Beside a Burning Sea (7 page)

When Joshua paused to remove a thorn from his ankle, Roger swept past him. The underbrush quickly consumed Roger, and Joshua had to hurry to catch up. As he followed the younger officer, Joshua watched how he navigated the jungle. Though Joshua had grown up outdoors and knew how to traverse its obstacles, he quickly realized that Roger moved with stealth and fluidity that he himself could never replicate. The man didn’t walk around fallen trees or boulders, but seemed to glide over them. He didn’t push branches aside but ducked under them. Very few twigs cracked beneath his feet, and even fewer stones tumbled from below him when they began to climb a hill.

Joshua’s breath became ragged. After being aboard
Benevolence
for the past nine weeks, he wasn’t used to such physical exertion. And yet Roger seemed completely unaffected by the heat and humidity and the steep rise of the land. Joshua saw the sharply outlined muscles in the calves before him, the effortless way in which Roger’s legs propelled him upward. Even when they came upon a stream that trickled from above, Roger paused only long enough for Joshua to strip bark from a tree with his machete in an effort to mark the spot. Before he’d even finished gulping the cool water, Roger was once again headed up the hill.

What point is he trying to make? Joshua asked himself as he struggled to keep up. That he’s stronger? That on
Benevolence
I might have been his superior, but in the jungle he’s more powerful? Joshua had read Roger’s files, and knew that he was gifted—both physically and mentally. And though at first Joshua had been glad to have Roger on the island, he sensed his hostility and uncomfortably pondered its origin.

Deciding to try to befriend the lieutenant, Joshua hurried to catch up to him. When he finally did, he tapped Roger on the shoulder and handed him the machete. “If you’re . . . if you’re going to lead, you should have this,” Joshua said, his chest heaving.

Roger nodded, took the machete, and handed Joshua one of the spears. Though he pretended not to notice, Joshua saw that it was obviously inferior to the other. Seeing the stronger and better armed and somewhat intimidating man before him, Joshua suddenly felt vulnerable in a way that he hadn’t for many years. For so long, his subordinates had tried to please him. For so long he had been in control.

And now things seemed quite different.

“WHO WANTS TO GO SHING?” Ratu asked, looking from Jake to Nathan to Scarlet to Akira. After Jake nodded, Ratu picked up several spears. “And who else?” he added, assuming that everyone would be eager to fish. “You’ll most certainly want to join us. You’ll be able to eat whatever you catch—tuna and snapper and crab and maybe even some shark. I’ve watched these waters and they’re full of delicious fish.”

Nathan smiled at Ratu’s enthusiasm, reminded of his own son’s eagerness. “It sounds tempting, but I should stay here with the prisoner,” he replied, musing over how much he loved fatherhood, longing to see his family.

“He’s only got one good leg,” Ratu replied. “And I tell you, he’s not going bloody far on one leg. Have you ever tried to hop through a jungle on one leg? You’d get farther by crawling.”

Nathan shook his head. “You go. And Scarlet, you should go as well. I’ll stay and watch.”

“I’ve never fished,” Scarlet said as she rearranged a pile of firewood. “I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“Big Jake and I will show you,” Ratu promised. “It’s not hard, trust me. If Big Jake can do it, anyone can do it.”

Jake pretended to reach for Ratu, who giggled and sidestepped him. Scarlet smiled at their antics, dropping the firewood. “Why not?”

As Scarlet moved toward Ratu, Akira raised his head off his makeshift bed. “I hope that you have excellent luck,” he said, bowing slightly to show his appreciation.

Ratu hesitated in replying, torn by the fact that he liked this man and that his father was fighting the Japanese. Finally he asked, “What’s your favorite fish to eat?”

“I enjoy
maguro
the most.”

“
Maguro
? I’ve never heard of that. It sounds like a bloody monster.”

“So sorry. I mean . . . tuna. Tuna is wonderful.”

Ratu nodded. “Then I’ll catch you a fat
maguro
.” As Akira thanked him, Ratu picked up another spear and started toward the beach. Jake walked before him, and Ratu feigned stabbing the big man with his spear. “What a cracking good catch you’d be,” he said. “You’d feed us for weeks!”

Jake grabbed Ratu’s spear and held it firmly as Ratu tried to pull it from him. “I reckon you’re about to bite off more than you can chew,” he said, repositioning a large blade of grass between his teeth.

“You and those bloody sayings,” Ratu replied. “I never know what you’re talking about. Bite off more than I can chew? How would it be possible to bite off more than I could chew?”

Scarlet smiled. Ratu’s British accent and slang, coupled with Jake’s slightly southern drawl and slow way of speaking, made for a lively conversation. Though they both spoke English, to Scarlet it seemed as if they often conversed in different languages.

Jake let go of Ratu’s spear and hurried toward a distant collection of large, dark boulders that were partially submerged by the rising water. The rocks were at the far side of the beach, where the shore was exposed to the sea. When Jake spied a fist-sized crab atop one of the boulders, he immediately stopped. Ratu moved beside him, raising his spear. The crab was about ten paces from them, its blue-black legs holding it in place as waves pounded against the rock. Ratu switched his grip on the spear so that he held it like a baseball bat. “I’ve heard about your Babe Ruth,” he whispered. “How many big slams did the Babe hit?”

“Grand slams,” Jake softly replied. “Ain’t no such thing as a big slam. But the Babe, he hit a bunch of grand slams.”

Ratu turned toward his friend. “Grand slams? Not bloody likely. That makes no sense, Big Jake. I tell you, no sense at all.”

Jake smiled, momentarily removing the blade of grass. “You ever played baseball?”

“No, but I’m a cracking good cricket player.”

Ratu was about to move closer to the crab when Scarlet tapped him on the shoulder. “Look,” she said quietly, pointing to another rock. Toward the middle of this rock a much bigger crab glistened in the sun.

“Brilliant spot, Miss Scarlet!” Ratu whispered excitedly. When the next wave rolled in to envelop the crab, Ratu hurried ahead, swinging his spear downward as soon as the wave started to withdraw. The almost-wrist-thick end of the spear struck the crab squarely in the middle of its shell, caving in the shell and sending the crab into the swirling water. As Ratu lunged to retrieve his catch, Jake swung his spear at the smaller crab. His blow wasn’t quite so precise, but he was able to finish off the crab with a second swing.

Scarlet clapped. “Throw them here,” she said, jumping backward when the two crabs landed by her feet.

A wave rolled in and caught Ratu squarely in the face. He coughed, simultaneously wiping his eyes and struggling to draw air. Jake moved to him, grabbing his arm so that the receding water didn’t pull him out to sea. As Jake held Ratu, he noticed something wedged between a pair of rocks that were deeper in the water. At first he thought that perhaps a life jacket had floated ashore, but when the water dropped he realized that the life jacket held a body that was lodged between the boulders. The body was dressed in what had once been white clothes. Knowing that the deceased was either a doctor or nurse from
Benevolence
, Jake turned Ratu toward the beach. “Come,” he said, pointing farther down the shore. “As sure as a puppy piddles, them big rocks are full of fat crabs.”

Ratu continued to cough until they were beyond the reach of the waves. When his lungs finally stopped aching, he thanked Jake for pulling him from the sea. Jake picked up the two crabs and started walking to the distant rocks. Taking a quick glance toward where the body lay, he decided that at dawn the next day he’d return to bury the deceased. He would dig a proper grave, create a tombstone of sorts, and say some prayers. But he’d tell no one about his discovery. His fellow castaways had enough to worry about without carrying the additional burden of wondering whether bodies would float ashore.

“Might you want, miss, to try your hand at hitting one of them critters?” Jake asked when Scarlet glanced in the direction of the deceased.

“Me?” Scarlet asked, clearly surprised by the question.

Ratu pressed a spear against the palm of her hand. “Take this,” he said. “I know that a beautiful woman like you has never held a spear before. But, I tell you, the more spears we have, the better.”

Scarlet started to give the spear back to Ratu but decided to hold on to it. She might not kill anything with the weapon, but had to admit that she liked the feel of it in her hand. “Thank you, Ratu.”

“For what?”

She looked closely at him, studying his expressive face, recalling how his dark eyes often darted about, and how his nose flared and his mouth opened wide when he was trying to make a point. No one had called Scarlet beautiful in a long time. People occasionally told her that she had beautiful hair, but this comment was the extent of the praise that she attracted. In her experience, strangers didn’t call an overweight, middle-aged woman beautiful. “Thank you for being you,” she finally replied, smiling.

“For being me? Who else would I bloody be?”

“I think, Ratu, that a lot of people . . . a lot of people pretend to be people they’re not.”

Ratu slapped at a troublesome fly. “Oh, my village is full of such people. Just full of them, I tell you. Our priest thinks he’s Jesus Christ himself. And the bloke next door tells us that he’s been to New York City. Can you imagine such a thing? A poor sugarcane farmer from Fiji traveling to New York City? Of course, I pretend to believe him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I fancy his stories. And I don’t care if they’re true or not.” Ratu wiped sweat from his eye. “And because my father is a storyteller. And I’ve missed . . . I’ve really missed his stories for a long time.”

Jake moved closer to Ratu. “Well, you can soon tell your daddy the darndest story of your own.”

“What do you mean, Big Jake?”

“Tell him how you helped us live on this here island. How you taught a farmer and a beautiful woman to smash crabs.”

“He won’t bloody believe me!”

“Well, now, ain’t you got a point there?” Jake teased, the grass between his teeth bobbing up and down. “Yup, I reckon you’re as right as rain. Too bad you ain’t got a photograph.”

“Bugger off,” Ratu said, punching his friend in the arm. He then scratched at his hair, which was black and curly and cut quite close to his scalp. Numerous chicken pox scars dotted his forehead. “Do you tell your father stories, Big Jake?” he asked.

“Does a dog have fleas?”

“Does he listen?”

“I expect so.”

“Good. I’m glad he listens.” Ratu grinned, increasing his pace. “Now let’s go find some crabs and fish. Whoever gets the biggest crab or fish wins the game.”

As Ratu raced ahead, Scarlet caught Jake’s eyes. She smiled, nodding to him as if they shared a secret. Almost unconsciously, they slowed their steps—giving Ratu more time to hunt on his own and themselves a chance to enjoy the companionable silence that had suddenly dawned between them.

AS THEY DREW nearer to camp, Annie was surprised at how familiar it looked. Though they’d only been on the island for a day and a half, the banyan tree that sheltered them was strangely reassuring. This surprised Annie greatly, as she’d never really felt at home anywhere. Even her childhood home—complete with its tire swing and sunny rooms and flowered wallpaper—had never put her totally at ease. Perhaps her disquiet had stemmed from the fact that she carried frightful memories of her home in addition to recollections of happiness. After all, she’d almost died in her perfect little room—a room that otherwise she would have treasured all her life.

When Annie and Isabelle approached, Nathan strode toward them. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his plump face was the color of a ripe peach. “Hello, ladies,” he said, reaching out to help them with the things they’d collected. He tried to carry too much, and ended up dropping almost half of what he’d taken from them. Annie and Isabelle picked up their findings, then walked with him back to camp.

“Nathan, you need to stay in the shade today,” Isabelle said.

He self-consciously touched his face. “I know. It already hurts.” He dropped a crutch and hastily picked it up. “Rachel’s always laughing at my pale skin. She calls me her ghost. So I thought I’d surprise her.”

Annie wondered why Nathan wasn’t already tan the way most everyone else had been aboard
Benevolence
. “Didn’t you spend any off-duty hours on deck?”

“Not many. I read a lot and I wrote a lot. Letters and postcards mostly.”

“You never . . . ran out of things to say?” Annie asked.

“Ran out? No, never.”

Annie mused over his words as they approached their camp. Beyond the battles that she’d witnessed, Ted was interested in little of her life at sea. He pretended otherwise, of course, but his questions on such matters tended to be superficial. And if truth be told, Annie wasn’t particularly interested in telling him about her time aboard
Benevolence
. As she wondered why they could be getting married and talk so little, she saw Akira rise to a sitting position. Immediately, guilt swept through her, for she’d found nothing with which she could restitch his wound.

While Nathan and Isabelle started to arrange their findings beneath the banyan tree, Annie knelt on the sand next to where Akira rested. He greeted her politely and started to ask about her morning. “I’ve been everywhere,” she interrupted, “and didn’t find anything. Not fishing line or a spool of dental floss or even some strong string.”

Akira shrugged. “Perhaps it could heal without your stitching?”

Leaning forward, Annie carefully removed his bandage. The wound was swollen and about half an inch wide. She needed to close it soon. “A needle. Did Ratu bring by a needle?”