I stood up, reaching into the insulation in the wall, and tugged at a wire. It moved, but the ones around it twitched as well—they must be grouped up together further down the line, between this point and the opening. I started exploring with my fingers.
When Killian came back, I showed him the wires, and mimed twisting them together, and then of sewing something. He stared at me for a few seconds, frowning, then nodded. As he worked at the panels, I worked on pulling the wires out of the plane’s carcass, searching through the walls for junctions and gatherings that I would need my chisel to cut through.
As I worked, I realised that the wires—blessing that they might be—would not work for the roof – any holes in the moulded plastic stuff would let in the rain, if we didn’t crack the stuff trying to drill it with our crude tools. We could save the wires for holding up the walls, and the door, as well as doing something to secure the roof down. No, we would have to melt the roof together, somehow.
I started gathering firewood, small kindling that would be enough to make a torch. Killian soon joined me, his bushy eyebrows drawn up. I’d figured out that it was an unequivocal sign that he didn’t know what I was up to now. While I could try to explain, I chose to raise a finger in a ‘wait a minute’ kind of gesture.
Once the torch was ready, I asked Killian to hold the linings in place. As he stood underneath them, holding two pieces together, I moved by his side with the torch, placing the flames where the slabs met. At first, it did nothing but darken the material with soot. I was all but ready to give up when the edges slowly but surely started to melt.
The technique wound up working like a charm and the time it took to make it fuse was well worth the end result. We would have no problem creating a roof for our new humble abode. I was quite proud of both of us for executing such a unique and brilliant idea, to say the very least.
Once the joined material had cooled off, we carried it to the beach and the skeleton of the house we’d built. Once we’d placed it atop the beams, I was satisfied to see that it was both large and long enough. We still had to figure out a way to make it stay in place, but… one challenge at a time.
Although the shack was far from finished, I felt a swell of pride at what we’d accomplished so far. We had worked together to make this, overcoming and surpassing language barriers—not to mention emotional, mental, and physical barriers—to achieve a common goal. Actually, I was more than proud. I was gratified.
I smiled at Killian as he sat down under our new roof. The way he was panting reminded me that he was much older than me. Maybe I ought not to ask too much out of him. Nevertheless, the smile stayed on my face as I sat next to him and looked up appreciatively. We’d done a good job. The beams protruded from the ground at something close to a ninety-degree angle. Now all we had to do was fasten the damn roof to them.
Looking at it from this angle, I was reminded of what Killian had done during the storm. The shards of metal, the blanket, the pieces of wood to complete the sandwich… could we do something similar here? That’s when it hit me.
“We need to drill holes through the roof,” I said aloud. “That’ll keep the roof in place.”
Killian looked at me like I’d sprung another head. Of course, Anne-Marie, I thought as I moved to my knees. Remember that he doesn’t speak your language.
I started drawing on the floor the schematics of what we’d have to do. Making holes through the roof at the exact location where there was a beam, thinning the top of the beams to a length of ten centimetres length, and then voilà. So long as we made our holes a diameter larger than the top of the beams yet smaller than the bottom part, the roof would slide into place and stay wedged in. Perfect.
After that, the only thing left to do was to build some walls and a door and we’d be golden. Yep, said like that, it sure as hell sounded easy. My aching body made a point of reminding me that it could be otherwise.
15. ARCHITECTURE 102
Turns out, there was nothing easy about it. Sure, the idea itself was simple enough. Sure, drawing up the schematics and figuring out the right diameters had been a breeze. But taking that idea and turning it into something concrete? Well, that was something else. I was no carpenter and neither was Killian. On top of that, our only working tools were rock-shards and airplane debris.
The only thing we had going for us was that we had time. Plenty of time. Absolute freedom to work from dawn till dusk under an unforgiving sun that never seemed to want to set. Save for the breaks we had to take to collect dew water, spear our dinner from the tide pools and gather berries for dessert, we worked non-stop every day from seven in the morning until seven in the evening per Killian’s still-functional wristwatch. We worked in silence, using diagrams to map out our day’s work and hand gestures when we needed the other to accomplish a specific task.
Though Killian never said it out loud—not that I could have understood him if he had—strict adherence to a schedule seemed to improve his mood. It was as if he found comfort in the natural routine that established itself after the first couple of days.
But then, my travel companion wasn’t the only one who enjoyed having an occupation. Now that we had something to do with ourselves, the days seemed to flow by, as if the world made sense again. Funny how focusing on gruelling manual tasks and working towards a goal grounds you and provides you with a sense of purpose.
It took us three days to get the roofing done, fastening them with stoppers we made out of tight bundles of wires, coiled into rope, to make sure not even the strongest winds could lift it off. Another five days were spent gathering and preparing the materials to make the walls. Four days to affix them to the support beams. One more to install the loo door that’d serve as an entrance to our humble abode.
Day fourteen was spent working on the inside. We gathered leaves to make two mattresses, covering them with blankets until it was as comfortable as any cheap and dingy hotel room’s bed. Then came the interminable treks from the crash-site to the shack, bringing along all our stuff. We’d put one mattress against one wall and the other against the opposite one. That left us a little space in the middle to pile up the suitcases that’d washed ashore, along with the rest that we’d salvaged from the tail.
On the fifteenth day, we stayed in bed until mid-morning, planning on not doing anything more than gather up much-needed fresh water and food. I thought it would been the best day of our week, but I should have known better.
Whatever peace of mind Killian had found in our routine was gone by the time he got up. The old man was back to his old grumpy self, all spurts of happiness replaced by displeasure and disdain. When it was apparent that all he was going to do was brood, I decided it would be best for us to split up for the day.
I gave him my spear and motioned a fish swimming in the water with my hands. Though it was my usual job to get the fish and his to pick the berries, he took it without protest. Eyebrows coming together to form a scowl, he stormed out of the shack with grim purpose.
I sighed. That man, I thought in despair. It really couldn’t be helped though. Nor was it my business or prerogative to. Even so, since we were stuck on a deserted island together, there was nothing else to do but go pick more berries.
I started walking down the path—and off it a little—back to the spot where I had first found the berry bushes. It didn’t take long for me to get there. Once I did, I got right to picking.