by Perrin Briar
“We also found more types of fruit,” Ernest said, reaching into the bag and extracting a green cube covered with bumps. “I call it the cubed.”
“Would you look at that!” Liz said. “That’s got to be the funkiest-looking fruit I’ve ever seen.”
“Supermarkets would love it,” Fritz said. “They could stack them up.”
“Is it natural?” Jack said. “I’ve never seen a fruit shaped like that before.”
“I’m not sure if anyone has,” Liz said. “We’d better do a taste test before we eat it ourselves.”
He turned to Jack.
“I’m not testing it!” Jack said. “Give it to Ernest.”
“Since when did I become the official family’s taste tester?” Ernest said.
“I didn’t mean any of you,” Liz said before turning to Nips.
Jack took him down off his shoulder and held him close.
“No!” Jack said. “You can’t use Nips like that!”
“Fair enough,” Liz said with a smile. “Let’s use one of the goats.”
“They’re too valuable,” Bill said. “We should catch some rats. Whenever we need to test food out we can give it to them.”
“Oh, and look what I found,” Ernest said, unshouldering the moss.
“My word!” Liz said. “These will make very warm blankets for chilly nights, should be have any. Or, until then, thick rugs.”
Ernest unrolled the moss carpet. He scratched his arm. Liz started back, pointing at his neck.
“Ernest!” she said. “What happened to your neck?”
“Haha,” Ernest said. “What is this, Take The Mickey Out Of Ernest Day or something?”
“No,” Liz said, “it’s your neck! It’s blood red!”
Ernest turned to look at the others, who all wore similar expressions of horror. He peered down at his neck but couldn’t see it. He caught a glimpse of his arms.
“Oh my God!” he said, dropping the thick blanket of moss and scratching himself.
“Don’t scratch!” Bill said.
Ernest held his arms out to the side and rubbed his chin across the rough material of his T-shirt.
“It’s kinda hard not to!” he said.
“Fight it,” Bill said, unshouldering his backpack. “Liz, strip Ernest’s T-shirt off. Be careful not to touch the skin.”
Bill plucked off a small bunch of white beads from a plant in his backpack. Fritz and Jack howled with laughter, slapping their knees, tears streaming down their faces.
“Give me your hands,” Bill said to Ernest.
Liz had removed Ernest’s top, but his rash was so severe it looked like he was still wearing a red T-shirt. Bill crushed the berries so the juice ran into Ernest’s cupped hands.
“Rub it over your skin,” Bill said.
Ernest did, beginning with each arm, and then spread it over his chest and stomach. Bill squeezed more berries to produce juice so Ernest could drip it over his back.
“Good,” Bill said. “This will either make it better or twice as bad.”
“What!” Ernest said.
“I can’t remember if Whitehead Elder Berries soothe or irritate,” Bill said. “My knowledge of herbology is a little rusty.”
“It seemed pretty sharp in the jungle!” Ernest said. “Why are you struggling to recall now?”
“Calm down,” Bill said. “I think it’s working.”
Ernest took deep calming breaths and let himself feel the calming effect of the berry juice over his body. The redness lessened and returned to a near-normal hue. Bill gave Ernest the last of the Whitehead Elder Berries.
“Rub these liberally over the affected skin every four hours,” Bill said.
“What caused it?” Liz said.
“The moss,” Bill said. “It’s the only thing that had contact with every part of his body that was affected.”
“It’s poisonous?” Liz said. “It must be some kind of poison ivy. Poison moss.”
“Don’t touch it,” Bill said. “Ernest, as you’re already affected, you might as well get rid of it. Take it somewhere in the jungle where no one will accidentally trip over it.”
Ernest picked it up, went into the jungle and came back empty handed.
“We can’t have you sleeping inside with the rest of us,” Bill said. “You’ll end up giving it to all of us. He can sleep on the overhanging branch.”
Ernest looked up at the tree. The overhanging branch was thin and jutted out from the main body like it didn’t belong there.
“I’ll never get to sleep on that!” Ernest said.
“Then maybe next time you’ll learn not to just grab things without looking at them first,” Liz said.
“Ernest, you should go rest,” Bill said. “Your body’s had quite a shock.”
Fritz and Jack moved to follow him.
“Not you two,” Bill said. “You’ve got a long night of building ahead of you.”
“What?” Jack said. “Why?”
“Somebody has to build the goats’ enclosure,” Bill said.
He led the goats around the back of the treehouse.
“You’re building it tonight?” Liz said, casting a look at the setting sun. “You still haven’t built the treehouse yet! Shouldn’t you build that before you house the goats?”
“We’ve got kids to think about now,” Bill said with a wink.
He headed into the jungle armed with an axe.
Chapter Thirty-Six
THEY SPENT half the night putting up a series of poles and fence posts around the goats, building an enclosure Fritz thought was entirely too large for a small family of goats.
“It won’t just be for goats,” Bill said. “One day we’ll have pigs, horses, a cow, if we can find one.”
The goats looked quite happy in their new home. They munched on the sprigs of grass and foliage that sprouted out of the ground.
“Shall we feed them now too?” Fritz said.
“No,” Bill said. “They’ll be okay till morning.”
“It is morning,” Jack said. “The sun will be coming up soon.”
“The sun?” Bill said, checking over his shoulder and looking toward the east coast that ran away from them at a perpendicular angle. “You’re right. It’s about time we all got to bed.”
“Pointless going to bed,” Fritz said, yawning. “By the time we get to sleep we’ll have to get up again.”
But go to bed they did, struggling up the ladder to their pallets, not even bothering to wash their faces or brush their teeth. Bill tried his best to keep quiet as he crept around to his side of the bed he shared with Liz. He sat on the edge of the bed, landing heavier than he expected. Liz started.
“Sorry,” Bill said.
“Did you get everything done?” Liz said around a mouthful of sleep.
“Yeah,” Bill said. “The goats are housed. It’s nothing special. We’ll have to upgrade it later, but it’s good enough for now.”
Bill stifled a yawn.
“Aren’t you getting to bed?” Liz said.
“Not right now,” Bill said. “There’s something I need to do.”
“Can’t it wait till morning?” Liz said.
“No,” Bill said. “You go to sleep. It won’t take long.”
But he didn’t move, and just sat on the edge of the bed looking out at the ocean.
“You can tell me anything, Bill,” Liz said. “You know that, right?“
“Yeah,” Bill said, leaning over and kissing her on the check. “I know. Go to sleep.”
For twenty minutes Liz lay with her eyes open before her lids became too heavy and began to drift closed. The bed rocked as Bill stood up, waking Liz. She closed her eyes. Bill paused for a moment before Liz. She felt his eyes on her. Then he moved out onto the landing and climbed down the ladder.
Liz got up and put on her jeans. She peered out from behind the low-hanging tree boughs and spied Bill heading into the jungle. Liz climbed down the ladder to the ground and ran across the cl
earing in Bill’s direction. She stepped into it.
The sun was just beginning to rise, and cast long fingers across the jungle floor. The world was tinted a chill blue. Liz shivered. Her bare shoulders were cold and she cursed herself for not grabbing a jacket on her way out.
The undergrowth snapped beneath her feet. She peered around at the encroaching darkness. An owl hooted, and another bird screeched. She could see no sign of Bill.
Liz turned and looked back the way she had come, the way blocked by tall black columns she knew to be trees, but in her mind they took on the sinister guise of prison bars.
Liz looked around the darkness one more time, but made out no sign or sound of Bill. She turned and headed back toward the clearing, rubbing her bare arms with her hands, goose bumps prickling her flesh.
Standing on the edge of the jungle darkness, a human figure stood watching. Bill turned and headed in the direction he wanted to go all along: toward the southeast coast.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“WHAT IS THAT?” Liz said, pointing to a half-eaten purple ball in Ernest’s hand.
“I found it in the jungle,” Ernest said.
“Did you check to make sure it was dead first before eating it?” Liz said
“It’s fruit,” Ernest said.
“What kind of fruit?” Liz said.
“Delicious fruit,” Ernest said. He had purple stains around his mouth.
“Please tell me you fed it to something before eating it yourself,” Liz said.
“Fritz had a bite,” Ernest said with a shrug.
Fritz shook his head, denying the charge.
“Your inquisitive nature is going to get you in trouble one of these days,” Liz said. “You mark my words.”
“Consider them marked,” Ernest said, opening his mouth for another bite.
He paused, peering at the purple ball, a queasy look coming over his face.
“Oh God,” he said, clutching his stomach.
He dropped the purple ball and beat a hasty retreat for the privy.
Liz scooped the fruit up and peered at its fleshy centre. The pomegranate-like balls were cracking open, little black-headed grubs squirming free. Liz dropped the giant cocoon and dry retched.
“Yeuch!” she said.
She wandered over to the fire, picked up a stick that was alight and lowered it to the bulbous ball. The little grubs whispered tiny shrieks of pain and curled up, burning to charcoaled black flakes. Liz kicked the giant cocoon back into the jungle.
“Disgusting little creatures!” Liz said.
“I’ve been saying that about the boys for years,” Bill said, appearing from over the rise.
“What happens to you when you eat grubs?” Liz said.
“What kind of grubs?” Bill said.
“Little white ones with black heads,” Liz said, shivering.
“Nothing, so far as I know,” Bill said. “A boost in protein levels for a few hours, I suppose. Not much else. Why?”
“Ernest may have eaten a whole hive full of them,” Liz said.
“Oh dear,” Bill said. “He should pump some iron.”
“I think he is pumping,” Liz said. “But it isn’t iron. Dinner’s ready. Shall I get it out?”
“That depends,” Bill said. “Is it with or without grubs?”
“Thankfully without,” Liz said.
A peeling davenport desk sat in the middle of the clearing. Bill placed his hand on it.
“Where did this come from?” he said.
“Do you like it?” Liz said.
“That depends on where it came from,” Bill said.
“Fritz found it washed up on the coast,” Liz said.
Bill’s eyes flicked to the side.
“Which coast?” he said.
“The south, I think,” Liz said.
“Are you sure?” Bill said.
“Yes, I think so,” Liz said. “He said he found it on the same beach we washed up on, which is the south, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Bill said absentmindedly.
Everyone but Ernest appeared. The table was fairly large, more than big enough for the whole family to sit around. There was a backboard, which Liz sat at. She sat sideways to accommodate it.
The family reached for the food in coconut bowls in the middle of the table. There was a watery stew, mixed vegetables and smoked fish.
“Your mother said you found this table washed up on the south coast,” Bill said to Fritz.
“That’s right,” Fritz said.
“That was a stroke of luck,” Bill said. “We needed a table, and one washes up on the shore.”
“With the amount of stuff washing up I suppose it was only a matter of time before one winded up here,” Fritz said.
“When did you find it?” Bill said.
“While you were in The Red Flag,” Fritz said. “I didn’t wander far, and Ernest was with me.”
“One less thing I’ll have to shift from The Red Flag, at least,” Bill said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
“Anything to lighten the load,” Fritz said.
“It’s funny,” Bill said, “because I swear there’s one on The Red Flag similar to this one.”
Fritz took a swig of water.
“It’s a common enough shape,” he said.
Bill and Fritz hadn’t taken their eyes off one another during the whole conversation, their food sat forgotten in front of them. Liz cleared her throat.
“We’re going to sand it down and paint it with some wild berry juice,” Liz said. “We were thinking of cherry red. What do you think, Bill?”
A darkness had crept over Bill’s face the past few weeks, a darkness that had never been there before. It came across the eyes, which saw through everyone they came to.
Liz tried to ascribe it to the hectic workload Bill had on his shoulders but she knew that wasn’t right. He’d been at least as busy back in Switzerland and he had never had such a dark shadow before. Even when he smiled it was distant.
“Sounds nice,” Bill said.
“We’ve found it tough to get the things we need,” Liz said. “But fate smiles upon us sometimes. We’ll always get what we need eventually.”
“I’m glad you’re confident of that,” Bill said.
Liz reached over and put her hand on Bill’s.
“I am,” she said.
Bill moved his hand away from Liz’s, in no mood to be mollified.
“What have you been up to today?” Liz said to Jack and Francis, sat on the opposite side of the table.
“I found a nest of giant ants,” Jack said.
“Giant ants?” Liz said.
“On the outskirts of the east coast,” Jack said.
“The east coast?” Bill said. “What were you doing there, Jack?”
Jack’s eyes widened at his mistake. He looked over at Fritz, and then lowered his eyes. The guilt was written plainly on his face.
“I… I was just out looking for fruit,” Jack said. “Mum said she wanted some different types. For pies she wanted to make.”
Liz smiled.
“It’s true,” she said. “I thought it might be nice to grow some other fruits we’re more used to, and when we have an oven I’ll make some fruit pies.”
Bill’s eyes hadn’t moved from Jack.
“You know my thoughts on wandering around by yourself on the island,” Bill said.
“Yes, Father,” Jack said. “It wasn’t far. Just down the slope. You could still see me from the treehouse.”
“That’d hardly do us any good if we couldn’t get to you in time before something else got you, would it?” Bill said coldly.
“No,” Jack conceded.
“Bill, you’re scaring him,” Liz said.
“Good,” Bill said. “Maybe what I’m saying will get through to him. It hasn’t for far too long.” Bill turned to Jack. “Don’t do it again.”
“No, Father,” Jack said, head down.
Liz hated the defeated to
ne in Jack’s voice. It reminded her of the one she adopted in front of her own father at the same age. She gritted her teeth.
“Let’s get on with our meal, shall we?” Liz said.
“Have you checked inside the desk drawers?” Bill said to Fritz.
“Bill,” Liz said, her teeth clenched so tight the sound barely escaped her lips. “Let’s just eat, shall we?”
Bill pulled a drawer open. It was empty. He opened another.
“I emptied them at the beach,” Fritz said. “Didn’t seem worth carrying it all the way back here.”
“Yeah,” Bill said. “A few scraps of paper must make all the difference with the weight of a large table. Did you at least keep the pages? Scrap paper is hard to come by.”
“No, sorry,” Fritz said. “I didn’t think.”
“No, you didn’t, did you,” Bill said, dipping his spoon into his vegetable stew.
“Is there a problem?” Fritz said, eyes unmoving from Bill’s.
“You tell me,” Bill said, spooning another mouthful.
“There’s no problem so far as I can see,” Fritz said. “We needed a table, and here one is.”
“Praise the Lord,” Bill said. “I suppose He had to hear one of our prayers eventually, didn’t He. We would have preferred to be showered with His bounty, but we’ll just have to settle for this table. We should be grateful for getting anything at all though, I suppose. Most people don’t even get that.
“You know, my father was the head of the household when I grew up, and he made damn sure we all knew it. What he said, went. That was the way I was brought up. Maybe we made a mistake in bringing you up to think you were our equal. In my father’s household we all knew where we stood, where we were in the pecking order. My brothers and I always knew never to lie to our parents.”
“I’m not lying,” Fritz said. “I found it.”
“You found it all right,” Bill said, “in the captain’s quarters of The Red Flag! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?”
Jack and Francis’s spoons froze above their bowls of stew, sensing something was wrong but unequipped emotionally to identify what it was. They picked up on the undercurrent, and it was enough. They looked over at Liz, who shook her head gently. They shared a glance and continued eating, eyes fixed firmly on the bottom of their bowls.
