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They ate a light lunch. Salmon and quiche with a spinach and dandelion salad. She said it was fine and then they changed into bathing suits. The garden had a full sized pool, and she said that she would like to swim a little before the evening. Which was fine. He could use a dip too.

"No." She said. "I would like to swim alone, if you do not mind."

He said that he didn't mind and that he would await her in the living room. She agreed.

The living room was a great room that adjoined the entire house together. The ceiling could be removed if you wanted to let in the outdoor weather. In the middle of the room was a large Melaleuca tree that had its first branches above the roof-line. The left and right partitions of the roof would close together around the tree. A large rubber collar enclosed the tree, half-circle on each side of the partition. The Sheikh had a tap installed on the tree that gathered the essential oils, and had lectured him on its proper usage for over an hour. He had never tried to get any oil from the tree… What was the point of living longer when they were all going to die?

The library was stocked with a great selection of American PBS shows. The complete 1979 - 1989 This Old House, Nova, POV and many others. He had asked the Sheikhh about the This Old House collection. "Bob Villa or nothing!" was the Sheikh's angry reply. Currently in the laserdisc was Washington Week in Review, Week one and two, August 1978. He had become immediately addicted to the show and watched it as much as he could. Paul Duke had been a better change than Robert MacNeil, but he was no Max Kampelman. The laserdisc set had been massive. Everything from 1980 on was on Blu-ray and you could hold five episodes per disc, not two.

He had heard the airplane take off when she was swimming. He should probably check to see if the pilot had turned off the avgas pump. It was the only responsible thing to do anyway. What fun would the island be if it was on fire?

He walked out the side garden path on his way down to the airstrip. "I'm going out to check the airstrip!" he called out to her.

"Alright!" She called back.

It wasn't far, maybe a quarter of a mile down the path. She hadn't brought much with her when she had arrived. The pilot had dropped the bags off on the little trolley and asked where to pump up. He didn't want to stay for food. This was only a favor for a friend. His last trip, the pilot had said. Now he was gone.

When she had arrived almost two hours ago, there had been no words. Only the moving of the bags and the walk down to the beach and the small conversation in between. The pilot had indeed put up the pump and locked it down and placed the key back where it belonged. There was no need really for security on the island. You would be able to hear a plane landing and the security fence was very high and electrified at the top, so nothing other than the pheasants could get over.

Pheasants. Brown and blue and bright red and gold. They were everywhere and they always seemed to make plenty of noise. They were beautiful but they never shut up. He had trapped and eaten several of them during my first few weeks here, so now they stayed away from the compound. He didn't mind the other birds, the Lyrebirds. They were hilarious and sometimes he would stay out with them, teaching them new songs to impress their ladies. They didn't get too close to the house during the daytime, but at night, would shelter up on the roof coop. Their only predator was the other import to the island by the Sheikh, the Margay.

Margays are the smallest species of cat on the planet. Populating most of South America, they are one of the only (if not the only) species of New World Cat to live only in trees and not come down to the ground. They are also capable of mimicking the voices of other animals. Often at night, they call. Some nights he thinks that the Lyrebirds have gotten out, only to see the reflective eyes in the trees of the cats hunting them with their own song. They are the only reason that he locks the doors.