Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3896185.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hockey_RPF
  Relationship:
      Gabe_Landeskog/Matt_Duchene
  Character:
      Gabe_Landeskog, Matt_Duchene
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, AU, stranded_on_a_desert_island, non-hockey_au, Mentions_of
      homophobia, Found_Family, literally_found_family, Sexual_exploration,
      Growing_Up, Angst, Coming_of_Age, shipwrecked, Colorado_Avalanche,
      tropical_paradise, Teenagers, some_religious_guilt
  Collections:
      Trope_Bingo:_Round_Four
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-07 Words: 13096
****** The Lagoon ******
by abstractconcept
Summary
     Prompted by a nonny at FFA who wanted a gay version of The Blue
     Lagoon. This follows the movie somewhat, so the same summary could
     easily apply: In the Victorian period, two children are shipwrecked
     on a tropical island. With no adults to guide them, the two make a
     simple life together, unaware that sexual maturity will eventually
     intervene.
Notes
     Also written for the Trope Bingo Wild Card Square. It ate up so much
     of my time I'm trying to make amnesty. :(
See the end of the work for more notes
We buried Gabe’s father yesterday beneath the big palm on the western slope of
the island. I said as many prayers as I could remember over his grave, but it
wasn’t very many. Gabe didn’t say anything at all. His hands are bloody and
blistered from digging all day. I told him he could take a break, but he didn’t
want to. I guess he wanted to stay busy.
Today everything feels all wrong. The island is lush with flowers and
vegetation and bright, bright birds that flit past you like jewels on wings.
Their cries are everywhere, along with the hum of the insects and the hiss of
the ocean beating itself against the rocks. The island feels alive. Today the
whole island feels pulsing and stirring with life, and yet I know it is not so.
I look around and ask God why—how can everything still just go on as usual? I
know it is silly to think the birds or the beasts would take note of one human
more, or less, and even sillier to believe they would show some sign of respect
for the man who did so much for us and is now inexplicably gone—but it just
does not seem right.
I heard thunder in my dreams last night. It rained, I think. I thought it would
keep on raining today, but it didn’t. The skies are as blue as Gabe’s eyes. I
think there is a storm inside Gabe right now, but it does not show in his blue
eyes.
I asked him to go fishing with me, but he didn’t want to. He just sat on an
outcrop of rock and stared out over the sea. He looked like he was watching for
ships, like we did sometimes when we were first stranded, but I don’t think he
was watching for ships at all. Or, at least, he was watching for a ship that
cannot return.
I let him be. I asked him to say a prayer over the body but he didn’t want to
and got angry with me. I thought maybe I better leave him to himself, even
though it scares me. Without Mr. Landeskog, it is only Gabe and me on this
whole island. Sometimes it feels like only Gabe and me in the whole world.
When Gabe doesn’t speak, it feels like it’s only me.
                                    oOoOoOo
Today Gabe would not talk at all. I gave him space as long as I could, but then
I started to feel frightened. I had not been this frightened since the storm
and the sinking ship, when Gabe’s father rescued us.
I tried hard to mind what my father taught me; “Matty,” he used to say, “Idle
hands are the devil’s tool. If you are industrious and obedient and strive to
please God, all else will fall into place.” I didn’t really understand about
the devil, but I have found it to be good advice all the same. When you work
hard, you don’t have time to worry.
So instead of brooding, I dug for clams and caught some fish, and then I
cleared vegetation that was coming too close to the sleeping area. Then I
worked on weaving the mats that we sleep on. They come undone something awful
whenever you aren’t looking. But there is really not a lot of work to be done,
or at least not a lot that just one person can do. If I were back home on the
farm things would be different. Out here there aren’t any cows to be milked or
animals to be fed or stalls to be mucked out.
When I ran out of work, I went down to the beach and did some swimming, just
for fun. I did not know how to swim before our ship sank, but Gabe knows and he
has taught me a lot. I reckon I am pretty good now.
After my swim I was hungry, as you might imagine, so I cooked up some of those
tasty clams. I asked Gabe if he wanted any, but he didn’t answer. I asked him
how he was feeling but he did not want to talk about that either. Eventually he
got sick of me prattling and went off to the other side of the island. As you
might imagine, I was pretty lonely after that.
He didn’t come home until after dark, when I had the fire made and was getting
worried he might never come back. I was sure glad to see him, even though he
didn’t seem glad to see me. I was respectful though, because I lost my ma and
pa when the ship sank and I had a pretty good idea of how he was feeling.
So I offered him some fish and he ate that, and we sat there and said nothing.
The tropical forest was not quiet. The sea birds are quite noisy, and the
insects are always about, but, having been used to these sounds, the night
seemed oppressively muffled to me. After a while we went to bed, but I had
trouble sleeping. It felt like a great weight was on me, or perhaps on the
whole island, a thick blanket of silence. I longed to talk, even to hear my own
voice, but since Gabe was quiet I didn’t want to wake him. I just shut my eyes
and tried to remember my mother’s voice. Sometimes I remember, but other times
it just won’t come to me. I wish I could hear it again, even just an echo.
When I just about decided I couldn’t take it anymore, Gabe rolled over and got
up and started down the beach. I asked him where he was going. “I’m taking a
walk,” he said, not turning to look at me.
I guess I must have gotten a bit hot then, because I told him he was being
selfish. He finally turned around. He looked really surprised.
“What do you mean, selfish?”
“I’m stuck here too, Gabe, and you can’t just ignore me,” I snapped, tired of
his childishness.
A thundercloud settled over us. “You’re the one being selfish,” he told me.
“What!?” I yelped. After I’d caught and cooked his supper! It made me angry
enough that I pushed him, and he shoved me back, and before I knew it we were
wrestling and thumping each other, kicking up sand.
My mother used to tell me again and again not to fight with other boys, but
somehow it just isn’t that easy. Sometimes when you are feeling much of
anything in the way of strong emotion, you just have to have a good scrap.
Anyway, Gabe and I ended up down in the sand, kicking and scuffing, until he
had me pinned but good. Gabe had pretty much walloped me, which I might have
expected, seeing how he is quite a bit taller than me now and has a better
reach. But I still gave a good showing and I expect he’ll have the black eye to
remember it. I tried to shove him off, but he’s heavier than me and I couldn’t
budge him.
Once he’d pinned me, we both glared at each other, panting.
“Matty,” he finally said, “What is the matter with you?” I expect he was
wondering because I am usually the mature and responsible one. I am never loud
and rarely mean, but he got under my skin good.
“What do you think?” I snapped. “You treat me like I’m a wife, expected to do
your cooking, and then you won’t even talk to me.”
That made Gabe angry all over again. “You don’t understand anything,” he said.
“He was all I had left!” He sat up and got off me, turning away in a huff.
I started crying then, mainly out of frustration and anger, but it surprised
him enough to stop him walking away. “I didn’t have anyone else, either,” I
told him angrily. I had lost not only my own family, but now Gabe’s father as
well. We truly had nothing left but each other, and no adults at all. It
frightened me to think of it. “It isn’t fair,” I choked out, burying my face in
my arms. “It isn’t fair.”
Gabe came back over and sat down next to me. He put a hand on my back. “I know,
Matty. It isn’t fair.”
I sort of huddled against him and let him throw an arm around me. I was done
crying but my body seemed to need more. I curled in on myself, using his body
like a shelter from a storm, though it was a warm, dry night. He didn’t say
anything. Though earlier I had been so angry with his silence, I was grateful
for it now. At least he didn’t mock me for my weakness.
We sat there for a long time before he sighed and ruffled my hair. “Let’s
sleep, Matty,” he said in a tired voice. We crawled back onto our sleeping
mats. I stayed close to him the whole night, pressing my back to his. The night
was overwarm, but I needed to know he was still there.
We woke late the next day, tangled up together, his leg thrown over mine, my
head on his shoulder. He blinked his wide blue eyes at me, getting his
bearings. I braced myself, for what I’m not sure. Another day of brooding,
perhaps, or maybe I was waiting for Gabe, not overly patient at the best of
times, to shove me off. But he just smiled his same old Gabe smile.
We got up and brushed ourselves off. No matter how you sleep on a beach, there
will always be sand all over when you wake up. No amount of cleaning keeps it
out.
Gabe stood and held his hand up against the sun, gazing out at the sea. “I
think I’ll go and get us some fish,” he offered.
“All right,” I said, even though I am better at it than he is. I knew it was
his way of apologizing for our fight. He headed down to the beach and I just
watched, wiggling my toes in the sand.
Gabe might be just a kid, but I’m awfully glad to have him, at least.
                                    oOoOoOo
Gabe and I used to play a game called Miss Most. I would say, “What I miss most
about home is snow.” He would think about it and say, “What I miss most about
home is Christmas.” Christmas is better than snow, so he would get a point. We
would go on like that until one of us had ten points, or until we were so
homesick we couldn’t talk anymore.
After a while, we stopped playing that game and started a different one—I Don’t
Miss. Like, “I don’t miss having to get up before the sun does just so I could
milk the cow.” But funny enough, after a while, that would make us homesick
too.
Now I reckon it’s been at least a year or so since we played either game.
I would say we are too busy, but we aren’t, really. We swim and we fish and we
climb trees and make things. Mr. Landeskog rescued a number of good things that
washed up on the beach after the ship sank, so we have some tools. But mostly
we are free as birds, free to do whatever we choose. Instead of word games, we
chase each other around the island or in the water, or try to spot as many fish
as we can. We have fishing contests, and those are my favorite. I never lose.
Sometimes we try to play a version of hockey with sticks and coconuts, but it
doesn’t work very well. Sometimes we pretend anyhow. You don’t need hockey
sticks to pretend. You can have any equipment you want when you store it in
your head.
Sometimes I forget about snow.
Sometimes I forget weather. We have rain or no rain.
Sometimes I stand out in the rain and stick my tongue out and pretend it’s cold
and soft.
Mostly I don’t remember it at all. The warm sunshine of the island wraps around
us like a mother’s embrace, and we feel safe and happy.
I tried to talk about it with Gabe, but he rolled his eyes and said I think too
much. Then he punched me in the arm and dove into the water and I had to jump
in, too, if I wanted to catch him. When I caught up to him I dunked his head in
the water over and over until he came up spluttering and laughing and dunked me
back.
That is better than remembering snow, to my way of thinking.
                                    oOoOoOo
I think something is wrong. I think I am sick. I’m awful scared, thinking about
it. What happens when you get sick out here in the middle of nowhere, with no
mother to look after your pains? All I have is Gabe and he does not make a very
good nurse. For one thing he keeps telling me I’m just overreacting. Perhaps I
am, but how do I know?
I don’t feel sick, exactly. I feel as healthy as a horse and I look it, too. I
mean, the healthy part, not the horse part! I have grown by inches and feet
over the past year. If I still wore britches I would be in a lot of trouble,
for I would outgrow them every week! I am taller than Gabe now, but I reckon he
won’t be long to catch me up. He is not a whole lot shorter for being a year
younger.
Sometimes I see my reflection in the water and I am taken aback, for I do not
see Matty Duchene there at all. I see a strange man! Well, maybe not a man, not
yet, but close. A boy who is quickly reaching manhood, anyhow. I am certainly
taller, and my shoulders have grown broad, and I do not think even my sister
would recognize me, for I am brown as a coconut. And I have muscles, too, I
suppose from swimming so often and rowing the raft about to catch fish. I don’t
think there is any fat on me at all. Well, there wouldn’t be! We have no cakes
or sweets here, after all. I sure do look different, anyway.
I reckon this should not come as so much of a shock to me, for I am a teenager
now, I think. It is very hard to count days, and when you have stopped counting
days the years are harder to track, too.
But anyway, you would think from looking at me that I am the picture of health.
All the same, there is something wrong with me and I think it might be a demon.
I told Gabe this but he just laughed. I am having strange dreams and my body
disobeys me. I know it is wrong to think this way, but sometimes at night I
watch Gabe sleep and feel the urge to press myself against him, and—well. I
know my body should not do this. I shouldn’t think about things like that.
The other night I had a dream and when I woke up, I was wet. First I thought
I’d had an accident like I hadn’t since about the time I could walk, but it
wasn’t urine. And—and I’d had a dirty dream about Gabe.
I think it is because I have forgotten how to pray. Either that or I am mighty
sick, to think about Gabe the way I’ve been thinking lately. It makes me feel
awfully guilty, for he is a boy, and younger than me at that.
I must have said the Our Father about a hundred times last night before I went
to sleep, but it happened again.
I don’t know what to do.
                                    oOoOoOo
I confess, I have been avoiding Gabe a bit these days. Somehow things just feel
strange between us now, as though I am different and he cannot understand.
Moreover, I still can’t stop watching him and thinking dirty thoughts.
Last night he asked me to go swimming. I have not been swimming with him much
lately. As I said, my body does not seem to be under my control, and when we
swim, we wear very little. I am mortal terrified that he will see and know the
devil has taken hold of me. He might hate me if he realizes.
I said I didn’t want to swim, but he kept on it like a dog with a bone. I told
him it was dark and there might be sharks and we wouldn’t be able to see, but
he said we’d stay in the sheltered part of the lagoon, and anyway there’s a lot
of phosphorescence. The captain taught us about that, back before the ship
sank. It’s when the sea glows, like the water itself burns with a blue fire. I
told Gabe that wouldn’t help much, but he took my hand and pulled me out of the
hut and led me down to the water.
The sea is very pretty when it shines that way. When you trail your hand
through the water it is almost like sweeping it through liquid star dust.
It was a full moon out, so it wasn’t as dark as I expected. Between the
moonlight and the phosphorescence, the whole thing seemed like a dream or a
fairy place, not entirely real. But you can’t really do any woolgathering
around Gabe, for as soon as I mentioned it to him, he sent a splash of warm
water across my face. Then, with a hoot and a snicker, he was gone like a fish.
I went after him with a holler and we chased each other round the coral and the
fish. Some of them are real friendly and will come right up to you. Gabe feeds
them sometimes, right from his hand, using the bait of old fish lying around.
They will gather around you in a cloud and nibble it from your fingers. They
tickle!
We didn’t feed them last night, though. That night was all about chasing and
racing, heart thumping faster and faster. I am the better fisher, but Gabe is
the better swimmer. Sometimes he would almost let me catch him, only to dive or
dart away again. We saw an eel! It was green and had ferocious teeth, but it
didn’t bother us, only popped its head out of a crevice in the rocks and wagged
it, working its mouth like it wanted to yell at us for disturbing its peace. I
surfaced with a burble and a laugh, for he reminded me of an old man we used to
live near named Mr. Thomas. Mr. Thomas did not like children at all and would
scold us for any old reason. He used to wag his head the exact same way as that
old eel did.
After swimming this way for quite some time, I followed Gabe back to the rocks
on the west side of the lagoon, which are slick and flat and go into the water
almost like stairs. With the way the tide was, we could sit on them with our
legs in the water, feeling the pull and push of the ocean.
Gabe shook himself like a dog, sending water from his hair everywhere, while I
laughed and tried to ward it off. He grinned at me real big. “See, Matty?
Wasn’t that fun?”
I had to admit it was.
His smile went lopsided with pride. I can’t even tell you how handsome he
looked just then by the moonlight, all wet and slender and smug.
Then he leaned forward and kissed me.
I must have looked real surprised, because his eyebrows went worried. “Was that
wrong?” he asked.
I wanted to say yes, because it was, morally. Maybe we are both possessed by
demons? Maybe I have given it to him, like the flu. But no, Gabe is good and
pure, even if he wants to kiss me. Anyway, I went on sitting there on those
slippery rocks, thinking about how soft Gabe’s mouth was, how good and lovely
it had felt. Then I leaned in and kissed him back.
Maybe it was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong. It almost felt like Gabe’s kiss
could drive demons from me, it felt so nice.
So anyway, I kissed him back, and it felt good and made my face burn hot even
though the night was cool, and we kissed and kissed and kissed, and he reached
out and took my face in his cupped hands, just to hold it there, I guess, and
we kissed some more.
I think we must have kissed about half the night. That’s what it felt like,
anyway. We just sat close together, kissing, sometimes twining our fingers
together, or hugging some, and talking very little. We didn’t go to bed until
the moon began to sink into the water, and we slept very late.
I didn’t know just kissing someone could be so interesting that you would want
to do it for so long.
                                    oOoOoOo
I finally told Gabe everything. First I told him about the way my neddy feels.
I told him sometimes I rub it to make it go away. It’s the only thing that
works. I felt so ashamed telling him about it—and he just shrugged. He says it
happens sometimes, and not to worry about it. He says it is not wrong to touch
yourself. He says if I want to rub it because it feels good, then I should. He
assured me that he has done that a couple times himself. I don’t think he
understands, but then he was raised different. I know his father did not care
much for prayers. Maybe in Sweden things are just different.
He urged me not to feel so badly about it. I suppose I’ve been doing a lot of
moping lately. I guess he takes it badly, and feels that I’m ignoring him, but
I feel too guilty to look at him most times.
Then I told him about the stuff that comes out. I reckon that this is not
something that has happened to him, for he was very interested. I told him I
wake up wet, like I have peed, but it isn’t like that at all. He said he wanted
to see. He asked if I could ‘make’ wet stuff come out. I knew I could, but I
sure didn’t want to. I told him that I don’t know why it happens. Usually it
happens when I am sleeping.
In the end, he got his way. He always does. But I would not do it in the
sunlight even though he complained he wouldn’t be able to see if something was
wrong. I made him wait until it was at least dark out. I know my father would
be very upset with me. You are simply not supposed to touch yourself—but that’s
the only way I know how to make it happen. We went over by the fire and Gabe
sat next to me. I did not think I would ever get the courage up to do it, but
he talked to me for a long time, very quietly, about how I should not be
ashamed or uncomfortable, that if something is wrong he needs to know. Finally
I buried my face against his shoulder and just—touched myself. Having my face
against Gabe’s shoulder seemed to help, not just because he could not see how
red my face was, but because I could drink in his scent, and for some reason
that made it easier for my body to respond.
Sitting there in the firelight with Gabe’s arm around me, my heart beating fit
to start an earthquake, I found it became easier and easier to allow my body to
do this thing. He asked me questions, like, “Does it hurt?” because I was
moaning against him. I just shook my head. He cradled me against him, watching
my body closely. That should have made me feel more shy—and it did—but it also
made me feel . . . feel more. I don’t know any other way to put it. For some
reason, having him there and watching made everything about it more intense
than ever.
Gabe complained I was covering everything with my hand and he wouldn’t be able
to see anything. I’m afraid I got a bit short with him, because the whole
ordeal was bad enough as it was. Why did he have to interrupt me? We went back
and forth, sniping a bit, before settling on a solution; I would let Gabe be
the one to rub it so he could see what was happening. It was Gabe’s idea and I
thought it was mortifying at first, but my body seemed to like the plan just
fine.
In fact, it did not take Gabe any time at all to make the—the thing happen. All
he had to do, it seemed, was let me lean against him, murmuring that everything
would be all right, and—well, and touch me, and then my whole body seemed to
get a shock and then the stuff came out, all over his hand.
I was embarrassed and exhausted, but Gabe was mostly just puzzled. He asked a
lot of questions about what it felt like. To be honest, I did not want to talk
about it anymore at all, but since that was the whole point of the experiment,
I did my best. I told him that it did not hurt—moreover, it felt awfully good.
He said that I acted as if I was in pain, but I assured him there was no pain,
exactly. More like—more like a sort of needfullness. Though now that I think on
it, perhaps I am possessed. Perhaps possession does not hurt. It is something
to think on.
Anyhow, Gabe examined the . . . the stuff that came out, and said it was slimy
and gross but that there was no blood. He wanted to know if anything hurt
after, and I said it didn’t. He wanted to know if I could do it again, and I
told him I didn’t think so, not right away. Then he wanted to see if he could
make stuff come out of his—I told him I was plum tired at that point. I could
barely keep my eyes open. We talked a bit more, but we did not really solve
anything.
Why, then, do I feel content with it?
I know Gabe was probably awake long after I drifted off, but it didn’t much
matter to me. He came to bed with me, and that was all that mattered, and any
time I woke in the night and turned to check, he was there, sometimes looking
back at me, and he would smile in a reassuring way.
Well, I don’t reckon I am dying, anyway. I guess that will have to be enough.
                                    oOoOoOo
I caught a whopper of a fish yesterday—the biggest fish I ever caught! I think
I must have grown quite strong, because when I first saw it surface I was plain
sure I would never be able to wrestle it to shore, but it was not difficult at
all.
I was quite proud of it, and spent the day strutting about. Gabe laughed at me,
but it is not every day I achieve such a kingly accomplishment!
For dinner, Gabe wove together some fronds and made me a crown. He called me,
“King of the Sea.” I laughed, but secretly felt a little uncomfortable. Surely
this place, uninhabited though it is, is ruled by someone? After all, a king
does not have to be there every day. A king does not even have to know he rules
a land—it can be his in name only. This made me wonder what distant ruler owns
this scrap of island. Or maybe they’re close? Maybe they’re just over the
horizon?
I asked Gabe, in an offhand way, who he thought our island really belonged to.
His blue eyes widened. “It belongs to us!” he said. He almost sounded
affronted.
“Yes, but surely on some scrap of paper somewhere in the world, this whole
place is owned by someone, don’t you think?”
Gabe shrugged. “What does it matter? What would a king do? Why do you need a
king?”
I couldn’t answer such a question. I don’t need a king, exactly. Instead of
responding, I poked at the dying embers of the fire with a stick, bringing it
back to life. “Do you think they remember us?” I asked softly.
Gabe looked over at me, his eyes soft in the dusk. “Our family and friends will
not forget us,” he promised. “But our kings? They never knew us. They forgot us
already.”
I smiled. “I don’t expect a king or a queen to remember me, it’s just . . .” I
sighed. I just couldn’t explain. I didn’t even know myself what about it
unsettled me so.
Gabe moved around the fire and scooted close to me, our legs bumping. We
watched the fire while I ruminated about maps and kings and children lost at
sea.
“I don’t remember much about that world,” Gabe ventured, “but I would expect
that your Queen Victoria owns this island.” I looked at him in surprise. He
grinned at my expression. “After all, she owns practically everything else.”
I laughed. In truth, the thought delighted me. The idea that sitting in some
dusty old drawer was a map with our measly little island and Queen Victoria’s
name on it made me feel less alone—like we were anchored, somehow, to our real
lives to our real homes, and even though we didn’t matter much in the grand
scheme of things, I still belonged to my Queen. Which was a bit silly, since I
never used to think much about her one way or the other, back in my old life.
But somehow, it made me feel like we weren’t so completely disconnected to the
world.
Then Gabe kissed my cheek.
That night as I tried to sleep, I felt Gabe’s arm circle my waist, insistently
tugging me closer. Despite my fierce blush, I allowed him to hold me tightly.
“Dutchy,” I heard him murmur in my ear. He moved just a little, his nose
skimming down the nape of my neck. I shivered a little. I could feel my blood
stirring, and I wriggled a little, hot with shame and desire.
Gabe kissed the back of my neck.
Finally I turned, rolling into his arms, and allowed him to kiss me, hot, wet,
open-mouthed kisses, our mouths questing for each other in the sultry night
air. It felt like we would turn the air to steam between us. We rocked against
each other.
“Gabe,” I whimpered into his open mouth. His eyes were tightly shut.
I rocked against him, moaning. I kissed my way across his sweet face, down his
neck, and pressed my mouth to his shoulder, still salty from an earlier swim.
“Matty,” he choked several minutes later, and I followed.
After, as I dozed there against him, his arms circling me like the most
treasured possession, I thought of my queen and what she would have had to say.
I know it is against all laws, both man and God’s, and it would not be looked
on kindly. Queen Victoria would not have been pleased at all.
Maybe, I began to realize, it was for the best that she had no idea of our
little island, our little world.
Maybe everything was for the best.
                                    oOoOoOo
Gabe and I had a fight.
It wasn’t like the fights we usually have. Usually when we have an argument it
is heated, physical—and short.
This one wasn’t like that. Well, I reckon it was heated.
You see, back when Mr. Landeskog was alive we had a routine. Every day we would
get up, do chores, do a bit of fishing for breakfast, then raise the flag and
take it down again, and then have lessons in the afternoon. Mr. Landeskog said
it gave our day structure. We could practice math problems or spelling in the
sand with sticks, or he would sit and tell us about history, or point out
various things on the island, like a certain plant with broad leaves that has
roots which are edible if you boil them long enough, or the tree with beautiful
pink flowers that we never touch because it is poisonous.
The flag is a wide swath of bright red fabric Mr. Landeskog rescued from the
ship. He made it to signal any ship that passes. I reckon it used to be a
hammock or something, because it still had the holes on one end. Mr. Landeskog
fashioned it into a flag with a rope and pulley system in one of the trees on
the beach. He made sure we knew how to put it up and take it down quickly. We
don’t keep it out because the sun would fade the color and the rain would make
it moldy.
Gabe and I have not bothered with the flag in a very long time. We haven’t
practiced our letters, either. We’ve lost all sense of structure and routine.
Our days long ago bled into one another, blurring into one long, sunny day of
fishing and fun and one long, hot night of, well, each other.
To be honest, I don’t think either one of us has even given the flag a thought
in ages.
Then, a few days ago, Gabe took the raft out to fish, and I stayed back and
replaced fronds in the shelter. It must have been midday before I stopped work
and took a break. It was such a hot and humid day that I rested a bit, drinking
some water and staring aimlessly at the horizon—and that’s when I saw it.
A ship.
A real, live ship, gliding silently past our island.
I was so jolted that I dropped the water. A ship! A ship! I kept shouting it in
my own head. I ran in a circle. I didn’t know what to do first. Make the fire
bigger, so they’d see the smoke? Start shouting and waving? No, the flag! I had
to get the flag up!
I ran back to where we keep our supplies and dug through them, looking for the
flag. When I found it I ran back to the beach and quickly hooked it up and . .
. froze.
If I put the flag up, they would come and get us. They would take us back to
society.
And boys are not allowed to love each other there.
I know this because my father told me so.
My uncle was a publican, and one night we had ventured into his pub because my
father needed to speak to him. It was a dark, but rowdy place, filled with the
strong smells of ale and sweat. The men were loud, boisterous after our local
hockey team had trounced the competition.
Then two men came in together and sat by the fire.
For some reason the others took offense at that, perhaps because they felt
ignored. At any rate, they had a go at the men, flinging insults and
insinuations I had never heard. I expected the two men to hotly deny these
words, but instead one merely nodded and asked the man who insulted him if he
would like in on the game. I do not know what that meant, but it provoked an
all-out brawl. I remember hiding under the bar, hearing glasses smash against
the wall, thuds and slaps of flesh, grunts as punches were thrown, until my
father, uncle, and his assistants had cleared the room.
I remember walking home with my father afterward, shuffling along, snow falling
lightly all around.
I asked my father what some of the words had meant. I remember his red face,
his tightness, his anger. I remember him telling me to never say those words
again. Bad, he’d said.Bad words for bad men. They are the worst sort of
sinners. We mustn’t talk about it,he’d told me. And, almost to himself, They
should be put to death.
I never saw my father like that before.
So as I stood there on the shore, watching that ship, I could not think of
anything else.
Gabe would never be allowed to touch me again.
I stood there for a long time with my heart making fluttery quivers in my
throat, and then the flag dropped from my shaky hands. I stood there and
watched and watched until the ship sailed away.
Sometime later, Gabe came running up, almost out of breath. “Did you see,
Matty? Did you see? I yelled and yelled, but they couldn’t hear. Did you raise
the flag?”
I blinked a little and looked at him. Then I shook my head wordlessly.
“What!? Couldn’t you find it in time?”
“I . . . don’t want them to come,” I whispered.
“What?”
“I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, with you, and—”
I never saw Gabe look so angry. He grabbed my arms and shook me so hard I think
my insides rattled. “Well, I don’t want to stay here with you!” he screamed.
“You selfish—stupid—stupid—selfish—” He was so angry, he could barely speak. He
shoved me hard. Then he shoved me again, and again, pushing me away from the
camp. “We could have gone home. I could have gone home. To my sister. To my
mother. I can’t believe it. I can’t even look at you.”
“But Gabe—” I pleaded.
“Go away!”
“But—”
“Go! And don’t come back! I don’t want to see you again!”
I turned and ran. I ran and ran to the other side of the island. I sat in the
sand and tried to think about what had happened, but my head was spinning. Time
passed, and it started to rain, huge droplets splattering on the leaves and on
my face. It was a warm rain, with hardly any thunder. After a while, I started
to cry.
Gabe hasn’t spoken one word to me since. When I go to the camp, he turns away.
Maybe after all that, I lost him anyway.
I don’t know what to do.
                                    oOoOoOo
I have been very sick.
Gabe carried on his cold treatment for days. It was the worst time of my life,
worse than the day the ship sank, worse even than when Mr. Landeskog died, for
I was finally, totally, bitterly alone. Gabe’s sunny smile disappeared. His
blue eyes held a chill of contempt.
At first I begged and cried, and then I got angry too, and yelled at him. I
told him I didn’t need him. I made my own fire. I made my own shelter. Good
luck without me, I thought pridefully, for I knew I was the better fisherman,
and he’d go hungry as often as not.
But I was hungry too, and moreover, I was hungry for his touch. It was hard to
fall asleep at night, curled in on myself, with no warm back against mine.
After a couple of days, I began to feel lonesome and melancholic, given to fits
of nostalgia. One day I woke up to a pounding rain and a puddle in my little
shelter. I had not built it well enough, and it leaked. Even though it was
raining, I decided I had moped enough and it was time to get outside. It was
hardly wetter outside than in, anyhow.
I went for a swim. It was a mistake. With the rain pounding down I could hardly
see, and I stepped on something. I have no idea what it was. Perhaps it was a
stonefish, but I reckon I’ll never know for sure. Anyway, the pain was intense.
I came out of the water yelling. I managed to limp back to my camp.
After that, everything gets a bit hazy.
I was as sick as someone can be, I think, without dying. I thought for certain
I was mortal injured. My foot swelled, I was sick to my stomach, and I
developed a brutal fever. I hid in my shelter and flopped back and forth,
moaning, wishing Gabe were there. Then I went into a delirium. I saw my mother
floating in the sky, all shining gold. When she opened her mouth, she cried
like a sea bird. I saw the coral come alive and walk over the beach and attack
the trees. I saw ships sailing back and forth on the horizon, laughing at me. I
saw Gabe kneeling by me, pale and worried.
I missed Gabe something awful. If I had been big enough to share him, we would
be safe and home now. I had doomed us both by my selfishness. Why had I thought
Gabe would abandon me just because he could meet other people? He’d still have
been my friend. I cried bitterly, but imagined Gabe there, stroking my face and
hushing me, urging me to be strong.
At first I resented my hallucination of Gabe, for I thought it had come to mock
me, but as the other visions died away, I realized he was the real Gabe, taking
care of me. He gave me water and washed my wound. He gently wiped my forehead
with compresses to take away my fever. Gradually, I began to feel better. Gabe
was there. He was really there, and he was really real! The wet cloth felt so
good on my warm face.
“Where did you get that cloth?” I croaked.
He blinked at me.
“For the compresses,” I clarified when he looked blank.
“The cloth for the compresses?” he repeated. Then he broke into a huge grin.
“Matty, that’s the first time you’ve made sense in days. Thank God!” He hugged
me tight to him, crying a little. “Matty, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never yell
at you again, if you’ll only get better. I never meant it, anyway.” He kissed
my head and rocked me.
I smiled against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I really was
selfish.” I leaned back so I could see his face. “Gabe, you were so young, so
you probably don’t know, but loving you is wrong. There are laws against it.
Two men are not allowed to love each other. I’m only telling you this because,
if we get rescued someday, I don’t wish you to get in trouble for it. I am
sorry. You are so important to me that I never wanted to go back to a world
like that—but if I love you so much, I shouldn’t keep you here. Not like that.
If you go back and meet a girl and get married, I promise I won’t even be
angry. I promise I won’t ever do anything like this again. Forcing you to stay
is like putting you in jail, and that isn’t right. I’m sorry, Gabe. I just
didn’t want to lose you.”
Gabe smiled a wobbly smile. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” he said. He
caressed my hot face. “We’ll stay here together. No one can stop me from loving
you. I promise. Now stop babbling and get some sleep. You need to rest, Matt.”
I nodded. Already, I was drifting off. He wiped my head with the cloth again.
It was red. I wondered where he had found it. The only red cloth I knew of was
the flag. “Love you,” I mumbled.
I could still feel Gabe petting my hair. “I love you too, Matty,” I heard him
murmur.
Since then, he has been spoiling me non-stop. He brings me water, and has
forbidden me to walk anywhere on my own (the swelling is still pretty bad in
that foot) and last night he hand-fed me bits of mango. I kissed his fingertips
after every bite.
We are healing together, I think.
As my grandmother might have said, Gabe is contributing greatly to my
convalescence.
My foot is still sore, but my heart is full to bursting.
                                    oOoOoOo
Gabe has become so beautiful that it hurts to look at him. I try to tell myself
that this is only because I have no one else to look at, but I know it’s a lie.
Sometimes, as he surfaces from a swim, my breath escapes me and I just can’t
help but stare, because he is more beautiful than anyone who has ever lived.
Sometimes I’m glad I have him all to myself, for surely, with a whole world of
people, all eyes would be on him, all would love him as soon as they laid eyes
on him, and he would never have chosen me among so many. Other times, I think
it is a crime and a shame that he is here, instead of shining for everyone,
like an angel come to earth.
Whenever I get too much into these thoughts, he grabs me and wrestles me into
the water and dunks me until I remember that he is no angel at all, and I have
to laugh. As handsome as he is, perhaps Gabe would not be such a prize among
girls as I am wont to imagine. He has a devilish streak in him, too. Maybe he
is beautiful only because he is so precious to me.
Still, he is terribly handsome: his hair is burnished gold, his eyes are
bright, he has grown so tall, his muscles have grown like ripe fruit, and his
smile rivals the sun in the sky. He is generous with it, too, a happy boy who
is growing into a happy and sure man. I cannot get enough of him and his easy
laugh, and generous kisses.
This morning he went to fish and swim, and the moment his head broke the
surface of the water I leapt on him, and he laughed and caught me. “Matty,” he
scolded, “you made me drop our breakfast.” But that was all I allowed him to
say, for my mouth was hungry for his, and he didn’t object to this at all.
He carried me over to the shore, the two of us clinging together like limpets.
I don’t suppose it took us very long, stripping and squirming, me licking
droplets of saltwater from his neck, and his length flush against mine as we
thrust and flexed and clutched at one another, breaths coming in shivery gasps.
It was all over in a heartbeat, or rather, a series of thunderous heartbeats.
Then he rested his forehead against mine and we smiled at one another.
I love how he looks at me at such times. I could not give a name to it, but it
is something like love, I think, a tenderness so fierce that it almost burns
him, maybe scares him a little, even. He is bigger than I am, but very gentle.
Our lovemaking might be fast, but it is often.
After lunch he caught me from behind as I was cleaning out the fire pit. He
pulled me back to our sleeping area, laughing softly in my ear. “Matty,” he
kept saying softly as he pressed kisses to my skin. I cannot describe the joy I
feel in hearing my name when he says it. It must be the way my old dog,
Clipper, used to feel when I whistled for him, for I perk up just that same
way, pleased to be wanted.
The sleeping area is at least somewhat private. You would think that it
wouldn’t be important, but I still cringe up sometimes when we’re out on the
beach and I remember myself. Gabe does not notice these things. He doesn’t
care. Gabe was made for a place like this, a place of sunshine and soft sands
and freedom, with not an ounce of inhibition in his whole body. I reckon he
belongs here much better than me, for I am still shy with my body and
everything else, too.
But Gabe doesn’t seem to mind. He led me back into the shade, to that small,
dark, frond-sheltered spot that is made just for the two of us. Since we had
been at it in the morning, we weren’t so full of pep and urgency. Instead we
just kissed for ages, curled together in our cool, quiet little cosmos.
I felt his fingers play through my hair, lightly twirling it round his fingers.
For my part, I let my fingers trail over the planes of his face. He seemed to
like that a lot, from the wordless little sounds he made. I like that about
Gabe: perhaps it is because we are so alone, but he is very much a cuddler, and
it is nice that he appreciates my touch.
I can’t say how long we stayed like that, just nuzzling one another’s bodies
and drinking in each other’s skin. Gabe, however, further pushed things,
nipping his way down my neck and kissing my chest. My breaths began to quicken
as I felt his mouth exploring my body, wet kisses on the most intimate,
vulnerable parts of me. My stomach twitched beneath his lips, but it would be a
lie to say I didn’t like it.
He planted himself in the sand between my legs and began to kiss and lick
me—well, I can’t even bring myself to write it. My face feels hot even to think
of seeing such words in ink. But I had never felt anything like that, and he
brought me into quite a state. I think he liked that. He may be bigger than I
am, but he is still younger, and is always on the lookout for ways to best me.
He sure seemed to like the way I writhed there, making such a fuss, until I
spilled myself into his mouth.
I feel dirty to write such a thing, and I’m still not sure it is normal, but
now Gabe does it too and assures me it must be, and I don’t worry so much about
it as I used to.
Then he sat up and spat into the sand. “Matty? Can I? Please?” As you might
guess, we do not have much interest in social courtesies, so Gabe does not
often say please unless he really wants something. After all, there isn’t much
he could want from me that he isn’t strong enough to take.
I rolled over onto my stomach and held my legs together tightly. Gabe got atop
me and began to thrust his neddy between my legs. I could feel his breath
against my ear, hot and damp. He said my name, softly, in a way that made me
shiver. Somehow hearing my name like a please in his mouth gives me more
happiness than even when he licks me. When he licks me, it feels like a fire
kindles in my belly; when he says my name like that, it feels more like a fire
in my soul.
I felt hot wetness spurt between my legs, dripping down, and Gabe sighed softly
into my hair. I moved onto my side. “Come on,” I told Gabe, for if I don’t get
him up and moving quickly he always falls asleep. “Let’s bathe.”
Gabe gave me a drowsy, cat-like smile. “I have a better idea: why don’t you
come back and sleep with me?” He reached out, and I took his hand, but only to
tug it.
“Get up, you lazy creature,” I said with a laugh. “We have half the day ahead
of us. Come on, now.” Gabe moaned as if I had asked him to carry a mountain
instead of just walking a few feet down the beach. “Let’s go out on the ocean
and sit and let it lull us,” I said. “Just sitting in the sand, feeling the
waves on our bodies.” Gabe is born for water, and his eyes lit up. Just like I
expected, he let me pull him to his feet.
We went down to the water and swam a little. Then we came and flopped down on
the sand, right at the waterline, and looked at each other, and giggled. I
don’t know why, really. Sometimes I guess you just feel like that. Gabe twined
his fingers in mine, and I drank in the sight of him, and we dozed there in the
afternoon heat, feeling the sea tug at us, trying to pull us away from this
place, but the island had anchored us well.
                                    oOoOoOo
I almost cannot believe what happened today. I was fishing on the raft out on
the east side of the island. I had a sharpened stick, and I could see a small
shark, clear as day, down near the sand. The water was not at all deep. A shark
is good eating when you can catch them. But as I shifted the grip on my stick,
I heard someone cry out! I was so surprised that I dropped the stick altogether
and wobbled and nearly fell into the water as well.
When I got my balance back, I looked around wildly. I could see no one. Perhaps
it was a sea bird? A bird that sounded uncannily human?
The cry came again, louder, a wail of discomfort and need. I caught my breath.
Where was it coming from? I paddled around, trying to find the source of the
noise. It seemed to be coming the northeast side of the island, where the
mangroves grew right down into the water. I rarely rafted in the area, because
it was too easy to get caught up on all the tangled roots. Cautiously, I made
my way forward.
The cry came again, weaker, and suddenly I spotted it: a boat! It was a small
wooden catamaran, and on top of it, there was a baby! Well, a child, at any
rate, perhaps around three years old. It was wailing at the top of its lungs. A
baby!
I rowed closer as quickly as I could, careless of the mangrove roots. The child
fell silent, looking at me with big, dark, frightened eyes. “Hey, there,” I
said, as soothing as I could manage. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m not going to
hurt you.” Then I startled. What I had taken to be a big bundle of clothes
beside the baby shifted, and a face looked out at me. I gasped, but then
realized it was only a woman. “A—are you all right?” I said in a wobbly voice,
for her face was sunken and drawn.
She made a noise, or perhaps a word, but I did not understand her. She waved me
closer. I leaned in close. I could she was a native woman, I guessed from one
of the other islands in the area, though how the two of them ended up here, I
couldn’t say. She kept saying the same word over and over, and motioning toward
the baby. I did not know what she wanted. I picked the baby up. I gave it some
of the water I had with me, and a bit of fruit I had taken along for a snack
while I fished. The child gnawed it happily. I looked to the woman, and she
smiled.
Then she sighed, and shut her eyes, and did not move any more. When I realized
what had just happened, I clutched the baby tight to me so it wouldn’t see. I
couldn’t think what to do. I felt for her pulse and tried to give her water,
but it was too late. When I pushed back the clothing to feel her neck, I
realized she was quite thin. It occurred to me that she had probably kept the
baby alive at the expense of her own life, starving herself of whatever they’d
had to eat. When I could do no more, I covered her face and quickly rowed away.
The baby was tired, and would need shelter and food and water.
Gabe was waiting for me back at the camp, and he looked at me, bug-eyed, as I
carried the child to him.
“Where did you get that?”
I gave him a wry smile. “Under the leaf of a cabbage plant,” I retorted.
Gabe gulped. “We can’t keep it,” he said weakly.
I looked at him in disbelief. “Well, then I’ll just go put it back, shall I?”
He shuffled his feet awkwardly in the sand. “I mean—I just meant—we can’t take
care of a baby.”
I shrugged. “We’ll have to.” As far as I could see, there was no choice. After
a moment he nodded. I told him to get some water so we could clean the baby,
and as we did, I told him what had happened. We quickly discovered the baby was
a girl, and also that she’d eat just about anything. I guess that is what
happens when you’re stuck at sea for who knows how long with nothing to eat.
“I suppose the woman must have been her mother, then,” Gabe said when I
finished telling the tale.
“I reckon so.”
“Poor thing.” He looked at her darling little face, and she smiled at him. He
smiled back. I could tell she had won him over, just like that.
“Does that mean I can keep her?” I teased.
The little girl made a string of noises. Perhaps they were words in her own
language. They sounded content and bubbly.
Gabe sighed. “It’s two against one,” he said. “You outnumber me.” He handed her
a mango spear, and she chewed on it, her dark eyes shining.
I don’t think I will be worried about demons anymore. My mother always said
babies were God’s gift to two people who loved each other. When I look up into
the clear blue heavens and feel the warmth of the sun on my face, I believe it.
                                    oOoOoOo
After much arguing, we let the baby name herself. Well, in a way, anyhow. First
Gabe wanted to name her something from his family, and I wanted to name her
something simple, like Sally. It became clear that we were never going to agree
on a name. We talked it over for a long time. Finally Gabe threw his hands in
the air and said she should pick it herself.
“You know, that is not such a bad idea,” I answered.
“She’s a baby; how could she pick out her own name? I don’t even know if she
knows what a name is,” Gabe said doubtfully.
“That is true, but she’s not an infant and it’s clear that she knows many words
from her own language,” I pointed out. In the days since she’d arrived in our
lives, we realized she could say quite a few things, and a few of them even
seemed close to English, like pineapple—painapiu—and mango, which sounded like
maqo. “Why don’t we listen to all the words she says, and pick out one we
like?” I suggested. After all, she did not seem much like a Sally or a Gerta to
me.
Gabe said this was crazy, but after we had listened to her babble for a while,
even he had to admit that many of the things she said sounded very nice to the
ear. I knew he would feel that way, because she has him wrapped around her
finger.
So we listened to her all day, and then we debated some more. Sometimes it
feels like Gabe and I never agree on anything!
That evening, we sat by the campfire and talked. Gabe said he would teach her
how to swim. I said I would teach her how to fish. We talked over all our
plans; we would make a bigger shelter. We would build a better raft. We would
make sure she was always happy. We would give her the best life in the whole
world.
Then the baby tugged at my hand and pointed up at the night sky. “Kalo,” she
said insistently. “Kalo. Kalo.*”
“Kalo,” I agreed.
She grinned, then climbed into my lap. “Kalo. Kalo,” she said again, sleepily.
That was how we decided her name.
I am not sure exactly what it means, but I think it is as pretty as she is.
                                    oOoOoOo
Kalo is the brightest, best child ever. She can swim like a fish and, though
she’s little, she can help with almost anything she puts her mind to, from
weaving fronds to digging for clams. She was just as quick to learn English,
and now speaks very quickly. She can be stubborn, but we all have moments like
that. And she has tantrums sometimes, or crying spells, but I had those not too
long ago myself, so I understand.
She has also grown like a tree, sprouting from a pudgy little wobbly creature
into a nimble and knobbly six-year-old—or thereabouts, I reckon. She can climb
a tree as quick as a wink, and one day soon she’ll be better at fishing than I
am. And she sings, too, happy little tunes her mother must have taught her. She
has passed them on to me the best she could, considering I have not done so
well learning her language as she has mine. Mostly that’s because she doesn’t
remember a lot of her old world.
Last night I sang endlessly to her, trying to get her to sleep, but she kept
squirming and giggling. For all her talents, she is not a very good sleeper!
Finally, after rocking her for what seemed like hours and stroking her hair,
she became drowsy.
“You’re a good mama,” Gabe observed as he put another stick on the fire.
I looked up in alarm. “Who says I’m the mama?”
He laughed. Even in the darkness, I could see the teasing glint in his eye.
“You sing the lullaby. That’s a mama’s job, right?”
I huffed. “Well, I also taught her how to fish, and that’s the dad’s job.
You’re the one who does her hair. You’re as much the mama as I am.”
He giggled. “I taught her how to swim and climb trees. You make dinner more
often than I do, so you’re the mama.”
“But you nearly always make breakfast! Besides, you’re the one who nursed her
back to health when she cut her hand on that rock.”
“Yeah, but you’re sweeter and more loveable.”
“You—” I stopped. “I do not have a good argument for that,” I admitted. He had
to cover his mouth to keep from waking Kalo, he was laughing so hard. She made
a noise and I rocked her, hushing her, and she went back to sleep. “You know,”
I said after a while, “neither of us really has to be the mama or anything
else, for that matter. It’s silly.”
Gabe nodded, looking at me affectionately. “I know,” he noted. “That was the
whole point.”
“Well, I know, but just think: if we ever get rescued, do you want Kalo to have
to be the mama? Do you want people to tell her she can’t fish or climb trees or
have a job, just because she’s a girl?”
Gabe frowned. “I never thought about that.”
I looked down at my slumbering child. “People will, though,” I said unhappily.
“They’ll keep her from doing all kinds of things.”
“No, they won’t,” Gabe promised. I looked up. His expression was mighty angry.
I smiled. I knew from experience that when life got rough, it was good to have
a boy like Gabe Landeskog fighting for you.
“No, they won’t,” I agreed. I stroked Kalo’s dark hair.
Gabe kissed my head. “Come on,” he said. “Bedtime for all of us.” He sounded
tired. For all the fishing and swimming and digging, it took a child to wear
Gabe out. He lifted Kalo from my arms and put her to bed.
I watched them, the two people I loved with a fire so hot it burned me inside.
I was still afraid that people would come, to try to ‘rescue’ us, to drag us
back to the real world. Whatever happened, I vowed right then that Kalo, at
least, would never be held back—that she would climb and fish and work and do
whatever pleased her best. And, I vowed, that she would know she could love who
she liked, too.
                                    oOoOoOo
It finally happened. They came. They found us.
When I was little, I prayed every day someone would rescue us. As I got older,
I realized there might be drawbacks to that, and started hoping they would
never find us at all.
As Kalo grows, I have found myself going back and forth. I am happy here, but
is it fair to her? What happens when she becomes an adult? Her world would be
very small with just two other people in it. Sure, it is more than enough for
me, but I can’t help but worry. What will she do if something happens to me, or
to Gabe, or—God forbid—both of us?
Well, I guess that worry is all in the past, at least.
It has been almost a week now, and I still cannot get used to how our whole
world has changed.
We have been getting walloped with storms lately, and we knew we were in for
another. We woke to find the sky steely grey and low, sagging like a wet duvet.
When Gabe and I got up that morning, we took one look at each other and said,
“Better get breakfast and dinner before the sky falls in again.” We are used to
it—every day it seems to start out nice before a big storm rolls in after noon.
So Kalo went to work patching the shelter (it is very tedious, but when you’re
getting a lot of strong winds, it tends to find chinks in the hut) and Gabe and
I paddled out to get some fish.
Unfortunately, it seemed like there were no fish in the whole ocean.
“I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” Gabe teased me after we had
been out for hours.
“Maybe they smelled you and had to get away,” I retorted.
Finally we caught a couple of unicorn fish and decided that would have to do.
The winds were picking up, and we knew we had tarried too long. It took several
minutes of strenuous rowing to get us back to shore—where we found Kalo
waiting, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.
“Come see! Come see!” she kept shouting. We hauled the raft up and ran to here,
and she raced away, leading us to the other side of the island. By now, the
storm had broken, the rain suddenly falling in silvery sheets, making it hard
to see. “Look!” Kalo suddenly stopped short and pointed.
Gabe and I stood in awe, jaws hanging, for there was a large shape looming in
the storm, backlit by a sudden crack of lightning.
“A ship,” Gabe said with a gulp.
“It’s foundering,” I pointed out, for the ship was nearly on its side. I could
hear screams over the rainfall.
Kalo squeezed my hand. “We should help.” Her eyes were huge and scared.
I turned to Gabe, but his expression was stony. “We don’t have to help,” he
pointed out. He looked at me. “If we help them, it will only cause trouble for
us in the end.”
I goggled at him. “Gabe, I am shocked to hear you say a thing like that. Of
course we are going to rescue them—if we can,” I amended, for the ship was in a
bad way, and also would be difficult to reach. I took Gabe’s hand. “Where would
I be if your father had been selfish like that?”
Gabe hung his head. I knew I had hit him in a sore spot, bringing up his
father, but I also knew Mr. Landeskog had not raised his son to be like this.
“But Matty . . . you know what will happen if we help them.” He looked at me
with pleading eyes.
“I know,” I sighed. “But we can’t just let them drown.”
Gabe gave in. “All right, Matty. I’ll do it—for you.”
I turned to my daughter, hoping she wouldn’t pick this time to be stubborn.
“Kalo, you wait in the shallows. We may need your help tending to the injured.”
I wasn’t certain I believed that, but I didn’t want her out in the storm. To my
relief she only nodded.
Gabe and I grabbed the raft and some rope and rowed out toward the ship, riding
out swell after swell. Every crack of thunder made us jump, and the raft seemed
to want to go anywhere but where we were steering it, but still we pressed on.
“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?” Gabe shouted over the storm.
I couldn’t answer—another swell came up and almost capsized us. I was left
sputtering and grabbing for my oar, which had almost been swept from my hands.
As we got closer to the ship I was surprised it had not foundered completely,
for it was still mostly above the water line, but then I realized—the ship had
come up against a sand bar. There are a few out there, and they are
treacherous. But though it had beached itself, it wasn’t sinking. In fact, I
realized, with some excitement, it might even be possible to make it seaworthy
again, if it survived the storm!
There were a few lifeboats, and a lady being lowered into one of them from the
listing deck. We got as close as we could, and you can bet they were surprised
to see us. “Do you need help?” Gabe called.
“Yes! We’ve lost the oars,” a man called back. “But the other lifeboats can
manage. Can you help us to shore?”
“We can!” I shouted. I tossed him the rope. It took a couple of tries, but
finally he snagged it and secured it. “We will tow you in to shore. Have the
others follow!” Gabe and I hauled with all our might, but it was still hard
work against the lashing rain and beating waves.
Halfway back, a large swell hit us—and Gabe was gone.
My heart stopped. My head whipped around as I scanned the water, and I got
ready to jump in after him. Then I saw his head pop out of the water. He
coughed and flailed. “Gabe!” I shouted. “Gabe!” I stretched out the oar, and
after a couple of swipes, he managed to snag the end.
Another wave hit, and we were torn apart like a broken chain necklace. Fear and
despair washed over me, heavier and more powerful than even the water, but then
yet another wave smacked us together. Somehow, Gabe grabbed onto the raft.
“Hold on,” I told him, and helped him back on.
It seemed like hours later when I finally heard Kalo calling my name. She was
knee deep in the ocean, calling out and signaling with our last little scrap of
flag. I made for her with all my flagging strength. She ran out as soon as she
could see, hitched a rope to our raft, and began helping to pull it in. The
lifeboats straggled in behind us.
Gabe got off the raft, stumbled a few feet, and threw up water. I slung an arm
around his shoulders and guided him to shore, wondering if I’d done the right
thing. Kalo, meanwhile, helped the lifeboats in and began helping them
disembark. There were two ladies, heavily sodden in their long dresses, and she
nearly had to carry them to land. They were not much help and I must admit my
first thought was that they’d have to learn to buck up much faster if they were
going to survive. The men hurried to pull the boats in and make sure they would
not be swept out again.
To my excitement, there were two chests. I had no idea what was in them, but
pretty much anything could be put to use—clothing for bandages, wood for
shelters, food, paper, anything was something I could use.
Gabe finally straightened. He was pale, but still in one piece. “Thanks,
Matty.”
“Don’t thank me—I’m the idiot who put you in danger,” I said.
“No. You’re the idiot who made me do the right thing, or I probably wouldn’t
have been able to live with myself,” he said, stroking my hair. I smiled. After
a moment, his face clouded, and he looked at the new arrivals. He stepped away
from me, and his hand dropped. I had never seen him look so sad.
I stared at his hand, that kind, generous, gentle hand. Taboo, now, I realized,
my stomach clenching.
“Excuse me, I beg your pardon, but where are we?” one of the women asked.
I turned. The entire group of castaways was looking to me, frightened and dazed
after their ordeal. One way or another, our whole world had just changed
completely. But then again . . . so had theirs. There was only one way to deal
with it, I realized.
“You’re on our island, and welcome,” I said with a smile. “I reckon people will
look for you before long. Maybe this time they’ll come to the right place. But
in the meantime, I’d like you to know that this island has certain laws, and
you’re going to obey them while you’re here. Remember, we know how to fish and
what fish are safe and which will kill you. We know which plants are edible and
which are poisonous. We know how to survive the sea and the storm and
everything else life throws at you out here, and it can be a lot, so if you’ll
give us respect, we’ll see you right.”
The group looked a little nervous. “That sounds fair enough,” one thin,
drenched man said.
“Things are different here. They will be different for you. This is our island,
and we have some rules. They are pretty easy to follow.” I took Gabe by the
hand. “The first rule,” I explained, “is that when two boys hold hands or the
like, everyone else can just mind their own business about it, or they can swim
home.” Gabe grinned. Our shipwrecked guests looked surprised and confused.
“But God says—” one of the ladies began.
“If God has something to say about it, he will have to tell me himself,” I
replied. I glared at them. “In addition, I will expect everyone to help out. We
learned a long time ago that we can’t survive without cooperation. Women can do
anything men can do—and they’ll be expected to. The ocean does not take gender
into account, and neither do I. If you wish to climb a tree, then climb a tree.
There are coconuts in trees,” I added when a few of the group looked puzzled.
One of the men opened his mouth, but then thought better. Meanwhile, the ladies
were suddenly looking mighty thoughtful. “Everybody is equal here, or the
island will kill all of us equally.”
“That’s . . . sensible enough,” one of the men said.
“When in Rome,” one of the women added. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I thought I
caught a certain glint in her eye, a glint that said that these rules would
suit her fine. She might make an ally. We would need them.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” the other woman added with a smile.
I looked around at the men.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” another man pointed out. “We’ll abide
by your rules, so long as we’re here.” People were beginning to nod. They
didn’t agree on everything just yet, but they were in no position to argue. And
maybe by the time they were in a position to argue, they’d have seen things my
way. We could always hope, anyhow.
“Good. Let’s make sure everyone is uninjured, and you can warm up by the fire.”
This was met with a considerably warmer response. Kalo began tending to
scrapes, and most of the others gathered around the fire. The rain was slowing,
but everyone was dressed in what seemed like at least five layers of clothing,
and it was all wet, wet, wet. I wondered how they could stand to dress like
that—but then they’d probably learn better soon enough. Patience.
One man led the others to gather more wood for the fire. The women were
chattering away with Kalo, making plans and asking questions.
Gabe and I were left looking at each other, our hands still clasped.
“Matty, I am mighty proud of you right now,” he said in a husky voice.
My face warmed, and I shrugged. “I had to do it,” I said. “Besides, in the long
run it might not make much difference. They’re older than us, and they think
that makes them right. You know how adults are.”
Gabe laughed. “Matty, I know you probably haven’t kept track, but we are adults
now, too,” he said gently. I blinked. “You are a man now, Matty, as am I.
Young, perhaps, but tall and strong, strong enough to be feared, if not
respected.” I looked at his face and realized it was true. “You took charge,
and I saw their faces. They look to you as a leader.” That thought would take
some getting used to. “Anyway, I think we are in pretty good shape. Maybe they
will argue, maybe not.”
“Others will come, though,” I said with worry.
“We’ll deal with that when it happens,” Gabe promised. He smiled his sunshine
smile, and my worries melted a little, as they do. I gave him a kiss, and his
smile grew even bigger. “For now, the best we can do is what we’ve always
done—take it day by day . . . and hope.”
I smiled. I figured I could just about handle that.
End Notes
     Kalo kalo is Fijan for star. I left it at Kalo because I doubted Matt
     would have understood it was two words, rather than a repetition of
     one.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!