It rained all night. I had a horrible, sleepless time of it. Itwas noisy. On the rain catcher the rain made a drummingsound, and around me, coming from the darkness beyond, itmade a hissing sound, as if I were at the centre of a greatnest of angry snakes. Shifts in the wind changed the directionof the rain so that parts of me that were beginning to feelwarm were soaked anew. I shifted the rain catcher, only to beunpleasantly surprised a few minutes later when the windchanged once more. I tried to keep a small part of me dryand warm, around my chest, where I had placed the survivalmanual, but the wetness spread with perverse determination. Ispent the whole night shivering with cold. I worried constantlythat the raft would come apart, that the knots holding me tothe lifeboat would become loose, that a shark would attack.
With my hands I checked the knots and lashings incessantly,trying to read them the way a blind man would read Braille.
The rain grew stronger and the sea rougher as the nightprogressed. The rope to the lifeboat tautened with a jerk ratherthan with a tug, and the rocking of the raft became morepronounced and erratic. It continued to float, rising above everywave, but there was no freeboard and the surf of everybreaking wave rode clear across it, washing around me like ariver washing around a boulder. The sea was warmer than therain, but it meant that not the smallest part of me stayed drythat night.
At least I drank. I wasn't really thirsty, but I forced myselfto drink. The rain catcher looked like an inverted umbrella, anumbrella blown open by the wind. The rain flowed to itscentre, where there was a hole. The hole was connected by arubber tube to a catchment pouch made of thick, transparentplastic. At first the water had a rubbery taste, but quickly therain rinsed the catcher and the water tasted fine.
During those long, cold, dark hours, as the pattering of theinvisible rain got to be deafening, and the sea hissed and coiledand tossed me about, I held on to one thought: RichardParker. I hatched several plans to get rid of him so that thelifeboat might be mine.
Plan Number One: Push Him off the Lifeboat. What goodwould that do? Even if I did manage to shove 450 pounds ofliving, fierce animal off the lifeboat, tigers are accomplishedswimmers. In the Sundarbans they have been known to swimfive miles in open, choppy waters. If he found himselfunexpectedly overboard, Richard Parker would simply treadwater, climb back aboard and make me pay the price for mytreachery.
Plan Number Two: Kill Him with the Six MorphineSyringes. But I had no idea what effect they would have onhim. Would they be enough to kill him? And how exactly wasI supposed to get the morphine into his system? I couldremotely conceive surprising him once, for an instant, the wayhis mother had been when she was captured – but, tosurprise him long enough to give him six consecutiveinjections‘? Impossible. All I would do by pricking him with aneedle would be to get a cuff in return that would take myhead off.
Plan Number Three: Attack Him with All AvailableWeaponry. Ludicrous. I wasn't Tarzan. I was a puny, feeble,vegetarian life form. In India it took riding atop great bigelephants and shooting with powerful rifles to kill tigers. Whatwas I supposed to do here? Fire off a rocket flare in his face?
Go at him with a hatchet in each hand and a knife betweenmy teeth? Finish him off with straight and curving sewingneedles? If I managed to nick him, it would be a feat. Inreturn he would tear me apart limb by limb, organ by organ.
For if there's one thing more dangerous than a healthy animal,it's an injured animal.
Plan Number Four: Choke Him. I had rope. If I stayed atthe bow and got the rope to go around the stern and anoose to go around his neck, I could pull on the rope whilehe pulled to get at me. And so, in the very act of reaching forme, he would choke himself. A clever, suicidal plan.
Plan Number Five: Poison Him, Set Him on Fire,Electrocute Him. How? With what?
Plan Number Six: Wage a War of Attrition. All I had todo was let the unforgiving laws of nature run their course andI would be saved. Waiting for him to waste away and diewould require no effort on my part. I had supplies for monthsto come. What did he have? Just a few dead animals thatwould soon go bad. What would he eat after that? Better still:
where would he get water? He might last for weeks withoutfood, but no animal, however mighty, can do without water forany extended period of time.
A modest glow of hope flickered to life within me, like acandle in the night. I had a plan and it was a good one. Ionly needed to survive to put it into effect.
With my hands I checked the knots and lashings incessantly,trying to read them the way a blind man would read Braille.
The rain grew stronger and the sea rougher as the nightprogressed. The rope to the lifeboat tautened with a jerk ratherthan with a tug, and the rocking of the raft became morepronounced and erratic. It continued to float, rising above everywave, but there was no freeboard and the surf of everybreaking wave rode clear across it, washing around me like ariver washing around a boulder. The sea was warmer than therain, but it meant that not the smallest part of me stayed drythat night.
At least I drank. I wasn't really thirsty, but I forced myselfto drink. The rain catcher looked like an inverted umbrella, anumbrella blown open by the wind. The rain flowed to itscentre, where there was a hole. The hole was connected by arubber tube to a catchment pouch made of thick, transparentplastic. At first the water had a rubbery taste, but quickly therain rinsed the catcher and the water tasted fine.
During those long, cold, dark hours, as the pattering of theinvisible rain got to be deafening, and the sea hissed and coiledand tossed me about, I held on to one thought: RichardParker. I hatched several plans to get rid of him so that thelifeboat might be mine.
Plan Number One: Push Him off the Lifeboat. What goodwould that do? Even if I did manage to shove 450 pounds ofliving, fierce animal off the lifeboat, tigers are accomplishedswimmers. In the Sundarbans they have been known to swimfive miles in open, choppy waters. If he found himselfunexpectedly overboard, Richard Parker would simply treadwater, climb back aboard and make me pay the price for mytreachery.
Plan Number Two: Kill Him with the Six MorphineSyringes. But I had no idea what effect they would have onhim. Would they be enough to kill him? And how exactly wasI supposed to get the morphine into his system? I couldremotely conceive surprising him once, for an instant, the wayhis mother had been when she was captured – but, tosurprise him long enough to give him six consecutiveinjections‘? Impossible. All I would do by pricking him with aneedle would be to get a cuff in return that would take myhead off.
Plan Number Three: Attack Him with All AvailableWeaponry. Ludicrous. I wasn't Tarzan. I was a puny, feeble,vegetarian life form. In India it took riding atop great bigelephants and shooting with powerful rifles to kill tigers. Whatwas I supposed to do here? Fire off a rocket flare in his face?
Go at him with a hatchet in each hand and a knife betweenmy teeth? Finish him off with straight and curving sewingneedles? If I managed to nick him, it would be a feat. Inreturn he would tear me apart limb by limb, organ by organ.
For if there's one thing more dangerous than a healthy animal,it's an injured animal.
Plan Number Four: Choke Him. I had rope. If I stayed atthe bow and got the rope to go around the stern and anoose to go around his neck, I could pull on the rope whilehe pulled to get at me. And so, in the very act of reaching forme, he would choke himself. A clever, suicidal plan.
Plan Number Five: Poison Him, Set Him on Fire,Electrocute Him. How? With what?
Plan Number Six: Wage a War of Attrition. All I had todo was let the unforgiving laws of nature run their course andI would be saved. Waiting for him to waste away and diewould require no effort on my part. I had supplies for monthsto come. What did he have? Just a few dead animals thatwould soon go bad. What would he eat after that? Better still:
where would he get water? He might last for weeks withoutfood, but no animal, however mighty, can do without water forany extended period of time.
A modest glow of hope flickered to life within me, like acandle in the night. I had a plan and it was a good one. Ionly needed to survive to put it into effect.