Chapter 6

Life went on in paradise. That's what Maria and I now called the island. A private joke to keep us from turning into Mom. I wanted so much to talk to Dad about my mother, but never could. Sometimes after a night when Mom talked dirty and screamed her pleasure we'd exchange uncomfortable glances, but nothing more. And to his credit, he never brought up anything Maria and I did in the shed or elsewhere.

We continued to explore the island. Out of boredom more than hoping we'd find anything. One time we followed the stream all the way to its source—a high waterfall flowing down black volcanic rock. Most times we didn't find anything new.

Sometimes Maria and I went, sometimes Dad alone, and sometimes I tagged along with him. At least one of us would stay with Mom. Her only excursion, other than when Dad took her upstream for a bath, was when we went to the beach. Even that was a toll on her with Dad often carrying her the final leg home.

During one of those trips to the beach, Mom and Dad sat under a tree watching the ocean. Well, Dad watched the ocean. Mom gazed straight ahead where the ocean happened to be. Maria and I frolicked in the water, body surfing waves and dunking each other.

I came up sputtering when Maria said, "What's that?"

I looked over my shoulder at where she was pointing. The glint caused me to squint. I spun around. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I peered at the waves crashing onto a clump of rocks. There it was again. A flash.

I trudged through the water, taking long slow steps, my toes digging into the soft sand. There it was. A sheet of metal being tossed about by the breaking waves.

When I got close, I waited. A wave flung it onto the rocks. I reached for it, but it slipped from my grasp. It floated away until another wave threw it at the rocks. I snagged it with one hand and then held on tight with both as the undertow tried to wrench it free. When the tugging eased, I dragged it onto the beach.

Maria ran up to me. "What is it?"

"Something metal. Who knows?"

My father jogged to us. "Maria, go stay with Mrs. Walters."

Maria walked to where my mother was sitting while Dad and I stared at the object.

"Where do you think it came from?" I asked.

Dad dropped to a knee and ran his palm over the surface. He stood up and flipped it over.

"You're lucky you didn't cut yourself," he said. "Look at the jagged edge."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Maybe part of our jet. Or it could be anything. Let's take it back to the shed."

I stooped to pick it up.

"Careful," my father yelled. "It's sharp. I'll do it."

Dad lifted the sheet of shiny metal and carried it to where the others were sitting. He told Maria to help Mom back to the shed while he carried the metal. It wasn't heavy, but he was afraid I would cut myself. An infection could be fatal.

After returning to the shed and finishing lunch, Maria tended to my mother. Dad and I sat on the ground with the shiny metal object between us. I started to say something several times, but understood my father. Deep in thought he was not to be disturbed.

Maria finished with Mom and said, "What are you gonna do with it? It's a piece of junk."

Dad glanced up at her and then returned to studying the object.

"We could use it as a table," Maria said. "Or a target."

Dad looked at her as if she were from another planet. "A target?"

"Yeah. Throw rocks at it."

Dad lowered his head and shook it. I jumped to my feet and placed an arm around Maria. When she was about to say something else, I hugged her to my side. She remained quiet.

Dad lifted the metal as he stood up. We followed him to the area behind the shed where he leaned it against the structure and backed up. After staring at it, he looked up at the sky and then moved the sheet of metal on a different angle and then backed up again. Maria and I watched without speaking.

Dad turned towards me. "Bobby, tomorrow morning we're going to the waterfall." He then walked back to the front where Mom was sitting.

"What was that about?" Maria asked.

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow."

The next morning after breakfast, Dad came out of the shed with a rolled up rope slung on his shoulder and some tools. I followed him to the back of the shed where he let the rope slide down his arm to the ground. The sheet of metal was still leaning against the shed. He laid it flat.

Resting on a knee, Dad placed the blade of a screwdriver about six inches from the edge of the metal, centered, and smacked the handle with a hammer. He wiggled the screwdriver until it came free of the hole and positioned it again. He drove the blade through the metal several more times, making the hole bigger. The jagged edges were hammered down, and then he tested the size by pushing the end of the rope through it.

Dad handed me the rope, hammer, and screwdriver. "Bobby, let's go."

"Where?"

"I told you. The waterfall. The sooner we go the sooner we'll be back."

After Dad tucked the sheet of metal under his arm, pressing it to his side like a woman protecting her pocketbook, we started our trip. The waterfall was a ways upstream so we didn't make the trip often. It was too hard on Mom.

We passed my favorite fishing place. Then where Maria and I made love the first time. The vegetation thickened as the sound of the waterfall got louder. We didn't talk. I plodded along trying to keep pace with my father who kept pulling ahead.

And then we were there. The mist from the waterfall cooled my sweat-covered skin. I looked up. It had to be fifty feet high. Maybe a hundred. On both sides of the falling water was black jagged rock, shaped over time by earthquakes, wind, and rain. The top appeared flat with the water spilling over it like an overflowing bucket, falling fast, crashing into the body of water at the bottom with a powerful splash and thunderous sound.

Dad laid the sheet of metal down and sat on the ground. I joined him, glad to finally rest. Not only was the trip long, but uphill.

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

Dad shielded his eyes with a hand at his brow and pointed at the waterfall. "I'm going to put the metal up there."

"Why?"

"Maybe a boat or plane will see the reflection."

"So?"

Dad frowned. "So maybe they'll investigate. I'm still hoping they know sort of where we went down. Maybe help will come."

"Do you think so?"

Dad's face turned sullen. His eyes dropped. He looked back up. "There's a chance. I don't know what else to do."

I stared at the waterfall. "How high?"

Dad looked up, too. "I don't know. I'll decide when I get there."

"How are we going to do it?" I asked.

"Not us. Me. You wait for me down here." He stuck his hand out. "Give me the rope."

I did and Dad threaded it through the hole. Then he stood up and tied it around his waist with the sheet of metal hanging behind him.

Dad looked up at the waterfall and then back at me. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He was silent for a moment and then said, "Bobby, you've been a great help. I'm proud of you."

I stared at him through watering eyes. Dad wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight.

Before I could say anything, he jogged to the base of the mountain. The sheet of metal bounced on his butt. He glanced over his shoulder at me and then lifted his right foot onto a rock, testing it before pushing up. He did the same with his left foot on the next rock that jutted out, clutching other rocks and vegetation that grew out of the side of the mountain with his hands. Dad climbed higher and higher. It reminded me of the rock walls he made me climb when I was a kid.

He stopped from time to time to gaze at the ocean and up at the sun. I was getting a crick in the back of my neck from looking up. But he kept climbing. Dad held on to some vegetation growing out of the rock and peered down at me. He placed his other hand over his mouth like a megaphone and screamed something. With the roar of the waterfall, I couldn't hear him so cupped my ear, shook my head, and held my palms up at shoulder height in the universal huh? jester. He nodded and turned back around.

Dad used his free hand to untie the rope from his waist. He moved the sheet of metal to his front and looped the rope around the vegetation with one hand and tied it. Then he looked down and stretched his right leg, feeling around with his foot. He found a rock and started his climb down.

With his head below the bottom of the metal, Dad tugged on it. It held. He then continued his descent. He got down around ten feet when his foot slipped. He reached for something to hold on to, but his hands came up empty.

My father fell. His body hit a protruding rock and flipped over. He continued to fall. I ran towards the waterfall, but only took three strides when he crashed onto the ground. I stopped in my tracks.

No movement.

I dashed to where he lay. Blood gushed from my father's head, from the crack in his skull. The splintered bone protruding from his broken arm was stained red.

"Dad! Dad!" I cried out.

He didn't move. I touched his shoulder. Still no movement. I rolled him onto his back and stared at his chest. No movement there either. I placed a trembling finger under his nose and waited. Nothing. No air. No breathing. I pressed my fingers against the side of his neck praying for a pulse. Nothing. I moved my fingers to other areas. Maybe I was in the wrong place. Still nothing.

I collapsed onto my butt. Tears flowed down my cheeks.

What was I to do? I stared at the lifeless body of my father. I couldn't leave him there.

Time passed. How long, I don't know. I grabbed Dad under the armpits and hoisted him to a sitting position. It made me sick when his head fell onto his shoulder. But I couldn't leave him there. Draping his unbroken arm over my back, I dug my shoulder into his gut and gritted my teeth as I stood up. Carrying him like a fireman would, he folded over my shoulder.

I could do it. I had to do it.

I started my trek back. Thick vegetation scratched my arms and legs as I barreled through. The only thought was making it back and not leaving him. It became easier when the growth thinned out, but he was getting heavier. I plodded along. One time the weight caused me to drop to my knee. I rested, huffing and puffing, and then forced myself back up.

I reached the place Maria and I had made love. I walked a little faster. I came upon my fishing spot. Almost there. I slowed down, trying not to make noise. There it was, the shed. I scanned the area. Mom wasn't in sight. No one was. Maria must be with her inside the shed.

As quietly as I could, I carried Dad to the back of the shed and lowered him to the ground. Then I walked around to the front and went inside.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" Maria screamed. "You're hurt. Oh my god!"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"You're bleeding."

I looked down. Dad's blood soaked my shirt. "It's not mine."

"What happened? I don't—"

I put a finger to my lips for Maria to be quiet. I looked over at Mom. She was the same as always. I motioned for Maria to come outside and she followed me.

"It's Dad," I said. "I carried him back."

"Your father? He's hurt? Where is he?" Maria's head moved back and forth with her eyes searching.

I placed my hands on her shoulders at arm's length. "He fell. He's, he's dead."

"Dead!"

"Shh. Quiet. Mom will hear," I said in a hushed voice.

"Oh my god! Where is he?"

"Out back. I'll bury him there."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later. I need to bury him. Take care of Mom while I do it. Don't let her know."

When I went inside for the shovel, I stopped to stare at my mother. What was to become of us? The two adults were gone. It was only Maria and me. Maria was older, but I felt in charge now.

Out back, I contemplated a place for my father. The other graves were in a row. We were not part of them. We needed our own resting place. I chose one and started digging. I stopped, studying the area. Yes, there was room for four graves. More if Maria had children. Tears flowed down my face as I dug.

Standing in the hole, I wiped the sweat off my brow with my forearm. I realized it was deeper than the one we buried the Spaniard in. I threw the shovel over the side and climbed out.

I walked over to Dad, all the while hoping he would sit up. He didn't. I grabbed him under the armpits and dragged his body to the hole. After swinging his feet into one end, I dropped to my knees and guided his body the length of the grave. Now lying prone on my belly with my arms extended in the hole, I let go. Dad dropped to the bottom.

Retrieving the shovel, I scooped up dirt and tossed it over his legs. I threw more and more in, moving up his body. When a shovel of dirt hit his chest and splattered his face, I closed my eyes and cried. What I did next was the hardest thing I had ever done. I tossed dirt on his face.

I couldn't stand to see him like that so I quickly shoveled load after load of dirt into the hole. When I stopped to catch my breath, Dad was gone. All that remained was dirt. I filled the hole and then piled coconuts on top of it.

Dropping to a knee, I said, "God, my father believed in You. Please take care of him. He was a good man."