Back at the campfire Suzy said to Annie, “Watch out for Silvana. Carlos is making a pitch for her and she’s falling for it. She never takes her eyes off him.”
“Well, of course she doesn’t,” Annie said. “He’s her prisoner. He’s doing her job, and it’s her responsibility to watch him all the time and see that he doesn’t escape.” She added, “Silvana’s old enough to be his mother.”
“So?”
Annie said sharply, “This guy is driving you all haywire. Silvana is only doing her job. She’s his guard.”
Nevertheless, when Silvana came back to the campfire, Suzy demanded, “Why is this guy getting room service of such a specialized nature?”
“How else could he eat a mango?” Silvana said defensively. “I don’t see why we should treat him like an animal. Aren’t you supposed to behave decently to prisoners of war?” Seeing Suzy’s sneer, she snapped, “You’re just irritated, Suzy, because he doesn’t look at you the way you like men to look at you.”
“Are you crazy?” Suzy yelled.
“You may not realize it, but in only two days you’ve started to walk the way you used to,” Silvana retorted. “Waggling your ass and running with your knees together.”
Suzy spat back, “I notice that you’ve started to fix yourself up. I saw you cleaning your nails with a bamboo splinter.”
Annie said, “Stop it! Stop it, both of you!” That was the sixth little spat of the day, she thought crossly.
Almost overnight, the nonstop bitching had started. Annie didn’t understand why. Had they been in a restaurant, this little waiter would not have been noticed by any of them. But now, his mere presence was weakening the comradeship that bound the women together.
“We’re all acting different,” Annie said in exasperation. “And the only reason is that there’s a man around.” She thought, Sex! It took you over, it ran your body for you, it dictated to you, it was an invisible bond from which you couldn’t escape. It had been four months since any of them had felt the sexual excitement, the comfort and reassurance of a man’s arms. Annie realized that they weren’t suddenly running around in circles because they all wanted this man but because he reminded them of what their healthy bodies yearned for.
Annie said crossly, “Even when you’ve got your back to a man, you’re conscious that he’s there. Even if you’re ignoring a man, you know you’re ignoring him.”
Carey said, “I saw Patty look in her pocket mirror this morning. Next thing you know, we’ll be pulling out our lipsticks.”
Suzy laughed. “Mine’s a melted mess.”
Annie said, “Do you suppose that women only act natural when there isn’t a man around?”
In the flickering firelight Patty muttered, “We should have killed him.”
Her voice was low, flat and absolutely sincere.
FRIDAY, MARCH 8
Carlos was not only young, strong and well fed, but he hadn’t been living in the jungle for four months. Even Suzy had to admit that he worked as hard and as fast as Jonathan. None of the women mentioned it, but as the young man hacked away with the ax in the bamboo grove they were all fascinated by that red and black snake quivering and leaping on the olive-skinned arm as the powerful biceps moved in steady rhythm.
Tirelessly their prisoner felled the bamboo, piled the cut bamboo lengths in a neat heap near the waterfall or worked on the raft, pulling the rattan taut with a strength that the women could never hope to achieve.
On the third day after his capture, at Silvana’s suggestion, the women allowed Carlos to eat the midday meal with them. He was carefully guarded, and his hobbled feet were tied by a two-foot length of rattan. They were a bit ashamed of the way they had been treating him. He had given no trouble, he had worked hard and he seemed friendly enough—almost docile in fact.
After watching the prisoner scratching, Annie said, “Silvana, you should check his head. He can’t kill them himself.”
Suzy said, “Cut his hair off.”
“Then Carlos look small boy, like you.” He gave Suzy a sideways look from beneath his thick black eyelashes.
Suzy giggled.
Silvana suddenly felt a pain in her chest. Indigestion, she thought, putting down her lump of coconut; she hadn’t been chewing it properly. But the pain continued. Silvana felt it in her chest, a real pain. She wondered whether it could be a heart attack. Was she old enough for that? She looked down at the chewed piece of coconut in her hand. Somehow, in spite of their rudimentary grooming, Suzy’s little brown hands always looked smooth and glossy-skinned. But the back of Silvana’s hand showed skin starting to crinkle, upstanding veins, the freckles that come with age. And one finger was missing.
As she listened to the teasing male voice and Suzy’s brisk rejoinders, Silvana fiercely reminded herself that he was young enough to be her son. She watched Suzy’s hand as Suzy speared a morsel of fish from her coconut shell and popped the fish into her mouth with her smooth little paw. Silvana felt old, and ashamed of being old; she felt humiliated and ugly. She couldn’t understand how, from one minute to the next, she could feel so worthless and so sad. She hoped that nobody had noticed.
After the meal Carlos walked slowly, on hobbled feet, toward the pile of logs; as usual, he was carefully covered by Silvana with the M-16.
Afterward, none of them could explain exactly what happened, not even Annie, who had been walking beside Carlos when he stumbled, gave a cry of pain and crashed down against the logs.
The neat pile disintegrated and within seconds the logs were rolling and bouncing down the steep slope toward the waterfall.
The astonished women rushed forward, too late, as the logs flew over the cliff and disappeared from sight.
“It’s high tide!” shrieked Suzy. “The sonofabitch did it on purpose!” She rushed at Silvana and tried to grab the rifle from her.
Silvana, correctly assuming that Suzy meant to shoot Carlos, grappled for possession of the rifle.
Carey and Annie leaped forward to pull Suzy away from Silvana.
Lying on the ground, Carlos cried, “I fall because you tie my legs together. Is the truth.”
As Patty scrambled down from the lookout tree she yelled, “Save those logs!”
The women rushed to stop the slow roll of the remaining logs, the ones from the bottom of the pile.
The moment when all the women started to argue was the logical time for Carlos to make a dash for the freedom of the jungle, but he knew that he couldn’t run with his legs hobbled, so he didn’t try. He also knew that any one of those women could have shot him. But it had been necessary to sabotage the raft or they might go to sea and leave him tied to a tree. He needed more time.
The following morning, once again, the women trailed back to the bamboo grove. Not all the logs had bounced over the cliff. Carey figured that Carlos could cut down what they needed to complete the half-built raft in a day and a half.
Weary and irritable, they toiled on.
Newly alert, they watched Carlos as he worked. No woman moved too close to him. They were always on their guard for the moment when he might try to grab one of them and either pull the fish knife from her belt or try to use her as a shield to get away. Should that happen, they had already decided that the woman who was grabbed would immediately lift both ankles sideways, so that the lookout could shoot Carlos’s feet.
All that day, Silvana felt the pain in her chest. It was years since she had felt such violent emotions. She could no longer tell herself that her feelings for Carlos were maternal. She was ashamed of the turmoil she felt since yesterday’s midday break when she had watched him watching Suzy walk across the clearing. She had suddenly been possessed by a fierce sensation of rage, sadness and impotence. She had experienced difficulty breathing and trembled with the violence of her sudden hatred for Suzy.
From that moment, Silvana had watched Carlos with a new and sly alertness. Every time he looked in Suzy’s direction Silvana felt a sudden stab of pain. Grimly she thought
, It’s only natural. Suzy is young and very attractive. Then she thought sadly, When I was her age I was also attractive. It’s not fair!
Thank God, as his guard, she was not supposed to take her eyes off him. She yearned to touch his smooth, glistening skin, to move closer and smell his musky underarm odor, to wipe the sweat from his naked back, slowly to stroke the long muscles on the back of his thighs. She could almost feel her hand touch his flesh. With the tip of her little finger, she longed to trace the ascent of the red and black snake that climbed so hypnotically up that smooth-muscled right arm. She would stroke it lightly—so lightly—she would hardly disturb a hair on his forearm as her finger, soft as a moth, moved around the coils of the snake that bulged and heaved and writhed with every movement of his beautiful, warm, olive-sheened arm.
Short of breath, feeling the stab of pain again, Silvana wiped her forehead. She was miserably ashamed that she, Silvana Cariotto Graham, was trembling at the knees, her stomach lurching at the sight of a dirty, naked Filipino waiter. She felt as if she had been deprived of some addiction, and now craved it. Thank God no one had noticed.
Carlos knew exactly how Silvana felt. He also knew that that raft would soon be finished.
The next night, as Silvana tethered the spread-eagled prisoner’s arms to the two trees, watched by Patty with the rifle, Carlos whispered, “When you leave this island, when you go … I pray you leave the knife, so poor Carlos can cut free, so no ants biting, till Carlos dies.”
Silvana whispered, “I promise I won’t leave you here to die.”
“You will leave a knife?”
Silvana hesitated.
Carlos looked at her with his big brown, black-fringed eyes. “Please. I beg.”
Silvana heard herself whisper, “Yes.”
Carlos was looking at her with burning intensity.
Magnetized, Silvana slowly moved her face down to his. She must be mad, Patty was watching.
She could say she was tightening his bonds, she thought as softly she brushed his forehead with her lips. Carlos did not move.
As if in a trance, Silvana slowly put the tip of her trembling index finger to his cheek and traced the line of his jaw; she had not touched a man with love for years, and now this long-lost yearning took possession of her body, as if she were under a spell. Again her mouth moved, moth-soft, down his straight nose and then her lips brushed against his full mouth, feeling its warmth. Carlos slowly parted his lips and Silvana felt the moist tip of his tongue on hers. Her body started, as if she’d had an electric shock.
“Are you going to be all night?” Patty called crossly. “I want to climb the lookout tree while I can still see it.”
“It’s okay. I’m just tying his hands tighter. Go ahead.”
Silvana could not help herself. As if hypnotized, she slowly lowered her face to his. Again she felt the insistent, wet tip of his tongue enter her mouth.
She put out her hand and felt his right arm, tethered to the tree. At last, although it was now too dark to see it, her fingertips slowly, softly, traced the snake upward, to his hard, warm shoulder.
Silvana’s heart was thudding in her breast. Spread-eagled and tied to the tree, Carlos was unable to touch her with his hands. Silvana gasped as she felt his chest rise and fall beneath her while her lips clung to his. She felt as if she were drowning, as if her will had left her, as if she were incapable of independent movement. Carlos softly sucked her underlip into his mouth.
“Anything wrong, Silvana?” It was Carey’s voice, calling from their hut.
“Everything’s fine,” Silvana called back with difficulty and staggered to her feet.
Carlos whispered, “You come back later. When they sleep, we kiss.” The last sibilant sounded like the wind in the trees.
“No,” whispered Silvana sadly, longing to touch him again but not daring to. With an effort, she turned away and slowly moved toward the dying glow of the campfire.
Yes, he had picked the right one. Carlos smiled with complacent satisfaction. She was one nice woman, she had black hair, like his mother; she was not one tough old bitch. She felt good, her mouth tasted good, the smell of her was good. He suspected that she was one hot pussy.
Although she had promised to do so, Carlos didn’t trust Silvana to leave him a knife. Even if she did, he knew that Patty or Carey would double-check his bindings before leaving the island. But that no longer mattered. What mattered right now was that he had Silvana in the palm of his hands.
He yawned sleepily. Better have a nap now, because she would be back.
* * *
Silvana lay on her bed, listening to Patty’s soft, regular breathing. Silvana usually enjoyed the night, smelling the dry leaves of the eaves and listening to the symphony of the jungle, but tonight it was not soothing, because nothing could soothe her tonight. She felt wide awake, her body hot, taut and trembling on the bamboo bed. She ached with yearning; reason had deserted her; and her brain might as well have been sliced off, for all the control it had over its owner. Sexual tension had been building up all day, and now Silvana was a woman controlled, not by logic, but by passion. She thought it had faded with her youth. She thought that she would never again feel this overwhelming sexual urge that was driving her mad. This primitive compulsion, this suspension of logic, this urge to take insane risks was how she had felt with Arthur when they had first … No, this was more powerful.
Was this how men felt? Was this what her mother had warned her about, all those years ago? Was this what it felt like to a man, when he couldn’t control himself?
Orgasm alone would not calm this overwhelming sexual insistence. She lay quivering on her bed and longed and longed to touch his young cheek again, feel the softness of his flesh, the harshness of the four-day growth of beard along his jaw. She longed to feel his warm breath on her face in the dark; her nipples ached for him, she swelled and melted and longed to feel his warm body press rhythmically against her.
As she watched the moonlight strike the black foliage in front of the hut, Silvana put both hands to her breasts and rubbed her nipples, but her own touch could not soothe the ache of her desire.
She thought, I am possessed, bewitched. Perhaps there are spirits in the forest …
She slid from her bed.
* * *
Carlos lay asleep, breathing steadily, as Silvana crouched beside him, watching his face in the dim light. She hugged this moment to herself, not knowing what the next would bring.
Silvana touched his cheek with her forefinger. In his sleep, Carlos turned and touched it with his warm lips. As she felt his saliva on her finger, she almost screamed or fainted—she didn’t know which.
He started to suck her finger with a steady rhythm. His tongue flicked at the tip of her finger, then his lips gently sucked it into his mouth. He sucked harder and harder, until her whole finger was totally imprisoned in his mouth. His lips encircled her finger, pulling at it in a fierce rhythm. It felt like the insistent, sucking pull of the mouth of the newborn calves on her father’s Tuscany farm, Silvana thought fleetingly. She felt his teeth give a little nip. His rough tongue encircled her finger, then gradually slackened. Slowly his tongue pushed her finger from his mouth.
Please don’t stop. With a soft groan, Silvana knelt by him and cradled his jaw in her hands, dimly able to perceive the shape of his head, but clearly able to smell the odors of his body, mingled with the scent that rose from the earth upon which he lay.
As she felt with her lips for his, Silvana could hear his breathing and feel the thudding of his naked chest beneath her. Their sweat mingled and their beating hearts were almost touching. He slowly kissed her lips, then her chin. He let his tongue tremble gently down her neck.
With shaking hands Silvana tore at her shirt, then felt his soft mouth touch her nipple.
At last she felt relief start to flood through her.
Carlos turned his full attention to her breast, his lips brushing the soft underside of the fleshy curve. Silvan
a gasped as she felt his teeth softly touch the nipple, then his wet tongue start to lash it.
Abruptly, he stopped. Her body cried out in protest.
But he was only moving to her other breast. Again he nuzzled the soft underside curve. His lips started to pull in a steady rhythm …
Again he stopped.
“Please don’t stop. Please. Please don’t.”
He whispered softly, “Untie my hands, so I love you properly.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You say you will let me have this knife when you go, so why not untie just one hand now?”
“I mustn’t.”
The wet tip of his tongue flicked against her nipple, moved slowly around it, starting again wetly to caress the hard tip. She shuddered with pleasure.
Carlos stopped.
Silvana waited, knowing that he was again teasing her, feeling her desire mount within her body.
But Carlos didn’t move. He wasn’t teasing. He meant it.
Silvana thought, I did promise him the knife. So there’s no reason for him to run away. And he must know how dangerous the jungle is at night.
Silvana slipped off the young, lean body beneath her. She crawled to the right-hand tree and untied the rattan rope. Knowing the risk, but possessed by desire, Silvana gave the prisoner his freedom.
Fast as a cat, Carlos was tearing at the rattan rope which tethered his left hand, to the second tree.
Miserably, Silvana listened to the sounds of his release. She had been a fool. She knew it. Suddenly she wondered if he was going to kill her. She didn’t care.
In the darkness, she felt an unseen hand on the back of her head, then fingertips softly stroking the back of her neck. She felt the tip of his tongue in her ear and then the wet, warm flesh quivering inside it.
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