It had to be something else. Something to do with why Ann trudged all the way there, when any other stretch of beach would have sufficed for solitude — the act of recording implied specialness. How many desires did one have independent of the constant barrage of images that brainwashed one? Was the live image of the beach any different from creating a sacred building? Did anything exist in the sacred building that didn’t exist elsewhere, or vice versa? The very act of putting it in the building, or recording it on a webcam, made one take notice. One carried a photo, a rosary, a lock of hair, a seashell — the religious referred to them as relics — for the same reason one watched this scene on the Internet: it signified an inchoate longing that was getting harder and harder to access in everyday life.
“Loren did this as a performance piece,” she said by way of explanation.
“Cool,” Dex said.
“Loren, that old snake,” Richard said.
“Right?” Ann said.
“That whole dropping out, being unplugged…”
“Uh-huh. But pretend you don’t know,” Ann pleaded, but the cats were far out of the bag. Who was she kidding? She had known that in telling them there would be a loss of control. She had accepted that devil’s bargain even if Loren had not.
“Let’s build a bonfire,” Dex said. “So they see it. Give people a thrill. Planet of the Apes time.”
“Fun.”
“No,” Ann said, horrified, but already they had tuned her out.
Dex and Richard passed a joint as they gathered kindling. Ann, defeated, went to sit with Wende. She hadn’t considered the repercussions of their commandeering her secret, taking it away from her, and co-opting the situation’s possibilities.
“A huge mistake,” Ann said.
“I jumped,” Wende said.
Ann closed her eyes. “Yes, you did.”
“You saw?”
Ann nodded. Events on the island had accelerated to mainland speed, too much to process before the next thing took its place, creating a perpetual state of low-grade anxiety. She didn’t want to admit she’d forgotten all about the jump.
“Are you mad about me marrying Dex?”
Ann rolled over and faced her in the darkness. “Oh, honey, I have no right to judge. You just seemed so sure of what you didn’t want.”
“What I almost did — it was my bon voyage gift to Cooked — but then I couldn’t.”
“Okay.” Ann was feeling her way through the murk of Wende’s explanation, unsure exactly what they were talking about but afraid to frighten away a confession.
“It feels bad. I was trying to be someone I’m not. I got scared. Cooked hates me, but I saved him. His mother cooked for me.”
They lay back in silence. They had formed some type of ad hoc dysfunctional twenty-first-century family unit. Ann gazed up at the stars. The heavens seemed to be spinning so fast she had to close her eyes. Yes, it felt bad. What kind of traitorous person was she, giving up Loren’s secret like a party favor, like a kid trying to be popular? A blaze of fire went up and turned molten behind her eyelids. The guys were screaming and dancing like madmen. Was there sound on the cam? Oh God, yes. She was angry with them, but most of all angry with herself. She was lacking in all the qualities she admired in others.
“I keep making mistakes,” Ann said.
“It’s like the song ‘You just keep trying till you run out of cake.’”
“Who wants to go skinny-dipping?” Dex shouted.
“I do, I do.” Wende jumped up and ran away.
The old Wende was back.
* * *
For ten years the camera had recorded … nothing, which was the whole point, but that night the first seminal images in a decade were of the backsides of two men in the darkness, burnished in the glow of a bonfire. For an hour that was it, a burning fire, because the nighttime view of the beach and waves, even on full-moon nights, was always indecipherable. The next picture — as graven in Robinson Crusoe cam’s history as the first flickering images on film — was the flame-lit figure of a naked blond woman running past the fire, laughing and giggling, being chased by a naked tattooed man with a tangle of black hair covering his face.
Dex and Wende were like children with a new toy. They sat in the sand, drinking and coming up with variety-show scenarios to stage in front of the camera.
“Leave it alone,” Ann begged. “You’ve had your fun.”
“No way,” Dex said. “We’re just started. Weren’t you begging us to stay a few more days?”
* * *
When they returned to their water-soaked fares late that night, the oil lamp in the dining area was still lit, and Loren was sitting up, waiting for them like a cross father. As they walked by, Richard wished him good night, but he held up his hand to stop them.
“You betrayed my trust,” he said to Ann.
Ann had regressed to her teenage years, living out all the things she had not done at the time. Having broken the rules, she just wanted the punishment to be swift. “They would have found it eventually. No one will notice.”
“Viewership has exploded. It’s gone to virus on the computer.”
“Viral.”
“Cool,” Dex said.
“It’s ruined.”
“More people are watching than ever,” Ann said.
“That was never the point. It’s turned into a cheap sideshow.”
Dex lit up a cigarette. “You could parlay it into advertising for this place.”
“It was supposed to be pure.”
“Look around. Your place is getting rough around the edges,” Dex said.
“People will forget,” Ann said.
Loren shook his head. “I’m pulling the plug. I want you all to leave the island.”
“No,” Richard answered. Ann was near tears, and even if he didn’t understand, he wanted to help her get whatever it was she was after. “I’m cooking. Dex is paying. Ann is looking after you. We’re not ready to leave just yet.”
“Besides, there’s no boat,” Wende added. “We’re marooned.”
Loren got up and without another word walked away.
He made a big production of wanting to be alone, but once he was back in his fare, ironically he longed to be in the company of people. He sat hoping that someone would come and disturb him so that he could act annoyed and too busy for whatever concerns they had. Sometimes the need for solitude was real, and other times it was a mere costume. Like all true recluses, he was simply waiting to be found by the right person.
Ann barged into his hut as he was pouring himself a tumbler of rum.
“Don’t be so mad,” she said.
“Judas. You came and betrayed.”
“What? Your public webcam? Was it really a secret? Isn’t the very concept an oxymoron?”
“It’s for Lilou.”
“Who is that? Your wife? Girlfriend?”
“My daughter.”
“You said you didn’t have anyone.”
“We haven’t spoken in years.”
“So how do you know she watches?”
“I know it here,” he said, and touched his hand to his heart.
Ann threw herself into a chair. She was confused and tired; her efforts at doing good, even for herself, were going nowhere. “It was wrong. I knew better, but I was desperate. Everyone was leaving.”
“You did what it took,” Loren said. “You Americans, always going around fixing the world.”
Ann started to cry.
“Tears won’t move me.”