Uncharted (3 page)

One of the first questions I’d asked was whether it was even possible to do what I wanted to do—and would he agree to help me do it?

“Most people visit these uninhabited islands for a day or two, max,” he’d said. “They have a picnic and get their Robinson Crusoe fix, and then they’re ready to head back to their resort. I’ve never known anyone who wanted to squat on one of them indefinitely. But if this is what you really want to do, I know of a place that might work. It’s far out on the northern edge and there isn’t any air traffic to speak of. The risk of a seaplane landing in the lagoon with a couple of honeymooners on board is nil, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry about anyone discovering you.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” I’d said.

When everything was unpacked I looked over at him, took a deep breath, and said, “You must think I’m crazy.”

“I’m not gonna lie, son. That thought has crossed my mind. Either that or you want to get away from it all more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

I had my own reservations. This was easily the most self-indulgent thing I’d ever done. “Maybe I’ll get it out of my system quicker than I planned on,” I said.

He wiped the sweat from his face with the tail of his shirt. “Now listen, from now until about November is when you’ll see the most rain. You shouldn’t have any trouble collecting water to drink because it’ll rain several times a day. Just make sure you always have your container ready. Dehydration is your biggest threat here, so be very aware of your water supply.”

I knew the Maldives had two seasons—the rainy season, or southwest monsoon, which was the season we were currently in, and the drier northeast monsoon, which would begin its changeover in December. “What about the storms?” I asked. “How severe are they?”

“They’re not like hurricanes—we don’t get those here—but some of the storms could be pretty strong.”

“Will I be able to ride one out in my tent?”

“You should be able to,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ll watch the radar, listen to the weather reports. If I think there’s one brewing that’s too much for you to handle, I’ll come get you.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got to be careful here, son. Use caution in the water and on the land. This island isn’t like one of the resorts.” He squeezed my shoulder and dropped his hand.

I found it amazing that this man I didn’t even know gave a shit about my welfare, considering my own family didn’t seem to care about anything other than
theirs.
It made me feel good, like for once the weight of the world wasn’t just on my shoulders. “I’ll be okay,” I said. “But I appreciate your concern. Thank you for everything.”

He smiled and extended his hand. “You’re welcome. Call me if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll be back in thirty days.”

“Okay.”

We shook hands and I watched him walk away, the tails of his extra-large shirt flapping in the breeze. He waded into the water and the sound of the seaplane engines soon filled the silence.

When he was nothing more than a speck in the sky I turned around and started living my new life.

Owen

Journal entry

May 15, 1999

I arrived on the island today. I set up camp on the beach and in the late afternoon, without warning, it started pouring rain, which was kind of weird because the sun was still shining. The heat is stifling. When I wasn’t in the water I stayed in the shade, but the bugs were horrible. I sprayed myself from head to toe with insect repellant. It didn’t keep all of them away, but most. I noticed a couple of the biggest, creepiest spiders I’d ever seen. They’re brown with really long legs, and if I ever find one of them in my tent I will probably scream like a fucking girl.

When the sun went down the bats came out. It was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen. There were so many of them that when they filled the sky they blocked the light of the moon.

It’s quiet here, nothing but the sound of the waves. Most people would probably hate it, but I’ve never felt calmer or more at peace.

May 17, 1999

I spend most of the daylight hours exploring. There are schools of fish in the lagoon, and I wish I had a snorkel so I could see them better. I’ve spotted crabs and sea turtles and yesterday I thought I saw a fin, but it dipped below the surface of the water before I could get a good look at it. I got out of the water, just in case.

I forgot to ask about sharks. I know they’re here, but I don’t know if they come inside the lagoon.

I should probably find out.

May 21, 1999

I don’t know how or why, but there are chickens here. I was walking in the most densely forested part of the island yesterday, where the sunlight only reaches the ground in narrow beams, and I heard this weird flapping sound. Then a chicken flew straight up in front of me, and I almost shit myself. It ran away like it was afraid I might chase after it, which was hilarious considering I was frozen in my tracks waiting for my aorta to explode because my heart was beating so fast. I swear it took five minutes before all bodily functions returned to normal.

May 24, 1999

Questions:

Chickens. What the hell?

Is there anything in the lagoon that can kill me?

Giant brown spiders—poisonous?

•   •   •

It didn’t take long before I settled into a routine of sorts. I woke up early and every morning I went for a swim and then made coffee on my camp stove. After a breakfast of cereal and dried fruit I usually wrote in my journal and then explored another part of the island.

It no longer felt so hot, and there were times when I stretched out on the sand, protected by an SPF of 50, and let the sun beat right down on me. When I did get too warm I got in the water or found some shade. I’d brought my favorite book with me, a dog-eared paperback of Stephen King’s
The Stand.
I’d open to a random page and see how Frannie and Stu and Glen and Larry were dealing with the superflu.

Strangely, I wasn’t bored. There was always something to do or see, and by the time I’d been on the island for two weeks, I’d covered almost every inch of it. I’d come across a chicken several times—maybe it was the same one—and it always took off flapping when it heard me coming. I also discovered that the island had an incredibly large rat population, but they mostly came out at night, their eyes glowing in the dark as they scuttled along the ground.

I’d spotted the fin in the lagoon again, but this time there were two. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I stood on the shore and squinted. They didn’t look like sharks, but I wasn’t sure. I waded in a few feet, keeping a careful eye on the fins, but got out of the water quick when they disappeared below the surface.

I started trying to guess the time of day by looking at the sun’s position in the sky. Several times throughout the morning and afternoon I’d make a guess and then pull my watch out of my pocket to see if I was right.

It rained frequently, which was good for my water supply, but so far it hadn’t stormed. One day the sky grew dark and I sat in my tent and listened as the rain came down in torrential sheets, but the sky cleared after an hour and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I started thinking about whether it would be possible to build some kind of fixed structure on the island, something sturdier in case the weather ever really got bad. The idea took hold and I opened to a blank page in my journal and made a few sketches. As a kid, I’d been obsessed with Legos and Lincoln Logs, spending hours building elaborate structures. I’d always wanted a tree house, but my yard didn’t have the right kind of trees to support anything that big. I liked the idea of building something on a large scale, with my own two hands. Something that I could use for shelter.

Something that felt a bit more like a home.

Owen

Journal entry

June 4, 1999

The seaplane will return in eleven days. I’m not lonely—not really—but it will be nice to hear another human voice and have a conversation with someone.

I’ve discovered I like fishing. Using various lures that I found in the tackle box, I stand waist-deep in the lagoon, waiting for something to bite down on my hook. I’ve caught fish ranging in size from six to twelve inches, but I only catch what I’m able to eat at my next meal. The first time I had to clean a fish I made a holy freaking mess out of it and almost sliced my finger open with the knife. I’m getting better. It’s been a long time since I went fishing and my dad was always the one who cleaned them, so I’m learning as I go.

I found out that the fins I kept seeing in the lagoon belong to dolphins and not sharks. Three of them swam close to shore one day and I felt relieved when I saw their bodies break the surface. I’ve been slowly easing myself into the water when they appear and they’re starting to swim closer to me. There are usually two or three of them and the other day one blew water out of its blowhole. Like it was saying, hi Owen!

I’ve been swimming for increasingly longer periods of time. I swim parallel to the shore, in water that isn’t too deep, and I don’t stop until my shoulders and chest ache and I’m too out of breath to continue. I feel amazing afterward.

June 7, 1999

The dolphins are fascinating. It took a while, but they’re finally starting to trust me. I caught some small fish and threw one into the mouth of the dolphin that swam the closest, and now he? she? isn’t scared of me at all. I talk to them and it’s like they understand what I’m saying.

June 10, 1999

I spent over an hour hand-feeding the dolphins today. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “frolic” in my life, but that’s the only thing that describes what I see when the dolphins show up and start swimming alongside me and leaping into the air. They turn onto their backs and let me rub their stomachs and they don’t mind at all when I grab on to their fins and hitch a ride around the lagoon. I’ve started thinking of them as my friends.

I hope that doesn’t mean that I’ve started to lose my mind or anything.

The seaplane arrives tomorrow.

Anna

It’s so hard to wrap my brain around what Owen is telling us. As I listen to him describe his early days I can’t help but remember T.J.’s and mine. I remember thinking that since I was the adult it was up to me to figure it all out, and the knowledge of that—the fear—nearly crushed me because I had no
idea,
no clue what to do. All I knew was that I was terrified and certain that we would die.

Glancing over at T.J., I pause. The man sitting next to me on this couch is my equal, my confidante. The love of my life. He is strong in every sense of the word. But I think back and remember him at sixteen: skinny, unsure of his role, braces on his teeth. Scared. In my mind I can see T.J.’s cracked lips, the cuts on his face, the eye that was swollen shut. Thrust into another life–or-death situation that he had no choice but to face head on and fight.

If we hadn’t been in such a dire situation, would we have appreciated the beauty of the island the way that Owen had? Could we have felt the peace that he felt? It doesn’t matter, because we can’t compare our time on the island with Owen’s.

Eventually, we did acknowledge the beauty there, just like Owen did. But we never once forgot how vulnerable, how powerless we were. For us there was no seaplane dropping off supplies. No satellite phone. Nothing that tied us to the outside world. No one to help us. The only thing that was true, the one constant during our time on the island, the thing we could depend on, was each other.

I look over at T.J. He shows no emotion on his face, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking. Is he remembering how different our first few weeks were? I reach over and grab his hand because right now at this moment I need to
feel
our connection. When he squeezes my hand I squeeze back, the way I always do.

And then I turn my attention back to Owen, because as hard as it is to deal with these memories, I want to listen to what he has come here to say.

Owen

I was waiting on the beach when the seaplane landed in the lagoon. Relief flooded through me when I heard the sound of the engines and spotted the plane in the sky. Though I was getting closer to it every day, I hadn’t been on the island long enough to become one hundred percent comfortable with cutting ties to the outside world. I still needed to know that a connection to it existed. That it was there for me, and I could count on it if I needed it.

I’d stuffed my dirty clothes into my duffel bag and battened down the rest. I stored everything inside the tent and made sure to drive the stakes as far down into the sand as I could so the whole thing wouldn’t blow away if it stormed. I was planning on spending only one night on the mainland and would return early the next morning once my supplies were loaded on the plane. I put all the garbage I couldn’t burn into a plastic garbage bag and I hoisted it over my shoulder.

Barefoot, I waded out to meet Captain Forrester. I hadn’t bothered with a shirt, but he didn’t seem the type to mind. I tossed my duffel and the garbage bag in first, and he smiled at me when I hauled myself through the cabin door.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s one hell of an impressive suntan.” He reached out to shake my hand and clap me on the back. “How’re you doing, son?”

“I’m doing great,” I said, returning the smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I’ll be honest, I half expected you to call me after the first week to ask me to come and get you. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d lost your shit a little. Glad to see you handled the solitude well.”

“Yeah. Solitude was exactly what I was after.”

“I think you found it. You can sit up front if you’d like,” he said, once he’d shut the door and settled himself back into his seat.

“Okay.” I sat down in the seat beside his and fastened my seat belt.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to,” he said once we’d taken off. “You ready to pack it in and go home for good?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I kinda have a routine. Met some dolphins.”

“I’ve always thought that animals make the best company. As long as you don’t pose a threat to them, they’ll keep coming around.”

“Yeah. It’s awesome, actually. It’s like they understand what I’m saying.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they do,” he said. “How are the supplies holding up?”

“I’m low on water. I drink more than I thought I would because it’s so hot. Food’s okay, though. I’ve been fishing a lot.”

“Nothin’ tastes better than fish you catch yourself. Too bad I prefer mine deep-fried and covered in tartar sauce,” he said, laughing.

I laughed. “Yeah. Me, too. But they still taste pretty good the way I cook them.”

“Have you tried the coconuts?”

“Yes. They’re not easy to get into. I almost sliced my hand open the first time I tried.”

“The coconuts make you work for their meat, there’s no doubt about it.”

“Did you know there are wild chickens on the island?”

“Yep. Most islands have a few running around.”

“Do you know if the spiders are poisonous? The big brown ones?”

“Those are brown huntsman. They’re creepy looking, but harmless.”

“What about sharks?

“The whale shark is the most common, but they pose no threat. There are hammerheads here, which could do some damage, I guess. Reef sharks for sure, but they don’t usually bother anyone. I imagine most of the sharks will stay on the other side of the reef, so the lagoon should be safe,” he said. “But it’s not like there’s anything keeping them out if they decide they want to come in, so be careful.”

“Do you think it’d be possible for me to build something on the island? Out of wood? I could use it for shelter when it storms.”

“Depends on how big you’d want it to be,” he said.

“Not too big,” I said. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, so I’d have to learn as I go. Could supplies like lumber be flown in? Would there be room on the plane?”

“Sure, there’s room. I might not be able to bring it all at once, but I could bring enough to get you started,” he said. “It’s not a bad idea if you think you’re going to stay for a while. It’ll keep you busy, at least.”

“I do,” I said. “I definitely think I’ll be there for a while.”

•   •   •

After we landed I pulled my shirt and shoes out of my bag. The shoes felt weird; I rarely wore them unless I was in the wooded area of the island. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and followed Captain Forrester through the cabin door.

“Do you have your list of supplies?” he asked.

“Yes.” I reached into my pocket and handed him the list I’d made. “Did the wire come through okay?” I asked.

“It came through just fine. I’ll buy everything on your list and have it waiting for you on the plane.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said, and smiled.

“I’ll be ready to go by nine tomorrow morning, if that still works for you.”

“Works fine,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”

•   •   •

He’d booked me a room under his name at the Hulhule Island Hotel near the airport. I caught a shuttle bus and in less than five minutes I was standing in front of the check-in desk. The woman who assisted me smiled and handed me a key card.

“Enjoy your stay,” she said.

“I will. Thank you.”

When I reached my room I threw my bag on the bed and immediately turned off the air conditioner. I opened the window to let in the heat, which I now preferred over the cool air.

In the bathroom, I had to take a closer look when I caught the first glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My skin had never been so dark before. Even though I lived in sunny California, I’d been ghostly pale when I arrived on the island, due to sitting in front of a computer for twelve to fifteen hours a day. My major source of light had been the fluorescent bulbs in my office.

A month’s worth of facial hair covered my face. I’d packed a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream, and could have shaved if I’d wanted, but it didn’t seem that important, so I’d skipped it. My hair had grown too, but it was so short to begin with that I could probably hold off on the haircut until next month.

I stripped off my clothes and took a long hot shower. It felt strange to return to such modern conveniences after my time on the island. Everything seemed so attainable, as if there wasn’t anything I couldn’t have if I wanted it. I almost felt guilty although I had no idea why.

When I was done showering I dried myself and then wrapped the towel around my waist while I shaved. The hotel offered laundry services, so I gathered up all my dirty clothes and called the front desk. They promised to send someone up for them right away, so I put on the robe I found in the closet and stretched out on the bed.

I thought about plugging in my cell phone, but I really didn’t feel like checking to see who had called. If my family and friends looked through my old journal—the one I’d left in plain sight on the nightstand in my apartment—they’d know of my intent to come here. If they were that concerned about my well-being, and not just my money, they’d know where to find me.

The sad thing was that I really didn’t think they’d bother to make the effort.

•   •   •

I ordered lunch from room service and then took a nap while I waited for my laundry to be returned. A knock on the door roused me from sleep and when I opened it a hotel employee handed me my clothes. They smelled a lot better than they did when I arrived. “Thank you,” I said, and I gave her a generous tip.

After I pulled on a T-shirt and shorts I slid my feet into my tennis shoes, grabbed my key card and my wallet, and walked to the lobby. I took the shuttle back to the airport and then boarded a ferry called a dhoni for the short trip to Malé. It was painted in shades of bright blue and orange and filled to capacity with tourists.

Once I arrived on the mainland I decided to walk to my destination. I could have rented a motorbike or taken a taxi, but I wanted to see the capital city. The tourist brochure in my hotel room said that almost anywhere in Malé was reachable on foot within ten minutes.

I made my way through the city streets, stopping to browse at the local market, watching as the locals mingled with the tourists. Clusters of bright yellow bananas hung overhead, and merchants stood next to tables selling local produce and fresh fruit.

I encountered the fish market a couple of blocks away; I smelled it before I saw it. A bustling crowd made up of fisherman and customers filled the area, and I stopped and watched the men cutting fish, their slicing way more precise than anything I was capable of. I’d gotten a lot better, though, and now I wasted almost none of the fish when I cleaned them.

I spied a sign that said
NOVELTY BOOKSHOP
. That was the main reason I’d taken this side trip to Malé. After crossing the street I pushed open the door and stepped into the air-conditioned space. Shelves of stationery and office supplies lined the walls. There were rows and rows of novels and textbooks, and I walked past them slowly, reading the titles on the spines, searching. The air smelled slightly musty, the way it always did when so many books were stored closely together, but it was a familiar smell and reminded me of all the time I spent in the library in college.

I finally found what I was looking for in the nonfiction section, near the self-help books. The selection was limited, but there were several books on house framing. I picked up one and opened it to the table of contents. There were chapters on the materials and tools I’d need, and also the various building techniques. I stood there for fifteen minutes flipping through the books, finally choosing the one that had the most information on everything I’d need to know. I added all the current issues of every business magazine they sold, and that day’s edition of
USA Today.
I didn’t regret my decision to leave the business world, not for a minute, but I still felt the desire to know how the current trends were playing out.

When I left the bookstore I was whistling because I never felt better than when I had a plan.

•   •   •

That night I ate dinner at the bar in my hotel. I sat outside on the deck and ordered a beer and a cheeseburger and fries, which tasted better than any burger and fries ever had. I ordered another beer after my plate had been cleared and drank it while watching the sun set over the Indian Ocean. When it was fully dark the lights of Malé lit up the sky.

I wandered inside and took a seat at the bar. Many of the customers were playing pool or throwing darts. They seemed to be a mix of businessmen wearing suits and seaplane pilots wearing short-sleeve shirts bearing their airlines’ names and logos. There was a definite shortage of women, which bummed me out because after thirty days alone, I would have been more than happy to spot a girl sitting at the bar.

I had one more beer and then I called it a night and headed to my room. Before I went to sleep I opened the house-framing book and made a long and detailed list of everything I would need.

•   •   •

The next morning I showered and ordered coffee and breakfast from room service. I needed to be at the dock in fifteen minutes, so I crammed my purchases from the bookstore into my bag and checked out.

Captain Forrester was waiting for me. “Good morning,” he said. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.” I followed him through the cabin door and once again buckled myself into the seat next to his and watched as he went through his preflight routine.

“I made a few calls,” he said. “I can get the lumber you wanted. The man I spoke with said they’ll cut it for you. Can you give me a list of what you want? Probably won’t be until next week, though. That okay?”

“Sure.” I fished a piece of paper out of the pocket of my shorts. “Here’s a list of everything I’ll need. Just send the invoice to my email address. You should receive a wire payment within twenty-four hours.”

He looked at me strangely and said, “Exactly what kind of business are you in, son?”

“Dot-com,” I said, answering him quickly. For some reason—maybe because he’d been so helpful and so nice—it was important to me that he didn’t think I’d earned my money by dealing drugs or from some other sketchy activity. “But I’m not in the business anymore. I sold my interest in the company right before I came here.”

“So you had partners?”

“I had three.” Scott and I had grown up together; he’d moved into the house across the street from mine when we were in first grade. I’d met Tim and Andrew my freshman year at UCLA. The four of us formed an online company after graduation, to sell advertising space over the Internet. We registered our domain name and took advantage of low interest rates and market confidence. Everyone we knew was scrambling to come up with the next big thing and we were every bit as eager to join the Internet gold rush.

“It must have been a pretty successful company.”

“We did okay,” I said.

The company hadn’t been my first online venture. I’d already had great success selling things on eBay, before the auction site really hit the mainstream. One of the first things I sold was my sister’s old Barbie doll collection. I offered her a sixty-forty split and sold the whole lot for five hundred dollars. It had been so easy—nothing more than a few mouse clicks—and after that I was hooked.

I spent my weekends combing newspaper ads and driving to estate sales, buying up anything I thought I could sell for a profit. I didn’t have enough room in my dorm, so I carted it all back to my mom’s house and stored it in my old bedroom or the garage or anyplace else I could find to put it. My mom had remarried three years after my dad died—to some deadbeat I hadn’t liked or trusted since day one—and my piles of inventory drove him nuts. I told him I’d pay their mortgage if he stopped complaining, and since he was frequently unemployed he wisely agreed. He shut up after that.

I couldn’t believe how much money I made during my senior year of college. Most months I earned in excess of twenty thousand dollars, and the only reason I didn’t earn more was because there were only twenty-four hours in a day. I had always done well in school, but I had to pull frequent all-nighters in order to balance my business demands with my course load and assignments.