少年派的奇幻漂流 Chapter 78

Chapter 78

There were many skies. The sky was invaded by great white clouds, flat on the bottom but round and billowy on top. The sky was completely cloudless, of a blue quite shattering to the senses. The sky was a heavy, suffocating¹ blanket of grey cloud, but without promise of rain. The sky was thinly overcast². The sky was dappled with small, white, fleecy clouds. The sky was streaked³ with high, thin clouds that looked like a cotton ball stretched apart. The sky was a featureless milky⁴ haze⁵. The sky was a density⁶ of dark and blustery rain clouds that passed by without delivering rain. The sky was painted with a small number of flat clouds that looked like sandbars. The sky was a mere⁷ block to allow a visual effect on the horizon: sunlight flooding the ocean, the vertical⁸ edges between light and shadow perfectly⁹ distinct. The sky was a distant black curtain of falling rain. The sky was many clouds at many levels, some thick and opaque¹⁰, others looking like smoke. The sky was black and spitting rain on my smiling face. The sky was nothing but falling water, a ceaseless deluge¹¹ that wrinkled and bloated my skin and froze me stiff.

There were many seas. The sea roared like a tiger. The sea whispered in your ear like a friend telling you secrets. The sea clinked like small change in a pocket. The sea thundered like avalanches¹². The sea hissed¹³ like sandpaper working on wood. The sea sounded like someone vomiting¹⁴. The sea was dead silent.

And in between the two, in between the sky and the sea, were all the winds.

And there were all the nights and all the moons.

To be a castaway is to be a point perpetually at the centre of a circle. However much things may appear to change - the sea may shift from whisper to rage, the sky might go from fresh blue to blinding white to darkest black - the geometry never changes. Your gaze is always a radius¹⁵. The circumference¹⁶ is ever great. In fact, the circles multiply. To be a castaway is to be caught in a harrowing ballet of circles. You are at the centre of one circle, while above you two opposing circles spin about. The sun distresses¹⁷ you like a crowd, a noisy, invasive crowd that makes you cup your ears, that makes you close your eyes, that makes you want to hide. The moon distresses you by silently reminding you of your solitude¹⁸; you open your eyes wide to escape your loneliness. When you look up, you sometimes wonder if at the centre of a solar storm, if in the middle of the Sea of Tranquillity¹⁹, there isn't another one like you also looking up, also trapped by geometry, also struggling with fear, rage, madness, hopelessness, apathy²⁰.

Otherwise, to be a castaway is to be caught up in grim and exhausting opposites. When it is light, the openness of the sea is blinding and frightening. When it is dark, the darkness is claustrophobic. When it is day, you are hot and wish to be cool and dream of ice cream and pour sea water on yourself. When it is night you are cold and wish to be warm and dream of hot curries²¹; and wrap yourself in blankets. When it is hot, you are parched²² and wish to be wet. When it rains, you are nearly drowned and wish to be dry. When there is food, there is too much of it and you must feast. When there is none, there is truly none and you starve. When the sea is flat and motionless, you wish it would stir. When it rises up and the circle that imprisons²³ you is broken by hills of water, you suffer that peculiarity²⁴ of the high seas, suffocation²⁵ in open spaces, and you wish the sea would be flat again. The opposites often take place at the same moment, so that when the sun is scorching²⁶ you till you are stricken down, you are also aware that it is drying the strips of fish and meat that are hanging from your lines and that it is a blessing²⁷ for your solar stills. Conversely, when a rain squall is replenishing your fresh water supplies, you also know that the humidity will affect your cured provisions and that some will probably go bad, turning pasty and green. When rough weather abates²⁸, and it becomes clear that you have survived the sky's attack and the sea's treachery, your jubilation²⁹ is tempered by the rage that so much fresh water should fall directly into the sea and by the worry that it is the last rain you will ever see, that you will die of thirst before the next drops fall.

The worst pair of opposites is boredom³⁰ and terror. Sometimes your life is a pendulum³¹ swing from one to the other. The sea is without a wrinkle. There is not a whisper of wind. The hours last forever. You are so bored you sink into a state of apathy close to a coma³². Then the sea becomes rough and your emotions are whipped into a frenzy³³. Yet even these two opposites do not remain distinct. In your boredom there are elements of terror: you break down into tears; you are filled with dread³⁴; you scream; you deliberately³⁵ hurt yourself And in the grip of terror - the worst storm - you yet feel boredom, a deep weariness with it all.

Only death consistently excites your emotions, whether contemplating³⁶ it when life is safe and stale, or fleeing it when life is threatened and precious.

Life on a lifeboat isn't much of a life. It is like an end game in chess, a game with few pieces. The elements couldn't be more simple, nor the stakes higher. Physically³⁷ it is extraordinarily³⁸ arduous³⁹, and morally it is killing⁴⁰. You must make adjustments if you want to survive. Much becomes expendable. You get your happiness where you can. You reach a point where you're at the bottom of hell, yet you have your arms crossed and a smile on your face, and you feel you're the luckiest person on earth. Why? Because at your feet you have a tiny dead fish.

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