palate, neither too sweet nor too salty. They broke up under the teeth with a delightful crunching sound. Mixed with saliva, they made a granular paste that was enchantment to the tongue and mouth. And when I swallowed, my stomach had only one thing to say: Hallelujah!
The whole package disappeared in a few minutes, wrapping paper flying away in the wind. I considered opening another carton, but I thought better. No harm in exercising a little restraint. Actually, with half a kilo of emergency ration in my stomach, I felt quite heavy.
I decided I should find out what exactly was in the treasure chest before me. It was a large locker, larger than its opening. The space extended right down to the hull and ran some little ways into the side benches. I lowered my feet into the locker and sat on its edge, my back against the stem. I counted the cartons of Seven Ocean. I had eaten one; there were thirty-one left. According to the instructions, each 500-gram carton was supposed to last one survivor three days. That meant I had food rations to last me—31 X
3—93 days! The instructions also suggested survivors restrict themselves to half a litre of water every twenty-four hours. I counted the cans of water. There were 124. Each contained half a litre. So I had water rations to last me 124 days. Never had simple arithmetic brought such a smile to my face.
What else did I have? I plunged my arm eagerly into the locker and brought up one marvellous object after another. Each one, no matter what it was, soothed me. I was so sorely in need of company and comfort that the attention brought to making each one of these mass-produced goods felt like a special attention paid to me. I repeatedly mumbled,
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
CHAPTER 52
After a thorough investigation, I made a complete list:
192 tablets of anti-seasickness medicine
124 tin cans of fresh water, each containing 500 millilitres, so 62 litres in all 32 plastic vomit bags
31 cartons of emergency rations, 500 grams each, so 15.5 kilos in all 16 wool blankets
12 solar stills
10 or so orange life jackets, each with an orange, beadless whistle attached by a string 6 morphine ampoule syringes
6 hand flares
5 buoyant oars
4 rocket parachute flares
3 tough, transparent plastic bags, each with a capacity of about 50 litres
3 can openers
3 graduated glass beakers for drinking
2 boxes of waterproof matches
2 buoyant orange smoke signals
2 mid-size orange plastic buckets
2 buoyant orange plastic bailing cups
2 multi-purpose plastic containers with airtight lids
2 yellow rectangular sponges
2 buoyant synthetic ropes, each 50 metres long
2 non-buoyant synthetic ropes of unspecified length, but each at least 30 metres long 2 fishing kits with hooks, lines and sinkers
2 gaffs with very sharp barbed hooks
2 sea anchors
2 hatchets
2 rain catchers
2 black ink ballpoint pens
1 nylon cargo net
1 solid lifebuoy with an inner diameter of 40 centimetres and an outer diameter of 80
centimetres, and an attached rope
1 large hunting knife with a solid handle, a pointed end and one edge a sharp blade and the other a sawtoothed blade;
attached by a long string to a ring in the locker
1 sewing kit with straight and curving needles and strong white thread 1 first-aid kit in a waterproof plastic case
1 signalling mirror
1 pack of filter-tipped Chinese cigarettes
1 large bar of dark chocolate
1 survival manual
1 compass
1 notebook with 98 lined pages
1 boy with a complete set of light clothing but for one lost shoe 1 spotted hyena
1 Bengal tiger 1 lifeboat
1 ocean
1 God
I ate a quarter of the large chocolate bar. I examined one of the rain catchers. It was a device that looked like an inverted umbrella with a good-sized catchment pouch and a connecting rubber tube.
I crossed my arms on the lifebuoy around my waist, brought my head down and fell soundly asleep.
CHAPTER 53
I slept all morning. I was roused by anxiety. That tide of food, water and rest that flowed through my weakened system, bringing me a new lease on life, also brought me the strength to see how desperate my situation was. I awoke to the reality of Richard Parker.
There was a tiger in the lifeboat. I could hardly believe it, yet I knew I had to. And I had to save myself.
I considered jumping overboard and swimming away, but my body refused to move. I was hundreds of miles from landfall, if not over a thousand miles. I couldn't swim such a distance, even with a lifebuoy. What would I eat? What would I drink? How would I keep the sharks away? How would I keep warm? How would I know which way to go?