Authors: Ben Mikaelsen
I AM NUMB
with anger as I look out across the still dark water. It is not fair that I should work so hard all day to make something that breaks so soon. The shell hook did not catch even one fish. Inside, I feel empty. Is the ocean playing with me the way a cat plays with a mouse before death?
“It is time for sleep,” I tell Angelina.
She does not argue, but her body is not ready for sleep. When she curls up beside me, she rolls and moves. For many hours, she keeps rolling and moving. Her little elbows and knees dig into my side like the coconuts and the handle of the paddle.
I try not to say angry words. “Lie very still so your doll can sleep,” I say.
“She is already sleeping,” Angelina whispers.
My body hurts and my eyes want to cry as we float
on the calm ocean. All through the night, I keep waking. It is hard to know when my thoughts are real or only dreams. Above me the moon hangs like a big tortilla. I do not know if I will ever stand on land and see this moon again.
It is still dark when a silent wind comes over the water to make the sail flap harder. The sail pole swings and bumps against the mast. Again waves rock the cayuco. The change is small and very gentle, so I sleep again. But when morning comes, the wind is strong enough to fill the sail. My head hurts as I yawn and try to think.
This is when I first see the movement. It is like the shadow of a cloud passing beside the cayuco, but there is no cloud above me. The shadow becomes darker. I look into the water and my breath stops.
I do not know the animals of the ocean well, so I do not know what is beside me. Uncle Ramos has shown me pictures of whales and sharks. The thing that glides beside me in the water is too big to be a shark, and I do not think it is a whale. The shadow comes closer to the cayuco, and then a fin breaks above the water. Now I can see the head, and it
is
a shark. This shark is bigger than any shark from even my dreams. The cayuco is almost seven meters long, and the shark is as long as two cayucos. I remember now Uncle Ramos telling me of these giant sharks.
The shark hangs beside me like it is thinking. One
eye looks at me. Now I too am thinking. Does the shark want to eat me? Maybe it waits to grow hungry. I decide I will not hit the shark with the paddle. I think a hungry shark is better than one that is angry.
I let my eyes look out across the water. The ocean makes me feel small because it is so big. As far as my eyes can see, there is only water, and this is only the top of the ocean. Below there is a world I do not know. This great animal that moves beside the cayuco is a part of that world. I know it can kill me if it wants, but today it does not kill me. Instead it moves its big tail two times and, like a shadow, it disappears into the black deep.
Angelina still sleeps. When she wakes, I will not tell her about the shark. There are many things I do not tell Angelina, because I do not think a child should be afraid. Until she wakes, I look at the map, and I look at the compass. Because there is no land, I can only guess where I am. Uncle Ramos has told me that sailors know where they are by the position of the stars. I do not know these things. All I know is that I am hungry.
This is how another day comes and goes. I make notch number thirteen. Angelina and I eat a little rice and one carrot, and we both take a bite of salted fish. Angelina tries to take a big bite. This little food and water will be all we eat today. I am afraid of the time when I must tell Angelina there is no more water or food.
All day the sun hangs above the cayuco and burns us. The wind and the waves grow, but today they are
not my enemy. Today my enemy is the hunger, the heat, and being alone. Also the sun and salt make more sores and blisters on our bodies. The blisters, some as big as my hand, bubble up and bleed. They leave ugly open wounds on our backs and arms and legs. The bleeding sores grow on our bodies and burn like fire when salt water wets them.
I give Angelina the last small piece of candy, but the taste does not last long in her mouth. She wants coconut milk. I shake my head. Angelina cries because she hurts, and so I use the coconut milk to wet her sores. I think it helps her. Or maybe it is only because that is what she believes.
Drunk with hunger and pain, we sail into the next night and into the next day. It is the afternoon of day number fourteen when clouds come to the sky. At last the sun cannot reach through the clouds to burn us. But these clouds are dark and reach down to stir the water with wind that beats the sail. I do not understand how yesterday the ocean slept, clear and flat and calm as the top of a table, but now it grows dark as the sky, with foam that spits at me.
The rain comes first, with big drops that hit my skin like hard beans. “Crawl under the deck,” I tell Angelina. The rain falls harder. Soon it is like being under a waterfall. I do not waste the rain. First I fill the water bottles and we drink. Then I tell Angelina, “Come, and we will wash.”
She shakes her head, but I pull her with a strong hand into the rain. Her dirty red dress is no more than a rag hanging from her shoulders now, but I let the rain wash it while I rub the sores that cover her arms and legs and body. I run my fingers through Angelina's matted hair. She takes deep breaths and screams, but she does not fight me. She knows that this will help her.
After I have cleaned Angelina, I do the same to my body. The pain when I rub salt from my open sores makes me close my eyes and bite my teeth. This is the same pain that made Angelina scream. I look at the bottles tied to her chest. It is best if they stay empty. The bottles I have filled will last for a few days if we are careful.
The wind stays strong, but because it pushes me from behind, I leave the sail up. The rest of this day and night, I do not sleep. Always the waves and wind try to turn the cayuco to the side. When I sail like this, I am not afraid of the waves that follow me and let me know when they are near. What scares me is the waves that travel alone. There are waves that come from any direction and do not warn me before they attack the cayuco. I think they come to kill. That is what tipped the cayuco before, and maybe that is what made the sail pole swing and hit me. All night I look out over the black water and wait for one of these killers.
When morning number fifteen comes, I am glad to make another notch. I look at all my notches. If the
cayuco does not reach the United States of America, how many more notches will I make before I die? My body grows weaker each day, and each day the ocean kills us a little more.
Today, day number fifteen, I know the food is almost gone. There are only two oranges, a little fish, and some rice for tomorrow and maybe the next day. Because we have water, I let Angelina eat coconut. But later, her hunger is even worse. She holds her stomach and cries. I hear the pain in her voice and know she will die if I cannot catch a fish.
Again I try to find something to make a hook. The nails used to build the cayuco are too big. I look over the barrel guard at the deck boards Enrique nailed on. These nails are also big, but I see two small nails he used near the mast.
I do not like climbing over the deck when the waves are big and I am weak. I start to tie a loose rope around my waist but then decide this can trip me. No, I have no choice. Staying alive does not mean I can always be safe. I need one of those nails. “Angelina, sit down and hold on to the side,” I say.
She sits, and I untie the machete from the cayuco. I do not dare lose the machete, so I tie it to my wrist. When I cannot see any big waves, I climb fast over the barrel guard and crawl on my knees to the mast. I dig at one of the small nails with the tip of the machete.
When each wave rolls past us, I wait to see if the
cayuco will keep straight for the next wave. If it turns, I climb back to the seat and paddle like a crazy person so that we do not tip. This is stupid what I am doing. If I fall into the water, I cannot stop the cayuco. It will sail away with Angelina faster than I can swim.
Each time I crawl forward over the deck, Angelina yells, “Come back!”
“I will!” I answer and dig faster around the nail. Again and again I crawl back to the seat when the cayuco turns. Finally the nail moves in the wood. My knees bleed and my arms are weak. I see a big wave coming, so I grab the top of the nail and pull hard. The nail cuts my fingers, but it twists free. I put the nail in my mouth as I climb back to the seat holding the machete.
The wave almost tips the cayuco on its side, but I am able to turn at the last moment. I take the small nail from my mouth and look at it. I have risked much for this little piece of metal. Now I must make a fishhook.
LIFE DOES NOT ALWAYS GIVE
a person a teacher when one is needed. That is what I am thinking when I look at the nail. Somehow a fishhook can be made, but how? I must find the answer inside of me. Even now my body wants to stop and my mind does not want to think. If I do not catch a fish by tomorrow, I will grow too weak to sail the cayuco.
I hit the back of the machete against the small piece of metal. It is hard to hold the nail against the seat between my legs. My fingers are numb. Even when the machete makes a deep cut in my thumb, I keep working. Blood covers my fingers, the nail, the machete, and drips onto the seat. Each time I hit with the machete, the nail turns in my fingers and digs into the wood. Once I drop the nail and think it is lost in the water, but I find it and keep hitting until the end bends around like a hook.
As I work, I keep looking up for the next wave. Angelina sits under the deck and watches me. She holds her doll by the leg.
When I work like this, I do not know how much time passes. I see nothing now except the nail, the machete, the paddle, and the next wave. This is all that exists in the world. And always my mouth is dry, and the truck motor echoes in my hurting head. Every move I make is because I am very scared. If I lose this nail, I am too weak to pull out another one. This I know.
Finally I have a hook but it is not sharp. To make it sharp, I need something hard to rub against the nail. Moving very slowly so I do not drop the nail, I rub the hook along the side of the machete. Soon the long blade is covered with blood but I keep rubbing. Angelina watches with dull, empty eyes.
All of my fingers bleed before the small hook is finally sharp. I sit and stare at the hook. My body is weak and needs food. I give Angelina a little bite of salted fish and half an orange. I eat the other half and also take a bite of the fish. When Angelina is not looking, I take another bite of the fish. I am bigger and must work harder. If I am not strong, we will both die.
The sky is dark when we drink water and finish our small meal. Because the sun has gone down, I will wait until morning to fish. I am so tired I cannot think. It would be too easy to drop the hook or line at night.
“I am still hungry,” Angelina cries.
“I am, too,” I say. I give Angelina another drink of water, but her tears do not stop.
I think this night is my longest night on the ocean. Other nights, each moment seemed to last an hour. Tonight, each moment seems to last the night, and each hour is a lifetime. My body grows so weak that I cannot hold back my tears.
Tonight, it is not enough to sit in the cayuco and wait for morning. Tonight, I fight each minute of darkness like my enemy. Each moment becomes a battle that is won or lost, and this night I do not dare lose even one battle. If I sleep, the ocean will try to kill me again. I decide that tomorrow morning, when I cut the notch for another day, the notch will be so big maybe the boat will fall in half. But cutting the notch in the cayuco is only a thought that keeps me awake. When morning light does find the sky, I am too weak to swing the machete.
Now I am like a dead person. When Angelina wakes up and looks at me, her eyes tell me she is scared of what she sees. I think it is good I cannot look into a mirror. My ribs poke out and I am smeared with blood from making the hook and from fighting a battle against the ocean. My body is covered with sores, and I think my eyes sink deep into my head. I try to smile, but all I can do is stare at Angelina with a hollow stare. My mind does not work right.
Today I need to be strong, so I eat the last of the dried fish with Angelina. I save only a little that I can
use for bait. I drink water and then take the small fishhook from my pocket. The line is wrapped around a stick that I have pushed under the seat where it cannot come loose.
I move with much care so that I do not make a mistake as I pull the end of the line through my fingers. The waves are still big, but they do not curl at the top. This morning the smell of salt is strong in my nose. I wrap the line around the head of the nail and tie a knot. The bait will hide the flat head.
When I am ready, there is no excitement, only the shaking of my hand. I am weak and scared. This is my last chance. Everything must be right or we will die. I pull a small piece of fish over the hook, then lower the line into the waves. I cannot see below the water because the ocean is not calm now. The waves are bigger, so I let the line sink more. This is what my mind thinks is right.
Now all I can do is look into Angelina's scared eyes and wait. She knows that what we do is very important. I hold the line out away from my body. Because the hook is smooth, it will let a fish come off if I do not keep the line tight.
A long time passes without a bite. Finally I rest my tired hand on the edge of the cayuco. Maybe the fish do not bite when the waves are high. Maybe they do not eat salted fish. Maybe the fish can see my hook and think I am a very stupid fisherman that does not know how to catch even a floating log. My mind thinks this way when
it is tired. I want to sleep.
Then the line pulls in my hand. I pull back hard, but there is no fish. Now my mind pushes sleep away, and I hold my hand back out. The next pull comes quickly. This time I do not jerk. I only pull to keep the hook holding the fish. It is not a very big fish, but I pull the line carefully, hand over hand, toward the cayuco.
I can see the small silver fish in the water. It is like a streak of light that races under the waves. I hold my breath and pull the fish toward me. In the air, it wiggles hard and falls free, back into the ocean. Before I can think, the fish is gone.
I want to cry. Why do I waste my time trying to fish? If I put the paddle at my feet and close my eyes, the cayuco will float sideways to the next big wave and the ocean will soon end my struggle and pain. But I see Angelina, and she stares at me. I am all that she has. She believes that I will save her.
I pull another small piece of salted fish over the hook and lower the line into the water. This time I wait much longer before a fish bites, but it is a bigger fish. Already I know what I will do when it comes close to the cayuco. I pull very carefully. When there is a flash of silver beside me, I give a hard pull toward the boat that brings the fish fast out of the water. The fish struggles and comes off the hook, but this time it lands in the bottom of the cayuco.
I want to shout and scream, but I am too weak. It takes all of my strength to pull in the fish line and place
it under the seat. I will fish more later, but now we must eat. My hands are clumsy when I hold the fish. I take the machete and chop the fish in the back of the neck. The body quivers, then the eyes become dull and it stops moving. I cut the head off. The fish drips blood. Angelina pulls on my arm so that I will squeeze fish blood into her small mouth.
Then I cut the fish and we eat. We do not stop eating until there is nothing left that a person can eat. We chew on the head and eat even the eyeballs. Then I take the machete and I cut another notch in the cayuco. There are sixteen notches now.
“You can catch a fish,” Angelina says, her words simple but strong.
“Yes, I can catch a fish,” I say. “We are hurt like the doll, but the ocean does not break us. We are strong like this little cayuco.”