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“-you know, and-” Ralph stopped abruptly. He continued in a whisper to not wake any of the boys sleeping in their shared shelter. “Hey - are you even paying attention?”
Despite Ralph’s sudden remark, Jack’s gaze remained fixed on fragments of the horizon. The shelter where they sat side-by-side was relatively well-made, considering the circumstances in which it was crafted. Still, holes, which allowed one to glimpse the island’s beach and ocean, littered its walls. Ralph exhaled and poked considerately at the sand beneath their makeshift beds.
Whenever the two were laying lit by the moon, Ralph typically on the brink of sleep, Jack had a bad habit of attempting to initiate conversation. The strange freckled boy was insistently trying to get closer to Ralph, and yet, whenever Ralph did open up, usually about the life he once led, Jack couldn’t seem to bring himself to care.
Tonight, the two were not lying but sitting next to each other, and Ralph had gone on another whispered tangent as Jack minimally engaged and instead busied himself with other fruitless tasks such as running his fingers through the ends of blond hair or, as he was doing now, staring aimlessly out of disregarded holes.
“I’ve been talking an awful lot about myself, but I know almost nothing about you,” Ralph remarked.
Jack was startled when he realized Ralph’s head was dramatically cocked in his direction, an expectant expression on Ralph’s face. Jack shifted and reciprocated a whisper.
“Remind me—which one of your ponies was it that your mum named?”
Ralph shook his head. “Did you hear me? I asked about you.”
Jack seemed offended, though he offered no proof of the attention he claimed to have given Ralph. “Of course I heard you.” He shifted again.
Ralph sighed and prompted, “Where do you come from?”
“Oh, where do you think? I come from England, of course, and with pride.”
“I know that.” Ralph decided, his voice without sternness. He opened his mouth again, but his intentions of speech were interrupted.
“I want to hunt.”
“My God.”
“I’m serious!” Jack rolled his eyes, turning his body to face Ralph. “I found this small beach the other day. It’s hidden, too—three sides of it covered by trees and creepers and grass. You have to swim by some rocks to get to it because the fourth side’s the ocean, but it’s worth the work.”
Ralph waited for more before he asked, “And you want to swim there?”
“Well, yes.”
”In the dead middle of the night? And are you not-” Ralph waved his sand-covered hand “-scared?”
Jack made a show of him scoffing. He shook his head, furrowed his brows, and exclaimed, “Why would I be scared if there’s nothing to be scared of?”
“Well, for one, it’s dark.” Ralph, offended by Jack’s rash claim, subconsciously raised his voice from a whisper. “One minute you could be parading around the jungle, all excited because you’ve smelt pig poop-” Jack assumed a crouch. Ralph copied him in the pursuit of retaining the other boy’s attention. “-and the next, you’ll trip over something—a log or the roots of a tree, maybe—and end up with your knife in your thigh!”
Refusing to heed warnings, Jack crawled toward the shelter’s exit before pausing and glancing over his shoulder.
“Aren’t you coming?” Jack’s voice was no longer a whisper. He asked the question in his speaking voice with a sense of confidence.
“We should go to bed.”
“Ralph, come on.” The boy’s freckled face, bathed in filtered moonlight, broke into something resembling a grin of playfulness or disbelief.
“I’m telling you, we’ll only get hurt.”
Jack strained his body toward Ralph’s, grabbed his friend’s wrist, and forcefully lugged the other boy’s weight the short distance of their shelter. Ralph did not verbally protest, but he appeared to be taken aback.
His grip still tight, Jack sprang the two out of the hut and rose with excitement. He grabbed their spears and checked his ratted pockets for a knife before proceeding towards the jungle.
“Well, there’s no good in hesitating,” Jack called.
Once Ralph, with little reluctance, groaned, smiled, and advanced within reach, Jack tossed him a weapon.
“If I’m dead by the morning, you’ll be the one to blame,” Ralph decided.
“Yeah, alright. Don’t get too full of yourself.”
Ralph suppressed a snicker as foliage dampened the ocean’s crashing.
As they hobbled over the floor of a wild jungle, Jack maintained his lead while Ralph, desperate and unassured, remained as close to Jack as he could manage. Despite the lack of sunlight, or, due to the trees’ thick layers of leaves forming a natural ceiling, lack of any light, the air was hot. Trees towered, yet venturing through the jungle felt claustrophobic. Various bugs and birds could be distantly heard though not observed, as they would have fled upon hearing two English schoolboys climbing and crawling and swearing.
The vines and roots that encased the Earth appeared malicious. Before he came to his senses, Ralph silently figured the undergrowth must have been trying to humiliate him.
After twenty minutes of blind maneuvering, the pair emerged onto the beach.
“We’re right back where we started.“ Ralph stuck his lopsided spear into the stand and wiped away his sweat. “‘Suppose your detour was useless after all.”
”Useless? Back where we started?” Jack tried to imitate offense but could not hide his grin. “I’d say we must be at least a thousand meters from camp.”
Ralph groaned. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m telling the truth!” Jack began his way down the beach toward the grand silhouette of a jagged rock formation, and Ralph followed. “That shortcut got us further along than you’d think.”
“Shortcut? Jack, that was practically a hike.”
“Was not!” He jammed an aggressive elbow into Ralph’s side, sending the boys into a tired fit of giggles.
As their episode died and they walked further, Ralph turned his head to gauge the night’s stars. The sky, too fearful to clear up, was populated by sprawled wispy clouds. In certain corners, the wisps would congregate and become gray and opaque, though for the most part, bright stars prided themselves.
“You said we were a thousand meters from camp, yeah? I hardly believe you, but if you were right,” Ralph kicked some sand as he tried to articulate rationality, “you know, is that a good thing?”
Back to his usual dramatics, Jack again rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “You worry too much, Ralph, you know? I don’t know how you live like that.” Jack slipped into an accusatory tone. He removed his hand from his forehead and began to wave it in a circular motion as if it helped him think. The odd gesture did nothing but force Ralph to choose between sidestepping or getting sucked up into Jack Merridew’s failure of self-expression with an accidental hit from a hand to an arm. “I mean, you agree to come along on an adventure with me, then just do nothing but complain, and-“ He shook his head violently as if there was more to add. “-and complain!”
Ralph searched Jack for a smirk or an elbow in the ribs but found nothing but furrowed eyebrows and the trail a dragged spear left in the sand.
Rage without reason was still bubbling in Jack’s throat. He resolved to emit it in an ugly facial expression.
Ralph did not know Jack wanted an apology, so he silently watched Jack push himself into a speed walk. They remained in that formation—Jack five paces ahead, spear trailing, knife swinging in his pocket; Ralph five paces behind, an uncomfortable spear pressed against his body because of his stubborn crossed arms—until Jack’s hand stopped and his ugly expression died.
Ralph was startled when Jack abruptly stopped his walk until he realized they had reached the end of the beach, marked by a now distinguishable tower of mossy boulders that lead in a line from the jungle to the ocean. Out of lack of words, they stood, again side-by-side, heads tilted up at the formation. The clouds had cleared from the moon’s path, allowing Ralph to make out frail barnacles lining the rock beneath cold waves.
“It’s pretty. From what you can make out at night, at least,” Jack mumbled without acknowledgement.
Ralph didn’t shift his gaze, either. He understood little about the island they inhabited; its sweet fruits and colorful insects, synonymousness with sweat, and docile vines that concealed poison with uncanny ease was beyond every schoolboy hinged to an uncharted utopia. Even less was understood about Jack, an ugly Christian with whom Ralph spent most of his free time. Ralph admired his confidence, he even craved it, which is why, Ralph decided, he felt so drawn to Jack and seemed to discard the boy’s selfishness with ease.
So, he understood. Despite his inability to decipher the origin of Jack’s stubborn anger, and despite all the reasons Ralph should have ignored or abandoned Jack, he understood and apologized.
Jack’s shoulder was brushing his, and the conflict died as soon as it started.
“Come on.” Jack patted Ralph on the arm to redirect his attention before tossing his spear aside and sprinting into the ocean.
Surprised by Jack’s uncharacteristic decency, Ralph did the same, taking a more precautious approach but running nonetheless. The shock of the waves caused Ralph to laugh upon entry.
Jack reciprocated the laugh, used his arm to muster a splash of water, and told him, “I can’t wait for you to see the beach. It’s much better than that rock, I promise.”
Their feet, only able to scrape the tops of submerged coral or rocks, left their bodies vulnerable to the ocean’s heartbeat. Swimming with purpose, Jack again led the two; however, his spirit was intercepted by the ruthless waves that, despite intentions of keeping heads and eyes free of salt water, soaked the boys and stung their senses. The ocean was loud, too, and Jack had to yell his smug comments if he wanted to be heard. Though, against natural violence, the moon still reflected magnificently against the water, and if one boy’s snicker or giggle did descend into a cough, the other boy would only respond with a committed laugh.
After minutes of tiresome swimming, Jack exclaimed, “I see it!” between sharp breaths. “The sand- I see sand!” Trying for a clear view, his head snapped up, down, and side-to-side as concisely as his circumstances would allow.
“Oh! Would you-” Ralph’s head bobbed under again.
Jack could hear fragments of Ralph but wouldn’t have regarded the comment regardless of its completeness. Ralph’s head popped back up, and his viscously paddling hands followed.
“Would you look at that?” Ralph finished and began to paddle with more vigour to keep pace with Jack, who had apparently been filled with a newfound sense of determination upon receiving visual validation of their destination.
As they swam closer to a shore still barely visible in the dark, layers of rock rose beneath their feet. With a firm balance against the earth, Ralph was more articulate.
“This beach better be the best thing on our island, Jack.” The blond paused his remark to catch his breath, but continued to use his arms to propel himself. “I don’t know what beach that swim could have possibly been worth.”
Jack looked back with a dumb smile.
“I thought that swim was fun.”
The ocean floor had now thinned to sand. Waves no longer lapped their shoulders, instead comfortably reaching the bottom of their torsos.
“You can see it a little better now, can’t you?” Jack lifted his right arm in a forward motion.
Ralph looked up. On the top of a grand horseshoe-molded cliffside, textured with jagged rock in shades of grey and brown, matted creepers and looming trees squished to an abrupt edge. The cliff dramatically receded and framed three sides of a sandy cove with colors muted by night. Fog, pierced by notable beacons of moonlight, lingered in an eye-catching way—admirable, but not interfering with vision. Scattered about the cove was tall grass and bare bushes, which congregated around a small lagoon lined with eroded sand.
“Wow. Well, it isn’t much of a beach,” Ralph called, noting repetitious dirt and jagged rocks.
Jack, who had hurried forward, caught up in enthusiasm, surveyed the cove and consciously lagged, allowing Ralph to catch up.
“It looks different in the daytime. You’d be able to see more plants,” Jack offered, “and, y’know, there’d be more animals.”
Ralph scampered beyond waves to wet sand, leaving behind deep shadowed prints. The other boy continued in a walk before looping his arm through Ralph’s.
“So? Was that tortuous trek worth it?”
Ralph parroted the redhead’s smile. “Sure. In some ways, I’d say.”
Jack nodded and allowed Ralph to lead a small exploration around the lagoon and along the openings of caves embedded into the cliffside. The two, content in a giddy, awe-filled state, enjoyed exploring something secluded. The moment was not like a lighthearted walk through the jungle or a hot afternoon swim—it felt intimate. Jack acknowledged this. Fighting tiredness, he let himself lean in and admire his friend’s curved nose and flushing cheeks, and he let himself fall back into his routine of speaking only when necessary, for he would permanently fail to articulate the irrefutable pull he felt toward the other boy.