Strangely, I wasn’t bored. There was always something to do or see, and by the time I’d been on the island for two weeks, I’d covered almost every inch of it. I’d come across a chicken several times—maybe it was the same one—and it always took off flapping when it heard me coming. I also discovered that the island had an incredibly large rat population, but they mostly came out at night, their eyes glowing in the dark as they scuttled along the ground.
I’d spotted the fin in the lagoon again, but this time there were two. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I stood on the shore and squinted. They didn’t look like sharks, but I wasn’t sure. I waded in a few feet, keeping a careful eye on the fins, but got out of the water quick when they disappeared below the surface.
I started trying to guess the time of day by looking at the sun’s position in the sky. Several times throughout the morning and afternoon I’d make a guess and then pull my watch out of my pocket to see if I was right.
It rained frequently, which was good for my water supply, but so far it hadn’t stormed. One day the sky grew dark and I sat in my tent and listened as the rain came down in torrential sheets, but the sky cleared after an hour and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I started thinking about whether it would be possible to build some kind of fixed structure on the island, something sturdier in case the weather ever really got bad. The idea took hold and I opened to a blank page in my journal and made a few sketches. As a kid, I’d been obsessed with Legos and Lincoln Logs, spending hours building elaborate structures. I’d always wanted a tree house, but my yard didn’t have the right kind of trees to support anything that big. I liked the idea of building something on a large scale, with my own two hands. Something that I could use for shelter.
Something that felt a bit more like a home.
Chapter 4
Owen
Journal entry
June 4, 1999
The seaplane will return in eleven days. I’m not lonely—not really—but it will be nice to hear another human voice and have a conversation with someone.
I’ve discovered I like fishing. Using various lures that I found in the tackle box, I stand waist-deep in the lagoon, waiting for something to bite down on my hook. I’ve caught fish ranging in size from six to twelve inches, but I only catch what I’m able to eat at my next meal. The first time I had to clean a fish I made a holy freaking mess out of it and almost sliced my finger open with the knife. I’m getting better. It’s been a long time since I went fishing and my dad was always the one who cleaned them, so I’m learning as I go.
I found out that the fins I kept seeing in the lagoon belong to dolphins and not sharks. Three of them swam close to shore one day and I felt relieved when I saw their bodies break the surface. I’ve been slowly easing myself into the water when they appear and they’re starting to swim closer to me. There are usually two or three of them and the other day one blew water out of its blowhole. Like it was saying, hi Owen!
I’ve been swimming for increasingly longer periods of time. I swim parallel to the shore, in water that isn’t too deep, and I don’t stop until my shoulders and chest ache and I’m too out of breath to continue. I feel amazing afterward.
June 7, 1999
The dolphins are fascinating. It took a while, but they’re finally starting to trust me. I caught some small fish and threw one into the mouth of the dolphin that swam the closest, and now he? she? isn’t scared of me at all. I talk to them and it’s like they understand what I’m saying.
June 10, 1999
I spent over an hour hand-feeding the dolphins today. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “frolic” in my life, but that’s the only thing that describes what I see when the dolphins show up and start swimming alongside me and leaping into the air. They turn onto their backs and let me rub their stomachs and they don’t mind at all when I grab on to their fins and hitch a ride around the lagoon. I’ve started thinking of them as my friends.
I hope that doesn’t mean that I’ve started to lose my mind or anything.
The seaplane arrives tomorrow.
Chapter 5
Anna
It’s so hard to wrap my brain around what Owen is telling us. As I listen to him describe his early days I can’t help but remember T.J.’s and mine. I remember thinking that since I was the adult it was up to me to figure it all out, and the knowledge of that—the fear—nearly crushed me because I had no idea, no clue what to do. All I knew was that I was terrified and certain that we would die.
Glancing over at T.J., I pause. The man sitting next to me on this couch is my equal, my confidante. The love of my life. He is strong in every sense of the word. But I think back and remember him at sixteen: skinny, unsure of his role, braces on his teeth. Scared. In my mind I can see T.J.’s cracked lips, the cuts on his face, the eye that was swollen shut. Thrust into another life–or-death situation that he had no choice but to face head on and fight.
If we hadn’t been in such a dire situation, would we have appreciated the beauty of the island the way that Owen had? Could we have felt the peace that he felt? It doesn’t matter, because we can’t compare our time on the island with Owen’s.
Eventually, we did acknowledge the beauty there, just like Owen did. But we never once forgot how vulnerable, how powerless we were. For us there was no seaplane dropping off supplies. No satellite phone. Nothing that tied us to the outside world. No one to help us. The only thing that was true, the one constant during our time on the island, the thing we could depend on, was each other.
I look over at T.J. He shows no emotion on his face, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking. Is he remembering how different our first few weeks were? I reach over and grab his hand because right now at this moment I need to feel our connection. When he squeezes my hand I squeeze back, the way I always do.
And then I turn my attention back to Owen, because as hard as it is to deal with these memories, I want to listen to what he has come here to say.
Chapter 6
Owen
I was waiting on the beach when the seaplane landed in the lagoon. Relief flooded through me when I heard the sound of the engines and spotted the plane in the sky. Though I was getting closer to it every day, I hadn’t been on the island long enough to become one hundred percent comfortable with cutting ties to the outside world. I still needed to know that a connection to it existed. That it was there for me, and I could count on it if I needed it.
I’d stuffed my dirty clothes into my duffel bag and battened down the rest. I stored everything inside the tent and made sure to drive the stakes as far down into the sand as I could so the whole thing wouldn’t blow away if it stormed. I was planning on spending only one night on the mainland and would return early the next morning once my supplies were loaded on the plane. I put all the garbage I couldn’t burn into a plastic garbage bag and I hoisted it over my shoulder.
Barefoot, I waded out to meet Captain Forrester. I hadn’t bothered with a shirt, but he didn’t seem the type to mind. I tossed my duffel and the garbage bag in first, and he smiled at me when I hauled myself through the cabin door.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s one hell of an impressive suntan.” He reached out to shake my hand and clap me on the back. “How’re you doing, son?”
“I’m doing great,” I said, returning the smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“I’ll be honest, I half expected you to call me after the first week to ask me to come and get you. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d lost your shit a little. Glad to see you handled the solitude well.”
“Yeah. Solitude was exactly what I was after.”
“I think you found it. You can sit up front if you’d like,” he said, once he’d shut the door and settled himself back into his seat.
“Okay.” I sat down in the seat beside his and fastened my seat belt.
“So, tell me what you’ve been up to,” he said once we’d taken off. “You ready to pack it in and go home for good
?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I kinda have a routine. Met some dolphins.”
“I’ve always thought that animals make the best company. As long as you don’t pose a threat to them, they’ll keep coming around.”
“Yeah. It’s awesome, actually. It’s like they understand what I’m saying.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they do,” he said. “How are the supplies holding up?”
“I’m low on water. I drink more than I thought I would because it’s so hot. Food’s okay, though. I’ve been fishing a lot.”
“Nothin’ tastes better than fish you catch yourself. Too bad I prefer mine deep-fried and covered in tartar sauce,” he said, laughing.
I laughed. “Yeah. Me, too. But they still taste pretty good the way I cook them.”
“Have you tried the coconuts?”
“Yes. They’re not easy to get into. I almost sliced my hand open the first time I tried.”
“The coconuts make you work for their meat, there’s no doubt about it.”
“Did you know there are wild chickens on the island?”
“Yep. Most islands have a few running around.”
“Do you know if the spiders are poisonous? The big brown ones?”
“Those are brown huntsman. They’re creepy looking, but harmless.”
“What about sharks?
“The whale shark is the most common, but they pose no threat. There are hammerheads here, which could do some damage, I guess. Reef sharks for sure, but they don’t usually bother anyone. I imagine most of the sharks will stay on the other side of the reef, so the lagoon should be safe,” he said. “But it’s not like there’s anything keeping them out if they decide they want to come in, so be careful.”
“Do you think it’d be possible for me to build something on the island? Out of wood? I could use it for shelter when it storms.”
“Depends on how big you’d want it to be,” he said.
“Not too big,” I said. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, so I’d have to learn as I go. Could supplies like lumber be flown in? Would there be room on the plane?”
“Sure, there’s room. I might not be able to bring it all at once, but I could bring enough to get you started,” he said. “It’s not a bad idea if you think you’re going to stay for a while. It’ll keep you busy, at least.”
“I do,” I said. “I definitely think I’ll be there for a while.”
• • •
After we landed I pulled my shirt and shoes out of my bag. The shoes felt weird; I rarely wore them unless I was in the wooded area of the island. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and followed Captain Forrester through the cabin door.
“Do you have your list of supplies?” he asked.
“Yes.” I reached into my pocket and handed him the list I’d made. “Did the wire come through okay?” I asked.
“It came through just fine. I’ll buy everything on your list and have it waiting for you on the plane.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” he said, and smiled.
“I’ll be ready to go by nine tomorrow morning, if that still works for you.”
“Works fine,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”
• • •
He’d booked me a room under his name at the Hulhule Island Hotel near the airport. I caught a shuttle bus and in less than five minutes I was standing in front of the check-in desk. The woman who assisted me smiled and handed me a key card.
“Enjoy your stay,” she said.
“I will. Thank you.”
When I reached my room I threw my bag on the bed and immediately turned off the air conditioner. I opened the window to let in the heat, which I now preferred over the cool air.
In the bathroom, I had to take a closer look when I caught the first glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My skin had never been so dark before. Even though I lived in sunny California, I’d been ghostly pale when I arrived on the island, due to sitting in front of a computer for twelve to fifteen hours a day. My major source of light had been the fluorescent bulbs in my office.
A month’s worth of facial hair covered my face. I’d packed a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream, and could have shaved if I’d wanted, but it didn’t seem that important, so I’d skipped it. My hair had grown too, but it was so short to begin with that I could probably hold off on the haircut until next month.
I stripped off my clothes and took a long hot shower. It felt strange to return to such modern conveniences after my time on the island. Everything seemed so attainable, as if there wasn’t anything I couldn’t have if I wanted it. I almost felt guilty although I had no idea why.
When I was done showering I dried myself and then wrapped the towel around my waist while I shaved. The hotel offered laundry services, so I gathered up all my dirty clothes and called the front desk. They promised to send someone up for them right away, so I put on the robe I found in the closet and stretched out on the bed.
I thought about plugging in my cell phone, but I really didn’t feel like checking to see who had called. If my family and friends looked through my old journal—the one I’d left in plain sight on the nightstand in my apartment—they’d know of my intent to come here. If they were that concerned about my well-being, and not just my money, they’d know where to find me.
The sad thing was that I really didn’t think they’d bother to make the effort.
• • •
I ordered lunch from room service and then took a nap while I waited for my laundry to be returned. A knock on the door roused me from sleep and when I opened it a hotel employee handed me my clothes. They smelled a lot better than they did when I arrived. “Thank you,” I said, and I gave her a generous tip.
After I pulled on a T-shirt and shorts I slid my feet into my tennis shoes, grabbed my key card and my wallet, and walked to the lobby. I took the shuttle back to the airport and then boarded a ferry called a dhoni for the short trip to Malé. It was painted in shades of bright blue and orange and filled to capacity with tourists.
Once I arrived on the mainland I decided to walk to my destination. I could have rented a motorbike or taken a taxi, but I wanted to see the capital city. The tourist brochure in my hotel room said that almost anywhere in Malé was reachable on foot within ten minutes.
I made my way through the city streets, stopping to browse at the local market, watching as the locals mingled with the tourists. Clusters of bright yellow bananas hung overhead, and merchants stood next to tables selling local produce and fresh fruit.
I encountered the fish market a couple of blocks away; I smelled it before I saw it. A bustling crowd made up of fisherman and customers filled the area, and I stopped and watched the men cutting fish, their slicing way more precise than anything I was capable of. I’d gotten a lot better, though, and now I wasted almost none of the fish when I cleaned them.
I spied a sign that said NOVELTY BOOKSHOP. That was the main reason I’d taken this side trip to Malé. After crossing the street I pushed open the door and stepped into the air-conditioned space. Shelves of stationery and office supplies lined the walls. There were rows and rows of novels and textbooks, and I walked past them slowly, reading the titles on the spines, searching. The air smelled slightly musty, the way it always did when so many books were stored closely together, but it was a familiar smell and reminded me of all the time I spent in the library in college.
I finally found what I was looking for in the nonfiction section, near the self-help books. The selection was limited, but there were several books on house framing. I picked up one and opened it to the table of contents. There were chapters on the materials and tools I’d need, and also the various building techniques. I stood there for fifteen minutes flipping through the books, finally choosing the one that had the most information on everything I’d need to know. I added all the current issues of every business magazine they sold, and that day’s edition of USA Today. I didn’t regret my
decision to leave the business world, not for a minute, but I still felt the desire to know how the current trends were playing out.
When I left the bookstore I was whistling because I never felt better than when I had a plan.
• • •
That night I ate dinner at the bar in my hotel. I sat outside on the deck and ordered a beer and a cheeseburger and fries, which tasted better than any burger and fries ever had. I ordered another beer after my plate had been cleared and drank it while watching the sun set over the Indian Ocean. When it was fully dark the lights of Malé lit up the sky.
I wandered inside and took a seat at the bar. Many of the customers were playing pool or throwing darts. They seemed to be a mix of businessmen wearing suits and seaplane pilots wearing short-sleeve shirts bearing their airlines’ names and logos. There was a definite shortage of women, which bummed me out because after thirty days alone, I would have been more than happy to spot a girl sitting at the bar.
I had one more beer and then I called it a night and headed to my room. Before I went to sleep I opened the house-framing book and made a long and detailed list of everything I would need.
• • •
The next morning I showered and ordered coffee and breakfast from room service. I needed to be at the dock in fifteen minutes, so I crammed my purchases from the bookstore into my bag and checked out.
Captain Forrester was waiting for me. “Good morning,” he said. “Ready to go?”
“Yep.” I followed him through the cabin door and once again buckled myself into the seat next to his and watched as he went through his preflight routine.
“I made a few calls,” he said. “I can get the lumber you wanted. The man I spoke with said they’ll cut it for you. Can you give me a list of what you want? Probably won’t be until next week, though. That okay?”
“Sure.” I fished a piece of paper out of the pocket of my shorts. “Here’s a list of everything I’ll need. Just send the invoice to my email address. You should receive a wire payment within twenty-four hours.”
Uncharted An On the Island Novella Page 3