Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [95]
The sails blew out their cheeks. On into sunsets and sunrises. They said we had to be very careful with the water, just in case.
“It won’t last, will it?” Simon said in a matter-of-fact way.
“It will if we’re careful.”
“It’ll rain soon.”
“The rain won’t help.”
“How long to Chile?” asked Dag.
The captain sighed. “Depends on the weather. Perhaps twenty days.”
No one spoke. Twenty days.
“Don’t fret,” the captain said, “there’s no need to cut the ration yet, but if nothing happens in the next—six—days,” he hesitated fractionally, as if he was making the decision on the instant, “we may have to.”
“But we couldn’t manage on less,” John Copper said.
Skip put his arms over his head and started moaning.
“What’s the matter, Skip?”
He just shook his head and moaned on, a sing-song humming as he rocked.
“Oh, leave him if it makes him feel better. Moan away, Skip, only not too loud.”
“It’s because I killed the dragon,” Skip said, looking up at us. “That’s why everything happened.”
“Mad.”
Rainey raised himself up from the bottom of the boat, set his hands upon the gunwale and stared ahead with glaring eyes. It was a blazing hot day and the sun was almost at its zenith.
“Cover your head, man,” said Dan, but Rainey silenced him with a stiff gesture.
“Shh!”
“What?”
“Listen!”
Nothing.
“What is it?”
“Can’t you hear it?”
“Can’t hear a thing.”
“Jaf, can you?”
I shook my head. The shaking of my head set up a humming in my brain.
We were all listening now.
“Poor thing,” Rainey said, his eyes filling with tears. “Poor thing.”
“Where?” said Skip. “Where is the poor thing?”
Where else could the poor thing be but there, in the sea? It wasn’t here with us in our little boat. Nor over there, in the captain’s. All there were well enough. What could be crying in the sea or the air?
Tears poured down Mr. Rainey’s cheeks. “My God, my God, my dear God,” he said, “let this thing pass.”
Mr. Rainey was only a man after all. A very strong one up to a point, but he was going down. Dan got him lying down and wiped his face. “You’ve been swallowing seawater,” Dan said. “No more now. Here.” And he gave Mr. Rainey his own ration of water there and then, and had only a tiny drop himself left for later. “Lay off the seawater, man,” he said, “it’s no good. Kill you, man. Lay off it now and you’ll be fine.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Rainey, his teeth chattering.
“Now hold together. I mean it. You give up and let go and what happens? You get a boat over the horizon the very next morn.”
A storm came from the southwest and we were back at the baling, except Rainey, who remained at the useless place where the steering oar had been before some rough sea took it, weeping stoically and staring out at—what? A flash of lightning. The sky growling. If he dies, I thought, we can have his portion. He turned away from the sea, his tears unanswered. He lay in the bottom of the boat, talking to himself. Sometimes he laughed joyfully, sometimes cried like a newborn and called on his ma. Horrible to see that big man in that state. “Maria!” he called. “Maria, Maria,” he groaned.
“His wife,” said Gabriel.
“Yes, yes, we all think on our wives,” said Dan. “Are you a married man?”
Gabriel nodded.
In the evening, just before dark, Mr. Rainey sat up and wiped his eyes and licked his gummy lips with his slow, gummy tongue. “Well,” he said, “here we are.”
“So we are,” said Gabriel.
Tim put his hand in mine. “The sky,” he said, looking up.
It was that second before dark. It glimmered.
“Where are you from, Mr. Rainey?” Skip asked.
Rainey looked at him and thought for a moment, then smiled slowly. “Norwich,” he said.
Said Tim:
The man in the moon came down too soon,
And found his way to Norwich.
He went down south and burnt his mouth
From eating cold pease porridge.
“Do you all eat porridge in Norwich?” asked Skip.
Mr. Rainey