Calico Pennants (12 page)

“I do not recall hearing about your voyage,” said Julian.

“Oh, it was in the press all right!”

“Your husband must have been devastated when he realized you were lost,” said Julian.

“I was very important to him, though I suspect not in a romantic way,” said Amie. She placed the chopped scallions into the cooking pot with the meat and tubers.

“But he must have mobilized a search for you...”

“I’m sure he did.”

“Then perhaps there’s still hope we will be found!” said Julian.

“Not by his efforts,” Amie said matter-of-factly.

“Why not?” Julian asked.

“I’m sure my husband is deceased now,” said Amie.

“But how could you know that?”

“It’s been a long time,” she said.

“How old are you?” Julian asked.

Amie ran slender fingers through her long hair, took a deep breath, and then sighed. A very queer expression settled over her features. “In truth, I don’t know anymore. I stopped counting in days and months and years. But that doesn’t matter,” she said. “Time is different here.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t understand. But soon you will.”

“Here, it seems, we have nothing but time,” said Julian.

“Precisely,” said Amie.

Amie took Julian and Buenaventura to the place she called Turtle Cove. Soon, Jewel joined them. The two parrots perched together on a nearby hydrangea limb. They talked in low tones, preened one another, and observed the humans with great curiosity.

As usual the sea turtles were bobbing in swells and surf. Julian and Amie moved onto a large rock for a better vantage point. It was fun watching the turtles submerge themselves, then trying to guess where they might surface for air.

“People wish for all kinds of things,” Julian conjectured, “but seldom do they imagine that their wishes might somehow come true.”

“Before I came here,” Amie confided, “my life was filled with demands and expectations—not all of my creation!”

“Your husband?” Julian inquired.

“Yes... And others, too… I was constantly wishing for peace and solitude.”

“I guess you got your wish.”

“Perhaps there are no accidents,” Amie speculated. “What if events and situations manifest out of our deepest feelings and desires? What if the universe operates on a causative dynamic, taking us always at our word and fabricating each and every situation from our own fantasies? It’s occurred to me, Julian, that I was marooned here by my own desire for retreat.”

“But why would anybody wish to be stranded without hope?” he asked.

“Even before I left on my around-the-world trip, I felt as though I had accomplished everything relevant to the life I was living. I knew the possibility existed that I wouldn’t make it home. On a deeper level, perhaps I was even hoping that some twist of fate would lead me painlessly into eternity. That almost happened.”

“But you’re so vivacious! I can’t imagine you actually wanting to die.”

“Well, I never thought about it in terms of mortality. But I did speculate endlessly about being swallowed by the sea.”

“Sounds morbid,” said Julian.

“It never seemed so to me.”

“What about your husband?” Julian probed. “And what about others you loved? Or those who loved you?”

“I never realized it before I was lost—at least not consciously—but after all this time alone, I’m sure I’ve never loved anybody. And I doubt anyone ever loved me!”

As a long shadow moved over the shoreline a breeze came up suddenly out of the northeast. Leaves rustled, a flower petal dropped, the humming of the forest insects abruptly ceased.

“What was it like for you once you knew you were lost?”

“It felt inevitable,” said Amie. “I remember there was only sea and sky, spinning and spinning, and finally merging. After a while I was no longer able to distinguish the horizon. I could have sailed over the edge of existence, or sunk like a hulk to the bottom of the ocean. I could have flown straight into the sun, like foolish Icarus. For I had dreams—ambitious dreams! I was the one who was always pushing limits—not only for myself, but for causes bigger than any individual!”

“Yet in the midst of all your aspirations, there was a voice calling out for rest and solitude,” said Julian. “So you subconsciously struck a bargain with fate to be marooned on this deserted island...”

“I suppose I’ve always needed an impossible challenge,” Amie assessed. “There were others who wanted me. Men of asinine courage! Some of them didn’t even like me—like Freddy.”

“Somebody you loved?”

Amie shrugged. “Maybe in my more self-destructive moods,” she conjectured. “We were in Burma together. We rode elephants in Thailand. Can you imagine?”

Though he might never have envisioned himself eating and enjoying reptilian meat, the evening meal of turtle stew offered a delightful change for Julian’s wearied taste buds. Savoring each spoonful of the unorthodox ragout, he requested more broth once he had eaten the gist. They drank tea made from raspberry leaves. After finishing the main course, they nibbled on dried bits of coconut and wedges of breadfruit.

Darkness came, and before Amie lit the torches the Pleiades were visible in the northern sky. Tireless in her ministrations, she rubbed oil on Julian’s cracked and blistered feet. She knew the oil would soften hardened skin and promote healing. When she finished she measured his feet for the promised sandals, then wrapped them in a warm compress.

“You’re very kind,” Julian thanked her.

“If you form ulcers on your feet, they could become infected. There’s no sulfa here.”

“Have you been ill since arriving here?” Julian asked.

“Only once,” said Amie. “But it was a sickness of the heart.”

The admission seemed so personal that Julian chose not to inquire further. No doubt there was much to learn about the beautiful and enigmatic Amie. Some indeterminate power had cast them in this isolated drama. The elements served as backdrop; the sea and sky were dreams. The islet was a finite landscape, but the terrain of the soul was immeasurable.

That night they slept not together, yet near enough to whisper recollections and acknowledgments of hope. Julian lay on his back and quietly pondered the depth of a less than familiar sky. He listened to her measured breaths and felt the radiant warmth of her body from a distance as Amie fell asleep first.

NEXT MORNING Amie urged Julian to return to his own home. She genuinely appreciated his company, she explained sweetly, but she needed time to adjust to the fact that she was no longer alone on the island. Reluctantly he obeyed her request. He was sure there would be other nights.

With his tortoise shell basin strapped on his back and walking in newly fashioned sandals, he hiked round the steamy, verdant cove. He stopped to taste the dew that had collected on the petals of an orchid. He marveled at the two-foot-diameter, gossamer web spun by a sinister-looking spider. And as he reached the pinnacle of the promontory, he caught sight of the Scoundrel, disabled and helpless and bobbing in the surf that spread across the reef.

At present Amie chose not to share her routines, and Buenaventura, too, declined to fraternize with Julian this morning. Presumably BV had departed with his steadfast mate, Jewel. Again Julian found himself a solitary cast upon a lonely shore, and he marched up and down the beach trying to codify an impossible situation.

The sun shone through dense haze and the temperature continued to climb. This morning the Trades were not blowing. The humidity became oppressive. Julian tried retreating to a shady notch, but swarms of gnats finally drove him back onto the sun-soaked beach. He stripped off his shirt and stored his sandals. Then he cut off his pant legs with the dull blade of his pocket knife. He tied back his scruffy hair with a piece of twine. He wrapped his head in a saturated T-shirt. But generally such efforts contributed little to his comfort.

Bathing his frying feet in the surf, Julian noticed a curious object floating amidst the foam about thirty feet out to sea. He waded into the surf to have a closer look. It seemed to be a bottle. Motivated mostly by the possibility that he might make use of the jar, he retrieved the vessel.

Clutching the carafe in his hand, Julian waded all the way back to shore before he noticed the scrap of paper sealed inside the receptacle. Standing barefoot on the sand where surf met shore, he unscrewed the bottle cap to get at the piece of paper. Once he had pulled the note through the bottleneck and over the mouth and looked at the vaguely familiar handwriting, he felt himself swept up in a wave of synchronicity. The message read:

“
Wili-Wili come.

Make ready!

–Kong
”

A sour expression spread across Julian’s face as he visualized Kong’s ironic smile. “You probably think this is funny, Kamehaloha,” Julian yelled. “But I am not amused!” He tore up the note into tiny pieces and flung it back into the ocean.

AN EGG is one bird’s way of becoming other eggs,” said Jewel to Buenaventura.

“Are you trying to tell me I am going to be a father?”

“If you are true to your name...”

During the time since Jewel’s arrival their sense of mutual destiny had grown stronger with each shared experience. They soared together above precipice and coastline, played spirited games in the dense and wonderful rain forest, then took refuge each night in the protected recess of their tree hollow. And they had become aware of other islands nearby—virtually hundreds of life-sustaining land masses within a circumference quite reachable by unbroken flight. One by one, they meant to visit each tiny atoll, establishing a colonial legacy within this particular region of the Pacific.

Now the two parrots made a cozy nest in the hollowed-out trunk of a pili nut tree. There Jewel brooded over her eggs. It would take twenty days for the eight chicks to hatch. During that time it was Buenaventura’s role to protect Jewel and bring her food—a duty he undertook with single-minded fealty.

AMIE STARTED THE DAY cultivating the soil between rows of sweet potatoes, but as the heat and humidity began to build she threw down her hoe and abandoned the weeding project. Wiping away sticky perspiration from her forehead and face, she sat upon the red earth and quenched her thirst with a cupful of water brought from her cistern.

In the privacy of her garden she thought about Julian’s recently finished home on the beach front and realized that he must now be sweltering. Since his arrival the Trades had been blowing without a break. This was his first real experience with the tropical heat. Amie certainly could have invited him back to her encampment to bathe with her in the cool waters of the Seven Sisters, but she was presently experiencing some hesitancy when it came to furthering their fledgling relationship. Indeed, how could she even consider sharing the most intimate aspects of her life with another man? Even her marriage to G.P. was predicated upon the condition that if, after one year’s time, she were not happy with the marriage, he would release her from her commitment, no questions asked. For various reasons, the least of which being love, she had never exercised that option.

“It’s insane not to put a radar beacon on Howland,” she’d protested repeatedly as they planned the around-the-world voyage together.

“But we’re critically over budget,” he intoned. “Besides, the Itasca will be nearby, and Fred Noonan is the best navigator in the business.”

“When he’s not drunk or hung over,” she said.

“Take a trailing wire instead,” he told her.

“I have never once taken a trailing wire.”

“You’ll have no trouble finding Howland,” G.P. assured her. “Why worry? You’ve been flawless in the past.” He put his arm around her, as if at this point such a gesture might provide consolation. “Once this trip is over, and you’re back home safe and sound, you’ll be a national hero—an icon! You can rest for a couple of weeks, then there’ll be ticker tape parades and speaking engagements and probably even a dinner at the White House!”

“I’m not sure I want Freddy Noonan along on this trip, G.P.”

“There’s nobody else,” he said sternly. “Besides, it’s all arranged. We can’t be changing things now or we’ll go belly up. Dead broke! No more flights. No more anything. You don’t want that, my love...”

She turned her back on him and walked away in disgust. There would be no beacon put on Howland, but she would make the flight anyway—perhaps as much to spite G.P. as for any other reason. And she would make Freddy pledge not to drink during this expedition...