Chapter 2

Three weeks later and the five men and Emily were still on the island. Not an airplane, not a ship nor a sail, not a single sign that they were not the last six people on the earth. They had enough food to eat and water to drink but desperation was just below the surface and its companion, rage, was breaking out.

None of them wore any clothes. The underclothing each of them possessed was tied up in a bundle, sheltered from the rain and protected from insects, saved for their day of rescue, should it come, when they could put on their garments and greet their rescuers in less than complete nudity.

Each had settled into a role. Douglas was the self-appointed leader. He spoke a cultured English; he was 53 years old, with a ring of gray hair around a bald head and the gaunt, knotty body of a dedicated runner. He chaired occasional group meetings, standing while the others sat in the shade of coconut palms. He turned round and round to address each of them during those meetings and Sam had christened him the “swinging dick.” Douglas was the shelter boss, as he called himself. He built a small hut under which all six crowded into at night to sleep.

Ben, 40 years old was tall, slender, and soft-spoken. He had recovered from his coral wound and he and Douglas were the gatherers of food and cooks for the group. Douglas was the only one with shoes; he walked several hundred yards to the center of the island every day and gathered plantains, dug taro roots, and knocked breadfruit out of trees. Ben sometimes accompanied him, but his main job was to cook. Lacking any utensils, roasting on the fire was the only cooking method. Charred breadfruit, plantains and taro roasted in pandanas leaves, and coconut meat and milk were on the daily menu.

Kevin, the handsome 22-year old American, was called “coco” because one of his jobs was to shinny up a coconut palm every day and thrown down a dozen coconuts for coconut water and food. Kevin was also the fire boss. It had taken him three days, but he had finally created fire by rubbing two sticks together. Kevin was responsible for ensuring that the cooking fire never went out and he had built a large pyre on the beach, ready to light to attract the attention of a passing airplane or ship.

Sam, 35 years old and divorced, and Emily, 19 years old, were the fishermen and the foragers -- but Gaston said that many large carnivorous fish living in the coral reefs were poisonous and only small fish and crustaceans were safe to eat. Sam devised fishing gear but his daily take was only a few small fish. Sometimes, diving among the coral reefs, they caught a rock lobster. They scoured the island for land crabs, often with claws six inches long and delicious when roasted over the fire. In their travels they also gathered palm hearts from young, sprouting coconuts.

Gaston, the pilot, was the water boss. In addition to collecting brackish water in the old well he had found, he devised ways of collecting water from dew and passing rain showers. With the water he collected, plus coconut milk, they had enough to drink.

Gaston had far more knowledge of life on a coral atoll than did any of the others, but he continued to draw wrath, blamed for the crash that had left them marooned on the island. He stayed to himself most of the time although Emily tried to make him feel welcome in the group. Gaston was about 45 years old, a world-worn man with a paunch and the broken blood vessels on his cheeks of an alcoholic, but he had a pleasant and amusing manner.

With each passing day the tensions within the group built up. Douglas attempted to sooth nerves but was seen as manipulative. Sam’s sarcastic comments about everybody and everything inflamed the others -- and some of that emotion was transferred to Emily as she and Sam were perceived as allies. Ben was quietly depressed; Kevin was almost a child, going from wild elation to dark despair in a moment. Gaston, the pilot, was silent and sullen. He rarely spoke except to Emily, and then in the French she barely remembered from her childhood.

The sexual tensions didn’t help matters. All the men looked longingly at Emily’s naked body. They found ways to brush against her and suggestive comments were thrown her way. She laughed them off. Her close proximity to the men often resulted in an erection. Kevin, the youngest of them, turned red; Douglas turned away. She had washed Ben’s coral wound in the sea and re-bound it with cloth every day for two weeks and while she was kneeling over his calf he always got erect. She pretended not to notice. Gaston ignored his erections and Emily observed with interest that his penis had a peculiar bend in it.

Emily spent more time with Sam than any of the others and the two were often physically close or touching as they fished and hunted crabs and dove for shellfish and lobsters. Sam always became erect when they were close -- and sometimes pointed to it with humor. She once saw him masturbating on the beach after one of their close encounters. She wondered whether he knew she was watching.

The men all discussed sex as they set around their cooking fire or huddled together in their shelter at night. “Oh, God, please send me a woman. Fat, ugly, old -- I don’t care. I just want a woman,” was Sam’s prayer. “I’ve never been without a woman this long.” The others guffawed at that.

Ben was married and talked about his wife with love and affection. “The best woman I’ve ever had. Perfect ass and tits and she knows how to use them.” Kevin reminisced about his college girl friends and told stories about wild parties and drunken dates. Douglas said little about his love life. Maggie only listened and smiled when the men looked at her longingly. None of them were aggressive with her, but she knew all of them yearned for sex. Maggie was frightened at what might happen if she paired off with one of the men. Every day, relations among the men became tenser and more antagonistic as the expectations of rescue faded and hopelessness set in.

The blowup came with a trivial event. They were all sitting around the cooking fire eating dinner. Mild-mannered Ben was roasting small fish on a stick. Gaston plucked one of the fish off the stick. “God damn it, Gaston, you always take the biggest fish and leave us with the shit.”

Gaston defended himself. “There are enough fish for everyone.”

“You shouldn’t get any fish,” said Ben. “You’re the reason we’re stuck on this fucking island.”

“Leave Gaston alone,” said Kevin. He liked the decadent, seedy, faintly romantic Frenchman.

“I’ll say anything I want to the fucking Frenchie,” answered Ben, and in his anger he accidentally kicked the stick on which the fish were roasting into the fire.

“God damn it, Ben. I worked all day long to get those fish.” That was Sam. “Clumsy oaf.”

“You’ve got a big mouth,” said Ben, rising to his feet as Sam did also, the two of them facing off against each, eye to eye.

“Stop it,” shouted Douglas, asserting his leadership. They paid no attention to him. He jumped between them and as Ben and Sam scuffled Douglas fell into the fire. Emily grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up and away from the coals.

Sam and Ben were pushing and shoving each other like mad bulls. Kevin rushed between them, and was pushed aside.

Douglas was lying on the sand, grimacing in pain, and Emily hovered over him. He shouted at Sam and Ben. “Stop it, you two. I”m trying to keep things under control and it’s for nothing.”

“Who the hell put you in charge, anyway,” said Sam. Kevin put a hand on Ben’s chest, and Sam pushed it away, knocking Kevin over. He fell over Emily and ended up on top of her and Douglas, who screamed in agony. Kevin quickly jumped to his feet, ready for a fight. Now three of them were jaw to jaw, yelling at each other.