Routine Activities

by Nick Niels Sanders

  Unfortunately, the rapid construction of the windbreak had not taken lunch preparation into account and was therefore wildly disorganized. It took Shelly some time to find canned vegetables and to begin to identify an assortment. It was half an hour before she started to deliver cans to Marcella to consider, and twice that before they had gathered together enough cans with balanced and varied enough content to satisfy Marcella.

  It was at about this time that Maria arrived, with an offer of help.

  James and Paul set out together to check the status of the lean-tos that James had not checked. Paul’s was closest and was therefore first, except that it just wasn’t there; one of the two support posts lay on the sand a few paces downwind; the life raft and the other stake had disappeared. Paul was shocked and felt himself on the verge of retreating back into despair, but James was still full of action. Rooting around in the sand, he found a corner of the blanket Paul had slept on, and began pulling on it. Partly rolled and partly folded by the wind, it had been buried by blowing sand. They shook it out briefly, folded it and carried it with them to the next lean-to.

  Ralph and Jeanne slept in a life raft lean-to. It seemed to be withstanding the wind pretty well, but in light of what had happened to Paul’s life raft, they lowered it to the ground, face down over the sandy blanket under it, and staked it down to the ground, adding a load of sand to the top of it.

  They went on to the lean-to occupied by Mark and Julia, also a life raft, and gave it a similar treatment to the previous one. There were two more life raft lean-tos in the infirmary area. They staked these two down and did their best to give them an adequate load of sand, but they were tired and hungry by this time.

  James glanced at his watch. Lunch should be ready. They turned back toward the Kitchen Tent, James keenly aware that there were two lean-tos that they had not gotten to – the one occupied by Shelly and Val, which was at the farthest extremity of the infirmary, and the one occupied by Jim and Ron, which was somewhat separated from the rest in being northeast of the Kitchen Tent, while the rest of the lean-tos were to the west and northwest of the Kitchen Tent.

  When they got back to the Kitchen Tent, Paul spread out his sandy blanket so he and others could sit comfortably to eat.

  Mid-day

  Maria helped with lunch preparation by taking over the tending of the fire – she being the only one in the group that Marcella would trust with that task. Shelly was very helpful; Marcella was grateful that Shelly was up to the task of creating an uncooked lunch by opening cans. Shelly consulted with Marcella about which cans and what proportions to use. They opened three cans of peas, two of peas and carrots, two of corn and seven cans of beans, including red beans, black beans, one can of lima beans and two cans of string beans.

  Marcella prepared herbs for this mixture and a mustard vinaigrette dressing while Shelly opened and drained cans, combining ingredients in a large bowl. Shelly stirred to mix; Marcella applied dressing and lunch was served.

  Mark and Julia had to be served; collecting food for Ron, who was not to be dislodged from sitting on the plastic tub that protected his sketchbook, Jim discovered that activity actually reduced his anxiety. Ralph and Jeanne took their food back to their nook, where they ate together and stayed huddled together until much later in the day when the rain and wind had stopped. James and Paul returned from their work just as lunch was served and joined Roger and Val in the line.

  The roar of the wind through the palm trees, the rattling of the palm trees themselves, the sound of breakers on the reef and smaller breakers quite close to the Kitchen Tent, the bass drum-roll of the flapping of the tarpaulins in the wind and the staccato snare drumbeat of rain on those tarpaulins was enough of a din to preclude any conversation over lunch.

  Suddenly, a new noise was added to the din – a sound of tearing, and between one instant and the next, the north-most of the Kitchen Tent tarpaulins was letting rain pass through it. James, Roger and Paul all jumped up to see what they could do – but there was nothing. Within a few minutes, the tarp was in tatters, waving and fluttering in the wind, adding yet another sound to the cacophony. Val and Shelly, who had chosen this part of the tent to sit in, were surprised and quickly relocated. Otherwise, there was nothing in that part of the tent that would not withstand getting wet.

  A loud cracking noise was the next sound to create alarm. It seemed to come from the east, and not far away. James immediately thought of broken palm trees. Among the castaways, some were merely quiet, some retreated further into themselves, and others speculated verbally about what could be going on.

  Above their heads, the palm trees were being whipped by the wind. A careful observer would have noticed, from time to time, a dead frond bring ripped from its tree and sent cascading downwind. But these were silent happenings compared to the noise of the rain and the howl of the wind, which, along with the rain being driven almost sideways into the Kitchen Tent, had become the constants of the last few hours, drowning out much conversation and even a lot of rational thought.

  By the end of lunch, James, Paul and Roger agreed that the sound of the wind seemed to be abating slightly. There was hope!

  After lunch, Marcella replaced Maria at the fire, concerned that, as reliable as Maria was, no one could do as good a job as Marcella would do herself. Shelly and Maria cleaned up. No one was taking dishes and flatware to the water to clean them, so, for the first time, there was a pile of dirty dishes.

  As soon as it was clear that things were reasonably under control, Maria excused herself and went to find James, who had looked exhausted over lunch, and who probably needed a nap, but wouldn’t have a lean-to to take a nap in. She found him sitting on a packing crate, his hair blowing around his face, eyes drooping.

  “Honey, you look really fagged.”

  “I do feel pretty tired.”

  “You should take a nap.”

  “Where? I took down our lean-to because it was about to blow away.”

  “I’ll find you a blanket to lie on.”

  She went to where she knew there were several blankets and brought one to James. She led him to the windbreak at the south end of the Kitchen Tent, where she spread out the blanket and got him to lie on it. As she stooped by him to fold the blanket over him because he was actually cold, she realized what an ideal place this was. The wind was virtually absent and there was protection from the rain. She tucked him in, noticing that he was asleep before she turned to go.

  Maria returned to the kitchen area to continue helping Shelly clean up and Marcella tend the fire. Marcella was once again hunkered down before the fire, her apron drawn around her for protection, her focus of attention drawn in small. Shelly was working happily on cleaning up, and was happy for Maria to lend a hand. Between them they had everything sorted out in half an hour or so, though there was still that pile of unwashed dishes.

  Shelly wandered away. Maria went to sit by Marcella. The wind noise seemed to be less now, and they could talk pretty well without yelling. Marcella talked more about her childhood, how important the fire was, how she had been punished once for letting it almost go out because she had not been paying attention. If someone had not come along and checked it, it certainly would have gone out. There was a tormented little girl inside of her who was not about to let the fire go out. It emerged gradually that it wasn’t about whether Marcella could trust anyone else; it was that it was her responsibility and it was an onus she had to bear herself. Maria had some experience of such burdens and felt considerable empathy for her young French friend.

  And so they continued, squatting before the fire, sharing Marcella’s ample fireproof apron, staring into the fire, exchanging intermittent comments from among their thoughts, neither mentioning what both of them noticed – the gradual reduction of wind noise.

  Julia did not emerge from her box for lunch. It had become, somehow, home to her for whatever interval was required. Inside the box was precious little room, but what there
was of it, was immaculate. No particle of sand was there. Julia had worked on arranging her hair, which was far the least disheveled of any of the women. Yes, the box was small, but it was secure and it was neat and tidy. It had been difficult to eat lunch while huddled in the box, but somehow she had managed. She just prayed she wouldn’t need to use the latrine while the wind was blowing.

  Next to her, Mark was confronting his own demons. As he cowered in his rather larger but no less cramped space, the sound of the wind was unfolding a tale of great suffering, giant swells of ocean water about to strike them, washing everyone away. Death loomed. Every breath was to be his last. Each new breath brought a sense of relief that he was still alive, then he realized that it was really THIS breath that was to be the last one. Mark was so wrapped up in this ongoing cycle of relief and doom that even the reduction in the volume of noise from the wind did not register with him until Roger came to visit him and talk with him. In the comfort of Roger’s caring, he was able to relax and hear that the wind was less loud, and relax enough to sleep. He eventually awoke when called to a meeting at the end of the storm.

  After finishing lunch, Val went directly to Jeanne, to check her back. She found her still locked in an embrace/conversation with Ralph, but quite willing for her back to be examined. Val was pleased with it and indicated that she would be back in a couple hours to give Jeanne another treatment.

  Then she went to where Julia was holed up. She was able to get her into conversation, but not to come out of her box. Julia’s fear kept her in her box and her need for orderliness made the box a more acceptable place than anywhere else on the island, because she could keep it neat and tidy. Val crouched at the opening to the box, responding to whines with words of reassurance until Shelly came to her.

  Shelly left the kitchen area adequately cleaned, noted mentally that Maria and Marcella seemed to be doing well tending the fire and keeping one-another company, and went to find Val, who was not far away, conversing with Julia, squeezed into a relatively small packing crate.

  Val was ready to cut off her conversation with Julia, and did so gently.

  “Val, I’m being useful.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “No, really. Marcella didn’t have any plans for lunch. I made suggestions and she took them.”

  “You do know how to cook. I’ve eaten your cooking before and it’s very good.”

  “Well, yes. But I did it in the middle of the storm.”

  “Ah. Maria helped you out there, huh?”

  “Well, I don’t know if it was Maria or me. I thought about what it was she was asking, and somehow it became clear to me that I didn’t have to be the same person I’ve always been – I have a choice.”

  “Dynamite! You’ve been exercising that choice for days and days. You’re not the same person you were when the Fiji Queen went down.”

  “I guess none of us are.”

  “I suspect you and Roger are in the running for the ‘most changed’ award.”

  “Oh, isn’t Roger wonderful? He’s so brave. Nothing seems to frighten him. When I came to you just now, he was talking to Mark, comforting him.”

  “And you have become pretty wonderful too. Look at you. A week ago you wouldn’t have dared suggest a meal to Marcella, much less walk about in a storm naked. What has happened to you?”

  “I think I must be growing up.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, yes. I think I’m starting to feel that I’m more in control of my life. I mean, there are things I can’t control, like the weather, but I’m taking charge of more and more of the ones I can control and it feels good.”

  “It feels good to me too. I’m so proud of you.”

  “I think I’m pretty proud of me too.”

  “Good. Say, do you think the wind is easing up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The howling seems to be getting less loud.”

  “Yah, now you mention it, I guess it is.”

  “I guess the storm has to come to an end some time, but sooner would make me happier. What’re you gonna do with the rest of the afternoon?”

  “I guess I’ll go help Marcella with supper. She is going to be totally consumed by the fire until it stops raining.”

  “Good idea. I think I’ll go give Jeanne a treatment.”

  They separated after a long, tight, loving hug.

  Shelly returned to the kitchen to find two naked bodies huddled behind a single canvas apron, staring into the fire.

  Val returned to where Jeanne and Ralph were sitting together in an embrace that looked like some incredible tantric sexual position, face to face with a tangle of knees and legs on each side and two feet sticking out in back of each of them, torsos pressed together front-to-front, her arms wrapped around his waist, his around her neck, well above the burns.

  Ron continued to sit on the plastic packing crate, staring fixedly into space. While he felt that he might be in personal danger in the storm, and that he might be safer if he were closer to the ground, he also felt a sacred duty to protect the sketchpad, and that was just what he intended to do.

  Jim sat at his feet, filled again with fear, more afraid for his personal safety than for the safety of anyone or anything about him. Of course, his music was entirely in his head, so protecting his head might have had the same sort of external focus for him as protecting the sketchbook had for Ron, but Jim hardly thought about his music. Music was gone in the face of the raging cacophony of the storm, thousands of dissonant themes playing in the wind as the rain beat out a semblance of tempo on the canvas over his head, seeming for one minute to be one rhythm, then for the next minute another rhythm. There was nothing there to make sense of. Or maybe there was, but it was not part of what he was doing.

  What was he doing? He was hugging his lover’s knees, feeling his lover’s comforting hand on his head, praying for the storm to pass. And nothing was going to move him so long as Ron stayed where he was.

  Later, Roger came to visit. Talking with Roger was wonderful in that it helped Jim to focus on something other than his fear. He felt as though he and Ron had crawled into a little den for two and had pulled the door closed behind them; Roger helped to open the door and prepare them for a time when the rain and wind would stop and they would be called to rejoin the rest of the group.

  Eventually, when the rain was stopping and a conference was needed, the conference came to him and Ron, so he did not have to move.

  Paul sat for a while after lunch, digesting and thinking, and, eventually, starting back into his cycle of inactivity and terror. Recognizing the beginning of the cycle, he got up and began to pace around. Who did he want to talk to? Marcella and Maria seemed to be involved in the kitchen and he didn’t want to disturb them. Val and Shelly were off talking together and he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to them anyway. Roger was leaning over Mark. Where was James?

  Paul wandered up and down briefly before finding James asleep, wrapped up in a blanket, at the base of the windbreak. What a good idea, he thought. A few feet away, there was a large packing box - he could hide from the wind behind that and also take a nap. He lay down and found out that he was tired. The exertions with James followed by lunch had induced a sleepiness he had scarcely acknowledged, but which rapidly overwhelmed him when he lay down – he was soon asleep.

  Paul had vivid dreams in which wild animals were howling at him.

  Roger was feeling a sense of power and capability that he had not felt in many years. He had acted and had helped James. He had talked to Paul and had helped him. He would see what else he could do.

  His first visit was to Mark. They talked a bit about Mark’s fears and about his experience in New Orleans, and how the two different times were different from one another. Roger realized that Mark’s fears were deeply imbedded and were intertwined with his pain, especially his knees. There was nothing he could do about that but provide some comfort, so he put his hand on
Mark’s shoulder and sat leaning against him for a long time. To Roger’s gratification, Mark relaxed. He breathing slowed down and eventually, he seemed to go to sleep.

  Roger stayed with him for a bit, but when neither removing his hand nor ceasing to lean on Mark caused any change in the rhythm or character of his breathing, Roger decided that he had done as much as he could for Mark. He got up and walked through the Kitchen Tent to where Jim and Ron were huddled together in such an odd way. Sitting with them and hearing Ron’s story of protecting the sketchbook, Roger heard mostly about an artist protecting his creation, a mother protecting her offspring. It impressed him that Jim seemed as dedicated to protecting Ron’s sketchbook as Ron was, but the motivation became clear to him as Jim explained how he felt about what they were preserving. Jim recognized that his creativity could bring about an abstract representation of the experience they shared on the island, but only Ron’s sketches could bring an active visual memory to people of the time they had spent together, and he recognized poignantly how important that visual memory was to him, and could only imagine how important it would be also to the others. He was staying right with Ron to help protect the sketchbook and to help protect Ron, who was sitting up higher than he needed to be, and therefore was more vulnerable than he had to be, on behalf of the interests of the others.