Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor Read Online Free PDF Page A

in Cartagena.

4

M
y
F
irst
N
ight
A
lone in the
C
aribbean
    The wind died down by four in the afternoon. Since I could see nothing but water and sky, since I had no points of reference, more than two hours had passed before I realized that the raft was moving. But, in fact, from the moment I had found myself in it, the raft had been moving ahead in a straight line, pushed by the breeze faster than I could have pushed it with the oars. Nevertheless, I hadn’t the faintest idea of my direction or position. I didn’t know if the raft was moving in toward the shore or out toward the middle of the Caribbean. The latter seemed more likely, because I had always thought it was impossible for the sea to wash ashore anything that was fifty miles out, and even less likely if the object was as heavy as a man in a life raft.
    During the next two hours I plotted the destroyer’s voyage in my mind, minute by minute. I reasoned that if the radio operator had contacted Cartagena, he would haverelayed the exact position of the accident and at that moment planes and helicopters would have been sent out to rescue us. I calculated that the planes would be there within an hour, circling over my head.
    At one in the afternoon I sat down in the raft to scan the horizon. I stowed the three oars inside, ready to row toward wherever the planes appeared. The minutes were long and intense. The sun seared my face and shoulders, and my lips burned, split by the salt. But I felt neither thirst nor hunger. My only need was for the planes to turn up. I already had a plan: when I saw them I would try to row toward them; then, when they were overhead, I would stand up in the raft and signal to them with my shirt. To be prepared and not waste even a moment, I unbuttoned my shirt. Then I just sat on the edge of the raft, searching the horizon on all sides, because I hadn’t the slightest idea from which direction the planes would appear.
    It was two o’clock. The wind went on roaring, and above the noise I could still hear the voice of Luis Rengifo: “Fatso! Row over this way.” I heard it with perfect clarity, as if he were there, only two meters away, trying to reach the oar. But I know that when the wind howls at sea, that when the waves break against the cliffs, one hears voices from memory. And you go on hearing them, with maddening persistence: “Row over here, Fatso!”
    At three I began to get desperate. I knew that by then the destroyer would be docked at Cartagena. My mates, happy to be back, would be spreading out all over the city. I felt they were all thinking about me, and the thought gave me the energy and patience to hold on until four. Even if they hadn’t radioed, even if they hadn’t noticed thatwe’d gone overboard, they would have realized it the moment they docked, when the entire crew should have been on deck. That would have been at three o’clock, at the latest; they would have given the alert immediately.
    However long the planes might have been delayed taking off, they should have been flying near the site of the accident within half an hour. So at four o’clock—four-fifteen at the latest—they would be circling over my head. I went on searching the horizon, until the breeze stopped and I felt enveloped in a great silence.
    Only then did I stop hearing Luis Rengifo’s cry.
The great night
    At first it seemed impossible that I had been alone at sea for three hours. But at five o’clock, after five hours had passed, it seemed I might have to wait yet another hour. The sun was setting. It got very big and red in the west, and I began to orient myself. Now I knew where the planes would appear: with the sun to my left, I stared straight ahead, not moving, not daring to blink, not diverting my sight for an instant from the direction in which, by my bearings, Cartagena lay. By six o’clock my eyes hurt. But I kept watching. Even after it began to get dark, I watched with stubborn patience. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see