The Island of Ted

by Jason Cunningham

  “Only on the Island of Ted,” I coughed out.

  Although the moon provided a trickle of light through the trees, my adrenaline began to surge again: it was very dark and I didn’t exactly have a clear path home.

  “Am I really alone out here?” I wondered to myself irrationally. My steps became more urgent as I pushed through the bamboo leaves. Fear drove me forward and I began to run with the distinct feeling that someone was chasing me. I ran for more than a half mile and was not at my front porch yet.

  I was hopelessly lost.

  At that moment I was frozen with fear. It wouldn’t be daylight for several hours and I was out here alone. A light wind tickled my skin and I heard that familiar, and eerie, sound of bamboo trees swaying back and forth. To keep control of my senses in this dark, unfamiliar forest, I thought back on the many films that had scared me as a youth. Then I brought to mind all of my experience producing similar films, which always took away the creepiness factor. I knew the blood was fake and the knives were made of rubber. Likewise, I knew I was alone out here and nothing could actually harm me.

  After another forty-five minutes of roaming around the forest, I saw a pin point of light in the distance. It was my porch light. As my foot hit the entryway, a peal of thunder rang out and the sky began to spit rain.

  “There is a God,” I thought with a grin.

  Rain thumped against the glass door leading to the deck. I toweled off in the bedroom and reached for a little hatbox that had been stashed under the bed. I pulled out my elementary school yearbook and flipped to my picture at age ten.

  Geez, I was a dork.

  As the memories came flooding back, I flipped a few pages forward and saw a charming picture of Heather, the girl of my young dreams. Beside her picture, penned in fading blue ink: My future wife!!!

  “Well, well… we meet again,” I chuckled.

  I flipped the yearbook shut and reached inside the box. Next up was a coffee-stained promotional mug from one of the earlier films I’d produced. After that was a group photo with Roger and a few actors. Then my fingers found it – the letter. The words seemed to float across the page:

  …regret to inform … body found near Juarez … identified as Theodore LaSalle, Sr … our sympathies go out to you and your kin …

  I folded the letter and stashed it inside the box. It wasn’t a time for that kind of reminiscing; I wanted happy memories. I grabbed the next item – my college diploma.

  Summa Cum Laude – Master of Arts

  My father had wanted me to study philosophy but my own twisted sense of pragmatism saw such a field as more useless than fine arts. To be fair, my immense fiscal gains were more accurately the result of knowing a guy who knew a guy who knew Roger Graham. The degree meant nothing. That’s how the film business works: everything is predicated on relationships. Passion and talent are a bonus, but hardly necessary if you know the right folks.

  The next, and final, item inside the box was a crumpled homemade Christmas card I’d made for my parents when I was six. Written in crayon were these words:

  To the best Mom and Dad on the Planet! I love my new hat!!

  That one got me. Crap. My eyes began to water and I stashed the box back under the bed. It was time for sleep. I hit a button on the lamp to dim the light and watched rain-streaks run down the glass door. That night I dreamed about a neck massage.

  CHAPTER

  18

  A loud crash! I sprang out of bed, wobbled a bit, and found my shoes. Dashing toward the dock, I saw Nako trying to steady himself on the front of his boat, which was caught in a slow-speed tail spin.

  “I can’t tie off! The wind is too strong and the dock gave way! Sorry about damage!” he shouted.

  “Don’t sweat it,” I said.

  “Here – catch!”

  Nako began tossing several small boxes at me on the beach and we formed an impromptu assembly line. After the ninth box, Nako gave me a military salute and went back to manning the wheel. I returned his salute and waved him goodbye. It was good to see him again. I wanted to talk but he was in a rush. Oh well.

  I spent that evening in front of the tube watching Korean dramas. Since they run these in the Philippines, English subtitles were provided – sort of an in-between method of communication. For that reason, some of the subtitles were humorously incorrect and that reminded me of this fad I heard about that is presently affecting the Korean youth culture. Apparently they insist on wearing T-shirts with random English phrases on the front. And by random, I mean random. One photo showed a young hipster wearing a shirt that read “Dope My Slinky.” Another fashionista wore one that proclaimed “Catch me down holler!”

  These shows, however, were surprisingly entertaining and had me laughing and engaged the whole time. “My Girl,” starring Korean cutie Lee Da Hae, was my favorite. Watching her charming antics really made me miss the pursuit of love – badly.

  “Boy, do I need to get out of the house,” I thought.

  I spent the next several days hammering wood beams to repair the broken dock, aided by a large collection of do-it-yourself books housed in my study. Staying busy really helped to stave off the loneliness. However, on my twenty-eighth day on the island, I was happy as punch to see Nako’s broken vessel on the approach. He was my only source to the outside world, so I’d been singing along with the radio every day to keep my voice strong enough for conversation, if one should arise.

  Nako smiled and gave a “thumbs up” to acknowledge my handiwork on the dock. He tied off the boat and dropped his anchor before going below deck to fetch a few boxes. This time he was able to help me carry the boxes up to the front porch.

  “You know,” he said. “I think you bought up entire supply of Pop Tart on the mainland.”

  “Can I ask a favor, Nako?”

  He looked at me with caution, thinking that perhaps I was about to request something absurd.

  “What you need?” he asked in a low pitch.

  “I was just wondering… if you wanted to hang out for a little while. I’m kind of bored.”

  “You play baseball?” he asked, far too excited for his age.

  Nako carried a couple of baseball gloves and a few balls with him wherever he went. We spent the afternoon playing catch in the wet rice field until the sun began to set.

  “I miss this much about Japan,” he told me. “Here they all play hoops. I tall for Japanese but never like that game. My father taught me baseball.”

  “Same here. Lifetime Cubs fan.”

  “Ah… Chicooga.”

  I nodded. Close enough.

  After baseball, I introduced Nako to the world of fine wine and amused myself by watching him get lit. We sat in front of the tube and laughed at Monty Python until our eyes watered. Nako seemed fond of attempting to give out sage wisdom whilst under the influence. He noted the frequent commercial breaks by pointing at the TV with his empty glass.

  “Ted, you see these product? They all is crap! You spend hard earn money and find out they not as advertise. They junk! Really junk!”

  “You, my friend, may be a tad drunk,” I joked.

  He smiled for a moment, and then his face turned inquisitive. After a slow blink of the eyes to get his visual bearings, he looked at me.

  “Ted, why you here?”

  That caught me a little off guard.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Why you here?” he repeated. “Where your family?”

  Boy, did this guy know how to sober up a party.

  “I don’t have any family, Nako.”

  “How you not have any family?”

  “I just don’t. Never married… never had any kids. I’m an only child.”

  “Your parent?”

  “Dead.”

  “That so sad. What happen?”

  I sighed, not wanting to open that can of worms, but Nako’s gaze was persistent.

  “My mother died young. Cancer. My father was a missionary in Central America. The car he was trav
eling in took a sharp turn off a curve and…”

  I stopped, feeling a sudden burst of emotion.“Anyway – long story short, he didn’t make it. He went there to build wells and a hospital and died preaching to a bunch of superstitious peasants. And that’s the story.”

  I didn’t mean to answer him so sharply but the pain of that moment flooded me like a tidal wave. It was a senseless way to end one’s life, or so I reasoned at the time. I sat there, fuming, and stared at my hands for a long, sobering moment. Then I heard Nako snoring and looked over to see him sound asleep at the end of the couch. At that moment, I had to laugh. This drooling Japanese cargo boat operator, with no ability to hold his liquor, was now my best friend. It was either profound or profoundly sad. Still, Nako had ten times the integrity of Roger or Jerry so perhaps I was moving up in life.

  The next day I bid Nako farewell to avoid getting him fired for missing too much work. For the next week I spent much of my days watching Korean dramas and drinking coffee on the veranda while looking out over the terraced rice field. For about three seconds, I considered fasting from all electronics for a month but, not being much of a Luddite, I realized that my techno lust was the only thing that kept me from feeling too lonely on still nights. Living a life of solitude was something I was committed to and being realistic about the pitfalls helped my decision considerably. I knew it would get lonely and that was the price. So be it. I was lonely in Chicago too. Besides, there was always Lee Da Hae and those wonderful Korean dramas to keep me sane. God bless those corny television writers.

  CHAPTER

  19

  “What was that?” I wondered aloud in a weak voice, peering up over the deck railing.

  It was a cloudless Saturday morning. I had now been on the island for forty-nine days. I was sitting on the veranda with a cup of steaming black coffee when I saw movement in the weeds, near a pathway that leads into the bamboo forest. I stood erect and strained my eyes. There it was again!

  Swearing that I had seen a human face, I ran toward the spot where I had seen movement.

  “Hey!” I yelled out in a cracked voice. “Stop!”

  Knowing I was more than likely chasing a bird or a lizard didn’t matter. There was no feeling of embarrassment on the Island of Ted, so shouting to animals was pretty much the norm.

  I blasted up the pathway and into the forest and then slowed down as I approached a faint knocking sound. It grew louder and louder as I tiptoed forward into the clearing.

  THWAK!

  I grabbed my chest; my heart was pounding. I froze and saw a startling sight ten yards in front of me.

  An eleven-year-old boy was slicing open a coconut with a large machete! I shifted my weight a little and the rock beneath my foot slipped. The boy looked up at me sharply and we just gazed at one another for what seemed like a full minute.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The boy began looking around for an exit. He was visibly uncomfortable.

  “How did you get here?” I pressed further.

  Was this my imagination?

  The boy suddenly took off into a full sprint into the forest and I just watched him go in a daze.

  • • •

  Back at the house, I paced back and forth with a phone to my ear. I was furious.

  “I already told you! This was part of our deal!” I shouted into the phone. “I am calm, but you have to do something about this. There’s a little boy and probably an entire family living on my island!”

  I felt like throwing the phone through a window.

  “I don’t know how they got here,” I told my agent, who was probably cowering on the other end. “I want them gone yesterday. I will not tolerate squatters on my land, stealing from me.”

  After an apology from the agent, I thanked him and hung up. Immediately, air sprang from my lungs and I doubled over in a violent cough.

  “Wow, that came out of nowhere,” I thought.

  Then I felt something warm on my fingers and looked down to see patches of red.

  “I just coughed up blood,” I said in a state of sedated panic. Talking to myself didn’t make it less scary.

  I reached for a glass and filled it with water from the sink. The glass became blurry as it neared my face and my head began to feel very warm. Sweat was forming on my forehead. THIS WAS SERIOUS.

  I spent the next hour trying to get a hold of Nako before he finally returned my call.

  “What took you so long, Nako?” I shouted. “I’m dying here!”

  I heard laughter at the other end of the phone.

  “I’m serious. I’m coughing up blood for crying out loud. Wait – where’s that?”

  • • •

  I sat on the stern of Nako’s boat sipping some green tea he’d brewed for me. It tasted like warmed-over garbage. Nako was cooking something on a little battery-powered burner. Out of his pot came vegetable broth, which he poured over a wooden bowl of starchy noodles.

  “This make you better until we arrive.”

  I chewed on a few noodles with the chopsticks he’d handed me and slurped on the salty soup. It was actually pretty relaxing.

  I watched Nako go back to manning the wheel and said, “This is the first time I’ve been off the island. Feels strange.”

  “Time away is good,” Nako said, sounding like an ancient proverb.

  “I already miss it,” was my response.

  Nako smirked, perhaps wondering from which planet I had escaped.

  “I call ahead,” he told me. “Got you appointment tonight. We’ll dock in Cebu shortly.”

  “Wow,” I exclaimed. “I haven’t seen the mainland since I arrived.”

  Nako tried to read me with his eyes.

  “You find that boy?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Little punk stole my coconuts. But I called Yano… he’s taking care of it.”

  Nako laughed from his belly in a way that was beginning to irritate me.

  “Your real estate guy? That Yano? Don’t count on it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He lazy. Sorry I tell you now. Is true.”

  “Great. Well, if that kid is still there when I get back I’ll put him on a raft and send him sailing myself.”

  Nako shook his head.

  “Why you so mean?” he said.

  “I’m not mean. I just want to be left alone.”

  He wasn’t buying it.

  “I can’t explain it,” I said defensively. “Isolation kind of sucks but it’s still more appealing to me than socializing with idiots. You know how scared I was this morning when I thought I was going to die? But what scared me even more was the feeling that I’d still prefer this life to any other. Loneliness only hurts when you run out of distractions.”

  “You’re a strange man, Ted.”

  “My destiny is to be alone. I don’t need people.”

  Nako just shook his head again, not sure how serious I was in my state of delirium. As for me, I meant every word. That’s exempting emergency medical care, of course. Nako was a good friend and deep inside I knew he liked me too, and not just because I paid him for his time. We had become friends.

  I could see city lights through hazy fog as we neared the Cebu docks. The harbor was filled with a massive cruise ship, a few commercial boats and a smattering of fishing vessels. My coughing had calmed down, but I was still worried. You don’t yack up blood for no reason. Nako patted me on the shoulder and then stood up and dropped his anchor.

  • • •

  I sat in a lime-green concrete room with chipped paint while Nako smoked a pack of cigarettes outside the building. After a long wait, a male nurse entered the room with a clipboard.

  “Your result is clean,” he said.

  “I don’t think so. I’m dying.”

  “Sorry to inform you of this but you will live.”

  “Then why am I coughing?”

  “Dust allergy, more than likely. This is common in Americans.”

  “Then I’
m… not dying?”

  The nurse laughed and shook his head at me before handing me a bottle of pills.

  I met up with Nako on the sidewalk outside the clinic. A group of young, college-age ladies stood on the opposite corner, staring at me while smiling and teasing one another.

  Nako looked at me and said, “You dying?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I replied.

  “Good. Let us celebrate with those Pinays over there.”

  Nako pointed to the group of girls and one of them shouted to us across the street.

  “Hey, Joe! Wanna party?”

  I gave Nako a weary look.

  “I just want to get back,” I said.

  “Come on, man. Chicks here love American. Your white skin help me catch girls.”

  “I’m tired,” is all I could offer.

  “Okay then,” he said, disappointed. “You the boss.”

  The noise of the city was deafening and the streets were far too crowded for my taste. A loud motorcycle whizzed past and missed my leg by an inch. I guess Nako was used to city life and probably saw his bi-weekly boat trips to the Island of Ted as a break from the monotony. He mostly ran cargo trips throughout the archipelago but only stopped at busy ports. My little homestead served as a brief escape from the rough seas and bustling harbors. He thanked me by playing baseball for a couple of hours every other week.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Nako was dead-on about my agency contact, Mr. Yano. A week later, I still had no response from him. At night I heard strange things coming from the other side of the island but it could have been my imagination. Who was that kid? Why was he taking my coconuts? These thoughts lingered as the days wore on. I’d occasionally stand on the roof deck with binoculars to spot an occasional boat or cruise ship. It was one of the games I played to entertain myself when I grew tired of satellite TV.

  I spent a great deal of time working out as well. Push-ups on the bamboo floor and crunches on my bed every morning before coffee – it was my routine and done by rote. It occurred to me that maintaining physical strength could come in handy, even if one chose, like me, to live in confinement. Who knows, right? The Spanish hit these islands in the sixteenth century and the Japanese tried to finish the job in the 1940s. It was, in fact, American troops who liberated the islands during World War II, and that’s something not forgotten by Filipinos. To this day they have a high level of affection for all things American. A very average-looking guy in the States would be treated like a rock star over here. He could even date girls who were, in reality, way out of his league. This affection also goes for Europeans and Australians, since Filipinos have trouble discerning their accents. Like I was told when I entered the country, if you’re white then you’re American – end of story.