Pat Island

No man is an island…so it’s just as well I’m not a man. I am an island. A typical sun drenched deserted island - that’s me. I'm habitable, at least the small colony of crabs that tickle my beaches seem to think so. Inland beneath a small forest of palm trees graze a herd of rabbits. I have rabbits - loads of them. Many tides ago, two soaking wet bunnies clinging to a scrap of timber were washed ashore. There's enough room on me for both the rabbits and the crabs (But if they keep on breeding the crabs may have to go).

I’m Spanish. ¡Saludos! ¿Cómo está? Which means – Greetings, how are you? (I found a Spanish phrasebook washed ashore one boring afternoon) I haven’t always been Spanish though, they discovered me. It was an earlier boring afternoon, many many tides ago. I felt a low. Down. I was drifting. Lonely. I’m not part of an archipelago. I’m an island. Deserted, single, alone…solo.

Gentle waves lapped against me, dumping tiny shells and grains of sand along my shores when a small movement on the horizon caught my eye (metaphorically speaking).

A sail!

I’d seen them before, those big wooden heaps of shaved trees that carried the upright animals across the ocean. This one was big, and filled to the brim with them. The sunshine gleamed off their pointy silver helmets. Perched far above the puffed up white sails an upright shouted at the top of his lungs "¡Tierra a la vista!" (Land ho!) A Spanish Caravel, travelling the oceans in search of strange and bountiful new lands had stumbled upon me, a strange and bountiful new land. Some of the helmets clambered into a smaller vessel and set out towards me. I was very excited, I was about to be claimed! Having no native people, I felt I had to send someone to greet the brave explorers. I managed to send a rabbit.

The rabbits have inhabited me for a long time. On a primal level I manage to communicate with them – a whisper in a droopy ear, a thought brushed past a leporine mind, a subtle tweak of an instinct. I blocked out the small ship slicing its way through the waves and concentrated...

A wind was passing. It moved across the water and weaved through the trees. I cast a thought into it as it ruffled amongst a herd of long furry ears. Go down to the beach, I whispered. Greet the Spaniards. The sound of tiny rabbit jaws munching happily on greens remained uninterupted. I caught a beam of sunlight sneaking between the trees and flashed my thoughts into it. Go down to the beach. The munching continued all round, except for a sunny little patch of grass near the outskirts. A simple expression passed briefly across the face of a very fat rabbit. He stopped chewing and scratched an ear. Go down to the beach. The expression returned and camped there.

I laced the soil with a suggestion. It trickled up the layers to a single blade of grass. Go down to the beach. The rabbit, motionless, stared intently at the long droopy blade. Will there be greens? It's mind queried.

There will be Spanish conquerors.

The simple expression didn't looked like it would budge anytime soon.

There will be greens also.

It chewed thoughtfully on the blade of grass and wiggled its tail. Okay.

They killed and ate the rabbit… Oh well, if they want to conquer the indigenous population I don’t mind, conquer away, I’m just happy to be part of such a large mass of land as Spain. After dinner and a brief circumnavigation they stood on my beach, took in my golden sands, my thick forest, my thriving wildlife and named me. “Patético isla. Vayamos.”* one of them said.

That’s my name. Patético Island. I just call myself Pat for short. I don’t know what ‘Patético’ means, or ‘Vayamos’. (The Spanish phrasebook was just for tourists.) I assume ‘Vayamos’ means something like “It’s beautiful!”

They clambered back into the little boat and with a not so gentle shove off paddled to the bigger one. A gust of wind filled the sails and swept the ship across the water. Before long it was a tiny white spot disappearing over the horizon. A wave curled across the beach and melted away the footprints in the sand.

They must be planning on returning colonise me later...

I would have liked if they planted a flag and left it to flutter in the wind, claiming me as Spanish. All you colonising nations back off, this is Spanish soil. Patetico Island. It’s beautiful!

They didn’t come back that year. I assumed they went all the way back to Spain to tell the King personally about their new discovery. “A land rich in botanic wonders and wildlife - and the natives are good eating.”

I spent my next birthday dreaming I’d be turned into a luxury resort. My beaches would be raked daily by Spanish butlers. The rich and famous would lounge around me all day sipping champagne and abusing the waiters.

Many tides rose and many suns set. I was worried about my Spanish kinsmen. Did something happen to the ship? I know about ship wrecks. A long time earlier I felt a slight nudge on my eastern beach. Curled up inside a bottle was a yellow roll of parchment.

SOS. Our ship was struck by a large floating rock. It came from nowhere, like an iceberg. Only two survivors. We're stranded on a deserted island. Cold. Exhausted. Starving.

Wow, I thought. So there’s other island’s like me out there? I wonder if they’re Spanish soil too?

PS. Come soon. Fred has a hungry look in his eye.

Or perhaps my conquerors were attacked by pirates? I know pirates. They sailed here once before, black and white flag waving menacingly from their mast. The crabs scattered as a boatload of dirty boots leapt onto my shore. They walked strangely, taking four big steps east then six steps west, lugging a huge trunk full of metal deposits. I winced internally as a spade plunged into my soil. They buried the trunk, and never came back for it. Strange creatures pirates.

So here I am today, a small Spanish island. Not so many Spaniards on board, but at least I’m not a deserted island any more. No, no, I’m inhabited now, and not just by rabbits and crabs...

The moon was full when they arrived, it's reflection shimmering across the water. I didn’t even notice their arrival, just two gentle bumps in the night. It wasn’t till the sun peeked over the horizon that I discovered them washed ashore, two uprights strewn across the sand.

They weren't Spaniards, as they weren't wearing silver helmets, and they weren't pirates, as they weren't wearing eyepatches or wooden legs. Instead they wore strange jackets: bright yellow vests stuffed full of air. I sent a few rabbits down as a welcoming party, assuring them as best I could that they wouldn’t be eaten this time (Of this I couldn’t be sure).

It wasn't until the sun had climbed almost halfway up the sky that one of them stirred. He shakily got to his feet and looked out across a flat blue horizon. With a long deep sigh, his jacket deflated.

A jagged set of footprints trailed behind him as he stumbled to the other upright. This one was a little different, with long golden hair and soft delicate features. Their lips touched, and with a stifled whoosh he blew air into her slender body. She coughed and sputtered to life.

My mind drifted, enthralled by my two new arrivals. The rabbits wandered off, vaguely disappointed they hadn't found the greens they were promised on the beach, just a pair of humans lying around on the sand. Oh well, I’ll greet them myself. Saludos ¿Cómo está usted? (Greetings how are you?) Me llamo Pat (My name is Pat) ¿Dónde está el baño? (Where is the bathroom?)

I almost giggled as they traced curvy lines in the sand - S.O.S. That night beneath the shelter of my largest palm tree, they slept, huddled together like those two bunny rabbits from long long ago.

Crack! I woke with a start to a coconut splitting open on a rocky elbow. The uprights are resourceful; foraging, hunting, poking, scratching, exploring every single inch of me. While the burly one wades in the shallows poking fish with a stick, the slender one gathers berrys and fat rabbits in the forest.

Boring afternoons have been forgotten, my days now are filled with wonder and amazement observing these two strange creatures. Every day a small mark is scratched into the side of a tree, and when that tree is full of small marks, they start on the next one, and then the one after that. All the palm trees are almost full with these marks.

My nights too are very differerent now. No longer just bathed in the cool light of the moon, I have something warmer, something orange and red that sizzles in my heart. I was amazed when it began, from nothing but a stick twirled into another. Twigs leapt from a spark to a smolder as the stick twirled. With a crackle and a fizz they burst into flames, reminding me of mother. One night, the uprights huddled close. They put their limbs round each other. They put their mouths on each other, then did what the rabbits do all the time.

Most mornings begin the same. The horizon shimmers a little, then bursts into blinding sunrise. A few waves casually rake the shore. The rabbits sleepily emerge from their warrens for a full day of grazing. And the uprights... the uprights stare vacantly at the endless blue ocean, and sigh.

Today is much the same, though the rabbits are particularly lazy and haven't yet emerged. But as the uprights shield their eyes from the glare of the sunrise, something appears on the horizon...

Land!

I should take this opportunity to explain something I perhaps neglected to mention earlier. It’s about my birth. My mother was somewhat... different. Most normal islands form when tetonic plates wiggle around a little to get more comfortable. But me, I'm different. I like to think I'm special. My mother was not a continent, not a country, not even an island. She was a volcano, and quite a fiery one.

She smoked for a long time before I was born, every so often descending into long bouts of sooty coughs. And then one night, with a rumble, a shake, and an almighty blast, she erupted. The locals scattered, screaming and cursing (they were short on virgins that year).

Amidst the screams and rumbles, from the smoke and heat, emerged me - a 4000 ton, 1000 degree chunk of sizzling sulphor. A trail of smoke arced across the sky as I plummetted out into the ocean. It bubbled, fizzed and boiled on contact. I sunk, cooled and bobbed to the surface: a rock hard lump of pumice.

Mother shook. I still remember the blood red brimstone dripping from her side as she cracked and crumbled into the sea. The sky was streaked with red and the moon tinted crimson as I drifted gently away. Further and further away, into darkness.

At sunrise I experienced the world for the first time. It was vast. It was wet. It was lonely.

Small persistent waves pummeled me, dumping sand and silt across my jagged surface. Rain dribbled into crevices and cracks, and when the sun shone, sickly plants popped up out of puddles of mud, their roots groping around for something solid to cling to. I drifted for a long long time.

I’ve floated round the world, more than once. But ever since the day I was claimed I've been on my way home, on my way to the motherland - Spain. It took centuries to arrive, but here I am – Spain! Though it sure doesn’t look like Spain, there’s not a pointy helmet in sight. My two castaways wave and shout to the near naked uprights stretched out horizontally along the beach. I drift into the shore and grind to a halt halfway up the golden shore.

It may not be Spain, but I like it. What mischief can a young Spaniard isle get up to in a foreign land?

Ah! An ambassador sent to greet me to this fine land. It barks in a strange tongue and wags its tail. I’ll persuade some of the rabbits to come out and represent me.

The castaways jump off my beach onto the beach I’m beached on and are off to explore this beautiful new world together.

Adios amigos!





* “Pathetic Island. Let’s leave.”