Warm Waters, Chapter 5

He realised he had fallen asleep. It might have been no more than a minute. He woke with a start and a splash. Had he not been wearing the rubber suit, he might have gone down. How long had he slept? The sky was still black. A silver glimmer had been persistently lining the hem of the night to the east. It wasn’t much, but it was painting every contour in a paler shade than the background. He could see the silhouette of the boat almost as if it was traced in chalk.

‘I thought you were gone then’ said the man on board.

The man in the water was still recovering from the rush of blood of his deadly fright. He looked towards the face of the man on board with an odd expression. He realised that, for a moment, he hadn’t remembered where he was.

‘You look lost.’ said the man on board. ‘I think it’s started.’

The man in the water felt the stab of cold like a punch. He was ravenous and fiercely thirsty. He had his arms around himself and had to force them to stay close, or else they waived and wagged wildly. The muscles in his legs contracted painfully. He wanted to reply to the man on board. He wanted to say “no it hasn’t started. The trembling hasn’t stopped. My body hasn’t given up already”. But he doubted he could articulate more than a few words. And it was such a wretched shame. He had so many things to say. This is a miserable way to die, he wanted to say. And so absurd.

‘Why... you... doing this.’ he said instead. His jaw shook and sounded like the machines they use to drill the streets. His chest was aching.

‘If I haven’t told you yet, what makes you think I will now.’

Because this is the end, he thought. Because there’s nowhere to hide.

‘You... want... to.’ he dared him instead.

‘What if this is a hit?’ suggested the man on board. ‘What if somebody paid for this?’

He shook his head vehemently. He realised he only had to think about the movement and the inertia from trembling did the rest.

‘Personal. You. Me’ he said. This is personal, he meant.

The man on board smiled. It’s already clear enought to see him smiling, thought the man in the water.

‘So what have you done to me to deserve this.’ The man on water had a soft tone, almost gentle.

‘You... tell... me!’ The man in the water realised he was gargling rather than speaking. He could almost feel the sounds forming deep within his throat.

The man on board took that air about him, pondering, peripathetic, that the man in the water had begun to identify and crave. It made him think of an all professor wandering around the cloisters of an old building, his head down, deep inside some complex and beautiful thought. You can talk to an old professor. You can reason with him. An old professor has a soul.

‘Wouldn’t it be great if I had a reason. A childhood trauma, perhaps. Something I haven’t managed to overcome. Something you could perhaps try and help me with, help me get some kind of closure. Wouldn’t it be great that you and me could talk now, man to man, and resolve this.’ His rugged seaman’s hand rubbed his chin, his short, curly beard producing a sound crisp as a razor in the absolute silence of dawn.

The man in the water shook his head up and down. It would be great, he was saying. You can’t covey sarcasm with forceful nods, but even if he could, he wasn’t sure he’d wanted to.

The man on board looked towards the growing silver stripe on the horizon, still rubbing his chin.

‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do.’ He said at last. ‘Let’s play spot the trauma.’

The man in the water must have looked puzzled. The man on board elaborated.

‘I will tell you three stories.’ He explained. ‘And if you guess which one is true...’ he waivered for a second. ‘Yeah, why not,’ he told himself. ‘If you guess which one is true, I’ll get you out. I’ll reheat you and take you to land safe and sound. I’ll let you live.’

The man in the water must have looked positively suspicious, but nothing could deny his blood was rushing through his veins and something warm and cozy had started to bring a sort of life to his exhausted limbs. You could call it adrenaline, or even hope.

‘Do you accept?’ said the man on board, rather unnecessarily.

The man in the water was looking for the catch, until he realised it was absurd. What do I have to lose?, he told himself. He nodded forcefully again.

The man on board smiled broadly and warmly. Bathed in that bone-white light of dawn, he looked like a spectre.

‘Alright then. The first story.’