We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [90]
Another wave washed over us. Kicking out blindly in panic, I felt one of my feet touch bottom. I managed to stand but lost my footing again immediately, and tried instead to crawl on all fours through the raging foam. The surf had exhausted itself and the water retreated in a violent undertow, spraying my face and tearing at my limbs from beneath. I was just about to be dragged out to sea again when the Kanak grabbed hold of me. I walked the last few meters upright, leaning against him for support.
The beach was so deserted, it seemed we'd arrived in an abandoned world. I wanted to throw myself on the sand from sheer exhaustion, but a prickling sandstorm was whipping at my half-naked body. Then I heard a loud crack and saw a palm tree snap in half. Its top tumbled through the air and landed on the roof of a hut, which promptly collapsed. We couldn't stay here: if we wanted shelter, we'd have to walk farther inland.
A shout rang out behind us. I turned and saw two more Kanaks struggling in the surf and then staggering onto the beach. Then a third appeared. The entire crew was now safely ashore. Their blue faces made them look like mermen born of the boiling foam.
I felt enormous relief. I'd wrecked the Flying Scud, but I'd not lost a single man. True, they'd saved both themselves and me, so I couldn't claim the credit, but their survival made the loss of the ship easier to take.
The nearest huts were all empty, and as we passed them, the wind at's our backs shoved us forward so we could barely walk upright. Soon we gave up running and stumbling, went down on all fours, and simply crawled. All around us we could hear the heavy thud of coconuts hitting the ground, and the storm howling through the wildly swaying palm trunks. I concentrated on my hands and knees, my only contact with the ground in this insane weather. It felt as if we'd all end up being blasted off into the endless universe.
Then at last our cries for help were answered, and someone let us into a hut. There was no fire burning, and the inhabitants sat silent and cowed, as if they hoped to avoid the rage of the storm by making themselves invisible. The hut quaked and the roof trembled ominously, but it was holding. I was too exhausted to consider the impression I must have made on them. I was a shipwrecked sailor seeking shelter. It made no difference to them that I was a white man. The storm had made equals of us all.
I fell asleep shortly afterward. When I woke, it was quiet. It was night, and I heard the breathing of sleeping people around me. I stared into the darkness for a while, then drifted back to sleep.
The next morning I took my leave of the Kanaks, and for the second and final time we shook hands. My one-eared rescuer placed a hand on my shoulder and from the bottomless blue of his face, fixed me with his eye. As I returned his look, I felt there was a bond there, though I don't suppose it could be called friendship. We'd never exchanged a word. But now, as we parted, each of them said something, and I still remember what: "Palea," "Loa'a," "Kauu." The fourth word was longer. Something like "Keli'ikea," but I'm not sure. At the time I assumed they all meant goodbye. Later it struck me that they had been telling me their names.
I went down to the beach. There was still a heavy swell, but the air was no longer filled with flying foam. Everywhere there were smashed palm trees and ruined huts torn apart by the wind and rain, and it struck me how lucky we'd been that the hut we'd sheltered in had withstood the storm. I went as close to the surf as I dared and scouted anxiously across the battlefield of the beach, terrified that I'd see wreckage from the Flying Scud, which might belie the story I'd prepared.