Summary
A tycoon’s yacht splits open like a ripe gourd on the jagged molars of an unmapped atoll, pitching a linen-suited plutocrat, his tremulous ward, and her poker-faced maid into the lap of a jungle that smells of rusted doubloons and guano. The island, once Crusoe’s private purgatory, has since curdled into a carnivale of painted warriors who wear parrot-feather crowns and trade in gunpowder gossip. Shackled in a bamboo bazaar, the trio await their marrow’s raffle until an ostrich—taller than a ship’s mainmast, eyes like twin eclipses—struts through the embers, deposits a clutch of sky-blue eggs that tick louder than pocket-watches, and detonates the night into confetti of fire and bone. What follows is not rescue but renegotiation: the tycoon barters his cufflinks for a hut, the maid teaches cannibal children hopscotch, the guardian rewrites island law with a quill of flamingo plume, and the ostrich—part deus ex machina, part Wall Street courier—becomes the new mint, trading detonations for coconuts until the horizon itself files for bankruptcy.
Synopsis
The man, the maid, and her guardian are shipwrecked on Crusoe's island, captured by savages, and saved by an ostrich that lays explosive eggs.
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