Chapter Three

As I'm sure you know, there are many words in our mysterious and confusing language that can mean two completely different things. The word "bear," for instance, can refer to a rather husky mammal found in the woods, as in the sentence "The bear moved quietly toward the camp counselor, who was too busy putting on lipstick to notice," but it can also refer to how much someone can handle, as in the sentence "The loss of my camp counselor is more than I can bear." The word «yarn» can refer both to a colorful strand of wool, as in the sentence "His sweater was made of yarn," and to a long and rambling story, as in the sentence "His yarn about how he lost his sweater almost put me to sleep." The word «hard» can refer both to something that is difficult and something that is firm to the touch, and unless you come across a sentence like "The bears bear hard hard yarn yarns" you are unlikely to be confused. But as the Baudelaire orphans followed Friday across the coastal shelf toward the island where she lived, they experienced both definitions of the word "cordial," which can refer both to a person who is friendly and to a drink that is sweet, and the more they had of one the more they were confused about the other.

"Perhaps you would care for some coconut cordial," Friday said, in a cordial tone of voice, and she reached down to the seashell that hung around her neck. With one slim finger she plucked out a stopper, and the children could see that the shell had been fashioned into a sort of canteen. "You must be thirsty from your journey through the storm."

"We are thirsty," Violet admitted, "but isn't fresh water better for thirst?"

"There's no fresh water on the island," Friday said. "There's some saltwater falls that we use for washing, and a saltwater pool that's perfect for swimming. But all we drink is coconut cordial. We drain the milk from coconuts and allow it to ferment."

"Ferment?" Sunny asked.

"Friday means that the coconut milk sits around for some time, and undergoes a chemical process making it sweeter and stronger," Klaus explained, having learned about fermentation in a book about a vineyard his parents had kept in the Baudelaire library.

"The sweetness will wash away the taste of the storm," Friday said, and passed the seashell to the three children. One by one they each took a sip of the cordial. As Friday had said, the cordial was quite sweet, but there was another taste beyond the sweetness, something odd and strong that made them a bit dizzy. Violet and Klaus both winced as the cordial slipped thickly down their throats, and Sunny coughed as soon as the first drop reached her tongue.

"It's a little strong for us, Friday," Violet said, handing the seashell back to Friday.

"You'll get used to it," Friday said with a smile, "when you drink it at every meal. That's one of the customs here."

"I see," Klaus said, making a note in his commonplace book. "What other customs do you have here?"

"Not too many," Friday said, looking first at Klaus's notebook and then around her, where the Baudelaires could see the distant figures of other islanders, all dressed in white, walking around the costal shelf and poking at the wreckage they found. "Every time there's a storm, we go storm scavenging and present what we've found to a man named Ishmael. Ishmael has been on this island longer than any of us, and he injured his feet some time ago and keeps them covered in island clay, which has healing powers. Ishmael can't even stand, but he serves as the island's facilitator."

" Demarc?" Sunny asked Klaus.

"A facilitator is someone who helps other people make decisions," the middle Baudelaire explained.

Friday nodded in agreement. "Ishmael decides what detritus might be of use to us, and what the sheep should drag away."

"There are sheep on the island?" Violet asked.

"A herd of wild sheep washed up on our shores many, many years ago," Friday said, "and they roam free, except when they're needed to drag our scavenged items to the arboretum, on the far side of the island over that brae over there."

"Brae?" Sunny asked.

"A brae is a steep hill," Klaus said, "and an arboretum is a place where trees grow."

"All that grows in the island's arboretum is one enormous apple tree," Friday said, "or at least, that's what I've heard."

"You've never been to the far side of the island?" Violet asked.

"No one goes to the far side of the island," Friday said. "Ishmael says it's too dangerous with all the items the sheep have brought there. Nobody even picks the bitter apples from the tree, except on Decision Day."

"Holiday?" Sunny asked.

"I guess it's something of a holiday," Friday said. "Once a year, the tides turn in this part of the ocean, and the coastal shelf is completely covered in water. It's the one time a year that it's deep enough to sail away from the island. All year long we build an enormous outrigger, which is a type of canoe, and the day the tides turn we have a feast and a talent show. Then anyone who wishes to leave our colony indicates their decision by taking a bite of bitter apple and spitting it onto the ground before boarding the outrigger and bidding us farewell."

"Yuck," the youngest Baudelaire said, imagining a crowd of people spitting up apple.

"There's nothing yucky about it," Friday said with a frown. "It's the colony's most important custom."

"I'm sure it's wonderful," Violet said, reminding her sister with a stern glance that it is not polite to insult the customs of others.

"It is," Friday said. "Of course, people rarely leave this island. No one has left since before I was born, so each year we simply light the outrigger on fire, and push it out to sea. Watching a burning outrigger slowly vanish on the horizon is a beautiful sight."

"It sounds beautiful," Klaus said, although the middle Baudelaire thought it sounded more creepy than beautiful, "but it seems a waste to build a canoe every year only to burn it up."

"It gives us something to do," Friday said with a shrug. "Besides building the outrigger, there's not much to occupy us on the island. We catch fish, and cook meals, and do the laundry, but that still leaves much of the day unoccupied."

"Cook?" Sunny asked eagerly.

"My sister is something of a chef," Klaus said. "I'm sure she'd be happy to help with the cooking."

Friday smiled, and put her hands in the deep pockets of her robe. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Are you sure you don't want another sip of cordial?"

All three Baudelaires shook their heads. "No, thank you," Violet said, "but it's kind of you to offer."

"Ishmael says that everyone should be treated with kindness," Friday said, "unless they are unkind themselves. That's why I left that horrible man Count Olaf behind. Were you traveling with him?"

The Baudelaires looked at one another, unsure of how to answer this question. On one hand, Friday seemed very cordial, but like the cordial she offered, there was something else besides sweetness in her description of the island. The colony's customs sounded very strict, and although the siblings were relieved to be out of Count Olaf's company, there seemed something cruel about abandoning Olaf on the coastal shelf, even though he certainly would have done the same to the orphans if he'd had the opportunity. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were not sure how Friday would react if they admitted being in the villain's company, and they did not reply for a moment, until the middle Baudelaire remembered an expression he had read in a novel about people who were very, very polite.

"It depends on how you look at it," Klaus said, using a phrase which sounds like an answer but scarcely means anything at all. Friday gave him a curious look, but the children had reached the end of the coastal shelf and were standing at the edge of the island. It was a sloping beach with sand so white that Friday's white robe looked almost invisible, and at the top of the slope was an outrigger, fashioned from wild grasses and the limbs of trees, which looked nearly finished, as if Decision Day was arriving soon. Past the outrigger was an enormous white tent, as long as a school bus. The Baudelaires followed Friday inside the tent, and found to their surprise that it was filled with sheep, who all lay dozing on the ground. The sheep appeared to be tied together with thick, frayed rope, and towering over the sheep was an old man smiling at the Baudelaires through a beard as thick and wild as the sheep's woolly coats. He sat in an enormous chair that looked as if it were fashioned out of white clay, and two more piles of clay rose up where his feet should have been. He was wearing a robe like Friday's and had a similar seashell hanging from his belt, and his voice was as cordial as Friday's as he smiled down at the three siblings.