Routine Activities

by Nick Niels Sanders

  Roger was lost in thoughts about his future. It was still a fog, but it was a bright, shining fog of great anticipations. The one thing he knew he was going to do was find Jayne’s daughter and make things right with her. As to the rest, as he understood the meaning of participation more and more, his resolve to be the vehicle for others’ joy was reinforced.

  James and Maria, unaffected except by the sheer joy of being together, of being in good company, of being part of a functioning mini-society felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that things were working out so well, neither of them feeling any responsibility for the events, the actions of others, around them. If they looked deeper, perhaps they felt gratitude that they seemed always to find themselves in communities like this one, with people working together on working together. If they had wisdom to share, it was not wisdom they felt they owned or felt any responsibility for; if they inspired others, that was an indication of how wonderful those others were, and little reflection on themselves. What they felt above all was love for one-another. And an urge to complete an intention interrupted by fatigue the previous evening.

  As they walked away from the Kitchen Tent, Marcella reached out to take Paul’s hand. She knew Paul to be a very sensitive man but very diffident – but she knew they shared some needs. He looked down at her and the hand holding his and returned the pressure – it was a source of wonder and joy that this little French woman liked him. She led him to her lean-to, where he spent the rest of the night.

  3

  October 3

  The dawn came in steely gray, brisk winds blowing out of the south, across the lagoon, up the beach and whistling through the palm trees, waves overtopping the reef, boiling into the lagoon, adding their disturbance to that of the wind, creating miniscule surf on the beach. Twelve human forms assembled on the beach, six bearded men and six women, their hair blowing around their faces. They formed up into two rows with one figure facing them, his back to the wind. They began to exercise.

  The man at the front shouted something that half of the others did not hear. Suddenly, what had looked like a well-choreographed dance became chaos. All movement stopped. The man at the front shouted again and waved his hands.

  There was a loud crack behind the group – it was sufficiently louder than the voice of the man that everyone heard it and looked around to see what it was. They saw palm fronds being carried away from them on the wind.

  Stepping out of his place in one line of the exercising group, a man with a black beard and black hair waving around his face went from one to another of his compatriots, carrying a single message, “I think we are in for a storm. I think tai chi this morning is cancelled and we should all make sure that our lean-tos and tents are well secured against the wind.”

  The man at the front of the group stepped forward to listen to this message, leaning his head in to be nearly touching those of several others who listened to the black haired one. As they heard the message, all departed, walking back to the large tent farther west on the beach, that was now beginning to flap in the wind.

  Shortly, all twelve were working; one on preparing breakfast; another on washing the open sores on the back of a third; the rest moving from one tent-like structure to another, tightening ropes and checking the contents of the tents. One removed a moderate sized scrap of rubber from a pile by the fire and carried it to a tent, where she wrapped it carefully around a lap-top computer. When she was certain that the computer was completely and safely encased, she made a small hollow in the sand and carefully buried it there. There was a flat rock nearby to be placed over it. Assured of its safety, she moved back to the larger tent where everyone was gathering to eat.

  The black-haired man moved through the entire encampment, checking and double-checking everything, then he too walked to the large tent to eat.

  Marcella uncovered several boxes of dried breakfast cereal she had not wanted ever to serve – but today was certainly the day. They were called “muesli” except the one labeled “Cheerios.” She poured the contents of the several boxes into serving bowls, added serving spoons, made up some milk from the powdered milk, and set this out for her compatriots for breakfast.

  In spite of having foregone tai chi, it had been an energetic morning so far, and everyone ate well, though there were no compliments sent back to the chef. The general atmosphere was of inconvenience and an expectation of rain – no one was anticipating a major storm, except Mark, who had survived a hurricane in New Orleans one summer, and to whom this looked all too much like the beginnings of a hurricane. Mark’s knees were bothering him a lot this morning – he was hobbling visibly – but he was not complaining. As he ate, he looked south every few moments, as if awaiting the arrival of a ghost.

  Not nearly so convinced as Mark of the potential seriousness of the situation, James ate a bowl of Muesli and went to check on Jeanne’s back.

  “Yesterday you had 23 active burns, three large ones and twenty smaller ones. I told you the larger ones would take 3 or 4 days to heal and that the smaller ones would heal in a day or two. Well, it looks to me as though we have had a setback. Only three of the smallest burns have healed and half a dozen or so have actually gotten worse. Did we forget to do plenty of saline soaks yesterday? Or leave out a honey treatment?”

  “Oh, dear. You were so optimistic yesterday; I think I missed most of my treatments. I did go swimming several times, but I also spent too much time out in the sun. I promise to do better today.”

  “Yes, I noticed a wee bit of sunburn. Fortunately, you were pretty well tanned before you overexposed yesterday, so the sunburn is not a big deal. But the burns are. I think it would be a good idea to be more attentive to your burns today. Today will be a challenge because of the storm. I will see if Val and I can collect a supply of sea water now so that if things get bad enough we dare not go out later, we will be able to continue your treatments.”

  “Thank you, Dr. James.”

  As James rose and looked around for Val, Jeanne turned to Ralph, “I’ll never forget yesterday. It was probably the best day of my life, even if we had a burn setback.”

  “I think so too. Thanks for that day. We won’t have a chance to repeat it today, and we’ll have to pay more attention to your burns, won’t we?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  A few moments later, Val came to Jeanne and took her away to the infirmary for a treatment. Ralph stayed close by. James and Roger fetched two large pots of sea water, which they stored under the infirmary lean-to. Val proceeded with Jeanne’s treatment.

  The usually orderly progression of castaways to the edge of the water to wash plates, bowls and flatware was reduced to a hasty and disorganized series of forays. The wind was continually increasing in strength; to get to the shore to wash dishes required a fight to move in that direction, leaning into the wind, visibility impaired by hair whipping around in no direction and every direction and by too much wind in the face. The water was rising in wavelets that were now as much as knee high – not much by the standards of coast unprotected by barrier reefs, but quite remarkable on a beach usually characterized by no waves at all.

  But the washing got done. In the kitchen, Marcella, Maria and Julia were working on getting everything close to the ground, and putting orderly piles of cans along the end of the Kitchen Tent pointing into the wind, to act as a windbreak. Jim and Ron helped Paul to add wind protection for the fire, adding a few more stones and some sand to fill in chinks so that there would be a complete semicircular ring of stone wall guarding the windward side of the fire. They brought firewood under the canvas roof and covered it with additional canvas for good measure. Dry wood and a fire were essential things to preserve.

  Suddenly, a few minutes before 9:00, it began to rain in torrents of cool, heavy droplets. This was not the cold rain (at nearly freezing temperatures) of Oregon, but the falling raindrops were much colder than the air through which they were falling. Everyone retreated into the shelter of
the Kitchen Tent, including Val, Ralph and Jeanne, returning from the infirmary. The noise of the rain falling on the tarpaulin roof of the Kitchen Tent was loud enough to preclude conversation; the intensity of the rain closed them in visually from the rest of the world – they could see a short way into the palm grove, where the trees provided some shade from the rain, but toward the south, the water was no longer visible.

  Within a few minutes after the rain began, the tarpaulin roof of the Kitchen Tent began to sag as the weight of the rain water was felt by the canvas. Grabbing an oar, propping the blade end on a couple of packing crates and pushing the handle end against the center of the roof canvas, Paul rapidly established a virtual deluge of water cascading off the edge of the canvas onto the sand.

  “That won’t do as a long term solution, Paul.” James was thinking forward. “The extra pressure from the oar will tend to induce tears in the canvas. I think we need to lower one side of the roof so that there is a natural incline.”

  “Right! Thanks!”

  Paul, joined again by Ron and Jim, started reducing the height of the canvas along the eastern edge of the tent. The canvas roof was tied in five places, four of those ties going to palm trees and the last elevated on a tent post with the tie to the base of a fifth palm tree, with four intervening sections of canvas. The tent post had to be driven deeper into the sand, and the rope retied; the other four required untying the line and retying lower on the palm tree.

  Paul, Ron and Jim were consumed by the activity of creating natural drainage for the roof; James looked out onto the beach and saw one of the life rafts moving slowly toward the palm trees, bouncing along the sand, propelled by the wind.

  “Look at that life raft move!” James shouted, dashing out into the rain, grabbing a cooking pot on his way. He huddled in the life raft, facing leeward, shoveling sand into the boat to make it heavier. After a moment, Roger showed up with a pan in his hand.

  “Roger, see where the other one is and do this to it also. We’re going to need to get the outboard motors and gas cans into cover.”

  “Got it!” and Roger moved off east, looking for the other raft. It was farther along the beach than he had thought, and it was almost among the palm trees. Following James’ example, he jumped in and began to shovel sand into the craft all around himself. In a few minutes, James was at his side, shoveling, encouraging Roger to get out of the craft, disconnecting outboard motor and gas, and filling in sand where they had come from. James took the gas can in one hand and the propeller shaft of the motor in the other; Roger grabbed the motor end, and they walked together back to the Kitchen Tent, placed their cargo by the edge of the tent, asking Paul to find places to stow these things. They returned to the first life raft, shoveled more sand into it, extracted the gas can and outboard motor and carried them back to the Kitchen Tent. The outboards would work on any of the life rafts, it was more important to safeguard them than the life rafts themselves.

  Having put down his sketch book and pencils in a spot toward the center of the Kitchen Tent, Ron was surprised to return to them to find the cover of the sketch book had water droplets on it. Knowing the effect that water would have on his pencil sketches, he was in a panic. Maria found him, standing as if petrified, his sketchbook clutched in his hands, an expression of horror on his face.

  “This looks like a problem needing solution.”

  “Yes. My sketch book must not get wet or all the sketches will run and be ruined. What can I do?”

  “I had the same thought about my laptop computer. I wrapped it in rubber salvaged from the broken life raft and buried it under a stone under a lean-to. I suggest you do something like that.”

  “Good idea. Thanks.” Ron, reinforced by Jim’s willing help, found several appropriately sized pieces of rubber and a rag to wipe them off with. Together, they wrapped the sketch book. Ron and Jim talked about taking it to their lean-to and burying it there, but neither of them thought it such a good idea to be leaving the Kitchen Tent. So, in the end, they created a hole in the sand about halfway between the sides of the Kitchen Tent and about 2/3 of the distance from south to north – and therefore in the lee half of the enclosure – and buried the carefully wrapped sketch book there, marking the spot with a rock and placing an inverted plastic bin over the rock. Ron sat on the plastic bin. It was his intent not to leave this spot for the remainder of the storm. Jim, whose calm face and active body had covered up the fear that welled inside him at seeing the strength of the winds and the magnitude of the rain, sat down on the sand beside Ron and began to shake visibly. Ron put a hand on his shoulder, but it was not exactly a steady hand.

  With the wall on the windward side of the kitchen area nearly complete, Maria moved on, intending to check in with everyone to see how people were doing. Julia, having helped in the kitchen to protect the food and to build the windbreak, was now huddled in a corner, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, forehead resting on knees, breathing the only clue that she was not a very life-like statue.

  “Julia, are you OK?”

  “I’m so frightened and so upset.”

  “I understand frightened. Tell me about upset.”

  “It is so wild and uncontrolled. I feel deranged beyond hope. My hair is flying around my face. Wetness and sand are everywhere. I am glad I don’t have to worry about my clothes being messy, though.”

  “Let me help you to move to someplace that is as reasonably safe as we can find. Maybe you can close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere else.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do. Doctor James taught me that. It was helping a little bit, but I still feel exposed and in danger.”

  “Well, I don’t want to kid you. I think we are all exposed and in danger. But over here will be safer and less exposed.” She found Julia a place where there were a couple layers of containers of food between her and the wind, and turned a wooden packing crate to be long side up, so Julia could actually curl up inside of it, gaining the protection of the wood on three sides.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Maria moved on.

  Roger and James brought the second gas can and outboard motor to shelter, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having done something important. They looked around to see what was going on. Marcella was still working in the kitchen, stoking the fire; Maria was comforting Julia near the windward end of the tent. Ron and Jim were well back in the tent, sitting together.

  Roger found Mark huddled in a corner, away from Julia, but in a similar state of mind.

  “Mark, how are you doing?”

  “I’m frightened.”

  “Do you feel safer in this corner?”

  “Not really, but it was the best place I could find.”

  “What would make you feel safer?”

  “I’m not sure, Roger. I was in New Orleans once when there was a hurricane. There were huge waves of water washing people and buildings out to sea and winds blowing trees over. No place felt particularly safe. If that is what happens here, we’ll all be washed away by waves. This wind sounds like the wind in New Orleans before the hurricane hit.”

  “I understand your concern. We’re doing our best to make everything and everyone as safe as we can. Would you like to be closer to Julia?”

  “Yes.”

  Roger led Mark to Julia and arranged for him a similar container to hide in – though because he was a lot bigger than Julia, he occupied a large plastic storage unit. But it seemed to fit him well, and he seemed to be a bit more comfortable sitting next to Julia.

  Marcella looked around. First Julia then Maria had left her in her reconstructed and reinforced kitchen. The enhanced wall at the south end of the Kitchen Tent served to protect the kitchen itself from both the wind and the water, should the waves get so high. The augmented back drop for the fire, with all of the chinks in the rocks now filled in with smaller rocks and sand, built higher than it had been, was a great protection from the wind for the fire, b
ut it was still vulnerable to extinction from the rain, which was pouring down in a deluge.

  For Marcella, the first priority was protecting the fire. The embers continued to burn even with the wind whipping around them and torrential rains falling on them. She remained attentive, continuing to add fuel at a slow rate to keep the fire going. As the morning progressed and the wall of piled rock and sand continued to work as a windbreak, she became much less concerned about the wind but her concern about the rain continued, and with good reason. She watched the flames hiss and sizzle the drops as they fell, prodding a bit now and then to keep things going, and always being sure there was dry fuel on the coals. In primitive societies, Marcella understood (she would have to ask Paul about that), there was one member of the tribe whose full-time job was tending the fire. Today, Marcella could fully understand that level of commitment to a fire.

  Marcella’s second priority had been to protect the kitchen area and the food supplies. Once the rearranging of the food had begun, it had proceeded rapidly. Empty containers no one needed to sit on were filled with sand and used as a base for a wall of canned food. On top of these sand-filled containers were hundreds of cans of canned food, lined up and coated on the windward side with wet sand. In all, the barrier was almost shoulder height on Marcella, and much of the wind was deflected somewhere else. The barrier around the back of the fire was not nearly so tall, so more wind penetrated into the kitchen in that area.