Master and Ruler

Master and Ruler



The man awoke, his eyes flinching in the brilliant light, adjusting slowly to his surroundings and himself. A fuzzy awareness followed. His mouth and throat were ash, sour tasting, and he gagged and coughed. Working his tongue around his teeth and gums, his face a mask of incomprehension he ignored the colours all around him and studied himself as he sat upright, knees tight against his chest. His faded, blue jean-shorts were torn and dirty and felt stiff to the touch, bare calves were cut and bruised; shirt ripped, and blood streaking his arms where the material had been torn away. No pain. Not yet. Lifting his hands before him he gazed at them as though they offered something he desperately wanted but could not fathom. They were cut and bloody too, caked in dirt and something gritty…sand. Then pain came. Muscles bunched and ached. He winced and moved his fingers tentatively. And his eyes finally drifted from himself to his surroundings, to the colours, sounds and smells that were attacking his senses with a dull intensity.

         A beach. The smell of salt and something sweet drifted on a light breeze. The sun was a burning globe in a deep azure sky. Palm trees and other towering trees with bole’s as wide as three men, and drooping trees that scratched at the earth skirted the sand and led into a tumult of tangled growth and colour, greens, browns, reds, yellows and shadow. A forest? A jungle? He heard noises fleeting and obscure. One sound however drowned all others with a sort of calm assertiveness. The ocean: foaming as a multitude of low waves broke upon the shore whispering to the man who tilted his head and tried to comprehend before realising the futility of doing so. And so the mans attention returned to his hands and torn and shabby clothes. This he thought he could understand. The pain he felt he could understand. There was something he knew he had to do. Frustration bubbled under confusion. Remember. That was what he had to do, must do. Remember.

         Frustration turned quickly to anger, a strange thing. His fists clenched and the pain was welcome. Despair maybe. This drove him to action. And he struggled to his feet; bare he noticed, cracked and stained with dry blood.  There was something else, the exposed skin on his feet and hands and legs and arms felt odd and his face twitched, stiff and itchy. Burnt. He looked at the sun then at the shadows amongst the foliage and undergrowth of the jungle. Apprehensive, muscles heavy, unable to move. Fear perhaps of this unknown place. But then he found himself coming to a decision, deciding something that would benefit himself. This was an exhilarating feeling, he felt human again, no longer under the yoke of the colours, the sounds, the smells, of the confusion or the pain. He had gained a semblance of control. Wrestled thoughts from his own blurry consciousness and put them to use. A smile almost touched his face and again felt strange as one emotion clashed with another, clashed with many. Trying to ignore them, these feelings, he stumbled into the shade of the jungle, basked in the coolness and peaked out at the sun in triumph. He blinked. It only seemed a moment but his perspective had changed. The sun was lost behind the palm fronds and his hands clutched green things and dirt. He was on his knees and pain filled him. And quickly his mind worked to another conclusion: he was exhausted and he needed water. Find water or die. Knowing this and the satisfaction in knowing clouded the fear, what he thought was fear. Desperation. No fear of death. Not now anyway. Maybe he had been dead already. No, that was wrong. But still no fear of death. Maybe if he lay down… Even as this thought formed he was rising to his feet and struggling through the wild and clawing undergrowth.

         The sun broke through the guard of the trees in parts like arrows of pain not wanting him to continue. He was sure he was going to die but felt no fear only anger. Water. How long had he been moving? He thought he had fallen but was sure he was still moving. Then abruptly a sheet of silvery light flickered before him like a god appearing to a lost soul, welcoming it, coaxing it onto the proper path. Lurching forward his head was engulfed by a sweetness like no other. Hands rested against the slippery rock face which the water fell against. And he drank. He couldn’t take in very much and his stomach was soon bloated. Then he turned and rested his back against the cold stone and let the water fall over him. Strangely his anger was gone now and fear came, fear of death. And he slumped forward from under the fall of the water into a kind of tranquil oblivion. 

         Slowly his eyes opened. And they adjusted easily to the dull light. The jungle. The trickle of water sounded softly behind him and he rolled onto his back. He was wet. The cool water ran down the rock face in a thin stream and pooled on the sodden earth before him, spreading out in even thinner streams again like a distorted, transparent hand and he lay in its palm. He was a little disappointed, he was sure there had been a torrent of water there before he had collapsed. With a start, his stomach reeling and the world seeming to bend momentarily, he realised he could not remember anything. The shock gave him an adrenalin rush that got him to his feet, eyes searching but not looking at what surrounded him; instead looking into himself, into the past, into…something. He remembered the beach, the ocean, fear and anger and exhaustion and pain. He studied himself, his torn clothes, his skin blotchy with sores, and his feet ankle deep in a finger of water that was clouded with redness; face so stiff he felt it might crack. But how had he come to this place? How? Turning in staggered movements he drank deeply from the waterfall. Looking up the water disappeared over the cliff edge and the things that grew there. Through gaps in the canopy a pinkish light streaked the sky. The sun was setting. Staring at the sky, dark, bloodshot eyes blinking in desperation, something tugged at his memory. A plane. He gasped audibly. Yes a plane, travelling on a plane. The thoughts that followed were dark, creeping things which crawled over his mind and clung in places before he consciously dislodged them or they simply slipped away. Some things he didn’t want to remember. Others he desperately did. Who was he? What was his name? Where was he going and why? Irrelevant now he supposed. No! He would remember.

         Wearily he decided to go back to the beach. Unsure but he thought it could not be far. He would light a fire there he supposed. A boat or a plane might pass and see the smoke. Then a thought struck. He assumed he was alone. Why? But with a sinking feeling he simply knew that he was. A curious sense of being alone. He would have to find food and explore. But it was dusk now and he should light a fire and wait till morning. Maybe someone would find him by then. Someone from this place, or a ship or plane passing by.

Not long after leaving the grace of the waterfall behind, he stepped out from the tree line onto the pale, soft and cool sand. Before the light failed fully he gathered some branches and twigs and dry stuff and some fist sized stones. He put these in a ring and gathered the fuel within them. The last of the suns light died and the sky blackened and the stars winked into existence as it dawned on the man he had no means by which to make a flame. He thought this should bother him more but it didn’t and he lay down beside his unlit fire, his first labour as a denizen of this unknown world, and slept.

The light of the rising sun dragged the man from a horrible nightmare; forgotten as swarming thoughts and emotions rushed through him, consciousness formed and his senses ushered in awareness. He gazed at the horizon transfixed by the beauty of the dawn. A thing not of this world rising and casting a pale orange glow over the sea and beach, spreading light and heat. Life. He was comforted by the sight, by the thought that if all else is lost or fails the image now imprinted on his mind was everlasting.

He lay there for a long moment then got to his feet. Hunger. The cuts on his arms and legs seemed to be healing. Staring at the un-lit fire he wondered how he would light it. Thirsty. Get out of the sun. Maybe he should build some type of shelter. Rescue. He shook his head dizziness making him unsteady. Thoughts disintegrated like sand slipping through his fingers. He felt a sudden urge to scream and realized he didn’t know his own voice and so he screamed. A loud shrill sound. Throat sore, he cleared it and spat. “What will I do?” he said aloud. A deep, shaky voice. Food. The sun was fully above the line of the horizon now. There was light enough. He would go and find food.

Finding plenty of fruit, he munched as he wandered, not overly concerned of its ripeness or edibility. It felt so good in his stomach. He made for the water, drank and decided to find the source of the waterfall. Maybe there would be a lake to wash in or a village even. Fish and more food. He wanted to get higher anyway, gain a vantage point and look out over this unknown, nameless land. His new world. Could he be master and ruler of this place? The man wasn’t sure why or how this thought materialized but it excited him for some reason. A basic instinct to control, to possess.  Then he looked to the sun, the sea, the growth and living things all around him; and thought of the state he had woke to find himself in. Never. But he would master himself. Rule himself. He would remember. He would survive.

Picking up a large branch, which he felt was heavier than it should be, he beat at the tangled creepers and brambles swathing a path for himself which gradually rose upward and around to the south, the sun ascending to his right. He was soon sweating and exhausted but managed to climb a narrow ravine smothered in colourful shrubbery and spiny bushes and emerged in an open area with soaring trees spread out like sentries and the earth brown and soft underfoot. He stood and listened. Birds chirped and a breeze stronger here than below rustled the broad leaves high above. Becoming more aware of the oppressive heat he thought the stream should be close by. To his delight he soon left the giant trees behind as the land rose again and broken rocks and boulders - some as big as himself - of brown and orange scattered the way and a rocky pool of water wide and shining, glinted and shimmered in the distance. Everything seemed to tremble in the heat haze like phantoms taking form. A sheer cliff face rose in the background clung to by vines and creepers. A greenness that had shied away amongst the wide boles and encompassing canopy of the trees returned, vivid and lush. The colourful undergrowth thickened broken only in parts by large rocks until he stood before the pool. He took in the scent of the air with a sigh of pleasure. It was a large pool maybe big enough to be a lake. It looked deep, welcoming. To the west a rivulet boiled up over a lip of rock and snaked out into the distance. Making the short climb down to the surface he noticed the silvery blue reflection of the surroundings in the still water. Beauty. Suddenly an image emerged in his mind. A memory perhaps. A face. He couldn’t quite make it out. Long hair the colour of the sun. Eyes like the pool that would soon receive him. A terrible sadness washed over him. Sorrow deep within him rose like a physical pain through his stomach and chest and he groaned. Then it faded and was gone. “Do I want to remember?” He spoke aloud. It took him several moments to compose himself. And he looked down now at his own reflection. A round face. Hair thick and black, short but scraggily, dirty and straw like. Eyes deep-set and dark under a furrowed brow, tiny lines creased their edges. A short growth of a beard covered half healed cuts and scrapes and his skin was a deep, reddish brown. Again memories fluttered and were gone like flies in the rain. He stared at himself until the sun speared the back of his neck and he leapt into the water. Into the embrace of those forgotten eyes.

He enjoyed the water immensely and stripped off his clothes leaving them to dry on a rock while he continued to swim and float and dive and swim again until his limbs felt burdened by some great weight and he climbed out utterly spent and lay naked under the shade of a near by tree. He dozed for a while, woke feeling refreshed, dressed, his clothes feeling far more comfortable now than before and stood looking about curiously. The sun angled slightly toward the west but burned with an intense heat. He wanted to see more of the place. He decided to see if he could find a spot where he could look out over the land. He followed the rivulet and soon found himself looking out at a choppy ocean and the curving line of the horizon. A calming sight, fading between sky and water. A thing of two worlds, of all. He ate some more fruit as he surveyed his surroundings. The ocean bending around as far as the eye could see, hugging the coastline. In all directions the land undulated and rose in points and trees marched, gathering in sheltered canopy and giving way again to rocky openness and tangled undergrowth which looked impassable. No villages. No people. Nothing. He was alone on an island, although still not certain he accepted that was what it was. A plane crash. Stranded on an island. No memory. A forgotten face. Death, despair. Desperation. A desolate feeling engulfed him, an unimaginable emptiness. He was lost; lost even to himself. He would remember. He would! Tears gathered in his eyes. This felt proper. And he wept.

He made his way slowly back to the beach. Batting his stick absently. The colours of the world shifted and changed subtly. Shadows stretched and receded. And the trees and growth and rocks seemed to move and dance to their own song. The islands song. Maybe he would hear that song one day. Maybe he would soon move to its beat, live by its rhythm. But it was also disconcerting. For images appeared and disappeared before him. His eyes catching glimpses of things that were not there. Not knowing what they saw and his imagination creating its own fantastic mirage. He imagined beasts and spiders, snakes and lizards. Clawed birds swooping from the sky, scurrying creatures hurrying away from or toward his footfalls. Sounds also mingled all around him. Everything was a myriad of colour and sound, ever-changing, foreign and unknown, undiscovered; yet if he reached out he could touch it, if he stood and listened he could hear it. Suddenly from the shadows of the undergrowth something burst into the open and charged across his path. His reverie broke and the fright almost sent him sprawling to the ground. Instead he hunched, both hands gripping the stick and watched with what quickly changed from terror to curiosity as the beast scarpered out of view. It was smallish and fat. He thought he saw tusks and a puckered snout and was covered in coarse, grey-brown hair. A pig. And was delighted to know what one was. To remember what one was. With sudden excitement and lust he imagined hunting it and killing it. Maybe he could be master of this place after all. The thought of meat made his mouth water. Gathering his breath he continued on a little less glum than before.     

He arrived at the beach around evening time. He had taken a different route back and judging by the sun, was too far north and so walked along the beach with the sun to his left until he came across his unlit fire. Then wondered why he had not just made a new fire where he was, but did not think on it too much. His stomach began to ache and he relieved himself near by in the bush, cramps making his teeth clench in pain. But he ignored pain. Now he had a goal. Light that fire. He enjoyed his mind being concentrated on a single action and goal. After what seemed like hours of rubbing a stick between his hands among dry grass and leaves, until his palms were cut and sore and raw, smoke at last began to coil up into the air. He coughed and continued adding more fuel and blowing gently. Adding more fuel and blowing gently until a flame was finally born. And for the first time in his shallow bank of remembrance he laughed. And he enjoyed it. Not wanting it to end but it did and rather abruptly, and he went about stoking up the fire. Smoke billowed upward. A passing boat or plane or someone on a nearby island would surely see that he thought with satisfaction.

As night settled the man curled up beside the fire, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach. His eyes kept opening and staring widely into the shadows of the jungle. He felt fear but was unsure why. What would emerge from that dark place while he slept?  What might drag him into its depths while he dreamt of lost and forgotten things? What was preying on him? What watched him with hungry eyes? There was always evil he knew. Always corruption. Wherever one went they would find evil and corruption; somehow he was sure of this. So why not here? Why would these things not be found in this unfamiliar and mysterious place? No people. But he was here; he would bring evil and corruption with him. He was evil. Would he be preyed upon because of that? There was movement and his breath caught. Silence. A rustling sound off to the right. He didn’t turn. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to make a sound. A shadow detached itself from the blackness, shifted and merged again into the dark. Breathless. Why wouldn’t he close his eyes? With an effort he turned away from the jungle and watched and listened as the waves rolled and broke upon the shore. The shadows of the jungle soon forgotten. 

The dream was of a woman, blonde hair and blue eyes, porcelain skin, she smiled at him and he smiled back, feeling warmth deep within himself. He knew her. Loved her. She spoke but he couldn’t hear. Her lips forming silent words. He reached out but couldn’t touch her. She reached for him but he felt nothing. And her face twisted in grief and agony. And now she screamed at him but still he couldn’t hear, watching in despair. So beautiful. He screamed back, her name forming in his mind, then a light exploded behind her and she was gone.

The glaring light of the sun. His mind scrambled for purchase. A dream. He had remembered! The image of the woman began to dissolve from his minds eye like a mist. The dream faded. He desperately tried to cling to it but…a woman, her face beautiful. She spoke to him. What was her name? What had she called him? “I have to remember”, he called aloud. Fading. Forgotten. “No!” He yelled. What was the dream? He had remembered. “No, no, no.” He screamed and screamed. His hands clawing at his face. And a thought crept into his fragile mind. She’s dead. No! He didn’t know. Slumped, he lay there in quiet and motionless anguish. Feeling fled. A body void of life and void of death. A mind forgotten by the future and lost to the past.

It was a long time before he gathered himself up and re-ignited the dying embers of the fire adding more and more fuel. Why did he want to get off this island? He mused and watched tendrils of grey smoke swirl and whorl into the yawning vastness above like fleeing spirits intent on some celestial duty. “I will never remember”. And emptiness filled his being until bursting point and shards of what was left of himself fell away, broken. A new shell would form. Was he better off here? He could be master and ruler of this place.

Days soon passed into weeks and months. And he found himself becoming more in tune with the islands song. He felt he was becoming part of it. The roll of the tide, the waxing and waning of the sun and moon and shifting of the stars. The swaying trees and fronds, budding growth, the flies and butterflies and colourful birds and scurrying creatures and larger beasts, unseen and seen, heard and unheard. He soon felt a oneness with it. He would speak to the trees, laugh with the butterflies, and cower from the great birds. And they spoke to him. He heard it all in movement and rhythm, sighing and whispering, screaming and roaring.  He fashioned spears and nets from branches and cords of vines, caught fish in the nets and dug a trap along a pig trail planting it with sharpened stakes and snared a pig. The stakes also served as protection. He hadn’t used them in this capacity yet but he was sure there were things in the jungle malevolent and watching. He washed in the rock pool and enjoyed swimming and wandering the island. The sun became a pleasant companion rather than a torment. When the first rain came the man stood in it until his skin was pasty and resembled some of the dried fruit he ate. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed and fear and excitement gripped him, dancing and shouting, arms outstretched to the heavens before retreating into the foliage. After this he built a shelter close to the beach but spent little time in it save to sleep. This unknown world was becoming known, revealing itself to him like a lover. His sleep was now silent and dreamless, unless he dreamt of the island or the ocean or stars, or some misshapen beast lurking in the shadows. He was sure he knew nothing else. What else was there? His mind could not form a future without the island for it was all he knew and the past was lost to him. Thoughts could not stream too far. What he had known was no longer really known. Only the island remained. Yes, he lived by the rhythm of the island now and it accepted him. He was not master or ruler, he didn’t need to be. But he had a place.

He would light fires to cook or keep warm but allowed them to burn out. The smoke signal unimportant. The thought of rescue no longer had substance or energy. However something changed, a shift in his minds reasoning, when a ship came into view of the island. A large bulking silhouette against puffy white clouds, far off in the distance. When he saw it he considered it a long while. It barely seemed to move, like some monster of the water waiting, considering its prey. It confused the man. Should he do something? Part of him wanted to run and hide, part of him wanted to swim out to it. He looked to the fire. It was un-lit… no signal. Why did he want to get off this island? He didn’t. Not now. Where would he go? What would he do? He became frightened and dashed off into the cover of the jungle and peered out at the lumbering, threatening shadow atop the water. His hands began to tremble and he wasn’t sure why. His breathing shallow. Memories stirred deep within. A terrible longing. Emotions rattled, bursting to the fore. His will was trying to override his judgement or at least guide it, no, drag it onto a certain course, its natural course but now indistinct and confused. His mind weak. Resolve frail. Spirit brittle. He would master himself. There was something he should do and reasons for doing it. Rescue. But why? His whole being shook. An awakening of something repressed. And for the first time since that forgotten nightmare weeks ago, an image coalesced in his mind. A tarnished effigy. A faded portrait. A woman. Beautiful. And he cried out. He wailed. And she smiled at him. He heard her. He heard her say his name. The man screamed and laughed and cried. And he knew her name. Emotions gushed forth in a violent torrent until calmness descended and a final realisation blanketed all others: she was not on the plane with him. He knew this. He was sure of this. She was not dead. Hope.

He remembered.

He had to be rescued.

Leaping from the shadows he quickly and expertly lit the fire until it raged and glowed as if a manifestation of himself. He shouted and screamed, splashed in the water, laughed and cried, wailed and howled. A demented parody of a person, half animal, half man. But with one goal, one purpose, so strong, so powerful. He was master and ruler of himself. His own God. The fire a beacon. Smoke rising up toward the heavens. His angel.

Then he saw a smaller silhouette separate away from the larger and move in the direction of the island. The sun sinking as though bored of this human activity and the man sank with it. Silent, on his knees, overwhelmed. And rescue came.