Day Thirty: Bad Weather

Today, the weather is not good at all. The original plan was to wait two more days, but the sky has turned for the worse. Clouds drift swiftly overhead, and I suspect rain will soon follow. Once it begins, the salt in the stone pit will be washed away, dissolved in the rainwater, and all my previous efforts may be wasted. So I can only finish up ahead of schedule.

I gathered a handful of wild grass, twisted a few strands together, and tied them into a bundle. I intend to use this makeshift broom to sweep up every grain of salt crystal at the pit’s bottom. Thus, after a morning’s labor, all the “treasures” I had worked so hard for over so many days were collected without a single grain left behind.

I carefully poured these salt crystals into the drift bottle I had picked up earlier. Days of persistence yielded only this little bit of salt. The bottle is two fingers wide, and the salt crystals fill it to about two finger joints in height. But I am very satisfied—at least I have salt now, don’t I? Even though there are still plenty of sand and other impurities mixed in.

At least, for a while, I can bid farewell to bland, tasteless food.

The kelp drying on the beach is nearly crisp. I brought it back to my hut, laid it on the roof to let the wind finish its work, planning to store it away by evening. I hope the rain doesn’t come too quickly; there are still many tasks left undone.

The drift bottle filled with salt reminds me of the seeds I planted before. These days have been so busy that since sowing them, I haven’t checked on them. Unfortunately, when I returned to the patch I’d tilled, the soil had dried and hardened into clumps. Clearly, through my neglect, all previous efforts have been for naught. Luckily, I only planted a few seeds. Next time, I must be more careful.

The sky grows darker and heavier. Vast swathes of storm clouds move over the distant sea. I don’t want to search for food in the rain, so before it begins, I must hurry out to gather what I can.

There are mushrooms in the forest, but I dare not eat them. In my memory, many people die each year from consuming poisonous mushrooms, so they remain forbidden for me.

I stocked up on some juicy red fruits. To be honest, I’ve eaten so many of these that I’ve grown tired of them, but the branches are laden, they’re easy to pick, and they keep for days without spoiling, so I often harvest them as reserve food.

I want to take Blackie with me to catch some rabbits. After all, occasionally one must have meat. Blackie’s leg is much better now. Though it isn’t as strong as before, she can manage to put weight on it and no longer has to hold it up.

With Blackie by my side, hunting rabbits is much easier than going alone. Blackie is excited, her tail wagging furiously; I know she loves rabbit meat too. The rabbit heads I encountered before must have been her leftovers.

Rabbit meat is tender and delicious, especially roasted rabbit legs. When cooked over the fire, the shiny surface gleams, inviting greedy eyes. After cooling a little, a bite releases oil and moisture, melting in the mouth with the crispy skin and juicy flesh. The flavor is hard to describe—smooth, crisp, tender, and rich. Most importantly, now I have salt. Just imagining it makes my mouth water uncontrollably...

Soon, we reached the valley. Blackie, as always, waited by the rabbit holes, ready to ambush. Of course, to get more rabbits, I came prepared. On the way, I picked up a thick tree branch and now, using my Swiss Army knife, sharpened one end. I don’t wish to rely solely on Blackie.

With the newly fashioned spear, I crouched at the rabbit hole’s entrance, waiting for a head to appear. Once it did, the sharp branch would be ready.

But as if sensing something, the rabbit inside refused to emerge. Meanwhile, Blackie had already caught one. She dropped the rabbit at my feet and went off hunting for more.

There was movement! At last, the burrow I had waited by for so long gave a sound—the rabbit might be coming out. Here, rabbits seem to have no natural enemies, and food is abundant, so they are notably plump and bold. Ordinarily, a rabbit sensing danger would never come out so quickly.

Not long after, a flash of white appeared at the entrance. Cautiously, it crept forward. “Just a bit more—almost there!” I thought anxiously, afraid it would spot me and retreat.

It came out, leaping to the mouth of the hole, forepaws braced against the wall, scanning its surroundings. I would not waste this opportunity. Gripping the branch tightly, I thrust it hard at the rabbit. It was alert, sensing danger, its legs bent, ready to spring—but at the crucial moment, my spear struck. Though a little off, I still caught it.

That afternoon, Blackie and I caught five rabbits—enough for two days.

The rest was all my job. Blackie was thrilled, circling my legs endlessly; clearly, she is as much a foodie as I am.

After working by the river, all the rabbits were cleaned and prepared. I gained five rabbit skins, promising a new mat for Blackie. Once the skins dry, I’ll make her a blanket.

As evening fell, the rain finally began—a torrential downpour. Raindrops hammered the waterproof cloth on the roof with a relentless patter.

Inside the hut, Blackie and I sat cozily by the fire. Rabbit meat soup had simmered for ages, a layer of oil shimmering on the surface. Blackie stared alternately at the soup and at the roast rabbit leg in my hand, licking her nose constantly. Her expression made me want to laugh.

Two rabbits were quickly devoured. Blackie’s belly bulged, and the soup, apart from a sip I took, was licked clean, not a drop left. I admire her appetite.

The rain grew heavier and the wind stronger, whistling through the gaps in the branches, chilling the night.

I wrapped the rabbit-skin blanket tightly, but the noise of the rain was too loud. Resigned, I lay in bed, planning the next step.

I intend to build a boat. Of course, I have no tools yet, but the waterproof cloth can serve as a sail. When the day comes that I can no longer endure this place, I’ll try to leave by boat. Yes, at least it’s an opportunity, isn’t it?