TI: Gunther & Erich
By AJ
Cal stood in the doorway of the cottage, staring about him in dismay. The roomy bungalow, one of the earliest buildings on The Island, had been used primarily for storage since the segregation of the admin area and staff quarters. Now, with the population of The Island at an all-time high and space at a premium, it was going to become the new offices of the Psych Department.
Overall, he was pleased with the idea. The bungalow was bigger than the offices they had now, with hardwood floors and large windows that would not only provide more of a view than they had now, but a cooling cross-breeze during the humid summer months. The living room was spacious enough for small group meetings and the kitchen/dining room would become their common work area. The two bedrooms would be turned into private offices for Hobbes and himself, much larger than the cubbyholes they were in now.
However, it had to be cleaned out first. From where Cal stood, it looked like it had been the repository for every scrap of paper and piece of furniture that people hadn't known what to do with but didn't want to throw away. Dilapidated chairs vied for space with rickety tables and ramshackle filing cabinets, while boxes crammed full of yellowed paper perched haphazardly next to lamps with no shades and fans with no blades. It looked like a hurricane had swept through the room, then covered everything with a quarter-inch of dust.
On a sunny afternoon in a cramped and crowded office, the clean-up had seemed like a good way to fill the empty hours. On a gray and cloudy Saturday morning, a return to bed was a much more inviting proposition. Or it would be if Hobbes were in it. Unfortunately, he was at a three-day conference in Boston and bed was a cold, lonely place without him. With a sigh, Cal rolled up his sleeves and waded into the mess.
"I brought you lunch."
"What?" Jumping at the unexpected voice, Cal dropped the carton he was carrying. With the perversity of old cardboard, it immediately disintegrated, scattering its contents across the floor.
"Sorry," Ben apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'll help pick it up."
"No, that's all right," Cal assured him. "I'll get to it later. What are you doing here?"
"Lunch." Ben held up a brown paper bag in one hand and an extra-large iced tea in the other. "I didn't see you in the dining hall so I brought something for you."
"Thanks," Cal said gratefully. "I didn't realize it was so late." He started to take them from Ben, and then changed his mind. "Just set them on that table over there. I don't want to handle them until I've washed my hands."
"This place is a mess," Ben said frankly as he set the food on a battered-looking table. One leg was shorter than the other and it rocked gently under his hand as he looked around the room. "Where did they find all this junk?"
"You should have seen it earlier," Cal told him with a grimace. "I've made great progress here. I should be done with this room in, oh... another 18 hours or so."
"Why don't you come to the volleyball tournament with me?" Ben asked. "You look like you could use a break and I don't think Hobbes would expect you to get it all done in one day."
"No, that's all right," Cal declined. "I think I'm going to keep going for a while."
"Ok, but don't forget to eat the lunch I brought. And if you change your mind about the volleyball, you know where to find me."
After he left, Cal washed his hands and then unpacked the lunch Ben had left. As he turned toward the chair he intended to sit in - the one with all four legs - he heard the ominous crunch of breaking glass. Looking down, he realized that he had stepped on a black and white photograph in a simple wood frame. A young man dressed in black tails smiled up at him, a violin tucked beneath his chin. It must have come from the carton he had dropped. He had better pick up the rest of the contents before he broke something else. As he was shoveling it all into a new box, his attention was caught by a battered brown leather journal. Curious, he picked it up and looked it over more carefully. The cover was worn and water-stained and had clearly seen some rough usage. He flipped casually through the slightly crinkled, water-spotted pages. It was written in German, in small, cramped handwriting that looked difficult to read, even without the blotches and streaks where the ink had run. On the inside of the front cover was a name. Erich-- the last name was too smeared to be legible, but he could guess what it was. Intrigued, he took it and the picture over to the chair with him, wondering if he remembered enough German to decipher it.
Picking up his sandwich and taking a bite out of it, he began to read.
10 July 1939
Today is my 21st birthday and I’m a hardened criminal who will never see my home again. My father thrust this journal at me as he hugged me for the last time. He told me to write in it daily, to share my thoughts and emotions with it as I would with my closest friend and confidante, and it would help me to remain sane. I’m not sure that I was sane to begin with and it was one of my closest friends who turned me in to the SS, but I will endeavor to obey him.
I think I must be babbling; I have had no sleep for two days and nights, and I will not dare to sleep soundly for at least two more. By then, I should be with my father's sister in Rotterdam, where it doesn't mean a death sentence to be homosexual. I probably shouldn’t have put that in writing. It’s… what’s the correct term? Self-incriminating? I’m sure I will get better with the terminology - after all, I haven’t been on the run for very long.
I have known I am a criminal for almost four years. My best friend, Joachim, and I discovered it together in his father’s hayloft the summer we were both 16. A year later, I left for the Conservatory in Vienna with my beloved violin while he remained behind on his father’s farm. Shortly after that, he married the miller’s daughter and has produced a child every year since. I guess that means he reformed. I, on the other hand, continued my life of crime.
We thought we were so careful, my friends and I. We didn’t touch each other in public, even non-sexually. We didn’t talk as if we meant anything special to each other; in some cases we even pretended we didn’t know each other. And yet, two days after I returned home for the summer break I received an urgent message from one of my closest friends. He knew someone in the SS who had seen the latest list of homosexuals to be arrested and both of our names were on it. He was going into hiding, and warned me to do the same. I don’t know which friend betrayed us and I may never know who it was. All I can do is run as far and as fast as I can, for if I am caught it will mean a concentration camp, torture and almost certain death.
11 July 1939
I didn't mean to end on such a melodramatic note. A platoon of soldiers boarded the train and I hid this away and pretended to be asleep, lest they demand to see my papers or examine my journal. I tried not to act guilty or let them see my fear. I must remain as inconspicuous as I can until I reach Holland. I should be safe there. I haven't seen my Tante Hilda in since I was 12 but Father gave me a letter for her and said she would shelter me. I hope so, for if she won't take me in I have nowhere else to go.
I'm so tired and already I miss my family. I hope they don't get into trouble because of me. It wouldn't be fair. They didn't even know about my... sexual proclivity until a few days ago. I was afraid when I told them, afraid because of the SS but also because I didn't want them to hate me or think less of me for it. Father was very good about it, though. He simply looked at me for a long moment and then said "Well," in that way he has. Then he started planning my escape as calmly as if he were planning a trip to the seaside.
Mother cried at first, but then overcame her emotions by bustling about making sure I had clean socks and packing a basket with enough food to last me for a week. After dark Father and I took the small farm cart by back roads to a small country way station where I caught the early milk train and here I am. The soldiers are back.
14 July 1939
I meant to write in my journal every day but I haven't had a chance. I arrived in Rotterdam the day before yesterday, nearly incoherent with fatigue. Fortunately, Tante Hilda was at home and I didn't have to make sense; I simply gave my father's letter to her. To my relief, she made no immediate judgments or decisions. She merely showed me a bed and said to sleep while she considered matters.
I must confess, I'm somewhat intimidated by Tante Hilda. She's so different from my mother. Mother is like a small, energetic brown wren, impossible to be afraid of, while Tante Hilda is tall, blonde and stately, with steely blue eyes very like Father's; in all, a very formidable person. The difference isn't only in looks, though. Mother is a very capable person, but her universe revolves around her home and children. In all other matters she defers to my father. Tante Hilda is much more open and forthright. She leads an active social life and is very interested in politics.
Uncle Otto, on the other hand, is rather shy and retiring. He adores Tante Hilda, but he prefers to hide away in his study with his books while she entertains. My cousins are all older and gone from home, except Giselle. She is 17 and the silliest creature in the world, a title that I thought belonged to my sister Louisa until now. Her head is filled with thoughts of nothing but boys and romance and she babbles constantly. I have to put this away for now. The lunch bell just rang and Tante Hilda is a strong believer in punctuality.
16 July 1939
I spoke to Tante Hilda about my future again today. We've talked several times already and I still don't know what I am going to do. I have very little money and no belongings except a suitcase, a satchel of music and my violin. She asked me what I want to do with my life and seemed rather impatient that I don't know. I told her I WAS doing what I wanted with my life before the Nazis interfered. I want to be a concert violinist. I want to play in the finest concert halls in the world, with the finest orchestras. It's all I have wanted to do since I first held a violin at the age of 7, and I have never considered anything else.
She seems to think I should abandon that idea without a second thought, but what else can I do? I have no other skills; music is the only thing I know. She said that she has an idea or two and we'll talk again later. I have a feeling that if I was a girl, she would simply find me a husband, as she is attempting to do with Giselle. (Although why someone would want to marry that flutterbrain is beyond my understanding.) Since I'm not a girl, but a man who is expected to take care of himself, a solution is a little harder to come by.
17 July 1939
Tante Hilda had a dinner party tonight and all anyone talked about was the war. Although most of the government is convinced that Hitler will respect Holland's neutrality, Tante Hilda and her friends don't believe it. They also don't believe that the Fortress of Holland, a plan to destroy the dikes and bridges and flood the countryside, will slow the Germans down. I must say, as politically ignorant as I am, I don't believe it either. Hasn't the government ever heard of airplanes? At any rate, she and her friends were making plans for what they will do when the country is invaded.
It was a very depressing conversation and I escaped to the study with Uncle Otto as soon as I could. Uncle Otto is a very restful person. He says that Tante Hilda has enough energy and makes enough plans for both of them. The study is a comfortable room. It is somewhat shabby and a great contrast with the rest of the house, but it is his sanctuary and Tante Hilda doesn't touch it, except to have someone clean occasionally. It's like a small, calm island of tranquility in the midst of a sea of pandemonium. Uncle Otto likes to hear me play, so I played all of my favorite pieces while he smoked his pipe and listened. It was a good evening and for a while I could delude myself into feeling safe, but all too soon reality intruded once more.
After the guests had left, Tante Hilda came in and said she doesn't think I will be safe here much longer. She feels that I should go to America. But how am I supposed to get to there? Holland is flooded with refugees and everyone who possibly can is emigrating. The ships are booked for months in advance, the wait for papers is indefinite, and I am not even a Dutch citizen. It is impossible. And even if it weren't, what would I do when I got there? I'm a student, a music student. I'm good at it, but I'm not a professional yet and I have no other skills. But she is right. If - when - Hitler invades, I will no longer be safe here and could even be a danger to the family.
I don't know what to do. I cannot stay and put them in peril but I don't see how I can go. Or where I can go. I thought of volunteering to work for my passage but there are already so many men doing that. Even though I'm in good physical condition, I cannot match the men who have done manual labor all their lives. Tante Hilda tells me not to worry, she's working on a plan but I can't help but worry. What am I going to do? I want this war to be over. I want to go home. I miss my family so much, even Louisa.
21 July 1939
Tante Hilda had guests for lunch today. Frau Andersen was here with her son Gunther. Gunther is a very handsome man in his late twenties or early thirties, tall and broad-shouldered with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He has a quiet air of confidence and self-assurance that I lack. I cannot imagine Gunther ever being in the situation that I'm in. He simply wouldn't allow it.
Frau Andersen is Dutch but Gunther is half-American. She's a childhood friend of Tante Hilda's. They were at school together before she married a wealthy American and moved to New York City. She comes back every summer to visit family and friends and Gunther escorted her this year. He is liquidating some of the family's financial holdings while she visits. They seem positive that Hitler will invade soon. I wasn't at my best in front of Gunther. He is the type of man who seems to bring out the worst in me. Whenever I want desperately to impress a man, I become totally tongue-tied. I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say. Even Giselle was less of a flutterbrain.
24 July 1939
Gunther was here again today. He is here almost every day, either bringing his mother to visit with Tante Hilda or discussing business with Uncle Otto. Giselle throws herself at him shamelessly, but so far he has paid very little attention to her. He pays very little attention to me, either. After a few short conversations, he has decided that I am hopelessly naive and self-centered, which may be correct. But it's better than being hopelessly smug and arrogant, convinced that I am right and that anyone who disagrees with me must be an idiot.
25 July 1939
I can't believe Tante Hilda! She told me her plans today and I'm to leave for America in one week! I asked her how that would be possible. Everyone who can is sailing and there isn't an empty berth to be had, no matter how much you're willing to pay. Do you know what she said? Gunther is to escort me.
Gunther! I wouldn't travel a foot with that man! He is incredibly arrogant, way too sure of himself for my taste, and he has a way of looking at you so condescendingly any time you say something he doesn't agree with. But Tante Hilda said there's no other way. Gunther is leaving in a week. Frau Andersen's aunt is very ill so she has decided to stay longer, but Gunther has finished his business here and needs to get back home. She turned her ticket in for one at a later date without consulting him and Giselle says he is furious about it. He wanted to make her 'see reason' and force her to go with him, but she had already made the arrangements and it is impossible to change them back.
Since she is staying here, he traded their suite for a stateroom and, since there is an extra bunk in the cabin, they decided that I should become his traveling companion. Uncle Otto pulled some strings and they have obtained my papers by arranging for Gunther to sponsor me. He will pay for my ticket, vouch for me and guarantee employment in one of his family's hotels when we reach America.
I asked him what I would be doing in the hotel. He looked at me in that condescending way he has and asked if it mattered. Of course it matters! I'm a violinist, not a waiter! He said I should be happy to have any gainful employment, not quibble about the type. I asked him if he would be happy to be a waiter. He said that isn't the issue.
I pointed out that's what he always says when he doesn't have a reasonable answer. He said that if I would stick to the subject he wouldn't have to say it. As if I were the person sidetracking the conversation! I told him quite firmly that I do not want to spend my life waiting tables. He told me he was positive they could find something suited to my level of ability. If I didn't know better, I would think he was being sarcastic.
27 July 1939
Giselle and I were talking about Gunther today. Not that I'm at all interested in him, but I thought it best to know something about the man if my future is to be in his hands. She said that he has three sisters, all married, but no brothers, and that even though he's only 31 his father trusts him implicitly and has made him responsible for many of the family's business interests. I thought that might explain his condescending attitude but she says he has always been this way. If that's the case, his sisters probably married just to get away from him.
She also said that even though he is a very eligible bachelor, he doesn't seem to be interested in getting married himself. I wondered for a moment if maybe it s because his interests lie elsewhere, but I quickly rid myself of that thought. It's probably because no woman can meet his impossible standard of perfection.
30 July 1939
I hate Gunther and I HATE his eyebrows. He has a way of quirking one of them and looking at you in a very patronizing way, as if he's waiting for you to see reason. Which means seeing things his way, of course.
We were preparing my baggage for the ship today and he asked if this was all the clothing I brought. In that Tone he has. He shouldn't be that surprised, I told him. I fled in the middle of the night; I didn't exactly have time to pack a trunk.
He suggested that perhaps if I hadn't brought so much music I would have had room for more clothes. I pointed out that one could buy clothing anywhere but "Beethoven's Sonaten fur Klaviere und Violine, opp 12, 23, 24, 30, 47 & 96" is much harder to come by, and he gave me that Look, the one with the eyebrow. He must practice it in the mirror. I know it isn't something that you can do automatically. I tried it on him once and he merely asked if something had startled me.
01 August 1939
This is my last night here. Gunther has been in a terrible mood all day. He has tried several times to persuade his mother to try to leave but she refuses. It is nice to know that there is one person in the world who doesn't jump at his command. She merely changes the subject, and when he persists, he is left looking like a domineering bully. I wonder how she does it. Perhaps I can ask her before we leave.
He brought me a satchel of clothing today, mostly used but of good quality. I tried to tell him I didn't need his charity, but he informed me that he wasn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart. He just didn't want to be embarrassed by me on board ship. I was so angry at him! I was quite speechless with rage and he didn't even notice! He simply said 'No arguments? Good.' and went on his way. I definitely need to speak to his mother before we leave.
02 August 1939
I'm writing this from our stateroom aboard the ship. We don't sail until early tomorrow morning, but they require everyone to be on board by 10 pm. Gunther is in a very bad mood and has gone to find a drink. I don't understand why he's so angry. I know he thought we should be on board by 8 but I wasn't quite ready to go when he arrived to pick me up. Holland may not be my home but it is the closest I'm going to be to home for quite a while. Maybe for the rest of my life. I needed time to prepare myself, to say a final goodbye to all I hold dear.
And why hurry so frantically to get on board? Aren't we going to spend enough time on this ship already? I mean, really, it's not like we were late or anything. We had plenty of time. They hadn't even given the first warning for passengers to go ashore yet. He said this is going to be a very long trip. I think I agree.
Later that night
It is after 2 am and I'm writing this in one of the small salons so I don't disturb Gunther. No, I have to be honest. I'm here so Gunther won't disturb me. I don't know how I will manage for the entire voyage. Gunther came back to our stateroom, relaxed and in a much better mood. I was in my bunk, pretending to be asleep to avoid more quarrels, and he decided to bathe before he went to bed. What can I say? Gunther fully-dressed is a very handsome man. Gunther nude is magnificent. I can only thank God that I was already in my bunk, where my blankets could conceal my reaction. I cannot spend the entire trip in such close proximity to the man. I simply can't. What am I going to do? I want to go home.
04 August 1939
I have a plan. I will simply make other friends and avoid Gunther as much as possible. I have already begun to put my plan into action. There is an American family on board - father, mother and two adult children - that Gunther dislikes intensely. He says they talk more and say less than anyone he knows, but I don't think they're that bad. They have been helping me improve my English and telling me tales of America. I spent a great deal of time with them today and they told me all about the pirates that used to sail along the coast and how people have found buried treasure they left behind. I tried to tell Gunther about the treasure and ask his advice on how to search for it. He said treasure hunting is for fools and dreamers, and he hopes I have more sense than to be either one. I hate his eyebrows.
Later that night
Life is definitely improving. I have decided to develop the habit of taking a walk around the deck before retiring. Gunther doesn't approve but he hasn't actually forbidden it and it is so much easier to slip into the cabin after he is asleep.
I was walking around this evening and I met one of the off-duty crewmen doing the same thing. We leaned against the rail and talked for a few minutes and there was an instant spark. You know how you can sometimes tell about other men? There was something about the way he looked at me, the way he rested his hand on the rail so close to mine. His name is Louis and he is from New York City, but his mother is German and he has been to Europe many times. It was so good to talk to someone I have things in common with. We are going to meet again tomorrow night.
07 August 1939
I am writing this from the salon again. I have made such a mess of things. I am such a fool.
I have seen Louis every evening since I met him. I know there isn't any future in it but we talk and laugh together. It is almost like being with my friends from the conservatory again. And he is an attractive man and he makes me feel attractive. Wanted. It is such a good feeling to know that someone sees me as interesting and desirable, not as a responsibility that he has been burdened with.
Tonight, as we leaned against the rail Louis kissed me. I was kissing him back when I heard a noise and jumped back. When I turned around I saw a man walking away. Gunther. I would know his walk anywhere. I know that he saw us. What must he have thought? I was so embarrassed and ashamed. I didn't know what to do. I went to the cabin to look for him, to try to explain, but he was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. But I know he wasn't. There wasn't enough time. He simply didn't want to talk to me. What am I going to do?
09 August1939
The last two days have been the worst of my life. I tried to speak to Gunther yesterday morning, tried to explain, but he wouldn't listen. He simply brushed off my explanations and said that it doesn't matter, that it is none of his business what I do with my time or who I spend it with. But obviously it does matter to him.
I thought we were getting along better. I thought maybe he was beginning to like me. At least a little. But all that has changed. He is so different now. He keeps insisting that I stay with him, that I do things with him instead of going off on my own. And he says that I have to be in the cabin when he goes to bed. He says it is because I disturb his sleep when I come in, but I know that isn't it. He is so angry and impatient with me now. Nothing I say or do is right. The only time I am even remotely happy is when I'm playing my violin.
He doesn't leave me alone, even then, but somehow when I am playing and he is sitting and listening quietly, I feel better. But I can't spend all my waking hours playing. What am I going to do? I miss my family so much. I want to go home.
10 August 39
It has rained heavily all day, the seas are very rough and a great number of the passengers are seasick. I had difficulty eating dinner tonight. It was very hard to hit my mouth with my fork and I am afraid I made rather a mess. The captain merely laughed and complimented me on my strong stomach. He said there is nothing to be concerned about. This is simply an early tropical storm. Gunther wants to turn off the light so I'll have to finish this tomorrow.
11 August 1939
The storm is getting worse. As big as the ship is, it is being tossed about like a child's bathtub toy. I have a large bruise on my hip where I was flung into the wall on my way to the dining room for breakfast. Our waiter said that the doctor is working non-stop, dealing with the many people who are seasick and the many others who have been injured in falls. The purser made a short speech telling everyone to stay calm, saying that there is nothing to worry about and everything is under control. I could tell Gunther didn't believe him, though.
He told me to pack up all my belongings and to stay in the cabin so he knows where to find me if he needs to. He went back up on deck to see if there is any news or anything he can do to help. I packed my valise and then all of Gunther's things as well. I got a piece of oilcloth and some adhesive from the steward and made a waterproof bag for my violin. When I finish this entry, I shall add my journal to it and seal it closed. Hopefully, if worse comes to worst, it will be protected from the sea.
15 August 1939
It is our fourth day in this lifeboat and there is still no sign of land. The storm has passed and the sun shines brilliantly. There is not a cloud in the sky. I am so thirsty, and I know it must be even worse for Gunther. He gave me half of his water ration again. I tried to pour it back when he wasn't looking. It is my fault that we are here; it isn't fair that he should give up his water as well. He saw me do it, though, and told me to drink it or he would hold my nose and pour it down my throat. Try to do something nice for the man...
Did I say that I hated his eyebrows? I think I am beginning to like them. I said something earlier about dying and he told me not to talk nonsense. He doesn't intend to perish at sea, and since he is responsible for me he isn't going to allow me do it either. With that quirk of his eyebrow. I found it strangely reassuring somehow. I must be delirious.
I feel so guilty. It is all my fault we're in this situation. If it wasn't for me Gunther would have been in one of the lifeboats with the other passengers, and they've probably all been rescued by now. At least he would have been with a multitude of people and had a greater chance of survival.
I don't know what I could have done differently, though. I thought I was doing everything right for once. I packed all of my belongings just as he told me to. I put on my life vest when they told me to. I waited in line for the lifeboat the way they told me to. We were among the last to leave the ship, as all of the women and children had to be evacuated first. It was like something out of a nightmare. The rain was so hard that we could barely see and the waves were crashing across the deck. People were running around mindlessly, screaming at one another, and I'm sure I saw one person washed overboard. Gunther said I was mistaken, that it was only a loose crate, but I know it wasn't.
I was so afraid. I thought we were going to die before we ever reached a lifeboat. Then when we were finally in the lifeboat, ready to be lowered, the crew decided to remove the luggage to make room for more people. I had no trouble giving up the bags but I was NOT leaving my violin. I could have held it on my lap. It wouldn't have taken up any more room than a baby and they weren't making people leave their babies behind!
And I didn't ASK Gunther to get out of the lifeboat and come after me. Or to grab me by the neck like a puppy and shove me across the deck to another lifeboat. I don't know why no one else was there. Perhaps because that side of the ship was so much lower and the waves were so much higher and stronger. For whatever reason, everyone was concentrated on the other side of the ship and there was no one about. Gunther almost threw me into this lifeboat, along with my violin. He lowered it single-handedly, then jumped into the water and I managed to steer it toward him and help him get aboard. I have no idea what happened to the other lifeboats. They were all out of sight on the other side of the ship and it was all we could do to stay afloat. I bailed while Gunther rowed and tried to keep us from sinking. By the time the storm ended we were alone.
17 August 1939
We're going to die. It is only a matter of time now. We drank the last of our water this morning. I am so thirsty. Gunther tried to rig a shelter from the sun with the blanket in the emergency kit but it is very little help. My skin is so burned that it hurts to move and I am so thirsty. Gunther tried to be cheerful and positive at first but he has almost ceased talking. I know how hard it is for him. He has had even less to drink than I have. He gave up on rowing after the first day. There's no point when we don't know where we are or which direction to go. For all we knew, we were rowing away from land instead of toward it. I miss my family. I can't believe I'm never going to see them again.
I wish I had done more with my life. I wish
Later
As I was writing the last entry, Gunther spotted a dark smudge on the horizon that he said was land. We rowed as hard as we could and after several hours we arrived at this island. It was a struggle to land; the shoreline was rocky and the currents treacherous. We finally managed to find a path through the rocks and landed on a narrow strip of beach bordered by coconut trees.
We haven't explored the island yet but it seems to be deserted and there is no sign of human life. We pulled the boat up high on the sand and immediately fell on the coconuts lying on the ground, breaking them open and gulping down the milk. It was growing dark by then, so we gathered all the driftwood we could find and started a signal fire. Gunther has spread our blanket near the fire and says we'll take turns keeping watch and feeding the fire tonight. Tomorrow we'll explore the island.
It feels strange to be on land. I find myself swaying, as if I were still at sea and compensating for the waves. My earlier euphoria has worn off and I feel almost numb with exhaustion. Gunther says to put my journal away and sleep now. He'll take the first watch.
18 August 1939
We started exploring the island this morning. The news is mixed. The island is small and it doesn't appear to have any large predators on it, which is good. We found fresh water, several small springs coming from the rocks and flowing into a large pool, and we drank until we couldn't hold anymore. Then we jumped into the pool and washed all the grime and salt spray from our skins. It feels so good to be clean again. Afterwards Gunther said we should have boiled the water before drinking it but I don't think I could have waited. We haven't found any food yet, except the coconuts, but Gunther thinks we'll be able to catch fish or shellfish. There is a hook and line in the emergency kit that we can use.
Later
Gunther and I went exploring again this afternoon. We were on a small rise and he saw some wreckage floating in a nearby cove. We both hurried down to see what it was, thinking there might be something from the ship that we could use, but he stopped me before we got there. He told me to wait where I was while he went ahead. He came back a short time later and told me to go back to our camp and build up the signal fire. He said we had been away from it too long already and he could carry back the things he had found by himself.
He thinks he is protecting me but I know what he found in the cove. I saw his face when he came back. I wonder if I knew any of them. I wonder if they suffered much or if their deaths were quick and clean. But I am afraid to ask.
20 August 1939
Gunther has decided not to stay on this island. He says there isn't enough food and he can see another island in the distance. He hopes it will be larger and perhaps inhabited. He says if it isn't we can always come back to this one.
The cove is apparently a treasure trove of debris washed up over the years. He brought some supplies back with him, including rope, a couple of packing crates and some heavy canvas that he says we will use for our shelter. The greatest find, though, was a large kettle that was tangled in some wreckage. We can use it not only for cooking - if we can find something to cook - but also for carrying water. I am supposed to pack the lifeboat with our new treasures while he goes back to the cove once more.
21 August 1939
I meant to write more last evening but by the time we rowed to this island, unpacked the boat and set up our camp I was so weary that I wanted to do nothing but sleep. Gunther had us up and moving at daylight this morning and this is the first time I've had a chance to sit down all day. This island is much bigger than the other one. It will probably take us days to explore it all but it already looks much more hopeful. Even though there are no signs of human life, there is an abundance of wildlife and plenty of fresh water.
The island seems to be divided into two parts. Roughly one-third of it is on a kind of plateau. Between the steepness and the jungle growth, it is a rugged climb. There are two springs on this plateau. One is on the headland and forms a long, cascading waterfall into the sea and the other flows down across the lower part of the island to the beach where we have made our camp. Gunther thought at first that we should set up our camp on the plateau since a signal fire could be seen much further from there. After making the climb, however, he decided that near the beach would be more practical.
We spent the most of today making a shelter, using part of our rope and some saplings to make the framework for a lean-to and then covering it with our canvas and some palm fronds. Gunther says we will need a raised floor to protect us from insects and reptiles but that will have to come later. For now it is enough to be protected from the weather. We also made a fire pit in the sand and put a shelter over it. Gunther says we must keep a fire burning all the time, for we have a limited number of matches.
He unraveled some of the rope and is off setting snares now. There seems to be an abundance of wild poultry on the island, probably washed here from shipwrecks in the past. Perhaps he can catch some cockerels that we can eat or hens that we can keep for eggs. He said there are probably wild pigs as well, but he'll have to figure out a way to trap them or tie a knife to a branch so that he can spear them. I have to stop writing now. Gunther wants me to inventory our supplies and make a list of what we have.
26 August 1939
I cannot believe it's been five days since I've written in my journal. It isn't that I haven't wanted to, but Gunther has turned into a slave driver and somehow he has gotten the impression that I am the slave. And once Gunther gets an idea into his head, it is almost impossible to get it back out. I have known mules less stubborn than he is.
The only reason that I am able to write now is that he has gone back to the coconut island and he refused to take me with him. Not that I wanted to go. I know he plans to go back to that cove and I don't want to see what's there. Does that make me a coward? I don't think so, because I would go if he needed me to.
And there is plenty of work to do here. We caught three wild hens and made a cage for them out of a packing crate. One of my jobs is to collect bugs for them to eat. That isn't too hard; one thing this island doesn't have a shortage of is bugs. I also have to collect firewood, both for our cooking fire and to use as a signal in case we see a ship, sweep the sand from our shelter and hang our blanket to air. We found a plant similar to cane or bamboo that we used to floor our shelter. With a mattress made of canvas and dried grass, we are quite comfortable, even though we still only have one blanket.
I still need to gather food for dinner. Gunther was worried about finding enough to eat, but we're doing very well for castaways. We haven't explored the whole island yet, but so far we've found coconuts, bananas and something that Gunther says are papayas. We have also been lucky with our fishing and there are tide pools on the other side of the island where we can catch crabs and other shellfish when the tide is out.
Our hens are rewarding us with two eggs every day, which we boil for breakfast. There is also seaweed, which Gunther says is very nutritious, and a strange little animal that he says will probably taste like rabbit. It is a rather boring diet - I dreamed about sauerbraten and apple strudel again last night - but we're counting our blessings. It could be much worse.
If I finish all of the work before Gunther gets back, I'm going to practice for a while. I haven't played since the day of the storm and I need too practice every day. I know it doesn't seem important, compared to all we have gone through, but I can't afford to let my skills deteriorate. I will need them to support myself once we're rescued. I cannot let Gunther take care of me forever.
Later
I didn't think life could get any worse, but it has. I don't know what to do. I have tried to be brave, to deal with everything as it comes, to deal with the loss of my family, my friends, my home, my country. But I cannot deal with this. I simply can't!
I can no longer play my violin. I was so happy when I took it out of its case. I have missed it so much. I worried about the effect the climate would have on it, on how the strings would hold up, but I worried about the wrong thing. The violin is fine. I am not.
I tried and tried and I cannot play the simplest piece. My fingers are fat and clumsy and scored with cuts and abraded by sand and salt water. They have lost all of their dexterity and sensitivity. I played worse than the lowliest beginner, all sour notes and screeching. What am I going to do? Music means everything to me. What am I going to do without it? How can I live without it?
I hate this island! I hate coconuts and I hate bananas! I hate fish and sand and the ocean and the sun and the rain and everything else about this place and I want to go home! I wish I'd never left it. By now Tante Hilda has been informed that we were lost at sea. My poor father and mother think I'm dead. I wish I were.
27 August 1939
It is early morning and Gunther is still asleep. I don't want to wake him. He needs his rest and I need some time to think. My life has been turned upside down and I don't know quite how I feel about it. It is strange what a difference a few hours can make. Only last night I was in such despair that I wished I were dead. Now I feel-- To be truthful, I don't know what I feel. Confused, mainly. And awkward. I don't know how to face Gunther this morning. Last night was so-- I don't have the words to describe it. I thought I knew Gunther, but it turns out-- I am making no sense at all. I had better start at the beginning. Perhaps putting it into words will help clarify my thoughts.
Gunther was in a very bad mood when he came back from the coconut island last evening. Looking back, I can understand that, but at the time I was less than sympathetic. I was in a very bad mood myself and I objected to the terse way he ordered me to unload the boat. As if I was a slave. Less than a slave. I am ashamed to admit it, but I lost my temper and I attacked him, both verbally and physically. I don't recall all that I said, but I know that I blamed him for everything, for being trapped on this island, for the shipwreck, for being on the ship itself, for his rudeness and inconsideration, for the way he makes me feel. And I hit him. I don't know what came over me. I have never treated anyone like that before. Ever. And Gunther--
I have gone over it and over it in my mind and I am still not sure how it happened. One minute I was trying to pummel Gunther with my fists and he was holding them - so effortlessly - and the next minute I was kissing him. Or he was kissing me. I am still not sure who made the first move, but the lovemaking that followed was indescribable. So rough and savage and primitive, so unexplainably passionate and erotic.
I need to go. Gunther is stirring and I want to have his breakfast waiting for him, such as it is. I wish I could offer him more than boiled eggs and fruit. I have been so rude and inconsiderate, from the first day we met. Always thinking of my own wants and needs, never considering how he felt or how much responsibility he has had to bear or how he has taken care of me when I know he had so many other worries on his mind. He didn't have to take me in charge or travel with me or rescue me from my own stupidity in the lifeboat. Or shelter me from what's on the coconut island. He's awake.
Later
Gunther has the soul of a rock. I thought-- I don't know what I thought. That last night changed things? That he would be softer, more tender and romantic this morning? It didn't and he isn't. I took him breakfast, thinking that we could have an easy day after the emotional storm last night. That we would make love again, long and slow and sweet this time, and that afterwards we would lie and talk. Perhaps we could go for a walk on the beach or bathe in the creek together. The things most new lovers want to do together. But no, not Gunther.
He greedily ate all the breakfast I prepared and then ordered me to work. He says survival is more important than lying in bed or taking leisurely walks on the beach. We have to use every hour of every day efficiently and lovemaking is a luxury. I tried to explain that it is a necessity and that there is no point in feeding the body if you starve the soul. He said right now he is more worried about starving the body. Have I mentioned that I hate his eyebrows?
28 August 1939
Gunther looked at my fingers and he doesn't think there is any permanent damage. He said they are just sore and I should be able to play again once they heal. He said that when he gets a chance he will see if he can make some kind of salve or lotion to coat them with and rub into them. I tried to take comfort from his words but it's hard not to despair. I miss my music.
I try to be brave. I try to think what my father would tell me to do and follow his advice, but it is so hard. I miss him so much.
30 August 1939
Gunther gave me a pair of work gloves today. He said he found them washed ashore at the cove and thought they might protect my hands. I am grateful to him. I know his hands are cracked and painful as well.
He wants me to believe they just happened to wash into the cove together but I know how unlikely that is. I don't think he realized they had the owner's name written in them or he would have tried to cover it up somehow.
Oh, Louis. I had so hoped you were safe.
07 September 1939
I know I haven't been very diligent in my entries but there simply isn't time for everything. We work from sunrise to sunset and by then I am too tired to form a coherent thought, let alone write it down. The only free time I have is when Gunther goes to the coconut island and then he leaves me a long list of chores to be done while he's gone.
Our primary concern has been shelter. There hasn't been another large storm since the one that stranded us here, but Gunther says it is only a matter of time. His first thought was to take up permanent residence in one of the nearby caves but that wasn't practical. The lower ones flood with every tide and the higher ones are too difficult to get to. We tried to clear a trail to them but the dirt is soft and crumbles easily. He says we can take refuge in the higher caves during bad storms or even hurricanes but we need a more practical shelter for every day. How he loves that word practical. I could quite easily live without it.
I suggested, half-facetiously, that we build a multi-level dwelling in the trees as the Swiss Family Robinson did. To my amazement, he not only knew who they were but considered my suggestion. He said it isn't practical, though (there's that word again) because high winds will whip the trees about too much. Instead, we continue to improve the shelter we already built. After some consideration, we have decided to use our main shelter only for sleeping. We have used lumber and boards retrieved from the cove to give it solid sides about halfway up and added a canvas door to keep the rain and predators out. We have a second - I cannot call it a building since it is merely four posts with a canvas roof - that shelters our dining and work area. As we get more materials we will add to it, but we have used most of the wood we got from the cove and Gunther says nothing new has floated in for a while. He says there will be more after the next big storm but I dread that time. We need so many things, things that we cannot make or improvise. But I would rather go without than think of the disaster that will provide them.
Meanwhile we must continue to gather food and firewood. Gunther not only requires enough for our daily needs but enough to store in the caves as well. He says we have been very fortunate in the weather; we have had only a few mild storms. He doesn't believe that luck will continue and we must be prepared for the worst. I am beginning to hate the words 'efficient' and 'prepared' almost as much as 'practical'.
12 September 1939
It has rained for three days and nights and shows no signs of stopping. I shudder to think of the damage to our poor shelter. Gunther says that it is safe and the trees around it will protect it from the wind. I asked him why, if he thought it was so safe, we spent all that time and energy moving into a cave. He told me to be quiet and eat my breakfast. I think the weather is making him more irritable than usual. Did I mention that we have three more chickens? They are living in their crate at the back of the cave. I have been unable to gather many bugs for them but they seem to be doing well on the nuts and seeds that we brought from camp. Gunther just gave them a very large spider. I certainly hope it was the only one available.
One advantage of the rain is that we have some respite from labor. Not a great deal, since Gunther has found plenty of work that can be done inside a cave in the rain. Nevertheless, we have found time for certain luxury activities. I find that work is not the only area where Gunther is creative. He is a very innovative lover.
13 September 1939
I was very bored this morning and Gunther sent me to explore the cave next to our current residence. You won't believe what I discovered! I found a small hole at the back of the cave and could feel cold air coming from it, so I enlarged it. I don't know what Gunther was so upset about. It was only a small rockslide and it wasn't in the cave we live in. He didn't need to be quite so insulting about it.
At any rate, I discovered another, larger cave and a tunnel! I am sure the tunnel was created by pirates who inhabited this island long ago. They must have lived in these very caves. Gunther told me not to be ridiculous, the caves are a natural geological occurrence and so is the tunnel. I regret to say that my reply is unprintable, and Gunther told me if I repeat it he is going to wash my mouth out with soap. I pointed out that we don't have soap and he added making it to my list of things to do.
I would much rather be exploring the tunnel than writing in my journal, but Gunther told me if I don't find something quiet to do for a few minutes we won't be exploring it at all. He wants to make some preparations first, including making extra torches, tying together all our spare rope and finding something to mark our path. I suggested breadcrumbs and got that Look again. I miss bread.
14 September 1939
I meant to record the results of our exploration last evening but I didn't get a chance. Apparently there is something about exploring caves that makes Gunther very amorous. I am already planning several expeditions for the near future.
This plateau seems to be honeycombed with tunnels and caves. We explored for hours and didn't begin to follow them all. Some of them are quite large, others barely big enough to squeeze through. I am ready to go back but Gunther said he has to finish creating a map first. He tore a page from the back of my journal for it. He thinks I should attempt to practice while he is working on it. I don't want to. The salve and the gloves have helped and my hands look much better now. But what if it isn't enough? What if Gunther is wrong and there is permanent damage? I would rather wait. A little hope is better than none.
Later
Attempting to argue with Gunther is slightly less successful than attempting to argue with a brick wall. They listen at about the same level but the wall isn't as stubborn.
But he was right. I thank God he was right. I am still clumsy, I am a world away from the skill I once had. But I can play. I can play again and somehow the world seems less bleak because of it. I thought Gunther would be appalled at the noise I was producing. It sounded more like the squawking of a chicken than the rich, dulcet tones my sweet violin can produce. I offered to stop or move to a different cave but he told me not to. He said it sounded beautiful to him. The man must be tone-deaf.
15 September 1939
The rain has finally ceased and the sky is clearing. I had hoped we would be able to return to the hidden caves today but Gunther says we have work to do. Now.
18 September 1939
I am so tired tonight. It was fortunate that we took most of our belongings and moved to the cave. Our sleeping shelter weathered the storm but not very well. All of the palm fronds were gone but the framework remained. The floor was covered with sand and it took me hours to get it all swept out and the roof replaced. The drying rack we used for our meats and fish is gone, as well as the shelves we had made for our supplies and the lean-to that sheltered the fire. The only furnishings left were the logs we sit on and the section of tree trunk that we use for a table and they had sand drifted over them. Even the fire pit was filled with sand. It had to be shoveled out before we could start a new fire.
We spent all of yesterday and most of today replacing everything and cleaning up the debris; the beach is littered with driftwood, seaweed and coconuts. I have been collecting and piling the driftwood and coconuts. I'm trying to ignore the seaweed. Gunther says it is very nutritious and tastes like spinach. American spinach is obviously nothing like the German variety I'm accustomed to.
Gunther says that we need to replenish our food supply tomorrow. The next day he plans to go to the coconut island and see what has washed ashore there. I asked if he needed me to go along and he said no. Perhaps if I hurry through my list there will be time to explore some of the tunnels. I know there were pirates here once. I just need to find some evidence that will convince Gunther.
Later
I can't believe Gunther! I never said a word about the caves or tunnels but somehow he knew what I was planning and I have been forbidden to go exploring on my own. He said it is dangerous, even with the map he is making, and we have too much to do to waste time on my fantasies.
19 September 1939
I am very angry at Gunther right now. I refuse to eat with him, speak to him or acknowledge his presence in any way. I would set up my own shelter on the other side of the island and never even Look at him again if I were allowed to leave our camp. But I can't leave the camp as long as he is in it because I'm not allowed to be out of his sight for the next three days. He says if I can't be trusted to do as I'm told when he isn't around to watch me, I will just have to stay where he can see me at all times.
I have never met a man who can make such a large issue out of such a small matter. I was never in any danger in the caves at all. I took extra torches and the longest rope and the charred stick we used to mark the walls with. I knew where I was at all times. You would think he would be happy that I was adding to his map instead of angry at me for it!
I told him he has no right to give me orders and expect to be obeyed without a second thought. He isn't my father, after all. He said thank God for that, and my father must be either a saint or a madman. I don't know whether to be more insulted on my father's behalf or my own.
22 September 1939
Finally! I am free of Gunther's presence at last! I am writing this on the bank of the pool below the waterfall where we bathe. Gunther is back at camp and if he comes to bathe, I am leaving. Immediately.
The past three days have been a nightmare. I assured Gunther repeatedly that I had learned my lesson and could be trusted again but he insisted on keeping me by his side the entire time. I never realized how much I valued my privacy until I had none.
One of the things he brought back from the coconut island was a trunk full of men's clothing. The trunk was not watertight - Gunther said it was very low in the water when he spotted it - so we had to wash everything, and the fit isn't the best in the world, but it feels so good to wear decent clothes again. Ours were growing very tattered and no better than rags. There were also some toiletries in the trunk, including a razor. It felt so good to shave and comb my hair. I feel almost civilized again.
He found a large barrel, too. It was empty so it floated quite well. We are going to use it for water so we can use our kettle for other things.
We also have a new supply of rope, wood and canvas, a net that will make fishing much easier, another cooking pot and many smaller items. Gunther was hoping to find some tools, but unfortunately the things we need most are the ones least likely to float.
29 September 1939
Gunther says I need to write in my journal. I know that I should keep a better record of our time here but it is difficult. The days seem very much the same. We rise at dawn, labor all day and then fall asleep over the evening meal so that we may rise at dawn and labor all day again.
Gunther said I am discouraged because we have been working too hard. He is declaring tomorrow a day of rest and says we may go explore the caves if I would like. I tried to muster enthusiasm for the expedition, but Gunther is right. The caves were made by nature; there were no pirates and there is no treasure to find. And even if there were, what would it matter? Of what use is a treasure when you're going to spend the rest of your life on a deserted island?
30 September 1939
We found bottles! A whole stash of them! I knew there were pirates here once. I KNEW it!
Gunther suggested that we take the boat and explore behind the big waterfall that flows from the headland to the sea. He said there are often caves behind such falls and he was right. We found a very large cave, big enough that we could take the boat into it. It was a tight fit at times, but at the very back, higher than the tide could reach, there was a ledge covered with sand and in one corner there was a pile of old discarded bottles!
Gunther says the bottles are not proof that there were ever men here. He said they could have been washed in on an exceptionally high tide. I swear, if we saw Blackboard himself sitting on a chest and singing sea chanties, Gunther would refuse to believe in pirates! He would simply say there was a logical explanation for it. He is so-- so PRACTICAL sometimes.
There was a wide crack in the back wall, big enough for a person to slip through if he is careful. After some discussion, we decided not to explore it today, but Gunther says we can go back another time. I cannot wait to see what is hidden behind the wall. Gunther suggested bats but he's just being difficult because he was wrong about the pirates.
01 October 1939
I had an interesting discussion with Gunther today. I wanted to put messages in some of our bottles and send them out to sea. He said it would be a waste of our bottles. Even if someone found one, which is unlikely, they still wouldn't know where to look for us.
I told him that at least our families would know we are still alive, and it is the only chance of rescue we have. I think we have to take it, no matter how slim it may seem.
He said he has no doubt we are going to be rescued; we just have to keep surviving until it happens. He said he doesn't intend to spend the rest of his life on this island; he shudders to think of the amount of work that has piled up on his desk already. And since he is responsible for me, I won't be spending the rest of my life here, either.
I pointed out that he told me something similar in the lifeboat and he said that should prove I can trust him, since neither one of us is dead. I don't think that is one of his more logical explanations, but it was strangely comforting nonetheless.
08 October 1939
It has been a week and we still haven't made it back to the cave behind the falls. Gunther says we can do it on our next free day but I don't think we're ever going to have one. I think we're going to work every single day until we're old and gray and unable to hobble up the trail or row out to the cave.
Gunther says I am exaggerating as usual and I need to learn patience. When I persisted, he offered to help me learn it, but I declined. I have a suspicion that I wouldn't like his teaching method.
Later
Gunther killed a wild pig! He trapped it in a pit and then stabbed it with our knife tied to a branch. We are going to roast part of it and smoke the rest. I can't wait. I am so hungry for roast pork. I am so tired of fish and fowl and the little animal Gunther said would taste like rabbit. It doesn't.
09 October 1939
Today was another busy day. I was hoping that we could visit the cave again but Gunther said we had to smoke our pork first. It was a long, dirty, time-consuming job and there wasn't enough time to explore afterwards.
We cannot go back tomorrow, either, because Gunther wants to go back to the coconut island. He said maybe we can go the next day.
He asked if he can trust me not to go into the tunnel while he is gone tomorrow. Of course he can trust me! I felt quite insulted that he had to ask. I told him I learned my lesson. I never want to spend another three days glued to his side.
He said good, because if he ever catches me in the tunnel without him again, he won't restrict my movement, he will spank me instead. I couldn't help laughing. Even Gunther wouldn't go so far.
10 October 1939
I hate Gunther. I am lying on my stomach in the shelter as I write this. I don't know where Gunther is and I don't care. I hope I never see him again.
I am so hurt, so embarrassed and angry and humiliated. My bottom burns as it were on fire, but that isn't the worst of the pain. I can never face him again. Knowing what he must think of me now hurts so badly. I cannot bear to even think of it. I hate Gunther! I hate myself. I wish-- God, I don't even know what I wish anymore. How could he do this to me?
I meant to stay away from the tunnel. I honestly did. I so wanted Gunther to be proud of me. I was both industrious and conscientious. I did everything on the list he left for me and I did it well. By working diligently and with few breaks I was able to finish long before he was due to return. I spent a long time practicing and I still had time left when I was finished.
I looked around for something to do and I thought it would be a good idea to carry more firewood up to the cave. I never meant to go into the tunnel. I was stacking firewood in the outer cave and I thought I heard something, perhaps a small rockslide or cave-in. I didn't think it would hurt to go into the inner cave. I didn't even go into the tunnel itself. I just shined the torch into it, just to see. When I came out, Gunther was waiting for me. I have never seen him so angry, not even on the night of the shipwreck. I tried to explain. I tried to explain all the way back to camp, but he wouldn't listen to me. And then-- I cannot bear to think about it. He sat down on a log, dragged me over his lap, shoved my pants to my knees and-- I cannot write it. I have never been so hurt and humiliated. I haven't been spanked since I was 15 and I haven't been turned over someone's knee since I was 7.
He's coming back.
Later
I am again lying on my stomach while I write. Gunther is banking the fire and preparing for bed.
I will never understand Gunther. I told him to get away from me. I told him it was no use to apologize, that I would never forgive him and I never wanted him to touch me again. As usual, he totally disregarded my orders.
He said he had no intention of apologizing. He said he had warned me and I should have listened to him. Then he pulled me onto his lap again - right side up this time - and cuddled me against him, ignoring my attempts to break away. I am ashamed to admit it, but his touch and whispered words of love and comfort made me cry in a way that the spanking didn't. Couldn't.
I am so confused. Why don't I hate him? Why do I feel so warm and loved and cherished, even though I can't sit without a vivid reminder of his shameful behavior earlier? I told him - very generously, I thought - that I would forgive him this time, if he promised never to do it again.
He laughed.
12 October 1939
We are back in the cave. This storm is the worst since the one that sank the ship. It has raged all day, growing stronger and more violent with each passing hour. Gunther says not to worry, we are safe here and we have enough food and water to last several days.
We managed to move almost everything from the camp to the cave before the wind became too strong. I hope we didn't forget anything. I don't think the shelter is going to survive this time. I don't think we forgot anything, though. We even dragged the lifeboat up into the jungle. Even the highest waves won't reach it there.
I'm getting cold. Most of our wood supply is in the other cave, but we can't use it right now anyway. It is difficult to have a fire when there is this much wind. We build it near the opening so the smoke won't smother us, and strong gusts of wind drive rain into the cave and put it out. Gunther says to come sit beside him and share the blanket. He promises not to read what I write.
I wonder what my family is doing tonight. I wonder what is happening in the war and if Hitler has invaded Holland and whether Tante Hilda and Uncle Otto are safe. I know Gunther worries about his mother and whether she made it home safely. It seems strange to think of the world going on its merry way without us.
I forgot the second cooking pot! I don't know how I'm going to tell Gunther.
13 October 1939
It is still raining, but I don't think the wind is blowing quite so hard. Gunther lit a fire and it is burning sluggishly. He says that once it is going well it will survive the rain. I hope we survive the smoke as well. He says that after we eat we can explore the tunnel if I would like. He doesn't think we will get blown off the path between here and the other cave. I admire his optimism.
Later
There are steps! We found steps in the tunnel, leading downward! Perhaps they go to the cave behind the falls. Even Gunther can't deny pirates now!
Yes, he can. He just said it proves there were men here, not that the men were pirates.
I wanted to keep going. I can't wait to find out where the steps lead. Perhaps to the cave behind the falls or to a hidden treasure room! After some discussion, though, we decided to come back and eat and get more torches and other supplies to take back with us. I am also going to give the chickens an extra ration of feed. Gunther says there is no reason for us to come back right away if we take plenty of food and water and torches. He is making a sack for them out of our blanket and I'm going to take my journal as well. Just in case I have exciting news to record.
Later still
I hate to admit it, and I would never tell Gunther, but this tunnel is starting to oppress me. There are many offshoots and smaller tunnels and openings in the rock. Most end after only a few feet or yards, but we have been checking each one and mapping it anyway.
It is very cold and damp. There is water running down the wall in places and I have stepped in puddles twice. I feel as if the dark and the earth are pressing in on me and as if this tunnel will go on forever. Gunther says we need to rest and eat; it will make us feel better.
14 October 1939
We are back in our cave and I have good news to report. I did it! I convinced Gunther that there were once pirates on the island!
After my last entry, we went on for some distance. After awhile, the tunnel opened into another cave and there were skeletons in this cave! Two of them, and from their placement and the weapons they held, Gunther says it looks as if they killed each other for the treasure.
For the treasure was also in this cave. It is quite beautiful, although nothing like what you see in the movies. There was no giant trunk, half-open and spilling coins and jewels onto the floor. There is a small chest, perhaps the size of a hatbox, half-full of coin. Gunther says they are mostly Spanish doubloons. There is also an elaborately carved box that looks as if it were once lined with satin or velvet. It is full of jewelry - silver and gold chains, gem-studded bracelets and rings. And there are a number of weapons - swords and pistols and knives.
I cannot believe it. We found a pirate treasure! We are rich! I no longer have to worry about being dependent on Gunther or becoming a waiter or having a home or anything at all but my music. I will be able to afford the best conservatories, the finest teachers.. It is better than I imagined in my wildest dreams.
Gunther says to stop dreaming and feed the chickens.
17 October 1939
The rain has finally stopped and we were able to return to our camp today. Or rather, to the spot where we had our camp. It was difficult to get back to the beach. The storm had washed out large sections of the trail and we had to pick our way down very carefully.
The storm swept the island, uprooting trees and destroying everything in its path. There is nothing left of any of the shelters and the fire pit is buried in the sand. We would be starting over from scratch if it weren't for what we have in the cave. Thank God we took so much to the cave. And thank God the boat is undamaged. There were trees down all around it but it was on the lee side of a large rock and quite safe.
We spent all day today cleaning up the debris, setting up a makeshift shelter and bringing down part of our belongings. Gunther says that tomorrow we have to replenish our food supply and the day after he might go to the coconut island and see what he can salvage.
Did I mention there was a tunnel from the treasure cave to the cave behind the falls? I think Gunther ordered me to feed the chickens before I had a chance. Gunther says he thinks we should stay in the treasure cave during storms from now on. It will be easier to move our supplies by boat and it isn't exposed to the weather the way our original cave is. He had better move the skeletons first, though. I am not sharing a cave with them.
Later
I found the cooking pot! It was hanging in the top of a tree. Except for a very large dent in one side, it seems to be fine.
18 October 1939
There are men on the coconut island! Gunther has seen them and talked to them! We're going to be rescued!
He says they are American pilots. They are from a ship that is part of the Neutrality Patrol and were doing a reconnaissance when they were caught in the hurricane. They crashed into the ocean and were lucky enough to make it to the coconut island before their raft sank. Gunther says they were able to radio their coordinates before they crashed and they are expecting a rescue boat any day.
We're saved! We're going home!
20 October 1939
I had a nightmare last night. I rarely remember my dreams but this one was very vivid. Gunther and I were walking through the streets of New York City. It was a beautiful sunny day and I was very happy. Then it changed. The sky grew black, the wind howled and lightning began striking all about us. Rain came sheeting down, hammering at us, and people began shoving, pushing between us and separating me from Gunther. I tried to fight back, to reach him, but they were pulling at me, clutching at me and dragging me away. I called to Gunther over and over, begging him to come back, to save me, but he just walked on. Then I was suddenly back on the island and he was gone and I knew I was alone and always would be.
I woke with tears on my cheeks, cradled in Gunther's arms. He held me tightly and soothed me, stroking my back over and over, telling me that he will never leave me and he will never allow anyone to take me from him.
I love him so much.
22 October 1939
It is our last day on the island and we have finished cleaning up and packing the things we want to take with us.
We removed all our belongings from the upper cave and wiped out the trail. The treasure is still safely hidden in its cave and Gunther put his map in a tin box and buried it in a place that only we two will know. He says we cannot breathe a word of the treasure to anyone. If we do, the island will be overrun by treasure seekers and we will lose it all.
He says the proper thing to do is to find out who owns the island and arrange to buy it. Once that happens, and once the war is over, we will return for the treasure and sell it discreetly, without a great public fanfare.
I am almost afraid to leave the island. Even though it was a hard existence and there were days I despaired, it has also been a refuge. It was a special time for Gunther and me, one that we will always treasure. Now we return to a world where people hate and despise us, where they drive us from our homes and countries.
Perhaps that will end after the war. Perhaps the world will be a better place. If not, perhaps we can return here and create a haven for ourselves and other men like us, a place where they can come and be themselves, a place where they won't be persecuted for what they are.
Gunther says it is time to go.
Good-bye, Island. I wonder if I will ever see you again.
~~~
"You did," Cal said softly. He raised his cup to the picture on the table, saluting Erich Heiden-Andersen, world-renowned violinist and co-founder of The Island. "And we thank you."
The End