Beside a Burning Sea

DAY THREE
In times of such woe,
Dreams are friends and
thoughts are fiends.
Sleet obscures the sky.
Fresh Wounds


An hour after dawn, aside from the breaking of waves on its reefs and beaches, the island still slept. It slept as a child might—unmoving and untroubled and unknowing of the world around it. The jungle that had creaked and hooted all night was now strangely silent. Even the wind was somehow rendered motionless. The giant, pillow-sized leaves that had been ready to take flight throughout the previous day and night now hung limp in the thick, salt-laden air.
Clad in men’s shorts and shirts, Annie and Isabelle walked along the beach, occasionally bumping into each other because of the slope toward the sea. Here at the far end of the harbor, where the sea had open access to the shore, waves reached high enough to snatch their footprints from the sand. Both women had worn men’s shoes for much of the previous day and now enjoyed being barefoot. The beach seemed to press between their toes and travel up their calves to massage their aching bodies. The warm waves embraced their ankles, tempting them to move deeper into the water.
The two sisters had been walking for some time. Annie had spent much of the night contemplating how she could stitch up Akira’s wound. She’d wondered about thread from their clothing, plant fibers, and anything else the island might offer. When she could think of no substance that wouldn’t quickly rot, she’d asked Isabelle to join her on a walk. Perhaps the two of them could find some fishing line or additional medical supplies that she could put to use. Already they’d discovered a battered bottle of disinfectant and an assortment of crutches and splints.
As Annie scanned the sea and the sand, she wondered what Ted was doing. Earlier that morning, she had watched Nathan as he lay on the beach and looked at a photo that he’d carefully withdrawn from his wallet. Nathan—who had a rather owlish appearance, with a rotund body and face, short brown hair, and a broad nose—had gazed at the photo as if it revealed all the treasures of the world. Her curiosity overpowering her, Annie had finally sat beside him and asked to see the photo, which he’d been eager to share. The colorless, water-stained image was a simple one—Nathan and his wife standing behind a teenage boy and girl. The children smiled and leaned against their parents, as if intent on toppling them backward.
Annie had been happy for Nathan, happy for the obvious and powerful love he felt for his family. Of course, her pleasure had been tempered by the fact that they likely thought he was dead. And she could tell by the way that he looked at his loved ones that this fact was as hard on him as it surely was on them.
Wishing she had a photo of Ted, Annie glanced at Isabelle. “Did you see Nathan this morning?”
“I saw the photo, if that’s what you mean,” Isabelle replied, methodically scanning the sand before them.
“It touched me. . . . How he looked at them.”
Isabelle nodded, her mind so used to moving in a thousand different directions that she felt slightly disconcerted by the simple experience of walking down the beach. “He’s a good man,” she finally replied, her eyes continuing to relentlessly seek items that had washed ashore. “Joshua told me all about him. Not the most decorated officer, but as a husband and a father, well, that’s another story.”
“Maybe he’s not decorated because he doesn’t want to be in the war. Maybe . . . maybe he’s really still with them.”
“I don’t think any of us wants to be in the war, Annie.”
“And yet we volunteered for it.”
“Did we have a choice? How couldn’t we?”
Annie shrugged, disagreeing. Certainly she’d faced a choice. In fact, the way she saw it, many of those aboard Benevolence could have remained civilians. Most had enlisted to help right the terrible wrong that was befalling the world. Annie had joined for that reason, but also because of Ted, who had once called her a coward and who wielded valid reasons for uttering that word. But still, it was easy to call someone a coward when you’d been a hero your whole life, easy to be strong when you were born strong—both in mind and body.
After spying and pocketing a vial of morphine, Annie continued to look for something that might be useful to restitch Akira’s wound. “I’m sorry, Izzy,” she said quietly. “That I was so . . . so weak the other night.”
Isabelle heard the tremble in Annie’s voice and took her sister’s hand. “You weren’t weak. And there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“I almost killed him.”
“Well, yes, he almost died. But it was his own awful country that almost killed him. Not you.”
“But why . . . why is it always me?”
Isabelle turned toward the sea. She remembered Annie’s early struggle with diphtheria—how fever had wracked her little frame, how terror consumed her as she struggled to breathe. Isabelle had overheard the doctor informing her parents that Annie would likely die, and later, her mother telling her father that if Annie died, she wanted to die with her so that Annie would never be alone. From that day forward, their mother had slept next to Annie, lying as close to her as possible. She’d cared for Annie with what Isabelle now recognized as an almost superhuman display of strength, compassion, and determination. When Annie had finally recovered, Isabelle and her mother had danced around her bed, and Isabelle had decided that she’d someday be a nurse.
“I don’t know why it’s always you,” Isabelle finally replied. “But there must be a reason.”
“A reason? People always say that. But only people who haven’t really suffered talk about reasons. Because that’s so much easier to say than to hear. What’s the reason that our patients die? That they’ll never walk again? That we’ve treated children whose limbs have been blown off? For that matter, what’s the reason for this hideous war?”
Isabelle briefly closed her eyes at her sister’s mention of the children. “I wish I had those answers, Annie. That might . . . somehow make things easier. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there aren’t reasons. Maybe things . . . evil things just happen.”
Annie didn’t reply, her own words about death reminding her of the terror that had consumed her when she dropped beneath the waves. In that blackness, she hadn’t thought about those she loved, or of all that she’d done. On the contrary, she’d been reminded of what she hadn’t done. And the fear of never doing such things had filled her with a longing she hadn’t known. Before Benevolence sunk, Annie wasn’t completely aware of this longing—this wish to see what had not been seen, to feel what had not been felt.
Of course, Annie also remembered the terror of her childhood illness, remembered how very alone she’d felt, even with her mother at her side. And that terror had left a scar within her, a scar that ultimately made her more interested in questions than answers. Ted had seen this side of her and called her a coward for being uncertain, for not knowing her path. And even though a part of her loved him, she also resented him for those words, for they represented her darkest fears.
“How do you always stay so strong?” Annie asked, stopping near a broken shell.
Isabelle scanned the undulating sea for floating debris. “I’ve never had a choice.”
Annie nodded, resting against her sister the way Nathan’s son leaned against him in the photo. “I could never ask for more than you, Izzy. You know that?”
“I know that I could say the same,” Isabelle said, the intimate and timeless way in which Annie touched her making her want to share a secret. They’d always traded secrets, and Isabelle felt a sudden desire to tell Annie what she’d told no one else.
A bottle rolled up the beach toward them, and Annie reached down to retrieve it. “Maybe there’s a message inside,” she said, plucking it from the sea.
“Maybe Ted’s sent you a rescue note.”
“Sent me a rescue note?” Annie replied, smiling at the thought. “Now, that’s something I’d like to see.” She pocketed the empty bottle. “It would be nice to rescue someone else for a change. I’m tired of being the one who’s always saved.”
Isabelle decided that she’d tell Annie later, that this moment wasn’t quite right. “Well,” she said, “we’d better get back to camp if we want to do any rescuing.”
“But what about his wound? We need to keep looking. We need to find something.”
Isabelle gazed down the beach. The tide was coming in and she could discern several objects floating in the distance. Even though she wanted to return to Joshua, she also needed to help Annie and the man who’d saved her. “Fine,” she said. “But let’s walk with a purpose. We can leave the talking for later.”
As they strode through the rising water, Annie was reminded of a distant time when they’d seen the sea and had rushed, holding hands, into its vastness—a time when they’d been intent on nothing other than exploring the wonderful new world before them.

WHILE HE ATE his second banana of the morning, Joshua watched his fellow survivors, studying each face. The Japanese patient lay atop his bed of palm fronds, and though he was awake, only his eyelids stirred as he stared at the sea. Nearby, Scarlet used her fingers to try to brush sand from her tangled hair—a process that greatly frustrated her. Ratu and Jake had tossed a coconut into the harbor and were throwing rocks at it. Nathan had his photo out again and alternated his gaze from his loved ones to the rock-throwing game. Closest to Joshua, Roger used the machete to sharpen several spears. After their tips were as deadly as he could get them, he hardened their points in a small fire before him. Roger’s face reminded Joshua of a wind-filled sail—his skin seemed taut, his lips stretched too thin. Everything from his gray eyes to his short, dark hair to his ears appeared to be pressed tightly against his head, as if a bizarre gravity pulled these features toward the center of his skull.
As he often did, Joshua thought of Benevolence, said a prayer for those killed, and then forced himself to face the challenges of the moment. “We need to get a much better feel for the island,” he said to Roger. “And to look for places where we can hide. I think we should have a couple of different options. That way, if the Japs land, we can hurry to whichever hideaway is farthest from them.”
Roger turned toward Akira. “That monkey can speak English,” he said, pointing a spear at Annie’s patient, hating him for the memories he stirred. “You listen to our every word, don’t you, Japper?” When Akira didn’t alter his gaze from the sea, Roger stood up angrily and started to move toward him. “I asked you a—”
“That’s enough, Lieutenant.”
“But he’s not—”
“I said that’s enough.”
Roger stopped a few paces from Akira, though he continued to menacingly hold his spear. “He sits here, pretending to be peaceful. But remember how the Japs acted like they wanted peace before Pearl Harbor? Well, this one here’s no different.”
“This one saved my sister-in-law. And probably my wife.”
“Says who?”
“And I was at Pearl Harbor. I watched Arizona burn. So don’t tell me what I already know.”
As Akira continued to gaze at the sea, Roger silently seethed. He wanted the prisoner to be afraid of him, and yet Akira showed no such inclination. The monkey will learn to fear me, Roger promised himself. A headache throbbed above his eyes, and wishing that he held a cigarette, Roger spat contemptuously into the sand.
Joshua stepped toward Nathan. Motioning for Roger to join them, Joshua moved farther from Akira. When both officers were near him, Joshua looked at Nathan. “We need to explore the island,” he said, wondering what his officers thought of him, aware that everyone must consider him a failure. “The lieutenant and I are going to be gone for a few hours. While we’re gone, you’re in charge, Nathan. Please see that people stay close to camp. Watch the prisoner carefully. And for Pete’s sake, keep out of sight if a ship or plane should come by.”
“Do you want us off the beach, Captain?” Nathan asked, wanting his orders to be as exact as possible.
Joshua looked into the jungle, his gaze pausing on a trio of sand flies that feasted on a banana peel. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. Just keep everyone nearby, and be ready to run if you have to.”
“Yes, sir. And the prisoner? Do you want him bound?”
“Oh, he can’t even walk on that gimpy leg of his. I don’t think he’s a threat. But you and Jake tie him up if he gives you any reason to. Better safe than sorry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Noting the photo in Nathan’s shirt pocket, Joshua said, “I want you to get home to them, Nathan. To get home soon. If we’re all careful, if we all work as one, you’ll see them again.”
The older officer nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll certainly do my best.”
Joshua studied Nathan, wondering how many fathers had died aboard Benevolence. The thought of grieving wives and children abruptly assaulted him, made him want to flee this place and his memories. A part of him wished that he’d died alongside everyone else. In many ways, that should have been his fate. Why, Lord, did they die and I live? he silently asked, his fingers twisting beads that weren’t there. Why, by all that is holy, did you take them from me?
Reminding himself that he needed to look after Isabelle, that he could protect her, Joshua picked up the machete and handed Roger another spear. Within a few minutes, the two of them were deep in the jungle. Wanting to find a good water supply, additional sources of food, and hiding places, Joshua moved slowly through the dense underbrush. Thirty feet above, a seemingly endless canopy of treetops blotted out the sun. Brightly colored birds protested the presence of the two men below. The birds’ screeches mingled with the softer symphony of the millions of nearby insects, creating a discordant and primeval reverberation of sound.
As Joshua parted the ferns and vines before him, he wondered if anyone had ever stepped where he was stepping. Aboard Benevolence, he’d studied charts of this island, as he did for every landmass he navigated around. The charts had proclaimed the island to be uninhabited by humans, but Joshua couldn’t help but ask himself if the charts were accurate. His uncertainty caused him to proceed with care and to keep his machete raised defensively. Mosquitoes assaulted his exposed flesh, and he silently derided himself for not standing in the campfire’s smoke before they left. Moving faster to flee the flying devils, he headed toward the hilly interior of the island. Sweat dropped from his face as if it were a water pouch that had sprung several small leaks.
When Joshua paused to remove a thorn from his ankle, Roger swept past him. The underbrush quickly consumed Roger, and Joshua had to hurry to catch up. As he followed the younger officer, Joshua watched how he navigated the jungle. Though Joshua had grown up outdoors and knew how to traverse its obstacles, he quickly realized that Roger moved with stealth and fluidity that he himself could never replicate. The man didn’t walk around fallen trees or boulders, but seemed to glide over them. He didn’t push branches aside but ducked under them. Very few twigs cracked beneath his feet, and even fewer stones tumbled from below him when they began to climb a hill.
Joshua’s breath became ragged. After being aboard Benevolence for the past nine weeks, he wasn’t used to such physical exertion. And yet Roger seemed completely unaffected by the heat and humidity and the steep rise of the land. Joshua saw the sharply outlined muscles in the calves before him, the effortless way in which Roger’s legs propelled him upward. Even when they came upon a stream that trickled from above, Roger paused only long enough for Joshua to strip bark from a tree with his machete in an effort to mark the spot. Before he’d even finished gulping the cool water, Roger was once again headed up the hill.
What point is he trying to make? Joshua asked himself as he struggled to keep up. That he’s stronger? That on Benevolence I might have been his superior, but in the jungle he’s more powerful? Joshua had read Roger’s files, and knew that he was gifted—both physically and mentally. And though at first Joshua had been glad to have Roger on the island, he sensed his hostility and uncomfortably pondered its origin.
Deciding to try to befriend the lieutenant, Joshua hurried to catch up to him. When he finally did, he tapped Roger on the shoulder and handed him the machete. “If you’re . . . if you’re going to lead, you should have this,” Joshua said, his chest heaving.
Roger nodded, took the machete, and handed Joshua one of the spears. Though he pretended not to notice, Joshua saw that it was obviously inferior to the other. Seeing the stronger and better armed and somewhat intimidating man before him, Joshua suddenly felt vulnerable in a way that he hadn’t for many years. For so long, his subordinates had tried to please him. For so long he had been in control.
And now things seemed quite different.

“WHO WANTS TO GO SHING?” Ratu asked, looking from Jake to Nathan to Scarlet to Akira. After Jake nodded, Ratu picked up several spears. “And who else?” he added, assuming that everyone would be eager to fish. “You’ll most certainly want to join us. You’ll be able to eat whatever you catch—tuna and snapper and crab and maybe even some shark. I’ve watched these waters and they’re full of delicious fish.”
Nathan smiled at Ratu’s enthusiasm, reminded of his own son’s eagerness. “It sounds tempting, but I should stay here with the prisoner,” he replied, musing over how much he loved fatherhood, longing to see his family.
“He’s only got one good leg,” Ratu replied. “And I tell you, he’s not going bloody far on one leg. Have you ever tried to hop through a jungle on one leg? You’d get farther by crawling.”
Nathan shook his head. “You go. And Scarlet, you should go as well. I’ll stay and watch.”
“I’ve never fished,” Scarlet said as she rearranged a pile of firewood. “I wouldn’t even know what to do.”
“Big Jake and I will show you,” Ratu promised. “It’s not hard, trust me. If Big Jake can do it, anyone can do it.”
Jake pretended to reach for Ratu, who giggled and sidestepped him. Scarlet smiled at their antics, dropping the firewood. “Why not?”
As Scarlet moved toward Ratu, Akira raised his head off his makeshift bed. “I hope that you have excellent luck,” he said, bowing slightly to show his appreciation.
Ratu hesitated in replying, torn by the fact that he liked this man and that his father was fighting the Japanese. Finally he asked, “What’s your favorite fish to eat?”
“I enjoy maguro the most.”
“Maguro? I’ve never heard of that. It sounds like a bloody monster.”
“So sorry. I mean . . . tuna. Tuna is wonderful.”
Ratu nodded. “Then I’ll catch you a fat maguro.” As Akira thanked him, Ratu picked up another spear and started toward the beach. Jake walked before him, and Ratu feigned stabbing the big man with his spear. “What a cracking good catch you’d be,” he said. “You’d feed us for weeks!”
Jake grabbed Ratu’s spear and held it firmly as Ratu tried to pull it from him. “I reckon you’re about to bite off more than you can chew,” he said, repositioning a large blade of grass between his teeth.
“You and those bloody sayings,” Ratu replied. “I never know what you’re talking about. Bite off more than I can chew? How would it be possible to bite off more than I could chew?”
Scarlet smiled. Ratu’s British accent and slang, coupled with Jake’s slightly southern drawl and slow way of speaking, made for a lively conversation. Though they both spoke English, to Scarlet it seemed as if they often conversed in different languages.
Jake let go of Ratu’s spear and hurried toward a distant collection of large, dark boulders that were partially submerged by the rising water. The rocks were at the far side of the beach, where the shore was exposed to the sea. When Jake spied a fist-sized crab atop one of the boulders, he immediately stopped. Ratu moved beside him, raising his spear. The crab was about ten paces from them, its blue-black legs holding it in place as waves pounded against the rock. Ratu switched his grip on the spear so that he held it like a baseball bat. “I’ve heard about your Babe Ruth,” he whispered. “How many big slams did the Babe hit?”
“Grand slams,” Jake softly replied. “Ain’t no such thing as a big slam. But the Babe, he hit a bunch of grand slams.”
Ratu turned toward his friend. “Grand slams? Not bloody likely. That makes no sense, Big Jake. I tell you, no sense at all.”
Jake smiled, momentarily removing the blade of grass. “You ever played baseball?”
“No, but I’m a cracking good cricket player.”
Ratu was about to move closer to the crab when Scarlet tapped him on the shoulder. “Look,” she said quietly, pointing to another rock. Toward the middle of this rock a much bigger crab glistened in the sun.
“Brilliant spot, Miss Scarlet!” Ratu whispered excitedly. When the next wave rolled in to envelop the crab, Ratu hurried ahead, swinging his spear downward as soon as the wave started to withdraw. The almost-wrist-thick end of the spear struck the crab squarely in the middle of its shell, caving in the shell and sending the crab into the swirling water. As Ratu lunged to retrieve his catch, Jake swung his spear at the smaller crab. His blow wasn’t quite so precise, but he was able to finish off the crab with a second swing.
Scarlet clapped. “Throw them here,” she said, jumping backward when the two crabs landed by her feet.
A wave rolled in and caught Ratu squarely in the face. He coughed, simultaneously wiping his eyes and struggling to draw air. Jake moved to him, grabbing his arm so that the receding water didn’t pull him out to sea. As Jake held Ratu, he noticed something wedged between a pair of rocks that were deeper in the water. At first he thought that perhaps a life jacket had floated ashore, but when the water dropped he realized that the life jacket held a body that was lodged between the boulders. The body was dressed in what had once been white clothes. Knowing that the deceased was either a doctor or nurse from Benevolence , Jake turned Ratu toward the beach. “Come,” he said, pointing farther down the shore. “As sure as a puppy piddles, them big rocks are full of fat crabs.”
Ratu continued to cough until they were beyond the reach of the waves. When his lungs finally stopped aching, he thanked Jake for pulling him from the sea. Jake picked up the two crabs and started walking to the distant rocks. Taking a quick glance toward where the body lay, he decided that at dawn the next day he’d return to bury the deceased. He would dig a proper grave, create a tombstone of sorts, and say some prayers. But he’d tell no one about his discovery. His fellow castaways had enough to worry about without carrying the additional burden of wondering whether bodies would float ashore.
“Might you want, miss, to try your hand at hitting one of them critters?” Jake asked when Scarlet glanced in the direction of the deceased.
“Me?” Scarlet asked, clearly surprised by the question.
Ratu pressed a spear against the palm of her hand. “Take this,” he said. “I know that a beautiful woman like you has never held a spear before. But, I tell you, the more spears we have, the better.”
Scarlet started to give the spear back to Ratu but decided to hold on to it. She might not kill anything with the weapon, but had to admit that she liked the feel of it in her hand. “Thank you, Ratu.”
“For what?”
She looked closely at him, studying his expressive face, recalling how his dark eyes often darted about, and how his nose flared and his mouth opened wide when he was trying to make a point. No one had called Scarlet beautiful in a long time. People occasionally told her that she had beautiful hair, but this comment was the extent of the praise that she attracted. In her experience, strangers didn’t call an overweight, middle-aged woman beautiful. “Thank you for being you,” she finally replied, smiling.
“For being me? Who else would I bloody be?”
“I think, Ratu, that a lot of people . . . a lot of people pretend to be people they’re not.”
Ratu slapped at a troublesome fly. “Oh, my village is full of such people. Just full of them, I tell you. Our priest thinks he’s Jesus Christ himself. And the bloke next door tells us that he’s been to New York City. Can you imagine such a thing? A poor sugarcane farmer from Fiji traveling to New York City? Of course, I pretend to believe him.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I fancy his stories. And I don’t care if they’re true or not.” Ratu wiped sweat from his eye. “And because my father is a storyteller. And I’ve missed . . . I’ve really missed his stories for a long time.”
Jake moved closer to Ratu. “Well, you can soon tell your daddy the darndest story of your own.”
“What do you mean, Big Jake?”
“Tell him how you helped us live on this here island. How you taught a farmer and a beautiful woman to smash crabs.”
“He won’t bloody believe me!”
“Well, now, ain’t you got a point there?” Jake teased, the grass between his teeth bobbing up and down. “Yup, I reckon you’re as right as rain. Too bad you ain’t got a photograph.”
“Bugger off,” Ratu said, punching his friend in the arm. He then scratched at his hair, which was black and curly and cut quite close to his scalp. Numerous chicken pox scars dotted his forehead. “Do you tell your father stories, Big Jake?” he asked.
“Does a dog have fleas?”
“Does he listen?”
“I expect so.”
“Good. I’m glad he listens.” Ratu grinned, increasing his pace. “Now let’s go find some crabs and fish. Whoever gets the biggest crab or fish wins the game.”
As Ratu raced ahead, Scarlet caught Jake’s eyes. She smiled, nodding to him as if they shared a secret. Almost unconsciously, they slowed their steps—giving Ratu more time to hunt on his own and themselves a chance to enjoy the companionable silence that had suddenly dawned between them.

AS THEY DREW nearer to camp, Annie was surprised at how familiar it looked. Though they’d only been on the island for a day and a half, the banyan tree that sheltered them was strangely reassuring. This surprised Annie greatly, as she’d never really felt at home anywhere. Even her childhood home—complete with its tire swing and sunny rooms and flowered wallpaper—had never put her totally at ease. Perhaps her disquiet had stemmed from the fact that she carried frightful memories of her home in addition to recollections of happiness. After all, she’d almost died in her perfect little room—a room that otherwise she would have treasured all her life.
When Annie and Isabelle approached, Nathan strode toward them. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his plump face was the color of a ripe peach. “Hello, ladies,” he said, reaching out to help them with the things they’d collected. He tried to carry too much, and ended up dropping almost half of what he’d taken from them. Annie and Isabelle picked up their findings, then walked with him back to camp.
“Nathan, you need to stay in the shade today,” Isabelle said.
He self-consciously touched his face. “I know. It already hurts.” He dropped a crutch and hastily picked it up. “Rachel’s always laughing at my pale skin. She calls me her ghost. So I thought I’d surprise her.”
Annie wondered why Nathan wasn’t already tan the way most everyone else had been aboard Benevolence. “Didn’t you spend any off-duty hours on deck?”
“Not many. I read a lot and I wrote a lot. Letters and postcards mostly.”
“You never . . . ran out of things to say?” Annie asked.
“Ran out? No, never.”
Annie mused over his words as they approached their camp. Beyond the battles that she’d witnessed, Ted was interested in little of her life at sea. He pretended otherwise, of course, but his questions on such matters tended to be superficial. And if truth be told, Annie wasn’t particularly interested in telling him about her time aboard Benevolence. As she wondered why they could be getting married and talk so little, she saw Akira rise to a sitting position. Immediately, guilt swept through her, for she’d found nothing with which she could restitch his wound.
While Nathan and Isabelle started to arrange their findings beneath the banyan tree, Annie knelt on the sand next to where Akira rested. He greeted her politely and started to ask about her morning. “I’ve been everywhere,” she interrupted, “and didn’t find anything. Not fishing line or a spool of dental floss or even some strong string.”
Akira shrugged. “Perhaps it could heal without your stitching?”
Leaning forward, Annie carefully removed his bandage. The wound was swollen and about half an inch wide. She needed to close it soon. “A needle. Did Ratu bring by a needle?”
Akira held up a thin sliver of bamboo. A small hole had been carved into its thick end. “He presented it to me soon after you left,” he said, handing it to her. “He told me that you asked him to make it.”
She inspected the needle, which was strong and sharp and would serve her purposes nicely. “What a great little boy,” she said softly.
“I think so.”
“What about a spool of dental floss? Have you seen anything like that at camp?”
He shook his head. “Cleaning string for your teeth? So sorry, but no. However, I was thinking. May I tell you my idea?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly. “I am pleased that you want to hear my suggestion.”
“What is it?”
“So sorry. Well, as you say . . . to cut a long story short, when I was seven or eight years old, I visited a castle. In this castle existed a special glass case, which held a thick rope of hair. I asked my mother about the hair and she told me that the castle . . . beams were too heavy to lift with a normal rope. This was a terrible problem as war was coming and the castle needed to be completed. So women cut off their long hair and . . . weaved it into a rope. This rope was strong enough that men could raise the heavy beams. And so the women saved everyone. And you can still see the rope made of their hair.”
Her pulse quickening, Annie rose and hurried to Isabelle. Without a word she plucked several hairs from her sister’s head. As Isabelle protested, Annie tested the strength of the strands. Akira was right—hair was surprisingly strong. Better yet, it wouldn’t rot. “I think it will work!” she said excitedly. “I see no reason why it won’t!”
“For thread?” Isabelle asked.
“Yes, yes!”
Annie started to reach for Isabelle’s head again, and her sister backed away. “For heaven’s sake, Annie, I can pull out my own hair.”
“Oh, sorry. Mine’s too short.”
Isabelle ran her hands through her hair, plucking individual strands. She handed several to Annie and studied one herself. “How many hairs thick should the thread be?” she wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Annie replied as she held the hairs together and twisted them around each other until they became one. “Maybe five or six?”
Isabelle created a similar strand and wrapped it about her fingers. She pulled until the tips of her fingers whitened. Finally, the strand broke. “I’d say maybe use a few more. Maybe eight.”
“Isn’t that a lucky number?”
“Is Scarlet’s hair longer than mine?”
Annie thought. “Hers might be a bit longer. But hers is curly and yours is as straight as a post. Let’s use yours.”
Isabelle walked to where Akira sat watching them. He’d heard their conversation and bowed politely to Isabelle. “Thank you for your . . . ” He paused, smiling. “Thank you for sharing your hair.”
“It’s the least I can do,” she replied, pulling more hairs from her head. “Sorry, but I never properly thanked you for saving me. If you hadn’t pushed Annie out of that room, we’d have both died in there.”
“You were trying to save the doctor, yes?” Akira said softly and slowly. “Even then, as your ship sank, you tried to help him.”
“I wish I could have,” Isabelle replied, remembering the doctor’s hearty laugh. Earlier that day he’d happily told her about his granddaughter—a four-year-old in whom he took great pride, but who would now grow up without him.
Annie stepped close to Akira. After studying the wound, she poured an entire canteen of fresh water onto the injury in an effort to rid it of sand and dirt. She’d found a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide, with which she dampened a cloth and prepared to further clean his wound. “This will hurt,” she said. “But it will also kill most any germ.” Annie poured some of the liquid onto her hands, and then dabbed at his wound with the cloth. Akira grimaced but was silent. “Izzy,” Annie said, “can you thread—”
Isabelle handed her the bamboo needle with hair threaded through it. She’d used four hairs but had looped them through the needle’s eye, tying them together at one end. Isabelle even had a second strand of woven hair ready.
“Perfect,” Annie said, inspecting the needle and then dousing it with hydrogen peroxide. Isabelle didn’t respond, nor did Annie talk further. Instead she examined the wound once more, determining where she’d place each stitch.
As Annie started to work, Akira watched her face, her hands. He noticed how she pierced his flesh swiftly so as to minimize his pain. Still, he grunted, and when he did, he saw her jaw tighten. Annie drew the needle through the other side of the wound. Akira was no medical man, but he realized that she was highly skilled. Her small fingers were confident and precise. Her hands were as steady as stone. When he bit his bottom lip in pain and held his breath as she pulled his flesh together, she leaned even closer to him, so close that her shoulder rested against his arm. Her touch didn’t drive his agony away, but instead of focusing on his suffering, he was acutely aware of the sensation of her against him. A sense of warmth grew between them, and though he’d been touched by several women before, he didn’t recall feeling warmth such as this. He realized to his amazement that Annie was trying to protect him with her touch, sheltering him as she pierced and pulled his inflamed flesh.
The thought of her protecting him caused her warmth to spread like hot sake throughout his body. He watched her shoulder as it touched his arm, deciding that her skin was the color of a late-afternoon sun. Tiny blond hairs emerged from her skin to lean against him. To his immense surprise, Akira felt a sudden urge to lean down and press his lips on her shoulder, to see if it was as soft as he imagined.
“Do you mind if I ask your age?” Annie said, drawing a section of his torn flesh together.
“I . . . I am thirty-four years old.”
“Really? Your skin looks younger. It feels younger.”
“And may I ask your age?”
“Twenty-four. Though soon I’ll be twenty-five.”
He nodded absently, still watching her shoulder. “So new to the world.”
“There,” she said, moving away from him. “It’s done.”
Akira looked at his wound, which was now closed. Annie’s stitches were tidy and organized, like a row of tiles on a temple’s roof. With her shoulder no longer against him, he was aware of the burning in his thigh. She gently dabbed at her work with the disinfectant, and his pain increased.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I need to make sure it’s clean.”
“You are very skilled,” he replied, wishing that her shoulder was still against him.
“Yes, you certainly are,” Isabelle added, somewhat taken aback at how Akira had looked at her sister. Isabelle had seen hundreds of patients gaze at nurses with hope or longing or desperation in their eyes. And she’d come to expect such looks from the young men she aided. But still, Akira’s gaze had seemed to contain something different. What it was, she couldn’t discern. In any case, after glancing again at Akira, Isabelle walked toward Nathan, who’d been watching them from afar.
Annie tightly wrapped a fresh bandage around Akira’s thigh. “If you’re careful, the stitches should hold.”
“I am honored to have you as my doctor,” he said, bowing to her.
“Oh, no. I’m just a nurse.”
He nodded toward the sea. “Is that just water?”
Smiling, Annie stood. She started to move toward her sister, but thinking of Akira’s words, she walked down the beach toward the less tranquil side of the harbor. There she washed her hands in the waves that lapped at her feet. They were warm and welcoming and she moved deeper into the water. Impulsively, she sat down and let the waves roll against her. The sound of their tumbles was rhythmic and comforting. And though Annie did not have the courage to go deeper into the sea, she found solace in the gentle waves and the hope that Akira was right.

AS THE DAY AGED, the wind gathered force, rushing past the island as if late to reach the other side of the world. The jungle that dominated much of the island swayed like sea grass. Coconuts fell with large gusts, thudding into soil or sand. Though the water of the harbor remained fairly smooth, beyond its protective shoreline, whitecaps rolled into the island. The sky was, surprisingly, almost free of clouds. No storm was imminent. No squall from which to flee. The wind was merely showing its strength to the island, which, aside from the unhappy trees, seemed rather unimpressed.
Dusk was near, and the survivors were busy improving the wall they’d built around their fire. Its flames danced wildly in the wind, and if anybody was going to cook the two dozen crabs that Ratu, Jake, and Scarlet had killed, the fire would need to be corralled. No one had eaten meat for two days, and each was excited about enjoying the crabs. Ratu and Jake had cut several saplings and would place a web of green wood above the fire so that the crabs could be properly cooked.
Roger and Joshua had returned from surveying the island. Joshua had reported the discovery of a nearby stream and a variety of fruit-bearing trees. Several more steel canteens had washed up on the beach, and these had been filled with fresh water. The finding of water and food had been welcome news, because with plenty of resources available, no one was in danger of dying from hunger or thirst.
When the fire was contained, Jake and Ratu hurried to the sea. They had laid the saplings underwater beneath some rocks and now pulled the wood from the sand. Once back at the fire, they carefully placed the saplings across the flames. Scarlet then used the machete as a spatula, depositing the crabs on the makeshift grill. “I think we found our hunters,” Joshua said, watching the crabs sizzle over the fire, trying to be upbeat for the sake of the group. “If we were at sea, I’d grant you each three days of shore leave.”
Jake chuckled at the joke. “Why, thank you, Captain.”
“Big Jake told me you could be a funny bloke,” Ratu added. “But I didn’t believe him.”
The crabs were turning red, and the delightful smell of their dinner prompted Scarlet to hand everyone a thick leaf. “Use these as plates,” she said, swatting repeatedly at a mosquito. As the sun began its desent toward the horizon, she used the machete to scoop up the crabs. She gave everyone a crab before placing a second batch above the fire.
Though Roger took his crab and settled within distant shadows, everyone else stayed near the fire. “What’s the island like, my captain?” Ratu asked, unsure if he’d rather fish or explore.
Joshua saw that Isabelle’s crab was smaller than his, and took her leaf and gave her his own. “Roger and I climbed high,” he replied. “My legs—”
“What did you see?”
“Hold them horses, Ratu,” Jake interjected. “The captain will tell you.”
With a pair of smooth stones, Joshua smashed the claw of his crab, then used the stones on Isabelle’s crab. “The island is shaped like . . . oh, kind of like a giant fishing hook, I’d say. Where we are here in the harbor is where the curve of the hook is. We’re on the inside part. The rest of the island is long and skinny. And though there are plenty of other beaches, they aren’t nearly as protected as ours.”
“And the middle?” Ratu asked.
“The middle has most of the high ground,” Joshua replied, liking the boy. “Very tough terrain there. We climbed hills that were a few hundred feet high, and could see some other islands to the west and east of us. Maybe eight or ten miles away.”
As Scarlet gave her a second crab, Isabelle asked, “Did you find anywhere for us to hide in case the Japanese land?”
Joshua shook his head. “Not yet. But she’s a big, wild island. And I bet we’ll find some caves.”
“Look by the shore,” Ratu suggested. “At home, the best caves are where the water hits the land.”
“Good idea, Ratu.”
“Thank you, my captain. I’m glad you think so.”
The fire popped, sparks exploding into the darkening night. An ember landed near Akira, and he used a stick to cover it in soil. When Scarlet brought him another crab, he thanked her. He broke into his crab and then watched Annie and her sister talking, leaning close together as they conversed through words and gestures and animated expressions. Suddenly, Akira thought of Nanking, for he’d seen many sisters die together. Memories of such heinousness invaded him the way oil from a dying battleship fouls the sea’s surface. “May I say something, Captain?” he asked quietly, feeling compelled to speak, to protect the woman who’d so tenderly stitched his leg.
Joshua started to reply but stopped, weighing the pros and cons of letting an enemy soldier participate in the discussion. After all, the Japanese couldn’t be trusted. Like most American naval officers, Joshua would never forget that while Japanese diplomats were negotiating a treaty in Washington, their carrier fleet was secretly heading toward Hawaii. However, he didn’t perceive Akira to be a threat. And so he nodded.
“Thank you,” Akira replied somewhat uncomfortably.
“What would you like to say?” Joshua asked.
“Captain, I am certain that Tokyo wants these islands.”
“And why is that?”
“For the reason that after Midway, with most of our aircraft carriers destroyed, it is . . . imperative that we have airbases here to control the South Pacific.”
“Yes,” Joshua replied, “I think Uncle Sam believes as much.”
“And if my countrymen come to this island, they will land on this beach. This harbor is perfect, yes?”
“It’s not bad.”
“So sorry for stating what you already know, but you must leave this place at once, Captain. Please find another camp immediately.”
Joshua nodded and thanked Akira for his words. Though he still wasn’t ready to trust the foreigner, he appreciated his concern. Normally, he might have questioned the legitimacy of such concern, but Joshua had seen Akira drag himself through the shallows with Annie on his back. The man had almost died saving a woman he hardly knew. And Joshua’s instincts told him that Akira had just spoken because he didn’t want any harm to befall Annie and Isabelle.
Setting down the last of his crab, Joshua rose from the fire and stared at the harbor. The responsibility of the group’s well-being suddenly weighing upon him, he walked closer to the water. Away from the fire and the smoke it was easier for him to think. He knew that Annie’s patient was right. The sooner they moved, the better. But where to move? The Japanese would survey the entire island. Relocating to another beach would buy the survivors a day or two, but nothing more. No, they’d have to find someplace secret, someplace where they could hide for weeks.
As Joshua wondered where that place could be, Isabelle and Annie walked up behind him. Isabelle brought him a banana that she’d cooked over some embers. Joshua had always enjoyed fried bananas, and though this one wasn’t drenched in butter and sugar, it still tasted sweet. As Isabelle and Annie quietly stood next to him, Joshua reflected on how fortunate he was to have met the sisters. Of course, he loved Isabelle, but a part of him also loved Annie, for she was like the little sister he’d never had.
“I think you can trust him,” Annie said, her words soft but rather abrupt.
“Who?” he asked, his mind elsewhere.
“Akira. I don’t think you have anything to fear from him. If you did, he would have let Izzy and I drown in that room.”
Joshua nodded, having put more thought toward the subject than he’d care to admit. “Well, I’m certainly in his debt for saving you. But if the Japanese land, where will his loyalty rest? Probably not with a group of Americans he’d have killed a few weeks ago.”
“I doubt he wants to kill anyone.”
Shrugging, Joshua was about to change the subject when he heard a distant drone. “Aircraft!” he shouted, running back toward the fire. Though the wall they’d built over the fire was solid, Joshua threw several palm fronds on the flames. The sound of the planes grew louder, soon becoming a buzz that seemed to echo off everything around them. It was as if they were standing atop a honeycomb, and thousands of bees were about to enter a massive hive.
The last time that Annie had listened to such a drone they had been attacked, and she took Isabelle’s hand within her own. The planes were very loud now. If Annie listened carefully, she could hear one engine misfiring among the steady hum of its companions.
Joshua looked toward Akira. “Zeros?”
“Hai.”
“Hai?”
“So sorry. I mean, yes. I think so.”
Staring upward, Joshua scanned for the source of the noise. The unseen sun still faintly illuminated the sky, but locating the planes was difficult, and Joshua gazed from clouds to solitary stars.
“There!” Nathan shouted, pointing.
The ever-so-faint outlines of fighter planes passed almost directly above. Leaning closer to Isabelle, Annie wondered how such small things could wreak such destruction. Had these planes just killed and were returning to their base, or were they just setting out? The sputtering plane made her think that they were returning from battle. How many Americans had they killed? How many boys from Texas and Oregon and Iowa had been maimed tonight?
As Annie avoided Akira’s eyes and imagined the suffering of the burn victims, Joshua did his best to count the fighters. He estimated that at least a dozen planes flew westward. With a range of well over a thousand miles, the Zeros could be headed anywhere. And yet Joshua had a sense that the pilots’ destination wasn’t far. The formation was simply too compact for a long journey at night.
When the drone of the planes had passed, Jake and Ratu piled more wood on the fire. In the absence of the Zeros, sounds of the waves and the wind and the insects once again infiltrated their world. Still shuddering and reliving the night of the bombing, Annie looked for someone to talk with. But Isabelle spoke quietly with Joshua, and most everyone else seemed to be staring skyward. Akira appeared to be watching her, but she didn’t feel like his company. And so she walked down to the sea and put her feet in the cool water, which not long ago had seemed so very warm.