by Marni MacRae
Surviving though, as an action, not a metaphor, but as a purposeful act, with intent. Well, it should have its own word. Brutal, or terrifying, or visceral. A word that encompasses those things, because we soon began to realize that Lucas had been right; Luck was our water supply and fickle fate our food.
* * *
Lucas had lost the hook. Well, technically it wasn’t lost. A fish had it in its jaw or belly, somewhere. A large fish, and the hook trailing behind it, the majority of the heavy test line. Now we were down to a small hook and short line that would have never pulled in the tuna he had caught that first day. Or had it been the second? I strolled back through the sunny days, trying to remember our first meal. Yes, the first day we had washed up and screamed a lot. Or at least I had. Lucas bled a lot. And I suppose I had shed a fair share of red too. The second day was the tuna. I wished we had a tuna now. Now we were twenty days in. Well, twenty since the flight, so a couple of weeks here on the island, give or take.
I still loved the view. Hungry or thirsty, it didn’t matter, the view was perfect, and there is no denying beauty. Bad mood, good mood, injured, hungry or horny. Beauty is.
We emptied the water can two days ago. Now my sole purpose in life was to find water, to squeeze water from the air.
Lucas’s purpose was to find food. To spear it or trap it, to find a way to keep two bellies full enough to have the energy to do the same thing again the next day, then the next.
Coconuts were plentiful, but they are also laxatives. We had to be careful not to eat too many, we quickly became dehydrated and crampy. I drank aloe juice that first week to aid in healing, getting vitamins in me for my skin and blood. I kept at it, still scraping the inside of pokey leaves with my teeth each morning, now that I had no water to mix it with. I convinced Lucas to chew at a leaf as well. He complained at first, but now we ate a breakfast of aloe gel each morning.
Today, I sat on a log in the shade, just inside the tree line. Lucas stood out in the shallow water with a spear he had sharpened to a point and hardened in the fire.
I loved watching him stalk fish. His form and grace were distracting, and I always watched where he couldn’t see me. I didn’t want him to alter his natural state of being. I knew he was worried and stressed, it was clear in the set of his shoulders that never fully relaxed, but still, I took this moment to enjoy the view, and then stood up and moved on to my task.
I was trying to access my inner Wiki; I knew I had read somewhere of a simple method of distilling sea water. It was the most plentiful thing around us, and looking at all that clear water but knowing we couldn’t drink it was really starting to piss me off.
The natives of these islands surely stored rainwater during the rainy season to last through the dry seasons. It seemed the logical fix to living on an island with no fresh water source. Unless you knew how to distil it.
I kept at the problem, juggling common sense knowledge, with references from books and episodes from Myth Busters. Finally, I came up with a plan I thought would have the most likelihood of working. I would present it to Lucas when he had speared dinner or failed to spear dinner, but I knew he wouldn’t like it.
I had, until now, been collecting condensation from our bottles and some plastic I’d found and scrubbed clean. It amounted to very little each day and would not keep us alive. I had dug into the sand at an area in the jungle we discovered, where there were holes that looked like the natives had done the same. Hoping to find fresh water that resided near the roots of the jungle forest. That brought more results, but still only enough to soak up, and squeeze into the pot, yielding half a bottle for two hours patient labor and the water was dirty. I was worried we might get sick drinking it. There had to be a better way.
I had faith my plan was pretty solid, but I lacked an item to pull it off. Before I proposed the plan to Lucas, I decided I would scour the beach for debris. See if anything washed up lately.
Over the last week, after we decided to make camp in a clearing in the jungle, about two hundred feet in from the tree line, Lucas and I had developed a kind of schedule.
Every other day or so I would walk the beach, shopping for new and exciting things. This usually meant discovering a dead animal, most commonly a bird, and getting freaked out by the ginormous crabs that we had yet to attempt to catch and eat. One, because they were fast and wily and we didn’t have a net, and two, because they looked so creepy I wasn’t sure I could eat one. Lucas was sure, but I hadn’t reached the ravenous stage where they looked tasty, buttered or not. In a day or two they might, however. My stomach was shrunk and angry with me.
On my shopping trips I had found a shoe; it was a child’s flip flop, crusty and yellow. A few plastic bottles that had miniature universes growing in them. Seaweed that sometimes looked like it hid cool stuff in its mass, but usually ended up to be the dead animal find of the day. I found a hat, which I loved; it was made of plastic straw, and had a wide brim. It had been stuck on the branch of a twisted stick. After scrubbing it down with wet sand and rinsing it in the salty ocean, I thought it was dashing, and now I wore it every day, the side of the rim with the hole in it facing the back. It helped cut down my headaches, and now I always kept a searching eye out for a hat for Lucas. He spent more time in the sun than I did and was now a nicely tanned brown.
As I wandered the beach, Lucas looked up from squinting at the water and flashed me a smile. His teeth were shocking white against his tan face, and his beard, with its calico red and gold colors, was getting longer. He raised an arm and waved.
I raised mine back, “Going shopping.” I called out as I gestured north up the beach. He nodded and then turned, going back to squinting for fish.
Later in the day we would make a fire, or explore more of the island. We had penetrated a good portion of the jungle already, and Lucas dutifully mapped what he saw. He had the long beaches and shape of the island on paper, and a hint of the other islands, and their distance from us to the south and east. The rest of the evening would be spent working on the castle.
Together we had been building a hut at our campsite. The main reason being, if a storm came, we wanted secure shelter. We stopped feeling pressured to work on it after the first few days, when no hint of a storm or a sprinkle showing itself on any horizon. I thought it was so funny, in a not funny way, that I had been upset that rain would have ruined my vacation. My travel agent assured me that this was a good season to visit, and I had wanted to tan, and relax in the sun. Now the lack of rain was ruining my survival, and relaxing in the sun rarely happened. The tan came as a side effect to the fact that there was no choice but to let my skin turn whatever color the ball of fire in the sky decided that day. Most days it was pink or red. Another month and maybe I would hit that golden goddess shade.
I strolled along to the north, keeping my eyes on the sand, my sunglasses thankfully sparing me the glare. My leg had finally stopped hurting a few days ago. Now I rarely felt a twinge. Lucas had used his multi-tool to pull out the staples on the second night in our new camp. The healing had accelerated, and now I barely saw any of the marks along my waist and hip, and just an angry jagged line down my thigh. That one would scar, but at least it healed, and there was no permanent damage. It would have sucked to have to walk with a cane for the rest of my life.
I reached the bend at the northern point and turned west, trekking slowly back to where we began. When I reached the spot where I had crawled up on shore that first day, I sat down and looked out to the west, over the ocean. Far enough that way, past Africa and another, bigger, ocean, and there was home.
I was ashamed now for ever wanting to stay here, embarrassed that I ever uttered the thought aloud. Although it ended well, and I was thrilled with how much closer Lucas and I had become, I felt silly for ever thinking this would be a gentle life, a vacation forever.
I had always laughed at the people who couldn’t do without the creature comforts, the conveniences of the twenty-first century. No one I knew went a day
without posting on Facebook, or using a cell phone, or flipping a light switch, or turning the thermostat up and down. If I never saw Facebook again, I'd be fine. I could do without the light bulbs, even electricity. I didn’t care for air conditioning, and fire was warmth enough. But the essentials, the things that kept us human and not beasts. Those things I missed. Not a bed, or blankets even, not my stereo or T.V. I missed food, water. From a faucet or a creek, just access, to indulge my thirst.
I missed my family, the animals. There were no animals here, besides the thousands of birds that constantly screeched, and the freaky crabs. I missed my garden. The seeds that I plant and tend and they grow into tomatoes, lettuce, and corn. It would be a short list, the things I would take to a deserted island. Because when you strip away the distractions, and you sift through what’s left, you find that only a few things really matter. Only a few items are truly needed. The rest is just want.
I pulled myself up from the sand and continued down along the beach, heading south on the ocean side. I didn’t get far before I saw it. It was still drifting in, the waves kicking it to the sand, then pulling it back, sweeping it up, and tugging it back, like a moody woman, not knowing if she wanted it or not. But I did. I wanted it very much.
* * *
As I approached the stretch of beach level to where Lucas still stood in thigh deep water, I saw him look up. He began laughing and shook his head, and then just stood there and watched me as I placed my queen size, fully inflated air mattress in the water. I stripped off all my clothes and waded in, pushing the mattress ahead of me. When I reached him, he was still grinning, staring at me and then at the raft.
“So how much did you spend this time?”
“It was on special I swear.” I climbed onto its warm surface and lay on my back, my floppy hat shading my face and my sunglasses still propped on my nose. “Seriously, the store was having a blowout, I got it for a steal.” I grinned back at him and then crooked a finger. “Come join me cowboy, you work too hard.”
With his grin still in place, Lucas climbed aboard, careful not to get too much water on our new Blue Ducky. He stretched out beside me and lowered his sunglasses from his head, shading his eyes with them. He had told me when I asked him about it, that he couldn’t wear them while searching for fish to spear. They were too dark, and he couldn’t see through the water well. I told him he was going to go blind with squinting at the sun on the water all day. He had shrugged, and we left it at that.
“Oh, this is better. About time we had a ‘float on the water’ day.”
“Hmm, yeah, reminds me of another float on the water we had.” He turned toward me and ran a hand over my bare breast. “We had some fun on that yellow waterbed.”
“Oh, yeah, that was fun.” I turned and reached over to run my fingers along his hot skin. “As I recall you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
“Oh really? If memory serves, you were lusting after me, I would have beat you off with a stick, but I didn’t have one.” He reached for my other breast.
“Sure, I remember that, you kept saying, ‘No Sophia, get your sexy self to your side of the raft.’”
He laughed again and then leaned down, and his warm mouth covered mine.
It didn’t matter whether we had food or water, or if he spent the day roasting in the sun or working on our castle, Lucas always tasted sweet. Like he had sipped at honey. I deepened the kiss, and we let our hands explore each other, awakening senses and sending chills through limbs.
“Hmm ...” I moaned and pressed against him. “Think we could be naughty and not fall off of the raft?”
Lucas looked around to gauge the space he had to use.
“I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.” And his mouth was back, working its way down my throat, biting lightly, making me arch into him.
Our attraction to each other was never sated. Hunger and thirst never deterred us, we made love every day. Without fail, we always found a moment, always reached for each other in the night. Now we enjoyed each other in the blazing sun, moving slowly, making small swells around the raft. Taking the one true pleasure that the island still afforded, no matter how stingy it was with other sustenance.
Love sustained our spirits.
* * *
We floated lazily for a while, basking, and letting our fires die down to coals again. After a bit, my front began to feel the warning of pink growing to red, and I flipped onto my stomach, Blue Ducky sloshing about and rousting Lucas from his near nap status.
“Hey, so I have an idea I need to run by you.”
Lucas rolled over and rested his head on his arms, his eyes closed behind his glasses. “OK, shoot, but we need to get into the shade soon. Without water, we’re just torturing ourselves out here.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to point out. We're surrounded by water. I have an idea of how to get it out of the ocean and into us, minus the bad stuff.”
Lucas opened his eyes. I could barely tell behind the dark lenses, but I saw that I had his attention.
“Go on.” He said as he reached one hand over the front edge of the mattress and began slowly paddling us toward shore.
“Well here’s the thing, I think we can set our metal can up on some big rocks, like ten inches high or so, at each corner. Then we put the metal cup in the center and fill the can with sea water about halfway up the cup, so it doesn’t float.” I explained. “Then we start a fire underneath the can and bring the water to almost a boil, enough to steam it off, but not enough to move the cup. Next, we arrange something hard, like metal that won’t burn or melt, above the steam. If we indent that something, the steam will hit it and run to the dent that points down at the cup, and viola, we just distilled sea water. Once the cup is full, we let it cool, and put it in a water bottle, and start over. What do you think?”
Lucas sat up as the raft drifted toward the sand and stared at me. “Honestly Sophie, It’s brilliant! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that, how did you come up with it?”
I thought about Wikipedia, and Myth Busters, not sure which one had taught me the trick, but didn’t want to suffer the teasing, so I said, “Oh you know, desperation being the mother of invention.”
“I'm pretty sure its necessity, pumpkin.”
“Well fiddle or faddle, I think it will work, we just have the one problem…”
“Yeah, what to use for the steam to funnel into the cup.”
“I have an idea for that too.”
We climbed off the raft, each of us grabbing a corner and pulling it up onto the sand. This was the part he wouldn’t like.
“What, did you find something on the beach that will work?”
“No, we already have something. The motor.”
Lucas looked confused for a second, and then it dawned on him. “You want me to take it apart.”
“Yes.” I knew he would do it. We had no choice, water was too important, but Lucas was determined to find a way to use the motor, he was experimenting with making fuel with coconuts, but so far hadn’t gotten the recipe right. We both agreed we had to get to the island with the pier, south of here, but for all we knew there were miles of water and islands to cross to reach it. We both thought Ducky could be repaired, and I intended to start checking her to find her wound and see if we could patch her up. I had voted for making oars, but without food and water, we wouldn’t be able to row for long. So we were stuck here until we could fill the water bottles, carve oars, or create gas from fruit.
Lucas hung his head for a minute, and I felt bad for him. He had been excited with the idea of refining coconut oil, I figured it was a kind of a ‘man thing’. But finally he sighed and took my hand, heading to the castle.
“We can start now. I'll pull off the part you'll be able to use, and you can rig up the oven and the can. Maybe you'll have some bottles of water ready by the time I catch dinner.”
It wasn’t until Lucas had the gas tank on the motor practically off, that I realized there was a better
solution.
“Hey, why don’t you remove the lid from the can, give it a good smack with a rock in soft sand and we have our funnel!” I was relieved I had discovered something that would work better and would save Lucas’s pet project. We had too few things to give us hope here, and I didn’t want to take away his dream of motoring around the islands.
Lucas set the motor down and just looked at me, then he reached out his hands for the metal box and I set it between his legs where he could begin attacking the hinges. Thank goodness for multi-tools.
“So how is the coconut fuel coming along?” I was trying to apologize for making him take apart his baby.
“I’ll check it in the morning.” He looked up and smiled, “No worries babe, I won’t blow us up, or burn down the jungle.”
“Oh I know, I wasn’t saying … you know I totally support your plan, your efforts, I’m just sorry I got you to cannibalize the motor.”
“Well that’s easily screwed back together, I'm glad you thought of this,” he jerked his head toward the can “before I did permanent damage.”
“Well, I’m off to find some big rocks.”
Lucas looked up from his work and winked. “Stay within yelling distance, K?”
“K.” I wandered off to make my invention real and hopefully, we would drink well tonight.
It worked like a charm. It took a long time, but in a couple hours of steadily feeding the fire and watching with strained eyes through smoke, and heat, I saw the steam rise, gather and run then drip, drip, drip, into our cup. By the time the sun set, and Lucas was back with a smallish fish, I had two water bottles filled, assorted burns on assorted fingers, and a raging headache from the smoke, heat, and thirst.
