chuck breaks open another coconut and gulps down the milky liquid. with a stone knife he digs in the shell for some of the meat, but it's dry and chewy and fibrous. he spits it out, then lies back on the sand and stares at the first stars. half sings to himself.
discouraged, he sits down on the beach and gets his breath.
he resumes his efforts at fishing. a shape scuttles raggedly beneath him.
chuck emerges from the jungle and walks to the edge of the ocean. he dips his blistered hands into the sea water, then looks over at the fedex boxes that spell out h e l p.
still looking a little green, chuck marks another day on his tree calendar.
chuck readies his two sticks of bamboo again and begins sawing with tremendous energy. he smells something. is it smoke? he pulls off the log and looks eagerly at the nest of tinder. there's nothing there.
chuck wades in the water with his spear. suddenly he stabs it down. a crab is on the end.
using a safety pin and some suturing thread, chuck fishes carefully. suddenly he jerks his hand back. on the end is a flopping fish.
chuck tries to fill his mouth with sea water. the pain is so great his eyes water.
chuck emerges from the palm trees, and now we see what he had seen.
chuck digs a channel toward the raft.
chuck loads the raft, which rocks gently in the cove. he has a sail made of designer dresses sewn together with fiber thread. a sea anchor secured by videotape woven together into a rope. plastic bottles filled with water. a signal kite made of fedex paper.