《Time & Tide》


 Chapter 1

    An errant sunbeam lasered through a dingy porthole, stirring Jonas from his fitful slumber and ripping him from the imaginary embrace of a bevy of buxom blondes. Blinking blearily and grumbling at the rude awakening, he glanced through the window and saw the sun fully up over the horizon.


    ¡°I guess I might as well get up and face yet another day in paradise,¡± he muttered sarcastically to himself. ¡°So many coconuts, so little time. Or so much time. Too much time,¡± he continued, trailing off distractedly. ¡°No. Can¡¯t get discouraged. Pull yourself together Jonas. Gotta keep talking so I don¡¯t get too lost in my head.¡±


    Running his fingers through his unruly black hair, Jonas scooped up one of his few remaining pairs of mostly-intact underwear and ducked out through the opening in the ship¡¯s hull. Trudging the familiar path from the wreckage of the S.S. Witvis to the beach, he casually stripped off and waded out into the beautiful Caribbean waters to get clean. Or at least as clean as salt water could get him. He¡¯d long become accustomed to the salty residue that crystalized on his skin each day after his morning bath and laundry swims. Shaking himself dry, he donned the fresh underwear before pulling his battered cargo shorts up and retying the rope that he¡¯d found to use as a replacement for his lost belt.


    ¡°At least I¡¯m getting a good tan,¡± he said aloud, admiring his bronzed arms as he dragged the ragged shirt over his head. ¡°Mary Ann will be so proud of me when I get back to the office. She always says I don¡¯t know how to relax and enjoy the simple pleasures in life.¡± Turning back to regard his ramshackle homestead, he chuckled darkly. ¡°Doesn¡¯t get much simpler than this.¡±


    Returning to the wreckage, he ran his fingers across the boat¡¯s nameplate, as he did every day, and repeated his daily mantra.


    ¡°Today¡¯s gonna be the day. It¡¯s a good day for a rescue.¡± Continuing into the keeled-over ship, Jonas returned to the home he had fashioned from salvaged bits of wreckage. Since the night of the storm, he had managed to convert the topsy-turvy cabin into a cozy, albeit unconventional, living space.


    Noting another morning in the waterlogged notebook he¡¯d been using as a combination calendar, journal, and doodle pad, he grabbed a water bottle and set out to complete his morning activities before the heat of the day fully set in.


    The only sound that disturbed the crashing of waves was Jonas¡¯ voice, talking to himself to keep from going insane. At least, to keep himself from going more insane. You have to be a little bit nuts to survive on a deserted island for 57 days.


    ¡°It rained last night, so I¡¯ve gotta start with the water collectors,¡± he said. ¡°Hope the tarps didn¡¯t get overloaded and fall over like last time.¡± Whistling with a facsimile of jauntiness, he inspected his collection of bright blue and orange tarps, admiring the pools of water in the center of each one. One at a time, he carefully lowered one corner from each tarp, draining the gathered fresh water into the various pots, buckets, and bottles that he had amassed in this area. ¡°Excellent work, tarps,¡± he congratulated the setup. ¡°Top notch performance. Way to go, team. You show those coconuts who¡¯s the top dog in this competitive drink-based economy.¡±


    After depositing the replenished stock of fresh water into the boat, he grabbed a ragged bedsheet and headed into the jungle. Working his way towards the center of the island, he gathered up several coconuts that had fallen to the ground. He carefully inspected each one before placing it into the sheet.


    ¡°Nice and brown, no holes, not rotten,¡± he said as he checked each one over. ¡°Learned that the hard way, didn¡¯t you? Yep. Old, dried-up coconut and moldy rotten coconut are even grosser than regular fresh coconut. Remember to tell Mary Ann that coconut will be banned from the office from now on. Never gonna eat another fucking coconut again once I get off this island. If I get off this island. No. When I get off this island.¡± Shaking his head violently, he returned to his search.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Once he had enough for the day, he added some fallen palm fronds to his pile, hoping to fashion them into something that could keep the sun from shining in his eyes each morning. Using the sheet as a bag, he trudged back to his encampment burdened by his bountiful harvest.


    * * * * *


    As the sun headed back down towards the horizon that evening, Jonas dragged a seat cushion out from the boat and dropped it onto the beach. Settling onto the cushion, he took a moment to appreciate the natural beauty before him. Though he was probably being slowly driven mad by the days and weeks of enforced solitude, Jonas was occasionally able to recognize that not everything about this place sucked. Hell, some people might even pay a lot of money to have this kind of experience. Idiots, sure, but plenty of idiots have too much money to go with their too little sense.


    ¡°I mean, some people like beaches,¡± Jonas said. ¡°And sand. Mary Ann certainly does. I knew I shouldn¡¯t have let her convince me to spend my stupid mandatory sabbatical visiting islands. And beaches.¡± He shivered involuntarily. ¡°Some secretary she is. Making me go places with sand. Can¡¯t believe I agreed to this. No more sand vacations. Have to remember that when I get back to New York.¡±


    Just as he was preparing to pack it up and head back to his hovel, Jonas spotted something in the distance. Outlined against the setting sun, the bleak sameness of the horizon was disturbed by an indistinct shape. Staring hard, his brain finally put together what his eyes were trying to tell him. A ship. There was a ship on the horizon. The first sign of humanity in almost two months.


    Panicked, he ran back to the shipwreck, scrambling through the emergency supplies that he had cached by the entrance. Finding the case with the flare gun, he dashed back to the beach, eyes desperately scanning the horizon for the ship. ¡°This better not be some kind of mirage,¡± he muttered to himself as he cracked open the barrel and slotted in the first flare. Cocking the hammer and pointing it up into the air in the direction of the ship, he squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. Underwhelmed by the pop and hiss of the flare, he quickly looked up to see the red flare arcing up over the water before slowly fading away with a soft bang. He immediately loaded another flare and fired it off in the same direction.


    Time ticked by excruciatingly slowly, but then he heard it. Five faint blasts from a ship¡¯s horn wafted over the waves. He¡¯d done it. They¡¯d seen his flares. They were coming. Weeping, he dashed back to the ship, gathering his most crucial supplies. Crucial for civilization, that is. They¡¯d been totally useless here on the island. His wallet and passport. His phone with no battery and a shattered screen. The keys to his apartment in Manhattan. Just before dashing out of the boat for the last time, he remembered to grab his journal and shoved it into his back pocket.


    Back on the beach, the ship was visibly closer. He stood there watching it slowly approach as the sun continued to sink and darkness encroached. He couldn¡¯t make out the name of the ship, but he could tell that it was a battered old freighter, orange rust battling with flaking dark green paint as the primary color. But that didn¡¯t matter to him. It was the most beautiful ship he¡¯d ever seen.


    Stopping in the distance, the large ship lowered a small boat with two people in it. The smaller boat swiftly motored across the waves towards Jonas, coasting expertly to a stop before running aground. A grizzled old man with piercing blue eyes and a close-cropped white beard hopped over the edge and waded to shore. Taking in Jonas¡¯ shaggy hair and ragged, patchy beard, his battered and dirty clothes, and his deeply tanned skin, the man simply stared and gaped. After a moment, he pulled a battered captain¡¯s hat off his head and extended a hand.


    ¡°Hello there, son. Looks like you could use a ride.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re real,¡± Jonas managed to gasp out, awash in relief. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re really real.¡± Tears running down his face unabated, he smiled broadly and then collapsed into the man¡¯s arms, out cold.

 Chapter 2

    An errant sunbeam lasered through a dingy porthole, stirring Jonas from his deep slumber and ripping him from pleasant dreams of boats filled with buxom blondes rescuing him from Hell in a tropical paradise.  The gentle rocking almost lulled him back to sleep before he sat bolt upright, his brain finally realizing what his body had been trying to tell him.


    ¡°I¡¯m on a boat,¡± he shouted.  ¡°I¡¯m on a boat.  I¡¯m on a motherfucking boat.¡±  He quieted, realizing that he was all alone in the cramped, musty cabin.  ¡°Unless this is still a dream,¡± he muttered to himself, wearily levering himself up in the narrow bed.  Looking around the spartan space, the only decoration he could see was a schematic of some kind of engine or motor or something on the opposite wall.  Beneath the diagram, a small desk was bolted to the deck with a battered water bottle perched on the corner.  Everything else in the cabin was presumably stowed away neatly, giving the space an abandoned, unlived¨Cin feeling.


    Before he could get to his feet, the cabin door swung open on squealing rusty hinges, revealing the smiling face of the grizzled old man from the beach.  A wide grin split the man¡¯s weathered face as he placed a metal tray with some delicious-smelling food onto the small desk.


    ¡°Oh good,¡± he said to Jonas.  ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡±


    ¡°Where am I?¡± croaked Jonas, a smile slowly cracking his tanned face as the reality of his rescue set in.  ¡°And how long was I out for?"


    ¡°I¡¯m Charles Maxwell, captain of the MV Point Bridge, the steadiest, most reliable bulk carrier on the high seas,¡± said the man, extending his hand for a handshake.  ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep for the past day and a half here in my Chief Engineer¡¯s cabin.  We¡¯ve been checking on you every couple of hours and managed to get a little water down your gullet a couple of times.¡±


    ¡°Oh shit, I stole someone¡¯s bed?¡± asked Jonas.  ¡°I hope he wasn¡¯t too upset about it.  I can find somewhere else to sleep until we get back to shore.  I¡¯ve gotten used to sleeping in weird places.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± the man said with a dismissive wave.  ¡°Ivan¡¯s a crazy Russian bastard who spends at least half his nights in a hammock in the engine room.  Says the roar of the diesels is soothing.  It apparently helps him get through the nightmares about Afghanistan or something.  I don¡¯t know much about all that PTSD business, but I¡¯m fine with him sleeping wherever as long as he keeps those engines humming.¡±


    Thrown off by the old man¡¯s casually dismissive attitude, Jonas tried to refocus on more pressing concerns.


    ¡°Where are we going now?¡± he asked.  ¡°Have you let people know that you found me?  I¡¯m sure people at my office will be concerned by now.  I¡¯m sure.¡±  He trailed off with a frown.


    ¡°We¡¯re headed to La Guaira in Venezuela,¡± Captain Maxwell answered.  ¡°We¡¯re due to unload a shipment of grain tomorrow morning.  We found your driver¡¯s license in your wallet, so we know you¡¯re an American.  We went ahead and notified the Coast Guard that we¡¯d found you, but we weren¡¯t able to get you back to the States without completely blowing our delivery schedule.  I hope that¡¯s alright.¡±


    ¡°No problem at all,¡± said Jonas.  ¡°You saved me from that godforsaken island, you can take me wherever the hell you want.  Just don¡¯t expect me to eat any more fucking coconuts.  Never again, Captain.  Never again.  No sir.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°No coconuts, son,¡± said the Captain, giving Jonas a gentle pat on his shoulder.  ¡°No coconuts.  Why don¡¯t you go ahead and eat something and afterwards we¡¯ll get you up on deck for some fresh air, if you¡¯re able.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good, Captain.¡±  Jonas managed to get himself across the small cabin to the desk and devoured the simple brothy soup, gnawing hunks of bread.  Sweet sweet delicious bread.  With no coconuts.  Captain Maxwell watched with a bemused expression on his face as he slurped the last drops of soup and wiped the bowl with the last bit of the bread.  Once Jonas finally drained his water and leaned back with a contented sigh, the Captain chuckled and scooped up the battered metal tray.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± he said to Jonas, leading him out of the room.  The pair slowly trundled down the corridor, stopping only to drop the tray in the ship¡¯s galley, before finally emerging onto the deck.  Squinting in the bright sun, Jonas followed the Captain down the deck, past a series of covered holds, until they arrived at a motley group of men slouched onto a collection of deck chairs near the bow of the ship.


    ¡°Guys, this is Jonas, our new short-term passenger,¡± he said to the men.  ¡°Jonas, these are the boys.¡±  The men looked over at Jonas and the Captain, mostly silently acknowledging their arrival with a nod or a wave.


    ¡°Hardly a boy, Captain,¡± wheezed an especially wrinkled sailor clutching a battered metal cup.  ¡°Haven¡¯t been a boy since the Dust Bowl,¡± the man mused.  ¡°Had to leave the farm and move in with my uncle¡¯s family down in Florida.  Quit school and went to work at his orange grove.  Told me I had to help support the family, ya know?  Long hours in the heat and the humidity while Pa just drank his sorrows away.  That¡¯s why I left.  Joined the Navy.  Saw the world, blew things up, saw some more of the world.  ¡®Life is good in the Navy.¡¯¡±  The old timer trailed off, lost in a haze of his own memories.


    ¡°Don¡¯t word about Fitzy,¡± the Captain reassured Jonas.  ¡°He¡¯s a little long winded, but he¡¯s a top-notch bosun.  Wouldn¡¯t trust another soul to keep us safe while we¡¯re at sea on the Point Bridge.  Not to mention he¡¯s top notch at making sure every last bit of space in the hold gets filled.  Just top notch.  Can¡¯t beat that Navy training, really.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to take your word for it,¡± said Jonas.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave Jonas here in your loving care then boys,¡± the Captain said, turning to stride purposefully back down the deck towards the bridge.  Jonas settled into the vacant seat next to Fitzy, gratefully accepting a bottle of water from another crew member.


    ¡°Welcome to the ship, Jonas,¡± a handsome member of the crew said solemnly.  ¡°I¡¯m Roy Hinkley, Second Mate.  I was on watch when we were passing your island.  I¡¯m glad we were able to be there to rescue you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you so much,¡± gushed Jonas.  ¡°You have no idea at all how grateful I am to you guys.  To all of you.¡±  He turned to acknowledge the entire gathering.  ¡°I never thought I¡¯d get off that fucking island.  I pretty much gave up on hope a while ago, and was resigned to dying, forgotten and alone, surrounded by coconuts.¡±


    Smiles finally broke out on some of the crew¡¯s faces and everyone seemed to relax a little.  A few words started being passed around by the men, accepting the newcomer into their circle.  Jonas was leaning back in his chair, relaxing and enjoying the breeze coming over the bow, when he realized someone was trying to talk to him.


    ¡°Sorry, what was that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No worries, mate,¡± said Roy.  ¡°I was just wondering how you came to be on that island?  The Captain took a look around before they brought you back to the ship and said your boat looked pretty fucked up.  Also said it looked like you¡¯d been there for quite a while before we found you.¡±


    Jonas took a deep breath before deciding that his saviors deserved to hear his story.  Leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees, he began.

 Chapter 3

    ¡°I guess I need to take a step back and tell you guys a little bit about my life before I ever set foot on that boat,¡± Jonas said. ¡°Back in the real world, I work on Wall Street, advising companies who are considering mergers and acquisitions mostly, and sometimes helping them go through the merger process.¡±


    ¡°Do you know my brother in law, Jim Backus?¡± asked one of the men who Jonas hadn¡¯t yet been introduced to. ¡°He works on Wall Street. Bear Stearns, I think.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jonas said, nonplussed. ¡°I don¡¯t think I know anybody who worked at Bear Stearns.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± said the man with a nod. ¡°He¡¯s a real smarmy asshole. Always going on about subprime this and hedge funds that. Thinks he¡¯s better than me just because he went to some fancy college and wears a fucking suit and tie every day. What a prick. Don¡¯t know what my sister sees in him.¡±


    ¡°I know the type,¡± said Jonas. ¡°Thankfully, my firm is pretty different from that kind of place. We¡¯re smaller, more boutique, than the big guys. Everyone chips in and pulls their weight, from the receptionist to the big man on top. But at the same time, everyone also looks out for each other. Go above and beyond. It¡¯s pretty great, really. I love my job.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good to love what you do, Jonas,¡± said Roy. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯d ever be able to pull me away from this life.¡± He stared wistfully out at the beautiful sea. ¡°Most of us here on the Point Bridge are the same. Well, except for Willy, that is.¡± The Second Mate gestured at the youngest crew member in the group. ¡°He¡¯s getting off once we swing down through the Canal and get back around to Los Angeles. His wife¡¯s expecting their first child in September and Captain Maxwell has promised to get him there by August, at the latest.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations Willy,¡± Jonas said. ¡°That¡¯s amazing news. Truly wonderful. Just be sure to never let your child go near a coconut. Coconuts are the devil¡¯s fruit.¡± The gathered crew burst out laughing, missing the deadly serious expression on Jonas¡¯ face. ¡°Fucking coconuts,¡± he muttered under his breath.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Jonas continued, ¡°my team was working on a merger that just kept wanting to fall apart at every turn. We finally managed to drag the deal across the finish line, but everybody was burned out. After the final meeting, our boss walked into the conference room and ordered all of us to take a two month paid vacation.¡±


    ¡°Very generous for a Wall Street type,¡± said Roy.


    ¡°He¡¯s a great boss,¡± said Jonas. ¡°The members of my team all cheered and raced out of the building, but I stuck around to clean up and get everything filed or shredded. My plan for the break was to just hang out around my apartment, relaxing and maybe getting a bit of work done when nobody was paying attention. But my glorious plans were foiled by Mary Ann, my scheming secretary, who apparently knows me too well. She intercepted me when I was finally getting ready to leave and shoved a plane ticket to Sint Maarten and a week-long hotel reservation into my hands. Told me I wasn¡¯t allowed back in the country, much less the office, until I had a serious tan and, as she put it, ¡®obtained some chill.¡¯¡±


    The men chuckled at his rueful, hangdog expression.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I managed to get any chill on that fucking island, but I definitely got the tan down,¡± he continued. ¡°Anyway, I made it to Sint Maarten by noon the next day and was going stir crazy within three days. Sitting around on the beach and sipping fruity drinks out of fucking coconuts has never been my idea of a good time. Joke¡¯s on me, I guess.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°How did you get from Sint Maarten to that island in the middle of nowhere then?¡± asked a crew member in oil¨Csplattered coveralls. ¡°According to the Captain, there was fuck¨Call around where we found you.¡±


    ¡°The poor lady at the front desk finally got tired of me coming to bother her about finding something to do and pointed me to her cousin¡¯s boat rental business. Said he would give me a good deal on something that I could use to tool around the various islands until I was allowed to go back home.¡±


    ¡°See, nobody can resist the lure of the sea,¡± joked Roy. ¡°It calls to you. Pulls you in and sets you free.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, right up until a novice sailor ends up running into a fucking hurricane in the middle of the Caribbean,¡± snapped Jonas. ¡°It wasn¡¯t even fucking hurricane season but there it was, a fucking wall of clouds as far as the eye could see. I had no idea where I was or how to get back to a harbor or shelter or whatever. Really no clue at all what you¡¯re supposed to do in the event of a hurricane.¡±


    ¡°Nothing much you can do, really,¡± said Roy. ¡°Not in a boat the size that you had. There was nothing you could have done at that point. But it all worked out in the end, I suppose. You¡¯re here, safe and sound, on the lovely Point Bridge.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s something, I guess,¡± said Jonas. ¡°Anyway, I tried to get as far away from the clouds as I could, but they caught up to me pretty fucking quickly. Last thing I remember was being tossed about in the cabin, losing my footing, and slamming my head into something. Everything went black at that point.¡±


    Jonas shuddered at the memory and Fitzy put a wrinkled hand reassuringly on his shoulder.


    ¡°Woke up some time later sprawled out on a window,¡± he continued. ¡°I guess the storm threw the boat up onto that island. Looked like it rolled a couple times over before wedging up against a couple of trees, tipped on its side. I managed to crawl over the stuff strewn all over the cabin and sprawled out on the beach. Think I passed out again at that point because it was night when I woke up.¡±


    Jonas fell silent at that point, staring out at the horizon.


    ¡°What happened then?¡± asked the excitable Willy. ¡°What happened after you woke up on the island? How the hell did you survive alone until we found you?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh. Nothing too crazy, I guess. I gathered up some debris and scattered supplies, made a shelter, and then pretty much just lived life one day at a time. Ate too many fucking coconuts, that¡¯s for goddamn sure. Never again.¡±


    His audience was dumbfounded and baffled at the unfathomably lackluster ending to what should have been an epic tale. They shared confused glances before Roy was silently elected spokesman.


    ¡°Jonas,¡± he began, ¡°no offense, but that was awful. Just a truly terrible way to end your story. Do me a favor and never, ever, ever, tell the story like that again.¡± Jonas stared at him in confusion.


    ¡°What was so bad about it? I covered all the key details, didn¡¯t drag things out too long, and slandered the coconuts. How else should I tell it?


    ¡°You just skipped over all the interesting details, Jonas,¡± Roy exclaimed. ¡°What kind of adventure doesn¡¯t have some good juicy bits? A mishap or two, a close call, a brave attempt at escape, something. Anything. How will you ever lure a lusty lady with your harrowing tale of survival if you just wave your hand at the good parts?¡±


    Jonas blushed and looked down in embarrassment.


    ¡°Never been much good at wooing the lusty ladies, really.¡±


    ¡°Stick with us, son, and we¡¯ll have you telling sea stories like a seasoned sailor in no time,¡± said Fitzy, patting him gently on the shoulder. ¡°Show him how it¡¯s done, boys.¡±

 Chapter 4

    ¡°Why don¡¯t I start us off?¡± asked the oil-splattered sailor. ¡°I¡¯m Alan Hale, by the way. I¡¯m a Mechanic here and help Ivan down in the engine room whenever he needs another pair of hands.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Alan,¡± said Jonas, leaning forward to shake the extended hand. ¡°Please be sure to let Ivan know that I appreciate him giving up his cabin for me while I was passed out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he didn¡¯t mind, but I¡¯ll let him know. Anyway, I¡¯ll show you how a properly harrowing survivor story should sound. Let me tell you about the time I was fishing up in Alaska a few years back and fell overboard.¡± Alan scooted forward slightly in his chair, loosening up his shoulders momentarily.


    ¡°There we were, three childhood friends, sitting in a little fishing boat on the Kenai River in the middle of September. We¡¯d done a chartered trip the year before, but it was a little boring and there were way too many other people around for our taste. So we decided to do it ourselves this time. Bobby arranged the plane tickets and Jack found us a boat and some fishing gear to rent. Got a good deal too, being pretty late in the season and all. And what was my job? Beer. My job was to bring enough beer to last the three of us for a week.¡±


    Everyone chuckled, enraptured by Alan¡¯s storytelling.


    ¡°Like I said, there we were, three days into the trip, just sitting on the river in the early morning light, drinking beers and fishing. The good stuff. Jack and Bobby had already caught a couple, but I wasn¡¯t having any luck. Nothing. Not a nibble. We decided to head back and take a nap before trying again in the evening. The guys packed up their gear and went into the little cabin to drive the boat back to the lodge, but I wasn¡¯t quite ready to give up yet. I sat down on the back of the boat, trailing my line in the water for shits and giggles, thinking I might finally catch something on the way.¡±


    ¡°And did you?¡± asked Jonas expectantly when Alan paused dramatically.


    ¡°I caught something, alright,¡± said Alan. ¡°I was leaning over to grab another beer out of the cooler when my line caught on a log or something. Yanked me out of the boat ass over teakettle. Dropped myself right into the cold Alaskan river and just about passed out from the shock. By the time I came up sputtering and shivering our boat was around the bend and out of sight. I tried calling for Jack and Bobby but knew that I had to get out of the water as soon as possible. The current wasn¡¯t moving too fast, so it was pretty simple to swim over to a small island in the middle of the river.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± said Jonas. ¡°How¡¯d you manage to survive that without getting frostbite or hypothermia or something?¡±


    ¡°My situation was dangerous, sure, but it wasn¡¯t quite as dire as you might think. September in Alaska isn¡¯t warm, but it¡¯s not below freezing or anything. Anyway, I made it to shore and hauled my ass out of the river and onto the shoreline. I tried yelling a few more times, but I couldn¡¯t hear a single man-made sound, nothing but running water, birds, and bugs. Since immediate rescue didn¡¯t seem likely, I knew I had to deal with my clothes first. Just because it wasn¡¯t below freezing doesn¡¯t mean I could just sit there in wet clothes and wait for my drunk friends to come back and find me.¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The sailors leaned forwards, knowing that Alan was getting to the good part of the story.


    ¡°I quickly gathered some grasses, leaves, and fallen branches from the area around me and made a little fire by the river, lighting it with my trusty Zippo. I stripped down to my boxers and hung my clothes and boots by the edge of the fire to dry out a bit and sat down next to the fire, feeding more and more wood into it until I had a nice warm bonfire going. After maybe twenty minutes or so, I was feeling much better and could finally relax a little. There¡¯s something incredibly freeing about being all alone out in the middle of nature. You know what I mean?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t necessarily call it freeing so much as harrowing, but sure,¡± said Jonas.


    ¡°Fair,¡± responded Alan. ¡°I probably spent about an hour on that little beach when I finally heard something out of place. It started faint, but the sound of a boat motor quickly grew louder and louder until, finally, a little boat came around the bend in the river.¡±


    ¡°Was it your friends?¡± asked an enraptured Jonas. ¡°Did they realize you were missing and come back to rescue you?¡±


    ¡°Nope, it was something even better than those two idiots,¡± answered Alan. ¡°I grabbed my shirt and waved it around like a fucking lunatic trying to flag down the boat. When it came to a stop, I discovered that it was actually a pair of beautiful young women. At first, I thought they might be sisters or something, they looked so similar, but apparently there are plenty of beautiful, busty, blonde women living up there in Alaska.¡±


    Jonas chuckled, noting how similar Alan¡¯s experience was to his island-time dreams.


    ¡°So, there I was, standing on the beach by a nice bonfire, wearing nothing but my skivvies, chatting up these lovely ladies. Turns out they both worked at the resort we¡¯d been staying at, and they graciously agreed to give me a ride back there. I put out the fire with a bucket they passed me, tossed my clothes onto their boat, and then climbed on board. They radioed back to the resort to let them know I didn¡¯t need rescuing and then we spent the rest of the day getting better acquainted. Let¡¯s just say that I didn¡¯t make it back to my room in time for the second round of fishing, but I was definitely the luckiest fisherman out there that day.¡±


    Ending his story with a ribald wink and a knowing nod sent his audience off in peals of laughter. Jonas blushed slightly at the innuendo, but managed a hesitant chuckle to blend in.


    ¡°See what I mean?¡± asked Roy once everyone quieted down again and Alan had leaned back in his seat. ¡°His situation wasn¡¯t half as dangerous or intense as yours must have been, but every man here was fully captivated. And that¡¯s after we¡¯ve all heard it plenty of times before. But he lured you in by painting a picture of the scene, added in a splash of danger, a bit of humor, and a dash of self-aware commentary. And most importantly, he carried that energy throughout. He didn¡¯t just trail off as soon as he got to the most interesting parts.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, son,¡± wheezed Fitzy, ¡°you¡¯re gonna¡¯ have plenty of opportunities to tell your story once you get back to New York. You¡¯ve just got to find a way to make it captivating. How else are you going to capture the eye of one of those fancy big city ladies? Or maybe even more than one, if you¡¯d like to take after Alan over there,¡± he said with a chuckle.


    Jonas nodded thoughtfully, trying to consider how he could incorporate some of these notes into his own narrative.

 Chapter 5

    Several more sailors shared stories, each presented with a verve and flair that had been lacking from Jonas¡¯ rendition of his shipwreck. Tales of joy and heartbreak. Tales of glory and danger. Tales of elation and despair.


    Willy told the story about meeting his wife and trying to convince a woman far out of his league to give him a chance. Roy regaled the group with his experiences hiking the Appalachian Trail. Fitzy shared war stories from his time in the Navy, somehow seeming to involve every brothel in the Far East by his estimation. As afternoon wound down towards evening, the people in the group slowly changed. Some men had to report for duty while others finished their shifts and made their way to the story circle. Jonas even got to meet Ivan, the allegedly crazy Chief Engineer whose bed he¡¯d stolen. Finally, as the sun sank below the horizon, Captain Maxwell brought things to a close with one final story.


    ¡°Few years back, the Point Bridge was scheduled to spend a week or so in dry dock for inspections and repairs,¡± the Captain began. ¡°For some reason, the owners decided to have us do it in Hong Kong that time, rather than back home in the US. Didn¡¯t really impact me, but it drove Ivan crazy, to be sure. He has a hard enough time communicating with us, much less a bunch of Chinese and British shipyard folks.¡±


    Ivan had already left to return to his beloved engines by that point, but the rest of the crew chuckled at the observation.


    ¡°Anyway, I¡¯d been stuck on board supervising everything for pretty much the whole time we¡¯d been in dry dock, but I finally managed to get away on our last night in town. Wanted to get away from the port and experience a bit of the night life, but I didn¡¯t know anything about the city. Ended up grabbing a taxi passing by the gates and telling the driver to take me somewhere fun. He insisted, with this great British accent, on taking me to some place I couldn¡¯t possibly pronounce. He said it was where all the best foreigners want to go, and he wasn¡¯t wrong.¡±


    A broad grin split the Captain¡¯s face as he sank into his recollections of that night.


    ¡°When I stepped out of the cab I was immediately assaulted by a wave of sound and light. I was overwhelmed, surrounded by people in constant motion. I¡¯d gotten accustomed to the solitude of the high seas, by this point, and most of our ports of call were fairly small, if I even left the ship myself. But of course, no captain who¡¯s braved the Bermuda Triangle or a Pacific typhoon would be put off by something so small as a mere crowd of people. I plunged into the sea of humanity, immersing myself in the chaos. I soon found myself washed ashore in some dark basement club listening to deafening music I¡¯ve never heard before. It was truly ridiculous, but I couldn¡¯t find a way back out through the crowd of youths.¡±


    The crew all laughed at the image of their salty captain in a nightclub with twenty-somethings.


    ¡°There I was, run aground on the shoals of drunk kids jumping around and screaming along with the music. Then I spotted him, a great white whale swimming through the waves just ahead of me. This man was enormous, both tall and round, with slicked back blonde hair and a magnificent walrus moustache. He was making his way determinedly towards the back of the club. I weighed anchor and slipped into his wake, sliding through the masses until he reached a door barred by two of the largest Asian men I¡¯d ever seen in exquisitely tailored suits. He said something to the one on the right and the man nodded, stepping aside and opening the door. As he moved to step through it, the man on the left spoke into his ear, gesturing towards me. The man glanced back at me, a considering gaze on his mustachioed face, before nodding and waving me forward.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Jonas leaned forward in anticipation.


    ¡°We stepped through the door into a short hallway guarded by two more large men in suits who simply nodded at my guide, allowing us to pass into a dimly lit room choked with cigarette smoke. As soon as the doors behind us closed, the thumping beat of the club was fully obscured, leaving only the sounds of muted voices and clicking tiles. The man turned to me, extended his hand, and introduced himself as Russell Johnson, a cattleman from South Australia. I shook his hand and he asked me if I was a gambling man. You all know how much I enjoy a good game of poker, so I agreed and the lunatic just hands me a giant wad of Hong Kong Dollars and says to go have some fun.¡±


    He chuckled at the recollection.


    ¡°No clue how much it was, altogether. I was honestly too intimidated to check. I just plopped myself down at a poker table with three American businessmen and a fit young Englishman. I think he might have been a cricket player or something. Anyway, we started playing and after an hour or so, I was up a fair bit. These guys weren¡¯t total amateurs, but most of you boys could give them a run for their money. I¡¯d just started feeling restless when Russell Johnson reappeared and invited me to join him and some friends at a different table to play for a while. I sat down between him and a beautiful brunette with the most delightful Spanish accent. Directing my attention towards the lovely lady, Natalie, I believe, I spent the next several minutes shamelessly flirting. Three well-dressed Asian gentlemen finally joined us at the table, so I returned my attention to the dealer, ready to play some more poker. I was shocked to discover that, rather than a deck of cards, he¡¯s holding stacks of these weird skinny black dominos.¡±


    He chuckled ruefully.


    ¡°Apparently, I¡¯d signed up to play a popular game called Pai Gow. The only problem? I had no clue how to play. And it was clear from the beginning that this was a high-stakes table. Realizing that I was playing with free money from my new Australian friend, and not wanting to look bad in front of the ravishing Natalie, I decided to fake it. Fake it ¡®til you make it, right? Anyway, I just tried to copy what everyone else was doing, laying down chips, occasionally shaking a dice cup, shuffling up sets of dominoes and laying them down authoritatively. The dealer frequently shifted my tiles around, but he did that for all of the non-Asian players. After playing for an hour or so, I was somehow up by a bit. Natalie had cashed out early but was still sitting by my side, leaning against my shoulder and absent-mindedly playing with my hair. Eventually she whispers in my ear that she wants to go somewhere a bit more private and, discretion being the better part of valor, I immediately agreed. I announced to the table that I had other business to attend to immediately and put all my chips in for one last hand. The men around the table all laughed and we agreed to play one last round. And wouldn¡¯t you know it, I apparently managed to land the best possible combination of tiles right there at the end. I tried to pay Russell back the money he handed me but he laughed and refused, telling me to use it to show Natalie a good time. I turned to her, grinned broadly, and we both nodded. We sped towards the back door that let out in an alley behind the building, tugging each other along in search of a cab back to her hotel. And that¡¯s all I¡¯ll say about the matter.¡±


    The crew laughed uproariously, pleased that their frequently solitary leader did, occasionally, manage to enjoy the company of the fairer sex.


    ¡°Now those of you who aren¡¯t about to go on duty need to hit the hay,¡± Captain Maxwell said. ¡°We¡¯re making port in Venezuela early in the morning and I¡¯m sure that Jonas here is eager to get back to civilization. He might even be ready to put some of his new storytelling knowledge to good use. Everyone had one final laugh before breaking up, with most heading back to their cabins for the night as the ship continued to slice through the warm Caribbean waters.

 Chapter

    Yet again, an errant sunbeam lasered through a dingy porthole, stirring Jonas from his deep slumber.  Rather than dreaming of buxom blondes, on boats or otherwise, his nocturnal musings were focused on returning to his life.  His normal, non-island based, coconut free life.  His interesting job, his pleasant coworkers, and most importantly, a general lack of danger.  However, these enjoyable thoughts were disturbed by the faint sense that, while safe, his life before the shipwreck was¡­underwhelming.  Incomplete.  A bit lonely, even.  He couldn¡¯t remember feeling this way before the wreck, or maybe just since hearing all about the exciting and full lives that the sailors on board the Point Bridge had lived.


    His musings were interrupted by a loud banging on his cabin door.


    ¡°We¡¯re pulling into La Guaira now,¡± called Willy through the door.  ¡°Grab your stuff and we¡¯ll get you into the loving arms of your friends and family.  Or at least the loving arms of the US Embassy,¡± he laughed.  ¡°You might need to wait a bit longer to get back to the rest.¡±


    Jonas scrambled out of the bunk, quickly brushing his teeth and anxiously trying to straighten out his tangled mop of messy black hair.  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he grabbed the few items he had rescued from the island and let Willy lead him up to the deck.  He stood just outside the superstructure as the large vessel eased itself into a vacant slip in the bustling industrial port, shedding a silent tear as the Point Bridge came to a stop and lowered a gangplank to the jetty.


    ¡°You¡¯ve made it, son,¡± said Captain Maxwell, suddenly appearing behind Jonas.  ¡°Go ahead and head straight down the jetty to the end and you¡¯ll find the Harbormaster¡¯s Office.  Tell them that you need to contact the US Embassy.  They should be expecting your call and someone will come pick you up and get you headed back to your real life.¡±


    ¡°I cannot thank you enough for what you¡¯ve done for me, Captain,¡± said Jonas, starting to choke up.  ¡°I really thought I would never make it off that godforsaken island.  You and your crew not only saved my life, but helped restore a bit of my sanity to boot.  Next time you guys are in New York you have to give me a call.  I left my contact information on a notepad I found in Sergei''s desk drawer.  Please, let the crew know that I¡¯d love to see any or all of you again.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead and let them know yourself,¡± said the Captain, pointing over Jonas¡¯ shoulder.  He turned and was startled to see the entire crew gathered on the deck to give him a sendoff.  Jonas wept openly now, embracing every one of the men as he made his way to the gangplank.  With a final wave, he made his way down to the jetty and swiftly walked along the water until he reached the office.  Turning to take another look at the Point Bridge, he was confused when he couldn¡¯t spot it on the jetty.


    ¡°Huh, that¡¯s weird,¡± he muttered to himself.  ¡°I must have walked further down the jetty than I thought.  I guess it¡¯s behind that big ass container ship.¡±  Putting the incongruity out of his mind, he entered the Harbormaster¡¯s Office and strode over to the woman sitting behind a large desk.  Jonas immediately ran into trouble when she didn¡¯t speak any English and his Spanish was limited to ordering Mexican food.  Eventually she figured out that he wanted to speak to the Embassy when he pointed to the front of his passport and repeated the word ¡°ambassador¡± with a series of vaguely Spanish-sounding pronunciations.  After several minutes of conversation in rapid-fire Spanish, she silently handed him the phone.


    ¡°Is this Mr. Grumby, by any chance?¡± asked a woman¡¯s voice.  ¡°Mr. Jonas Grumby?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he exclaimed.  ¡°I¡¯m Jonas Grumby.  I¡¯ve been shipwrecked for almost two months and was just rescued by a cargo ship and they dropped me off at some port here in Venezuela.  I can¡¯t remember the name of it and I don¡¯t speak any Spanish.  Can you please send someone to come and get me?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s already someone there waiting for you at the Coast Guard station Mr. Grumby,¡± said the woman.  ¡°We got a call from someone claiming to be a ship¡¯s captain that was inbound for La Guaira with a rescued American.  The call quality was terrible so we couldn¡¯t quite make out all the details, but we didn¡¯t want to run the risk of missing you so we¡¯ve had someone there for the past day and a half.  Can you make your way to the Coast Guard building?  Woody should be either out in front of the building or just inside the lobby.  He¡¯ll bring you back here and we will get you debriefed and on your way back Stateside as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Jonas with a sigh of relief.  ¡°I¡¯ll find someone named Woody at the Coast Guard building.¡±  He paused before realizing that he might actually have a problem.  ¡°Um, how do you say Coast Guard in Spanish?¡±


    ¡°GuardaCostas,¡± the woman said with a chuckle.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said.  ¡°I¡¯ll hopefully see you soon.¡±  He hung up and, asking the pleasant receptionist for directions, he headed out of the office and in the direction she pointed.  After a few wrong turns, Jonas ended up in front of an official looking building and spotted a man leaning against a wall in a rumpled suit.  ¡°Woody?¡± he called out as he approached.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the man said, lurching upright.  ¡°You Mister Gumbo?¡±


    ¡°Close enough,¡± said Jonas.  ¡°You my ride?¡±


    ¡°Close enough,¡± said Woody with a laugh.  ¡°Let¡¯s get out of this heat.¡±


    * * * * *


    After a thorough debriefing with the woman from the Embassy, Jonas was handed a plane ticket back to New York which departed that evening.  He sailed through Airport Security, his ragged appearance notwithstanding, and had an easy, uneventful flight home, though he found himself unable to fall asleep on the plane despite his exhaustion.  Letting himself into his apartment at 2 AM, Jonas expected to continue struggling but he fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down in his bed.Stolen story; please report.


    The next morning, Jonas woke in a daze.  He blearily stumbled through his normal morning routine.  Well, his previous normal routine, that is.  No bathing in the ocean, no scrounging for water, and certainly no fucking coconuts.  Stepping out of the shower with a towel around his waist, he critically regarded his reflection in the mirror.  He was certainly leaner and well tanned, but his hair and beard were a mess.  Deciding that he just couldn¡¯t be bothered at this point and stepped back into his bedroom.  Turning on the TV to break up the oppressive silence, he realized with a start that it was Monday.  And not just any Monday, but the Monday that his team was all supposed to return from their mandatory vacation.


    Without consciously making a decision, Jonas ambled into his closet, put on his suit, grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door.  Sitting in the cab on his way to the office, he realized that he hadn¡¯t done anything about his ragged hair or his unkempt beard.  Deciding that he couldn¡¯t be bothered to worry about something as trivial as that, he leaned back in the seat and stared out the window, taking in the everpresent bustle and hubbub of New York.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, but you need an appointment to go past this point,¡± said Ginger Grant, the attractive receptionist manning Thurston-Howell¡¯s front desk .  She stood up at her desk to intercept the bedraggled man in a surprisingly nice suit exiting the elevator.


    ¡°Good morning Ginger,¡± said Jonas.  ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I don¡¯t need an appointment to go to my own office.¡±  He laughed, striding confidently past her and entering the plushly decorated offices.


    ¡°Mr. Grumby?¡± she asked, stunned at his appearance.  Seeing that he had already passed her, she could only stare at his retreating back in confusion.  ¡°What the fuck happened to him on that vacation?¡±


    Jonas continued to walk through the office, making his way towards his team¡¯s pod at the end of the hall.  He never noticed the crowd of gawking onlookers trailing in his wake, though he did wave at a few of his teammates that he spotted.


    He only paused once on his way through the floor, when he spotted Bob, a friend as well as a colleague, sipping a carton of coconut water.  Stopping abruptly, he stared intently at the drink in his friend¡¯s hand.  He slowly reached out, plucked it from Bob¡¯s unresisting grip, and then violently threw it into the trash can.


    ¡°No more coconuts,¡± he quietly said to Bob with an intense stare.  ¡°No more coconuts.  None.  Not ever.  Never again.¡±  Turning to the gawking onlookers, he continued in a more moderate tone.  ¡°Please pass the word that I would kindly appreciate it if nobody at this company ever, ever, ever brought anything coconut related to work.  Ever.  Thank you.¡±


    Leaving the growing crowd behind, he continued down the hallway into his office, gently shutting the door behind him.  Easing himself into his luxurious chair, he couldn¡¯t find a comfortable position to sit.  Giving up, he grabbed his laptop and sat on the floor, leaning against the side of his desk.  He remained in this position, checking emails and getting caught up on what had happened during his absence, until Mary Ann, his loyal secretary, slowly opened the door and peeked inside.


    ¡°Hey boss,¡± she said in a voice just above a whisper.  ¡°Could you maybe fill me in on what the fuck is going on?¡±


    Jonas laughed loudly and genuinely, continuing on until it slid into hysteria.  At a loss for what to do, Mary Ann slipped inside, shut the door behind her, and scooped her boss into a hug.  Once he finally managed to get himself under control, he slowly explained to her what had happened to him after she had sent him off on his tropical vacation.  He was pretty sure that he¡¯d done a better job this time than he had on board the Point Bridge, but he knew that he still wasn¡¯t on their level.


    ¡°We should do something nice for those men who rescued you,¡± said Mary Ann.  ¡°Do you know how to get in touch with them?¡±


    Jonas realized with a lurch that he had never gotten a cell number or email address from the captain or any of the crew.  Mary Ann was undeterred by this lapse in judgment, however.


    ¡°No problem.  We can just look up the ship and figure out who owns it.  That should give us a way to get in touch with them.  Maybe we can arrange a nice meal out next time they¡¯re in the country.¡±  She took Jonas¡¯ laptop from him to begin hunting down the owners while he regaled her with some of the better stories that the crew members had shared with him over that long afternoon.  Engrossed in his recollections, he missed the growing expression of concern on her face.


    ¡°Um, boss?¡± she asked.  ¡°What was the name of that ship again?¡±


    ¡°It was the Point Bridge,¡± he answered assuredly.  ¡°Couldn¡¯t forget it.  They all seemed so proud to be on that ship.¡±


    ¡°And the captain¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°Charles Maxwell,¡± he said.  ¡°Why?  Is something wrong?¡±


    ¡°I¡­think so.  Here, take a look for yourself.¡±  She handed him the laptop with a newspaper article pulled up.


    ¡°Confluence of Leap Day and the Bermuda Triangle Proves Fateful for Missing Cargo Vessel,¡± the headline read.  The article described the loss at sea of a bulk carrier named the MV Point Bridge, noting that it apparently sailed into a fog bank in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle and never exited.  No sign of the wreckage or any of the crew had ever been found.  The article was dated mid-March of 2000.


    Scrolling down, Jonas spotted several photographs of the missing crew members and was stunned.  There was Captain Maxwell, staring resolutely over the bow of a small fishing boat.  Here was Willy in a tuxedo, arm draped over the shoulder of his beautiful wife.  A photo of a much younger Fitzy in a Navy uniform was tucked down at the bottom of the page.


    Stunned, Jonas looked over at Mary Ann with tears streaming down his face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he said.  ¡°How is this possible?  The ship sank, they all died, 25 years ago?  What?¡±


    Mary Ann could only shrug uncomfortably, at a loss for what to tell her stricken boss.


    ¡°But how?  What? I mean, they rescued me from that island.  They physically took me from that island to Venezuela.  How else could I have made it back here?  What?  They were real.  So real.  We sat around for hours on the way back, sharing life experiences and telling stories.  Great stories.  And they were all dead?  Ghosts?¡±


    Mary Ann gave him another hug as he struggled to come to grips with this revelation.


    ¡°You know what¡¯s weird?¡± he asked rhetorically.  ¡°The one thing I can¡¯t get out of my head is how much better they were than me at telling stories.  I guess, maybe, dead men tell the best tales.¡±