"I can't take it anymore," Eva groans, holding her belly with both hands.
I believe her. I get it.
I can't either. If I eat even one more turtle egg, my gut's going to burst.
"Oh God, I'm dying," the girl whines, her eyes closed.
"Don't die. Take a sip of water," I tell her, concerned.
I wouldn't want her to die. I've only had sex with her once, and that round was pretty pathetic. I wouldn't want things to stay like that.
"Don't die, Eva!" I tell her. "I might still need you."
She opens one eye and asks in a miserable voice:
"Do you still have the strength to talk? How many eggs did you eat?"
For real! How many were there? Twenty? Forty?
If you drink them raw, turtle eggs are kind of nasty. But they're really good if you cook them slowly in the sand over a low fire. That's how we did it.
How many did I eat?
I don't answer. I use the little energy I've got left to sharpen this stick until it's perfect. I'm making myself a beauty of a sharp spike.
Eva slowly props herself up, drinks some water, wipes her mouth, and exclaims:
"Poor thing! Look at her struggling. She flipped over. How did she even manage that?"
I glance at the turtle lying on the sand upside down. It lazily moves its legs, but it doesn't stand a chance of righting itself.
"Look, there's another one flipped over!" Eva says, amazed. "And another one over there. The poor little things!"
She gets up and takes a few steps, then turns back to me and crooks her finger at me.
"Come here, Tiberiu. Help me. I can't flip them by myself. We have to flip them back."
"No, we don't," I answer calmly. "Leave them there. They're fine like that. They're our food, girl! I flipped them. I flipped about seventeen. What you're looking at is... our pantry."
Eva stares at me without moving. She doesn't even blink.
"What's so shocking about that?" I ask. "You're a smart girl. You playing dumb? You know damn well we need meat. Did you forget you were starving yesterday?"
"What are you planning to do with them?" she asks, cold.
"I'm going to cook them. You'll see, it's simple! I already thought it through: I bury them in the sand and build a big fire on top. The shell will work like an oven, and the meat will be... the most tender meat you've ever tasted in your life."
"What?" she says. "What did you just say?"
Eva comes toward me with slow, catlike steps. I watch her, a little worried. What's with her? What got into her? And why does she have that face?
"For God's sake, Eva, you didn't think I was going to roast them alive?" I blurt out fast. "Relax! It'll be painless. I kill them first with this spike I've been working on for the last hour, and only after that do I cook them."
"What?" Eva hisses, her black eyes shooting sparks.
I feel a little awkward. This whole thing feels ridiculous. It's one of two things: either she's stupid, or I don't know how to explain it.
"Wait a second, Eva. Hold on. I'll do it humanely. We're not barbarians!" I lift the spike and show her the sharp tip. "See this? I'm going to slide it in through that hole by the neck and punch straight through the heart. And... done! Death will be instant. They won't feel a thing!"
"Never!" she screams like she's lost her mind and, in one smooth move, snatches the stick out of my hand.
"But I-- I'm a man!" I snap back, furious. "I'm hungry! I need meat! Give me the stick, damn it! Why are you screaming like that? Are you out of your mind, woman?"
Eva lifts the stick and breaks it over her knee like it's a toothpick. Jesus! She's strong.
"Don't you touch them, you murderer!" she screams, flinging the pieces at me. Then she suddenly raises both palms at me, fingers spread, and hisses: "If I catch you hurting them, I'll rip your eyes out! You killer!"
Rip my eyes out? Me--the guy who fed her? Me?
Hmm... she might, judging by the way she's looking at me.
I take a step back and stare at her. She's squaring up to me like an angry Amazon. The wind tosses her hair around, and that scowl on her face promises nothing good.
"Why can't you be reasonab--"
"Shut your mouth!" she shrieks. "Say one more word and I'll rip your eyes out and make you eat them!"
Wild like a rabid cat. She's lost it. I get scared, but I try not to show it.
"Fine," I mutter, shoulders slumped. "I got it, uh... loud and clear. I'm not stupid. Now keep your hands to yourself."
She doesn't even bother listening to me anymore. She walks up to the closest turtle and lifts it like it's nothing and flips it onto its belly. Then she goes to another. And another.
I watch, heartbroken! One by one, those damn four-legged things head for the water and vanish into the waves. I've never seen turtles move faster. It's like they're in a race.
Fuck my life... The beach is empty. All my tender meat ran off into the waves.
Dinner's gone.
"Congratulations, you psycho!" I whisper. "Good job! Now we're going to eat baked eggs until we both end up with hepatitis."
But Eva is already far away.
For the rest of the day, each of us wandered our own piece of the island. Any time we were in danger of running into each other, we avoided it elegantly, in silence, like two nuclear superpowers with a finger on the button, but neither one actually wanting to press it.
Toward evening, a miracle happens. Eva appears out of nowhere, lies down beside me, and says calmly:
"I forgive you. I'm the first one to give in. I understand the situation: you had a temporary bout of insanity. You're forgiven, but don't let it happen again. Look, to show you I'm not mad anymore, I'll let you hold me."
"No, thanks!" I snap. "Really not necessary."
She looks at me and--unbelievably--she has the nerve to smile. Well, this time it's not going to work.
"I'm nobody's toy," I mutter, hostile. "You hear me?"
"So you're letting me sleep alone tonight?" she asks, innocent.
The nerve. I'm speechless. I feel like I'm choking. Am I dreaming? Do I deserve this? Oh yes, women are ungrateful! I'm determined to teach her a lesson.
"Yes, you're sleeping alone tonight. And all the other nights too!"
"What do you mean? You're leaving the island?"
"Yes, I'm leaving!"
"Fine," she says, upset. "I hope you didn't eat all the eggs," she adds. "Are there any left?"
I stare at her, frozen.
"I'm hungry," she says with a shrug. "Where's the food? You promised you'd feed me."
She has the look of a kid begging to get smacked. Begging hard.
I sigh and walk off. I feel like throwing myself into the waves. Maybe I'll find a more merciful shark.