Warm Waters, Chapter 3

When your eyes are so close to the water’s surface you can’t distinguish the path of light the setting sun burns on the horizon. If you look towards the west, all you see is light. The man in the water had his face in the sea, with his glasses and snorkel, pointing to where the sun fired up the ocean. The water in that direction was a jadish green, as if the bottom was close and made out of golden sands. White particles swam and flew all around him in a timeless dance that took his mind away. It was comforting. The man in the water wanted to keep soothing his eyes and his thoughts in that gorgeous green world that wrapped him and felt almost warm.

To the east, the water was already inking blue, reflecting the night that was already rising. Over his head, a nail-thin moon was suspended in a sky that was still pale. The evening star was already shining. Just where the night sky met the sea, there was a mysterious silver stripe made out of the spectral light of the stars reflected on the ocean. The man in the water feared that sight, and he feared the lead-grey sea underneath it, which was advancing from the night he feared to devour him. Once the sun had set, sea and sky would appear as one single nothingness, and then the nightmares of ravenous beasts emerging from the unthinkable abyss beneath him would turn from ridiculous to horrific.

He had been trying to ignore the atrocious trembling of his limbs for quite a while now. He knew they announced something he just could not bear to face. He was very cold. His teeth rattled with a mechanical constancy, completely oblivious to his will. It was as if his body was starting to abandon him. That’s how he felt: abandoned, unable to trust his own flesh, something he had always taken for granted. He had been going over the years of the French Revolution, matching names of countries with their capital cities. He checked the state of his mind. He realised that, once the confusion set in, it would mean that the countdown had began. But would he notice the first signs of his mind fleeting. Does the madman know he is going mad.

The sun had set. He took his face off the water. There was still clarity but the sea was dark. It was fearsome to look at. The man in the water looked to the boat. He met the eyes of the man on board. A strange greenish, silvery light surrounded them.

‘It must be scary out there’, said the man on board. ‘Are you scared?’

‘I’m dead scared.’ The man in the water struggled with his teeth that brattled like a shotgun.

‘I thought you might be. And are you cold?’ inquired clinically the captain.

‘I’m dead cold’ clattered the man in the water.

‘Not yet.’ said the man on board. ‘Is your mind going yet?’

‘No.’

‘It will soon. Not long now. I don’t think you’ll survive the night, even though this water is still stupidly warm.’

‘Stupidly.’ Clackety-clack.

‘You’ve got the word “scheme” written across your face.’ declared the captain.

‘What?’

‘A scheme, a plan, a strategy. You haven’t made your peace yet. You still think this cannot be the end of you. You’re waiting for your chance. Let me guess: you’ll wait until it’s pitch black. You’ll wait until no sounds have come from the boat for a while. You’ll put on your mask and snorkel, and you’ll swim as quietly as you can over here. You’ll climb up the platform and you’ll jump on top of me with your knife. Isn’t that exactly what you’re planning?’

The silence of the man in the water spoke volumes.

‘Not that I’m a mentalist, mind you. It’s just that, what else is there for you to try?’ The man on board sipped his can of soda carelessly. ‘I bet you think it’s a stupid question, but do yourself a favour and consider it for a second: have you though this through? I’m sure you’ve been tossing and turning it in your brain for hours, with your face in the water staring into oblivion, but, is it smart? Think about it. What are your chances? What are the chances of me really allowing that to happen? Do you reckon I will get tired and sloppy?’

The man in the water saw the man on board as a silhouette, a cut out in the dim yellow light on the cockpit. That small lamp cast more shadows than light. He couldn’t see the face of the man on board; he couldn’t read his serene, monotone voice.

‘Having said that, once you lay down on the bench and start gazing at the stars, and your brain tunes into the beating swoosh of the waves against the keel, your attention does slip off, your will waivers. Isn’t that what you found so interesting in the bottom of the sea a while ago? How it sucks you into a place where this situation, you and me and this petty murder, just stops being a matter of any importance? Is it then so senseless to think that I might be distracted when you try to approach? Or that I will hear you and ignore you? That my impulse will falter? Why not make it more interesting then.’


GRRANNNG! A peel and a splash. The man in the water jumped.

‘There you go. I lowered the ladder. Do you think you can make it that far? Even if I did hear you coming, I might not manage to start this old thing quickly enough. You heard it struggle this morning, an age of the world ago. And it is so dark out there. If you dived, I might just lose you completely. You could take me by surprise, appear where I don’t expect you. You might even have enough strength left in you to jump on the boat and on to my neck. Adrenaline works miracles. And motivation. Because this is true: this might be your last chance. If you think you’re cold now, imagine how cold you will be by dawn. If you are alive by then, that is.’

The man in the water shook violently in his alien, trembling flesh. A voice inside of him screamed, “of course I’ll be alive!”

‘Motivation, then, is something to take into account.’ continued the man on board. ‘But I had thought of that already.’

CRRRC! A rattle with a metallic echo, sharp as a blade. The man in the water gave a start.

‘You recognised this sound, didn’t you? You’ve heard it before in a million films. But wait a minute!’ The man on board took a theatrical tone. ‘Wait a minute! Did you hear it right? Is it a gun? How do you know what a gun sounds like in real life? I could be teasing you. Haven’t I been toying with you all day? Couldn’t it be some nautical shit? Or a rattle? Or a fucking nutcracker? Hell, for all you know, it could be fucking anything! Do you know the only way you have to find out what this is? Well, come closer and I’ll shoot you. I dare you. Perhaps it’s worth it though. People have been known to survive even a shot in the brain. I don’t know anybody who survived long enough to lead a boat back to port and get himself to a hospital, but who knows. And I might not even get your head. I might miss you altogether. And I may not want to shoot you anyway. Am I not obsessed with seeing you freeze to death after all? You’ve got a lot going for you, my friend. It might just be worth a try after all. So the question remains the same.’ A dramatic pause. ‘How insane am I. What am I doing. Why am I doing it. Why am I doing it to you. If only you knew more about all this, you might be able to take an informed decision. But you don’t. So as it is, whatever you decide is like taking a shot at a Russian Roulette. And all I have to do is watch.’

The words of the man on board circled round his head like a swarm of bees. He could almost see them, hear them buzz. He had an overpowering impulse to shake his hand in the air to disperse them. Instead, he let the white hot flow of hatred and fury warm him up, and bring life and strength to his wrinkly, cadaverous limbs. On that beautiful moment, he believed that hatred had made him invincible. He had absolutely no doubt at all he would survive to break the gloating in that man’s voice.

‘You want to kill me’ said the man on board, slowly, as if he was deciphering the waves of anger emanating from the man in the water through the salty darkness. ‘You might even think you would be able to do it, if you could have the chance. But it’s not easy, you know?, to kill a human being. You have to mean it. You have to mean it a lot.’