DEV BHATT: “Latha was the rock of our family. As firm as she could be in business, she was gentle and loving to our children. She always made time for them, and for me. She said our family was the gift she was given for the family she lost as a child.”
REPORTER: Latha Laghari was seventy-one years old when she was invited onto Jason Lambert’s yacht for the star-crossed Grand Idea voyage. She leaves behind a grieving family, a Fortune 500 company, and a Center for Women’s Education that she created in Calcutta. In an interview, Laghari once said that, for all the schooling she experienced later in life, her first six years in the Basanti slums taught her the most important life lesson. When asked what that was, she said: “Survive until tomorrow.”
Sea
Day nine, Annabelle. It is dark, and I am very tired. I tried twice to write you but failed. I am still in shock from earlier today. Death has struck again.
I was resting in the back of the raft when Geri crawled over on her knees. “As long as you have that notebook, Benji,” she said, “why don’t you make an inventory? We need to keep tight track of our rations.”
I nodded OK. Then she turned and asked everyone to bring what we had and lay it out in the middle of the raft. Before long, we were staring at the meager spread of our possessions.
For water, we had only half a can left.
For food, we had three protein bars from the ditch bag, plus items we had pulled from the ocean the night the Galaxy sank, four bags of cookies, two boxes of cornflakes, three apples, and the remnants of a box of peanut butter crackers that Geri had thrown into her backpack before jumping ship.
For survival gear, again from the ditch bag, we had two paddles, a flashlight, a throwing line, a knife, a small pump, a bailer, a flare gun, three flares, binoculars, and repair patching kits. Also, one seasickness pill. We’d swallowed the rest in our first two days.
Geri’s backpack added a first-aid kit, a small tube of aloe, several T-shirts and shorts, a pair of scissors, sunglasses, her little motorized fan, and a floppy hat.
Finally, there were the random items that we plucked from the waves: a tray, a tennis ball, a seat cushion, a yoga mat, a plastic tub of pens and notebooks—which is how I am able to write you right now—and a car magazine, which, despite having been soaked and dried many times, has been read by nearly everyone in the raft. It reminds us of the world we left behind.
We also had the clothes we were wearing when we escaped the sinking ship: long pants, button-down shirts, Mrs. Laghari’s blue gown. Perhaps the material will prove useful.
Nobody spoke much as I recorded the items in my notebook. We knew the food and water would not sustain us much longer. We have made vain attempts at catching fish—from trying to club them to trying to grab them over the raft sides—but without a hook, there is not much chance. I don’t know why hooks were not in the ditch bag. Geri says it all depends on who packs it.
Lambert, who was eyeballing the items, suddenly blurted out: “Do you know what my fund did last year?”
Nobody responded. Nobody cared.
“Eight billion,” he said anyhow.
“What difference does your money make now?” Nina asked.
“It makes all the difference,” Lambert said. “It’s my money that will keep people looking for us. And it’s my money that will ultimately find whoever destroyed the Galaxy. If it takes the rest of my life, I will hunt down the animal who did this to me.”
“What are you talking about, Jason?” Mrs. Laghari said. “Nobody knows what happened on the boat.”
“I know!” Lambert bellowed. “That yacht was top shelf. Every last detail was looked after. There’s no way it sinks on its own. Somebody sabotaged it!”
He scratched his head, then looked at his fingers. “Maybe they were trying to kill me,” he mumbled. “Well, ha ha, you little pricks. I’m still here.”
He looked at me, but I avoided his gaze. I was thinking about Dobby. I was thinking how much we both hated this man.
Lambert turned to the Lord, who was smiling.
“What are you grinning at, Looney Tunes?”
The Lord said nothing.
“For what it’s worth, if you really are God, I never called for you. Not once. Not even in the water.”
“And yet I still listen,” the Lord said.
“Stop talking, Jason!” Nina snapped.
Lambert glared at her. “How did you get on my yacht? What do you do?”
“I style hair for the guests.”
“Oh, right,” Lambert said. “And you, Jean Philippe, the kitchen, correct?”
Jean Philippe nodded.
“And you, scribble boy. Benji. How come I don’t know what I pay you to do?”
I felt his eyes on me. My body roiled inside. I’d worked on the Galaxy for five months. He still had no clue who I was. But I knew him.
“Deckhand,” I said.
Lambert grunted. “A deckhand, a haircutter, and a cook. Really useful out here.”
“Give it a rest, Jason,” Geri said. “Benji, you got this written down yet?”
“Almost,” I replied.
“I’m just going to say this now,” Nina blurted out. “If something bad happens”—she pointed at Lambert—“it’s because of him!”
“Yeahhhup. It’ll all be my fault,” Lambert answered. “Except, hey, look, nothing’s happening. Oh, well.”
Just then, I noticed the Lord putting his hand over the side of the raft. It dangled in the water. I found that strange.
A moment later, the rubber floor thudded sharply, as if something were trying to punch its way through.
“Sharks!” Geri yelled.
Before we could absorb those words, the floor thudded again. Then, suddenly, the raft shot forward and we all tumbled over. It stopped after a few seconds, spun to the left, then shot forward again.
“They’re dragging us!” Geri yelled. “Hold on!”
Everyone grabbed for the safety ropes. The raft surged ahead. Then the front half lifted and I saw the gray-and-white flesh of a massive fish, as if it were trying to tip us over. Geri, Nevin, and Jean Philippe tumbled forward and the goods were scattered, some spilling into the ocean.
“Save the stuff!” Lambert yelled. I grabbed the flare gun and the bailer, and I saw Mrs. Laghari raise up to retrieve the binoculars, which had tangled with her blue gown and fallen into the water. The raft jolted wildly, and she lost her balance and toppled overboard.
“Oh my god!” Nina yelled. “Pull her in!”
I scrambled to the edge but Mrs. Laghari was just beyond my reach, flailing her arms and spitting water. She seemed too shocked to scream.
“Stay still!” Geri yelled. “Let us get you! Don’t move!” She grabbed a paddle to pull us closer. Mrs. Laghari kept smacking her arms on the surface.
“Get her NOW, Benji!” Geri screamed. I leaned over with my arms outstretched, but before I could make contact, Mrs. Laghari disappeared in a spray of seawater. It was like she’d been hit by a missile. I fell back in horror. To this moment, I cannot shake that image, Annabelle. She just blew sideways and was gone.
“Where is she?” Nina screamed.
Geri spun left and right. “Oh, no, no, no …”
We saw a spread of red blood on the water.
We did not see Mrs. Laghari again.
I dropped onto the raft floor, gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I caught a glimpse of the Lord, who held little Alice in his grip. He turned my way as if he were looking right through me.
Four
Land
LeFleur drove with his body slightly twisted. The plastic bag was tucked inside his shirt, and he was doing his best to hide it from Rom. Not that Rom seemed interested. He stared out the rolled-down window, the breeze swirling his wavy hair.
LeFleur had only been able to read the first paragraphs of the notebook. When he tried to turn the page, it tore in his hands. Fearful of doing more damage, he slid the notebook back into the bag. But he had seen enough. The experts were wrong. Passengers had survived the sinking of the Galaxy. For now, he was the only one who knew.
The raft remained on the beach—it was too large to fit in the police jeep—so LeFleur called two men from the Royal Defense Force to guard it until the next day, when he could bring a truck. The force was mostly volunteers. He hoped they knew what they were doing.