End of Women: Part Four

Overload

Lazy waves of foam licked the sands on the beach. Degan's bare feet sank deep as he strove from one end of the island to the other, carrying a bundle of gathered logs and sticks to the cave. 

As the sweat dripped down his face, stung his eyes and dried out his back he tried not to think about what the beach had looked like when they had landed all those months ago. There had been a palm forest stretching half a mile and right up to the roots of the mountain. The parrots, snakes, buzzing insects and black earthy mud had transported him to a new world the moment he arrived. Kindra had learned to walk between those papery telescopic boughs. Now the forest was all but gone, cut and slashed, burned and consumed. 

At the mouth of the cave a shanty had sprung up. Three interlaced cabins made of palm wood and trees from further in land, the shell of the boat these ten new women had arrived on making a storage facility for the clean water collected during last month's rains. The women themselves were lounging on the far side of the shanty, shaded from the sun by the cliff. 

Degan placed the meagre wood pile beside their campfire and paused, watching these females drinking mango-infused watery drinks and chattering to each other. He looked at his own blistered, worn hands, and at their smooth, unsullied palms from a distance. An array of bare legs stretched out over the sand bore no marks from scouring the jungle, and their skin, not burned burned or wind-beaten, was soft and gleaming from weeks of sun-bathing.

Degan clenched his hands, watching blood fill the capillaries in his fingertips. Every day, he would stand there, seeing them do exactly what they were doing at that very moment, and plan what he would say to them if he confronted them. In his wildest fantasies he wanted to throw them off the island into the sea, take back all of this precious wood and water wasted on keeping them in the life to which they were accustomed. He wanted to take this wood and re-plant it, see the forest grow back again and life return to it. But that was impossible. He had traded the life of the forest for the lives of ten women.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, nasal breath. Its all for him. Its always for him. Kindra needed a mother, Degan kept telling himself. Millie was returning to herself, spending time with the boy. What would she do if she saw Degan throw off these women? True, she had not wanted them here in the first place, but they had not spoken about the issue for many weeks. A few nights back he had come down in the night to find her burning campfire wood and telling the girls stories about the heyday of Nova Femen. It had turned his stomach to rot. In his panic he had imagined that Millie might do something terrible with Kindra, riled up by the fervour of those fireside chats. He thought he had even heard her cooing about the assassination of President Hobart. He hoped he had heard wrong.

The climb up the chiselled steps to the cave house was hard, even without the heavy stick-bundle. Lost in his thoughts, Degan didn't see the slightly larger bundle burst from between the tarp curtains and tackle him around the legs.

"Daddyyyy!" Kindra shouted up at him with a beaming, mischevious face. Degan staggered, laughing, and steadied himself with one hand against the rock wall. He picked Kindra up and slung the kid over his back, proceeding into the kitchen. 

"You doing alright little man?"

"Yah." Kindra kicked his feet back and forth, thudding into Degan's back. "Saw a big bird."

Degan removed his son and placed him on a bean-bag chair he had made out of styrofoam and sails. The wall behind was covered with scratches and etchings. Most were of Kindra's favourite; birds. From the crack in the wall beside his cot, the boy could see little else but birds and sky, blue and grey, rain and sun. All of these words were carved into the stone as well, and each day they would practice pronouncing each letter in each word.

"Bah." Kindra said, as Degan pointed at the letter B.

"Beeeee." Degan made the noise for him. "Beeee."

"He's too young for that." 

Millie slid down from the top bunk. She was wearing nothing but one of Degan's old tee shirts, which covered up to her thighs. Degan ignored her.

"Beeeeee." He repeated to Kindra.

"Beehhhhhh" Kindra blew a raspberry at the end of the sound and laughed explosively.

"See?" Millie shrugged as she turned the faucet on a tank of water and poured herself a cup. "He doesn't get it, man. Leave it."

Degan clenched his jaw so hard he thought one of his teeth might crack. After taking a deep breath he said, "You've been looking after him?"

"I'm his mother, Degan." She shot him a dark look before taking a mango back up into her bed, sliding the curtains closed behind her. 

Degan sat down on the floor, rubbing his forehead. One of these days, he would have to confront her about it. About all of it. One of these days, he would have to choose, between his son and his son's mother, between having enough for his family and keeping to his vow never to take a life again, even a woman's life.

A tiny hand patted him lightly on his crown. When he looked up Kindra was clapping his hands and pointing at the letter.

"Beeeee." The boy said gleefully. "Beee, beee, beee, beee, beee!"