Aquisitioner’s Entry 4: My First Night With Karl
Reaching the island was a miracle by so many measures. 100 yards into the boat trip I quickly gave up all illusion of holding it together in front of Karl. If I could have held a pen I would have worked on my will and final requests. Instead I kept my head downwind and as low as possible to minimize the visual spectacle.
Exhaustion consumed every quivering muscle of my body and the fuzzy cloud of remaining conscious thought seemed to tunnel down to the few steps it took to get from boat to shore. Once on solid ground I stood frozen like a conqueror who just set foot on a new world… prevailing against all odds to overcome man and nature.
I turn to see what Karl is doing but the effort is too much. Loosing my balance in one fluid motion I tumble onto my back and lie sprawled on the hot beach sand. The next 8 hours are a blur but I wake up in a hammock strung between 2 palm trees that provide the major support for a small grass hut. No one else is around but there are 2 other empty hammocks.
I have never been thirstier. Once my body shut down for sleep, food and water weren’t an issue. On waking I was desperate for water. Somehow this place and the sequence of events intensified every need, every emotion. I could sense the irrational nature of my thrashing search through the cabin. If I had found water I certainly would have sent it crashing to the sand floor.
I walk outside. A pleasantly cool breeze brushes my skin. I realize I’m wearing different clothes. It’s dark. There’s a long strip of sand beach in front of the hut and dark shapes behind that hint of jungle. The dark shapes move in the breeze. Moonlight reflects off some of the nearby leaves and the ocean ripples lapping the beach. There’s no sound. Still no water.
I walk a few paces toward the ocean when someone shouts, “V”. Stopping, I turn and see Karl standing 15 yards down the beach. We walk toward each other and start talking at the same time. I can’t understand what she’s saying. My throat and tongue are so dry and swollen it’s difficult to say anything but some sounds escape that convey the need for water.
Karl grabs my hand and leads me toward a dark shadow. It’s a second hut. This one proves to be the kitchen. She flips a switch and a centrally located bare bulb glares to life. I see a sink and next to the sink a refrigerator. I open it as quickly as humanly possible. Cool air drifts out and the chill is refreshing. My eyes blink. Inside is a stash of approximately 30 Henry Weinhard Root beers. Impossible! This is my favorite drink and it’s made halfway around the world.
I reach in and cradle the improbable cold brown glass bottle in my hand. Tears well up in my eyes. With one quick flick the twist top cap is resting gently in my other hand. I raise this mystic fluid to my lips and feel the cold sweet liquid coat my mouth and tongue. It has never, never tasted so good. After 15 more seconds of amazed contemplation I raise the bottle to my lips again and drain it entirely.
Karl is talking again. I look at her and try to focus on what she is saying, “…before you fall down again. I’ll get you some food but please, please sit down at the table.”
I heard more magic words. Food would be coming to me. I could sit. I smile.
For the next 30 minutes I consumed root beer and sandwiches with barely a breath in-between. In retrospect I’m sure I looked like the village idiot but the intensity of pleasure I was experiencing was so overwhelming that all I could do was smile.
Karl could sense I was finally slowing down. She was smiling too and it didn’t seem to be a sarcastic smile. I think she was enjoying the entertainment I was providing through my feeding frenzy.
Then she said, “That’s probably enough food for tonight. Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep? Tomorrow is a big day. We will fit you to your “Stuffocator” and teach you its basic operation. That’s what hooked me on the job 6 years ago and I still think it’s the best job in the world.”
As she cleans up the last remnants of my meal she looks over at me and says, “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about the plane. It could have happened to anyone. I’ve certainly had worse.” Then she flips off the switch and we head back to the sleeping hut.
She was right…the shower felt as good as the food. I lay in my hammock and think about her comment, “I’ve certainly had worse.” That was hard to imagine, and what was this “stuffocator” talk? These questions drifted through my brain as the rest of me slipped into a deep comma-like sleep.
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