The Pacific
by Mark Zedonek
I started to laugh.
“I’ve considered rolling you off,” I said. “Thanks for waking up.” I reached under my bench and pulled out a glass bottle. “Here, drink this.” I pushed it towards the man’s face. He took the bottle from my hand. “There isn’t much,” I added. He drank several heavy gulps,w then lowered it, sighing.
“How long?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and he was rubbing his bruised forehead.
“It happened last night,” I answered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up. I pulled you in, unconscious, from the swells.”
I watched him withdraw from his coat a rather large and very wet pocket watch. Water dripped from its gold bottom. He sighed, tossing it to the floor of the boat. It landed with a dull, rattling thud against the wooden planks. “Well,” I said, “a broken watch isn’t so bad. You could have had worse.”
“Tom,” he said, extending his hand.
“Lawrence,” I said, extending mine. We shook. His grip was weak.
“I’ve seen you … you’re new, started yesterday, right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” he answered. “I worked on a boat before this … a cutter.” He said this last part quietly.
“We’d have met soon enough. I’m the cook,” I said, pointing to myself. “We’re lucky I am or we’d have no water. I was in the galley as it happened, when I filled this up.”
I placed my hand on our oversized bottle, which Tom had set between us.
“Any gulls?” he asked.
“None,” I answered. He continued to stare. “I’m certain,” I added
.
Listening to the sea for a while, I realized there was no pattern, unless the pattern was its unpredictability. “They’re calmer than last night,” I said, pointing to the waves. Tom laughed.
“I’d imagine so,” he said. His smile was full of large, blocky teeth. We sat together above a calm sea, Tom asking me this or that, for the better part of the day. The storm that took down our boat interested him the most. I told him the storm was something I knew little about. My dealings getting a lifeboat had been more pressing. All I knew to tell was that the waves were terrible. I gathered Tom had been topside when the storm hit. He’d fallen early on, and his head was battered around the deck a good while before he’d been flung overboard. I told him he was lucky.
I thought about water a good deal. How it could give and how it could take. When I touched it, it reminded me of a rope. Not its texture, but in the way it made me feel. For me, touching the water made me imagine. It made me imagine there was a frayed rope that had had each strand of its fray dipped into separate colored emotions and then brushed over my fingertips. Although I tried, I wasn’t able to grasp any of the coarse, coated threads individually. As they slipped through, my fingers were each painted by a unique emotion that sent its exclusive sensations down my arm and into my body. I pulled my hand from the water.
“It is like a rope,” I muttered to myself, quietly.
“Huh?” asked Tom.
“What?” I asked, looking up from the water.
“Rope?” he asked.
“Oh … right,” I said, laughing. “Nothing. … Never mind.”
He looked away, toward a low sun. Backing the dull half-orb, the sky had a red hue. Tom looked tired, his mustache barely hiding his severely chapped and dark lips. His skin was pale and delicate, his bones thin. I knew that if I squeezed his wrists, they would snap like thin pieces of paper. I don’t think he should have become a sailor. He sat quiet for a while before speaking.
“What happened to the others?” he asked.
“They’re dead,” I answered.
Tom didn’t say anything.
“At least, I haven’t seen anyone. There were some bodies in the wreckage … but no boats.”
“Where’s the wreckage?” he asked.
“Well, I’ve been rowing all night since you’ve been out,” I told him. “And I’m tired as a dog.” I smiled at this.
“And you haven’t seen any gulls, either?” he asked, a second time.
“None,” I repeated. Tom furrowed his brows for a moment and then sat up straight.
“How’s anyone to find us in the middle of an ocean,” he snapped. “We need that wreck. It’s en route. Same route as any cargo ship might take. God help us, man, they could be there now!” Passion burned in his voice, and his eyes glimmered against the dying light.
“I can’t,” I said.
“We need to,” said Tom.
“I won’t!” I bellowed, beating my fist against the wooden bench. Tom shrank.
“I’m not following,” he said, meekly.
“I know those bodies at the wreck,” I stammered. “I’ve fed them. I know their faces too, however bloated, waterlogged and rotten. However repulsive, I still know those men. How long have you been on board? A day? Not even a night? You don’t know what that would do to me. You have no idea what that would do.”
I could feel the warmth in my cheeks as I glared heavily into Tom’s eyes. He sat silenced for some time before looking away.
“All right,” he said, finally. “I guess… I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”
I relaxed and nodded.
“But, if we are to stay out here,” he added, “let’s row in shifts and make the most of our strength.” After a short while, we decided that he should be the first to row, as I’d been rowing all night. I used the opportunity to rest.
***
The smell woke me. My eyes opened but had little to adjust to as it was now night. I sat up to find Tom rowing languidly, with long, smooth strokes.
“It’s been lonely,” he said. “Time to switch?”
“What’s that awful smell?” I asked.
Tom tilted his head and looked at me.
“Are you joking? You can’t smell that?” I asked, half choking. “I can barely open my mouth to speak.”
“I can’t smell anything,” he said.
I almost gagged.
“It’s unbearable,” I said. The air was rotting. It saturated everything, a thick, putrid smell that hung in the air like a fog.
“You’ve been rowing back!” I yelled, realizing what had happened. I pointed my finger at him, shaking. “Yes, that’s it, while I’ve been asleep!”
Tom continued to row and said carefully, “No, I have not.”
“We’re back at the wreck. Aren’t we, Tom? I can smell them,” I said, angrily.
“We’re going the same direction we were when you fell asleep,” he said.
“Stop it!” I screamed.
Tom said nothing and continued to row. “This stench is sickening. We need to turn around,” I said. “Why, if it weren’t dark right now, we’d see the wreck ahead of us. Somewhere, off in the distance … a short way. We’re close Tom, don’t deny it!”
“I have nothing to deny,” he said.
“Give me those oars,” I demanded, standing up. “Stop rowing and give me the oars!”
“Sit down,” said Tom. He looked nervous. “Please, sit. You’ll tip us into the water,” he added, quickly.
I was frantic. Watching Tom, I wished I’d left him with the others. His strokes mocked me with every ripple they produced. He was right, however. I was tipping our boat. I gathered this made him more nervous than I’d guessed, for in an instant he pulled a wet oar from the water, stood up and smashed it against my head, knocking me to the floor of the boat.
***
I hadn’t dreamt. For a while, there was nothing. Then, without warning, I became aware of my consciousness and found there was certain chatter in my mind, some distant group of voices muttering, angular and undistinguishable from each other. I listened to this for some time before opening my eyes. The chatter had stopped. The room was sunny. Light gleamed from everything metallic in the space around me. A gentle sway let me know I was still at sea. I was lying on a bed, covered in a white sheet. I rolled my head to the left, away from the wall, and saw a man in a wool sweater standing above me.
“Are you awake?” he asked.
“I think so,” I answered, feebly.
“Don’t try and move, you’ve got a nasty wound on your head. We’ve bandaged it, of course,” he said, smiling.
“That would explain the headache,” I said, shaking the dust from my voice.
“Yes, I imagine it would,” he replied. We talked for some time, and it became known that I was aboard The Anna, a fishing boat, talking to a Captain Verus. I learned that Captain Verus and his crew had come upon the wreckage of my boat at dawn and had later found our lifeboat, over five miles from the debris. He told me I’d been unconscious when they pulled me up. He also told me I was lucky.
“Where’s Tom? I asked, looking around the cabin.
“Is that his name?” asked Captain Verus. “My crew couldn’t find any identification.”
“Yes, that’s his name. I’d just met him. … He was new. He introduced himself on the lifeboat,” I said
.
“You must be mistaken,” said the captain, shaking his head. “His neck was broken and his body decayed. He’s been dead since the wreck, I’m afraid.”
I started to laugh.
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