Even before any thoughts of escape preparation, water and food were the primary concern. What would be the point of making it off the island only to starve and wither away at sea?
I left Ace behind to make his boat and walked around the island in search of water and food. Unfortunately, the only thing I could actually find to eat was bird eggs—totally incapable of removing my nagging hunger. I found myself entertaining a preposterous notion that the seabirds flying overhead might die suddenly and fall to the ground right next to me.
There was a forest on the island, but I couldn’t find any plants or animals that seemed suitable for eating. I heard the cry of some creature that wasn’t a bird, but I couldn’t find it. Digging in the dirt, I found an object that looked like a potato of some kind, but it seemed to be toxic, as biting into it made my tongue numb and my lips swollen.
The forest also had ants. They were vicious, which I discovered when I got too close to their nest. They swarmed over me, getting under my clothes and biting my skin. Out of sheer anger and frustration, I even brushed a couple from my palm into my mouth. They were sour, and did nothing to alleviate my hunger.
All I could think about was food.
And for some reason, I didn’t even think about my favorite dishes; just normal, unremarkable food items, things I never considered for a moment when my life was comfortable. My head was filled with visions of utterly boring meals.
I even thought about the food I left on my plate when I was full, and of everything I secretly pushed off to the side as a child, just because I didn’t like it. If only I had those scraps here, now…
The first thing I do when I get off this island is eat this. And then I’ll eat that. And this will be next. After that, I’ll be in the mood for this. Oh, how I wish I could eat that again…
It was all I thought about for an entire day. It felt like I was possessed by the spirit of hunger.
The water situation, at least, was a bit better—but only a bit. There was a small rock face a bit up from the beach. I noticed the rocks there were damp.
At first I thought it was just seawater, but when I licked it, there was no salt. Either it was rainwater or a natural spring. Whatever the origin, there was fresh water dripping down the rocks.
I stuck an empty bottle against the rock and collected the water using a scrap of my clothing, twisting it into a little rope, tying it to the rock, and sticking the other end into the bottle. The water then made its way along the rope and was deposited, drop by drop, into the container.
An entire day of water collection yielded only two or three mouthfuls, but it did help diminish my thirst.
I lost track of the date very quickly.
Back home, I had naively imagined that if I ever wound up shipwrecked on an island, I would mark the days by drawing lines on a wall, the way they always did in the adventure books.
In reality, however, I couldn’t even be bothered. I was too busy just trying to survive.
An entire day could be taken up just wandering around, trying to gather water and food. And all that movement only made my throat drier and my stomach emptier. Just sitting still made that happen too, of course.
I also had to protect myself against the chill of the night and the gusts of wind coming from the sea. As I searched for food, I collected branches and leaves and built myself a shelter. Along the way, I gathered materials that could be used to build a boat and escape the island.
There was just too much to do.
The sun was up before I knew it, and sank just as quickly. For some reason, the night felt so much longer.
I went into my shelter and curled my exhausted body into a ball, only to be awakened by the sound of the sea breezes, which blew harder at night. It seemed like they came just to wake me up every time I felt sleep creeping closer. All night long the process repeated, until I began to feel like someone was intentionally making the wind blow to keep me from sleeping.
And each time I bolted awake again, I muttered, “So cold…” out of habit. I didn’t even have to think for the words to come to my lips. And though I tried day after day, I never succeeded in getting a fire going. Either I was doing it wrong, or the trees on the island weren’t the right kind for fires, or both. I had to endure many fireless nights.
The beach was cold after dark. But in the forest, where the starlight was dim, the fierce ants were enough to keep me from sleeping soundly. So I curled up in my long coat and muttered, “So cold…” to myself. It became such an unconscious habit that at times I startled myself awake with the sound of my own voice.
It was ironic, really. Here I was, on a beautiful uninhabited island, just like in the stories I’d daydreamed about as a boy. And now I was on the verge of death.
Dreams and reality couldn’t be more different…
Just as my attempts at survival were less than successful, Ace’s shipbuilding quest wasn’t going any better.