Roger was delegated to take the pot back to Marcella. Maria and Shelly joyfully joined Paul and James at the bushes to pick flowers.
Roger reached the Kitchen Tent to find that Marcella and Julia were just finishing their cleaning tasks. They put a damp cloth over the top of the pot of greens to keep it cool, then took up more pots, intending to join the others on Coral Beach to pick flowers. As the three were setting out, Jim and Ron walked in and promptly joined them, leaving Mark as the only occupant of the Kitchen Tent.
About half an hour later, when Ralph, Jeanne and Val walked into the Kitchen Tent, Mark told them everyone was picking flowers. Deciding to join in, they reversed direction, heading for Coral Beach.
The flowers were, if anything, more spectacular than they had been after the previous rain. The aromas were transporting, and the profusion of flowers was overwhelming. The large ones with the long central protrusions and the smaller ones in cream, yellow and pink, were in such profusion that no one bothered to pick the small blue flowers that Val had liked so much the previous time. In a short time, they returned as a triumphal procession to the Kitchen Tent, bearing bushels of flowers.
Mark, in anticipation of the arrival of the flowers, spent his time making the threading devices from palm leaflets so that there would be an ample supply for the creation of flower necklaces. He was becoming very deft at these whittling tasks – he had been an accomplished whittler on his arrival, but the constant practice on palm fronds had made him very adept. As a consequence, he had quite a pile of needle-and-thread combinations ready for the flowers.
What he could not have anticipated was the volume of flowers everyone would collect. As people returned from Coral Beach, pots overflowing with flowers, they sat down immediately to begin threading them. The demand for threading threatened to overwhelm even Mark’s talents. These were now practiced and eager hands making strings of flowers. And they had not waited for the official “out of the sun” time to start in. By 10:00, necklaces were already appearing.
Soon after, Marcella and Maria concocted the idea of making a long string of flowers to decorate the eave of the Kitchen Tent. The threads were flexible enough to be tied, so they could fill a strand, tie to another and fill that, and tie to a next one.
Maria and Marcella worked as a team of two at first, but were soon joined by others who contributed complete strands of flowers. Many hands working make fast work – in another hour, everyone was wearing flowers and there was a strand of flowers running along the south eave of the Kitchen Tent. Another strand was in process for the west eave.
Mid-Day
At first, the sound might have been that of a flag waving in a breeze, but they had no flag; maybe it was a tarpaulin flapping in the breeze – but there was no breeze. Sitting in the quiet of the infirmary tent, keeping Val company, Shelly was the first to comment on it. Val, giving Jeanne a back treatment before lunch, stopping to listen, heard it too. So did Jeanne. Ralph didn’t think he heard it. Going to the Kitchen Tent to find Maria, Shelly walked to where Maria, Paul, Roger, James and Marcella were quietly talking and stringing flowers.
“Listen.”
They did. James heard a distant or very soft thumping sound. To Shelly, it was louder than when she had first heard it.
“Yes. Thank you, Shelly. Let’s look around,” was James’ approach to making a diagnosis. He rose and walked out onto the beach, where the noise appeared to be a little louder. He scanned the sky, but saw nothing. All the others could now hear the noise too, but no one could see anything.
“Helicopter?” asked Roger.
“Sounds like it to me,” responded Paul. “Shall we crank up the smoke signal?”
James: “I think so.”
And they did. While James lingered on the beach, scanning the sky, Paul, Roger and the three women went to the fire, adding first more palm fronds to build up a good blaze, then adding shredded life raft. A column of black smoke erupted from the fire, climbing straight up through the still, hot air.
James continued to listen and look. There was no change in the thumping noise except that it was increasing in volume. He could see no aircraft anywhere. Then, suddenly, from the southeast, there was a flash of reflected light. “I see it!” he shouted.
In an instant, Maria and Shelly were at his side. Marcella was not about to leave “her fire” while someone else was adding rubber to it, and she insisted that Roger and Paul remain to help her tend it.
The aircraft was still invisible, but there was now a low growling sound accompanying the thumping, and no one was in doubt about what was coming – if it was indeed coming, and not just passing them by. Jeanne’s treatment forgotten, she, Ralph and Val joined the group, followed in a few moments by Mark and Julia, who had been helping him with exercises for his knees, then by Jim and Ron who came running through the trees from their new lean-to over by the Coral Beach wall.
They waited in almost complete silence. The volume of noise increased slowly as the helicopter continued to approach, finally becoming visible by more than reflected glistening of sunlight. Considering how long it had taken to become visible, once they could see it, it seemed to be moving very rapidly in their direction. The red and white helicopter flew directly over the little group on the beach, veering away to the right to circle the island, coming back into sight from the west, moving more slowly at lower altitude over the reef as it returned. It seemed to pause briefly at one place over the reef, slowly circling over the spot where the Fiji Queen lay at the bottom of the clear azure water, as if the occupants were peering down, trying to see into the hull of the ship to discern its secrets. The helicopter straightened up and moved slowly toward the beach, aiming at and landing on the sand spit at the east end of Camp Beach.
Paul and Roger had stopped putting rubber on the fire – the smoke was now clearing – Marcella let them leave, though she stayed to be sure the fire revived and then calmed back down to be its usual, well-behaved self again. The twelve started slowly forward toward the east end of the beach, walking toward a noise that was the equal of the noise of the storm winds two days before – equal in loudness, but not in fearsomeness. They saw the helicopter touch and settle onto the sand, creating interesting patterns of blowing sand on one side and blowing water on the other, then the roar abruptly ceased, leaving only the thumping noise of the whirling rotors, gradually slowing as the rotors slowed their spinning with their power now withdrawn.
They stopped well out of range of the rotors and watched as two doors opened and a man climbed out of each door. The two men walked toward them, crouched down under the rotors, moving slowly and calmly.
“Mbula! Greetings!” said the one who had climbed out of the nearer side of the aircraft, a tall, thin black man with close curly hair, dressed in shorts, a “Fiji” tee shirt and sandals. His companion was shorter and rounder, but similarly dressed. “I’m Captain Timoci Sharma of the Fijian Coast Guard and Rescue. Are you all of the survivors of the Fiji Queen?”
Stepping forward to respond for the group was James, as usual. “We are.”
“How many of you?”
“Thirteen.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“On the Fiji Queen.”
“We know there is a town on an island near here where the natives do not wear clothes, but we did not think we would find you that way. But I guess it makes sense.” There was a titter among the castaways as they remembered the dance show and were witness to the discomfort of this Fijian with that way of life. Suddenly mobilized, Shelly moved quietly forward, taking a flower necklace from around her neck, placing it over the head of the Captain. Maria, following Shelly’s excellent example, did the same for the Captain’s shorter companion.
“We saw the Fiji Queen just beyond the reef. What happened?”
“There was a medical emergency. We started toward Lautoka in the middle of a moonless night, hit the reef and sank.”
“We received no radio
signals.”
“The captain and crew were already dead. No one on board was able to make the radio work.”
“The others drowned?”
“No. All but sixteen were dead by the time she sank. Three died since we came ashore.”
“Is anyone in need of medical attention? Emergency evacuation now?”
“No.”
“Do you need food, water?”
“No, thank you.”
“Sam, call back and let them know where we are, how many survivors, and the need for clothing. How many women, sir?”
“We are six women and seven men.”
“Yes sir!”
“I apologize, Captain Sharma. I am Doctor James Fredericks. There is actually much to recall and explain whenever the time is right to do that. I will allow my compatriots to introduce themselves.” The others did so.
“Thank you. Doctor Fredericks. Medical doctor?”
“Yes.”
“I suspect that was very helpful for everyone.”
“We all did our part. There is no one among us who is not a local hero in one way or another. We are all pleased to be alive and pleased that you have come.”
“You have food?”
“Yes. We have eaten well. The Fiji Queen did not sink immediately – we had half an hour or so; we cleared out a lot of stores, and we have lived off of them, and what food we could harvest or capture on or about the island.”
“Fish?”
“Yes. Coconuts too – one of our young men figured out how to climb palm trees. And a green vegetable that grows quickly after a rain.”
“Well done. You are an unusually resourceful group, I think. Please show me your camp. Sergeant Usumote will catch up after radioing in. We didn’t know what to expect. They will be sending out one of the Fiji Queen’s sister ships to take you back to Lautoka. All cruises where cancelled until we found you, so one of those ships is immediately available and will sail within a short time of our radio call. She will not steam at night, so it will be tomorrow before she arrives.”
“Very well. Come with me.” Captain Sharma and James started walking toward the Kitchen Tent with all the others following closely enough to be able to hear the whole conversation. “While we walk, we have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Three days ago, a small airplane flew by and we made a great column of smoke, just as we did today. Did they see it?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you not here yesterday?”
“It was a civilian plane. They got home late and spent the next day coping with the storm, as you did. Then they forgot. This morning, they remembered and we set out immediately. Their directions were not very good, by the way, so your smoke signal this morning was very important to us.”
“Thank you.”
James led the way westward along the beach, chatting with Captain Sharma, who was taking notes. James introduced Marcella, who was still tending the fire, and showed the Captain their remaining supply of food. The Captain was impressed with the lean-tos, especially the ones made from woven palm fronds. James showed him the three graves, giving the identities of the three who were buried there.
“Briefly, Captain, we had a botulism episode. The tainted food was smoked salmon brought from Washington State by one of the passenger couples. For one reason or another, fourteen of us did not partake of the salmon, and we all survived. Those who did all died. Lord and Lady Richard Kirkpatrick ate the smallest portions and lingered for several days, but there was little we could do for them, and they succumbed. George Fuller was grieving for his wife and swam out to be with her one night and drowned.
“Lord Kirkpatrick surmised that his relations would like to have his body and that of his wife exhumed and shipped to London for burial. Someone will need to look into the details of that.
“We made a pit latrine, and there is a sort of garbage dump of food wrappings that will not easily decompose. Someone will have to do some cleaning up after us, but I hope we have not made that a difficult task.”
“Dr. Fredericks, I am very impressed. I have taken notes. I am sure that my superiors will want to question you more when you are back in Lautoka, rested and dressed. Naturally, the people of Fiji stand with the owners and operators of the AquaMarine Cruise Company, ready to do what we can to help all of you to be restored to health, happiness, and home. We will be diving on the Fiji Queen to recover everything that is salvageable; including the ship herself if that proves feasible. Captain Wilkie and his crew were well known in Lautoka and were popular. This is a loss we all will feel.”
“Thank you for your reassurances. Since we have been quite isolated, we have no idea how much publicity there has been about our disappearance, but if there has been any, we all have family and friends who need to know as soon as they can that we who survive are all OK.”
“Yes. Thanks for reminding me. It has now been about ten days since you have been known to be missing – the Fiji Queen failed to make a couple of expected ports of call and we were notified before she was expected back in Lautoka. That did give us a few days in which to search before we had to announce that she was late returning to port and presumed missing, but by now, the families or contacts of all passengers and crew have been notified formally. Before I leave, let me write down a list of names. I will see that families are notified that the thirteen of you are safe.”
“Thank you.”
The Captain took a list of names. Sergeant Usumote confirmed that the rescue boat would reach the island about mid-day the next day, and the two men turned to walk back to their helicopter, still wearing flower necklaces.
Whining as if in protest, the engine of the helicopter was induced to start and slowly the rotor began to accelerate. Soon, the accustomed thumping noise of the rotor vied with the whine of the engine then overpowered it as, in a gust of rotor-generated sand storm, the helicopter lifted slowly from the island.
Watching and waving from a distance, the thirteen survivors stood rooted to the sandy beach as the helicopter rose, rotated, tipped nose-down, and started to accelerate to the southeast. And so they continued to stand as it moved slowly, then quickly away from them.
James turned first, followed almost at once by Paul, Maria and Marcella, to walk back out of the noon-day sun into the shade of the Kitchen Tent. The others, straining to see, straining to hear, stood longer, holding onto this first contact with the world in two weeks.
In the Kitchen Tent, Maria turned to Marcella: “Can I help with lunch”
“Yes, but it really won’t take much to get it ready.”
James: “Can we help?”
“I don’t think so. But thank you for offering. Make more flowers, please.”
As the others gradually returned to the Kitchen Tent, they found James and Paul sitting placidly together, stringing flowers. One by one, they all joined in.
Marcella diced the left-over ham. She asked Maria if she hadn’t seen some pickles somewhere in the food they had been sorting one way and another the last couple days. Maria had. She retrieved a large jar of dill pickles and began dicing them. Marcella opened a bottle of mayonnaise, putting Maria to work mixing it with the ham and the pickles and Marcella’s choice of herbs and spices. Marcella quickly assembled a salad dressing to go with the washed salad leaves collected that morning and lunch was served.
It was a quiet time, everyone withdrawn into his or her own thoughts and considerations. Somehow, the advent of rescue had sundered the community into thirteen separate individuals, each eager for rescue and return to the “real world,” and each grieving for the community they were all losing. No one was able to speak of it without digesting it first.
Val led Jeanne away to complete the treatment that had been interrupted by the helicopter. Shelly stayed in the Kitchen Tent, helping Julia and Marcella clean up. Ralph wandered to the shore to wash his and Jeanne’s plates and forks. He would usually have moved quickly w
ith the intent of joining Jeanne and Val in the infirmary, but his mind was elsewhere; he returned to the Kitchen Tent and sat back down, resuming the stringing of flowers.
Maria had emerged from the kitchen to sit beside James for lunch. He took their dishes and forks to the water to wash them so that she could stay in the shade. They had hugged, but no word had passed between them. As James went to the water, Maria quietly picked up a thread and started to string flowers – a string of them to decorate their lean-to tonight.
The others were similarly preoccupied, silent, solemn, almost reverent. As they returned to threading flowers it was with an attitude of meditation, or prayer. Interestingly, prayer had been singularly uncommon among the members of this group over the last two weeks; aside from the brief words spoken at the burials of the three members of the party lying in their shallow, sandy graves, no word approaching prayer had been spoken, unless singing Dona Nobis Pacem counts as a prayer.
Stories for Challenge Page 3
