We Float Upon a Painted Sea (4 page)

He summoned his inner voice, searching for logical alternatives to jumping, but all the while his subconscious was undermining his cognitive process with the stark realisation that he was delaying the inevitable. He wondered how long he could he survive in the North Atlantic without a survival suit - it was a soliloquy centred over minutes and not hours, and the verbal outburst ended with him screaming and shaking his fists at the sea. He convinced himself that he would have jumped by now if he had spotted a lifeboat, so logic had prevailed. He was also well aware that if the ship went under he would have to swim well clear, if he wasn’t to be sucked under. This concept was based on nothing more than watching disaster movies and he chastised himself for not knowing if this was accurate or not.

He wondered how long it would take for the ship to sink, and considered the option of waiting it out, until the Coast Guard sent out their cutters, or the emergency services dispatched a rescue drone to save him. If he could only find some warm clothes from one of the suitcases he had come across, strewn around the decks, but that would mean going back into the darkness - the body of the ship. He peered back towards the stern, where he had come from – water was flooding in from below. He decided he needed to find a higher level. His hands fumbled along the ship’s superstructure until he grasped a metal ladder. He scuttled to the top, where he stood, perched over the sea, like a heron, studying the
waters beneath his feet.

Higher now, he was afforded a better view. The sea was a melange of wreckage - some from the ship and other debris swept in and offered up by the swells, but something else disturbed him. For the first time he could see through the surface of the water. He noticed a submerged light from the ship illuminating the unfathomable depth of the precipitous green sea. New demons were now at work in his disorientated mind, egged on by the orbs which danced in the scattering light. The scene instilled a primal fear of being swallowed whole, of drowning and being lost forever in the dark void below. His dark thoughts were interrupted by the high pitched screech from a passing flock of guillemots, bringing him back to reality. He watched the birds fly uniformly towards, where he imagined, the coastline lay, somewhere through the mist. He envied their wings. He trailed his focus towards where he expected the shoreline to be – hoping that the mist would lift sometime soon, and he would be able to detect at least a distant but discernible black line on the horizon. The current view revealed nothing.

Finally, he prepared himself for the jump. He decided he needed to take three deep breaths. The first breath made his head dizzy. On the second breath his body stiffened. Then, through his feet, he felt a metallic fracturing noise emanate from the ship’s hull. A shudder ran through his body, almost throwing him from the ladder. His fingers tightened around the metal rung.

“What in Christ’s name is this?” he said out loud. His voice sounded high pitched and miniscule for such a large man. The ship groaned. A slower but more sustained noise this time, but just as distressing. A metallic whaling reverberated through the air, as the ship’s bulkheads filled with invading water, pulling the ship under. The vessel lurched and then progressively descended into the water like a coffin being lowered into its grave. He felt his body arch, drawn towards the pulsating water, and for a nauseating moment it appeared that the space between his widening eyes and the sea had compressed. He gasped for air, his breath snatched away by the augmenting fear in his gut.

He gripped the rails tighter and muttered incomprehensible words dubbed with a roll call of expletives. He had arrived on deck like a rutting stag running across the hillside, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and almost congratulating himself with his impending escape. But the stag had disappeared and in its place was a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He was frozen to the spot and impotent with fear. A mental haze descended over his senses.

Like the draining grains of sand in an hour glass, every second brought him closer to the time he would have to enter the sea. He tried not to stare at the water – the aquatic Medusa, turning him to jelly rather than stone. He crept further up the metal ladder until he could go no further, but finally he found a discarded lifejacket hooked onto the metal railing. He slipped it over his quivering body and for a brief moment he relished his morsel of good fortune. A degree of clarity returned to his brain. His breath quickened on conceding that the jump could not be put off any longer. He needed to swim clear of the vessel and find a lifeboat, or face going under with the ship.

His eyes settled on the surface of the sea for one last time. He could see a clear patch of green water. His body began to shake, but as if drawn to the water by an invisible force, he leapt forward with his eyes shut and his legs tucked up under his chin. The fall lasted little more than a second. He smacked the surface of the water so hard, his buttocks and thighs felt like they had been struck with a bull whip. He was submerged and his weight carried him downwards. The coldness of the water gripped every muscle in his body, stiffening him to the verge of paralysis. His bones felt as if they were about to fracture. For a brief moment, he thought he could hear the stifled sounds of other passengers thrashing somewhere in the water, and then the buoyancy of the lifejacket carried him back to the surface.

Finally, his head broke the surface of the water and once more he felt the cold wind on his face. He dragged deep breaths of air into his lungs and kicked back his legs until he gained some stability. He treaded water for a moment, remaining afloat until he came to his senses. He swam, slowly at first, but in no specific direction, more out of an instinct to move, if only to keep his heart pumping. He came upon a piece of wreckage and clung to it, allowing his teeth to chatter uncontrollably in-between catching his breath. And then, a glimpse of something new. His heart began to race. Piercing through the mist, the bright orange image of a life raft, the pulse of the ocean making it rise and fall in the white tipped swells. A feeling of hesitancy engulfed him. He trembled at the prospect of his energy sapping and drowning midway as he swam to his salvation. At last, he sucked in a deep breath, let go of the floating debris and swam. His pace was slow and cumbersome through the rising and falling swells. He struggled to keep a steady course. He pulled himself through the cold sea, his hands clawing at the water and his legs thrusting back, until a large wave swamped him.

Salt stung his eyes and for a moment his vision was impaired. He stopped, treading water for a while. The sea rotated him. His eyelids closed over. He blinked repeatedly until the burning sensation passed. When he regained his vision, he had lost sight  of the raft. Time seemed to stretch, seconds passed like minutes, the minutes like hours. He turned his head rapidly, desperately trying to relocate the raft. His guts twisted with the sensation of despair and the disintegration of all hope, but finally the raft reappeared, observed in snapshots through the oscillating motion of the sea. Moreover, to his elation, the raft appeared closer this time. After a final lung bursting effort, it was only a few metres from his floundering body. At last, he managed to put one exhausted hand on the grab rope and using the last of his strength, he held on, floating like a rag doll.

With every heartbeat his veins had permeated with adrenalin, mitigating the effects of the cold Atlantic Ocean, but now his semi-naked body had stopped shivering and he started to become drowsy. He heard excited voices from within the raft. It sounded like the survivors were scared and panicking, but he was cheered by the resonance of human voices. He felt a surge of optimism growing from somewhere deep down inside. Using his final reserve of strength, he clambered around to the entrance of the raft. He forced his head through the aperture, hauled up his torso and dragged his bare legs onto the platform.

Struggling to catch his breath, he crawled to the far side of the raft and crumbled to a heap on the plastic floor. His body was spent and flaccid. His purple lips were pressed against the synthetic rubber of the inflated pontoon, and when he broke from his loving embrace, he surveyed his new found inner sanctum. Under the canopy of the life-raft, everything was bathed in a soft orange glow, giving the illusion of warmth, but he was still cold and wet. Once more, he shivered uncontrollably. Through nebulous eyes, he surveyed the inner sanctum of the raft. There appeared only to be two survivors onboard, both men. One brandished a nasty cut to the head and was unconscious. The other was moving towards him with a silver foil blanket and introducing himself with a number of questions. He ignored him, but he noticed the same look of apprehension in the man’s eyes that reflected his own fears. The man persisted ranting in his face.

“Are there any other survivors? The man said, “How long were you in the water? What happened to your clothes? What’s your name?”

He held up a weak hand in protest. “Bull, my name is Bull,” came the reply to the last question.

Chapter 3: The Lovers' Whirlwind

2033 Three years earlier

The live music and political statements at the Kelvin Grove,
Peoples Climate Festival
made little impression on Bull. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the planet’s changing climate, the plight of millions of starving people, their once arable land being tuned to desert, their aquifers contaminated by the floods or their homes being washed away. At that moment in time, he was more preoccupied by the unwanted attentions of a bumble bee. He was aware that the bee was an endangered species, and in a curious way, he felt privileged by the attention, but after such a prolonged attack the time had come to kill the insect. Bull thrashed out, his hands and feet flaying at his assailant like an oversized ninja. He ignored protests from horrified onlookers, they, he thought, appeared more concerned with preserving the bee’s life and not his wellbeing.

When the insect finally left he became aware of a woman standing next to him. She was wearing a long black coat and knee-length boots. She was laughing. Her attention seemed to be captured by the digitalised image on his t-shirt - a basket of cute puppy dogs. Underneath the illustration was a statement which she read out loud, “Every time you fail to recycle, God drowns a puppy.
”
The woman laughed again and shouted above the noise of the cheering crowds and loud amplified music. She pointed to the image displayed along his gut.  “You can’t be serious, did you print that?” Bull pretended he was unable to hear her over the loud music, and that he had misread the words emanating from her full red lips. He said,

“I’m just big boned, I wouldn’t say I’m fat,” shouted Bull, adopting an insulted posture. The woman shook her head and replied,

“No, I didn’t say you were fat,” shouted the woman again, pointing to the lower part of his torso, “I said did you print this?” Once more he pretended not to hear her.

“The toilets are over there but have you seen the queues for the cubicles? They are really long. I would just hold off, if I were you.”

“No you misunderstand me,” bawled the woman, screaming at the top of her voice, “I didn’t say I needed a piss!”

The last word left her mouth just as the band abruptly ended their song, and immediately before the inevitable sound wave of rapturous applause. A hardcore group of fans momentarily singled her out as the source of the expletive. She looked bewilderedly at Bull and then she caught a glimpse of an impish smile, and realised that he had been toying with her. She laughed and then said with a smile,

“Hi, my name is Saffron. That was a mean trick you just played.”

Throughout the evening, various environmental campaigners made speeches, bands came and went and people queued to sign the Green Covenant, proclaiming themselves as Green Covenanters and wear the green bracelet on their wrists. Bull and Saffron swayed in time to the music, side by side and occasionally taking furtive sideways glances at each other. At the end of the concert a spokesman for the Green Movement entered the stage. She had a message to tell the leaders of the world, and taking a microphone in her hand she said,

“Enough is enough. We, the peoples of the world demand systemic change before you destroy the planet’s ecosystems and resources. Join with me today and tomorrow, we will start a revolution!” The crowd cheered and then jeered as a
Snatch Squad
moved in to arrest a boy on the fringe of the crowd.

Bottles, sticks and rocks rained down on the police lines. The crowd went into a euphoric uproar as the police retreated, and then the throng stopped to gaze at the digitalised fog emerging above their heads. Harrowing images the starving and the dying flashed across the sky. These were followed by snapshots of laughing city financiers smoking cigars and drinking champagne. Satellite images of other protest events across the world appeared. The crowd cheered again. In the distance, the police lines had reformed and steadily they moved back towards the crowd. Bull turned to Saffron and said, “All this talk about famine is making me hungry. Do you want to go and get something to eat?” Saffron looked at him reproachfully. Then seeing another mischievous smile, she laughed.