Beside a Burning Sea

DAY FOUR
In a stranger’s shoes,
I once watered my garden.
Rain makes leaves tumble.
Discoveries


Dawn came at a leisurely pace. Since the sun rose on the other side of the island, the world around their camp transitioned subtly from darkness to indigo to amber rays of light. The sea had quieted, and shimmered as if thousands of mirrors sparkled in the sun. Near the shore, a school of miniature fish broke the surface as the creatures fled a determined predator. Gulls hovered above the water, and when the little fish swam too shallowly the birds plummeted from the sky to consume them.
Ratu stood knee-deep in the harbor, a long spear held aloft, watching the water for signs of the big fish. He’d seen it twice and thought it to be a yellowfin tuna. His father had taught him how to spear such fish. They had often worked together, with Ratu driving large fish toward his father, who was usually able to deliver a killing blow. Sometimes a fish, upon seeing his father, would swim back toward Ratu. Striking a fast-moving target was quite difficult, and more often than not, his spear had penetrated only sand. But instead of displaying frustration of any sort, his father had patiently explained to him how fish thought—how they usually darted toward deeper water, how a hungry fish most likely wouldn’t stop chasing its prey even if threatened.
Once a shark had come between the two of them, and Ratu had watched in awe as his father flung his spear so forcefully that it went through the shark’s head and pinned the thrashing creature to the seabed. Later, after they’d gutted and cleaned it, his father had made a necklace for Ratu. From a leather cord he’d hung the shark’s largest tooth. As far as Ratu had been concerned, the necklace possessed near magical properties, and he didn’t take it off until one day when he lost it in the jungle. That night, upon seeing Ratu’s tears, his father had promised to find him a new tooth. But two weeks later, he’d left with the Americans.
After his father was gone, Ratu had hunted alone. He caught fewer fish, and even though he desperately wanted to kill a shark and make a necklace for his father, the one time a shark had turned in his direction, Ratu had fled toward shallower waters. Over the long and lonely months, he’d tried to ease his misery by bringing beautiful shells home to his sisters. And for a time their smiles had warmed him. But at night, sleeping on the floor of their hut, longing for his father’s stories, his tears had tended to be many.
As Ratu now hunted the yellowfin tuna, he thought of his sisters and mother, wondering what they were doing. He missed his siblings far more than he cared to admit. He even missed watching them pretend to be mothers. They’d always made him be the father, and as he now stalked the big fish, he wished that he was talking in a deep voice and laughing as his sisters brought him tea or kava.
Thirty paces up the beach from Ratu, the rest of the camp’s members had gathered around the fire. Joshua had brought everyone together—after he’d risen early to pray for the dead and beseech God to grant him strength. He had been telling the group what he thought about the planes they’d seen the night before, about how he believed that either a Japanese base or an aircraft carrier was near. “We need to explore every last inch of this island,” he said, reminding himself that most of the survivors weren’t trained in war and would need specific instructions. “Where is there more water? Are there caves? Other places to hide? Because within a few days, we should leave this spot.”
“But isn’t the harbor the best place for us?” Scarlet asked.
“Well, yes and no,” he answered. “It’s great for us, but it would also be great for the Japs. And that’s why we have to move.”
Joshua proceeded to split up the group. Jake, Ratu, and Scarlet would explore the nearby beaches on the west side of the island. Roger would climb more of the many hills. Nathan and Annie would stay at camp with the patient while Joshua and Isabelle investigated the island’s eastern side.
Roger was delighted to hear that he’d be free to travel alone. His plan had worked perfectly. The captain had realized that no one could keep up with him, and so the fool had sent him off alone. How easy it is to manipulate people, Roger thought, pleased with himself. How utterly predictable and pathetic people are.
As the camp disbanded, Roger grabbed a spear, a canteen, and two bananas. He also rubbed some soot from the fire on himself to ward off the ever-present insects. Without saying a word to anyone, he started walking toward the island’s interior. Once within the jungle, Roger became a part of it, his movements even quieter than those of the previous day. He’d learned to look for brightly colored birds, and to circumvent them, as they always protested his presence. And he’d discovered that it was best to walk on ground that he could see, for leaves often hid dry twigs that snapped underfoot. Such precautions convinced Roger that being in the jungle was akin to being a spy, for awareness of all of his surroundings was crucial to remaining undetected.
Once he reached the location where his radio was buried, Roger knelt in the underbrush and waited—needing to ensure that no one had followed him or stumbled upon the spot. After about five minutes, he began to dig. Soon the wooden box was in his hands, its presence comforting and powerful. The pistol inside gave him the power of life or death, and he basked in that power the way a dictator presides over a terrified populace.
“I can kill any of you maggots,” he whispered, longing to feel the gun, hating his fellow survivors for the smiles that came so easily to them. “I can put a barrel in your mouth and make you do whatever I want.”
Though carrying the box and spear was difficult, Roger relished the challenge. He was never tempted to leave the spear, as it was always possible that he’d be forced to kill in silence. And so he walked through the jungle with the spear held parallel to the ground. The deeper he penetrated into the island’s interior, the larger the foliage became. Impossibly massive banyan trees created their own forests, their trunks and limbs home to seemingly every species of frog and lizard, snake and butterfly. Under such behemoths, only thin shafts of sunlight struck the ground, and moss and ferns dominated the damp soil.
Eyeing the tallest rise within his field of vision, Roger continued to move quickly. To make certain that he couldn’t be followed, he found a creek bed and walked upon a series of worn boulders. He soon leapt as far from the creek as possible, landing amid chest-high ferns. His feet struck something hard and he was surprised to see thick bones beneath him. Leaning down, he inspected the bones and decided they were remnants of a wild boar. Hoping that he’d have a chance to hunt such game with his spear, he continued onward.
The hill that he soon climbed would have winded the captain, but Roger made his way up easily. As he rose, the rich soil vanished and only rocks and bushes surrounded him. Toward the top of the hill, the ground beneath him became much steeper. He was climbing now, struggling up rock faces and slippery slopes. As he came upon a stone outcropping, he noticed a bird’s nest that had been fashioned of driftwood. Two large, brown eggs lay in the nest. Knowing that he needed as much sustenance as possible, Roger broke the eggs open and quickly drank their contents.
Near the top of the hill, Roger found almost exactly what he’d hoped to discover—a bathtub-shaped depression surrounded by shoulder-high rocks and shrubbery. Setting his spear aside and carefully cradling the box, he jumped into the depression and immediately opened the clasps of the box. For a moment, he was tempted to light a cigarette. In fact, he held his teeth tightly together at the prospect, imagining the warm sensation of smoke as it traveled deeply into him. The smoke would dispatch the headache that surged from behind his eyes and would put him at peace. And yet the smoke could betray him, for the other survivors might smell its scent on him and wonder how he’d gotten cigarettes to the island. Angrily cursing his fellow castaways for causing this predicament, Roger vowed not to give in to temptation.
After briefly caressing the pistol, Roger withdrew the green radio. Flicking a switch, he was relieved to see that the radio had power. He turned up the volume and twisted the dial until he hit a frequency that he’d memorized. He then placed the headset over his ears. Static greeted him.
“Ronin to Edo,” he said softly in Japanese into the mouthpiece. “Repeat, Ronin to Edo.” The static continued, and Roger gently turned the dial to make sure he had the proper frequency. “Repeat, Ronin to Edo. Over.”
“Edo here,” a metallic voice that Roger recognized replied. “How are the cherry blossoms?”
“Always best at dawn.” The code complete, Roger continued, “Operation White Crane successful. Eight surviving chicks with me in nest. Over.”
A brief moment of static preempted Edo’s reply. “Understood,” the voice said. “Leave chicks in nest. Mother coming to roost in twelve to fifteen days. Report again in six days.”
“Understood. Over.”
Roger removed his headset, wiped his sweat from it, carefully placed the radio back into the box, and wondered what he’d do with the vast amount of money that would soon be his. With such wealth he could buy his own island. He could buy cars and women and guns. Best of all, he could savor the power that his wealth created. Of course, he was too important to the Japs for him to disappear for any length of time. They would arrive and kill or imprison the other survivors, and somehow he’d ultimately find himself once again with American forces. And once again he’d betray them.
Twelve to fifteen days, he thought excitedly, watching an immense beetle climb up a rock. Imagining that the creature was Joshua, Roger pressed the tip of his spear into the beetle’s back until the insect was impaled. He then held the beetle near him, so that he could closely watch it struggle. The insect tried to free itself for a surprisingly long time, its head and mandibles and legs twisting this way and that. Finally, the beetle began to twitch and tremble.
Yes, Roger thought, everything will happen in twelve to fifteen days. People will die and people will suffer. And I’ll get to decide who does what. And whoever so much as looks at me the wrong way when I get back to camp will be the first to get a spear in the back.
His mind churning with possibilities, Roger longingly touched the gun and the cigarettes. They spoke to him, and their words were as powerful as love or religion or drugs were to others. Reluctantly, he put both temptations away and started to bury his box. Once it was safely hidden, he smashed the beetle between his thumb and forefinger, lifted his spear, and returned to the jungle.

“WHAT ELSE DO YOU LOVE ABOUT YOUR WIFE?” Annie asked Nathan. The pair sat close together under the limited shade of a coconut tree. Less than ten paces away, Akira used a stick to write in the sand.
“She understands me,” he replied, shielding his eyes from the sun. “She understands me and she doesn’t ask me to do things that I’m incapable of doing.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . like pretending that I know all the answers. Like being able to buy her expensive things.”
Annie watched an ant struggle up a rise in the sand. She’d never realized that sand was the landscape upon which so many creatures traveled. “And what do you give her?”
He turned away from the bright sun so that he no longer faced her. “Two things, I think. I try to be a good husband and a good father. I try to keep her and the children happy. I’m not really interested in anything beyond that. I don’t see how I can do more than that.”
“I don’t think you need to.”
“You don’t? I don’t need a big car and more stripes on my uniform?”
“No, of course not.”
Nathan smiled and looked across the sea, as if he could somehow gaze into his distant home and watch his loved ones. Knowing where his thoughts lay, Annie glanced toward Akira, wondering what he was drawing in the sand. Feeling somewhat guilty for ignoring him the past night, she turned to Nathan. “I’ll be back.”
“Sure, take your time.”
Annie moved toward Akira. The sand was already warm under her feet, as if the earth were running a temperature. When Annie’s shadow fell upon him, Akira looked up and said good morning. She made no immediate reply, as her first thought was of his wound. She didn’t see any blood on the bandage and knew that her stitches had held. “It is a nice morning, isn’t it?” she finally concurred.
He nodded slowly, his head rising and falling like the swells beyond the harbor. “Strange, yes, to war in paradise?”
“You made us fight here,” Annie said, somewhat instinctively, remembering the previous night. “Your country brought the war to these islands. Just like it did to Singapore and China and Thailand and Malaya.”
Akira took a deep breath, and she thought he was going to debate the matter. Instead he said, “So sorry for the Zeros. Even for me, a terrible sound.”
She hadn’t expected such an apology and wasn’t sure how to respond. Finally, she said, “I don’t like . . . the sounds of war.”
“Neither do I.”
“I’ve had too many patients cry at such noises.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if her words stirred something deep within him. “Will you please sit?” he asked, politely gesturing to the sand beside him. Once Annie settled onto the beach, he said, “The sound of Zeros is—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, “but could we please talk about something else?”
He brought his hands together and bowed. “So sorry. Please forgive me.”
“I just think that we should . . . talk about something other than war. Besides, the morning’s too beautiful for such talk.”
“Yes, yes, you are right. We should talk of something else.”
Annie looked at the sand before him. “What were you writing?”
He cleared his throat. “These are Japanese characters.”
“Characters?”
“Yes. Each character is its own word,” he replied, tracing his work. “I was writing a haiku.”
“Do you mind if I ask what it says?”
Akira looked at his poem, shaking his head with mild frustration. “It is unfinished, as the words are not right. They feel . . . awkward. Unfortunately, it has been three years since I last wrote.”
“So long?”
“Yes. If my mother knew of this, she would be most unhappy.”
“Do you miss her?” Annie asked, still musing over the characters, thinking that they were both foreign and beautiful.
He started to speak and then stopped, unused to being questioned on such personal matters. “I do miss her,” he said. “She is very wise, and taught me so many wonderful things, including haikus. She creates them every day.”
Annie smiled. “Perhaps you can write her the perfect poem. Here on this beach.”
“That would be most agreeable.” An unseen bird squawked behind them, interrupting his next thought. “Might . . . might you think of one?” he asked uncertainly, wondering if this woman who’d so tenderly cared for him was truly interested in poetry or if he’d imagined their earlier conversation. “Might you describe this morning?”
“This moment? Right now?”
“If you would like.”
“But how?”
Akira remembered his students asking similar questions, and the memory warmed him. “Can you take . . . take your feelings and . . . blend them with what you see?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Not me.”
“So sorry, but I am sure that you could do it.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . because you said the morning was beautiful. And you meant what you said, yes?”
She looked at his mouth, which had formed into a half smile. “Blend them, you say?”
“Blending is what poets do, I think. Take what you see and put your emotions into that . . . vision.”
Annie didn’t reply. She knew that she was no poet. And yet it seemed that he wanted her to be one. How did he see her? As a student? A friend? As someone who’d helped him and he felt indebted to? Perhaps more important, was there anything wrong with her talking to him?
Unable to answer her own questions, but conjuring no reason why she shouldn’t try to create a poem, Annie turned toward the sea. The day, for all its beauty, was strangely quiet. Not a single whitecap dotted the water. The palm trees lining the beach stood so still that they seemed devoid of life. The sky was unblemished and infinite. Though the world before her was striking, to Annie it appeared expressionless, more like an old postcard than something warm and wet and wonderful.
Words churned within her as she sought to do what Akira had asked, to mix her emotions with what she looked upon. But how could words, which often seemed so limiting to her, describe what she now saw and felt? As usual, Annie’s emotions were cluttered and confused. She felt both safe and fearful, content and utterly bereft of hope. How could she give life to her feelings when even she did not understand them?
Annie glanced at Akira and was surprised to see that his eyes were closed. He was obviously in no hurry for her to finish. And so she thought. She imagined her place in the world, and through that imagining, words slowly began to unfold. She spoke them to herself, listening to the sounds, the syllables, the deeper meaning that she strove to create.
“I’m not a poet,” Annie finally said. “I can paint—flowers and even faces. But I can’t write.” His half smile returned, and she glanced at the sea. “Still, I do have . . . I’ve thought of something.”
“Might you be so kind as to share it with an old teacher? It would be a gift to these lonely ears.”
Annie started to speak but giggled softly, feeling foolish. “My words aren’t any good. And I do feel like I’m in school. Like I’m twelve again and worried what the boys will say.”
“Is that such a terrible thing? To feel young again?”
She shook her head, nervously running her hands through her short hair. “You won’t laugh?”
“Not unless it is funny.”
“Promise?”
“As you say . . . I will cross my heart and hope to die.”
Annie’s grin lingered. “Well, then, I suppose I have nothing to lose,” she said, unsure what to think of this man. “So here’s my first . . . haiku.”
“Please.”
“Is the wind silent? / Or am I deaf to such sound? / Waves melt on warm sand.”
For a moment, Akira’s face was blank. But then he smiled, bowing deeply to her. He held his bow low and finally rose to face her. “You do honor to yourself,” he said. “And to me. Thank you.”
“You like it? Really?”
“Yes, yes, I do. Very much.”
“Why?”
“Because I think . . . I think you are being true. And most people are afraid of truth.”
She started to reply but stopped, her good mood quickly departing. “No. You don’t understand. I’ve been afraid my whole life.”
“So sorry, but may I ask of what?”
Annie wondered again if she should be speaking to him in such a manner. What would Ted think? “Of the future,” she finally replied. “Of my path. I’ve . . . I’ve been afraid of so many things.”
“And yet, look at you, talking with a prisoner of war. Telling me your poem. How can such a woman be afraid?” She didn’t answer, and he smiled. “Perhaps . . . perhaps your days of being afraid are done.”
Her eyes began to water at his words, for they were welcome thoughts. She was tired of being afraid, so impossibly weary of her own fears that a part of her wanted to sit on the quiet beach forever. If she sat in the sand forever, she wouldn’t have to face the troubles that often seemed to define her life. As a tear descended her cheek, she wiped it away, turning toward the sea.
“Your poem was lovely, Annie,” he said, encouraging her as he so often had his favorite students. “It made me . . .”
His voice trailed off, and she turned back to him. “What? It made you what?”
“It pleased me very much. And I was . . . most proud.”
“Proud? Why on earth were you proud?”
Akira glanced at the sea, thinking of the wonderful young minds he had encountered, thinking of his former life. “Because your poem . . . it reminded me of another time. A far better time.”
As much as she enjoyed his words, Annie was reluctant to continue the conversation. And so she nodded and stood. The sun felt comforting against her face, as if she’d been awaiting its caress. She thanked him and then began to slowly walk down the beach. She wanted to believe him—believe that her days of being afraid were done. And she wanted to believe that he was proud of her. When was the last time, she asked herself, that anyone outside her family was proud of her?
As she continued to walk, Annie couldn’t help but wonder how Akira seemed to know her. Was it because of that night, the night he saved her? Had that night somehow bound him to her? Does that happen when you almost die to save someone else? When a stranger’s heart beats against you as you feel yourself slipping away? When your blood and tears wash over her? Annie had spent three days with Akira and a thousand days with Ted. And yet this stranger, this Japanese soldier, seemed to understand her more deeply than did her fiancé.
“He liked my poem,” she whispered, as if she wished to share a secret with the sea.
Though the sea stayed silent, Annie didn’t mind. And though she was alone, she didn’t feel alone. She knew that his eyes were upon her, and strangely, this knowledge warmed her as much as the sun.

SITTING ON A FALLEN TREE, Isabelle and Joshua took turns sipping from an army canteen. The water they’d taken from a nearby stream possessed a slightly metallic taste but otherwise seemed clear and fresh. Above them soared the jungle’s canopy, which was so thick that they might as well have been living within some sort of infinite greenhouse or cave. The usual noises—hoots and screeches and chirps—seemed to echo off this canopy, strengthening the sounds.
“Wouldn’t some fresh-ground coffee taste good right now?” Isabelle asked, wiping sweat from her brow.
Joshua unconsciously licked his lips. “Even stale coffee would be good,” he somewhat absently replied. “Stale, two-day-old coffee with cigarette ashes in it.”
“Let’s not get too carried away. We haven’t been here that long.”
“True enough.”
Isabelle moved closer to her husband, putting her hand on his leg. She looked into his eyes, and he almost immediately glanced at the trees above. She knew that he avoided her stare when something troubled him—almost as if he feared that she’d peer into his eyes, see his pain, ask him about it, and demand answers that he didn’t have. This habit of his had always annoyed her. After all, she didn’t want him to interpret her questions and concerns as things to avoid.
Joshua’s obvious misery prompted Isabelle to consider sharing her secret. For days she’d been tempted to tell him, tempted to tell Annie. But she’d told no one. The time had never felt quite right, and besides, Isabelle was someone who liked to deal in certainties, and when it came to her secret she was certain of very little. Moreover, though she longed to share her thoughts with Joshua, she didn’t want to raise his hopes and then later dash them. And she didn’t want him to feel that she was manipulating the situation to make him happier.
“What’s on your mind?” she finally asked, once they’d started to walk again.
“Oh, nothing really.”
“Joshua, don’t say that when I know it’s not true.”
He pushed a flowering vine aside and held it at bay so she could pass. “You know what’s bothering me, Isabelle. So why do you ask? I lost my ship. Almost my entire crew is dead. What the hell do you think is on my mind?”
“That tone isn’t necessary. Don’t take it with me again.”
He swatted at a mosquito, and when the jungle cleared slightly he moved beside her. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m trying, God help me, to lead, to do what needs to be done. But it’s not easy. It’s awful, in fact. I’m a fraud. And I don’t want to lead anyone. I don’t deserve to. I’m only trying to because of you. Because of Annie.”
“You’re not a fraud. Not by—”
“You, more than anyone else, should understand where I’m coming from.”
“I do understand.”
“Then why are you asking me about it? Can’t you see that I want to be left alone?”
“Why? Because maybe I can help. Because this island isn’t a ship, and you don’t have to lead alone. You’re not standing on the bridge with men looking to you for orders.”
“I don’t know—”
“I want to help. That’s all. To help you. Is that so wrong?”
He unbuttoned his sweat-drenched shirt almost to his belly. “No, it’s not,” he admitted, slowing his pace. “And I’m sorry . . . for snapping at you. For pushing you away. I don’t mean to. And you don’t deserve it. But I am used to being on my own, to standing on my bridge. Remember that for most of this war I haven’t had you around.”
“I’m here, Josh. Right next to you. Right where I’m supposed to be.”
They came to a fallen sandalwood tree and he helped her over it. Nearby a green and yellow parrot suddenly took flight, leaves dropping in its wake. “I don’t know,” he said, “if I’ll ever get over what happened to Benevolence. I paid more attention to my crew than I did to my own life, to you. And now they’re gone forever.”
“They didn’t die in vain.”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure about that. But . . .”
“But what?”
“But I’m sure that I’ll try . . . I’ll really try to let you in.”
“I want to be in.”
“I just . . . I think about everything I could have done differently. Checking the cargo. Having another lookout. Running more emergency drills. If I’d done things differently, so many good people wouldn’t have died.” He closed his eyes. “But I was a fool.”
Isabelle knew that nothing she could ever say about his handling of Benevolence would ease his guilt. And so she replied, “Just remember that we’re at war. And things like this happen in war. That’s why millions are dead already.”
He nodded but said nothing, continuing to trudge through the jungle. Though they used to take many walks together, she’d never seen him move so—with his shoulders slouched and his eyes oblivious to the world around him. Despite his just having angered her, it hurt her to sense the depth of his sorrow, to know that while he was doing his best to lead, he was nearly a broken man. And though she didn’t want to manipulate the moment by sharing her news, she eased closer to his side and prepared to tell him her secret.
“We should be nearing the eastern beaches,” he said. “There can’t be much more of this jungle. I just don’t—”
“Josh?”
He turned to her. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. But I do have something . . . something to share with you.”
“What is it?”
Isabelle stopped walking and brushed her long, damp hair from her face. “I think . . . I’m fairly confident that I’m pregnant.” Joshua didn’t say anything, but almost immediately dropped his gaze to her belly. “It’s too early for me to show,” she added. “But all the signs are there.”
“When . . . when are you due?” he said slowly, as if awaking from a dream.
“Probably in just under seven months.”
“So you’ve known for a month? And said nothing?”
She moved closer to him, tilting her head back so that she could look into his eyes. “I wanted to wait until we were ashore. Until we could go out and do something fun. To surprise you that way.”
“And why not here? On the hill?”
“Because you needed to mourn the dead. And I didn’t want to cheat you, or them, of that.”
“And Annie? Does she know?”
“No, no. Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, concern suddenly softening his face. “How are you feeling, Izzy?”
“Just fine. Good, in fact.”
“Here I am . . . feeling sorry for myself, snapping at you. And you’re—”
“It’s alright.”
“Are you sleeping well? Are you getting enough food?”
“Oh, with all the fresh fish and fruit here, I’m eating better than I would back home. And there’s plenty of time to sleep. So don’t worry yourself. Just think about being a father by springtime.”
Joshua shook his head in wonder and smiled. Without warning, he dropped to his knees and placed his right hand against her belly. When her oversized shirt got in the way, he eased his hand under the fabric, so that his palm rested against her flesh. He held his hand against her, moving it slowly around her belly as if searching for something he’d lost in the darkness. “Are you sure you don’t show? You feel . . . different. Your sides seem thicker.”
“I don’t know for sure that I’m pregnant. And my sides aren’t thicker.”
“You’re a woman and a nurse. You know.” Joshua wrapped his arms around her and leaned his face against her belly. “We’ve tried for so long,” he said, his voice suddenly stronger and happier than she recalled it having been for quite some time. “I wonder why now?”
“That’s a good question. But somehow . . . being here, with you, it seems right.”
He stroked her skin with his thumb. He started to speak but then stopped, instead pausing to thank God for this gift. Finally, he said, “I love you, Isabelle. I don’t say it nearly enough, I know. But I’d be lost without you.”
“You’ve never been lost, Josh.”
“Neither have you.”
She smiled. “We haven’t had time for it.”
“You’ll be a wonderful mother. You’ll teach our child so much.”
Isabelle ran her hands through his hair. He hadn’t held her like this in many months, and she was in no hurry for the moment to end. She felt him press his ear against her belly, and smiled. “You won’t hear a heartbeat yet. But soon.”
“I used to be a submariner, you know. I have a good ear.”
“Well, submariner, what do you hear?”
“The two of you,” he replied, grinning. “I definitely hear something. And it must be the two of you.”
“What does it sound like?”
“Water.”
“Water?”
“Doesn’t all life come from water?”
Isabelle smiled, dropping to her knees so that she faced him. “I love you too,” she said, kissing him. “And I don’t say it enough either. I think we’re the same in that way. We kind of close ourselves up.”
“War does that.”
“I know. But we don’t have to let it.”
“You’re right,” he said, and then kissed her gently. His hand once again fell to her belly, his thumb stroking her flesh.
“Are you going to walk around camp with your hand under my shirt?”
“Maybe. I don’t have a bridge, but I’m still in charge.” He kissed her forehead, happily offering another quick prayer of gratitude. “I’d . . . almost lost hope about being a father. I wanted it so much, but . . . but I’d lost hope.”
“You deserve this,” she replied, finding his eyes. “No one deserves it more.”
Joshua didn’t avoid her gaze, and Isabelle saw the joy in his face—a joy that had been lacking since long before Benevolence sank. She hadn’t been certain how he’d react to her news, and now as she looked at him, she felt as close to him as she ever had. He was a good man, and he loved her. And though she was strong and sure of the steps before her, she would be stronger and surer and happier with him at her side.

MUCH LATER IN THE DAY, when the sun had just dropped from the sky, Ratu made his way to Nathan. As he hurried over the cooling sand, Ratu kicked a sea sponge in front of him. Pretending that he was a famous soccer player, he kicked the sponge until he neared the jungle. He then launched it forward, cheering after it struck the middle of the banyan tree.
“Good shot, lad,” Nathan said, applauding.
“It was bloody good, wasn’t it?” Ratu replied happily. Before Nathan could respond, Ratu asked, “Since the captain is gone, you’re the boss, right?”
“I suppose so. But not really.”
“Well, since you’re the boss, I was wondering if I could take some old palm fronds, light them on fire, and spear all the fish that come to investigate.”
Nathan rose from a log. “Fish come to fire?”
“Of course. I tell you, they’re just like us—full of curiosity. My father and I used to spear them by the boatload. If you let Big Jake and me light the fronds, everyone could eat delicious fish tonight.”
Glancing into the jungle behind him, Nathan wondered about the whereabouts of the captain and his wife. “I don’t know. Maybe we should wait until—”
“Oh, you can decide. You won’t get into trouble. It’s only a few palm fronds. If we hear a plane or see a boat, we’ll just throw them in the water.”
“Can you keep the fires small?”
“Of course. As small as necessary. Don’t worry, Mr. Nathan. Everything will be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. Now you go back to your photo and just leave the fishing to Big Jake and me.”
Despite his reservations, Nathan smiled at Ratu’s obvious excitement. “My son would get along with you so well. He’s about your age, and loves getting into mischief.”
“We’d be great mates, then.”
“Mates?”
“Friends. We’d be great friends.”
“Ah, yes, you certainly would.”
Ratu thanked Nathan again and ran into the jungle, collecting almost as many dried palm fronds as he could carry. He then grabbed a burning stick from the fire, and shuffled down the beach to where Jake sat beside a barnacle-encrusted boulder. Ten spears were stuck in the sand.
“Bloody marvelous work with the spears, Big Jake,” Ratu said.
“It was hardly hard, my little friend. Now tell me how we get them fish.”
Ratu pointed to a pair of boulders that stood in waist-deep water. “Easy enough. We put the fronds on the smaller rock. And we light them on fire. And then we just wait. The fish will come. Like they’re coming to a party or something. And when they do, we need to only spear the big ones. Don’t worry about the little ones. Hit the big ones.”
“Hit the little ones, you say?”
“Get stuffed, Big Jake!”
Jake took the fronds and the smoking stick and moved into the sea. After no more than a dozen paces, he came to the smaller boulder. As he started to lay down the fronds, Ratu climbed up the nearby rock. “If this doesn’t work,” he said, “we’ll use the lifeboat. But I think this will work. Now come, light the fronds.”
When a fire was consuming the fronds, Jake hurried to the other boulder, which was the size of a car. He picked up a spear and stood next to Ratu. The fronds burned quickly, and in the darkening sky cast light in all directions.
“I reckon we should have brought some logs,” Jake said, an immense blade of grass trembling between his lips as he spoke.
“Shhh. A fisherman never talks,” Ratu replied. “That’s the first rule of fishing.”
“I expect that’s a mighty hard rule for you.”
“It is, Big Jake. It is. Now be quiet and let the fish come.”
Jake was beginning to doubt the wisdom of the expedition when a fish suddenly broke the surface next to the other boulder. The fish was small, and he didn’t bother to use his spear. Seeing into the dark water was difficult, but the fire certainly helped. Soon another fin sprouted from the sea. Then another and another. Ratu and Jake threw their spears almost simultaneously at a two-foot fish that rose beside the boulder. Both spears hit the fish and it only thrashed for a few heartbeats. Instead of retrieving their catch, they waited for another big fish to arrive. When it did, it also died. This process repeated itself three more times before the flames died out.
After climbing down from the boulder, they picked up four of the five fish they’d struck. One fish had managed to swim off. Ratu wanted to look for it, but seeing how big the other fish were, Jake promised him that they had more than enough to feed everyone. Jake had also fished as a boy, though the ponds near his family’s farm were filled with blue-gill, carp, and bass. And so after he stuck their catch on the stoutest spear, he asked Ratu what they’d soon eat.
“Two yellowfin tuna,” Ratu replied, “and a dolphin fish and . . . I don’t know what that big-eyed, ugly one is. I’ve never seen it before. You can eat him.”
“Why, ain’t that real neighborly of you?”
“Oh, put a sock in it, Big Jake.”
Jake chuckled, pleased by the weight of their catch. “Did your daddy teach you to toss a spear like that?”
“My father could throw a spear across this harbor. Even you, Big Jake, are not as strong as my father.”
Jake’s foot struck something hard and he grunted. “Darn coconuts.”
“Just watch where you put those giant feet of yours.”
“Simpler said than done.”
A strong fire burned at camp, and they walked toward it. As they approached the massive banyan tree, Joshua and Nathan strode in their direction. Both men smiled when they saw the catch. “And how did you manage that?” Joshua asked, still thinking about Isabelle’s news.
“Easy enough, Captain,” Ratu replied. “It’s not hard to throw a spear. I could teach you, if you wanted.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think we need any more hunters with you and Jake around.”
“Well, that’s certainly true.”
The four of them walked to the fire, and Jake set the fish down on some fresh palm fronds. As other members of the group congratulated them on their catch, Jake used the machete to clean the fish. Before long, strips of fish were cooking atop saplings. The smell of the fish permeated the air, and people gathered around the fire, eager to fill their bellies. Jake was proud of Ratu and was quick to tell everyone how good he was with a spear.
Soon each survivor had a sizable piece of fish. And though mosquitoes still bothered them, they still lamented Benevolence’s dead, and their fear of the unknown remained strong, for the moment spirits rose. Ratu’s excitement about the catch was infectious, and as he spoke of the lobster and tuna and crab that they’d eat each night, the mosquitoes seemed a bit less troublesome, and the sadness and fear were momentarily pushed away. For the first time since Benevolence sank, quiet laughter mingled with the crack of the fire and the crash of distant waves.
Pleased with how the night was unfolding, and aware that Ratu’s enthusiasm had affected the group, Annie made her way toward him. He was in the midst of telling Nathan about the fish of Fiji. When Annie was a few paces away from them, Isabelle moved toward her and asked with a twist of her head if Annie would follow her to a somewhat distant log. Wordlessly, Annie did just that, brushing some sand from the log and taking a seat. Isabelle grinned, prompting Annie to lean close. “What?” Annie asked. “What on earth are you so aching to tell me about?”
Isabelle playfully put her finger to her lips. “What do you think?” she whispered.
“I have no idea. I don’t even—”
“I think I’m pregnant,” Isabelle quietly interrupted. “I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s true.”
Annie leaned closer to her sister and tightly hugged her. “Really? That’s wonderful! Just wonderful, Izzy! When? When are you due?”
“Seven—”
“And how does it feel? How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Great, in fact.”
“No morning sickness?”
“Not at all. Just a bit tired.”
“You’ve been trying for so long,” Annie said excitedly, taking Isabelle’s hands in her own. “I’m so, so happy for you. I couldn’t be any happier!”
“We’re happy too.”
“What did Joshua say?”
Isabelle smiled. “He couldn’t keep his hands off my belly.”
“He couldn’t? You’re not showing, are you? I don’t see anything.”
“Oh, maybe just a bit.”
Annie put her arm around Isabelle, pulling her closer, hugging her again. “I’m so ready to be an aunt! I wonder if you’ll have a girl. There are so many girls in our family. I bet you’ll have a girl and I’ll . . . I’ll teach her to paint. I’m not good, as you know, but I’ll teach her anyway. We’ll paint with our fingers and make fabulous messes.”
“That would be lovely, Annie.”
“There’s so much that I’ll want to show her. Or him.”
Isabelle kissed her sister on the cheek. “Let’s keep it quiet for now. Joshua isn’t sure how he wants to handle it. And I’m not either. I like . . . most of these people. But I’m not ready to tell them about my private life.”
“Well, you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. Unless we’re here for a few more months, of course. Then people might start to wonder about that belly of yours.”
Isabelle smiled, pleased that Annie seemed to be in such good spirits. After all, she worried about Annie a great deal. Ever since they were young girls, she’d tried to protect her. And little had changed through the years. “I should go back to Joshua,” Isabelle said. “He’s watching me and waiting for me.”
“Then go. We’ll talk later. But can we start thinking of names? That’s going to be such fun.”
“You think I haven’t started already?” Isabelle asked, grinning, making her way back to Joshua.
Annie brushed sand from her legs and walked to Jake, who was handing out more pieces of cooked fish. Seeing that Akira had finished his first portion, Annie took a piece to him. As usual, she looked at his leg first. The bandage bore no blood, and she felt relieved. “Hello,” she said warmly, thinking of Isabelle’s news, buoyed by her sister’s good fortune. She knelt beside Akira on his bed of palm fronds. He was about ten paces from the fire and everyone else, and Annie couldn’t help but wonder if he felt this distance. “Would you like to be closer to the fire?” she asked.
“No, this location is suitable for me. But thank you.”
“I brought you some fish.”
Akira eyed the tuna, wishing that it were raw. How he loved raw tuna. “Thank you,” he said politely.
She smiled. “It wasn’t terribly difficult.”
He watched a spark from the fire travel up into the night, flickering as if it had metamorphosed into a firefly. “May I tell you something?” he asked, prompted by her obvious good cheer. “Something about you?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Annie brushed sand from her cheek. “About me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose if you’d like to.”
He nodded, noticing how the blue had faded from her eyes now that the sun had departed. Her eyes are like the sea, he thought to himself. He then wondered why he continued to seek her out, why he so wanted to talk with her. Before answers emerged, he heard himself say, “I do not think, Annie, that you are unable to hear.”
“What?”
“Your poem. In it you said that you are unable to hear. I do not think this is true.”
“But you . . . you don’t really know me.”
He blew an ant from his shoulder. “Of course, I agree. But still. I think you hear very well.”
“Why?”
“Because you listen. And people who listen are able to hear.”
Annie glanced at Ratu, who ran into her view as he chased something in the sand. She then looked for Isabelle and smiled when she saw her sister laugh. “I listen . . . because I don’t have any answers,” she finally replied. “And so I ask questions. Lots of them. And sometimes I’m impatient for answers.”
Akira stretched his wounded leg. “Would you like to hear an old Japanese saying?”
“Please.”
“It says that patience is the art of letting life carry you.”
Annie let the words echo in her mind. “That’s nice. Beautiful, really. But maybe easier to say than to do. For me, at least.”
“For most people, I think.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Akira, for teaching me about the poems. Maybe I’ll come to you tomorrow with another.”
He bowed slightly. “I would most enjoy that.”
Still buoyed by the thought of the new life within Isabelle, Annie reached out to gently touch his knee. “Sleep well tonight.”
Akira said good night and watched as she walked back toward her sister. Much to his surprise, he suddenly felt alone in her absence. It was as if a present had been stolen from him—something beautiful and wondrous and enchanting. Though he’d coveted this gift for so very long, and though now he could almost touch it, he felt as if it lay beyond his outstretched fingers and was impossibly outside his reach.