Henry turned in time to see the Swedish actress and the negro G.I. climbing up the rock behind them. Pee Bee, the negro, carried a bonafide picnic basket under his arm. The basket seemed incongruous, but Henry knew it was one of half a dozen that had been woven recently by several women who had found an unlimited supply of rushes for the purpose. There was a medical doctor in camp who had told everyone they had better keep busy and be industrious if they wanted to avoid cracking up. The baskets were one of the results of his advice.
Pee Bee, who had been nick-named "Powder Blue," or P.B., by his fellow servicemen, flashed them a toothy smile and helped Valerie up the incline of the rock.
"We figured you fishermen would be starvin' for lack of fish," he called out, "so we done brought you all a lunch!"
"K-rations again," put in Valerie, smiling at both of them. "They found some more near the wreckage. But they really are the last. Good Heavens! What is that!" She pointed at the scarlet lizard under Uncle Andy's foot.
"That," he answered, "is _lacerta litoralis satanus_, or the swimming devil lizard."
Pee Bee's eyes bugged out. "Ah got just one question. Do we eat _it_, or does it eat _us_?"
Everybody laughed, and Uncle Andy did not try to avoid taking in all of Valerie with his eyes. She wore light blue slacks, beach sandals and a white shirt, the tails of which were tied in a knot under her breasts, making it an appropriate midriff outfit. Her voluminous blond hair floated cleanly in the salty breeze and her face and neck were already deeply tanned. She looked up at him and caught his eyes and their smiles faded--slowly.
Words between them would have been superfluous. Inevitably, their companionship in this lost world had developed into a much closer relationship.
The four of them sat there on the rock, bare legs dangling over, and ate K-rations. In the reassuring warmth and sunlight before the comprehensible aspect of the ageless sea, they felt little need for conversation. They were content with the awareness of _not_ being alone.
Henry watched a printed wrapping from the K-rations float on the waves below, and he thought it far more incongruous than the picnic basket. K-rations--a million years removed from their source. Along these shores were empty tin cans and bottles and old newspapers and magazines lying among the seaweeds and flotsam.