Lost Girls (26 page)

“Jas, perhaps your Mrs. Campbell would like to take over latrine-digging duty?” I say.

“
My
Mrs. Campbell? Bonnie, don’t be horrible. She’s trying her best. We all make mistakes.”

“Some mistake! Allowing Natalie to die because she kept the whiskey to herself!”

“Give her a chance, Bonnie.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you.”

I can’t quarrel with that.

MAY OR EARLY JUNE 1974, KOH TABU

The stench from our original latrine is unbearable.

Miraculously, the rain has stopped and the waves look less like mountain peaks than usual. The sun shines bravely through the dawn mist, and the gibbons sing a cheerful operetta. A blue sky blesses us. After a communal breakfast of coconut milk and figs we creep away separately to crap wherever we can find spots in the forest and to bathe in the stream. We’ve abandoned the overflowing latrine.

“I think it might be my birthday today,” says Jody.

“Your birthday? How old are you, dear?” Mrs. Campbell asks. She’s trying much too hard.

“Ten, but I’m going to be eleven.”

“Eleven!”

“What date is your birthday?” I ask.

“The sixth of June.”

“Oh my God, have we been here that long?” I say.

“Happy Birthday, Jody!” Jas grabs and hugs her and Carly jumps up and down and starts singing very loudly, “Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you…” and we all join in, even me.

“Carly’s talking again,” Jas whispers to me.

“We must celebrate,” says Mrs. Campbell.

“How? With water and coconut?”

“No, with a dance, a party.”

“Yeah, yeah, a party!” The juniors bounce like Masai warriors.

So we all go out looking for fresh fruit, fresh fish, fresh coconut. Jas uses seaweed to write in the sand:

JODY ELEVEN

“I wish Sandy and Natalie could be here for the party.” Carly begins to moan and cry softly, hugging herself and rocking as she sits on the sand. Jas hugs her. “Hope, too.”

“Jody’s here, Carly. Mikey’s here,” Jas says.

“No, he isn’t. Don’t be silly. Mikey’s dead,” Jody tells us.

“Is he, Jody? How did he die?” I ask her.

“A wild boar ate him.”

There is an uncomfortable silence. I go cold. The juniors are better at expressing their fears than the rest of us, it seems.

“Aren’t you going to look at your presents?” says Mrs. Campbell.

“Presents?” Jody’s eyes light up. We have all found treasures to give her. I have found the skeleton of a tiny bird, bleached white, wing bones still attached. Jas has found a pile of tiny pink tellin shells and tells Jody they are mermaids’ fingernails. Carly gives her a white feather. May says she will do her hair for her until they are rescued, and Arlene has plaited a bracelet from coconut husk and threaded it with little blue shells. Mrs. Campbell has strung the inner tube up to a leaning palm to make a swing.

We all sit around on the beach and drink coconut milk and eat figs and a really special treat—eggs. I found eggs in the nest above where the baby-bird skeleton lay. I don’t know what bird the nest belonged to, but whatever it was laid six tiny blue-green eggs. I took five and left one. It’s a terrible shame we have no fire; we have to eat them raw. But to make them more palatable we mix them into the
coconut milk and pretend it’s a milkshake. Jas has made a sand cake decorated with shells. Eleven twigs represent candles. We gather around it and tell Jody to blow out the candles. She puffs out her cheeks and blows hard and we sing “Happy Birthday” again and all clap for Jody, who does look pleased. Little rituals like this are important for our well-being. A comfort, where comforts are few.

“I must keep an eye out for birds’ nests,” I tell Jas. “Eggs are a good source of protein. Toucans’ eggs must be really big.”

She smiles at me. We haven’t spoken much of late.

“Jas, where do toucans nest, do you know?”

She bursts out laughing. “You really want to know?” I nod. I can tell she’s enjoying this.

“Well, after mating the male walls up his mate alive inside a tree hole and feeds her through a small opening, which is just big enough to take his bill. When the young fledge, the mother breaks out, and they follow.”

“It would be like breaking and entering!” So no toucan eggs for us.

Mrs. Campbell pretends to play the ruined guitar, drumming with her knuckles on the surface and plucking the remaining string.

“Name a tune!” she calls out to us.

Jody chooses “Teddy Bears’ Picnic.” We all choose “Imagine,” “Let It Be,” and “Bridge over Troubled Water.”
We dance together in pairs like old ladies at old-fashioned dances. I partner Jody and Jas dances with Carly standing on her feet. I remember suddenly that I did that with Dad when I was little. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

Mrs. Campbell finishes with a solo—“My Sweet Lord.” We’re all crying by the time she finishes singing “Hare Krishna, Hare, Hare.” The sand has been churned up by our dancing feet.

It’s been a successful party, even without real cake, candles, or fire.

Jas isn’t content to leave the bird skeleton simply as something beautiful to look at; to Jas it’s a teaching tool. We all sit around under the banyan’s spreading branches, where we spend most of our time these days, and she points out to us the various bones and what they are called, and their purpose.

“You see this bone here? That’s the radius. And that’s the ulna, and that’s the humerus. We have the same bones in our arms and elbows.”

“Humerus? Is that where the funny bone is?” I ask.

“I suppose that could be where the expression originated.” We laugh.

“You make a good teacher, Jas,” says Mrs. Campbell.

“Thanks, Mrs. Campbell. What did you do before you were married?”

“Me? Not a lot. After I left drama school in London I
went to Los Angeles—tried to be an actress, but spent most of my time working as a waitress in a diner.”

“Were you in Hollywood?” asks May.

“No, I never got any parts in movies.”

A failed actress—that figures. “What made you interested in survival skills?” I ask.

“What makes you think I am?”

“Someone said you were.”

“Well, people say a lot of things about me that aren’t true.” She laughs and pushes her sticky hair away from her face. “Anyway, isn’t it time you called me Layla? Mrs. Campbell makes me feel so old.” I look at her. She has bags under her swollen eyes, her arms are thin, her lips are cracked, and her clothes are ragged, but her beauty surfaces with her smile. It’s the sort of smile that makes us all smile.

“Is that where you met your American husband, Layla? Los Angeles?” I ask.

“Yes, he’s… he was from L.A. Used to come to the diner and couldn’t resist my Scottish accent.” She smiles sadly. I’d like to ask her more questions, but before I can, she changes the subject. “While we’re all together, I really think we should be making a plan.”

“What sort of plan?” asks May, who is weaving Jody’s straggly hair into dozens of tiny plaits.

“We have a choice: We either make life as comfortable
as we can on the island, assuming we are going to be here for a very long time—”

“But we are going to be found,” I interrupt. “You all seem to have become resigned to being here forever.”

“Or,” she says, ignoring me, “we make a plan to get off.”

“We’ve tried a raft, and you know what happened.” I am suddenly angry with her again. She has reminded me of my part in Hope’s death. Not that I need reminding. I’ll never forget the arm raised for help and the scream like a lost seabird.

“Yes, and it was very brave of you and Hope. Very courageous. But we have to try again. Or attempt to light a fire without matches. Yes, yes, I know, it’s my fault we have no matches. But the weather hasn’t helped.”

“What do you suggest?” asks Jas.

“Well, what about one of us using the inner tube as a flotation aid and swimming off for help?”

By “one of us” she has to mean me, as I’m by far the best swimmer. The shark speeds through my head and strikes me. I shudder. Why should I have to be the one who risks my life again?

“That’s a stupid, crazy idea. You’ve forgotten the shark,” I tell her.

“I think we should try to light another fire,” says Jas.

“How do you intend to do that?” I say, listening to the rain on the corrugated roofing—it sounds heavier than it
did on the thatch or bamboo roof and runs in waterfalls onto our floor as we huddle together in the middle.

“I’ve been thinking about that. I remember a boy’s book I read once. I think it said you could scratch a knife blade on a rough rock to make a spark,” Jas replies coolly.

“Sounds worth a try. Okay, girls, let’s go find the perfect rough rock.” Mrs. Campbell jumps to her feet and leads the way out into the rain. We follow, like good little girls. After about half an hour we have a little pile of likely looking rocks in the camp. I choose a blade from the Swiss Army knife and practice scratching it on the roughest stone. Nothing happens.

“It doesn’t work. I’m just blunting the knife.”

“Let’s try the other knife—the boatman’s knife. It’s got a bigger blade.” Mrs. Campbell hands it to me.

Nothing happens for a while, then there’s a smell of scorching. All eyes are on my hands, scraping back and forth. I keep on and on, and in the darkness of the enclosure I see a tiny spark.

“Jas, it works. You’re brilliant! Get lots of wood and twigs, the drier the better. Let’s get to work.” I’m so excited that my voice squeaks. I am desperate to build a fire right away.

But Mrs. Campbell holds up the palms of her hands and my mood plummets.

“I suggest we build a fire on higher ground and keep it
going,” she says, oozing calm. As far as I’m concerned she might as well have said,
You’re just kids and know nothing.
I want to scream at her, but one look from Jas and I rein myself in.

“That was what we were trying to do ages ago, for goodness’ sake,” I say.

“Yes, but this time we know a bit more about the island and can choose the best place for the fire. And we can all tend it.”

“That’s what you said last time.” I can’t believe her cheek. Doesn’t she realize that I nearly died trying to build that fire? My Quality fire.

“Bonnie, shh!” Jas slaps my arm.

“What about wild animals?” says Jody.

“We’ll take weapons and make a lot of noise,” says Mrs. Campbell.

“I’ve got a bow and arrow,” Jody says, her eyes dark with excitement.

We have spears, a bow and arrow, a catapult, and a slingshot that Jas has made of string and a flip-flop toe piece. The boatman’s curved steel blade can be strapped back on the cork handle, once we’ve finished using it as our sparking steel.

“Bonnie, where do you think is the best place for a signal fire, remembering that we have to make camp nearby so we can keep it going?”

Ha! Now she thinks my opinion is worth hearing. I
want to yell abuse at her, but something tells me that now is not the time. There are other people to think about. I take a deep breath.

There follows what can only be called a civilized discussion in which we weigh our options. Jas keeps smiling at me, encouraging the Nice Bonnie to stay in touch, to contribute.

So, after a while, it’s decided. Layla, Jas, and I will trek to Fire Mountain, light a signal fire, and keep it going night and day as long as the weather holds. The juniors will stay on the beach with May and Arlene.

“Who’s looking after the juniors, then?” I mutter to Jas, and she just smiles, thankful there hasn’t been another argument.

“You wouldn’t want that pair moaning their way through the island,” she says. “This is definitely the best solution.”

We watch Carly and Jody run off to make an SOS on the sand, and the rest of us start organizing things for the big trek.

I decide to practice with the sparking while we’re still on the beach, as there really should be a fire here, too. Then any fish or shrimp can be cooked, and the girls who stay here will have more security from wild animals. I scrape and scratch the steel blade onto the rough side of a large rock in the shelter of our encampment.

“We’ll have to find a smaller stone,” I say to May, who is watching.

“Okay.” She wanders off and comes back with just the right size and type of rock.

I’m surprised, and she hears it in my voice when I thank her.

“We’re not as useless as you think, Bonnie MacDonald,” she snaps.

Having gathered a small amount of tinder—lichen mostly, and moss—I set fire to it with the sparks. Oh, the magic of fire! I set twigs on top, calling to the juniors to help, and soon we have a decent campfire. The recent dry spell means some of the timber is dry. We throw coconut husks on; they burn well.

The fire brightens our faces and lifts our mood.

“Don’t just stand looking,” Jas shouts. “Let’s catch some supper!”

We have a frenzy of fishing with the net on a stick, the spear, and the arrow. Before long we have several small fish and shrimp—a feast. I spear the fish on sharpened sticks and roast them on the fire. We boil the shrimp in a shell of water.