Clutching the M-16, Silvana ran into the hut. Soaked and shivering, she started to strip. “I’m not going up that lookout tree again in the rain! It almost knocked me off the branch just now.”
“So what else is new?” Patty yawned and threw the orange beach towel to Silvana.
Silvana threw aside the towel and flung herself down, weeping as if her heart would break.
Wordlessly, Annie picked up the towel and started to dry Silvana’s back.
They all now recognized (and tried to soften) the last-straw blow. This was always some small irritation, something that suddenly made jungle life intolerable and courage snap. Demoralized, they had all cracked in different ways during that first week of December.
Patty had collapsed in tears when the side of her sneaker came off, although Annie immediately offered to bind rattan around it.
Suzy slipped in the mud around the campfire and dropped her evening meal into it. She wept inconsolably, and although the others quickly gave her bits of their fish, she could not stop crying.
When Carey found that a tiny leak in the roof had reduced her bracken pillow to a pile of wet slush, she sat on the ground and howled like a dog, although the other women quickly threw out the slush and shared their bracken with her.
When Annie, with a splitting headache, could no longer scrape a smear out of the empty jar of opium balm, she felt as if she had been abandoned by civilization, and in spite of the rain, she fled to her praying place, threw herself down in the mud and screamed to her God for help.
The women had not been mentally prepared for their great disappointment. They had been slammed back into the jungle—and this time, the man on whom they were dependent was unable to guide and encourage them. Like children, they had leaned on and trusted him, but suddenly he had become an added problem, an extra, unwelcome anxiety.
Their frustration and disappointment deepened into depression and the lethargy of despair.
* * *
The worst times were the wet afternoons. Overworked and exhausted, the women had fought back their feelings up to now, for they knew that tears were catching, and held up the work. But now, with empty hours to fill, images of the men they had lost, of the children and relatives and friends that they missed so much and might never see again, swirled into their minds. They would lie silently on their bamboo beds, staring up at the dull green elephant’s ears of the roof and feeling drained and stunned by grief, as if by a physical blow on the head.
Each woman felt overwhelmed. The least motion took great effort, as if she were underwater and struggling against the tide. And, in her own black pit of desolation and despair, each woman knew regret. Carey’s arguments with Ed had always been part of their intimacy, and their amiable quarrels had been no threat to their relationship, but now Carey wished that they hadn’t occurred. Silvana regretted every minute that she had not spent with Lorenza as a child, all those luxury holidays when Lorenza had been left alone at home with Nana, because a yacht at Monte Carlo was no place for a young child. Patty wished that she hadn’t been so impatient with her mother; she shouldn’t have turned up her nose at the geriatric gaiety of Silver City, she should have been glad of anything that helped her mother after her dad had died. Now Patty wished—how she wished!—that she hadn’t been impatient and yelled at her. Suzy swore to herself that if only God would let her off this place, she’d be nicer to Brett; she’d never say no to him again….
Waiting was very hard. They all lay listlessly on their bamboo beds, watching the dripping trees beyond the hut and waiting for the rain to stop. Like prisoners, they counted the weeks, the days, the hours and the minutes until their release, knowing that each week of survival increased their chances of getting back to their families, as they battled against boredom and depression.
Each woman, not only Silvana, now also felt the lack of privacy. Theirs was an odd situation where you longed for solitude but were frightened of being alone, and felt lonely all the time in spite of never being alone.
Trying not to get in each other’s way was a constant preoccupation. When steam lifted the lid of the emotional kettle, the frustration and suppressed rage that was the result of their captivity led to bickering and threats from everyone, except Annie, whom Carey crossly called Pollyanna for two days, an irritation in itself.
Carey yelled if anyone banged against her bed. Suzy, who was a light sleeper, yelled at anyone in the night who groped her way out of the hut to go to the latrine. Silvana yelled at anyone who stole food between meals, for this was a hygiene hazard, and she took great care to keep their food clean and ant-free. Patty yelled at anyone who yelled.
On the whole, Carey’s practical realism was more helpful in their stressful situation than the gentle remonstration of Annie or the weary passivity of Silvana. Carey was especially useful in keeping Patty and Suzy apart—they both had very short fuses.
Sometimes the antagonism of the group was suddenly directed at only one woman: at Silvana, for having taken the minimum of trouble and making a boring meal; at Carey, for lighting up yet another foul-smelling, rolled-leaf cigarette in the hut; at Suzy, for some childish act of laziness, such as not gathering wood when it was her turn; at Annie, for being so goddamn long-suffering and saintly.
* * *
Gradually, except for Patty, they had become less fearful. As the monsoon rain fell relentlessly outside the hut and she sat watching Annie cut Suzy’s hair, Patty again felt prickles along her spine. She knew the other women would be irritated if she mentioned it, but she was certain they were being watched. She could feel hidden eyes on her back. She felt shivers at the base of her neck. She suddenly found that her chest was constricted and it was difficult to breathe…. No, she had to warn them!
In a carefully controlled voice, Patty said, “Carey, I truly am convinced that someone is watching us.”
Angrily, Carey sat up on her bed. “Why can’t you dump this paranoia? We’ve been here for three weeks, and if anyone was going to attack us, he’d have done so by now. Can’t you stop crying wolf?” She brushed the bracken from her hair and added, “Suppose you really did hear something? Suzy would just yawn and say, ‘It’s Patty’s goddamn nerves again.’ Nobody would take any notice.”
“We have enough real problems without your goddamn imaginary ones,” Suzy added.
Everyone was damp, depressed and demoralized.
As Annie started to give Patty a crew cut, she wondered aloud, “How do soldiers fighting in the jungle cope with depression and defeatism?”
“Sometimes they don’t,” Carey said. “I read that in Vietnam some guys just sat down at the side of the road and gave up hope. So they died.”
MONDAY, DECEMBER 10
Suzy’s long black eyelashes framed twin views of the grape-green water of the lagoon, the churning white line of foam that marked the reef and the grape-purple ocean glittering beyond it in the morning sun.
“Ouch!” she dropped the half-filled bucket of fish, which luckily didn’t spill.
“Is it your shoulder again?” Patty asked.
Wincing, Suzy nodded.
Patty said, “You probably pulled a muscle when you stabbed that parrotfish yesterday and fell over. Shall I rub it? That helped it yesterday, didn’t it? Let’s go into the shade.”
Both women walked over the hot, white sand to the back of the beach, where they carefully placed their fishing gear at the base of a palm tree.
Patty stood behind Suzy and gently probed Suzy’s shoulder, until again she cried, “Ouch!”
Patty started to rub the shoulder softly, but every time she touched the sensitive area Suzy jumped away.
“Lie down in the shade,” Patty suggested. “I’ll give you a back rub to relax you before I go over that sore area.”
Lying naked on the sand, Suzy started to relax as Patty’s sensitive hands softly stroked the tension from her spine. She could hear the soothing sigh of the sea, feel the slight warm breeze and watch the azure sky. For the first tim
e since they had fled into the jungle, Suzy felt fear slip away as Patty’s hands, firm but gentle, soothed away her tension. The frightened child within her was comforted by the intimate, physical contact.
Patty looked down at Suzy’s slim brown back and thought, It looks like a child’s back. Patty was reminded of the many back rubs that she had given her son, Stephen, as she stroked Suzy’s soft skin—it felt as delicate and vulnerable as that of a child. Patty was not used to touching another person’s skin, other than that of her hard-muscled, hairy husband. Lightly tracing her index finger to the base of Suzy’s spine to finish the massage, she suddenly understood how men were attracted by the soft, fragile vulnerability of a woman’s body.
On the warm sand, Suzy shuddered involuntarily. She hesitated for a moment, then twisted onto her back. The bronze skin of her face glistened and her big green eyes glittered with an unfamiliar and feverish look; her lips parted as if to say something. They trembled but remained silent.
Kneeling naked next to Suzy, Patty suddenly sensed danger. If she touched that satin skin again, she knew that something cataclysmic was going to follow. She gazed into Suzy’s brilliant green eyes, and the knowledge of what they were about to do mesmerized them both.
Softly, at the same moment, they moved toward each other.
Suzy’s arms stretched up around Patty’s slim back, seeking for just a few moments a refuge from the terrors of the outside world, seeking the sensual comfort that a baby seeks at its mother’s heart.
With one shaking finger, Patty traced the silken line of Suzy’s eyebrow. Then Suzy’s arms were clinging around Patty and pulling her down. Patty’s heart thudded and her whole body trembled as, slowly, conscious of each breath she took, she leaned over the childlike creature who lay below her on the sand. Suddenly they were holding each other closely. Suzy’s hands felt the sharp outline of Patty’s shoulder blades, then moved upward toward her wheat-blond, silken hair.
Patty was instantly excited and at the same time violently frightened of her own feelings. Her hand trembled to Suzy’s breast. Suzy’s back immediately arched with the first thrilling shock of stimulation.
Those first affectionate caresses escalated into arousal, which led to passion, as each woman moved more urgently, in hungry need. Tenderness mingled with sensuality, and passion intertwined with lust. Wordlessly they caressed each other’s body, feeling at each soft touch and stroke a vibrant electricity that tingled from head to toe.
Slowly, Patty slid the tips of her fingers down over Suzy’s ribs and over the flat belly; she traced the soft line down her belly, tentatively seeking whether Suzy’s responses would be the same as hers. She discovered that they were identical.
Seeing and completely understanding the other woman’s reaction, Patty shed her uncertainty and suddenly felt firmly confident, as sensual as a peach and deliriously happy. For the first time Patty knew exactly what she was doing in a sexual embrace, and exactly what it was doing to her partner. She knew this body as she knew her own. It gave her an exultant confidence to know that it was in her power to give extraordinary pleasure.
From behind half-closed eyelids, Patty watched Suzy’s mounting excitement, and this excited Patty more than any man had ever excited her—this extraordinary gentleness, the sensation of sensuality, of joyful control, and the ability to give ultimate pleasure to someone she loved. Patty was amazed by her lack of anxiety, the relaxed knowledge that replaced tentative fumbling. She felt no lack of communication, no anxiety.
It was not necessary to ask, “Was it all right for you?” She knew that it was, this soft eroticism that was totally different from sex with a man.
As warmth flooded through her body, Suzy felt ecstatic, nurtured and secure. She couldn’t stand it if Patty were to stop. She wasn’t sure she could stand it if Patty continued. Then a glorious glow suffused her body and lightning quivers ran to the tips of her toes and her fingers, and she thought, This can’t go on. But it did, and it got better.
As Suzy arched and quivered beneath her touch, and finally gasped with pleasure, Patty felt an extraordinary delight, and Suzy started to sob with sheer happiness; she fell back against the sand and felt the blue sky tilt above her, as her body went limp. But Patty, drunk with power, would allow her no respite.
A small voice at the back of Patty’s head reproached her. It’s only been four weeks since your husband was brutally murdered. You loved him, didn’t you? What kind of person are you, to be unfaithful to him so soon after his death? And being unfaithful with a woman is doubly disgraceful. You should be ashamed of yourself!
Suzy felt for Patty, gasping, “I must make you feel … the way you made me feel.”
Patty whispered. “Lie still.” She pulled herself up on one elbow. She had watched this body and admired it, but she had never before thought of touching it. Again, Patty’s hands slid possessively over Suzy’s high, satin-skinned breasts.
Suzy felt as if she were the first woman on earth, as if she’d just been created. Patty touched her with delicacy, with growing confidence and skill, until Suzy felt the heat of the day enter into her body and her body become part of the day, and of the sun, and of the heat. She was aroused in every part of her being as no man had ever aroused her. There had been in their lovemaking a more total, unspoken understanding than she had ever felt with a man. It was not necessary to say one word.
On her knees, Patty leaned over Suzy as she lay with her back against the warm sand. Suzy started delicately running her fingers along Patty’s spine. Each woman could smell the scent of the other, as Patty slowly lowered herself and their bodies touched. Suzy tremulously pressed upward, feeling her body melt with passion.
They held each other tightly, gasping, lost in ecstasy, touching faces and arms, thighs and breasts with the softness of a butterfly’s caress. They touched each other with the gentle charm and romance of a Marie Laurencin painting. Their embraces were gentle yet insistent, completely uninhibited. Their limbs twisted around each other like warm snakes. The fact that this warm sensuality was forbidden added a thrill to their embrace. Suzy felt as if their bodies had suddenly melted and fused in the heat.
Patty was sleepily astonished that what they had done felt so natural. Was any woman completely heterosexual, she wondered, or were they merely terrified of breaking the taboo of touching, let alone loving, others of their sex?
Patty whispered softly, “I’ve never done this before.”
“Neither have I,” Suzy whispered. “Isn’t it … easy?”
There had been no seducer or seduced, no mirror of a male and female relationship, but only mutual tenderness that had gently swelled into passion. There had been no foreplay, for it was all foreplay—which is all any woman needs to bring her to fulfillment. Thoughts swirled through Patty’s mind. She was surprised to find so much ease in this sensuality; there was no tension, no climax anxiety, no threat.
Above all, because of each woman’s intimate knowledge of the female anatomy, their unspoken feelings were gently recognized and shared….
* * *
Patty was lying on her back in a semiconscious, sensuous daze. Suzy knelt at her feet, playing with Patty’s toes. She separated each one carefully, brushed the sand from it, then sucked the toe as if it were a lollipop. Her thumbs gently kneaded Patty’s instep, after which she trickled her thumbnail along the sole of Patty’s foot.
As Patty shrieked with pleasure, they both heard Silvana calling from the waterfall, “Where are the fish? It’s going to rain any minute!”
“We were just resting,” Patty called. Quickly she looked at Suzy.
Nodding her head, Suzy whispered, “Tomorrow.”
Reluctantly they picked themselves up and headed for the cliff path. As she trudged up the cliff path behind Silvana, Suzy felt cherished and hopeful. For that brief half-hour, she had forgotten fear. Because it was such a seductive idea, at each upward step Suzy fell a little more in love with Patty.
Behind her on the path, the t
rembling Patty tried to justify what had just happened, silently answering the small voice at the back of her head. It’s not so terrible, she told herself. What do you suppose happens in prisoner-of-war camps? Do you think that healthy, bored, miserable young men can control their sexuality for years and years? All of them? There must be an unspoken male conspiracy never to tell what happens anywhere where people of one sex are incarcerated.
But you did it, said the inner voice. Now you’re a lesbian!
Was she, Patty wondered. Could you be one even if you had been married? Was it latent? Patty remembered the friendships of her girlhood, she remembered her best friend, Gina, whom she had cared for, confided in, shared with and giggled with as they grew up together. She supposed that Gina and she touched each other’s body, because they used to tumble around like puppies. But at a certain point that had definitely ended. Patty thought it was when they had started to date. She could remember no erotic attraction to Gina, but she’d definitely had a crush on her; it had ended only when Gina’s father had relocated to Oklahoma. Perhaps friendship was a form of love, and sex was an extension of love, a physical proof of it. Perhaps there wasn’t anything basically wrong with her after all.
You’re a lesbian, the inner voice said accusingly.
Damned if I’m going to be! Patty silently told the voice. Suzy had definitely started it. No way was Patty going to catch it.
By the time they got back to camp, Patty was horrified by what she’d done, disgusted by it. She was also terrified that Suzy might tell the others what had happened on the beach, and repulsed by the thought of being anywhere near Suzy.
By the time the women squatted by the campfire for their evening meal, Patty’s sudden revulsion for Suzy was clearly apparent. With a gentle smile Suzy had moved over to sit beside Patty. Patty had immediately jumped up and carried her food to the opposite side of the campfire. If Suzy spoke to Patty, Patty ignored her.