by Marni MacRae
I prayed he didn’t judge me for being irresponsible, or for adding another burden to an already impossible situation. What should have been joyous, was just another thing to balance in the struggle to survive. I hated that I finally got what I wanted, this man, this child, and I couldn’t celebrate them, cuddle on a couch with a movie, make love in a bed, paint a nursery, shop for strollers. I was here, hoping the storm didn’t take us away and drop us into the ocean. Hoping that if it passed we would find food, water, shelter, rescue.
God gives with one hand and takes with the other.
I closed my eyes, knowing I wouldn’t sleep, but needing the shelter of ignorance. I would pretend all was well until it actually was.
Chapter 24
The sky lightened imperceptibly at first. The shelter of the trees blocking any true view of the storm above. After what seemed like years of huddling together in a wet mass of arms and legs and clinging clothes, Lucas and I finally pulled apart and began looking around at our surroundings.
Fury was having a great time, her party still in its peak, and although we could now see in shades of gray, it didn’t brighten our reality at all.
Lucas turned to me, assessing my condition. I hadn’t thrown up again. The nausea passed, and I believed I had a handle on my stress level. With any luck, I might keep my stomach from hurling up whatever was left of the fish it contained and be able to pretend all was well.
“How are you?” He didn’t raise his voice, I could read his lips even if I hadn’t heard him, his face was so close to mine. I gave him a bright smile that I knew looked totally fake but tried to put some heart into it.
“I am having a great time. Nice shower!” I waved my hand at the sky and then to my soaked condition.
“Yeah,” he grinned back, “like a free Laundromat. We need to start building some shelter. Are you OK to help?”
I nodded and clamored to my feet. The rain had soaked my clothes, which had been pretty dirty to start with, but we were both muddy and had sand and debris clinging to bits of us, the wet serving as a great glue for anything we touched.
Lucas rose too, and we ignored the kinks in our muscles and uncomfortable situation of wet clothes rubbing raw places on our skin as we began hunting down beams to begin Castle 2.0.
“Gather as many palm fronds as you can and stack them here.” Lucas pointed to a sandy spot near where we had huddled through the night. “I'll go see if I can find something sturdy for our roof.”
I just nodded and began gathering wet, brown palm fronds that littered the jungle floor. Fury had helped in a way, by bringing down quite a few green ones during her party. They would work much better at keeping out the rain.
As the morning began to lighten, my pile grew bigger and bigger. I remembered how Lucas had constructed Castle 1.0 and in my searching, gathered whatever sturdy branches I could find as well.
Lucas scavenged further than I, coming back with branches that were practically logs, stacking them in a pile next to the fronds, and then striding off to the island’s Home Depot for more lumber. At one point, he came back with an actual beam. It was a four by eight, that had been treated to withstand the humid air of the region, and was in decent shape. It ran about twelve feet in length, and I saw that one end was splintered where it had broken off of its other half. I raised my eyebrows as Lucas let it fall to the ground.
“That’s a strange square tree.”
“I found the house.” He gestured behind him. “About a hundred yards or so that way, it’s pretty beaten up, not safe at all, and the jungle has grown over most of it, but this was laying in its side yard.”
“Too bad you didn’t find a Hilton. I would love a bed and room service!”
He reached out and tousled my hair. “I'll build you a Hilton, Lady Sun, and we'll order big juicy burgers. And by burgers I mean rain water and maybe some coconuts.”
I clapped my hands and gestured to our pile, “Let’s do it!”
We worked through the morning and into the afternoon. Lucas’s beam worked perfectly as the main support for the roof. He set it, notched between the clump of palms, and then began placing the longer logs running from its length down to the ground. I began weaving fronds through the logs, creating a base for the rest to come. We saved the green ones for last as they would divert water better that the dried up ones. As Lucas secured the last layer of thatch on the outside, I took a handful of sturdy fronds and began sweeping out the inside of our new castle.
It ran about seven feet long by about six feet deep. The back curved a bit, and the roof/back wall sloped steeply, but once we tucked ourselves into it, it was perfectly dry inside. Well, no water got through, but the entire thing was wet, having been built with wet material, even so, I felt better.
We had achieved shelter, and we were out of the elements, for the most part. Lucas created walls on either side with the smaller branches and extra thatching, so the wind only occasionally gusted through the open front.
I sat down on the hard-packed sand and dirt floor, and Lucas poked his head in. “I'm going to get our bags. Stay here, OK?”
Lucas rarely ordered me to do anything, except to stay within yelling distance or to be careful, so I could tell he was concerned about me to actually command me to stay.
I nodded and shooed him with my hand, “Bring me back a taco. I’m starving!”
He gave me a thumbs-up and strode off into the trees we had stumbled through the night before.
To be honest, I wasn’t feeling well. I had trudged through the construction, appreciating having something to focus on, but the queasiness remained, and I was exhausted. My breasts were tender, which now that I realized why, I noticed they were much firmer than usual. My breasts always grew tender for a week or so each month in anticipation of my monthly visitor, so I had grown accustomed to ignoring it, But this tenderness was different, my breasts felt full, and heavy, and itchy. Of course, the itchy part was most likely the sand and wet, but I decided it would be a good idea to take it easy and let Lucas haul the luggage up. If Fury hadn’t taken it.
It only took Lucas about twenty minutes or so to find the beach and return with our two suitcases. Now with some light, and a little less confusion, making his way to the shore had to be less tricky. He deposited the bags inside the castle, and then promptly went off again. I began setting to the task of untangling the life vests from the handles, looking forward to forming a mattress and maybe napping once Lucas brought back some water. As wet as I was, I felt incredibly thirsty.
Another half hour later and Lucas came back with the metal box and my purse. He climbed into the hut and stretched out his long legs.
“Both water bottles were gone.” He sounded angry, “the raft, the air mattress, and your calendar.”
I almost swore aloud but didn’t want to feed his bad mood. The trial of this adventure weighed on him, and I knew his concern for me added to his stress.
“We have the thermos in the suitcase, and no need for the raft anymore.” I reached out and ran my hand down his arm. I hated talking so loud it made both of us sound mad. “Why don’t you go set out the can to gather water and we can drink from the thermos, take a quick nap, you have to be beat.”
Lucas turned and looked at me. He saw I was trying to put him into a better mood and sighed. “No worries, Sophie.” He reached over and dug in his suitcase, pulling out the thermos full of the water I had distilled the day before. He took a long drink and then handed it to me. “I'm going to go get us those tacos. You rest, I won’t be too long.”
He leaned over and kissed me gently. It was a strange contrast to be surrounded by noise and rain, and feel so uncomfortable and lousy, but our kiss was gentle, and soft, and sweet.
“Be careful.” I ran my hand down the side of his face, his eyes looked tired. This past month had taken a toll on him as well. His clothes hung loosely, his muscles more defined. Always handsome, but wearing down. We both are.
Lucas kissed me again, a quick one this t
ime and then he was gone, off to take care of me. Yeah, he will make an excellent father. Assuming we survive this.
* * *
The storm seemed to last forever. The rain would come down in sheets, drenching and stinging. Staying out in it for any length of time was torture, the individual drops attacking any exposed skin like angry insects. The warm water transformed into avenging needles made of two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen, and one hundred percent angry. The wind never ceased; it would gust, and batter, and then change its tempo to howling, or whipping, but it never once stopped, or tried out a ‘gentle breeze’ attitude. It was righteous in its pissed off-ness, and I wondered, as I sat huddled and miserable, cranky, and starving, just who had offended the weather enough to raise such wrath. Then along the same illogical line if thinking, giving the weather even more animate value, I wondered further -- what someone had to do to conjure a storm as punishment.
Noah's flood came to mind as the only example I could summon toward human cause and effect in righteous weather. But of course, hurricanes and snowstorms are common. I knew this, I could reason away the cause of my current situation by arguing the logic of seasons, and jet streams, and moisture content in the clouds, etc. But being inside Fury somehow made the storm feel alive, as if it breathed around me, yelled, and threw its tantrum, and cursed in wind tongue.
Watching the hurricanes, snowstorms, or floods on the weather channel didn't compare to reality. Nothing compared to the visceral fear, and torment, of being stuck it a makeshift shelter, on a castaway island, in the middle of a very large ocean, lost to the world, while this logical storm dealt out its punishment to whoever had pissed it off.
“Wasn't me,” I muttered. “I recycle, I don't sin, well, not big ones.” I shrugged my shoulders to no one at all.
Lucas hadn't come back yet, and my rambling of trying to find reason in the storms wrath was my way of distracting myself from worrying. How long had he been gone? I quickly shook the thought away. I knew that wondering would lead to panic, which would lead to me freaking out, and I promised myself I wouldn't freak out. Calm was my new motto. So I pretended I hadn't wondered at all about Lucas’s whereabouts and went back to musing over how to piss off the weather.
The best I could come up with was damage to the ocean. Since weather and the oceans were so tightly married, it stood to reason if you pissed off one, it would affect the other, but as far as I knew the most I had ever done was peed in the ocean. Considering fish did that all the time, I couldn't see how the storm would have any beef with me.
Probably another oil spill out here. One country or another was constantly fouling up the waters with the black sludge we ran the world on. I'm just collateral damage to the wrath. Figures.
I knew full well that my entire train of thought was based on giving the planet and the oceans and the weather, the benefit of being sentient beings. As well as the ability to reason out dealing wrath and punishment at all. But it served to entertain my ever growing stressed out, and miserable state of being, so I didn't bother chastising myself for the silliness. Hell, maybe I would become a full blown pagan before the island or the storm released me and return to society with the insistence of sacrificing virgins to volcanoes to spare future crops from blight. Right now, I just wanted Lucas back safe with me to suffer and starve together in our twig hovel. Maybe he'll return with a feather bed and Chinese takeout, and we can snuggle up and watch an old episode of Friends on our imaginary TV.
Christ, I really was losing it. Ten more minutes. I would give Lucas ten more minutes to return, and then I would indulge my banked back panic, and head out into the bitchin' storm to hunt him down. Oil spill vengeance be damned.
I had counted sixty Mississippi's eight times and was rounding fifteen Mississippi's when Lucas’s very wet head appeared in our castle doorway.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I crawled across the wet sand of our new home's floor to reach out and hug him. He was soaked completely through, his shirt clung to his chest, and his khakis shorts were covered in mud, and sand, and dripped like a faucet. He crawled inside the shelter, plopping down on the hard-packed sand and leaned back against one of the palms that made up the back side of the lean-to.
“Is it jewelry? Cuz babe, I would rather a nice box of almond chicken and chow mein over diamonds.”
“Well, not chow mein or chicken, but almost as good, plus, no sodium.” Lucas began rummaging under his wet shirt where I now noticed were some conspicuous bulges.
“I like sodium, sodium and I go way back.” I knew I sounded pouty, but the thought of Chinese food had me reminiscing.
“How about an orange instead?” Lucas held in his hands two perfectly round oranges.
I was speechless.
I live in two food realities. One is the fantasy, where I relived in my mind every cheeseburger I had ever eaten, every hot dog or chocolate cake. A world where I had faith, one day, my tongue would taste flavor again. Spices, like salt that wasn't ocean water, and pepper -- those two shakers everyone takes for granted. And garlic bread, oh my God, and spaghetti and meatballs, smothered in cheese. Oh yes, my fantasy-food-reality is totally tricked out with a state-of-the-art kitchen and an unlimited pantry.
My other reality is acceptance. I knew I would eat fish. The fish would vary, but it all tasted like fish. If you want to make fish fun, you need spices, like salt and pepper, hell even lemon would be nice, but in reality, all fish tastes like the ocean, which is fishy. I knew I would chew some coconut, but not the fun kind like an Almond Joy ... oh man, chocolate and coconut are the bomb. Or those snowball cupcakes that Hostess makes, covered in marshmallow, rolled in coconut and sold in fun colors like candy pink or green on St Patrick's Day. Yeah, that coconut is on my list of awesome. But straight from the shell after four long weeks of coconut, and knowing each bite would bring on cramps and bathroom breaks, when your bathroom is a hole dug in the sand. Yeah, that coconut gets old real quick. Like day three.
I knew I would have warm water. Never cold, never icy, never refreshing. Just mouth temperature water to keep me from dehydrating, not really to enjoy. My food reality is that I may eat a stray bird once in a while, a bird that back in the States I wouldn't have considered food. I may get up the gumption to catch a freaky looking crab and eat it, sans butter, or beer, or shell crackers, just a rock, and teeth.
So when Lucas held out the orange, it glowed. It confused me. It was two realities, trying to meld. I looked up at his face, tearing my eyes from that heavenly fruit, taking a chance that when I looked back he would be holding a fish. Oh God, not another fish. And he was smiling. The set of his shoulders was relaxed, and his grin was genuine and full.
“It's real, Sophia. I found an orange tree, an orchard actually.” And he pulled out another lump from under his shirt.
A banana. A freaking gorgeous, still green, rock hard banana. I started to cry.
As I sobbed and tore at the rind of the heavenly orange, Lucas told me of his discovery.
“I went back to the manager's house and started to explore. I figured there was no way I could fish in this.” He waved his hand indicating the storm that still tore at the jungle but did show signs of lessening. Finally.
I hardly noticed Lucas, the scent of the orange was almost overpowering. The sticky juice got under my fingernails, stinging little cuts on my fingers, and warming me from the inside. Before I even took a bite, all I could smell was orange, citrus, sunshine, and sweetness. That fruit became the center of the universe, and I reacted to it viscerally, my mind focused on getting to the meat inside, my body hunched over it like an animal protecting a kill.
“There's actually a little village here” Lucas’s voice was secondary to all my other senses, but I registered him, it was the least I could do after he brought back sweet sustenance.
“Some of the buildings are still standing, some with a few walls, or just foundations, and none of them safe to enter. The jungle has taken it all back, but there is
a church there.”
I looked up at that, in my mind picturing a modern structure like you see in the States, basically a warehouse for people to congregate in, the mental image didn't compute.
A church? That can't be right. And I lifted the now peeled orange to my mouth and took a bite.
Oh, holy of all holies.
I'm sure everyone has tasted an orange before, but this fruit I was chewing, wasn't what you get at a store. This was warmth, and sweetness, and tangy, and honeyed. It was so full -- the flavor, that my mouth and tongue were inadequate relayers of deliciousness to my brain. I was brought back to the conversation by a “Mmmm...” sound and realized I was sitting cross-legged in front of Lucas, my mouth full of fruit, Mmming to myself in heavenly appreciation of an orange.
Lucas was sitting in front of me, smiling patiently.
I swallowed and took a breath. “A church? Really?”
Lucas chuckled and shook his head. He began peeling the other orange as he continued his story. “Yes, the church was built of stone, or coral, so it's completely intact, other than the roof, but I think I can rig something up from remnants of the other buildings. But that's not the best part.”
“Better than a church?”
“Yes, Sophie, we can have a real shelter, and the orchard, there was orange and banana and a few other varieties I couldn't identify, but behind the church, there's a well.”
I stopped eating and moaning and looked at Lucas. “A well? So you're telling me that you went out and found shelter, food, and water. Is that what I'm getting here?”
“Yeah, pumpkin,” Lucas took one of my sticky hands in his. “It may not be a resort, but we will have four walls and a roof. There's food from the orchard, and maybe more, I haven't explored that much, and water. We may only be able to use it for washing and such if it’s not clean, but we might be able to rig up a more permanent distiller where you won’t have to burn your fingers and slave over a fire.”
