by Robin Ray
Chapter VI
Thursday, April 23.
Silverleaf, sleeping under a canopy of sprawling Caribbean pines, and his fever still unabated, awakens the next morning with a loud moan. Grace, sleeping nearby, also wakes up. Dr. Scott and Eva are nowhere to be found.
Grace glances at Silverleaf. “Milt?”
She goes over to him. He's restless. She touches his forehead. It feels like a furnace.
“Won't this ever go down?” she wonders.
Removing her shirt, she runs to the ocean, dips the article of clothing in the brine, brings it back and lays it on his forehead and neck.
“This should cool you off,” she whispers.
She looks around. “Where are Ed and Eva?”
Silverleaf moans again.
“I’d better get you something to drink,” she promises.
Getting up, she looks around for a papaya. When she finally finds one, she peels it and gives the feverish exile a few chunks.
“Thanks,” he utters, accepting it. “I'm a burden to you. Just throw me in the ocean.”
“Nonsense. You'll be all right.”
He nibbles the papaya.
“I'm dying, Grace,” he admits. “I can feel it. Do me a favor? Bury me before the next sundown.”
“Be quiet,” she admonishes him. “You're not going anywhere.”
Just then, Dr. Scott and Eva return from the woods. Dr. Scott is carrying a dead agouti about the size of a house cat. Eva has a large cache of sticks in her arms. Grace nearly gags at the sight of the large brown tail-less rodent.
“Who's eating that?” she asks.
“We are,” Dr. Scott responds. “Pretend it’s pheasant under glass.”
He looks at Silverleaf. “How's he doing?”
“He's delirious,” Grace answers. “Moaned all night.”
Dr. Scott offers the agouti to Grace for roasting. “I like my steaks medium rare, please.”
“Ugh! I'm not touching that thing.”
Eva puts her hands to her waist. “He went through a lot of trouble catching that.”
Grace peers at Eva. “Why don't you cook it, then? You're the survival expert.”
If looks could kill, Grace would be a corpse from the way Eva now glares at her.
Keith and Rochelle are broiling a chicken on a primitive, makeshift grill at the blue lake. Sitting atop wooden slats, the meat looks almost as edible as anything found in a four-star restaurant. Looking like the true survivors they are, Keith's beard is beginning to fill out. Rochelle is so thin and scraggly looking that her own mother would miss her in a lineup. Their clothes now drape over their emaciated bodies like rags. Keith pokes at the chicken with a long stick.
“You think the old man will notice this thing missing?” he asks.
“I doubt it. Nah. He's probably still grieving over that mutt.”
“Kinda strange how it just up and died.”
“I know. Do you think the old man is taking it to heart?”
“I doubt it. It’s just a dog. Couldn’t have meant that much to him.”
Inside the cottage, Hitler, in full Nazi regalia, is loading bullets into a German pistol. From head to foot, he is attired in a black uniform and hat complete with insignias and decorations. Wieck, standing at the doorway, anxiously stares at him.
On the western beach, Grace watches intently as Eva uses a jagged rock to sharpen the ends of a long stick. It is apparent from her pointed craftsman ship that the Bavarian exile has done this quite a number of times.
“What are you making?” Grace asks her.
Eva holds up the sharpened weapon for Grace to see. “Ein Lanze,” she answers. “A spear.”
She thrusts it at an invisible enemy. Grace flinches.
“I can push your heart through your backbone with this,” Eva boasts.
Grace is astonished. Never has she seen a woman so warrior-like. She looks over at Dr. Scott who is busy tending to Silverleaf.
Hitler and Wieck exit the hut. Wieck is carrying a large green canvas bag. Hitler, with a riding crop in his right hand, is slapping it against his left palm absent-mindedly. They don't see Migdalia who's at the water pump behind the hut. Hitler looks at Wieck.
“What have you decided?” the German ex-chancellor asks.
“Nothing yet,” Wieck replies. “I need more time.”
Migdalia tiptoes unseen to the side of the hut and listens to them.
“Have you forgotten everything learned as a child?” Hitler asks the captain. “Your allegiance is to me.”
Wieck takes a deep breath. “Times have changed.”
Hitler takes out his pistol, a black semi-automatic Sig Sauer P210 with wooden grips. Wieck keeps his eyes on it though it isn’t aimed at him.
“You are here because of me,” Hitler boasts. “Right now, you could be a slave to the Jews or a gypsy government.”
Wieck begs to differ. “Things are different now.”
“Then, at least accompany me!”
To emphasize his point, Hitler fires the P210 in the air. It lets out a loud bang that scares away a pair of crows nesting on the branch of a nearby Ficus. Also startled, Migdalia turns, runs, trips, and falls over a jutted root. Wieck and Hitler turn when they hear the commotion and see Migdalia on the ground.
“Seems like we have a spy,” Hitler muses.
They walk towards her. Migdalia gets up and races into the forest.
“She's going to warn the others,” the ex-dictator utters. “Good. I like a challenge.”
Wieck sighs, his long face beginning to betray his growing sense of desperation.
“Don't worry,” Hitler continues. “We're not killing anyone; just having a little fun.”
In their own temporarily stable world, Dr. Scott, Grace, Eva, and Silverleaf are sitting around a rustic, but effective, camp fire eating the roasted agouti. As the midday sun beats down upon them, Silverleaf’s strength seems to be improving as he requires no assistance sitting up by the flame. Eva and Dr. Scott are tearing into the rodent like they’d never eaten in weeks. Grace is carefully picking at it. Though her soul is weak at this time, her stomach begs loudly for it.
“We need to leave soon,” Eva warns them.
“And go where?” Dr. Scott asks.
“The mountains. That's where we have the advantage.”
“I think all this preparation for war is nonsense,” Grace blurts out. “I just can't believe your husband will harm you over a stupid dog like that.”
Just then, they hear a gunshot. A bullet plants itself in a palm tree near them. Immediately, they scramble to their feet and run, following Eva, who leads them up a narrow mountain trail. Grace, noticing that Silverleaf is lagging behind, slows down to assist him.
“Woman,” he scolds her, “I’ll just get us all killed. Just leave me be.”
“Nonsense.”
Grabbing him, she props him up in her arms and trots to rejoin the group.
Wieck and Hitler come out of hiding by the bushes near the western beach. Hitler re-holsters his gun while Wieck looks for signs of his ex-passengers. He glances at Hitler.
“You should be careful with that pistol,” the captain insists. “Someone could’ve been hit.”
Hitler ignores Wieck and hurries after his prey. Reluctantly, Wieck tags along like a lap dog.
Somewhere in the forest, Keith and Rochelle are lost deep in the woods. The trees are so tall that they can't find a cloud formation anywhere. None of the paths or shrubbery seems familiar. For the first time, they come upon a tamarind tree, its long dark brown fruit hanging off the branches like barbeque duck in a Chinese restaurant. Keith scratches his head.
“This is ridiculous. I would have remembered this tree. Look at all these plants. I can't see ten feet in front of me.”
Rochelle nods. “Me, too. It's hard to tell east from west. I can hear the ocean, though.”
“Big deal. You can hear the ocean from anywhere on this isl
and.”
Keith bends down and picks up a fallen tamarind. “I wonder what this tastes like,” he muses.
Peeling off its crisp crown skin, he first smells the fruit then tastes it.
“How is it?” Rochelle asks.
He takes a big taste then recoils. “Oh! It’s sour.”
She bends down and picks one up. “I’ll bet it’s not that bad. You just don’t have taste for the exotic.”
As she opens hers, she hears the sound of rustling leaves in the distance. Immediately, they race behind a large fallen oak and peep over. Keith grabs a stick. Rochelle picks up a rock. They sit quietly and wait, listening intently for any more movement.
Seconds later, the leaves stop rustling and all goes quiet. They rise slowly. A hand touches Rochelle’s shoulder from behind. Shrieking, she whips around and sees Migdalia, frightened and scared.
“Migdalia!” the redhead screams. “You scared me!”
“Sorry. I didn't mean to. I had to be quiet.”
“Why?”
“I think I'm being followed.”
“By whom? The old man?”
“Yes...and the captain.”
“Why?” Keith asks.
“I don’t know, but they have a gun and they want to kill us.”
“Kill us?” Rochelle is puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“Why should they?” Keith questions her. “We didn’t do anything neither did you. This doesn’t make sense.”
“You don't believe me?”
Rochelle pats her on the back. “Sure, we do.”
“I’ve been in the house,” the frightened teen explains. “I’ve seen it all. Guns, pictures of war, everything. Everywhere you look are flags and posters of soldiers and military weapons. I’m scared. I tell you, the old man is loco, and the captain is joining him!”
“Why would he do that?” Keith asks.
Migdalia shrugs. “Yo no se.”
“Well, we were looking for the others, but we got lost, thanks to Bozo here.”
Rochelle waves him off. Migdalia is flustered.
“You think I'm imagining things?” the young Latina asks.
“If what you say is true,” Rochelle emits, “then I guess we'd better find the others and warn them. We could all be in real trouble.”
Eva, Grace, Silverleaf and Dr. Scott continue their tiresome trek up the steep trail, most of which had been formed by fallen rock so it is uneven at best. Just off to the left and right of the trail are prickly, thorn-laden plants such as wild roses, devil’s walking sticks, and various types of stinging nettles. A careless adventurer would be in a world of harm attempting to traipse through them. And, as if those weren’t bad enough, the trail itself bore some suspicion; something just seemed eerily out of place.
“Be careful where you walk,” Eva warns the crew. “There are booby traps everywhere. That crazy old fool doesn't take chances. He thinks if there was an invasion it would begin in the mountains by some air force. Imagine that! Nobody’s thinking about him.”
“What I can't understand,” Dr. Scott wants to know, “is why would the Captain join up with him?”
Eva attempts and explanation: “People fall under the spell of his speeches. They believe him, or they want to. He tells them what they want to hear, and he does it in such a way that they listen.”
“You're not under his spell,” Scott remarks.
“I've died more than once already,” she admits. “Now I only listen to my conscience.”
“Oh, come on, Ed,” Grace asks, “you don't believe all this stuff about invasions and wars, do you?”
“It seems logical.”
Silverleaf chimes in. “It’s a mystery why people would follow him like lamb to a slaughter.”
“With every new generation,” Eva states, “comes new leaders who the directionless weak willingly follow like sheep. Their numbers are large. I've seen mothers hand over their babies to the Third Reich. I've seen people with no hope left throw their lives away at preposterous mass suicide rituals. The historians will be studying these kinds of tragedies for years, but while their noses are stuck in the reports, people will be continuing the same madness over and over again. And no one can stop it.”
Silverleaf stops and sits down on the trail to catch his breath. He rubs his aching feet and surveys the area. “Oy, I can't walk anymore.”
“You must hurry!” Eva warns him.
“Then continue without me!”
Eva throws up her hands. “Forget about him! He’ll get us all killed.”
“What do you take me for,” Grace shouts, “an animal like you?”
Eva grows a new shade of red. “I'm an animal?”
Grace throws her hands on her hips. “You're the one that's been living out here for years like one!”
“What?!”
Eva runs to Grace and slaps her face.
“You worthless whore!” Grace yells. “I'm gonna dig out your eyes!”
The two ladies start grappling like Greco-Roman wrestlers trying to pull out each other’s hair out or perhaps even blind each other.
Dr. Scott tries separating them, but in the melee, he gets punched in the mouth so hard that he staggers backwards and drops to the ground.
Eventually, the women become breathless, stop fighting, and separate.
“I hope you two ladies are finished,” Dr. Scott surmises, “because I can't take the pain.”
He gets up.
“Tell this bitch to keep away from me!” Grace shouts.
“Bitch?!” Eva screams. “Bitch?! I'll show you ‘Bitch,’ you…hündin!”
They begin wrestling again, grabbing and spinning each other around like contestants at an Olympic event. In the midst of their grappling, a shot rings out. Immediately, they part and start racing up the mountain. Dr. Scott follows suit. Grace, remembering Silverleaf, runs back down the trail and grabs his arms. He tries to pull away.
“Let me be! Let me be!” he protests.
She helps him to his feet despite his reticence.
“Stop it, Milt!” she scolds him. “You know I can’t do that. My goodness. You're the most stubborn man I've ever met.”
They run up the hill as fast as they can behind the others.
Keith, Rochelle, and Migdalia arrive at the western inlet. They see the vestiges of a cookout – a roasting spit, papaya seeds and skin, and bones sitting in a shallow hole. Migdalia studies the skewer.
“They’ve been here,” she notices.
Rochelle looks around. “I wonder where they are.”
The weary three hear a gunshot from the mountain.
“Listen!” Migdalia shrieks. “It started!”
“Let's go back to the cottage,” Rochelle suggests.
“We gotta go help the others,” Keith reminds her. “We can’t abandon them.”
“Si,” Migdalia agrees. “They would do the same for us.”
Rochelle groans. “I wish I had a gun.”
“You’ve shot a gun before?” her cousin asks.
“No, but there’s a first time for everything. Desperate times, right?”
On the mountain trail, Hitler and Wieck arrive at the spot where the ladies wrestled. The dirt and stones have been kicked around haphazardly, a clue not lost on the old leader of the National Socialist German Workers Party. Wieck lays down the sack he was carrying for Hitler.
“Look at this ground,” Hitler states. “They fought here. That means there’s some dissent amongst the ranks and they’ve slowed themselves down. This is like old times in the Bavarian Forest. Eichmann would be proud!”
Wieck shakes his head. “My God, what have I done?”
“Eh?”
“I can't do this. What's happened to me?”
Hitler studies Wieck briefly. “You're right,” the ex-chancellor divulges. “I think I have been on this island too long. I let isolation corrupt my intelligence. I'd forgotten about adventure. Forgive me. Let's go back. Here, help me.”
>
Wieck takes Hitler's arm, then bends to pick up the sack. Hitler secretly removes a thin metal spike from his jacket's right sleeve and, in one swift unerring movement, embeds the spike right through the captain's neck.
Wieck, gagging and bleeding, staggers backwards and onto his knees, grabbing his blood-gushing neck in shock. Gasping for air, his eyes roll backwards in his head. Like a rag doll, he falls limp on his back, slides down the hill a few feet, and feels his life slip through his fingers. Hitler ambles calmly up to the dead man, yanks the Siegelring from his stiff bloodless finger…
“Dummkopf.”
…and kicks him off the side of the trail.
Eva and her followers arrive at the crest of the steep wooded mountains close to the cliffs in the north. Besides the ominous drop-offs, there's also a clearing big enough to land a B-52 on. It would be a perfectly scenic view were they not being pursued. In all directions, as far as the eyes could see, are miles and miles of unending ocean. Several trees – junipers, West Indian bays, and smooth bark White Bullies – call the crest their home.
“Where are we?” Dr. Scott asks, surveying the scenery.
“This is the tallest peak,” Eva answers. “There is no name for it, so if you’d like to give it one…”
“How about ‘Eva’s Mountain’.”
“You flatter me.”
Grace moans. “Oh, brother.”
“It's getting dark,” Eva notices. “I urge all of you to minimize your movements up here. Those cliffs are pretty steep, plus remember the traps.”
Silverleaf shivers. “It's chilly up here. If this fever doesn't take me, pneumonia will.”
“Maybe we should start a fire,” Dr. Scott suggests.
“Nein,” Eva warns. “Not right now. Let it get darker first. They'll have to abandon their search then.”
“How do you know?” the doctor asks.
“The old man doesn’t see that well. It’s worse in the dark.”
The Mid-life Crisis is continuing its search of the waters in the Atlantic. A bright blue beacon of light is spinning atop the mast, casting an otherworldly glow of pure indigo on the droplets of rain moistening the area. The captain stares at his handheld compass. He is unable to tell direction because the needle is spinning out of control. His crew keeps looking out to sea, hoping for a glimpse of something familiar. Continuing attempts by their communications man to reach anyone by radio fails.
Migdalia, Rochelle, and Keith, following the trail of the gunshot, continue their trek up the hill. Migdalia is beginning to feel the burn of mountainous hiking. Her legs feel like they could break at any moment. At times, she loses her footing on the trail moistened by the intermittent rain and an ominous mist.
“I want to turn back,” the Costa Rican groans. “Plus, it's getting dark.”
“We have to get to the others,” Keith urges. “They need our help.”
“We can get killed!”
“She has a point, Keith,” his cousin remarks. “There's probably nothing we can do right now. I’m sure you can see the sense in that.”
Migdalia wanders off the trail to one side. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Rochelle asks.
“Private matter,” she insists. “Just watch my back.”
She walks towards the bushes. Seconds later, she screams.
“What's the matter?” Keith yells.
The cousins race to the side of the trail and see Migdalia, covering her mouth in astonishment, is staring at the ground. Quickly following her eyes, they see the lifeless body of Capt. Wieck twisted amongst the weeds.
“Oh, my God!” Rochelle explodes. “Is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” Keith answers.
“¡Ah Dios mios!” Migdalia prays, frantically making the sign of the cross a few times.
Keith bends down to palpate Wieck’s neck, being careful not to touch the metal spike jutting out of it. “Seems like that crazy old fool turned on his own partner.”
Getting no pulse, he stands up and shakes his head. Migdalia starts bawling and walks away. Rochelle tugs Keith’s elbow.
“Let's go,” she insists.
Migdalia returns. “We can't leave him here!”
Rochelle gets angry. “Why not? You yourself said he turned against us.”
“Even if he's changed, we just can't leave him here. He's still a human being.”
Keith agrees. “Yeah, Rochelle. We can't expose him to the vultures like that.”
Rochelle protests. “There ain't no vultures in this place. Besides, she said he'd turned on us. He gets no mercy.”
“He was confused!” Migdalia pleads. “We’re all going crazy here!”
“Just look at the way he died,” Keith asseverates. “Tragic.”
“If we leave him here,” Migdalia opines, “then we're no better than him.”
Rochelle screams. “Arrgghh! I hate this place!”
“Who’ll help me busy him?” Keith asks.
“Bury him?” Rochelle wonders. “With what? Our hands?”
Keith scratches his chin. “Well, returning him to the cottage is too far, so maybe we should go back and look for a shovel. I think I saw one in the barn, but I’m not sure.”
Migdalia bangs her head with the bottom of her palms. “¡Stupida! ¡Stupida! ¡Stupida!”
Rochelle grabs her arms to prevent her from striking herself any further. “Stop it!”
“Everything that’s happed this week is my fault!” the housekeeper laments. “The bandits, the ship, this island, everything!”
“Stop being hard on yourself,” Rochelle counsels her. “You’re not to blame.”
“¡Ay dios mios! If you only knew! I wish none of it was my fault!”
Keith rubs the youngster’s trembling shoulders. “What’s done is done. All we could do now is move forward. We don’t have much time.”
He sidles over to the captain’s body. “Who’s gonna help me?”
Together, the three carefully drag the former naval officer off the trail and into the woods, being mindful to avoid the larger rocks as if it mattered at this point. As expected, he’s heavier than they guessed; all three struggle with their attempt. A few minutes later, as Rochelle and Keith cover him with leaves, Migdalia recites a prayer in Spanish from memory. Afterwards, they stand back and look at the bulging, primitive gravesite.
“Come on,” Keith tells them. “We’d better head back up the hill. It’s getting dark.”
At the hill’s crest, Dr. Scott, Eva, Silverleaf, and Grace are sitting around a small campfire. Night is falling quickly. The group knows they have little time left. Silverleaf, shivering from the colder air, is more uncomfortable that the others. Grace tries her best to warm him up by rubbing his arms.
“I thank you,” he expresses, “but I'll catch my death of cold up here.”
“Tell me, Eva,” Dr. Scott wonders, “just exactly why are you two on this faraway island anyway? I don’t see any boats, no means of transportation off this rock. Why this seclusion? Aren’t you worried about pirates?”
“We used to live in Brazil,” she informs him. “I didn't want this kind of life, but at the time, what else choice did I have? We were at war. You had to choose sides. If it sounds like I'm apologizing for that paranoid madman, I'm not. He's a bastard.”
“You could've gotten out any time,” Grace guesses.
“Hah! You underestimate his power,” Eva scorches. “You don’t know the Third Reich. There were spies and informants everywhere. Even the generals had to watch their backs. Not one man trusted the other.”
Grace remains doubtful. “What do you think we are, fools? You enjoyed yourself. Don't lie!”
Eva’s eyes start blazing with anger. “What? How dare you?! You have no idea!”
“If you're who you claim to be,” Grace suggests, “you ate caviar and drank champagne out of silver chalices every night. No doubt there were maids and hand servants at your every beck and call. Spies, indeed. “
Eva jumps up. “You don't know me or what I’ve been through!”
Dr. Scott waves his arms. “Ladies, please.”
Grace, however, isn’t finished with her tirade against the Berlin debutante. “Tell us about your servants! Your foot soldiers! Your private masseuse! You lived like a queen in a tower while starving children were oppressed like dogs in the streets below! Admit it!”
“Grace!” Dr. Scott admonishes her.
“There was no tower!” Eva retorts. “It was a bunker, and there were no servants!”
“You ate bon-bons while innocent people died,” Grace guesses.
Eva could feel her mercury rising. “I'm not going to stand for this! You don’t have to believe it but I was the most miserable fraulein in all Germany.”
“Bullshit!” Grace disagrees.
Eva’s now so furious her eyes are practically emitting pulsing flashes of furious light. “I'm going out of my way to save your life! For the first time in years I feel helpful, can you at least appreciate that?”
Grace shrugs. “The blood of millions is on your hands. Can you appreciate that?”
“Ach! You can't please everybody, and I'm getting too old for trying!”
“So,” Dr. Scott asks, “who'll be the first lookout?”
“I will!” Eva speaks up. “I need the fresh air.”
She exits. Dr. Scott turns to Grace.
“See what you did? Suppose she leaves us? We do need her help, you know.”
“You're easy. It's her accent, isn't it?”
“Ah, you're jealous!”
“Of that hussy? Never!”
Dr. Scott stands and yawns. Stretching his muscles, he gazes at Silverleaf who's in dreamland.
“I can’t believe he slept through all this screaming,” Dr. Scott smiles. “He must really be sicker that I thought.”
He turns to Grace. “I think we need to rest. I feel secure with Eva on watch.”
Grace lies down next to Silverleaf. “I hope so,” she moans.
