"Something's going to show up eventually," I tell Eva. "Something will. It has to."
We decided together we'd watch the horizon every day. I'd keep watch on this side of the island; she'd take the other. But after only an hour, Eva came back.
"Something will show up," I repeat. "You just need to be patient and keep watch. Go."
"Nothing's going to show up," she whines, annoyed. "Isn't it boring enough that we're stuck on a deserted island? Now I'm supposed to sit all day staring at the waves."
"It's for your own good," I say in a wise tone.
"I feel like I'm going insane!" she groans. "Nothing ever happens here. And when something does happen, it's something bad. Like that storm that wrecked all our traps and tore my shade down and threw it out to sea. Seriously!"
She sits down next to me and presses her face against my left arm. I look at her sulky face, like a moody child, and I tell her calmly:
"That storm wasn't a bad thing. It brought us water. But water isn't going to last forever. We have to," I say firmly, "we absolutely have to find a way to get out of here."
"Fine, fine," she agrees, making peace. "I'll stand guard too, but with you. I'm sick of talking to myself. I don't like being alone. God didn't make people to be alone. Haven't you noticed?"
"What?"
"That in every book and movie about shipwrecks on a deserted island, the character has someone or something to keep them company. There's always a book, or a dog, or a parrot, or a gorilla, or at least a rat. I've got you."
"Very flattering, Eva! Oh, yes... I feel so much better now."
"Stop with that pouty face," Eva scolds me, then sighs and adds, "Why are you cranky all the time? Sometimes I wonder if it would've been better if I'd ended up on this island with Dr. Baumgartner. He was a very talkative guy."
"Or with the pilot, right?" I ask, laughing.
"Yeah, with the Frenchman. That would've worked too."
I drop back on the sand, laughing my head off.
"What's so funny?" the girl asks. "The pilot seemed like a decent guy. And when it comes to men, I suppose there's always room for better."
I stop laughing. What do you mean "there's always someone better"? What's she trying to say? I feel myself starting to get pissed, but I try not to show it.
"Yeah," I answer, looking at her a little mockingly, "there's always room for better. I'm sure it would've been really interesting to get shipwrecked on this island with our French pilot."
"Wouldn't it?" she giggles, nudging me.
"Oh, yeah! Especially since he was so well-endowed. You know what 'better' would've meant with him? He would've snapped your spine. I'm not kidding. He probably would've destroyed all your internal organs."
"What are you even talking about?" she asks, eyes wide. "Was it that big? Oh, what I missed out on!"
"Yeah. Careful what you wish for."
"But how did you end up seeing Jean-Louis's little pecker, if I'm not being too indiscreet?" she asks. "Did you see it by accident in the cockpit? You stayed in there kind of long."
I tell her the short version of the incident between me and Jean-Louis on Liberty Beach. Eva looks at me like I'm lying. Long story short:
"The guy had a gigantic thing between his legs, perfect for killing women."
"You're exaggerating."
"Not at all. It was huge!" I say, and I show her with my hands. "Look, like this."
Eva starts laughing, then she raises a finger, her face suddenly lighting up:
"Wait a second, Tiberiu! There's another option you didn't consider."
"And what would that be?"
"The option where I drown, and you end up on the island together with Jean-Louis."
"You're completely nuts!" I yell. "Jesus, you've got a seriously sick imagination!"
"Scary, isn't it?"
"Stop it! I'm already breaking out in a cold sweat."
"Still," she says, thoughtful, dropping the joke for a second, "I can't help thinking it would've been a really interesting experience if Jean-Louis had been here instead of you."
"Yeah, if you like dying young. Trust me, you wouldn't have even made it to twenty-six!"
Eva laughs like a hyena, but none of this is funny to me. Oh, hell! That damn Jean-Louis decided to haunt me even from beyond the grave. Him and his baseball bat.
"So," she says, red in the face, "how'd you figure it was huge, anyway? Compared to yours?"
"What do you mean?" I snap, ready to start a fight. "You trying to say mine's small? Is that what you're implying?"
"I was just asking," she says, batting her lashes. "Is it small? You should know that. You've seen others, haven't you?"
I look at her with contempt. What stupid questions!
"Well," I say, bored, "for your information, it's not small. I've got a normal dick. I'm a normal man. And as for how I know... yeah, I admit it, I've seen others. I was in the army, and when you're in the army, you can't help seeing. Do you have any idea what it means to shower in a room with sixty other men? If you're not blind, you end up seeing all kinds of shit, whether you want to or not. It's not pretty. You see long dicks, short dicks, dicks curved like a sickle, thick dicks, skinny dicks. Just thinking about it makes me sick."
"Yeah, horrible!" she says, showing her white teeth.
"It's not pleasant," I agree, nodding. "Believe me. And I also remember that sometimes we didn't even need soap in that shower room. There weren't that many showerheads on the ceiling. You had to squeeze around everywhere to find a trickle of warm water. If you think about it, by the time you made it from one corner of the room to another, you were already soaped up from both sides and covered in suds from head to toe. And if you were unlucky, the hot water would suddenly cut out and you'd be stuck like that. It happened to me. More than once."
"What a horrible thing!" she says with a serious face.
"Real horrible, believe me! The army wasn't a pleasant experience."
"And still," she adds, batting her lashes, "I think I would've liked to be there too. Why are you grinning?"
"I wasn't grinning," I say, grinning ear to ear. "I was just smiling."
"No, you were grinning."
"Fine, I was grinning."
"What's so funny? Yes, I repeat: I would've liked to be there too."
I look at Eva. Even like this, tiny as she is, she's still a woman in every sense of the word. A real woman, well-proportioned. Graceful. I admit to myself it's a big deal for a woman to have grace. It doesn't happen that often.
Every time I see her throw her clothes off and step into the waves, I can't help admiring her slim, lean body, the curve of her firm ass, and her perky, beautiful breasts like two ripe apples.
I realize all at once that I like her a lot--I like everything about her. Everything! Even the swaying way she moves her hips when she walks. Even the way she tosses her hair back when she gets mad, the finger she raises at me when she wants to make me pay attention, her black eyes you could drown in. Everything.
This creature--child-girl-woman--just by existing, could stir up even the minds of a choir of castrated monks. That's why I can't imagine her next to sixty big, hairy lugs, her alone in the middle of them, in a shower room. It feels like a macabre joke.
I clear my throat to steady my voice a little and ask her with the most serious face in the world:
"So you're trying to tell me you would've liked to be there, with dozens of naked men, in the showers? Drop it, Eva!"
"Oh, no, not like that!" she says quickly. "I would've liked to turn into a fly and go in just to take a look. To sit still on the ceiling and look around. To see... how things work. For purely scientific purposes," she adds.
"Well, that's different," I say dryly. "Purely scientific? I had no idea you were into penisology, dear. You don't look like that kind of woman."
"I'm not. I was just curious. Like any woman."
The silence between us lasts too long.
"Anyway," I say, a little irritated, "as a man, I'm fine. I'm telling you that one more time so we're clear. And if you don't believe me, then suit yourself!"
Eva looks at me, amused.
"You look so offended," she giggles. "Let's clear things up: When I said 'I suppose there's always room for better,' I wasn't talking about how well-equipped you are. The naked truth is you're the second man in my life, so I don't really have a basis for comparison."
I prop myself up on one elbow and look at her closely. Is she lying? She's not.
"So you're ninety-nine percent a virgin."
"You're the second, yeah!" she says, and she looks lost in thought. "But me? What am I to you?"
"I don't understand," I ask, confused.
"What number am I?"
So Eva's having an existential crisis! I stroke her cheek and tell her gently:
"That doesn't matter."
"Don't talk down to me, okay?" she says, irritated. "For me it matters!"
"Why?"
"Because I know absolutely nothing about you. I only know three things. That you fell on your head when you were little..."
"Okay," I laugh, staring at her. "Check. And what else?"
"That you were in the army. You just told me."
"Good. And? Anything else?"
"And that you like to jerk off in the bushes. I saw that with my own eyes."
I stare at her, scandalized.
"Oh, give me a break!" I say. "What, are you a saint? You don't look like one. And I don't know a damn thing about you either."
"I'll tell you whatever you want," Eva says, calm. "But first you tell me. For example, what happened after you fell on your head?"
"And you? How come you're twenty-six and you've slept with only one man?"
"No, no! You first."
I sigh and stare at the horizon. No ship. Nothing. Then I look at Eva and ask, sighing:
"What do you want to know about me?"
The girl tilts her head to the side and blinks. She's got long, beautiful eyelashes.