Hope, a History of the Future: A Novel by G. G. Kellner

Author:G. G. Kellner [G. G. Kellner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781684631230
Publisher: SparkPress
Published: 2022-04-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22:

MY THIRD FAMILY

Sam turned back to “Survivors’ Stories,” telling himself he would read just one more page.

The crowd grew quiet as Grandmother began to speak again. Le’s hands leapt in the light from the fire, interpreting Grandmother’s words:

I was bathing in the stone pool, as I did multiple times a day, both to get clean and to cool off. That morning several of my little family of feathered friends had joined me along the edges. They splashed water over their backs and onto me as well, making me giggle. Alala was watching over us, high in the banyan tree. He began to call in a way I had never heard before. Something unusual was happening. I got up and pulled on an old dress with a faded flower print. No need to towel off—it was another hot day, and the wind was blowing. I was dry in moments.

I climbed partway up the tree until my head was higher than the surrounding rock ravine. I looked in the direction Alala was gazing. On the horizon I saw the cause of his alarm. The white sail of a boat was visible in the distance. I had not seen a boat for a long time. I had not seen a human being either. I had a strange rush of emotion, fear and longing all mixed up together.

I stayed in the tree, Alala nearby. We watched as the boat neared the entrance of the bay and then sailed past it. Could it be that whoever was on that boat would come to the island? Would they hurt me? Would I be happier in the company of others? I had little to steal that couldn’t be found again in the piles of rubbish on the beaches. And water? I had plenty to share.

The boat sailed out of sight, and I climbed down from the tree and returned to my little camp. It was late afternoon when Alala called again. I climbed back up into the tree. The same boat was approaching the entrance again, but this time it sailed in. I pulled on my mismatched rubber boots and put a tattered cap on my head to shield my eyes and protect myself from the sun. I slipped my knife into its makeshift carrier, strapped on the outside of my yellow boot. I quietly slipped out of camp. Alala followed overhead, pausing to wait for me on the bleached white trunks of the standing dead trees along the trail.

I knew every outcropping and beach on this end of the island. I chose a spot to watch from behind a tangle of dead branches.

In the last few months, the beaches had begun to be more pleasant. Much of the organic garbage that had once washed ashore had decomposed. I no longer had to wear a cloth around my face when I was out scavenging, and patches of sand had been washed clean by the tides.

I watched as the sailboat neared and dropped anchor. The boat bobbed gently up and down.

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