He smiled.
“White. Kano means you’re white. They like that. Mosquitoes too – they love white meat over here.”
Just then, a herd of Filipino soldiers in military fatigues stormed past, scaring me half to death. The Australian man noticed the alarm on my face.
“Don’t worry about that, mate… just Abu Sayaaf stirring up some dust down in Mindanao. That’s a long way from where you’re headed.”
“Where I’m going is a long way from anything,” I commented.
“No worries, ay?” he said.
“No worries.”
The ferry boat was reminiscent of small cruise ships in the US but without the amenities. I sat on the stern as we toiled along through deep blue waters. The setting sun was a brilliant orange whose glow was being mirrored by the ocean below. The view was stunning. Sharing the view with me were several Filipino couples who stood against the railing.
The warmth of the sun against my skin, mixed with a gently pushing wind, became hypnotic.
“This is why I came,” I thought to myself.
As the hours passed, it became evident that whatever fate I was heading toward could not be reversed. There was a time, back in the hotel room, when I thought it might still be possible to change plans and head back to the States. After all, the airport was only a twenty-minute ride away and even despite the grueling flights, it was still possible to return. But now, so far away from that hotel room in Manila, it truly sunk in: I couldn’t turn around now. I was in far too deep.
I slept for a couple of hours in a compartment of humble means until my bladder woke me up. I popped into the hallway and flagged down a Filipino attendant.
“Yes, sir?” she asked.
“How long until we dock in Cebu?”
She took a moment to count in her head.
“Nineteen hours more,” she said brightly.
Wow, my guesstimate was way off. I figured a couple of hours, tops.
“Can you point me to the bathroom?”
“The CR is right behind that door,” she said, pointing to the end of the hall.
“CR?” I said, not sure she understood.
“Comfort Room. You must go, yeah?”
I nodded, slightly embarrassed, and headed down the hallway where I found a door marked:
Under repairing!
Stepping inside the restroom, I immediately jumped in horror. My eyes drifted to a wooden bowl and a plastic bucket filled halfway to the top with murky water. I latched the tiny door with a metal pin and searched for toilet paper, as my bladder had sent a false alarm. My lunch was either coming up or going down – hopefully the latter.
Behind the bucket, my hand found a cardboard roll with two squares of tissue left intact. I removed the tissue from the cardboard with surgical precision. The moment I dropped trou, the boat swayed violently to my left. I lost balance and fell down on my side, pants around my ankles. The boat then corrected itself but not before the bowl of excrement spilled onto my back, at which point I let a few expletives fly. I heard a couple of Filipino girls giggling out in the hallway.
“Ay naku!” I heard, muffled by the door.
That’s the Filipino version of “Good lord!” apparently. I cleaned myself off with the dirty water from the bucket, finished my business and went back to my cabin for the remainder of the trip.
• • •
As we docked on the island of Cebu, loads of people began to exit the ferry boat – none of whom were American, save one. As the lone “Joe,” I moved past swarms of them, incredulous of the various displays of affection. I didn’t come all this way to watch people hug one another. And yes, by this point in the trip, I had become a little irritable.
I was supposed to meet a guy named Nako who owned a boat. He was described to me as a friendly Japanese man about my height, which is a rare thing over here. Not seeing anyone fitting that description, I approached an elderly Filipino woman who looked like she was waiting on someone.
“Hi, I’m looking for South Pacific Endeavors.”
She just looked at me.
“It’s a small charter boat.”
I received another blank stare. I then heard a voice behind me:
“She speak Cebuano, no English.”
I turned and saw a smiling Japanese man wearing a baseball cap. He offered his hand.
“South Pacific Endeavors, I’m Nako.”
“I’m Ted. We spoke on the phone.”
“Everything is ready. Your real estate guy was here this morning. He make sure everything as you request.”
“Thank you, Nako. Shall we?”
Nako led me to a small, but clean, vessel roped off on the other side of the docks. If I had to guess, I’d say from the furnishings that he lived on the boat.
“Your personal items already arrive on the island. They beat you here,” he said with a hearty laugh.
I wanted to laugh too but my energy was spent.
“So how long is the trip?” I asked, expecting the worst.
“Forty-five minute,” he said. “You close.”
The words, “Thank God,” fell out of my mouth.
• • •
My lengthy trip from Chicago to this place had given me more resolve than ever that this is what I wanted. People were trouble. People complicated things. People were only needed in small doses. When I told a guy on the ferry that I moved here to get away from the evils of humanity, he asked if I was intending to live a celibate life. Indeed, that is the cost of moving to your own island. However, there were provisions made for this. If I ever got to the point where I could no longer stand the sexual tension, it was only a short trip to the mainland where, in desperate times, I could cast a wide net and hope for some kind of companionship. Cebu is a tourist spot over here due to the incredible surf and the diving culture. Finding someone to party with could be done, with only slight inconvenience.
I’m not talking about prostitution, mind you. My desperation would never sink to paying for sex. But, as in the US, casual relationships are not uncommon in these parts. I’d never been prone to such behavior but my world was looking more and more foreign these days. The life I’d left behind would serve as the subject of reflection to sweep away boredom but would not be any indication of future behavior. Truly I had started over. Nobody knew me over here, so as long as I could get along with myself – something I’ve managed for over thirty years – then all would be well.
• • •
Nako steered the boat through peaceful waters. I found myself below deck, vomiting into a rice bag. Everyone says, “Don’t drink the water,” but when you’re thirsty and there’s not a bottle of Aquafina in sight, you do what you have to do. And I paid for it. I rinsed my mouth with soda, spitting into the little sink. Nako saw me through the hatch and just shook his head.
Americans.
“You feel better in five minutes,” he said. “Almost home, my friend.”
What a beautiful thing to hear. It completely made up for the terrible trip. I joined Nako above deck and sat next to him on top of a heavy box.
“Can’t wait,” I said.
“One thing first,” Nako said with a grin. “Your agent, Mr. Yano, he say your island not inhabited.”
“Right. It’s just me.”
“But your place is offshore from Cebu. That mean it appears on map as unclaim.”
“Okay?” I said, not sure where this was going.
“You have to name the island for geographers. Government has to tax on paperwork.”
I took a moment.
“The Island of Ted. That work?”
“Work for me,” Nako said. “I don’t live there.”
CHAPTER
16
As Nako and I finished our laugh on the bow of this little charter boat, my eyes looked up and beheld it – the island. We were still a bit shy of docking but the water had already caught my attention. It was translucent blue and even this far from shore, I could see the bottom floor of the
ocean. I felt like jumping out to swim the rest of the way but wanted to restrain my childlike wonder for fear of embarrassing myself, or Americans in general, in front of Nako.
It was paradise, true and utter beauty in every direction. Waves were lapping against the sides of the boat as we trolled to a rest against a small wooden dock leading to white sand. A thick row of palm trees sat fifty yards aground and skirted around like a curtain. I immediately leaped off the boat and sunk my toes in the sandy beach.
I looked back as Nako tied off the boat.
“Nako, this place is a post card!”
“Yeah, it’s okay. Listen, I bring you food last evening. Two week supply as you request.”
Although I had only seen a tiny beach and a wall of palm trees, all regrets began to fade away and the realization that I’d actually done it hit me hard. I felt a sense of pride. This was my island. My sand. My palm trees. And for a quarter-mile out to sea, my ocean too!
“I can’t believe this place,” I said in wonder.
“Wait until you see the house,” Nako teased.
After securing the boat, we took a sandy, but well-carved, dirt path through the palm tree forest. A lizard ran across my foot and shot toward the water. A new pet, maybe?
Nako and I walked for around ten minutes before we came to a clearing. There we started a slight descent for a few paces and the wall of palm trees broke open to reveal a house in the distance, sitting at the base of a large hill with terraces lining the sides. It was my new home.
The house was an exquisitely designed piece of architecture with Tuscan and Spanish flare, including a courtyard at the center. It was accented with glass and bamboo with massive stone walls. It shouted of palatial grandeur, with the exception of a rather out-of-place looking satellite dish mounted on the far edge of the roof. The house was a massive oasis of tranquility. A sculpted patch of lawn lay around the perimeter, with stone and brick carving out a nice circular walkway up to the porch.
No cars on this island but it was a nice thought.
“That your solar panels on left side of property,” Nako pointed out. “On the right you see lagoon and in the rear is rice field. These hills are terraced but no one cultivate yet. Roof is reinforced with a special oak for rainy season. You’ll need that.”
We stopped at the entrance and I dropped my bags, mouth agape.
Nako said, “You also have coconut trees all around your house. In the forest you have palms and bananas but mostly bamboo.”
Nako then handed me a set of keys and a card that read: “Thank you for doing business, valued customer!”
“It was a pleasure to serve you, Mr. LaSalle. Welcome to Island of Ted. I’ll see you in two week. Call me you need anything.”
“Thank you, Nako.”
We shook hands and Nako made his way back to the dirt path. I watched him go with a wave and felt a cool breeze pass across my face. The palm trees in the distance swayed as the gentle wind blew, ruffling the leaves. That sound – those leaves dancing in the breeze – produced a feeling in my gut that I had longed for since childhood. I closed my eyes and just breathed... and listened. Heaven.
Stepping into my giant enclave, I first noticed how quiet it was. I should have expected that, granted, but the lack of sound made it feel so sterile. It was obvious that I was standing in a new construction, a fact evidenced by the strong smell of paint and newly polished wood trim. For a moment the whole enterprise seemed eerie. I walked through an enormous kitchen and thought of all the great meals I’d cook and enjoy on the peaceful bamboo deck, far away from the ills besetting the other side of the world. Here there was no violence, no oppression, no evil, no… people.
Moving up the stairs I caught a glimpse of the ground floor of the house. The first thought that occurred to me, and one I’d need to forget, was how nice it would be to show this to someone else. After consciously deleting that thought, I continued on into the master bedroom. It was breathtaking: twenty-by-thirty feet with a giant bed and exquisite Neo-Asian décor. At the far end of the room, huge doors made of fogged glass opened to reveal a second-story view of my back yard – and some back yard it was! Beyond a small, man-made lagoon was thick, lush forest. I always had an affinity for palm trees and now I owned a couple thousand of them. I wasn’t sure how far the forest stretched or what the beach on the opposite end of the island looked like. Such curiosity was meant for a less tiresome day, one in which walking for hours seemed ideal.
There was much more of the house to see but for some inexplicable reason, I simply sat down on the bed and took a nap. Within seconds I had fallen into deep sleep and for the first time in months, I didn’t dream about Delores or the kids. I dreamed of a woman, perhaps my Filipino nurse at the hospital, massaging my scalp with different oils. The oil felt soothing and being touched in such a delicate way brought warm butterflies into my stomach, which stayed with me even after waking up to see that it was dark outside. I checked my watch and saw that I had slept for six hours. Wow.
Checking out the rest of the house, I decided to explore my designer toilet. It lived up to the hype. Next was the shower, and boy did I need a shower. My first thought, while undressing, was to close the doors leading out to my deck. It would take some time for the thought to sink in: You are alone here. Like… really, really, really alone. No need to draw the blinds – ever.
That night I cracked open the fridge and saw that Nako had pre-stocked several items and had even left a dinner tray full of some kind of homemade noodle dish in the center. It was a nice gesture, but I pushed it aside and grabbed a plate of Filipino egg rolls, called lumpia, which had been ordered from the resort café in Cebu ahead of time. I mowed through them with a glass of chilled merlot and sat down in front of a 100-inch DLP TV. After fumbling with the controls, I managed to figure out how to turn the system on and engage the satellite dish. It was so quiet that I could actually hear the satellite dish turning outside.
“How bizarre,” I thought.
Since I’d slept through the afternoon, I was now wide awake at midnight. This time difference thing would eventually work itself out as I became acclimated to being eleven hours in the future. Chicago was but a dim memory now and it felt wonderful.
CHAPTER
17
Two weeks after my arrival, I was still learning about the house. There were little cabinets hidden everywhere and I discovered that all of the bedroom windows could change shades, from fogged to clear, by hitting a little dial on the wall. The button was initially hidden by a large plant so you’ll excuse the lack of awareness.
Every morning I woke up around seven and enjoyed fresh coffee out on the veranda, which was partially covered by a bamboo ceiling – helpful during a surprise rain shower. I’d watch the sunrise sparkle off my fake lagoon, a.k.a. mossy pool, and when it became especially hot in the afternoon I would jump in for a quick swim. The days passed surprisingly quickly and I had to force myself not to spend too much time watching TV or surfing the internet. Every so often, I’d check out BBC News just to see all of the nonsense from which I had been rescued. The world had gone on without me as well: Al Qaeda was still suicide bombing the crap out of third-world shitholes and the stock market was down again. There were a slew of celebrity break-ups and another politician got caught with his pants down.
Good riddance.
In an effort to keep things completely honest, my paradise was not without its downside. For me, it was loneliness. After a particularly funny re-run of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, I let out a strained, almost silent laugh from my belly. I had nearly lost my voice from not talking to anyone in two weeks. My dreams were often filled with the sensation of being touched or caressed by other people. These dreams weren’t sexual at all, just echoes of companionship.
Another decidedly more embarrassing downside was what I call “scared child syndrome.” I lived on a rather large island in the South China Sea, filled with trees that made noises when the wind blew and critters that dashed around i
n the shadows. Things definitely go bump in the night. I’m an extremely rational man who knows that there’s no one else around for miles, and separated by deep ocean at that. I also knew that ghosts and spirits don’t exist. Nevertheless, on a still night I find my heart racing after hearing an unexpected noise outside my door. For that reason, I often leave the stereo playing soft, classical music after I retire the TV each night. It fills in the silence quite well but it’s not loud enough to prevent quality sleep.
On my fourteenth night on the island I was watching a CSI re-run when something caught my eye out the living room window. I could have sworn there was a reflection coming from the front of the property. I silenced the TV and stood up, wearing tennis shoes and a bathrobe. The place fell silent. My ears became more and more attuned to the natural noises around me.
“Are those footsteps?” I asked myself silently.
Not particularly giving a flip, I swung the front door open and stood on the concrete porch as boldly as I could pretend.
Who am I, Clint Eastwood?
Then I saw something in the forest.
“Crap!” I said out loud, frightened.
My adrenaline surged because this time I knew something was there. For some reason I can’t explain, I ran toward it. It moved away from me at lightning speed!
Trees and twigs snapped past as I cut through the warm night air at full speed. I once heard that if a lion charges you in the wild, you should respond by making yourself look big and scary. Gasping for breath like an asthmatic in my underwear with untied tennis shoes probably didn’t fit the bill. Nevertheless, I continued on with determination.
I made it to a grassy clearing when my pounding heart and tired lungs forced me to stop and catch my breath. I stood there, doubled over with my hands on my knees, and saw a thin creek running alongside the trail. Some kind of tropical bird chirped angrily at me as it sat perched on a limb. I then began to look more closely at the bird and recognized the bizarre color pattern on its wings. I had been chasing this bird for half of a mile. Feeling stupid, but relieved that it wasn’t a ghost, I headed back toward the house. Just as I started back, my foot hit something solid and I kneeled down to see a rice bag with a concrete block stuffed inside. There was some kind of Japanese writing on the side.
The Island of Ted Page 7
