, all the time. Only don’t give him any excuse — even one he can imagine.”
Something struck Webb between the shoulder blades. He stumbled forward and heard Fran cry out.
He caught his balance, stayed on his feet, and turned.
Krayer had thrown a hunk of firewood across the clearing. It lay at Webb’s feet.
Krayer’s voice was casual. “Have you forgotten what I said about keeping away from her?”
He came across the clearing, striding, his sharp-featured face uptilted. “Just when I think you two have learned …”
He bent beside Fran, caught her wrist and before she could pull away, he thrust her hand into the fire.
Fran screamed. Webb sprang for the piece of firewood and Krayer leaped around, jerking the bow up even with his stomach, laying it on its side and drawing the arrow back until the string sang tautly.
Fran cried: “It’s all right! Webb! It’s all right.”
Webb remained standing with the wood in his hand, feeling helpless, feeling the naked place where the arrow would strike.
“The wood,” Krayer said, his voice level. “Gather wood.”
Webb dropped the limb. He turned, expecting the arrow to strike him, and walked out of the clearing.
He walked up the lee side of the island and felt empty in his loins. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and felt the chilled globules pop back on his flesh. He looked for wood but didn’t find it. Wood that could be gathered was already getting scarce on the island. They’d soon be breaking limbs from trees and drying them in the sun. Or maybe he wouldn’t live that long. Perhaps when Krayer learned there was no more wood, he would use that as an excuse to kill him.
Krayer wanted an excuse. That was clear enough. And any excuse would do. He had built a breathless passion on the thought of killing Webb, of seeing that arrow pierce his flesh. The thought was making Krayer tremble in anticipation.
Webb reached the lagoon and went carefully to the cave. He stayed in it a long time, searching for any sign that Krayer had been there. He saw none.
He left and hurried on around the island, where he was able to find an armful of small limbs and sticks. When he got back to the clearing, Fran was alone. He looked at her burnt hand and was afraid to speak to her.
“He’s gone looking for you,” Fran said. Her voice sounded dull and tired.
“Does your hand hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head; her eyes were angered. “Dear Krayer — he put shark oil on it. It took the soreness out. It feels much better.”
“I’m sorry, Fran. I don’t seem able to leave you alone.”
“Please, don’t. I couldn’t stand it if you did.”
He turned then and walked away from her. He went down on the beach and cast out the line and tried to catch a fish. He was there when Krayer came up to him.
“Just wanted to keep my eye on you,” Krayer said.
When they returned to the clearing, Webb carried the two fish he’d ca
ught and cleaned with Krayer watching him.
Picking up the turtle shell, Fran told Krayer she was going for water. Alfred stared at Webb, who appeared not to have heard her. Instead, he busied himself securing the fish over the fire pit.
Krayer watched Webb, his gaze fixed on him, unblinking. Webb secured the fish and began to plait palm strips. Fran was gone for what seemed hours. Alfred Krayer grew restive. Twice he got up, started to look for her. But when he did, Webb tossed the palm strips aside and sat as though ready to leave the clearing the moment Krayer did. Krayer sat down again.
Finally they heard her coming back. She walked into the clearing as though she’d been gone only a few minutes. Krayer glared at her. Webb saw he wanted to scream at her, to demand to know where she’d been. But Krayer said nothing.
Fran knelt and placed the turtle shell of water in the shade. She had her back to Krayer and when she lifted her face Webb saw flushed excitement; there was a light in her eyes. She tipped her tongue across her lips and smiled.
Webb pulled his gaze from her and felt the unsteady throb of his heart. He saw Krayer glaring at him and he couldn’t help smiling. Suddenly, in his imagination, Alfred Krayer had only one eye, and it was pale blue, set in the middle of his forehead.
He thought bitterly, Watch me, Cyclops. Watch me every minute.
TWENTY
KRAYER WAS ASLEEP on the tarp and Webb waited for what appeared to be a long time. Then he got up and moved as silently as he could over the jungle floor. He walked out on the beach and felt the beginning of hope. He kept telling himself all the time that there was no need for him to be sick if she didn’t make it to the cave tonight. There would be a hundred reasons why she could not. But then he knew there would be only one reason: Alfred Krayer.
Walking on the beach, he wondered if he was going to be able to stand it if she didn’t come. He walked slowly because that way he would not have to wait so long at the mouth of the cave.
He reached the lagoon, circled it, pushed aside the fern and heard a whisper inside. He stopped, frozen.
“Webb.” It was Fran. He moved into the cave and held her, feeling her shiver. “It took you so long to get here.”
“How did you get here so fast?”
“I wanted you,” she said with her mouth against his. “I wanted you more than you wanted me.”
She was still trembling when they lay down, close together in the dark warm cave.
“Are you afraid?” he said.
She nodded, laughing, hysteria under her laughter, her face close against his. “I’m afraid of everything.”
“He’ll never find us here.”
“If he wakes up, he’ll know.”
“He knows anyway. He thinks he knows.”
“If we could only have gotten away,” she said. “I wouldn’t have been afraid on the raft with you.”
He put his hands against her face, stroked her hair and her cheeks and her throat. He felt the pulse at the base of her throat, felt her warm tears and the hotness of her mouth.
His hands moved her dress, pulling it from her, and he felt her stiffen, felt her body quiver and grow rigid.
He spoke against her mouth. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m afraid. I may not be what you want. I may not love you right. I never knew about being in love until on the raft — with you.”
“Don’t you want me to love you?”
“Oh yes! I can’t stand it if you don’t hurry. It’s just that I’m afraid. Please understand me. Just now I’m afraid of everything.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“But I do. I want you to love me. But I don’t know enough about making you love me.”
She stopped talking and moved her hands over him, pressing them hard and flat against him, as though she had been longing just to touch him for a long time, and now touching him she found him good and hard and strong. He felt her breath against him. She was breathing so heavily she could not speak. She kept pressing herself closer to him.
She was quivering and he held her tighter, moving her against him. “Didn’t you ever love anyone but Alfred?”
“No one…. I never loved Alfred.” Her breathing slowed and she slumped in his arms. “It was never good with him. Never. Not even at the first. He never — Do you care if I say this, Webb? He never … satisfied me. It angered him and he hated me for it.”
“Don’t talk.”
“It was like something evil happening to me. After a while I didn’t want it and I’d fight him. Not really — but in a hundred ways. But he knew I was fighting and that made him worse.”
“You’re with me now.”
“I love you.”
He felt her heart beating wildly against his heart, felt her arms moving wildly over him, her nails digging into him, and her teeth biting him wherever they found him.
• • •
She left the cave first. They listened for a long time at the lagoon. Then when the moment came for her to go, she didn’t want to go. She spun around on her heel and locked her arms around him.
“I love you.”
“For God’s sake, be careful.”
“Promise me nothing will happen. You’ll bring me back here again … soon.”
“Always.”
“He’ll never find us in the cave.”
“Never.”
She laughed, shivering. “Think. He’d look for us. All over the island. He might go crazy and never find us.”
“You’ve got to go now. You should never have stopped here outside the cave.”
She clung to him. “I can’t help it. You’re wonderful. You’re what I’ve always been looking for.”
“Please go quickly.”
“May I come back? Soon?”
“Anytime you want to,” he said.
“Wait for me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Suddenly she was gone, moving like a wraith into the gray darkness about the lagoon. He let her get ahead of him where he still could see her. Then he followed, trembling, knowing he was going to die if Krayer stopped her tonight out there on that beach.
• • •
Krayer was still asleep when Webb moved through the foliage from the windward side of the island and sank down on his tarp. He could see Fran. She was sitting beside the sprawled and snoring Krayer. Her legs were drawn up and arms were locked about her knees. She was staring at Webb through the soft dark. He could almost see her smiling….
Fran was singing the next morning. Krayer snarled at her, but not even his snarling bothered her. She smiled at him and he frowned, getting white about his mouth. He stared at her and kept a wary eye on her all morning. Something was wrong and he knew it, but he didn’t know what in hell it was.
At noon that day, Fran managed a moment alone with Webb. She whispered, “Go to the cave tonight.”
“We can’t. It’s too soon. He suspects.”
“Can’t help it.” Her voice was blithe. “I know what waits for me in that cave. I’m not going to stay away from it.”
“It’s not the answer, angel.”
“I don’t want answers. I want you. Even if he wakes up, he can’t find us.”
“All right. I’ll be there. But be careful. For God’s sake be careful.”
“Careful? Darling, for you I’d walk through glass in my barefeet and never whimper.” She smiled….
He went to the cave. He waited there until dawn, but she didn’t come. When he slipped back into the clearing and lay down, he heard her moving restlessly on the tarp. When she stirred, Krayer sat up, wide awake in the darkness.
All that day, Fran was busy. Her face was white and set, taut with tension. She never looked at Webb, nor did she attempt to be alone with him even for a second. She went fishing with Krayer, made him stalk three birds all over the island until he was able to kill them with his arrow.
That night by moon-up Krayer was snoring. Webb left the clearing swiftly, not even bothering to be quiet about
it.
TWENTY-ONE
BEFORE HE REACHED the cave, Webb knew it was a mistake. The night was darker than any he’d ever seen on the island. A wind in from the sea lashed the palm fronds and drove the night smells ahead of it. Stars and moon were obscured behind scudding clouds that trailed on the wind, making the world damp and dark. Flashes of static lightning ripped at the wave-scalloped edges of the horizon, flaring upward in the sky.
At the edge of the lagoon, he stopped and stared across the night. The thunder would come and with it the lightning and the rain. He wished there were some way to stop Fran, but he knew better. Maybe Krayer would wake up before she could get away. But there wasn’t much chance of that. Fran had kept him moving all day. She knew when exhaustion struck Krayer, he’d finally sleep. But if the rain woke him?
Lightning flared again. He’d go back to the camp and stop her. Coming here tonight was like committing suicide. There was the chance, the excellent chance that Krayer could never find them in the cave. But they’d have to come out of it sometime. Then they’d have to face Krayer behind that shark-bone bow and arrow.
He turned and started running along the beach. Then he heard her and paused. She called his name. He ran up to her and took her hand in his. Her fingers were chilled and she was pressed against him as they went toward the cave. She was shivering with anticipation.
But he felt like a man walking his last mile….
“We’ve got to kill him, Webb.”
He still held her close against him. When the lightning flared now, it lighted up the cave. The storm was moving in across the water; it had already raged and passed in the small cave.
He shivered. “I can’t kill him, Fran.”
“You’ve got to. If you don’t, he’ll kill you.”
“It’s a chance I’ve got to take.”
“Why? What are you afraid of?”
He shook his head. “Of killing, I guess. Listen, Fran, the day we fought, I wanted to kill him. I meant to. I was all ready to kill him. And then, I couldn’t do it. I looked at him and I knew I couldn’t kill him — maybe I could never kill anybody.”
The Naked Jungle Page 12