Savages

by Shirley Conran

  Anticipation was far worse than injury. By the time she was five, Suzy had been broken in and was slightly contemptuous of physical pain. You simply had to think of something else while he was doing it. You had to distance yourself mentally from the scene, you had to watch it from the ceiling and just wait, stoically, until it was over.

  There was never any conversation in that home. The less she said, the less likely she was to say the wrong thing, whatever that was on a given evening. She learned to judge his mood from the way he walked up the stairs; she learned to will herself to be invisible, to hide and to lie. She learned to live with the humiliation, the impotence and the guilt of knowing that she could do nothing for her mother, that she had to submit to the bull rage and then repair the damage when it was over—wash off the blood, kiss the bruises, carefully feel the battered nose and decide whether or not to head for Emergency, where she’d tell some lie about walking into the bathroom door in the dark. But she never admitted to the shame of what had really happened, because public humiliation would be even worse than private self-disgust.

  Suzy could never understand why her cowed mother hadn’t left, hadn’t gotten a divorce. She couldn’t understand why, on those occasions when they had managed to escape into the street in their nightclothes and run to the police station, nobody did anything except scratch their heads and say, “Family dispute.” Nor could Suzy understand why, on the day when her mother had finally summoned up the courage to leave, her father had broken down and wept, begged her not to go, saying he needed her, he loved her. Suzy’s mother, more terrified of going than of staying, had fallen into his arms and stayed. Whereupon the same old cycle had started again within a week. Suzy felt baffled, impotent rage, unable to understand their mutual dependency.

  So, in a way, Suzy had never really been a child. Almost as soon as she could walk, she had learned to associate the word man with tyranny, violence and fear. She had never had a genuine relationship with a man, not even with good-natured, besotted Brett. If you had any power at all, Suzy had reasoned, then you used it to protect yourself, to acquire necessities, then luxuries—and you never let your guard down. When you were old enough to get the hell out, you did—in spite of your shame at deserting your mother, in spite of being haunted by your final sight of her reproachful, uncomplaining face. You never once called her. You only wanted to get away from that whole scene, to erase it from your memory.

  Suzy had made herself into an entirely different person. She thought she had left behind all traces of the terrified little girl cowering in her Mickey Mouse pajamas against the bars of her crib. But she had never been able to run away from that feeling of apprehension and dread in the face of violence, so whenever she thought something threatened her she became as tense and prickly as a sea urchin. “Touchy,” Brett had called her. She trembled, couldn’t speak and stood rooted to the spot, ready, once again, to dissociate herself from physical abuse as she had done so long ago.

  * * *

  In the dark, Carey stroked the top of Suzy’s head. “Poor baby. Where’s your mother now, Suzy?”

  “Just a few months after I ran off, she fell down the stairs and hit her head. Eight days in a coma and then she was a goner. Haven’t seen him since the funeral. Couldn’t speak to him.” With the back of her hand, Suzy wiped her nose. “I never want to see the skinny little bastard again,” she sobbed.

  “Poor baby,” Carey said comfortingly.

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 27

  Carey was picking pieces of cold shrimp from the turtleshell and giving them to Suzy, who smiled happily.

  “Why should Suzy have all the best parts,” Patty complained.

  “Shut up, Patty,” said Carey, “or I’ll give you the slap you deserve for the way you treat her.”

  Silvana and Annie looked at each other and decided to keep out of it.

  Patty glared at Carey but said nothing.

  * * *

  Silvana gazed up at the velvet blackness of the night sky. The starlight was far brighter, the stars far bigger, than in the West. When she looked up, enveloped by the night, she felt at peace. She often woke at three in the morning and would creep out to the clifftop and wait for dawn, watching the dark sky lighten first to primrose, then to flame, as the sun heaved itself over the horizon.

  After her morning dip in the pool, Silvana would stand on the edge of the cliff watching the birds and looking down on the aquamarine water of the lagoon, turning her head from the cliffs at the southern point to the lush dark mangrove trees on the northern tip. Then she would scramble down the cliff path and run toward the sea.

  She scrunched the still cool sand between her toes as she walked among the tufts of weeds that grew on the sand. If the big boulders were uncovered at low tide, she would jump from boulder to boulder, oblivious to the danger of slipping on the slimy surface. All the time, she was aware of the hypnotic sound of the sea lapping at the rocks to its own rhythm—tempting and dangerous. Silvana felt its bounty was offered by an invisible provider—mother earth.

  During the day, Silvana didn’t mind the wet, sultry oppressiveness of the jungle nearly as much as the others. Now slim and lithe, she slipped through that thick green tangle like a snake, relishing the dim, luminous light of the forest, where she felt a savage sort of welcome extended to her. She felt happily at peace when the rain stopped and every leaf shone and sparkled, when the raindrops dazzled like diamonds.

  Silvana, who had never felt at home in Pittsburgh, now felt at home on Paui. She felt that she belonged here, in this place. Here she was at peace.

  Silvana made a decision: she wasn’t going to leave.

  “Not leave Paui!” the others exclaimed that night. They were squatting around the campfire, waiting for the moon to rise.

  “Not leave the Pacific,” Silvana corrected them. “I’m going back to Fiji, and maybe try and do something useful there. When we were fishing there, two years ago, I fell and sprained my ankle. Every day until we left, the district nurse visited me at the hotel. That nurse was in touch with all the babies she had delivered. She watched them grow up. I remember thinking how wonderful it must be, to spend your life helping people—being really needed. So last night I decided that after we get back, I’m going to fly to Fiji and find that nurse and see if there’s anything I can do to help her. She’ll know what’s needed. I might build a small hospital for children.”

  “But what about Lorenza?” Annie exclaimed.

  “Lorenza is a married woman, she’s not my baby anymore,” Silvana said, with a new briskness. “It’s almost as easy to direct-dial New York from Fiji as it is from Pittsburgh. I’ll fly back home twice a year, and Lorenza can bring her children to Fiji. Imagine visiting with your grandmother on a Pacific island!”

  “But your lovely home!” Suzy exclaimed.

  Silvana shrugged. “I’ve never felt at ease in it. I want no more elaborate social obligations, but simple, real ones.”

  Suzy was shocked. “But all your lovely things …”

  Silvana said, “The more you have, the more you want. I suspect that you’re the most content when you limit your possessions to necessities.”

  “But these places are uncivilized,” Patty said.

  “I’m starting to believe those people who say that anxiety is a disease that you catch from civilization. I could never again live as I did before. I want to take control of my own life and lead it in a more satisfying way. Power is having choices, and this is what I choose to do.”

  Eventually Jonathan broke the stunned silence. “First we’ve got to get you all back to Pittsburgh.”

  * * *

  As the end of February approached, an air of anticipation could be felt in the jungle camp. It could be seen in the way the women threw off their apathy. No longer did they drag their steps between the campfire and the lookout tree—just a few steps, but a journey that had nevertheless drenched them in sweat.

  Now that they were about to leave it, they had all become more consci
ous of the languorous beauty and bounty of the island.

  At dawn, they now saw what Silvana saw—that the sky was like the soft gleam of pearls against velvet, that the thick tangle of the tropical forest was enigmatic and awesome. At night around the campfire all the women were less conscious of the hovering mosquitoes and more aware of the heavenly starlight bathing the dark edge of the rain forest. No longer were the night sounds sinister as they listened to the soft wind in the trees and the deep roll of the sea as it roared over the reef.

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1985

  As suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped. The sun shone all day.

  “So the Long Wet’s stopped two days early,” Jonathan said. “We’ll wait another two days to make sure, then we’ll launch the raft on March first, an hour before high tide, at ten o’clock that night.”

  “Why can’t we launch at dusk, like last time?” Suzy asked. “We don’t want to load in the dark. We’re bound to slip on that steep path down to the beach.”

  Jonathan didn’t answer immediately. Then he said, in the reassuring voice which they now recognized as meaning “trouble ahead,” “We gotta assume them villagers down the coast are hostile because we’ve polluted their sacred site. They wasn’t expecting us to leave before, but they know we’ll try to leave as soon as the Long Wet’s over. I don’t want a fight in the lagoon, or just beyond the reef. Once we’re outside … well, we got two rifles.”

  He looked at their resigned faces. “Sure, launching in the dark ain’t ideal, but it’s more important not to be seen. They won’t suspect we’ll launch at night, and with any luck they’ll all be stoned to the gills, celebrating the end of the Long Wet.”

  FRIDAY, MARCH I

  The hours passed very slowly until nightfall. Hidden under the trees at the top of the slope, the thirty-foot bamboo raft waited, ready to be eased on log rollers down the slope of the cliff.

  All that day the women worked quietly at the slow but steady pace which they had learned was most effective in the heat.

  Once again they packed their belongings in their belt bags. Once again they sharpened their fish knives, filled the bamboo water containers, checked the dried-fish containers, piled fruit and coconuts into the rattan string bags and neatly stacked all their provisions in the first hut in order of embarkation.

  From dusk onward they waited, their senses heightened by guarded anticipation and watchfulness. Nobody listened to the symphony of the night.

  At nine o’clock Jonathan said softly, “Okay, let’s go. Get up the lookout tree, Suzy. The rest of you get the provisions down to the beach.”

  At the entrance to the hut, Silvana swiftly and silently loaded up the other four women who were doing pack-horse duty. It was Silvana’s job to see that they carried as much as possible as safely as possible as they struggled down the cliff path in the moonlight.

  At ten o’clock the women took up their launch positions. Suzy was in the lookout tree, around which the rope was half-hitched, with Carey beneath her, ready to pay the rope out slowly. Patty’s rope was hitched around a neighboring eucalyptus.

  On the cliff, Annie acted as Carey’s lookout; Silvana was signaling to Patty.

  Jonathan checked the launch logs, then whispered, “Okay, get ready to go.”

  He scrabbled down the cliff path and took his place at the edge of the waterfall rocks. Because it was high tide, he had to stand much nearer the cliff than he had done at the first launch, and it was harder for him to see the women. Ankledeep in water, he tilted his head back. He could just see Annie and Silvana, silver-and-black figures on top of the cliff.

  Annie saw Jonathan raise both his arms. Annie raised her left arm, and Carey let out a foot of rope. Simultaneously, Silvana raised her right arm and Patty let out a foot of rope. The raft slithered forward and jerked to a stop.

  After one minute Jonathan again raised both his arms. Again, the raft slithered forward and jerked to a stop. It would be slow progress, but the cliff was steep, and it was important to let the ropes out evenly or the raft would swing from side to side.

  After fourteen minutes of tension, as he was raising his arms for the fourteenth time, Jonathan suddenly heard a click that sounded like metal on metal. Feeling naked and vulnerable, conscious that he made a clear target in the moonlight, he dropped both his arms.

  Above him, Annie and Silvana dropped both their arms. Obediently, Carey and Patty stopped letting out their ropes.

  There was a rustle in the lookout tree. “What’s the matter?” Suzy whispered down.

  “Don’t know.”

  Anxiously the women waited.

  After two minutes had passed without incident, Jonathan raised both hands. The raft, out of sight on the slope above him, rolled forward on its carefully controlled descent.

  In the tree, Suzy twisted around to watch. Thoughtless in her excitement, she stepped backward onto a branch that she hadn’t tested.

  With a crack like a rifle shot, the gnarled branch gave way. Both the branch and Suzy crashed to the ground.

  They fell on Carey, who jumped and screamed—and let go of the rope.

  As Carey’s rope unraveled around the tree, her side of the raft crashed forward, then slewed around, pitching its full weight suddenly and unexpectedly on Patty’s rope, which sliced through Patty’s grip, burning both her palms. In agony, she let go.

  The raft swung back in the opposite direction, then crashed out of control down the slope, heading like a deadly toboggan toward the clifftop.

  Annie managed to jump out of the way just before the raft careened past. Although it was far lighter than the first raft that they’d built, this raft was thirty feet long and gathering speed as it bumped down the steep slope.

  With a final crash, it lurched over the top of the cliff.

  On the beach below Jonathan heard a scream and saw Annie disappear. We’ve been attacked! he thought.

  Then he saw the raft hurl over the clifftop, blotting out the stars. Frozen with disbelief, he watched it drop toward the waterfall, bounce off the rocks at the bathing pool, launch itself into the air and fly toward him.

  He thought, She’ll smash to pieces on these rocks if I don’t do something. Then the sharp edge of the raft caught him on the right side of his head near the temple. The force knocked him backward and his head crashed against a boulder, fracturing his skull. He died instantly.

  Dangerously fast, Carey hurled herself down the side of the cliff, followed by Suzy. Below them, the raft crashed into the water and swirled out into the black lagoon on the waterfall current.

  Scratched and bleeding, Carey reached the sand, raced across it and hurled herself into the sea, determined to retrieve the raft—their only hope of escape—before it was swept out to sea. There were six vine ropes trailing from the raft. If she could catch just one of them, she could haul herself aboard.

  Carey ran through the shallows, took a deep breath and dived in. Inhale on stroke four, inhale on stroke six … She swam faster than she ever had before.

  By the time Suzy scrambled onto the beach, Carey was halfway to the raft. It was nearing the gap in the reef, where the coral waited, razor-sharp.

  From the water’s edge, Suzy called in horror, “Come back, Carey! Sharks beyond the reef!”

  Even if Carey managed to haul herself aboard the raft, without paddles she would be at the mercy of the current, and without food or water, she would soon die.

  Head down, unable to hear, Carey headed for the raft.

  BOOK FIVE

  PERIL

  23

  Racing after the raft in the lagoon, Carey suddenly realized her danger and started to fight her way out of the waterfall current that was carrying her toward the narrow, coral-fanged channel, beyond which lay the ocean.

  Carey knew that it was useless to try to swim against the current, so she turned south and concentrated on swimming parallel to the beach, fighting sideways out of the current until she was clear. Then she made another right-an
gled turn and headed back toward the sand.

  While Carey fought for her life in the moonlit water, Annie had slithered down the cliff behind Silvana—far too fast for safety. Together, they dragged Jonathan from the water, knowing all the while that he was not unconscious but dead.

  For half an hour Patty administered the kiss of life to Jonathan, while Carey lay exhausted and panting, her head in Suzy’s lap, on the bone-white beach. Moonlight brushed the scene in black and silver.

  Patty finally sat back on her heels and said, “It’s no use.” She burst into tears.

  Careless of their safety, all the women huddled around the thin body on the sand. They sobbed as they held his still-warm hands and kissed them. They stroked his hair, they kissed his face, they begged him not to leave them. They sorrowed until Suzy threw back her head and howled to the sky, swearing to God that she’d never believed in Him and now she knew she was right—He didn’t exist, there was nothing up there.

  In that case, Annie wondered, to whom did Suzy think she was shouting? She said, “We’ve got to get him off the beach or they’ll know that we’ve lost our man.”

  “How can you be so goddamn brisk and practical when he’s only just died?” Suzy cried.

  “Because he wouldn’t want anyone else to die,” Annie said.

  With difficulty, they heaved Jonathan onto Carey’s back, his arms dangling over her shoulders. With a strength she hadn’t realized she possessed, Carey pulled him up the cliff, while Silvana pushed from behind.