There was something inside.
LeFleur felt his pulse quicken. He knew the protocol: owners of a vessel are to be notified before any lifeboat contents are disturbed. But that could take a long time. And hadn’t the owner died in the explosion? Hadn’t everyone died?
He looked back at Rom, who stood a good forty feet away, staring at the clouds. What the hell, LeFleur thought, his Sunday was already ruined.
He opened the flap and pulled the contents out a few inches. He blinked twice to make sure he was seeing correctly. There, sealed inside a plastic bag, were the remains of a notebook.
Sea
It is just after noon now. Our fourth day in this lifeboat. We have witnessed something highly unusual, Annabelle. It concerns the new arrival who claims to be the Lord. Perhaps I was wrong. There may be more to him than meets the eye.
Earlier this morning, Yannis was leaning on the raft’s edge, singing a Greek song. （He’s from Greece, an ambassador, I believe, even though he’s quite young.） Geri was doing her navigation charts. Mrs. Laghari was rubbing her temples, trying to relieve her constant headaches. Alice, the little girl, was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. She was staring at the new man, as she has done much of the time since his arrival.
Suddenly he rose and moved across the raft to Jean Philippe, who was praying over his wife, Bernadette. Both are Haitian. Good people. Upbeat. I met them that first morning in Cape Verde, when the crew boarded the Galaxy to await the guests. They told me they’d been cooking on big boats for years.
“We make the food too good, Benji!” Bernadette said, patting her belly. “We get fat!”
“Why did you leave Haiti?” I asked.
“Oh, hard life there, Benji, hard life,” she said.
“And you?” Jean Philippe asked me. “From where did you come?”
“Ireland, then America,” I said.
“Why did you leave?” Bernadette said.
“Oh, hard life there, Bernadette, hard life.”
We all laughed. Bernadette was often laughing. Her eyes made you feel welcome, and she would nod her head like a bobbing doll if you said something she agreed with. “Oh, cherie!” she’d intone. “You speak true!” But now she was unresponsive. She’d been badly injured escaping the yacht Friday night. Jean Philippe said she fell on the deck when the ship listed, and a large table crashed into her head and shoulders. She’s been slipping in and out of consciousness for the last twenty-four hours.
Were we at home, she’d be in a hospital for sure. But out here, adrift, you realize how often we take our placement on this Earth for granted.
The new man leaned over Bernadette. Jean Philippe watched, his eyes widening.
“Are you truly the Lord?”
“Do you believe I am?”
“Prove it. Let me speak to my wife again.”
I glanced at Yannis, who raised his eyebrows. How quickly we trust someone when the life of a loved one is threatened. All we really knew of this stranger was his wild claim, and that he’d wolfed down a package of peanut butter crackers.
Then I saw little Alice take Jean Philippe’s hand. The new man turned toward Bernadette and put his palms on her shoulder and forehead.
Just like that, her eyes opened.
“Bernadette?” Jean Philippe whispered.
“Cherie?” she whispered back.
“You did it,” Jean Philippe said to the Lord, his voice reverential. “You brought her back. Thank you, Bondyé! Bernadette! My love!”
I have never witnessed anything like that, Annabelle. One moment she was unconscious, the next she was awake and talking. The others began to stir and take notice. Geri poured Bernadette some water. Nina hugged her tightly. Even rigid old Mrs. Laghari seemed pleased, although she mumbled, “Someone must explain how this happened.”
“The Lord did it,” Nina said.
The new man smiled. Mrs. Laghari did not.
Eventually, we gave Bernadette and Jean Philippe their privacy and moved to the back of the raft. The stranger followed us. I studied his face. If this was a miracle, he was taking it in stride.
“What did you do to her?” I asked.
“Jean Philippe wished to speak to her again. Now he can.”
“But she was nearly dead.”
“The distance between death and life is not as great as you imagine.”
“Really?” Yannis turned his way. “Then why don’t people come back to Earth after they die?”
The stranger smiled. “Why would they want to?”
Yannis made a snorting noise. “Whatever.” Then he added: “But Bernadette, you healed her? She’s going to be good?”