by Janis Mackay
It was now my third or fourth day as a castaway. There were a few clouds in the sky, but the weather was still warm. For something to do I walked round the island a few times and started noticing little things I hadn’t noticed before: tiny little pink and yellow flowers and sloping flat rocks. It was on one of my walks round my island that I discovered a tiny beach. It was hidden round the back of the island and the sand there was white. You could believe no human had set foot on this pure beach. In front of the beach was a small bay fringed with smooth rocks. There wasn’t a ripple on the water.
I was gazing out to sea, doing my usual scanning the horizon thing and thinking how I would call this place Horseshoe Bay, when suddenly I heard this plop sound. That gave me a jolt. Next thing, I saw a big fish jump out of the water and slap back in again – plop! Then another. Horseshoe Bay was teeming with fish, and not just little fish: they were huge. Okay, so the fishing rod was useless – didn’t mean I was. I was pretty skilled in picking things, wasn’t I?
So I waded silently into the water. Seaweed swirled around my legs but it didn’t bother me. By the time I was waist-deep I could see them – big fat silver fish. I guessed they weren’t used to people as one even brushed my leg. I stood as still as a statue, my hands ready just above the surface. I waited for a fish, and didn’t have to wait long. I saw one swim right towards me and I waited till the fish was right next to me, then shot my hands down through the water, cupped round the fish, squeezed and brought it up. What a beauty! I held on tight and waded fast out of the water, the thing twitching in my hands. By the time I reached the beach the fish had gone limp. Behind me I heard another deep plop sound. I swung round to see the seal. ‘I did it,’ I yelled, lifting up my catch. ‘I caught it with my hands!’
I cooked it too. ‘Thanks, fish,’ I said to the last tasty piece of barbecued fish. ‘You were delicious – thanks!’
By the time the sun was sinking in the sky that day I was hungry again. I went back to the bay, but all the fish had gone. So I wandered around a bit, picked a few tiny raspberries then went off to visit the hut.
I read three romantic stories from the old magazines and a chapter of Moominland Midwinter. On the jacket of the book it said that Tove Jansson had lived on a tiny island. I got this shiver up my spine, as if maybe this had been her island? She was a famous writer, the book said, and she was dead now. I liked the idea that she had lived on this island, writing books. Maybe she wrote the Moomins series in this hut? And maybe this had been her tomato soup? I kept thinking about the soup, wondering what it would taste like. I couldn’t believe I was hungry again. It seemed like I was always hungry.
I checked again when she died and worked out it can’t have been Tove Jansson’s soup. Whoever’s soup it was, I spent ages hacking away trying to open a tin of it. Finally I managed to pierce the tin with the knife. I tried to forget it was two years out of date as I poured the red, cold and pretty revolting soup down my throat. Soon as I’d eaten it I wished I hadn’t. It tasted metallic, and definitely off. But it did dull the raging hunger, a bit. Then I climbed to the lookout point.
I told myself I was looking for boats, but really I was looking for the seal. When I couldn’t find the seal I roamed the island, gorging myself on berries. I tried to ignore the gripping feeling in my stomach, tried not to think about the tomato soup – two years out of date.
I ran back to the lookout. I didn’t see boats, or the seal, but I did see heavy clouds coming in. It had been sunny for days. Okay, there had been a cool breeze sometimes, but this felt different. I looked down to the ring of trees and saw how the birch branches bent with the wind. It felt like a storm was coming. The weather didn’t take long to break. The clouds rolled in, dark and fat, and let loose fat drops of rain. The clouds brought a gloomy darkness with them, and I was beginning to feel sick. I was cold and miserable. Why didn’t the seal come and comfort me? Why did people, and creatures, get close to me, then disappear? Maybe I really was a monster? I remembered my dad’s words – ‘It’s like living with a monster in the house.’ What was wrong with me?
‘What’s wrong?’ I shouted. But there was no one to rage at. So I shouted again. To the rain. To the dark clouds. To the choppy sea.
I got soaked. And the rain didn’t stop. It got heavier. Huge splatting drops the size of eyeballs. I tried to shelter under a tree. That didn’t work. I tried to push myself in against the side of a rock. That didn’t work either. I was drenched, totally miserable and shivering. My hair was plastered against my face and the smelly brown shirt was soaked and sticking to me. I couldn’t stop shaking.
There was nothing else for it. That night I went to the hut.
Chapter Twenty-one
I pushed open the creaky door of the hut, my heart pounding. The rain was lashing at my back. In front of me the eerie hut was gloomy and smelly. But I had to find shelter so I stepped inside. It was pretty dark in there, which was just as well. Meant I couldn’t see all the cobwebs, dead mice and bird poo. There was even something comforting about the little hut. Even though rain dripped through a corner of the roof, it was more or less dry. It was a shelter, and by this stage I wasn’t fussy. It was too gross to sleep on the mattress, but there were two scabby moth-eaten blankets and a bit of dry floor, and I was used to sleeping on hard floors.
I found a wooden box with old newspapers inside. I dragged the box across the floor and hunched down in the one dry corner, between the wall and the box. The floorboards creaked under me as I rolled myself up in the blankets. I still felt wet through, but what could I do? I lay there, shivering and trying to sleep. Lightning suddenly flashed and for a split-second the hut dazzled bright white and electric blue. I saw the stained mattress, the hanging door at the cupboard, the skeleton of a bird, all lit up.
Then I was plunged back into the gloom. Shuddering, I wrapped myself tighter. It felt like summer was over. It had been light for so long, but now I lay trembling in the dark, and I was so cold I was shaking. I blew into my hands, wrapped my arms tight around me, but my teeth still wouldn’t stop chattering. I had piled a few magazines up for a pillow so I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. If my bed wasn’t so uncomfortable and the stink of the place so terrible, I might have found the whole scene funny. I thought about the rubbishy romantic stories under my cheek and the housewives fifty years ago desperate to make feather-light sponge cakes, to run off in the moonlight with tall dark strangers on horseback, and knit terrible chunky sweaters to keep warm in – I wished I had one now!
Rain fell through the roof but my corner stayed dry. The splatting rain almost felt like company, like I’d switched on some drumbeat music. Splat-splat – splatsplatsplat. I wondered where the seal was. Splat-splat. Eventually I stopped shaking and felt a wave of sleepiness wash over me. I pulled the blanket up over my face, to get away from the stink, and to be hidden in case the old fisherman suddenly turned up, searching for his tomato soup. I tried to forget I had rancid soup inside me – it was probably rotting my gut, probably slowly killing me, and after surviving this far it would be a shame to die of tomato soup … Splatsplatsplat. Sleep tugged me under. I didn’t know if it was night or morning. The rain still drummed on the roof. My last thought was that I hoped I wouldn’t have the drowning dream again.
I thought I was dreaming. I thought someone was running towards me, footsteps crunching over pebbles and twigs, crushing shells. But my eyes were open and I was staring into the blanket – it smelt damp. My neck was stiff. But I was awake. My heart raced. I thought I could hear footsteps outside. This was no dream. Maybe it was the seal? But it didn’t sound like the seal.
The footsteps were coming closer … somebody was outside – I was sure of it. I heard a twig snap and I froze, my heart banging. I heard a tapping at the door. Then I heard a voice. ‘Niilo?’
It had to be a dream. I was hallucinating. I imagined Hannu’s voice again, calling me: ‘Niilo?’ Part of the blanket fell into my mouth and I felt like gagging. But I was scared to move.<
br />
‘Are you in there?’
My head spun. What if this was real? I wanted to say something, but the sound stuck in my throat. Then I heard the hut door squeak open. I pulled the blanket down and opened my eyes. It was still gloomy, but a pale shadowed light strayed into the hut. The footsteps creaked on the floorboards … I didn’t know what to do.
He spoke again. His voice sounded hopeless. ‘Niilo?’ Like he’d said it a thousand times. Like the last thing he expected was an answer. It was Hannu – I would know his voice anywhere. His voice, now, came out twisted with pain. Then I heard him mutter to himself, ‘Give it up, Hannu. He’s drowned. Like they said. Accept it.’ Then I heard him kick out at something – the cupboard door, I think. ‘Why did I teach him to swim? Why? Why? I killed him.’
I lay frozen, staring up at the cobwebby ceiling as I heard him drag his feet. Even his feet sounded exhausted. Suddenly I panicked. I was so well hidden behind this box he hadn’t seen me. He was going away. He was going to leave the island and I would be alone again. I heard him push the door. I pulled the blanket right down, and the words came out before I thought about it.
‘I’m here!’
I heard him gasp. ‘Niilo?’ I heard his footsteps hurry over the floor. They were coming closer. ‘Niilo?’ he said again. I heard the flick of a torch, saw the glare of white light. Silvery light beamed over my face, blinding me. ‘Oh, my dear God!’ That was Hannu.
I blinked up at him, shielding my eyes as he pushed the box aside and fell to his knees. The torchlight swung off and I heard the torch thud on the floor. Then I could see Hannu, his outline dark and shadowy. He was standing over me, his mouth wide open. A pale sliver of light fell on his face. He looked like he was seeing a ghost, or a blessed angel. He looked like he might faint.
‘Hi,’ I said, not knowing what else to say.
‘Niilo? Oh God, Niilo. Is it really you?’ Hannu stretched out a hand and touched me on the arm. I felt his wet fingers press into me, as if he was checking I was real. ‘It is. It’s you. You’re alive. Oh dear God, you’re alive!’
Chapter Twenty-two
I saw a tear roll down Hannu’s cheek and glisten in the pale morning half-light. I sat up, feeling really relieved he was there, standing in front of me in this creepy hut.
‘I swam all the way,’ I blurted out. I felt myself huge with pride. This was the first person I’d told. This great achievement had been locked inside me and now it came bursting out. ‘It took me all day. I must have swum fifty kilometres. Or twenty, anyway. I swam the whole day and I wasn’t scared.’ I suddenly felt really happy. I wanted to talk and talk. I wanted to boast. I wanted to tell Hannu how I had made fire, and gutted fish, caught one even, and how I was brave enough to sleep in a creepy hut. I wanted to tell him everything.
Hannu was shaking his head and staring at me. More tears were rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t seem to notice that he was crying, or care. And he was soaked. ‘They said you were dead.’ He squatted down, took my hand and squeezed it. Water ran off him. ‘They said they searched this island three days ago and the other islands around. But they didn’t find you.’
Suddenly I remembered that dream soon after I’d arrived, when I was hidden under the bush. Men shouting, and a loud buzzing. So it hadn’t been a dream. They really had come looking for me.
‘Niilo, they said you had drowned. They found your shoes washed up.’
‘I’m not,’ I said, which was obvious, but words just kept spilling out. ‘I’m alive. I grilled fish and made fire and found berries. I like fish. I like the black charred bits. And I ate dandelion leaves. They got my trainers?’
Hannu nodded. ‘They sure did, both of them.’ He laughed then, but it sounded like he might cry. ‘Oh, Niilo, you have no idea how relieved I feel. I knew it. You’re a survivor. Thank God you’re okay. I haven’t slept, Niilo. I’ve looked everywhere. I took a boat, said I’d find you if it was the last thing I ever did.’
‘You found me.’ Again, that was obvious, but it was still a miracle. There are thousands of islands in Finland. Thousands of rocks jutting up in the Baltic Sea. And Hannu came to this one. ‘I was waiting for the search party,’ I said.
‘Believe me, Niilo,’ he said, placing his strong hands on my shoulders and staring at me, like he still couldn’t believe this was real, ‘there was a search party. There still is. They sent out the coastguards. They flew a plane. You’ve been on the television. Your mother blames herself. Your brother has made a missing-person poster. They lit a special candle for you at the Wild School. And Riku is always down at the shore, looking for you.’
‘Really?’
He nodded his head and wiped his tears with his sleeve, then sniffed and nodded again. ‘We’ve all missed you, Niilo.’ Then he squeezed my hand and laughed. ‘Thank God you’re safe. You’re alive!’
I sat there on the floor of that hut, with Hannu laughing and crying in front of me, and I thought about Scarface staring out at the sea, looking for me. And I imagined the other boys huddled round a special candle, all saying prayers for me. I couldn’t believe my Converse trainers came back. I wondered what kind of poster Tuomas made. We were quiet for a while, me and Hannu. Maybe he was also saying a prayer. Then I heard him sniff and laugh softly. ‘Nice place you got here.’
‘I got women’s magazines for a pillow,’ I said, then I laughed too. ‘There’s some great knitting patterns in there.’ I laughed so much I cried, and we were both crying and laughing. I don’t know the last time I’d laughed like that. Maybe that was the first time in years? All my muscles ached in a good way. Then, between laughing, I said, ‘And I made a friend.’
Hannu lifted his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder. ‘Where is he?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t think my friend likes it in here.’
‘Can’t see why not,’ Hannu said, switching the torch on and flicking it around the gloomy hut. He fixed the beam on a mangled bird skeleton. ‘Why would anybody not like it? It’s a palace.’ Then Hannu switched off the torch and grew more serious. ‘So, who is your friend?’
Now it was my turn to be serious. I wiped my wet face with the blanket. ‘Well, I know it sounds incredible, but … my friend is a seal. A huge black seal. It’s been watching over me. It gave me fish.’
Hannu shook his head slowly. ‘A seal?’
‘Yeah, I was scared at first, but …’ Hannu was still shaking his head. ‘You don’t believe me? What about all the stories you told me? I’m serious – there was a black seal, and it was looking out for me.’
‘Niilo, you swam a long way. Maybe fifteen kilometres.’
‘So? You saying I’m making this up?’
‘No. I don’t know. I mean, you might be … I don’t know … delirious. But what do you mean? It gave you fish?’
‘It fished them out of the water and threw them to me. Honestly.’ I felt angry now. I knew the seal was real. And Hannu was the one who was supposed to believe in these things. ‘I’m not lying! I’m not del—’
‘… irious,’ Hannu finished the word when I let it hang in the air. He looked at me like he was making sure. ‘I believe you,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry, Niilo. I’ve been so worried. I haven’t slept. I kept thinking I had found you, under trees, on beaches, in old huts a bit like this one, but then it was a log, or the wrong boy, or my imagination.’ He nodded his head slowly and looked at me. ‘I believe you.’
We didn’t speak for a while, just both sat there on the floor of that spooky hut, which wasn’t spooky now he was there. Then in a quiet voice he said, ‘I know this sounds weird, but that huge black seal, I think he guided me here. I’ve been on twenty-six islands. I thought you had drowned. Or somehow boarded a ship and gone to Sweden like you said you wanted to. I was close to giving up, especially when the wind got up and it started raining. Then I saw this shining black head loom out of the water. He looked at me too, Niilo. It was like he could see right into me. Then he turned round and swam off. I was exhausted. I
watched the seal go. My arms were aching – I had been rowing for hours – and the engine was out of petrol. The wind was against me, the rain was lashing down. But the seal stopped, and turned his head to look back at me. It was as if he was waiting for me to follow him. As though he was saying, Come on. This way! Suddenly I felt this excitement zip through me. I dipped the oars into the water. “I’m coming, buddy,” I said, and pulled back hard on the oars, and followed him, even though the weather was wild.’ Hannu smiled. He was still dripping wet but it was like he was shining. ‘I followed the seal. I got the feeling he wanted me to stop at this island.’
‘Yeah, that’s my seal. That’s my friend.’ Again I felt this huge happy feeling glow inside me. ‘It understands me.’
‘So do I, Niilo.’ Hannu looked at me. It felt the same as when the seal had looked at me, when I had imagined trees and snow and stars and bears and this mighty great feeling pulse away inside me. I felt this huge smile break open my face, like time stopped. But as the pale dawn light trickled down through the hole in the roof, I saw Hannu’s face, saw how worried he looked. I saw the way he frowned and bit his lip. ‘So trust me when I say this – but I need to take you back to the Wild School. They are dredging up the sands around the island, Niilo. The marine rescue is still out. Divers are looking for your body. Your family are worried sick. We have to go back, Niilo.’
I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. How could he do this? ‘What about my freedom?’ My voice came out all choked up. ‘I know how to survive. This is my island. I made fire.’ I felt my eyes well up. ‘I want to stay here. I know how to look after myself.’
‘I know you do, Niilo. You’ve been away four days. That’s already a great achievement. Believe me, Niilo, you can feel proud of that. But you can’t stay here. And … they’re blaming me.’
