The Island of Last Truth Read Online Free PDF Page A

precise instructions, which it doesn’t obey at first. He has to tell his body not to swim, something his brain doesn’t understand, no; he has to tell it to move his arms and legs as if they were blades.
    As he moves forward, he wonders how it is possible his eyes haven’t been burned. His lips are cut and contact with the salty water stings. How far is it? A mile? Maybe less. Definitely less. How is it possible? He’s sure that there was no island or islet on the nautical map. Or he didn’t remember it . . . but that’s impossible . . . there was nothing but water.
    And then experience, knowledge, and reality make an appearance and Dr. Prendel, dying, realizes that the time for hallucinations has come, little time is left to him before he loses his senses and he can stop struggling. And this thought tires, and at the same time, relaxes him.
    He stops swimming and loses consciousness.
    Later, completely disorientated, the first incongruity that occupies Mathew Prendel’s mind is the thought, just as he feels the roughness of the damp sand against his face, that he doesn’t know if he is alive. It is pitch-black night, and he doesn’t know if being alive is a stroke of luck either. He remembers the salty hell of the last few hours. How he has managed to arrive at a beach is unknown. It wasn’t a mirage.
    With an effort he drags himself along. He moves away from the water. Once again, he loses consciousness.

    * * *

    The next thing Dr. Prendel feels is someone’s hands holding his head. Although he doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes, the doctor knows it is day by the light reaching him through his closed eyelids. The other person tries to give him water to drink. Prendel is frightened. Where is he?
    â€œDrink, drink,” the person tells him. He speaks his language. “You’ll survive,” he says. “Don’t worry. You’ll survive. Drink.”
    Will he survive?
    Dr. Prendel drinks. Very slowly. He is no longer thirsty. Or he doesn’t feel it. He only wants to sleep. Forever. In fact, when he has drunk a little, the voice says, “Rest.” Afterwards he hears some footsteps moving away, then nothing.
    He doesn’t wake until night. He opens his eyes. It’s difficult to focus. The first thing he sees is the fire beside him. Then a man. He deduces that this is the man who saved him. He hears the sound of the waves nearby. He lifts his head a little and checks that, in fact, the shore is just a few feet away. Prendel is covered with a jacket. He has dry clothes and feels warm. He throws the cover off. He tries to sit up but fails. He is very weak. He remains lying on the ground.
    â€œMy name is Nelson Souza,” the other’s voice sounds in the darkness. Prendel guesses that he is a white man. Against Prendel’s wishes, this fact unsettles him. “You should eat and drink something. Here.” He passes him a cup of water. And something solid. “It’s fish,” he tells him.
    Prendel accepts; he’s too weak to ask or question anything. He drinks anxiously; now he is thirsty. Then he eats. The fish is hard and rubbery.
    â€œThank you.” His voice surprises him: he hasn’t heard it for many hours. It comes out weak. “Where are we?” he asks. Now, he sits up little by little. He feels sick. He feels strange. Shouldn’t he be dead?
    â€œOn a tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic,” the man answers. “Southeast of the Gulf of Guinea.”
    Prendel thinks that’s impossible.
    â€œWe can’t be,” he says.
    Souza doesn’t answer. Now he is pouring a hot drink, in the same cup as before.
    Prendel looks around him, but can’t manage to make anything out. Perhaps some shadows. The worst has passed; nevertheless, he is uneasy.
    â€œAre you from here?” Prendel asks Souza.
    â€œAs much from here as you are.”
    â€œSo it’s deserted, the