by Janis Mackay
‘Gross.’ That’s what I’d said then.
I gaped at the fish now. I was as wide-eyed as it. Hunger gnawed inside me. I was starving. Time was a blur, but I reckoned I had been away from the Wild School for two and a half days. In all that time I had eaten a few dandelion leaves and a pile of blueberries, and that was all. The seal was swimming back and forth. It was watching me, probably to see what I was going to do with the present. ‘Okay,’ I shouted out to it. ‘I’ll eat it.’ I bent down and touched the fish, then I pulled my hand back and shuddered – it felt flabby, cold and revolting.
I looked up at the seal. It was looking back at me. Suddenly it hit me that this wasn’t a game. This was my life now and I had better get used to it. No van was going to pull up blaring out rock music and selling kebabs. I took a deep breath and forced myself to pick up the fish. I winced at the slippery feel of it, but told myself not to be a wimp. I had a pocket in my shorts and I stuffed the fish into my pocket – I didn’t want any hungry gulls swooping down and making off with it. Hurriedly I gathered twigs, then pulled up the driest grasses I could find. I searched the stony beach near the rocks for glass. Hannu said you could often find just what you needed brought in by the tide, if you really looked for it. Maybe this was beginner’s luck, or maybe that seal creature really was my guardian from Ahtola, but I found a small piece of broken glass.
I set up the twigs into a little spire. I bunched the dry grasses together, angled the glass between the sun and the grass, and moved it about. This was the hardest bit. Ages passed and the fish was probably going off in my pocket. Who did I think I was? Robinson Crusoe? Just when I thought this would never ever work, it did. Suddenly I smelt burning and saw a tiny wisp of smoke in the bunch of grass. I couldn’t believe it! It had caught. The smoke
snarled into a tiny flame and I had done it! Like my ancient ancestors from deepest darkest Finland, I had made fire!
Then I had to gut the thing. That was the grossest part. Hannu had used a knife. I used a twig, stripping the bark from it. It was pretty sharp, so I stabbed the end of the twig into the belly of the fish. It went in smoothly, like a knife slicing into a cake. I tugged the twig upwards, then the fish opened up and all these innards spewed out. I just got on with the job, all the time remembering how Hannu had done it and trying not to feel sick. I scooped out the guts. Then I stabbed the fish right through with the twig and dangled it over the flames, batting a few droning flies off. ‘Buzz off!’ I yelled. ‘This is my fish!’
Just like the berries, pulled from the bushes with my own hands, this fish – gutted and cooked over a fire I had made – tasted fantastic. I forgot I didn’t even like fish. The warm tasty flesh seemed to melt in my mouth, and I ate every scrap from the thin bones. I was so hungry I even sucked on the head. All black and charred from the fire it didn’t look like a head. Then I threw the skeleton away. It didn’t even reach the ground – it was immediately snatched up by a gull. They’d already made off with the guts.
When there was nothing left to eat I ran back to the rocks and searched for the seal. I was still hungry – I could have eaten ten fish. The seal, my fish provider, was now asleep on its rock. Was that all it ever did? Sleep? It had taken me ages to cook that fish. I probably used up more energy making the fire and gutting the fish than I got from eating it and I was still starving. I had to have more. I shouted at the seal, ‘I’m still hungry.’ It was like the summer breeze snatched at my voice and drowned it. I thought about pelting the creature with a stone to wake it up. ‘I’m starving,’ I yelled, snatching up a pebble. I drew back my arm, aiming to hit the seal, but something made my fingers fall open. The stone dropped. Something weird was going on. I backed away, goose bumps running up my arms.
I turned and ran over the heather. Sure, I was still ravenous, but even one fish had given me some energy. I felt strong. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I took off over the island. Maybe I would find mushrooms? Would there be mushrooms in mid-July? Or raspberries? In minutes I had reached the other side. My island was seriously not big.
Ahead of me was a small dark clump of trees. I made for the trees, and that’s when I found the wooden hut. I almost yelled out, and smacked my hand over my mouth. The old hut was hidden away, ringed by tall dark pine trees. I forgot all about fish and starvation and pressed back against a tree. The hut looked so wrecked I doubted anybody was home, but if they were I didn’t want them bumping into an escaped convict from the Wild School prison. Half the roof was broken, the door hung open, and the windows were broken. This might have been somebody’s
summerhouse a hundred years ago. Now it looked like a summerhouse for ghosts and bandits, and I don’t know which I was most scared of.
I held onto Hannu’s voice in my head, like a lifeline – ‘Don’t worry, Niilo. The magical creatures of Ahtola are watching over you.’ I bit my lip and looked about. There were no signs of life. No flattened-down grass. No litter. The grass had grown up at the door. Nobody had been through that door for a long time. I took a few wary steps towards it. ‘Is anybody there?’
Adrenalin pumped through my body. By this time I was pretty convinced there was nobody there. No ghosts. No bandits. This could be my hut, though I would have to patch it up a bit. I tingled all over. This was better than filching purses, way better than stealing wallets. Better than the scariest movie.
‘Anybody there?’ I said again.
The door creaked in the breeze. I jumped, then laughed. Nobody there but the wind. I sidled up to the front of the hut. By this time I could stretch out my arm and touch the dilapidated old place. I did. The wood felt warm. I stepped forward and forced myself to peer through the broken window. What a dump! The inside of the hut had just one room and it looked like seagull heaven. I tapped on what was left of the window and two huge gulls panicked and took off, through the hole in the roof. What a racket their flapping wings made! I stuck my head through the gap in the broken window. What a stink! The place was full of bird droppings. I held my nose and peered in. It was pretty gloomy inside because of the trees around it. But I could see in the middle of the hut there was a broken bed and the stuffing was pulled out of the mattress. I could see stains all over the blue and white striped mattress. On the floor there were little mounds of earth, some broken dishes, a couple of dead birds and a pile of magazines.
I pushed back the door, pinched my nose and stepped in, disturbing another bird inside. It flapped about dementedly before taking off through the hole in the roof. Then I was alone. The place was silent. Stinking. Gloomy. Creepy. I just stood there in the shadowy stink, letting the place settle around me. Then I let go of holding my nose. The smell wasn’t too terrible once you got used to it. I picked up one of the magazines. It was a women’s magazine. Ancient. The yellow paper smelt mouldy. I flicked through it. Cake recipes. Knitting patterns. Romantic stories. I stepped over the mounds of earth, bird poo, broken plates and dead birds.
A rotting cupboard door hung on its hinges. The reek of damp coming from behind it was sickening but I forced myself to look inside. And there it was: a brown faded shirt. Considering it was prehistoric it wasn’t a complete rag. I took it off the nail it hung on and put it on. It was way too big for me, but it would do. Then I rummaged about for a pair of shoes. I couldn’t find any, but I did find a lighter, stubs of candle, three tins of tomato soup, a battered white enamel cup and a packet of mouldy biscuits stored away in a tin. The biscuits had turned green. I gulped and swung round, convinced someone was about to step inside. The door creaked again in the wind.
‘Calm down, Niilo,’ I said out loud. ‘Some old fisherman was here. But he’s not now. He’s gone. Look at this dump. I mean, who would want to come here?’ Talking to myself helped. I calmed down and had another rummage around in the cupboard. I found more evidence of recent life: a packet of coffee that still smelt like coffee. An empty packet of cigarettes. An open penknife that wasn’t totally rusted. I shut the penknife up, swiped it and put it in my pocket –
it had been a hard job gutting the fish with twigs. I swiped the lighter as well. I looked at the packet of cigarettes, grabbed it and shook it as a sudden urge to smoke came over me, even though I hadn’t smoked for three months. I flung the empty packet of cigarettes away. For a moment I felt mad, then a bird flapped about above the roof and I forgot about smoking. I yelled at it and it flew off.
Under the broken window there was a wooden shelf. On it stood a blackened pot and about twenty stubs of white candles. Next to the pot was a book. I picked it up and read the front cover. Moominland Midwinter, it said, by Tove Jansson. I opened it and fingered the thin paper. I remembered the Moomins, and I got this sudden warm feeling about Moomin Mama and Papa and the whole happy family. I considered stuffing the book into the pocket of my shorts. Maybe I would take one of the magazines too?
But I forgot about nicking reading material when my eyes fell on a pretty smart-looking green fishing rod. It was propped up against the wall, beside the bed. What else did a castaway need? I had it all: fire, knife, fishing rod, shirt. I grabbed the rod.
The door creaked again, louder this time, and a shiver shot up my spine. I dropped the book, jumped over the pile of magazines, kicked a mound of earth and dashed out. What a relief to be outside! The stink had gone. The dark creepy mood had gone. I hurried away, wearing my new brown shirt and grasping a fishing rod. If the seal was only going to fling me one fish a day I was going to have to fend for myself.
I made for the shore. I was still hungry. And I had the taste for barbecued fish now. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t clued up on fishing – I thought you just stuck a worm on the hook, dipped it in the water and miraculously it would catch fish.
I fell to the ground and dug with my bare hands in the earth, searching for worms. I found two that way. Then I copied what the gulls did. I drummed my fingers on the ground, like I was rain, and amazingly three fat worms fell for that trick and appeared. I shoved four of the pink wriggling worms in my pocket and hooked one for bait. I felt pretty squeamish doing that, but when you’ve got this deep gnawing hunger growling away inside you, there’s one thing you do know. You have to eat.
Somehow, if you are going to survive, you have to eat.
Chapter Nineteen
The sun was high in the sky. I had lost track of time. Maybe it was late afternoon on the second day. I planned to try my hand at fishing off the rocks, but before setting off for the shore I headed up the hill. This was going to be my lookout point and I would need to scan the horizon every hour or so. It felt good to have a plan.
Once I got up there I did a three hundred and sixty degree turn, hand above my eyes like I was some sea captain. Way in the distance I saw tiny white dots, like doll’s handkerchiefs. They were yachts. From where I was they looked like toys. Probably holidaymakers. People having fun with nothing to worry about. Happy people sailing around with plenty of food stored away, and drink, and cigarettes. I turned my back on them. They weren’t coming to get me.
I scanned the skies for helicopters, rescue planes. All I could see was a wheeling white gull. Was I so unimportant that they hadn’t even called out a search party? I kicked at a clump of tufted grass as hot tears pricked at my eyes. With bare feet, even kicking grass hurt. Feeling totally sorry for myself I headed down the hill.
A good while later I felt even sorrier – and I wanted to fling the stupid useless fishing rod into the sea. A hundred times I had dipped it into the water and brought it up empty a hundred times. I’d used up all the disgusting worms and I couldn’t stomach getting more. My arm was aching. There were fish in the bay, I knew there were. The lazy fat seal slept on. I don’t know how many times I burst into tears. I hadn’t cried for years. Since landing on this island two days ago I had been in tears at least ten times. I shouted. I swore. I punched myself. I wanted to karate-chop the ancient fishing rod, but instead I clutched onto it like it was my lifeline.
I did have a lifeline, but it wasn’t the fishing rod. It was that black sleeping seal over on the rock. I must have cried myself to sleep. A castaway learns fast – sleeping conserves energy, so when you can’t eat you might as well sleep. Maybe that was why the seal spent most of the day asleep. The sun was sinking down the sky when I woke. Before I even opened my eyes I sniffed. Like an animal I sniffed again. There was something wafting in my nostrils that reminded me of the stalls in the market. I turned my head, opened my eyes, and there it was: a plump little gift. In fact, two little gifts. Two fish, lined up next to me.
The seal was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Using the lighter was much easier than trying to get a spark from the sun, especially as the sun was setting. I cooked myself a great supper. What a feast! And the brown shirt I now had on kept the chill away. I half considered sleeping in the creepy hut, but I was too full of food and too tired to move. And it didn’t look like it was going to rain. The mammoth swim must have really zapped my energy as I seemed to be doing nothing but sleeping, and if I wasn’t sleeping I was eating, or thinking about eating. Life was suddenly very simple.
I lay down in the heather and gazed up at the reddening sky. I thought vaguely how I should have some kind of plan. I mean, I couldn’t stay on this island for ever, could I? What about somehow stowing away on a ferry bound for Sweden? I remembered the street performer and his hat of coins. The world, I thought, was my oyster. Wasn’t that what people said when they meant you could do whatever you liked, go wherever you liked. Then I yawned. Even thinking was too much like hard work. I yawned again, closed my eyes, rolled over on the heather and slept.
The drowning dream came again. Maybe it was the constant hum of the sea. Maybe it was the after-effects of having swum for a whole day in the sea. But it was the same hand, the same bleak terror, the same feeling of my throat clamped up, water swirling and the hand vanishing. The same child I had seen when I stared at the seal. The same boat. The same man. Maybe I called out in my sleep? Maybe I thrashed my arms up and down in the heather, because when I woke at dawn I wasn’t alone.
The black seal was close by, and watching me. Its huge yellow eyes stared at me and I stared back. It was about ten metres away and I could smell it, though it didn’t smell bad, more like seaweed. I could see each long whisker and how the animal had black nostrils and folds of skin over its eyes and a kind, almost human expression. I felt like I should be terrified, but I just lay there, gazing at it.
I wasn’t scared, even though I had never been this close to a wild animal – even in the zoo you couldn’t get that near. I told myself I should be worried, but I just lay there, on my side, looking at the seal. I stared into its huge yellow eyes and it was like I could see all kinds of things reflected in those eyes: mountains, huge ice-cold lakes, snow, bears, fires. It was like I could see myself, and Hannu, and the sea, and the moon and stars and the aurora borealis. I even saw my mum. I saw a man with her, and a young boy. He looked like me. Then I saw the man and boy sink under the sea, like in my nightmare. I should have been scared, but I wasn’t. Just really sad.
The seal rocked over the heather towards me and, although I could feel my heart thud as it came closer, I didn’t move. Even if I wanted to move I don’t know if I could have. All the time it kept gazing at me and I remembered the words Hannu said – how everything was going to be all right. It was like the seal was saying it too. And I remember Hannu saying I needed to find my story. I had the sudden mad thought that this seal was my storyteller. It was giving me my lost story. I can’t remember anything ever before looking at me like that. So loving. That’s the only word for it. And the seal was so close I could reach out and touch it …
They were buried holding hands – that’s what Hannu said. And how it was a true story. Slowly I stretched my arm forward. The seal didn’t flinch. Moving with great stillness I pushed myself towards the animal. The way it looked at me felt like the seal was saying – yes, come. So I reached out and gently touched its flipper. I thought its flipper would feel slimy but it didn’t.
It felt warm, so alive, just like thick strong skin. I lay my hand over its hand, and it let me.
That’s when I started to believe in animal magic. That’s when I stopped doing the hate-stare. That’s when I knew something wonderful and mysterious was looking after me. It felt like a mother soothing a child from a nightmare. Its eyes seemed to see right inside me – it seemed to have such a human face – and I saw it had five fingers. We were the same, this animal of the sea and me. I suddenly had this weird sensation that me and the seal were brothers. I felt peaceful. I felt like I wasn’t thirteen years old any longer, but hundreds of years old. I didn’t know what was happening to me but I didn’t fight it. The seal nodded its head. I nodded my head, and my eyelids drooped.
I must have fallen asleep again. When I woke it was daylight and the seal was gone. Maybe that had been a dream too – the black seal lying close to me, letting me touch its hand – but it had felt real. It felt more real than anything else. And inside me I had what felt like a page of my story. Call it magic. Call me weird. But the seal knew something I didn’t know, and it was trying to tell me. From way out at sea I heard a deep and haunting call. I sat up and waved. It was the seal. I was convinced now, more than ever, that this creature was watching over me.