Lisica Chapters

Thanks for joining us for the second volume of our Scientist Soap Opera escapist journey to the mysterious island of Lisica! You can find previous episodes in the link above or column on the right. Please don’t forget to subscribe and leave a comment if you enjoy what you find!

Audio for this episode:

23 – The Island

Splash. Katrina is back in the water again. Finally she gets to put her mask and snorkel and fins to use! And the dark water is so refreshing! Maybe a degree or two warmer than the first time she swam in it. But that makes sense. It’s April now. Still bloody cold, though. The shortie wetsuit remains too thin.

Katrina doesn’t know how to do field collections but it doesn’t matter. She’s just a camera platform now. They’ve rigged a GoPro to her mask and whatever she sees gets recorded, to be analyzed and identified later. Jay had been so frustrated to find her mask wouldn’t fit him. Otherwise it would be him down here doing the survey, wouldn’t it? And she’d be deprived of all these wonders.

She’s never seen such a vibrant coral reef. The ones in Australia are nearly all dead. But this one dazzles with color, even in the diffracted gray light of a Lisican morning. Katrina remembers how she was able to warm herself before with deep breaths. She takes several near the surface, bobbing up every few moments to draw it in. Yes, her tingling extremities are starting to function again.

Oh my god, a turtle. A giant honest-to-god sea turtle coasting beneath her feet. Like really giant. She’s had dining room tables that were smaller. And it comes to a rest between two columns of coral, obscured by waving pink nudibranches. It sees her. Its yellow eye tracks her progress. What an amazing sight.

Turtles don’t attack, do they?

Maahjabeen had warned her away from the far side of the lagoon where the densest kelp forest house the otters, who could very well be territorial. She’ll take her chances over here on the reef with moray eels and reef sharks. Not that she’d seen any yet, but she won’t be sticking her hands in any holes.

She makes sure she gets a good view of the turtle before returning to the surface and kicking herself a few meters further along. When she drops back down her breath expels in a sudden gasp. She’s looking down into a bowl ringed by pastel coral and pale seaweed, containing a huge swirling chiaroscuro of neon-bright fish. She can’t believe it. Such a rich sight, unlike any she’s ever had in the water. And they’re every shape and color. Katrina can’t make sense of what she’s seeing. So many species, all floating together. They aren’t even congregating in groups. Just swimming placidly along, nobody eating anyone else. Maybe this is some kind of nursery for all the non-carnivorous fish of the area, where they can grow up in peace. Like some kind of miraculous fish utopia. Skates and rays hover an inch above the sandy floor. Incredible.

She’ll have to tell them not to fish here. It would be a tragedy.

Katrina swims over the far edge of the bowl to deeper waters in the lagoon. She lifts her head to see how far she is from the mouth of it. She’d hate to get sucked out into the surf and die. Yeah. That would not be her favorite thing. But she’s hardly progressed at all. The lagoon is huge, now that she’s swimming in it. She could spend every day of the remaining five weeks exploring it and it would barely be enough time. Well, put that on the list of things she will do every morning, right after retrieving Mandy’s weather station with the drone.

Mandy… Eek. Her romantic attention is really flattering. Katrina has always had a thing for island girls. But there’s something a bit too intense about Mandy’s energy for her, like she’s already scripted out a bunch of scenes and now is having trouble changing them to fit reality. Their flirting isn’t serious. It can’t be. Nothing like a dalliance, right? Hopefully she’ll be able to convince Mandy of that ephemeral truth. If not, well… She can always ghost her. Katrina has probably had to withdraw from more ardent admirers in her life than have them transform into solid friendships. People get so intense, and some boys and girls really get crazy about her raver fairy style. She just loves beauty. But she’s learned you have to cup it lightly like a fledgling in your hand. Otherwise you crush it and it never flies. That’s what so many people don’t get.

She leaves the coral behind and follows a broad floor of sand only sparsely covered with seaweed. She inspects their floating tendrils closely, making sure the camera can see the parasites and brown spots on the broad leaves. That’s for Pradeep. The secret lover boy. Hooray for Maahjabeen healing his fractured soul. Good lord but that would be a sandwich she could happily get between. Those two are so ridiculously beautiful. Sex with gods.

That has been Katrina’s refrain for a long time now. In her rave scene there’s been a long discussion about what could be the best possible drug experience. Like reverse-engineering the whole thing. For millennia we’ve just been consuming what nature gives us, and preparing close analogues. But what if we could start from the other direction? Determine which effect we want and then work toward it with different compounds and tests?

Her friend Karl had always maintained that no drug trip could beat the ability to stop time, or move forward and backward in it like a video editor. He said that must be the ultimate pinnacle of human experience, to see it all. But he was such a techno nerd. His brain was entirely clockwork. Like his friend Hong who said the ultimate drug would be perfect VR, a Star Trek holodeck without limitations. Morgan said it would be alcohol without a hangover and Sadie said it would be talking to ancestor ghosts.

But to Katrina, nothing has ever beaten the prospect of sex with gods. I mean, come on. And not like Zeus raping a swan. No no no. The good stuff. Where the gods love you and take care of you and know just how to please you.

Katrina rises to the surface and blows out her snorkel. She rolls onto her back and looks at the sky, taking the mouthpiece out. Aloud, she declares, “Tell me of anything better than that. And those two are just about as close as we can get to gods.”

“Who are?”

Katrina screams and convulses in the water, her hands flying up to protect her head. She twists around to find Amy beside her in the yellow kayak, having silently glided up to her while she swam.

“Oh my god you gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, Katrina! Maahjabeen asked me to come out and keep an eye on you. I thought you’d seen me. And were talking to me. What did you mean? Who are gods?”

“Uhh…” Katrina’s mind races. Her first impulse is to tell her about the secret, share the love! But no. Both Maahjabeen and Pradeep are so private. And Amy is Pradeep’s boss. This isn’t just a friendship thing. So in that case it isn’t hers to tell. Maybe she should lie and say she saw two turtles. Two turtle gods. But lying like that is not her way. Instead, with an open smile, she says, “Bit of a secret, love. But I’ll let you know when I can.”

“Got a crush, do you?” Amy’s voice is mild. “A double crush?”

Katrina laughs, partially in relief at Amy’s bad aim and partially because she hit the target anyway. “More than a couple. I mean, look at—well, like, look at you! I’ve got the hugest crush on you, Doctor Kubota. You’re just so damn cute.”

Amy playfully splashes Katrina with her paddle. “That’s very sweet. But you’re changing the subject. No, I won’t pry. You kids deserve all the secrets you can get. And all the love.”

“We all do!” Katrina spits a stream of water into the air, watching gulls swooping above, white against the gray cloud roof. “Seriously, girlfriend. You’re welcome in my tent any night.”

“Thanks, darling. I’ll save it for a cold one. No, I know what you mean, Katrina. Like when Miriam stole my boyfriend away. I had every reason in the world to be hurt. But I couldn’t. They were two gods and it was such a magical moment, and they never rejected me in the least. I was included in the whole romance. It just had a purity and intensity that took our breaths away. And we all knew it. None of us will ever see anything like that again.”

“Aww. I love love.” Katrina blows Amy a kiss.

Amy attempts to mimic Miriam’s Irish brogue. “I love love too, love. And I’m really glad you’re here.” Amy blows a kiss back to Katrina just as she’s slipping beneath the water, swimming down to the sand floor below. Amy admires her long dirty-blonde hair streaming behind her like a banner. The wind has calmed and the water is clear now. How glorious it is down there. Amy will have to see if the mask fits her. She’d love to snorkel too.

And then a shadow swoops forward from the east, torpedoing toward Katrina. It bumps her with its nose before she even sees it and she explodes in bubbles, losing her air in shock. She claws for the surface as the brown and black mottled body spins past her.

When Katrina surfaces, she’s screaming and gasping.

But Amy is beside herself with glee. “Seal! Northern fur seal I think! Callorhinus! Unbelievable! This must be the furthest south any have been seen in generations!”

“Oh my god, what’s it doing?” Katrina swims frantically toward Amy. The seal has doubled back and bumps against her legs.

“Eh, I don’t know. Hopefully just playing.”

“Playing? Oh my god. It’s huge. You got to help—”

“Oh, yeah, you should definitely get out of the water. Here. Just grab the paddle. We can get you up on the hull.”

“Playing? Seriously?” Katrina doesn’t want to upset the kayak’s balance and roll Amy out so she just clutches the side of the boat. “They don’t let the dogs on Curl Curl Beach play with the sea lions because sometimes they drag them under and drown them, thinking the dogs can hold their breaths as long as sea lions can.”

“Yeah, don’t let him do that.”

“Him? You can tell it’s a him?” Katrina grips the hull of the kayak, her hair plastered sideways over the lifted mask and across her face. To Amy, she looks twelve.

“Well the males are so much bigger. And this one’s pretty big. No, I just think he fancies you, Katrina. Let’s get you back to the beach here…” Amy has to sit leaning away from Katrina to stay upright and she needs to dig to maneuver the boat back to the beach. It’s all she can do not to paddle in a circle.

“Please don’t bite. Please don’t bite. Aaah! He’s nudging me again! Hurry, Amy!”

“Hold your legs up along the hull.” Amy pushes her pace and gets the kayak gliding a bit. Within moments they’re on the grade of soft sand leading to the surf. Katrina stumbles when she finds her footing and charges as well as she can to the beach.

Once she gets to safety she expels a high-pitched “Wow!” to release the remaining panic and turns to haul the nose of the kayak out of the water. Amy pulls herself out and joins her at the verge. Looking across the water, Katrina spots the round head of the seal. “There he is. Hey, mate. Said it before and I’ll say it again. Gotta buy a girl a drink first.”

The seal just blinks at them, his black eyes shining. After a long moment he ducks down and vanishes.

Katrina removes her mask and scans the beach. “I’d like to see just what kind of romantic standards a Northern fur seal has. Hey, Jay! I think it’s your turn next.”

Ξ

There are always so many new projects on the island but Amy won’t forget her beloved birds ever again. The more she studies them, the more there is to study. She has counted twenty-three species as of this morning, six that haven’t been seen at this latitude for a hundred years or more and two species that may be new to science. It’s those two who get most of her attention.

Amy scans the cliffs with her binoculars, searching for the particular silhouettes and tailfeather colors that she first saw three days before. “But how, you may ask, can any pelagic migratory birds remain undiscovered in this day and age?” When she had first seen the long trailing feathers of the tropicbird she had assumed they were red-tailed, as were almost all those in the region. But these are different. Golden yellow tail streamers, unmistakable in direct sunlight yesterday, sent her scurrying for a field guide. To her immense satisfaction, no record of golden-tailed tropicbirds existed. These might be the only ones in the whole world. Phaeton Lisica. Her very own discovery. Tropicbirds look like terns, with the same gleaming white plumage, but these possess marvelous golden tail streamers twice as long as their bodies.

The other new species is something she’s only caught a glimpse of at a distance. It is dusky brown, the size of a robin, with white spots across its back and wings. And they’re fairly numerous. They flit like flakes of dirt among the pristine white and black birds. She focuses on one now, unable to make sense of its behavior among all the other species congregated on the cliffs until she realizes it’s stealing eggs from other nests. The gulls and petrels and murres all take turns chasing it off. That’s how she’ll spot one, by focusing on the squawking of the nesting birds.

It happens again. This is spring and the nesting season is in full swing. Many eggs to steal! A jaeger far above screeches and jabs at its own nest. The dun-colored invader falls away, spinning on a pinned wing. No, it’s holding an egg. Now the egg falls, tumbling down the side of the black cliff, where it lands with a messy detonation of yolk and shell against the rocks below.

She follows the egg-thief as it spins lazily downward, away from the outrage of the jaeger above. There is something off about the bird’s shape. If Amy could only resolve her focus better as it drops. But she can’t get a good look at it until it lands beside the mess of the egg and begins feeding on the bright orange remains.

It has a tiny owl’s head.

At first it looks so preposterous she can’t quite believe it’s real. This is like one of those Frankenstein pranks where a taxidermist has put the wrong head on a random body. There is no way this creature exists. Then she remembers the California pygmy variant of the Northern Spotted Owl, the birds whose imminent extinction stopped logging in redwood forests a generation ago. Their rarity is the stuff of legends.

And on Lisica they are common enough to be a pest. Ha.

Bemused, Amy watches the owl peck away at the egg’s remnants. Then her glasses travel back up the face of the cliff to see how the jaeger is dealing with the loss of the egg. But she overshoots the nest and gets lost near the top of the cliff. The outline of a straight board catches her attention and she takes the glasses from her eyes. Squinting at the spot, she can’t see the timber at this distance. Only by looking again through the binoculars… Yes. There it is, with perhaps a couple other boards there as well. What is that up there? Some kind of derelict viewing platform?

Amy suddenly recalls her time spent in the tunnels searching for Flavia. There had been that one dead-end passage that led to a limb-choked chimney climbing straight to the top. She’d thought daylight might be shining through from way up above…

“Hey, Jay…?” Amy hadn’t even realized she’d left her viewing spot on the beach to re-enter the camp. She’s in a daze, her mind tracing the chimney’s route up the cliff face.

“Yeah, boss?” Jay appears before her, studying her. “You okay? Look like you been smoking some of my stash.”

“No. Fine.” Amy shakes her head to clear it. “Okay. Uh. Guess what? Got a super dangerous adventure for you.”

“Right on!”

“It’s in the tunnels.”

“Even better!”

Ξ

Pradeep hurries into camp, eyes alight, holding a clump of dirt in both hands. It is shot through with white fungus. He holds it like it’s a priceless artifact, eager to share what he’s learned.

Everyone is busy with their own projects. But he isn’t looking to share his news with just anybody. It’s Alonso who will understand. Now where is he?

The big platform has been rebuilt and once again holds the Love Palace. But it is empty. No Alonso. And he isn’t at the tables. That means he must be in the bunker. Pradeep wishes he had a better hold on this clump of dirt. One bump and it will disintegrate in his hands. “Door!” he calls out to Amy as he approaches, and after a quick glance she opens it for him. “Alonso in here?”

She is busy with a washbin. “Don’t know where he is, actually…”

Pradeep looks into each of the cells. They are all empty. The clean room is also empty. Only Flavia works at the long tables on her laptop. Where is everyone? “Flavia, have you seen Alonso?”

She doesn’t look up from her screen. “The sub.”

That stops Pradeep. He has avoided the sub for a good long time now and he doesn’t relish the idea of confronting his anxiety again. “Really?” He balks, wondering if he can store this handful of soil somewhere and wait for Alonso to come back up. But his burning desire to share what he’s learned overrides his hesitancy. “Gah. Fuck this. Fine. Okay. Fine.”

Flavia finally registers this uncharacteristic outburst and turns to regard Pradeep. But he is already gone, marching with purpose toward the trap door and the steps leading down.

She shakes her head in disapproval. They won’t catch her going down there any more. Not as long as Wetchie-ghuy lives.

Pradeep ducks through the hatch connecting the first two rooms of the sub. It’s… different. Triquet has really turned this into a pristine museum, with black and white photos of the base adorning the walls, a few even in frames with glass. A brass lamp stands in a corner and a tattered multi-colored rug hangs from the concave wall. So much warmer and more inviting than it had been. He relaxes a bit. This no longer looks like an opening level from Half Life 2. And there are no monsters here. Just mischievous locals.

“Hello?” His voice still echoes in an eerie way he dislikes. But he can hear murmured voices further in. He ducks through another hatch and finds himself in the claustrophobically narrow passage. The first room is empty but the Captain’s quarters are quite crowded. Pradeep stands in the door and regards them.

Esquibel is in the chair nearest the door. Alonso sits up in the bed. Katrina is perched at its side and Mandy kneels at Alonso’s feet, holding his ankles.

Pradeep has no idea what to make of this scene.

Esquibel holds up a hand to forestall any objections Pradeep may have. “Triquet told us we could.”

Pradeep only nods. Katrina flashes him a brilliant smile. Mandy focuses on Alonso’s feet. But Alonso is happy to see him.

“There…! See, ladies? We cannot move along with all this quite yet. Pradeep has something to share, doesn’t he?”

“Not now, Pradeep.” Esquibel wards him away. “We’re trying to allow Alonso some space to achieve a different…”

“No. This is important. I can tell.” Alonso beckons Pradeep in. “You want to show us something.”

“Just this mychorrizae…” Now he is shy, feeling very much like he’s intruding on a deep intimacy. Pradeep holds it up, soil leaking from his fingers. “But I don’t want to—”

“No, I am very happy you are here.”

Now Esquibel admonishes him. “Alonso, if this is going to work, you need to sit back and not fight what is about to happen.”

“Just let yourself, you know, like stop working for once.” Mandy takes another deep breath.

“Ah. See. That is where you mistake me. About my relationship to work. I am a very lucky man. My work has always been my passion and I cannot divorce the two. Nothing makes me happier to see a young researcher eager to share their discovery. What is it, young researcher? A new type?”

“No. A change. In signaling compounds. Just in the last forty-eight hours. I’ve got proof! They’re talking to each other, Alonso. The trees and the roots and the soil. They’re really talking.” He thrusts his handful of soil under Alonso’s nose. “Roots fixed this photosynthate, right? So the way it works is the mycelium forages nutrients and water from the soil and exchanges them with trees and plants. Now it’s already been established in the literature that these interspecies networks resemble scale-free neural networks with functions akin to memory, recall, cooperative problem-solving, and…”

“Wait.” Esquibel has her hand up again. “Are you telling me that you think the trees are talking to each other?”

Pradeep nods. “Not just me. This theory is pretty well-accepted in the forestry sciences these days. The only real debate is to what extent there may be any meta-cognitive function and how much we should anthropomorphize them. These fungus filaments aren’t really neurons or memory circuits, in certain situations they just act somewhat like them. See, after the last storm, there was a major shift of groundwater resources on the eastern side of the grove. And the mycelium networks from one edge, where there was no water, increased their signaling chemicals and the mycorrhizae at the other edge somehow knew where to find the water, and grew toward it, without knowing themselves where that resource would be! They must have communicated! And I just witnessed it happening here in realtime!”

“Meaning…?” Alonso gropes for the essence of Pradeep’s excitement. He has lost track somewhere along the way…

“Meaning…” Katrina cocks her head to the side, “we can hack the signal network and start singing to the trees?”

This idea strikes Pradeep dumb. He hadn’t even considered interfering in the process. But the notion makes Alonso giggle. He sees himself as a conductor before an entire grove of trees, arms high, inspired by their chorus. He giggles again. What a crazy idea. “A forest of chorus. A chorus forest. Who thought of this…?”

The others look at Alonso with patient indulgence. But Pradeep is a bit crestfallen. He thought this would really galvanize Alonso and prompt him to share even deeper insights into Plexity. Instead he finds him… doing what, exactly? “Uh, I thought of this. But like I said, it’s well-supported in the literature. I’m just the first, I think, to observe it in this type of North American arboreal—”

“No, Pradeep, what you don’t understand,” Esquibel says more gently than she usually does, “is that Alonso has already begun his MDMA-assisted therapy. He took two pills…” She checks her phone. “Fourteen minutes ago. And I think he is starting to feel effects. Are you, Alonso?”

But Alonso can hardly hear her over the unbridled joy suddenly radiating from him. He feels like a child again. Hunching his shoulders, he squeezes his face into a grimace of joy. “Yaaaay!”

Katrina chuckles drily. “I think he feels something, yeh.”

“His feet are finally relaxing, that’s for sure.” Mandy shakes them a trifle, trying to get him to release them further.

Pradeep stands in the middle of the room with his handfuls of dirt, quite sure he’s messed up yet again. His anxiety plucks at his face, narrowing his eyes. He has to retreat. Now. All the way back to the surface. Before he does anything else he’ll regret.

But Esquibel delays him with a soft touch on his wrist. “It’s fine, Pradeep. Everything is fine. It appears Alonso won’t even recall seeing you. I told you, Katrina. Two is too many.”

“He definitely gets the double tap. Lad weighs a hundred kilos. One wouldn’t have done anything. And then he’d tell us it just doesn’t work for him and he wouldn’t ever try it again.”

“Wait.” Alonso sits up. “I took the drugs, didn’t I?”

Katrina nods. “That you did, boss. You’re safe now. Nothing can harm you. That’s what Molly’s got to tell you. You can relax.”

“Really?” At first he doesn’t believe it, but then it is as if a facade on the front of Alonso begins to crumble and fall away. He lifts trembling fingers to his face. Making contact with his own skin instantly changes his emotional state. “Oh, I am so glad I shaved. It feels so much better. Oh. Katrina.”

“Yes, Alonso?”

“You are so beautiful. Would you believe me if I told you I used to be very handsome?”

The room fills with laughter. For a moment Alonso thinks they are laughing at how preposterous that is. He swells himself up to defend the statement but Katrina catches his hand up in hers and kisses it. “Oh, Doctor Alonso. I have no trouble seeing that at all. I mean, you are still so handsome…”

But she obviously doesn’t understand. “No. No no. Not if you think this—this ruin I am now is handsome. It makes me seriously question your standards and taste. Ask Miriam. Ask Amy. She knew me first. Ask them how I used to look. Walking into a room, it would alter… everything. I miss that. Having that power. Such an easy power and I took it for granted.” He looks at Katrina. “You know, Katrina. You know what it is like to have that power. How people look at you with that extra bit of attention? Because you are so beautiful.”

“Aw, shucks…” Katrina just plays along, navigating these ardent emotional streams with ease. But Alonso isn’t done.

“And you, Esquibel. You are so proud and… regal. You know what it is like to—And Mandy… And Pradeep. Ha. We are all a bunch of good-looking motherfuckers in here, aren’t we?”

This makes them all laugh again. Even Pradeep loses his fears about Alonso’s condition. He was preparing to get embarrassed on Alonso’s behalf but the older man is so open and sincere Pradeep can’t bring himself to do it.

“It is a spell we can cast. But after our youth is spent we lose it. We are no longer shiny. We are broken.” But there is no pain in Alonso’s words. It is only an observation.

“How do your feet feel, Alonso?” Mandy ventures to hold them a trifle more firmly.

A single tear rolls down Alonso’s cheek but he doesn’t register it. “They are in agony, thank you.” His brow is otherwise clear. “Oh, I love drugs. Where is Miriam? I need her to kiss me.”

“Remember how we decided she might be more of a distraction? How she thought it would be better for you to find this on your own? Remember?”

But Alonso doesn’t remember. He is caught in the present moment with no memory, no context. “Remember what?” Now the MDMA hits him hard, like a heavy velvet carpet unrolling along his body, weighing him down. A sexual thrill shoots through his loins and he squeezes Katrina’s hand, finding this bare skin contact as intimate as any he’s ever had.

“Isn’t this when you start guiding?” Esquibel still has reservations about this therapy and considers it just a step above witchcraft in the best settings. Trying one of these sessions in a buried sub with an untrained Katrina can’t be the best settings. Oh, well. Esquibel is pretty sure this will be a failure and after a bit she can give up and go back to useful projects for the day.

“Soon,” Katrina says. “This is about a three hour pace we’re on here. No hurry. We want him to wash out everything he might be holding at this level before we can settle and drop down another level. It’s like flushing impurities from a pipe.”

“I love opera.” Alonso informs them of this as if he never has. He begins a rolling baritone introduction to one of his favorite solos, but then interrupts himself. “Ha! Things are getting sweaty in here. I need to… Someone help…” Alonso tears at the snaps on his shirt.

Katrina gently helps him get his shirt off.

Alonso sighs, bitter. “See? Women’s eyes used to light up when they saw this.” He flexes his pecs. “But now… I am just a sad old man. They said I looked like a young Raúl Julia. But ehh… You don’t even know who that is. Yes, I am old.” But as he speaks the bitterness fades and he merely utters them as statements of fact. “Pradeep. You are gorgeous. If I was single, you would probably be the one I chased the most. I love that you love dirt and fungus. You are a crazy freak like me.”

Pradeep smiles his widest and most glassy smile. He is very far from his comfort zone now. Esquibel gives him a dimpled smile. He looks away to Mandy. She is chuckling at him. “Well…” he ventures, “this is excruciating.”

Now they all laugh at Pradeep. He suppresses another urge to flee. He doesn’t want to cause a scene. They do want him here…

“Come. Sit. Tell me more about your fungus in that lovely voice. It is so soothing.”

“Is that what we should be discussing here?” Esquibel didn’t like hearing this might last three hours. This hard wooden chair isn’t nearly comfortable enough for that span.

Katrina smiles. “We should discuss whatever we want to discuss, right, Alonso? Just let the conversation go where it wants to—”

“Yes.” Alonso sits up and draws his legs under him, Mandy withdrawing her hands and sitting back. But he doesn’t even see her. “And I am very interested in you, Pradeep. Your mind. The way it works. The way you see the interconnections. The web of life.” Alonso reaches out and grabs Pradeep’s hand, inadvertently knocking most of the dirt onto the bed. But he doesn’t register that either. He is only looking deeply into Pradeep’s liquid black eyes…

Pradeep is fixated by this gaze. Alonso’s eyes hold such power, such wisdom and tragedy. And also an unapologetic attraction that Pradeep finds strangely comforting. He has never been too hung up on gender roles—he always thought that side of Indian culture was very retrograde—but the romantic regard of another man is new territory to him. Coming from a hero of his makes him feel wanted, as though he belongs. Perhaps this has been the key to his anxiety all along. His conviction that wherever he is, he really isn’t wanted there. Well he is wanted here. He does all he can not to tear his gaze away.

“What a man.” Alonso shakes his head in admiration and breaks his magnetic gaze. “Well. You were going to tell me more about your soil but—oh, no! You spilled it!”

Ξ

Flavia can’t ignore her bladder any longer. It had gotten so bad she had to stop working around 10pm and she’s just been playing solitaire on her laptop for the last ninety minutes. Everyone else is asleep. Yet she can’t abide the thought of going outside in the dark alone. She was hoping her body would just kind of shut down and let her be til morning. It was the after-dinner espresso, she is sure of it, a strong diuretic purging her body of moisture.

Ahhh! She can’t handle it any more. With shallow breaths she closes the laptop’s lid, slips on her camp shoes, and casts about quickly for some kind of weapon. She sees nothing. Well. Maybe there is a stick or something out there.

It is at the forefront of Flavia’s mind as she crosses the bunker to the door that the last time somebody went out alone, as far as she knows, it was Katrina and she was hijacked by those kids for hours.

Wouldn’t Esquibel tell Flavia that she needs to bring someone with her? Well, if it was Esquibel’s idea then Flavia will wake her up. Make her walk the walk, literally. But where is she?

Flavia shines the pale wash of her phone’s screen into each cell. There’s Esquibel, wrapped cozily up with Mandy, both gently snoring and at peace. She realizes this won’t work. It will take Esquibel too long to wake up. Flavia needs to go now.

With a vicious curse under her breath, she spins back to the door. Wetchie-ghuy, I will kick you to death if you are out there. Flavia isn’t religious but still intuitively superstitious. The cold night air, the quiet, and the ground fog are omens. She hurries across the camp.

Halfway to the trenches she sees that a light is on in Jay’s cocoon of a hammock and it gently swings back and forth. Flavia calls out, “Jay. Are you awake?”

The hammock, enclosed by bug netting and covered partially by a diamond-shaped blue tarp, changes shape. Jay sits up. “Flavia? What’s up? What are you doing out here in the wee—?”

“Please, will you come with me to the trenches? I am very scared. I can’t be alone but I can’t wait any more. Per favore.”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course.” Jay unzips his cocoon and hops out barefoot and wearing black boxer briefs and a tank top.

Flavia pauses only for a moment before realizing he isn’t making any other preparations. He just stands there expectant, ready to follow. Such a little boy. He doesn’t even think about shoes…

She wastes no more time getting to the trenches. Jay stands at a respectful distance, turned away, softly singing Bob Marley: “Don’t worry, ‘bout a thing. Cause every little thing’s gonna be alright.”

When Flavia is done she re-joins him, far better composed. She puts a hand on his arm. “Thank you so much. Now we can go back and you can go to sleep.”

“Well now I need a turn first.” And before Flavia can make any protest, Jay steps into the darkness obscuring the trenches. She can hear him, but she suddenly feels very alone. Unwillingly she glances around her. And that’s when she sees the woman watching her. It is Wetchie-ghuy’s woman, the one who showed her how to wear the loop around her wrist. Flavia gasps, stumbling back. Is that another figure behind her in shadow?

A hand spreads across her back and she shrieks. But it is Jay. “Whoa. Careful. Don’t fall into the… Hey, who’s that?”

The woman and the shadow behind her, limned by starlight, haven’t moved.

“Lisicans! Right on! Hey, I hear you like music!” He ambles toward them with a kind of demonstrative bow-legged easy-going manner. “Three little birds,” he sings, “pitch by my doorstep…!”

“Jay. Jay, don’t.” But he is out of reach and she won’t take another step toward them. “Jay!”

He turns, a wide smile on his face. Why Flavia gotta be so harsh? What will the Lisicans think?

Flavia urgently beckons Jay to return. “That is Wetchie-ghuy and his wife. The man who tried to steal me. Come back here.”

“Uhh. Serious?” Jay peers more closely at the shadowed couple. “Huh. They don’t look dangerous.”

This isn’t what she needs to hear. Flavia fills with a black rage. Now she really wants a weapon. Something, anything to brain these people with. And maybe knock some sense into Jay’s head. She points at the cliffs and barks at the Lisicans. “Go. Go away. Bad. Nák. Wetchie-ghuy chán.”

But the figures remain impassive, just watching her.

Jay turns back to her. “Hey, I got an idea.” Impulsively, he grabs Flavia and kisses her, long and passionate. Her eyes go wide. Jay releases her and turns back to the figures in the gloom. “She’s mine. You hear? You can’t have her, dude. We’ve been married for like, uh, two years.” He holds her hands and faces her like they’re being betrothed right now.

Flavia regains her bearings after this unexpected gesture. A part of her wants to think Jay is taking advantage of her during this crisis but what she has seen of him so far, he isn’t like most men. It’s clear to see he really didn’t kiss her for his own pleasure. The earnest expression on his face almost convinces her they’ve actually had a long intimate relationship. She smiles widely and squeezes his hands, then kisses him back, needing to go on tiptoes to reach him. Despite the sham nature of it, it still feels nice. Flavia can’t remember the last time she kissed someone like he was her boyfriend. She places a hand alongside his cheek and leans in, demonstrating her ardor. Jay gives her a soft smile, for once appearing older than his age. Ai me. When he settles down he is actually quite nice to look at, isn’t he?

After a long moment, the tender spell breaks and she looks away. The two Lisicans have vanished. They are alone here in the dark. She leans into Jay, shivering, the chill starting to penetrate her bones. “Take me back to bed, darling,” she says loudly.

“Sure thing, princess.” Then Jay giggles, realizing he just called Flavia of all people a princess. He restrains the impulse to pat her bottom, like he used to do with his college girlfriend Carine. She used to like it. He wasn’t sure if Flavia would. Actually, he’s pretty damn sure she wouldn’t. They pass by the spot the two Lisicans had stood. Definitely empty. “Man. If you weren’t with me, Flavia, I’d think that was some kind of hallucination.”

“And if you weren’t with me, Jay, I don’t know if I’d still be here.” She shivers again, dragging his left arm over her shoulders. The big ox is warm, that’s for sure. And she likes his chances if it comes to a fight. Also, he is a good cook. She looks up at his face. This is a quality individual here. He just put himself in danger for her, without a single thought of himself. Flavia hadn’t thought much of Jay until this moment. In fact, they probably hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other over the last three weeks. But now she can tell she had dismissed him unfairly.

They pass by his hammock. “Guess I’ll walk you to your door. Hell of a date, Flavia. Maybe next time I take you out bowling?”

She giggles, clutching at him again. Now Flavia is warming up and the fear that spiked her insides is melting like an icicle. “The crazy thing about you, Jay, is nobody here is such an American. But in a good way.”

“Ehh… I think of myself more of a Californian, actually. We have less to be ashamed of. I mean, yeah we exterminated all our natives too and set up a capitalist techno-state along the coast. But we still got that surfer vibe, bra. Awesome food. Killer weed.”

The more he talks, the less she likes him. They stand at the door of the bunker and Flavia hushes him with a finger against his lips. They peer into the darkness, still holding hands.

“They might need to see,” he reasons, “a good night kiss.”

But Flavia shakes her head no. “This is stupid. Wives and their husbands don’t say good night to each other at doors like this. They go inside together.” Flavia thinks this through. Lisicans have been in the bunker. Wetchie-ghuy and his wife could also get in. They could find her alone in her cell, sleeping in that cot. She clutches at Jay. “Would it be too much to ask, Jay…?”

But he has come to a different conclusion. The camp is clear. He can say good night to Flavia and get back to the fantasy novel he was reading on his phone. Druss, Captain of the Ax, was just about to do something epic. “Ask what?”

“For you to spend the night with me?”

Jay looks at Flavia with surprise. “For real? Me? In your bed?”

“In my bed. So I can feel safe. And sleep. So if they come in, they can see that I am still with my husband.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Jay shakes his head and grimaces though. “But I gotta confess, as a feminist, I’m not really into this, though.”

His preposterous statement catches Flavia opening the door and she can’t help but laugh, too loud in the quiet bunker. “Wait wait wait. A… feminist? You?” she whispers, needing very much to hear the rest of this train of thought.

“Yeah. I’m all about my sisters, yo,” Jay whispers in reply, following Flavia to her cell. “And I’m happy to keep you safe tonight but it can’t be the longterm answer, you know what I’m saying? The power has to rest in the woman’s hands.”

Flavia shakes her head, bemused. She leads him into her cell and rearranges the sleeping bag on the cot. “I never hear a man talking like this. Who even raised you?”

“Hippies.”

“Ah. I did not have them growing up, I guess.”

“Yeah, once I called my brother a bitch and my Mom whooped me for like half an hour. Said keep that misogynistic shit out of your mouth. Learned the lesson young.”

“Good for your mother. Do you mind being against the wall?”

“Don’t care.” Jay stretches out on the cot. “Sleep like a dog. It’s getting late, isn’t it? Well. Good night.”

He folds his arms under his head and closes his eyes. Flavia looks at him, nearly two meters in length and no more than eighty kilos. He is all long lean muscle and no fat. And his face carries not a care in the world. It causes resentment in her, that a shining golden boy like this can live such a carefree life, untroubled by all the issues mere mortals like her contend with.

She lies down beside him, his shoulder her pillow. Yes, he is quite warm. Almost as comfortable as Boris her big Alsatian. And just about as complicated.

Flavia sleeps better than she has since she got to the island.