We Float Upon a Painted Sea (12 page)

Chapter 9: One enchanted evening

Bull woke to the sound of a ditty. He raised his hand, protecting his eyes from the glare of the daylight filtering through the orange canopy of the life raft. There was a fetid smell inside the life raft, making his gut wrench. At first his eyes couldn’t focus but in due course he honed in on Andrew squeezing the hand-inflator slowly but purposefully. His lips were puckered as he whistled. He stopped.

“Do you swim?” asked Andrew nonchalantly.  Bull looked back with a look of mischief in his eye. Bull examined his surroundings in disbelief that he was still on the raft and it hadn’t been a bad dream.

“No,” he said, “I just floated like a beach ball onto the raft.” Andrew looked at Bull curiously, suspecting that he was toying with him.

“I didn’t ask if you can swim, I know you can swim. Even a dog can swim. I asked
do
you swim, say, competitively or for enjoyment, back home, wherever that part of the world may be.” Bull returned Andrew’s stare. “Why are we sinking? Andrew sighed,

“No, we’re not
sinking
, you fool. I’m just making polite conversation but if you would rather…” Bull interrupted,

“And calling someone a fool is your idea of making
polite conversation
.” Andrew grimaced,

“It’s just a turn of phrase, my apologies.”

“I can do a couple of lengths of my virtual swimming pool.”

“Virtual swimming isn’t real swimming.”

“It feels real enough when you’re hooked up to the hardware.”

“Still, you can’t substitute the feel of the water against your skin or the sensation of weightlessness as you glide through the water.”

“You’ve obviously never tried VR have you?”

“I have, but only military training VR, not for leisure. It makes me feel queasy if truth be told.”

“I have the same affliction with the sea. If I’m going to swim, the sea would be my last choice.” The first waking exchanges were becoming predictable, thought Bull. Andrew would force a pathetic smile and commence his verbal ramble, impatient to release the mental pressure that had been rising as Bull slept.

“Weren’t you scared of drowning when the ship capsized?”

“I was petrified. Weren’t you?” Andrew clasped his hands and rocked his body back and forth in time with the motion of the raft, buffeted by the ocean swells. He said, “I’ve been trained to deal with fear and to channel my emotions. I was an officer in the army.”

“You said before but the operative word being
Was
? So you left.”

“No, I was medically discharged. This isn’t about my military past.”

“What is it about then?” There was a protracted moment of silence. Finally, Andrew said, “I developed a medical problem that I would rather not discuss, but after my M.D, I joined the Territorials as a training officer.”

“I’ve never met anyone from the T.A. but then again I only socialise at weekends.”

“We didn’t just train at the weekend you know, but I suspect you already knew that and were just being facetious again. We saw action in Sudan and Iran.” Andrew rolled his neck until he heard a click.

“You want kudos for fighting in another oil war?”

“We didn’t invade those counties because of oil. We were liberating the people from oppression and giving them democracy.”

“Liberating their natural resources you mean and installing puppet governments dependent on the West - democracy with conditions. Funny how we only liberate countries with oil isn’t it?”

“I take it you don’t drive a car or fly or use electricity or wear waterproof clothing or anything else made from oil derivatives?”

“As you can see I’m into natural fabrics.” Bull looked down at his improvised sarong.

“Without oil, the world would grind to a halt. Is that what you want?”

“Oil is the putrid fucking diseased lifeblood of the world,” said Bull sighing heavily. He picked up the homemade bailer and toyed with it.

“I see you are a Covenanter,” said Andrew gazing at the green bracelet on Bull’s wrist.

“What if I am? I can see you’re a
Denier
.”

“I can see the subject upsets you.”

“Yes, the systematic destruction of the environment does make me a little uptight. I would have hoped that one day, if I ever had children, they would be born into a better fucking world than this.”

“There are better ways to relieve your stress than using profanity.”

“Don’t I fucking know it, and if you weren’t on this boat, I would indulge in a few more of them.” Andrew huffed and continued,

“Anyway, your protests are a waste of time. The world economy revolves around oil and gas. It’s a fact of life that you cannot deny. You all use fossil fuels but you still run the industry down. I don’t understand your kind.”

“I wouldn’t imagine you could. You
Deniers
are myopic, you can only see as far as the next financial year. And don’t talk to me about consuming fossil fuels; choices are limited by design, for economic reasons. We don’t opt for oil or gas, we have little choice.”

“It’s a natural resource that God has given us to use.”

“Are you using God to justify mankind's recklessness?” The raft fell silent with the exception of the rain pelting the canopy and the waves lapping against the pontoon. Finally, Andrew said,

“I can see where this conversation is going and I refuse to be dragged there. Let’s just agree to disagree and leave it at that shall we?”

“As you wish, Sherlock.”

The life-raft drifted aimlessly, the wind and ocean currents battling for the right to take control of its destiny. From time to time they would unzip the aperture and gaze out to the vast and featureless expanse of wilderness. On the horizon they could make out the twisted remains of an abandoned oil rig, shattered by the wave, its pillars decaying in the ocean, like the carcass of a once colossal animal. At one point they thought they had spotted land but the excitement was quelled when the contour changed shape and dispersed. Both men took turns to check on Malcolm’s condition, drizzling freshwater into his mouth on a regular basis.  Blood oozed from under his dressing, trickling down his back and discolouring the stagnant water collecting on the floor of the raft. Andrew changed Malcolm’s bandages using the last piece of the shredded cotton skirt and a sanitary towel from the suitcase. Andrew threw the soiled bandages overboard after Bull complained of the pungent odour.

Flies, attracted by the faint whiff of blood, dive-bombed the raft relentlessly. Andrew swatted several of them and arranged them on the palm of his hand. He said,

“We may be forced to eat these when the bannock cake and prunes run out.” Bull shuddered and then said,

“Flies are food for arachnids and reptiles, not humans.”

“I beg to differ. Some African tribes make patties out of flies and bake them. I’ve never tried one myself but apparently they’re good.”

“
Good
, compared to what? It comes back to choice again, I would say if they are eating flies it’s because there are little alternatives. You eat flies. I’d rather starve.”

“We could fish, but if we caught something we would have to eat it raw. I’m not averse to sashimi, are you?”

“There’s not a lot of fish left in the sea so you’re wasting your time.”

“What do you mean, there’s plenty fish in the sea.”

“Have you been living in a cave Sherlock? Changes in ocean temperature and commercial fishing have depleted stocks the world over.”

“Bollocks! Fish just migrate to more amiable conditions.”

“Is that why all the fish we eat is farmed or lab-grown crap?”

“I would have thought laboratory protein was more to your taste. Your lot are always banging on about animal rights. This way no animal suffered and there’s no pressure on the environment.”

“
Your lot?
You mean people that care about animal rights? It’s all us and them with you isn’t it? If you must know, I’m rather partial to real food. I’ve got no problem killing an animal and eating it.”

“So, you’ve killed an animal for the dinner table then - at last we have something in common.”

“Not as such, but I’m content with the principle of it.”

“So as long as someone else does the killing, you’re fine with that?”

“We all have our jobs to do. You kill, I eat.”

“That sounds like a cop out, if you want my opinion.”

Bull unzipped the aperture and gazed out to the sea, wondering if there were fish below the surface other than the jellyfish he could see. He looked out to the horizon for signs of land. Nothing. The sun was nestling somewhere behind the grey clouds and the night was coming. Bull sat back on the pontoon and started reading the diary he had found in the suitcase. He chuckled to himself until he became bored with rambling outbursts of a frustrated suburban housewife. Eventually he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Andrew continued to bail water and pump the hand-held inflator. When he was satisfied the pontoons were fully inflated, he zipped up the aperture and settled down for an evening under the orange dome.

The temperature was plummeting and it wasn’t long before Bull was awake again. His dreams had been unsettling. He attempted to speak but the hunger pains re-emerged and his words dissolved in his mouth. He was disorientated and still paranoid after his sleep. He had no idea of the time. He considered an apology for oversleeping, but Andrew’s facial expression was unwelcoming. Andrew passed him a prune, a slice of bannock cake and half a tennis ball of Talisker malt whisky. He sat back on the pontoon and let out an exaggerated sigh. He said, “I’ve decided to create a rota for the duties onboard the life-raft, including bailing, inflating the pontoons and keeping lookout. You’ve been sleeping most of the day so it’s only right that you do the first watch tonight.”

“What about him?” said Bull pointing to Malcolm with a sly smile, “Why can’t he take first watch?” Andrew grimaced,

“Another one of your tasteless jibes, I take it?” There was a moment of awkward silence. Bull looked directly into Andrew’s eyes and said,

“Bloody cold isn’t it Sherlock?” Andrew wanted to ask him to stop calling him
Sherlock
but he suspected this would only give Bull further encouragement. He wanted to remain aloof. Never stoop, he thought, and always be pragmatic. He snorted,

“It is, but I think at this time of year, the northern winds haven’t started to blow down from the Arctic, so it can get a wee bit colder than this. I was in Caithness with the Territorials once and…”

“You don’t think we could catch hypothermia do you, particularly after drinking this alcohol? I don’t mind admitting that it’s made my head a wee bit light and dizzy.”

“It’s not a disease you know. Hypothermia is a condition where core body temperature falls below 35.0 °C. Alcohol can bring it on but I think with only a cup full, we’re fine.”

“So we couldn’t catch it off each other then?” said Bull playfully.

“No,” replied Andrew, “as I said it’s a condition, it’s not an infectious disease.” Bull tried to smile but his lips quaked. Bull look directly into Andrew’s eyes. He said,

“You seem to know lots about this type of thing - survival stuff, I mean. So you’ve done a lot of survival training soldier boy?”

“Yes I have. I told you, I was in Special Forces before joining the Territorial Army as a Field Instructor.”

“Yes, you said before, I remember. So if I contracted hypothermia, what methods would you use to revive me?” Andrew sat up and rubbed the stubble on his chin with the back of his hand.

“There are three ways to tackle hypothermia - active core warming.”

“Like hot drinks? Well unfortunately that option is out. What else?”

“Active external warming such as chemical heat packs or
Bear Hugger blankets
…”

“I think you said we lost those during the sinking, so what else?”

“If my memory serves me right the other method is passive external re-warming, which simply involves sharing body heat with… Good God!” Bull stretched his arms back behind his head and yawned seductively, like an unbridled enchantress. His foil blanket slipped from his shoulders and his fur coat slid open, showing an ample wedge of white fleshy midriff. Andrew coughed feebly and zipped his
Swazi
anorak closer around his neck. He backed away averting Bull’s alluring eyes, recoiling in disgust and rigid with homophobic paranoia. Bull’s voice shifted to a slower and huskier tone. He said,

“It’s the second law of thermal dynamics - heat transfer between two bodies. We could see it as a scientific experiment.”

“That would be a last resort. I’m not experimenting anything with you.” Andrew shifted uneasily and then Bull began to laugh.

“I was just teasing you. Christ you’re stiff!”

“I’m glad you find all this funny. I’m glad you find that we’re permanently wet, cold, starving, uncomfortable and sore, and that flies are constantly bombing us and that we are drifting aimlessly in the North Atlantic. Well, I’m not laughing, sorry but I’m not. I’m constantly inflating the pontoons and bailing out bloody putrid water with a brazier cup while you sleep, purring like a kitten.!”