A Man, a Girl, a Deserted Island - - A Crazy Epic Love Saga

Episode 46: When the Truck Hits You

There's nothing left to say. A silent sorrow has nested within me and won't leave me be. I'm utterly bitter.

The skewer pierces through the fish's flesh from head to tail. I stick the stick in the sand, near the fire, close enough to receive the warmth, but not so close as to burn the fish.

I do the same with the second one. And the third.

By my calculations, today must be the 5th or 6th of February.

"What are you doing there?" I ask Eva. "Having a little snack before the fish?"

On the other side of the fire, Eva sits on the sand, nibbling her fingernails. She doesn't even glance at me. Ever since that story about the ship, she's been so quiet it scares me. She continues nibbling her left index fingernail, then moves to the middle finger. 

And so on.

Finally, she thoughtfully examines her toenails. It makes me curious. If she manages to reach those too, she must be wonderfully flexible.

"It's impossible that no one saw us!" she suddenly says. "Even if they were asleep, there had to be someone walking on the deck. Someone could have glanced through a porthole, right? That would have been enough."

Oh, fuck my life! It reminds me again. What have I done wrong, Lord?

"Eva..."

"I'm sure someone was on duty on the deck," she insists stubbornly. "Someone saw us. Tomorrow or the day after, we'll get help."

I'd bet my hand that she doesn't believe what she's saying either.

"We have to get off this cursed island," the girl groans, then starts crying softly.

I try to pat her on the shoulder, but she mercilessly hits my hand away, then collapses on the sand, shaking with sobs. Minutes pass. Just as abruptly as it began, the crying stops.

Eva starts nibbling her fingernails again and thoughtfully examines her toenails.

***

I'm a man, so I'm clever.

The afternoon finds me giving Eva a pedicure. And for that, I don't need nail clippers or a nail file, just a bit of wit.

In the signal fire ash, I found a steel hinge. I recognized it immediately; it was the hinge from the empty ammunition crate.

I rubbed that hinge against a stone until I got a sharp edge, a kind of razor with which you could even cut a hair.

"Relax your foot a bit more," I say annoyed to the girl. "Why do you keep fidgeting so much? Do you have restless leg syndrome? Do you want to get cut?"

Eva's small foot rests obediently in my lap. I continue with her pedicure. Or rather, a kind of pedicure.

"I'm getting bored," she moans. "Will it take much longer?"

Ten minutes later, she asks me:

"What happened after you got into Law School? Tell me."

I hold her small heel in the cup of my hand and, looking intently at the sole, I reply:

"Nothing noteworthy. I was 19 and a half years old and a fresh student. Although I had lost a year of my life working on the country's construction sites, I had now caught the school train again. For the first time in my life, I felt my dad was proud of me. No one in our family had gone further than high school.