“You can say that. He made it big selling some software company back in the day, and now he has a new app or website popping up every now and then.”
“So he’s loaded?”
“Yep, he’s rolling in it,” I confirm, annoyed.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“It will take money to have search teams organized and to keep them going. The local authorities will give up in a couple days, tops—that is, if they ever started. And if your brother is a tech geek, he’ll track your phone.”
“You know, my husband is wealthy too. He probably already has a team in place.”
Connor grunts. Not in the positive.
“What is it that you have against my husband?”
“Nothing. I just doubt he’ll come to save you on his white horse.”
“And what exactly makes you think that?”
He gives me a long, hard stare but doesn’t say anything. I hold his gaze and recognize pity in his mocha-brown irises.
“You think he’s dead, don’t you?” I ask in a whisper.
“It’s a possibility you should consider.”
“He’s not dead. I would have felt it if he were dead.”
Connor gives me a skeptical headshake but doesn’t comment.
I look at the dancing flames for a long time before I speak again. “This should’ve been our wedding night, you know. Well, technically it was yesterday, but since the plane was supposed to arrive at six a.m., it would have been tonight.”
“What’s the big deal? Are you a virgin?” Mr. Ogre chortles.
“No, I’m not a virgin.” I blush again. “It’s just romantic.”
“Ah, you women and your romance. I will never get you.”
“For a moment there I thought I could talk to you, but I was wrong,” I say, indignant. “You don’t take anything seriously.”
“You really sound like my ex now.”
“Has it ever crossed you mind that maybe she was right about you?” I get up from the sand. “Have a good night,” I add, stomping away without waiting for his reply.
“There’s nothing good about this night,” I hear him mumble, and for the first time since we got here I have to agree with him one-hundred percent.
When he comes inside the hut, I pretend to be already asleep.
“And we’re sleeping with the damn monkey too.” He curses under his breath before lying down on his side of the cushion-paved floor.
This monkey is more civil than you are, I think, keeping my eyes tightly shut and snuggling Manny closer to my chest. I wait for Connor’s breathing to become regular before I can relax into sleep myself. Good night, Liam, wherever you are. I know you will come for me.
10
Day 2
The next morning, Connor’s loud snoring wakes me up. And I was supposed to be the moving tractor? He sounds more like a revving bulldozer. Why did I have to end up shipwrecked in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with him? Why? I look at my watch. It’s five-thirty a.m. I pick up my bag from the floor, carefully place my phone in an inside pocket―Connor ordered me to never let it out of my sight and never turn it off―and slip outside, careful not to wake him.
“Hoo, hoo.” Manny scampers after me.
“Good morning, baby.” I squat down to make it easier for him to jump on my shoulder.
The air outside still has some of the coolness of the night, but I can tell the sun will come out soon, bringing along all of its heat. The dawn is beautiful. It suffuses the island with a bluish glow that is magical. I sit on the cool sand, listening to the soothing rhythmic sound of the waves as the cold blue shades give way to a warm yellow glare. I stare at the water for a long time, expecting the sun to rise from the horizon at any moment. But then I remember it set there yesterday so it will come up from the other side of the island. I wonder how far that is.
So if the sun sets this way, it means we are on the west coast of the island. This should be good as the nearest continent is that way. West is here, and east is behind us. So north should be that way. I guess there won’t be any moss growing on palm trees to confirm it, like they teach you in Girl Scouts. My mouth salivates as I think of Thin Mints, my favorite Girl Scout cookies. I would kill for one of those now.
“Okay Manny, let’s see where we are on breakfast.” I get up and go back to the hut, where Connor’s still sleeping soundly, to grab the Spanish knife.
Half an hour later, I proudly stare at my booty of tropical fruits, reassured we won’t die of starvation. I’m in the kitchen slash dining area of our camp, sitting next to the ashes of last night’s fire, laying two “breakfast leaves” with a tropical fruit salad. I’ve found some mini bananas, some mangos, and an orange fruit that, when sliced, has the shape of a little star. I think it’s tamarind, but I’m not sure. I only know I’ve eaten it before and liked it. Two mature avocados round out the meal. I love avocados, and they’re also fatty and nutritious. Maybe I can survive being a vegetarian. I really hate fish now, especially snappers. I’ve also collected some other different fruits, but I’m not sure what they are or if they’re edible, so I leave them untouched. Maybe Connor will know if we can eat them.
When I’m done peeling and slicing I stare at the final product, thinking it’s really pretty and colorful. Manny “helped” during the whole process, mostly by hooing and doing a lot of quality tasting. I hold the two leaves in my hands as a server would do with plates, and hurry to the hut to wake up Mr. Ogre.
“Breakfast in bed,” I announce proudly, peeking my head inside the entrance.
Connor moans, emerging from the fumes of sleep and getting up on one elbow. I lay his leaf next to him and blissfully begin to eat my breakfast.
“You in a good mood?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.
“I’m just happy I don’t have to eat fish for breakfast.”
“You really don’t like it, do you?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll see if I can find something tastier. And when we have salt it should get better.”
“Oh, by the way, I refilled the coconut saline.”
“Good girl.”
I roll my eyes at his patronizing tone.
“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask when we’re done eating.
“I fish, you collect more fruit. Stay in the shadows as much as possible, and drink as much water as you can.”
“That’s it?”
“You can pick up some wood for the fire if you want. Check that it’s dry first. We should eat fruit again for lunch, as it’s too hot to cook. And, like yesterday, we should nap away the hottest hours.”
“That’s so boring. Shouldn’t we explore the island? Go to the other side, see what else is there?”
“That would be really stupid.”
“Why?”
“We have food and water here. We don’t need anything else this island could offer us. Going to the other side would only be searching for trouble.”
“If you say so.” I get up to go outside.
“Hey missy,” he calls.
“As I said before, it’s Mrs.,” I snap.
“Look at me and promise you will not play Lara Croft again and go explore around.”
“I’m not a child, you know.”
“Just promise me, will you?”
I give him a stiff nod.
“And make sure the phone stays charged, okay?”
He is so irritating with his condescension that I’m not sure if I should show him my tongue or middle finger. I go for a classier, sarcastic military salute and leave.
By ten a.m. I have collected enough fruits for two days, drunk and peed at least ten times respectively, took a bath in the lake, and I’m already bored to death. I sit in the shade, leaning my back against a palm tree with Manny loyally at my side, and check my phone. There’s no reception as usual, but at least the battery is at one-hundred percent. I finger the screen to see if I can find some source of entertainment. I open a reading app to check if I
can read between the cracks. It’s a bit annoying, but it’s better than staring at the waves, so I scroll through my list of books to see what I have. I settle on Pride and Prejudice. I need to lose myself in an over-civilized world to try to contrast the sheer wilderness I’m living in presently. I adjust my position to be more comfortable and begin reading.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…
11
Pride, Prejudice, and Naked Trolls
“…and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.
“What are you doing?” Connor’s accusing voice comes brusquely from somewhere above me.
“Huh?” I reluctantly tear my eyes from the screen to look at his dark silhouette towering over me. “Reading a book.” Why did he question me as if he had just caught me skinning baby seals?
“Have you made lunch?” he asks impatiently.
“Who said I was supposed to make it?”
“You’re the woman. I skin the fish, and you slice the fruit.”
I consider reacting to his sexist comment by starting a feminist sit-in. But his statement actually makes sense as I will never be able to skin anything, knife or no knife. And since I don’t mind preparing the fruit instead… I look at him directly, extending my hand for him to pull me up. I say “Deal” as our eyes come level, and abandon Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to go cook—or, rather, peel and slice.
“So, are you from Chicago?” I ask a while later as we eat lunch “inside”.
Grunt, negative kind.
“Where do you live, then?”
“At the border.”
“With Canada?” I ask hesitantly.
“Wisconsin, Illinois, and Iowa. I’m in Dubuque, but I have lands in each state.”
“Oh, it must be fun when you’re paying taxes.”
Grunt in the sarcastic affirmative.
When we’re done eating, he extracts two short, thin wooden twigs and peels the bark off the tip of one, revealing a white, soft-looking core underneath.
“Here.” He passes it to me. “Chew on the tip.”
“What is this?” I take it from him and sniff it, uncertain.
“Chewstick. It’s a natural toothbrush. They use it to make toothpaste—it will keep your teeth healthy.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks! So why were you going to the Caribbean?” I tentatively bite on the thingy. The tip is fibrous, kind of frothy, and tastes slightly bitter. But it’s not too bad, and it’s definitely better than having my teeth rot.
“I wasn’t.”
Long pause.
“Meaning?” I mumble while I keep chewing my stick.
“I was going to South America.”
Another pause.
“Damn, it really is hard to talk to you!” I burst out.
“Huh?” He looks at me sheepishly.
“When I’m lucky and it’s not a grunt, you reply with monosyllables. It’s unnerving.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Like for example adding why you were going to South America. Or you could ask about me.”
“I already know everything about your honeymoon drama as you kindly provided every little detail about it on the plane―twice.”
Fair enough. I did blab a bit too much maybe, at least considering he was a perfect stranger at the time.
“I was going to South America to check on some fields we own there. They had some problems with the last crop,” Connor elaborates.
After this short comment, it’s silence again.
“And then you go on and tell me what the problem with the crop was,” I prod him. Conversation 101 by Joanna Price, part two.
“Nah, you wouldn’t want to know. You’d get bored.”
“More than I already am?” I push my finished leaf plate aside and lean on my elbow next to him. “Plus, it’s siesta time, so there’s nothing else we can do besides talk.”
For a split second I see something flash in his eyes, as if he thought there could be a lot of other things we could do besides talking. However, the look comes and goes in a blink, so much so that I wonder if I’d only imagined it. I’m sure my face is tomato red right now; I hope it doesn’t show in the dim light of the hut. Anyway, if he had any naughty thoughts you wouldn’t be able to tell from the tone of his next statement.
“This year we had a bad case of soybean rust—it’s basically a fungus that attacks and destroys the leaves of the plant.” He starts telling me his crop troubles, and I pretend to be an interested listener. “We lost more than half of our projected yield. I wanted to make sure they got control practices right for next year, as we can’t afford to…”
***
Open eyes. Where am I? Honeymoon? No. Hut, desert island, shipwrecked. What happened?
The last thing I can remember is Connor talking about crop bugs and other boring stuff. Oh my, I must have fallen asleep while he was talking! If he was difficult before, now he will never talk to me again. I’d better go apologize.
I crawl out of our shelter and stand on all fours on the threshold to look for him. I spot him walking up a sand dune in the general direction of the jungle. From where I stand, I can only see his naked torso. He’s holding something that looks like a spear in his left hand, and his body is shiny in the sun. He must have just come out of the water. Primitive fishing technique? I’m about to get up and wave when the rest of his body emerges from behind the dune and I see that he’s butt naked. I quickly cover my eyes with my hands and flatten my body against the hut floor, barely suppressing a squeal. My face feels so hot I’m sure there must be steam spewing out of my ears and nostrils.
After a while I can’t help but peek from between my fingers. Mr. Naked Ogre has already passed the hut, and he’s moving towards the jungle path to the lake. All the while presenting me with the spectacle of his white buttocks rhythmically bobbling as he walks. They make for a hypnotic sight; I don’t seem to be able to tear my eyes away from them. Good thing I don’t have a secret fantasy about sex on the beach, or naked, tall strangers, or primitive men in their naked glory, or whatever.
I shake my head, as if by doing so I can make the image of his nude body fly out of my mind, and decide I’d better apply myself to some handiwork. I pick up Manny and head to the opposite side of the jungle to collect some more wood for the fire and some more fruit.
12
Day 26
When I wake up, I stare at the roof of the hut and know exactly where I am and why. Connor is already up, so I go outside and begin my early morning routine. Collect fruit, position phone in the sun to recharge, peel fruit, and lay leaves. I call Connor, and we eat breakfast mostly in silence by the campfire. When he goes away to fish, I check my phone’s screen for battery—one-hundred percent—and reception—none—and head into the vegetation to collect wood for the night’s fire.
Since I’ve already pillaged the rainforest nearby in the past few weeks, the task has become increasingly difficult, and I have to go deeper into the jungle. Not that it is dangerous. This island is as boring and uneventful as it gets. It’s no modern day contraband outpost, not a secret pirate haunt, and there’s no hidden treasure. Apparently the Spanish knife was the only human artifact to ever land here. Besides some birds and the monkeys, we are the only living souls around.
The macaques have now accepted us as an integral part of the local fauna and get upset only if we scream at each other for whatever reason. Manny has not been reclaimed by a monkey-mommy and has officially become my adopti
ve baby. He has grown a great deal in such a short time, and he now prefers to follow me on foot or by liana instead of perching on my shoulder. Which is perfectly fine by me considering that he is becoming offensively fat. It’s probably my fault, as I tend to feed him whenever he asks, but I’m completely helpless in front of his pleading, big brown monkey eyes.
Once I have enough wood for the day, I orderly stack it next to the fire enclosure—a circle of rocks—and use one of the longest poles I’ve collected to search the remains of last night’s fire for any burning coals. When I’m satisfied there are none, I kneel next to the rock circle, take an opened coconut shell, and use it to pour the ashes into a palm leaf basket I made. By the time the basket is filled to the rim I feel sticky and sweaty. The humidity really is overwhelming on this island. I think I’m just about ready for my morning treat.
I check the beach to make sure Connor is busy fishing. He is. He’s perched on a rock holding a cane. I sigh. Rock and cane mean he’s fishing the traditional way, and that we will eat snappers or some other disgusting type of fish tonight. The spear, I discovered, was for lobsters. But they are more difficult to catch and Connor gets tired of going subaqueous—having to keep his eyes open in the salty water—to stab them. So they are a rare luxury.
Mr. Ogre usually fishes for three to four hours every day, so I should have enough time for my thirty minutes of paradise. I get up, pick up the basket, and head into the jungle toward the lake. Once there, I carefully tie my bag with the phone inside to a tree so that the monkeys will not steal it. They already tried once and scared me to death. I was taking my morning bath when I saw a couple of the little buggers meddling with it. I ran out of the water screaming like a banshee, frightening the life out of them and poor Manny too, unfortunately for him. I’m not sure if I was more worried about never being rescued, or about Connor’s reaction if I’d told him I’d allowed the monkeys to steal the phone. However, since that day there haven’t been any other heist attempts.
I finish my fourth de rigueur tight knot with the strap, pull on it, and declare it safe. I take my clothes off and scrub them with the wood ashes in a nearby smaller pond. This is one of the perks of my job as a book editor. With the sheer amount of books I read comes all sort of useful information. Apparently washing clothes with ashes was all the rage before the advent of industrial soap. I learned this technique from an historical fiction manuscript. I never thought I’d be using it one day.