Stranded! (8 page)

"Well I can't very well expect a woman that just had an ab-...miscarriage to help carry heavy wood. You should rest, at least until your cycle is over."
Oceans stared at him silently. But Marshall had already returned to his task. Reluctantly she returned to the hut.
***
Marshall had kept himself very busy since the day he helped her into the forest to squat amongst the rotten leaves and dirt to eject his dead baby. Though he knew that he should see things differently, maybe even be grateful that there wouldn't be another person doomed to the Island—he didn't feel that way at all. What he felt is that he was supposed to protect them...and he hadn't. He certainly hadn't protected Oceans from having to do this thing that he could see she didn't want to do. He hadn't protected himself from the resentment and sadness he felt at her decision to do it...and he certainly hadn't protected the little fetus created from an act of love that now was forever to fester in the earth of a lone Caribbean island.
So all he could do these past two days was to try to turn his brain off and to not think about how little control he had over the things that could devastate him. Sometimes he wondered if it would not have been better to have been alone. He didn't want anything to happen to Oceans, it's just that she held so much power over him. Her actions brought him joy or pain.
For the next few days he never spoke unless it was to ask her to eat, drink or if she needed help to relieve herself. When he left her to sleep in the hut he roamed the beach or filled the jugs and carried them back to camp, repeating the trip over and over until there were no more water jugs to fill. Then he had to think of something else to occupy his body. He made rope from vines, and then patched the roof where it had grown threadbare. He did whatever he could find to keep himself from having to be in the hut with Oceans.
He loved her. But he thought that he might hate her a little, as well.

~Month 6~
Ocean's counted the scratches on the piece of fiberglass. She could barely believe that it had been six months on the Island. Time had stood still for them. Marshall was so different from the man that had stepped onto the small jet plane. Now his skin was a nut brown and his hair was bleached to nearly white and hung to his shoulder blades. He'd resisted cutting it since it could be held back out of his eyes with his trusty piece of parachute string. His body was chiseled perfectly. His hands and feet were toughened by his labors and did not seem the same hands that had pressed the keypads of his calculator, or scribbled figures into a record book. He definitely wasn't the same man that had worn an Armani suit and had dined on a Cesar salad and a glass of pinot before boarding a doomed plane.
Ocean's transformation was no less severe. Her rounded figure was now tight and wired with muscles. It was a rare day that she didn't have to climb, pull, drag, or lift item after item. Her short curls were now long braids that she tried to maintain, redoing them on a weekly basis. In her thirty years, Oceans had seen the loss of her parents, the abuse of a man, the feel of loneliness...but it took this Island to remove the joy from her beautiful dark eyes. Now, life was a routine of cooking, foraging, repairing, eating and sleeping. She didn't even have the comfort of her best friend, for Marshall barely spoke to her--or when he did speak to her he never looked at her.
She knew that he couldn't stand the sight of her, which is the reason he found more and more of a reason to be outside of the hut. And truthfully, when he was around, the tension made it difficult for her. The guilt of abortion had to be relived over and over at his silent accusation. He never verbally threw the act in her face. He didn't have to. His silence and reluctance was word enough. Sometimes she'd watch him as he slept and remembered a time when neither could stand not to touch the other, and then she would long for the pleasure that he always brought her.
She left the hut and went out to the fire where Marshall was whittling a flat spatula. The other had gotten burned when he'd left it in the pot unattended. That had been very boneheaded of him. He was usually more responsible than that. These items were precious as they took a lot of effort to create. It wasn't like he could just walk over to the nearest TARGET to buy more utensils! He heard her approach and wondered what she wanted this time. She had her tasks, he had his, so why did her tasks become his?! 'Marshall,' she'd say, 'this ackee fruit is under-ripe the berries aren't fully exposed. 'Marshall the hut is too dark,' or 'Marshall your lobster trap won't work, the opening is too large.' Worse is when she'd come to him and say, 'Marshall lets swim like we used to.' Or 'Marshall lets watch the fire together.' Then he'd have to think of a nice way to say no.
No Oceans, I don't want to cuddle with you. No Oceans I don't want to listen to you tell me all the shit I'm doing wrong. Oceans, why should you care when my birthday is? I'll be 28 forever because time has stopped here. And I'm trapped. I'm trapped with a woman that I can't even look at!
"Marshall?"
"Yes?" He said as he delicately thinned out the wood with the blade. He concentrated very hard on the knife and on the spatula.
"It's been sixty days since we said we'd go to the other side of the Island." He didn't say anything and she squatted down on the mat and sat down next to him.
"Marshall?" She prompted after a full minute of silence. He lowered the knife.
"I heard you Oceans." Then he gave her a steady look. "The other side of the Island? What EXACTLY is the other side of the Island? Is it the RIGHT side? The LEFT side? This is a freaking circle! All sides are going to have the exact same thing as this one. EXCEPT it won't have a hut, a clearing, a fire pit, and ALL of the work that we put into making this camp...HOME."
Oceans' gaze didn't waver. "You're just trying to start an argument because you don't want to go anymore-"
"I never wanted to go." He resumed his delicate whittling. "I was just going to go because you wanted to."
Oceans waited. "And now you're not?"
"Right. I'm not."
Oceans gave him a sad look. "It doesn't have to be like this between us."
"Like what?" His expression was a cool mask. He set the half formed spatula and knife down to the side of him. She wanted to do this then he'd do this.
"It's like you're punishing me-"
He shook his head. "No." He said adamantly. "Oceans DON'T make this about what I'm doing to you. I've done nothing to you but take care of you. Really, if there is something that is not right between us then that's because of you."
Oceans resumed rubbing her elbows miserably. She felt a lump forming in her throat and tears stinging her eyes. "I know." She said in a voice thick with emotion. "You think that I don't realize how badly I hurt you? And that I don't understand that only a portion of this has to do with a baby that won't ever get born? So much of this has to do with ME making the decision to do this without your okay."
Marshall looked at her for the first time in weeks.
"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I..." she swallowed. "I believe that I did the right thing, but it's still hard." She looked out towards the water and allowed herself to hear the sounds of the crashing waves that she had long ago learned to tune out. "I wanted to have your baby. I still do."
His back straightened and she brought her gaze back to him. He had a disgusted look on his face that surprised her.
He stood up and stared down at her. He had wiped away the look she'd seen there but she would never forget it. "When we get off this Island, it's probably best if we go our own separate ways." He turned swiftly and headed toward the water's edge where he did much of this fishing and thinking. He stripped out of his shorts as he walked and the sun beat down on his bronze skin until he reached the water and dove into its depths, where mercifully all of his senses were muted.
***
That night, Marshall slept on the beach near the fire pit where he and Oceans had shared so many memories. When he'd returned from his swim, many hours later, Oceans had retreated to the hut and after a light dinner he'd fallen asleep where he sat. He knew that he should have apologized for his harsh words. He didn't mean what he'd said. Actually he meant it, but he knew that he meant much more then that statement. Yes he was angry. And he needed to let her know...he even needed space from her. Beyond that he didn't know much else. For so long Oceans had been associated with pleasure, friendship and love. Now this new feeling was overshadowing the other...but did he no longer love her?
Marshall got up and walked to the hut. She was right, it was too dark. They needed a window. Still, it wasn't hard for him to see that Ocean's had left. Her hammock had been taken down and though her suitcase still set in the corner it was empty of all of her belongings.
Marshall stood there for a long time. She had left for the other side of the Island—but just as he'd said earlier...
Where was the other side of the Island?
***
Marshall pulled on the shoes that had once belonged to Geddes. He seldom needed shoes now that his feet had become accustomed to the terrain. Next he shed his worn shorts for a pair of jeans. They rode low on his waist and were too confining for everyday life. In truth, he'd go naked and be just fine. Last he pulled on a short-sleeved button down shirt. The clothing and shoes were necessary for the biting insects and mosquitoes that lived in the denser parts of the forest.
On his way out of the hut he picked up one of his spears and made sure that he had his hunting knife. He walked into the forest, never looking behind him once, and soon the place that he and Oceans had called home disappeared behind him.
If Marshall had hoped to see a clear path that would lead him straight to Oceans' whereabouts then he was sadly mistaken. The forest had been tramped through as they had used the surroundings for foraging. He wondered if she had used the stream as a guide to the main water source. It would mean going beyond the water hole that they had first found so many months before. He had a grim look on his face. Using the water source as a guide was also a sure fire way to run into an actual predator.
They had never seen evidence of anything larger than the wild boar pigs on the island. There were small rodents, lizards, snakes etc. But there were no monkeys—at least on their small part of the Island. There was no telling what they would find by going deeper into the forest, or closer to the fresh water source.
As Marshall walked he couldn't stop his brain from repeating the last conversation that he and Oceans had. His stomach plunged to his feet each time he thought about how he'd told her that they should go their own separate ways. He had to concentrate! He couldn't keep reliving that moment. He focused on his surroundings, listening for the thrashing of a wild boar. If one appeared before him, he knew that it wouldn't be so easy to outrun it. They moved pretty fast despite their bulk.
Before he knew it, he was standing at the water hole and staring absently at the waterfall. She'd asked to come here and he'd told her no, just flatly, no. He moved to the water's edge and drank long, as he had not brought anything to carry water in. He took another moment to eat some fallen fruit and to rest. Then he examined the footprints that he saw imprinted in the soft earth. His was the only human footprints. Damn. Then she hadn't stopped here.
For the first time he began to panic. He scanned the area desperately while scratching his head. Did she go to the left of their encampment? To the right? To the far side?
"Oceans?!!!" He yelled. "OCEANS!!" The birds took flight but in their aftermath there was no response to his call.

The panic that Marshall felt was short lived. His eyes scanned the area carefully in case he had missed anything of importance. Several birds were bathing on the rocky surface surrounding the little lagoon. Normally he would have found a rock to throw at them, but hunting was not on his mind.
He turned on his heels and headed right back to camp. This time he went at a fast jog. Maybe she had gone back. Maybe she was there right now waiting for him, hoping that they could make the trip together, and yes. Yes he would! Marshall ran until he was too tired to run, then he walked until he got his breath and began the cycle again. He was back at camp by high noon when the sun was at its hottest. His body was drenched in sweat and he had long ago removed his shirt to tie around his waist.
He crashed into camp like a mad wild boar, pulling himself up into the hut without touching the ladder. He looked around, chest heaving.
She wasn't there.
He didn't know what to do, but he knew that he had to rest, to sit down or to lay down rest so that he could think. Stumbling back out to the fire pit, now completely dead and cold, he collapsed onto the woven mat and covered his face with his arm to block the sun from his eyes. After what seemed like a long time, his heart finally calmed and he was able to breathe normally. He did not move. He could think clearly now. But instead of thinking of a plan to find Ocean's his desperate mind latched onto the memory that he had fought so hard to try to forget.
***
On that night, many weeks ago, it was close to dark when Ocean's cramps became strong and almost unbearable. Marshall had been dozing on the beach. He had moved the mat further from the embers of the fire and closer to the hut, but found that he was unable, even then, to rest in the same room with her. Exhausted from worry, he had finally fallen into a restless sleep, only to be awakened by strange animal cries. For a moment he thought it was his dog needing to be let out. With an unsettling jolt, he remembered that he wasn't in his New York loft, and his dog Peeva was probably never going to be walked by him again. Marshall leaped to his feet and fell up the ladder and into the hut.
Oceans was trying to climb out of her hammock, doubled up in pain. She looked like she was on the verge of upending herself and hitting the unyielding floor below. Marshall quickly scooped her into his arms, cursing himself for napping out on the beach when he should have been inside monitoring her. Oceans shivered in his arms. She was covered in sweat, even her hair was in moist ringlets that hung in her face. She was groaning loudly and trying to bite them back to the extent that her lips were bruised and bloodied in spots.
Marshall saw a large dark red spot on her hammock and he felt himself weave on his feet as if he would black out. She was murmuring something over and over and he concentrated on her words. Bathroom.
She needed to relieve herself. Marshall didn't bother with the ladder, but leaped down to the sand, landing on his feet lightly even with the added weight of Oceans. He carried her quickly into the forest, not even stopping to grab a spear though he did have his hunting knife with him.
She groaned again and clutched her belly and he could see sweat streaming down her face. When they were a short distance within the forest, he carefully lowered her to her feet. She crouched down instantly to her knees and began pulling off her soiled dress. Her nude, sweat slicked body continued to tremble.
"W-water. And rags, to wash." She had said in a low guttural voice. Marshall dashed back to camp with thoughts of wild boars attacking her while she was defenseless. He grabbed a spear along with a full jug of water and some fresh rags. As an after-thought he also grabbed her afghan.
When he returned she was squatting with her hands between her legs. Blood was everywhere. Marshall turned his mind off and helped her as best he could. There were times when she screamed out into the night as a sharp cramp hit her, and he supported her bent form. She was exhausted and yet she continued to squat or kneel trying to expel the contents of her womb.
Many hours later, the worst of Oceans pain had receded and she was carried to the sea where Marshall bathed her exhausted body. After the salt water bath he rinsed her with fresh water from the few remaining jugs and put her in his hammock while he took apart hers to wash. He went about these tasks in a stupor, robotically doing what needed to be done. He avoided thoughts of what he had witnessed as well as thoughts of what lay like so much trash in the filth of the jungle.
***
When Marshall finally ended his reverie, the sun had moved letting him know that it was now mid afternoon. He hadn't even realized that he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. But it had served one purpose—now he was able to formulate a plan. He rose stiffly to his feet, taking stock of the camp. He returned to the hut and collected several items of clothing, as well as the rope that he had so recently created. He placed these items onto the mat that had been his bed for the last few weeks. He deposited anything that he thought he'd need on his travels, and when it was filled he rolled it and tied the ends with parachute string, forming a type of sling so that he could carry the package over his shoulders. He did not take his hammock. He planned to come back—with Oceans.
Marshall checked the water jugs and chose a mid-sized one. Ocean's had made handles so that it was easy for him to loop parachute string through it, allowing the large jug to hang from his shoulders as well. Now he had a bed roll, a water jug, and last he picked up a spear. He took one last look at the place that had been his home. Left behind was their precious pot, their salt, all of the pottery that Ocean's had created...all of the things that had made this a home. Grimly, Marshall faced the loud crashing waves of the sea.
He had a plan. The other side of the Island was actually another beach. That is where she was going. She was headed for a different beach somewhere on this Island, and if he just walked along the beach until he had circled the Island, then he would meet her.
***
Marshall walked that first day, until the sun was an orange glow in the distance. He had decided to go in the opposite direction from where they had initially washed ashore. They went back to that abandoned campsite fairly often and so he opted for the opposite direction.
His camp that night was just his mat on the sand. He gripped the spear in his fist as he slept, too tired to even make a fire and for the first time in ages he didn't care about wild boars coming for him. The idea was actually welcomed in that he could virtually picture himself spearing and repeatedly bludgeoning something.
He did this for days, keeping to the forest's edge where there was more protection from the sun's burning rays. He ate what he saw fallen on the ground, the small snails that he scraped from the side of the rocks on the water's edge, or the vegetation that he recognized from Oceans' lessons. Seldom did he build a fire and he never saw any evidence of someone else's...
Marshall didn't read anything into that. Oceans wasn't building a fire, that's all that meant. What did she have to build a fire with? He had the lighter. Rubbing sticks together for fire was an exercise in patience and under those circumstances fire became a luxury.
Often over the next several days he thought about yelling her name. That was desperation talking. His voice would be carried away over the crashing of the waves never to be heard by anything other than the gulls that circled the waves.
One day he ventured into the forest to fill his water jug. Sometimes it would take him days to find fresh water. But he knew the fruit to eat, or the plants that would sustain him. As he walked, he replayed his last words to Oceans, fantasizing that he had followed through with his previous promise to travel with her. Then he would think that if he had done that then Oceans was actually right beside him.
He picked up two mangoes and examined them carefully. "Which one, babe?" he murmured. "Okay." He dropped the reject to the ground and used his hunting knife to carefully peel the more ripe fruit. He sat on the ground and ate slowly as his eyes carefully scanned his surroundings for movement.
***
"Are you sure this snake is ok to eat Oceans?" Marshall had stomped the head of the snake that had fallen from the trees almost on top of him. It wasn't very big and he had no idea if it was poisonous or not. He'd just slung it with his spear and then reflexively stomped it to death. Hunger is what drove him to pick up the unmoving creature and skin it. He then carried it back to the beach where he made a small fire and he used a stick to spit the snake meat.
He was sitting on his haunches before the fire roasting the snake. It smelled damn good. Taste like chicken, the imaginary Oceans said and Marshall shrieked in laughter.
"Taste like chicken! As if we remember what chicken taste like!" He chuckled periodically at that joke as he carefully picked a piece of hot meat from the stick. His fingertips almost sizzled from the heat and fat and he quickly placed his injured fingertips to his mouth. The fat from the snake meat tasted delicious and he dismissed the fear of burning to gobble up every bit of it.
"Damn babe, you were right! This does taste like chicken!" He chugged some water when his meal was over, then searched the sand for fallen scraps. Now Marshalls was thin to the point that his rib bones were clearly defined beneath his skin. In the past he kept his facial hair shaved or at least cut down to a short beard. Now his beard was bushy and thick. At times it itched to high hell and he'd scratch, surprised that it had grown so long.
Then he would look at his arm where he had scratched the small lines with the tip of the knife. At first he had been a bitch about it, never even drawing more than a bead of blood. Now each scratch bled...which was okay because he had to pay penance, right? Penance for everyday that Oceans was gone. He counted each of them; a nightly ritual. There were sixty-nine. Of course he had covered one arm and had started on the other, and these weren't as neat, but who cared. Oceans didn't. He picked up the hunting knife and scratched one more. Seventy. Seventy days since Oceans had left. That was over two months...
How many steps had he taken in that time? How many miles had he travelled? He didn't know. He walked for anywhere from eight to ten hours a day. He didn't move slow, he didn't move fast. And yet he hadn't reached their camp yet. And he had no idea how much further he had to go until he would.
There was never any sign of Oceans, no indication that she had ever existed. Oceans is the water...not a person. Then that would mean that he is crazy. Seventy days did not make you crazy. But maybe...maybe nine months stranded on an island did.
***
The next day Marshall came to a decision. He was walking the long stretch of beach, not mindful of the relentless beat of the sun as it was still early morning and not unbearably hot. He liked his feet in the wet sand, and sometimes he found conk or crab to eat.
His eyes were alert to the sight of half buried crab. They'd come bounding out of the wet sand and it would be a lucky day for him! In the forest he'd seen a lone wild boar; old and thin to the point of emaciation. At first Marshall had been terrified. Adrenalin had flooded his body leaving behind a coppery taste on his tongue. The wild boar was still some distance away and it had raised its own aged head, catching his scent.
Marshall's grip had tightened on the spear before he realized that he was no different than that wild boar. They were both just trying to make it to the next day. Whether it was his loss of fear, or the age of the animal, but both man and pig moved warily away from the other. Marshall realized then that if he lost his life to a wild boar, then it was just a matter of course. There was no secret hidden agenda that the wild boars were out to get him. It was a matter of natural order. Something had to die in order for something else to live.
The morning that Marshall had come to the decision to kill himself was like any other; the long stretch of beach, the search for food, the cool wet sand on his feet. The only difference is that there was something else there on the beach. He saw it from the distance and thought it was a piece of wood sticking from the wet sand. It was odd because there had never been randomly placed wood pieces sticking out of the sand in the previous days of his journey, and besides it gleamed in a way that wood couldn't.
He frowned and picked up his pace, jogging towards the thing sticking out of the sand. As he grew closer his heart began to slam in his chest as he recognized what it was. He came to a skidding halt and stared. Bones. Human bones.
The bones gleamed white; bleached by the sun. Marshall sank to his knees and began to frantically dig. Broken bones were revealed and finally he uncovered a skull. It was clean; old—not Oceans. There were people here?! Other people?!
Marshall pulled himself to his feet. People...He looked around as if there would suddenly be a colony of humans inhabiting the surrounding trees watching him. He dug his hand in his hair as he looked around frantically.