“Help me.”
She stumbled toward me on the empty beach, completely naked – not a hair on her body. She had been shaved clean, from the top of her head down the length of her legs. I would have blamed what I saw that morning on the drinking I did all night, but she wasn’t acting like a girl in my dreams. She crawled and ran and brushed unseen hands off her body. Her face and arms were pink from heat and exposure, but not yet blistering. Even her eyebrows were shaved. Her eyelashes looked crinkled and short surrounding her gray eyes like little stars.
“Don’t look at me.”
She shuddered when she saw me, and curled into a ball. She might have stayed there baking in the rising sun for hours, I guessed, afraid to go on, and scared to death to go back. I got her some water, and an old shirt and pair of shorts of mine. She slipped into them, and found some shade under a palm tree. She was thin enough to be a model but probably too old, somewhere between 19 and 27. She had a large bruise on her right hip, purple and brown in stark contrast to her soft skin that was well-tanned everywhere but the bright white triangle where tiny bikini bottoms might go. On her left shoulder a tattoo of a tiger started; it prowled over the shoulder and toward her gently swelling breast, where it stopped. Its fierce mouth showed sharp teeth ready to close on her nipple. It was the most beautiful tattoo I had ever seen, with just two flaws – the eye looked too dead, and the mouth looked too hungry. She watched me until late afternoon, wordlessly. I didn’t have anything to say, either, and watched her back.
“Who else is here?”
The cay we found ourselves on was empty except for the beach house my Miami friend loaned me whenever I needed to feel sorry for myself. I stayed for weeks at a time, sometimes writing, sometimes drinking, sometimes screaming at the stars over the ocean. No one cared which I chose. The cay had only this beach; the rest of the island was steep, sharp rock. I could go weeks seeing no one but an occasional passing pleasure yacht. Oh yes, sometimes Deputy Doris would stop by. Deputy Doris came by occasionally to check for smugglers, pirates, and terrorists, and to see whether I was still alive. Doris looks like the paintings of Sabine women done in the middle ages – heavy with fleshy arms, legs, stomach, lips and breasts. Her dark hair was luxuriantly heavy when she let it down. I swear I could smell her rich, musky odor before I saw her on my porch some days. She refused to sleep with me, but I let her sunbathe nude anyway. When I closed my eyes to masturbate, I whispered “Doris.”
“You won’t hurt me?” The thin girl folded her arms tightly about her. The stretchy shorts fit her, the shirt hung loosely about her. She took a step closer to the house.
“Of course not. Take it easy. Easy does it now. Just sit there.” She sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, her elbows on the table, her hands rubbing her bald pate, and tears dripping from her cheeks. “What’s your name?”
She looked up suspiciously, then away, and shook her head.
“Do you need help? I’ve got a radio. We can get help here in two or three hours.”
“NO! No.” She shuddered again. “Please, no.”
That was all the talking we did that night. We had some supper I made from stuff I forgot I had, shared some rum, and watched the stars come out. She wouldn’t take the bed, but slept curled on the hammock half outside, the bottle of rum in her hand. I stayed awake as usual until the sun started to come up.
“My name is Lily,” she said to wake me up the next day. “Thank you.”
Lily had found some other clothes of mine that fit her a little better. There was fruit and vodka on the table, and an exotic flower in the empty rum bottle. Sleep must have agreed with her. She wouldn’t let me look her in the eye for long, but she did smile occasionally. Her smile would melt titanium.
She asked about the cay, and we walked the beach. I showed her my boat, my typewriter and the pages half-finished. She let me put balm on her burnt arms and face, and suntan lotion on her legs and her back. She spoke with a slight foreign lilt, and seemed unashamed to be topless. Her tiger fascinated me as much as her perfect small breasts.
“I can tell you now,” Lily said on the second day. “Yes, I was foolish. Alone on a boat with three rich men, but I trusted them. Instead, they gave me alcohol and drugs. They beat me. They did unspeakable things to me to please themselves. Finally, they tied my arms over my head, and lifted me so I was hanging by my arms. Then, they shaved my hair. I screamed; I tried to bite; I cursed them. My blonde hair, it was gone. Then they shaved between my legs, under my arms, and my legs, too. Then Charrad saw my eyebrows, and he decided to shave them off, too. I spit at him, but it did no good.
“The sight of my hairlessness made them feel like big men. They put scented oil on me, everywhere. Their hands, their fingers, were everywhere. Their penises poked me, until I could have died from shame. They filled my punta, and my mouth; they made me grab on with my hands. Charrad didn’t quit though; I felt his thick cock stab into me from behind. In my ass! Oh my God! He put his thing in my ass!” She leaned her head onto my chest, crying again. I could feel the stubble of her head on my cheek.
“The scented oil helped me wriggle out of my bonds while they slept. I dove off the yacht, and swam until I thought I would die. Then I saw your island, and I met you. So kind. So different. You are nothing like them.” She put her arms around me, and kissed me.
That filthy whore kissed me.
Lily would have slept with me, I think, but I wouldn’t let her. Instead, I took the hammock, and let her have the bed. She slept naked under the sheets. Often at night she would wander the beach wearing just a short shirt; sometimes wearing nothing at all. She looked out over the ocean, listening intently, but she never screamed at the stars.
Lily asked about the house and its owner. She asked about the other islands around, and about Deputy Doris. We talked about my boat, and fishing, and snorkeling. I showed her the spear gun and the machete. She even asked about the handcuffs I kept near the bed. They were supposed to be a joke for Doris and me.
Before the week was up, Deputy Doris showed up. Lily made herself scarce, but I saw her stubbled head and star-encrusted eyes watching Doris and me from the window. Doris brought me a case of rum and vodka, 15 gallons of water, and some fresh fruit. She did stuff like that. It made her feel okay about not fucking me. She undid her hair, and shook it out. It looked like a dark curtain. She stripped and laid on the towel, and set a timer to know when to turn over.
