CHAPTER SEVEN

Fallen

THE BOXES WERE hidden in a natural larder made by the stream; Rachel concealed them further with ferns then returned to the beach, where Ralph was pacing, nervouserious. His plans were always so arbitrary and instinctive – now there was an adult on the island he felt even more sensitive about his role as sole moral arbiter.

He stopped walking and looked at the woman. She radiated a sisterly calm, but it was an equanimity born from adult pragmatism; Ralph could see that she expected to be rescued soon. To him the island was a blind spot to the world: they would never be found. Jack's evil was a cloak of invisibility.

Rachel was looking back at the glazed boy in his filthy shorts. 'How long have you been here?' she asked, and Ralph was perversely pleased to hear traces of disquiet in her voice.

'A while,' he said indulgently, then snapped out of his abjection. 'Weeks. Possibly months.' Back to the zig-zagging apathy. 'If no one has found us why should they rescue you?'

Rachel was brushing sand from her skirt. She paused and examined Ralph's hardening countenance. 'I don't know how far you've come, but I've only travelled from another island,' she said, in a doubtful yet reasonable tone. 'If I can get the radio to work we could call for help.'

'If it isn't broken. And if we aren't too far away.' Ralph was pessimistic from a season of moral and physical degradation, but perhaps his cynicism was a way of protecting himself from future disappointments. He sat down, exhausted. 'How long were you adrift?'

The woman considered. 'About a day. I left my island and ran into a storm almost immediately. The weird thing is the forecast said the complete opposite.'

'What's your island called?'

'Bora Bora,' said the woman. 'I was travelling to Tahiti when the storm broke. I teach French there.'

Ralph was not sure if he had heard of the names. 'So I suppose we're somewhere near? Where's Tahiti?'

'The southern Pacific Ocean,' teached Rachel. 'Un territoire d'outre-mer.' Her pupil nodded blankly. 'I suppose you don't know what day it is.' He shook his head. 'Well, I left Bora Bora on the tenth of July, a Saturday, so I suppose it's Monday now.'

Inwardly the days of the week seemed ludicrous to the boy, like a frivolous poem or the arbitrary alphabet. Nature could not be named. Suddenly he felt strangely protective of his island. 'What do you think this one is called?'

'No idea,' said Rachel. 'It's too small to be Moorea, too big to be Mehetia. Maiao is an island formation. Tetiaroa is an atoll…' She shrugged with a sigh. 'I must have drifted farther than I thought.'

In Ralph's mind the island was adrift, like Laputa: it had a mind of its own, it was capricious, there were demons in its base pulling levers. He wanted to sink into the sand, to uncover them, admonish them, punish. He lay down on the beach as Rachel continued to look at him.

THE HUNTERS HAD failed: there was not enough meat to go round. As the afternoon grew dim Jack's entire tribe congregated on the summit of Castle Rock, and the Chief paced amongst them, outraged but unable to blame anyone else, for the animal had been within his grasp.

Roger was the last to reach the crest, his growing depression visible even through the paint mask. Jack ordered some of the hunters to cook what little flesh they had left, and directed the others to gather fruit and coconutfuls of water. The lines of industry were wordlessly resumed, but now the hunters were obeying the routine itself more than their leader; the regularity was keeping them sane.

Jack threw down his spear and sat on a rock by the black ashes. His mind was the island, it was the chine of rock, and his beachy horizon was hidden by a forest of confusion… He looked up to see Roger staring down at him from the other side of the fire. 'What.'

'Why did you do it, Chief?' asked Roger. Jack parted his lips to speak but his deputy was impatient: 'Why did you give Ralph your knife?' For the first time his voice was small and passive.

Jack hesitated, and the silence between them said everything. He last-ditched: 'Ralph stole it, he stole the knife…'

Roger had wanted Jack to believe Ralph was dead because that was what he thought he had wanted – now he sustained the delusion to punish the Chief. 'Before he died he told me about it.'

Jack stared hard at the ashes. Until Roger had returned that afternoon this was a showdown he thought he had avoided. If his deputy had killed a strong boy armed with a knife, what chance did he have? Pigs and humans were not the same.

Roger's psychosis was mingling with the heartbreak, and suddenly it became ascendant. 'He screamed when he died,' he growled, his hazel eyes blank and dying. 'He begged me to spare him…'

Jack shot to his feet and kicked a cloud of ash at Roger. 'Shut up!' he cried. 'That's exactly why I gave Ralph the knife, to get rid of you!' He grew rabid, fiery-eyed. 'You're mad, Roger. The sooner you're dead the better.'

'You're one to talk,' steeled Roger, and he produced the rusting knife from a pocket. 'How would you like to die by your own sword?' He pulled the blade out and waved it in front of him.

Jack picked up his spear.

PERCIVAL AND JOHNNY slept on replenished beds of fern as evening fell; on the beach Ralph lay with Rachel and gazed up at the smiling stars. The woman said they were beautiful, but the boy thought nothing was beautiful anymore.

Rachel sat up and hugged her knees. She was barefoot and skirted, and had less experience of cold evenings than her half naked companion. 'Where are the others, anyway?' she asked, and Ralph jogged his head to the easterly side of the island. Rachel followed his nod – and saw two figures slowly walking nearer. She prodded the apathetic Ralph and he looked too.

'Sam and Eric!' he said, roused and delighted. He got to his feet and met the twins in the centre of the beach; they were unarmed and devoid of hostility. 'What made you come back?'

'The hunters have broken up,' said Sam, simply.

'Scattered,' said Eric, nodding.

'We thought we'd join up with you, Ralph…'

'…if that's alright with you.'

Ralph slapped them both on their bare backs, and they returned to the poolside powder together. The twins stopped in astonishment when they saw the casual, reclining Rachel.

'Who's…'

'…that?'

Ralph enjoyed their amazement. 'Sam, Eric, meet Rachel. Rachel…'

The three shook hands solemnly.

'Any more to come?' asked Ralph, and his query was answered by more shapes in the distance. It was a gaggle of moaning littluns, always less animated than the twins but still sufficiently sentient to complain of malnutrition. They echoed the twins' amazement, and the pattern was repeated with each new group that arrived. Rachel was puzzled by the multitude that gathered around the original three. There must be over thirty of these kids…

Ralph stood near the palms, his plan bearing fruit. He observed that the younger children were the first to arrive; after a break in the flow Henry followed, then Robert – and to Ralph's surprise Bill and Maurice appeared at the end of the beach. The older, the more corrupted. Now almost all were without spears.

The tribe had reconvened in their original location, as if Rachel was a magnet for civilisation. Only two members were absent: Jack and Roger.

'Where are they?' Ralph asked of Sam, who shrugged and mumbled, 'Still fighting, I suppose.' The fair-headed one gazed down the beach and wondered who the winner of this duel would be.

He turned to Rachel. 'I have to go back for the others. It's best if we all stay together.'

By now Rachel was visibly concerned, for the sight of the filthy crew had brought home the gravity of their circumstance. 'Sure you don't want me to come?'

Ralph nodded with a reassuring simper, then left the murmuring, happier crowd to return to Castle Rock – hopefully for the last time. He passed the ocean and the hunters' fire then entered the wood, creeping through the darkness before halting at the neck of rock. The hunters' home looked barren and empty; Ralph crossed the isthmus and climbed up to the first ridge. He peered over and saw the entrance to the cave. Like a panther, an assassin, he padded over the sheet and looked inside.

Roger was sat at the back, slumped over his knees, the penknife dangling from a hand. Breathlessly Ralph walked over to him. 'Are you coming?'

The killer remained foetal.

'Where's Jack? Have you killed him?'

Still the boy was silent. Impatiently Ralph bent down and shook Roger by the shoulders. 'Answer me!'

'He's on the summit. Now leave me alone.'

'Listen, Roger,' said Ralph. 'We have a visitor on the beach. It's a woman. She's brought food with her.'

A sole beam of hope shone through Roger's depression; he looked up into the other boy's face. Ralph could see he was still debilitated from his disappointment – as well as the fight he had presumably just effected – so he gave him an encouraging shake then left the cave to climb to the top of the castle.

There was Jack, sitting on his rock by the fire. Ralph crouched by the edge of the summit and surveyed his body. The Chief did not appear to be bruised or bleeding, but his face was drained and rigid. He too was spearless.

Ralph walked up to him and stood where Roger had that afternoon.

'There's a woman on the island,' he stated boldly. 'She's got food for us. The hunters are all on the beach now.' Dramatic pause. 'You can join us if you want to.'

The Chief continued to stare into the dead fire, and Ralph wondered how far his pride would eat into his hunger. Relinquishing his tribe would be incredibly hard for him. Would Jack stay here forever?

Ralph made a circle in the ashes with his foot. 'I can bring you food, if you like.'

Jack stirred from his reverie and looked up at the spectre. 'Leave me alone, ghost,' he said under his breath. 'I'm trying to think.'

The fair-headed one walked through the fire and sat down at the Chief's feet. Jack had been reduced to a tribe of one – now he was a lord of flies himself, and little else. 'Did Roger tell you I'm alive?' Ralph asked, puzzled, and Jack frowned, then squinted at him.

'Ralph?' he said, disbelievingly.

The ghost nodded at him, and smiled as much as it could – then the barrier broke, Jack's eyes widened, he smiled, he threw his arms around Ralph's neck, and the tears ran down his cheeks. Ralph was surprised, and a little touched; he gave Jack a gruff pat on the shoulder. Around them the island was more sympathetic: the wind receded respectfully, the ocean paused, nature was curious to see the first tears of this fallen warrior. Then a gust brought Jack back to his senses; he became embarrassed at this show of vulnerability, and retracted his limbs to a frigid armfold. 'Sorry about that,' he said to the ground.

Ralph cleared his throat and said, 'Think nothing of it.' He held out a hand, and after an affected hesitation Jack took it. The two boys walked slowly back to the beach.