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“Unless it rains,” Santana put in, but the silence that greeted her remark showed how likely we all thought that was. We hadn’t seen a cloud in the sky since the Valentine’s Day storm.
Still though, I thought I knew what was behind Zana’s determination to get the coconuts, and it wasn’t just our need for more water, pressing though that was. She was desperate, maybe even more desperate than the rest of us, for everyone to meet Conor’s target. If we turned up with eight coconuts… well, no one had to find out if he was willing to carry through with his threat and leave us without water. We were already operating at the limits of hydration—mouths permanently dry, lips cracked, constant headaches and dizziness. I didn’t think it would take much to tip any of us into collapse.
Zana didn’t want to find out how far Conor was willing to go. And she was prepared to put her own life at risk to avoid testing him.
“Look…” She had taken off her T-shirt and was standing in her bikini top, holding up the T-shirt, looking up at the tree as if measuring something out. “I saw someone do this on TikTok once. I really think it will work.” She was twisting up the T-shirt into a rope as she spoke.
“Zana—” Santana began, but Zana had already stepped up to the tree.
“Lyla, can I borrow your shirt?”
I nodded and pulled it over my head, and Zana laid it carefully on the sandy ground and began to brush off her feet, removing all the sand and debris. When her feet were completely clean, she tied the two ends of the T-shirt rope together, and stepped into the ring she’d made, twisting the material around her soles and ankles.
“I hope this will work.” She looked up at the tree anxiously. “The video I saw was using a rope, but this can’t be that different, right?”
“Zana, you don’t have to do—” I began, but Zana didn’t let me finish.
“I do.” The set of her shoulders was pure determination. “We have to drink.”
“Should we— Should we stand underneath?” Santana said a little helplessly. She looked around at me and Angel as though seeking answers. “Try to catch her?”
“Dieu, non!” Angel said, her voice almost comically horrified, at the same time as Zana said, “No. You might get hit by a coconut. And if I fall, better for me to fall on sand or bushes than on you.”
“Zana, wait,” I said. “Look, we can get a mattress from the other villa. Just—please, ten minutes.”
But Zana shook her head. She stepped forward to the tree, wrapped her arms around it, and gave a great leap, hoisting her legs up towards her waist and using her feet to push the makeshift T-shirt brace against the tree trunk.
For a moment I didn’t think it was going to work. I could see her feet slipping, sliding down the smooth trunk, and it looked like it was only going to be a matter of seconds before she couldn’t hold on any longer and her arms gave way too. But then, miraculously, the material seemed to catch on the bark. As I watched, Zana dug in her toes, and held her position, braced against the twisted T-shirt rope.
She gave a kind of incredulous laugh, straightened, and hugged the tree farther up the trunk, and then repeated.
It was working. Unbelievably, it was working. Beside me Santana gave a whoop, half-terrified, half full of glee.
“Go Zana!” Angel shouted. And she was going, in a series of awkward, almost bunny hops up the trunk of the tree. It was strange and ungainly, but it was as if every jump gave her more confidence that she could do this, that she could reach the top. As she got higher and higher, I found my palms were sweating with moisture I could ill afford to lose, and my heart was thumping. She was past the point where a fall would mean bruises, and well into the height that could mean broken bones or worse.
“You can do it!” Santana yelled, and Zana gave a choking laugh.
“I’m okay! I’m doing it!”
“You’re incredible!” I called. She was almost at the top now, reaching out for one of the branches to try to pull herself up the last few feet—but no sooner had she hooked her arm over it, than I realized something. It was browned and desiccated, and I could see it was cracking as she began to put her weight on it.
“Zana!” I shouted. “Don’t—”
But it was too late. There was a tearing crack, and the whole branch fell, whistling to the ground where it landed with a crash that sent the birds and bats scattering through the trees. Zana gave a terrified cry and grabbed hold of the trunk. Her feet had slid several feet down the tree, but somehow, miraculously, she’d managed to halt her fall. There was a long, tense silence as she clung there. I could see her arms shaking.
“Zana?” Santana called. “Are you okay?”
“I’m—I’m okay.” Her voice was trembling. “I’m fine.” She reached up, cautiously this time, and repeated the bunny hop. “I’m okay.” Her voice was steadier now. One more hop, and she was back at the canopy again. This time she reached up, testing the branches one by one, before grabbing hold of a green one, and hooking her arm over it. “I’m here. I can just…” She was leaning out, precariously, reaching for one of the green coconuts closest to her. She managed to twist it… twist it… and then it fell with a thump to the sand below.
We all let out slightly hysterical whoops and shrieks.
“Fuck yeah!” Angel shouted. “You are a goddess, Zana!”
Another coconut. We had six now, counting the overripe one. Then another. Seven.
We were all cheering, and Zana was reaching out at full stretch for the last coconut in the bunch when she stopped, staring at something in the distance.
“Zana?” I called up, but she didn’t answer, only hung there, frozen, looking over the top of the forest towards the sea and frowning against the sun. “Zana? Are you okay?”
