“All but me.”
“So, you ran away?”
“No, I stayed here for years, but grew lonely. People need to be near others.”
“So, you closed all the doors and left?”
Dawn paused and said, “That would be a short way of telling my story.”
Seth couldn’t sleep, and he listened to the soft, regular breathing of Dawn, the rasp, and cough that broke the silence now and then. “Tomorrow we can build a smokehouse.”
The old man took a few deep breaths and said, “You can build that.”
“You’re not going to help me?”
The laugh degenerated into a coughing fit. The old man said, “I think I’m going to change my name tomorrow morning.”
Seth smiled to himself. This again.
“I might change it to Sunset.”
“I like Dawn better. I’m getting used to it.”
“It’s not your choice.”
Seth laid awake thinking of the name change. “You know, when you change it, it’s hard for me to think about you with the new one. What was the name you had when you lived here?”
“Awa, a name that meant funny, or prankster in our language.”
“That suits you. Why don’t I call you that since you’re home again?”
“We need to go to sleep, now.”
“Okay, Awa.”
“Sunset,” Dawn corrected him, but it sounded like he was smiling.
The following morning Sunset slept late and when he stood the first time he almost fell. His eyes took on a glazed look that hadn’t been there the previous day, and he moved slowly and didn’t eat. While Seth gathered wood, explored, and killed a chicken, the old man sat in the shade and looked out over the trees on the lower hillside to the expanse of water.
Seth paused several times to look out there too, but saw nothing to hold his interest. He cooked the chicken on the top of the stove, he wove more mats to use as padding for their mats, and he found and carried six chicken eggs back to the cave.
Twice he dodged under the cover of trees to hide from dragons flying overhead, but watched them through the foliage with rapt fascination. Late in the morning, one flew by and screamed so loud and long Seth used his palms to help shut out the sound.
He noticed Dawn, who now only answered to Sunset, sitting in the same place under the palm. He hadn’t done any work all day, hadn’t eaten, and didn’t turn to face Seth when he talked to him. The old man didn’t answer most questions.
The third morning on the island, he didn’t wake.
CHAPTER SIX
Seth cried as he dug a hole under the same palm tree Sunset sat under his last day. Seth had only known the old man a few days, but in that time, had come to understand all but his sense of humor. Seth dug the hole deep, placed the old man carefully inside and filled it. He stood the fishing spear in the ground as a marker, although he wouldn’t forget where the grave was.
Standing alone when finished brought more tears, but Seth came to realize they flowed more for him and his bleak future than the man wishing to be called Sunset. The choice of the new name made sense, now. Seth believed he should have understood from the beginning and offered more support. While he hadn’t come right out and told Seth he planned to die here, there had been enough clues.
The following days became a blur of activity. Winter drew nearer. The air chilled if the ground didn’t. After four days, Seth had filled one of the extra rooms in the cave from floor to ceiling with firewood. All the remaining apples were stored in bowls. He also gathered the carrots and onions. Each day he searched for more eggs along the edge of the meadow where the chickens gathered. He’d cobbled together a small smokehouse and killed a goat. The meat smoked over a low fire of applewood.
On a morning when the rain fell steadily, he sat in the comfort of the cave and took inventory of his life. He now had shelter, warm ground to sleep on, as well as a working fireplace and stove. Outside the door with a curtain of woven reeds, the goat smoked, and the second room of the cave held enough food to last a long time, if not a full winter. But if he continued, adding eggs, fish, and smoked another goat or sheep, he could survive.
On impulse, he rushed outside and through the door of the next cave. The iron bar pulled the door open, but like last time, the hinges fell apart, and he leaped out of the way as it fell. Inside the room felt dry and warm. Much like Sunset’s old home, he consciously had decided to refer to the old man as Sunset, as a measure of respect. He had asked to be called by the new name, and as hard as it was to think of him as Sunset, Seth was determined to try if that was what Dawn wished.
Seth started a systematic search of the cave. He discovered a rusted blade that broke in half when he tried to clean it. But the front of the blade felt solid. It could tip a spear. He slipped it into the leather bag he used for his purse. After wading through the rubble, rotted wood, and disintegrating clothing, he left and went to the next cave.
The lower half of the door had broken, or chewed by animals, and inside stunk from generations of animals living there. He saw nothing of value and tired of holding his breath, and quickly moved on to the next. Some caves were larger than others, but all were depressing in the disintegration of the contents and the obviously lost dreams of the long dead inhabitants. Everything in them recalled that they were more than caves. They had been homes.
While most were useless, he did find a few pieces of flint, bars of iron, and a bowl filled with arrow tips.
The morning rain finally quit, and Seth walked out to the meadow in from of the caves and stood, looking at the missing doors, and the vacant doorways, like rectangular eyes watching him. He threw his head back and shouted, “I need to talk and get advice, but nobody is here. So, Sunset, I’m going to talk to you.”
That decision made, he felt better until an unnerving thought came. He said, “Sunset, I’d appreciate it if you don’t answer me.”
As he moved around the clearing at the base of the mountain, he continued to talk to Sunset. That afternoon he decided to build a bench to sit on, and maybe a second one in the kitchen beside the warm fire. When he was young and living with his mother, they had all sat near the fire and talked about their hopes and problems. He found and returned to his cave, four branches with crotches in them to use as braces for the benches.
In the main room, he dug four holes and stood the branches up before filling them in. The reeds he used for weaving let him tie cross pieces between them, but he thought about leather replacing the reeds. It was stronger and would last. He placed straight poles in the crotches and had a raised seat, of sorts. But it was just a frame, and he intended to finish it as the days turned colder.
The remains of the goat he’d killed were outside near the smokehouse, and he cursed himself. He should have been more aware of the uses for it. At the site, insects swarmed, and a quick look confirmed his suspicions. In his hurry to butcher the animal for meat, he hadn’t left much of the skin intact. Tanning the skin would have given him a covering for his bed, or perhaps a cloak. The bones had uses and in the future, he’d leave them out in the air for insects to clean. Instead, he buried the remains and thought back to his family and how they did things.
Skins needed pee and animal brains for proper tanning. Lots of pee, he remembered. He’d scrape the inside of a hide as clean as possible and use a mixture of pee and animal brains to coat it for a few days. Later, ash and water to soak it and make it softer. He’d seen a large bowl in one of the caves and carried it back to his cave. Another frame similar to the bench could be used to stake out a skin while it dried. He would leave the fur on for warmth, but if he wanted to remove the fur, urine and wood ash soaked into it would soften the fur enough to be scraped off, but it was hard work.