Lissa's Island

by R.H. Proenza

Chapter 2

  I was aghast! And I know my face must have shown it for I did not expect to see what confronted me. Not a foraging beast as I thought at first, but another human being. What I saw made me wonder a brief moment if this were not still a vision of a delirious mind.

  IT WAS A GIRL! The dreams…the dim apparition of the girl I had imagined. An angel of mercy that had come to take me to the next world – but instead a real girl was now standing before my eyes!

  The young lady stood a distance away from me and put down a basket of fruit. Her hand came to rest tentatively upon the handle of a knife sheathed to her side. The girl eyed me for several moments, observing me, trying to find out whether I posed a danger to her.

  “H-hello,” I managed to utter in a coarse raspy voice strange even to me for not having used it for some time. Her eyes widened but she still remained silent. I wondered if perhaps she did not understand English. “Bonjour? Hola?” She only eyed me more suspiciously.

  I began to look at her as if for the first time. The girl was statuesque. She looked to be around 17 or 18 years of age, with long straight light brown hair cascading over a bare shoulder. What was visible of her skin was smooth and evenly tanned. Her eyes were a brilliant blue gray – the color of a clear early morning Western sky. She wore a loose tunic made of a worn looking cloth which left her midriff bare save for the knife tied there. Her hips were girded with a brief garment made of some animal skin, reaching only to mid-thigh in length.

  In essence, she was not an apparition at all but a vision of stunning loveliness. I had been staring at her as if in a trance and realized it was not proper for me to be gawking at her in this manner. I surmised this was yet another manifestation of my need for recuperation. “Miss, you, um, are a pleasant site to behold. I know now I would have died and dried up like an old crab on the sand, and I feel sure I have you to thank for my being alive. Did you… pull me to safety and nurse me, or did I dream it all?”

  Her continued silence seem to take away a little of the joy of having found her, or rather her having found me. “I suppose it would have been asking too much from my Maker to have found a lass who spoke English,” I mumbled to myself.

  By now I had acquired some strength to pull myself to my feet and stand erect. My body swayed as my wobbly legs fought against fatigue. Without so much as a word the girl picked up her basket and headed out of the hut. Still bewildered by her presence I stumbled out behind her. My health had not fully recovered for as I got past the doorway my knees began to buckle. I felt a light-headedness which brought me once again to the ground and onto my chest. I lay there a few minutes too stunned to be embarrassed before I noticed her feet next to me.

  The girl leaned down and placed the basket near my face on the ground. I could see there were strange fruits of different shapes and colors inside along with pieces of dried fish. “You must eat now, you are still weak.” The girl spoke Perfect English! Her voice was soft and smooth, mellifluous, perhaps because I had not heard a human voice for some time, let alone a feminine one. “You have not yet recovered. Eat. Yes, I pulled you away from the waves,” she added.

  “I am in profound gratitude to you,” I rasped. It was a pitiful statement for the gratitude I actually felt. I drank fresh water from a gourd and devoured the food. I looked the barbarian with my ravenous hunger as she went back inside. Afterward, I sat back against the hut exterior to enjoy my full belly. She emerged from the hut and gracefully sat on the ground. Once again she began her careful scrutiny of me as if I were a new type of animal she had just encountered.

  Several minutes passed before she spoke. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Elated to be talking to another human being, I began. “My name is Erik Carlson. Please call me Rick, that's what my friends call me. I am, or was, a junior officer aboard the vessel Lady Glasgow, my first time in that position. Many days ago on a voyage to……” Though still worn out I recounted my story to the young lady. She listened intently, at times knitting her brow in concern, and other times looking fascinated. “Now miss, who are YOU, and what are you doing in this godforsaken place?” After some deliberation, she seemed to become more at ease with my presence and began to speak.

  “I… I am Melissa McKeever.” She paused. “I, too, have a story to tell.

  “My father was the captain of his own ship. A year before he set sail on what was to be his last voyage, my mother died of smallpox. Following that I became close to him, and while still an adolescent decided to travel on the seas with him. He fiercely refused at first, then later after much persistence from me, gave in.”

  “Your father? Then you are not alone?” A shadow fell over her face for a brief instant.

  “My father is… is dead.

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

  She sighed, stared at the ground, and then continued. “The purpose of his voyage was to bring iron tools and such as well as religion to the out-islanders of Tahiti. This would help bring them into the nineteenth century. You see, he was a missionary by vocation and he felt this to be his calling.

  “Nearing the end of our voyage a great storm struck from the South. The ship was battered by violent winds and huge waves as I had ever seen. It broke several of the masts and washed four men overboard. I don’t recall ever being so terrified. The storm raged on into a second day. Father said the storm was carrying us along. Our ship could not be steered and then started taking on water from some of the damage. It finally started listing which worsened my fears. Before the storm even began to subside it was evident that the ship was going to be lost. It was then that my father made the desperate decision to abandon ship while we still could.

  “Father planned ahead for a disaster and had two dinghies attached to the ship’s sides, each supplied with tools and such. Both got away just in time, ours and another before the ship went down. The waves tossed us about like driftwood – so much so that we lost our oars! The next morning we saw no sign of the ship or the other dinghy. No others were visible except for one badly injured sailor clinging to a floating board and just off to the side of our little boat. We pulled him in as soon as we found him.

  “Without oars or sail, we drifted at the whims of the tides for a day and a half. I feared the worst when at once we spotted the coast of this island at quite a distance. Father tried to awaken the sailor but discovered he had died through the night. We buried his body at sea and then paddled using our hands as best we could toward the island.

  “During this entire ordeal, I felt hopeless, both from terror and from the idea that we were going to die. But my father was a man of faith and determination, and a master at survival. Over the four years we’ve lived here he taught me how to get along with the elements of nature in order to survive.”

  “FOUR YEARS?” I blurted out shocked that she was still alive after all this time.

  She was staring at the sea absorbed in her own tale when I startled her. She turned to look at me. “I’m sorry Melissa, please go on,” I said meekly.

  “Well, Father taught me to make and build many things. He taught me to hunt and fish, and protect myself from nature, and protect myself from…” She paused looking at me for a moment, “…from other things.

  “We never lost hope that we would be rescued one day. He always kept a pile of wood on that hill over there – for a signal fire, Father called it. But we never did spot any passing ships, nor of course, had any visitors. Then about 10 months ago the island was hit by yet another fierce storm; a typhoon, he called it. It was just like the one we encountered at sea. It brought back to me terrifying memories of our earlier experiences.

  “The winds howled and the rains were colder than other storms had been before. We fought for days to keep our house and belongings from blowing away. We had to stay watching out for flying limbs that came by. The storm lingered for a week.

  "When it was over we were exhausted. Father f
ell sick with a fever and bad cough and had a terrible time breathing. It was pneumonia, I think. I had seen it before. Poor Father. He kept worsening no matter what I did. One night he simply fell asleep, and never…” She choked momentarily. “And never... woke up again.

  “I built a narrow pallet out of branches, and under a great strain I dragged him up that hill and I… I buried him near the signal fire. I’m not sure why, but I felt he would have been pleased being there.” By now tears had moistened her cheeks. Her stare was far off again. She sat thinking, her knees were drawn up to her chest and rocked herself.

  “You are a brave girl, Lissa, and a survivor! I know he would have been proud of you.”

  To my surprise, she abruptly stood up. “My name is Melissa, NOT Lissa, and I will thank you not to call me that!” and whirled around into the darkness of her hut. I stared wide-eyed in her direction and pondered over her sudden unexplained behavior. I knew how she missed her father. This whole ordeal has been quite a burden for a young lady to have to bear by herself. I sighed at her reaction and walked away.

  I sat back on a mat of woven palm tree leaves that she had earlier provided for me and watched a beautiful sunset. Later the stars shone themselves. I marveled at how they were always so much more luminous when one was at sea, or now on a deserted island. They were brilliant in contrast to the absolute darkness. I thought about my predicament in utter gloom. I watched the heavenly panorama of sparkling diamonds unfold, unable to fully enjoy the view for my thoughts until sleep overtook me.

  A screeching squawk awakened me with a start. In a moment I recognized the sound of a member of the tropical parrot family. The rambunctious colorful Macaw sat perched on a makeshift pedestal adroitly cleaning one of its claws between squawks. It was difficult to be upset at the beautiful playful bird.

  According to the position of the sun I knew it was late morning. This was rather unusual for an early riser like myself. I guessed I was still recovering from my bout with the sea and required more sleep. As I stood my muscles and joints felt a bit stiff but much better and stronger than since the Glasgow disaster. My gloom seemed to be lifting.

  “Melissa?” No answer. I walked into the empty hut. This time, my mind was more lucid and was able to discern more details. The inside of the roomy hut was decorated in a more feminine manner than I and previously noticed. There were brilliant colorful exotic flowers tastefully placed at several locations. The floor was covered with several layers of broad, shiny banana leaves and a few animal hides. Two sea turtle shells had been turned upside down to double as seats. They were cushioned with some material, then covered with animal pelts, probably goat skins. Up against one wall was a small table made from thin young trees, tethered together with strips of hide. The dried jaws of a large shark were attached above the doorway – to keep out evil spirits perhaps? There were four very sharp throwing spears in a corner. Their menacing harpoon style points were fashioned from the inner spirals of a conch shell and honed to a sharp point. At the back of the hut was a circular area of many soft looking animal skins, layered to provide comfort… presumably her sleeping area.

  Everything seemed arranged in an orderly fashion. Even the bowl of fruit on the primitive table appeared to have been planned. “You feel better today?” I whirled around to see the girl standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, Melissa. I did not mean to trespass. I came in to talk to you but did not find you. I was admiring your hut, um, your house. And, yes, I do feel better thanks to you.”

  “You are welcome to my food and shelter, Mr. Erik. But soon you must build a shelter of your own. This is the season of the storms. If you like I will show you where to find what you need to build one.”

  “Yes, I would like that. Tell me, are there no other inhabitants on this island?”

  “None. Father and I searched it to the other side and did not find a soul. However, the first year we were here we did find a crude campsite someone had left behind. Later we realized a group of savages on boats stops here from time to time. Probably they stop just for the night—we never waited around to find out—perhaps on their way to or from where they live.”

  “Have you actually seen these savages?”

  “Yes. We saw them through the underbrush. They’re horrible! Father said they were cannibals!” A shudder went through the girl. “Their campsite is far on the other side of the island so we never felt threatened. Thank goodness they never have ventured to this side. We think they come only once a year from some place beyond the horizon. But enough about them…they frighten me.”

  “Of course. Why don’t you show me around the island?”

  “Very well. It’s a lovely island otherwise…Rik. May I call you Rik?”

  “Please do, Melissa.”

  “Then follow me, Rik.” She said it as if she were practicing the word. “Here, take this machete. You’ll need it when the jungle gets thick… and watch out for the Boa Constrictors. A large one can crush a person then slowly swallow you whole.” She mentioned this casually leaving him staring wide-eyed after her.

  Chapter 3