He shrieked back.
It was too much. I would go mad.
I had an idea.
"MY NAME," I roared to the elements with my last breath, "IS PISCINE MOLITOR
PATEL." How could an echo create a name? "Do you hear me? I am Piscine Molitor Patel, known to all as Pi Patel!"
"What? Is someone there?"
"Yes, someone's there!"
"What! Can it be true? Please, do you have any food? Anything at all. I have no food left.
I haven't eaten anything in days. I must have something. I'll be grateful for whatever you can spare. I beg you."
"But I have no food either," I answered, dismayed. "I haven't eaten anything in days myself. I was hoping you would have food. Do you have water? My supplies are very low."
"No, I don't. You have no food at all? Nothing?"
"No, nothing."
There was silence, a heavy silence.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"I'm here," he replied wearily.
"But where is that? I can't see you."
"Why can't you see me?"
"I've gone blind."
"What?" he exclaimed.
"I've gone blind. My eyes see nothing but darkness. I blink for nothing. These last two days, if my skin can be trusted to measure time. It only can tell me if it's day or night."
I heard a terrible wail.
"What? What is it, my friend?" I asked.
He kept wailing.
"Please answer me. What is it? I'm blind and we have no food and water, but we have each other. That is something. Something precious. So what is it, my dear brother?"
"I too am blind!"
"What?"
"I too blink for nothing, as you say."
He wailed again. I was struck dumb. I had met another blind man on another lifeboat in the Pacific!
"But how could you be blind?" I mumbled.
"Probably for the same reason you are. The result of poor hygiene on a starving body at the end of its tether."
We both broke down. He wailed and I sobbed. It was too much, truly it was too much.
"I have a story," I said, after a while.
"A story?"
"Yes."
"Of what use is a story? I'm hungry."
"It's a story about food."
"Words have no calories."
"Seek food where food is to be found."
"That's an idea."
Silence. A famishing silence.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Here. And you?"
"Here."
I heard a splashing sound as an oar dipped into water. I reached for one of the oars I had salvaged from the wrecked raft. It was so heavy. I felt with my hands and found the closest oarlock. I dropped the oar in it. I pulled on the handle. I had no strength. But I rowed as best I could.
"Let's hear your story," he said, panting.
"Once upon a time there was a banana and it grew. It grew until it was large, firm, yellow and fragrant. Then it fell to the ground and someone came upon it and ate it."
He stopped rowing. "What a beautiful story!"
"Thank you."
"I have tears in my eyes."
"I have another element," I said.
"What is it?"
"The banana fell to the ground and someone came upon it and ate it—and afterwards that person felt better."
"It takes the breath away!" he exclaimed.
"Thank you."
A pause.
"But you don't have any bananas?"
"No. An orangutan distracted me."
"A what?"
"It's a long story."
"Any toothpaste?"
"No."
"Delicious on fish. Any cigarettes?"
"I ate them already."
"You ate them?"
"I still have the filters. You can have them if you like."
"The filters? What would I do with cigarette filters without the tobacco? How could you eat cigarettes?"
"What should I have done with them? I don't smoke."
"You should have kept them for trading."
"Trading? With whom?"
"With me!"
"My brother, when I ate them I was alone in a lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific."
"So?"
"So, the chance of meeting someone in the middle of the Pacific with whom to trade my cigarettes did not strike me as an obvious prospect."
"You have to plan ahead, you stupid boy! Now you have nothing to trade."
"But even if I had something to trade, what would I trade it for? What do you have that I would want?"
"I have a boot," he said.
"A boot?"
"Yes, a fine leather boot."
"What would I do with a leather boot in a lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific? Do you think I go for hikes in my spare time?"
"You could eat it!"
"Eat a boot? What an idea."
"You eat cigarettes—why not a boot?"
"The idea is disgusting. Whose boot, by the way?"
"How should I know?"
"You're suggesting I eat a complete stranger's boot?"
"What difference does it make?"
"I'm flabbergasted. A boot. Putting aside the fact that I am a Hindu and we Hindus consider cows sacred, eating a leather boot conjures to my mind eating all the filth that a foot might exude in addition to all the filth it might step in while shod."
"So no boot for you."
"Let's see it first."
"No."
"What? Do you expect me to trade something with you sight unseen?"
"We're both blind, may I remind you."
"Describe this boot to me, then! What kind of a pitiful salesman are you? No wonder you're starved for customers."
"That's right. I am."
"Well, the boot?"
"It's a leather boot."
"What kind of leather boot?"
"The regular kind."
"Which means?"
"A boot with a shoelace and eyelets and a tongue. With an inner sole. The regular kind."
"What colour?"
"Black."
"In what condition?"
"Worn. The leather soft and supple, lovely to the touch."
"And the smell?"
"Of warm, fragrant leather."
"I must admit—I must admit—it sounds tempting!"
"You can forget about it."
"Why?"
Silence.
"Will you not answer, my brother?"
"There's no boot."
"No boot?"
"No."
"That makes me sad."
"I ate it."
"You ate the boot?"
"Yes."
"Was it good?"
"No. Were the cigarettes good?"
"No. I couldn't finish them."
"I couldn't finish the boot."
"Once upon a time there was a banana and it grew. It grew until it was large, firm, yellow and fragrant. Then it fell to the
ground and someone came upon it and ate it and afterwards that person felt better."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all I've said and done. I'm a worthless person," he burst out.
"What do you mean? You are the most precious, wonderful person on earth. Come, my brother, let us be together and feast on each other's company."
"Yes!"
The Pacific is no place for rowers, especially when they are weak and blind, when their lifeboats are large and unwieldy, and when the wind is not cooperating. He was close by; he was far away. He was to my left; he was to my right. He was ahead of me; he was behind me. But at last we managed it. Our boats touched with a bump evensweeter-sounding than a turtle's. He threw me a rope and I tethered his boat to mine. I opened my arms to embrace him and to be embraced by him. My eyes were brimming with tears and I was smiling. He was directly in front of me, a presence glowing through my blindness.
"My sweet brother," I whispered.
"I am here," he replied.
I heard a faint growl.
"Brother, there's something I forgot to mention."
He landed upon me heavily. We fell half onto the tarpaulin, half onto the middle bench.
His hands reached for my throat.
"Brother," I gasped through his overeager embrace, "my heart is with you, but I must urgently suggest we repair to another part of my humble ship."
"You're damn right your heart is with me!" he said. "And your liver and your flesh!"
I could feel him moving off the tarpaulin onto the middle bench and, fatally, bringing a foot down to the floor of the boat.
"No, no, my brother! Don't! We're not—"
I tried to hold him back. Alas, it was too late. Before I could say the word alone, I was alone again. I heard the merest clicking of claws against the bottom of the boat, no more than the sound of a pair of spectacles falling to the floor, and the next moment my dear brother shrieked in my face like I've never heard a man shriek before. He let go of me.
This was the terrible cost of Richard Parker. He gave me a life, my own, but at the expense of taking one. He ripped the flesh off the man's frame and cracked his bones.
The smell of blood filled my nose. Something in me died then that has never come back to life.
CHAPTER 91