We Float Upon a Painted Sea
one enchanted evening

Bull woke to the sound of a ditty. Through opaque eyes he observed Andrew lying back on the pontoon and working the hand-inflator. Andrew’s lips were puckered as he whistled. Noticing Bull had stirred from his sleep Andrew said,

“Do you swim?” Bull examined his surroundings. He was overcome with a sense of disbelief. He was still on the raft and not enmeshed in a bad dream. He raised his hand, protecting his eyes from the glare of the sun filtering through the orange canopy. There was a fetid smell inside the life raft. It made his gut wrench. Finally he replied,

“Why are we sinking? Andrew sighed,

“No, we’re not sinking, you fool. I’m just making polite conversation but…” Bull interrupted,

“And calling someone a fool is your idea of making polite conversation.” Andrew grimaced,

“It’s just a turn of phrase. My apologies. Anyway, I didn’t ask if you can swim, I know you can swim. Even a dog can swim. I asked do you swim, say, competitively or for enjoyment, back home, wherever that part of the world may be.”

“I can do a couple of lengths of my virtual swimming pool.”

“Virtual swimming isn’t real swimming.”

“It feels real enough when you’re hooked up to the hardware.”

“Still, you can’t substitute the feel of the water against your skin or the sensation of weightlessness as you glide through the water.”

“You’ve obviously never tried VR have you?”

“Several times. Military simulations. I’ve never used it for leisure. It makes me feel queasy.”

“I have the same affliction with the sea. If I’m going to swim, the sea would be my last choice.” The first waking exchanges were becoming predictable, thought Bull. Andrew would force a pathetic smile and commence his verbal ramble, impatient to release the mental pressure building as Bull slept. Andrew said,

“Weren’t you scared of drowning when the ship capsized?”

“I was petrified. Weren’t you?”

“I’ve been trained to deal with fear and to channel my emotions. I was an officer in the army.”

“You said. So why did you leave.”

“I was medically discharged, but this isn’t about my military past.”

“What is it about then?”

“After my M.D, I joined the Territorials as a training officer.”

“I’ve never met anyone from the T.A. but then again I only socialise at weekends.”

“We didn’t just train at the weekend you know, but I suspect you already knew that and were just being facetious again. We saw action in Sudan.”

“You want kudos for fighting in another oil war?”

“We didn’t invade counties for their oil. We liberated the people from oppression and gave them democracy.” Bull rolled his eyes and said,

“Liberating their natural resources you mean and installing puppet governments dependent on the global corporations. Democracy with conditions. Funny how we only liberate countries with vast reserves of natural resources like oil?”

“I take it you don’t drive a car or fly or use electricity or wear waterproof clothing or anything else made from oil derivatives?” Bull looked down at his improvised sarong and stated,

“As you can see I’m into natural fabrics.” Andrew groaned,

“Without oil, the world would grind to a halt. Is that what you want?”

“Oil is the putrid fucking diseased lifeblood of the world and humans have become hydrocarbon junkies.” Andrew gazed at the green plastic bracelet on Bull’s arm. He said,

“I see you are a Covenanter.”

“What if I am? I can see you’re a Denier.”

“I can see the subject upsets you.”

“Yes, since the Change I have become a touch ratty. Perhaps the systematic destruction of the environment does make me a little uptight. I would have hoped one day, if I ever had children, they would be born into a better fucking world than this.”

“There are better ways to relieve your stress than using profanity.”

“Don’t I fucking know it, and if you weren’t on this boat I would indulge in a few of them.”

“The world economy revolves around energy and fossil fuels. It’s a fact of life you cannot deny. You all use fossil fuels but you still run the industry down. I don’t understand your kind.”

“I wouldn’t imagine you could. You Deniers are myopic, you can only see as far as the next financial year. And don’t talk to me about consuming fossil fuels. Choices are limited by design, for economic reasons. We don’t opt for oil or gas or methane hydrate, we have little choice.”

“It’s a natural resource God has given us to use.”

“Are you using God to justify mankind’s recklessness?” The raft fell silent with the exception of the rain pelting the canopy and the waves lapping against the pontoon. Bull picked up the bailer and toyed with it. Finally Andrew said,

“I can see where this conversation is going and I refuse to be dragged there. Let’s just agree to disagree and leave it at that shall we?”

“As you wish, Sherlock.”

The life raft drifted aimlessly, the wind and ocean currents wrestling to take control of its direction. From the aperture, they gazed out to the vast and featureless expanse of wilderness. In the distance, the twisted vestiges of an abandoned oil rig, its frame shattered by the wave. Its pillars decaying in the ocean, like the carcass of a once colossal animal. At one point they thought they had spotted land but the excitement was quelled when the contour changed shape and dispersed. Both men took turns to check on Malcolm’s condition. They drizzled freshwater into his mouth on a regular basis. Blood oozed from under his dressing, trickling down his back and discolouring the stagnant water collecting on the floor of the raft. Andrew changed Malcolm’s bandages using the last piece of the shredded cotton skirt and a sanitary towel from the suitcase. Andrew threw the soiled bandages overboard after Bull complained of the pungent odour. Flies, attracted by the faint whiff of blood, relentlessly dive-bombed them. Andrew swatted several of them and arranged them on the palm of his hand. He said,

“We may be forced to eat these when the bannock cake and prunes run out.” Bull shuddered,

“Flies are food for arachnids and reptiles, not humans.”

“Some African tribes make patties out of flies and bake them. Apparently they’re good.”

“Good, compared to what? It comes back to choice again. I would say if they are eating flies it’s because there are few alternatives. You eat flies. I’d rather starve.”

“If I could make some tackle, we could fish. We would have to eat any catch raw.”

“There’s not a lot of fish left in the sea. You might be wasting your time.”

“Don’t be a drama queen. There’s plenty fish in the sea.”

“Have you been living in a cave Sherlock? Have you not heard of changes in the marine environment? Changes in acidification? Temperature? Salinity?”

“Bollocks! Fish just migrate to more amiable conditions.”

“Commercial fishing has depleted stocks the world over, vacuuming up wild fish to make fishmeal for more profitable farmed species. It’s the same with meat. We’ve messed around with the ecosystem so much livestock viruses and diseases have become endemic. I’m no expert but even fodder crops are blighted due to fungal pathogens or parasites in the soil or the damp conditions. And our water supplies are contaminated with agricultural toxins, just so we can have cheap meat. And where are we now? Resorted to eating lab-grown crap?”

“I would have thought laboratory protein was more to your taste. Your lot are always banging on about animal rights. This way no animal suffered and there’s no pressure on the environment.”

“Your lot? You mean people that care about animal rights? It’s all us and them with you isn’t it? If you must know, I’m rather partial to real food. I’ve got no problem with the killing of livestock for food, as long as they are treated with respect while they are alive.”

“So, you’ve killed an animal for the dinner table then. At last we have something in common.”

“Not as such, but I’m content with the principle of it.”

“How noble. So as long as someone else does the killing for you?”

“We all have our jobs to do. You kill, I eat.”

Bull unzipped the aperture and gazed into the sea, wondering if there were fish below the surface other than the jellyfish he could see. He looked out to the horizon for signs of land. Nothing. The sun was nestling somewhere behind the grey clouds and the night was coming. He sat back against the pontoon and started reading the diary he had found in the suitcase. He chuckled to himself until he became bored with the rambling of a frustrated suburban housewife. Eventually he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Andrew continued to bail water and pump the hand-held inflator. When he was satisfied the pontoons were fully inflated, he zipped up the aperture and settled down for an evening under the orange dome. The temperature was plummeting and it wasn’t long before Bull was awake again. His dreams had been unsettling. He tried to speak but the hunger pains re-emerged and his words dissolved in his mouth. He had no idea of the time. Andrew passed him a prune and a slice of bannock cake and said,

“I’ve created a rota for the duties onboard the life raft, including bailing, inflating the pontoons and keeping lookout. You’ve been sleeping most of the day so you’re on first watch tonight.”

“What about him?” Said Bull pointing to Malcolm. Andrew sighed heavily,

“Another one of your tasteless jibes I take it?” Andrew passed Bull half a tennis ball of Talisker whisky. Bull said,

“Not having one yourself?”

“I don’t drink. Well not anymore.”

They sat in silence. Later, Bull looked directly into Andrew’s eyes and said,

“Cold isn’t it Sherlock?” Andrew considered asking Bull to stop calling him Sherlock, but he suspected this would only encourage him .Never stoop, he thought. Andrew snorted,

“I think at this time of year the northern winds haven’t started to blow down from the Arctic, so it can get a wee bit colder than this. I was in Caithness with the Territorials once and…”

“You don’t think we could catch hypothermia do you, particularly after drinking this alcohol? I don’t mind admitting it’s made my head a wee bit light and dizzy.”

“It’s not a disease you know. Hypothermia is a condition when core body temperature falls below 35.0 °C. Alcohol can bring it on but I think with only a cup full, we’re fine.”

“So we couldn’t catch it off each other then?” said Bull playfully.

“No,” replied Andrew, “As I said it’s a condition, it’s not an infectious disease.” Bull tried to smile but his lips quaked. Bull look directly into Andrew’s eyes. He said,

“You seem to know lots about this type of thing - survival stuff, I mean. So you’ve done a lot of survival training soldier boy?”

“I told you, I was in Special Forces before joining the Territorial Army as a Field Instructor.”

“Yes, you said before, I remember. So if I contracted hypothermia, what methods would you use to revive me?” Andrew sat up and rubbed the stubble on his chin with the back of his hand.

“There are three ways to tackle hypothermia - active core warming.”

“Like hot drinks? Well unfortunately that option is out. What else?”

“Active external warming such as chemical heat packs or Bear Hugger blankets…”

“We lost those during the sinking, so what else?” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“If my memory serves me right the other method is passive external re-warming, which simply involves sharing body heat with… Good God!” Bull stretched his arms back behind his head and yawned seductively, like an unbridled enchantress. His foil blanket slipped from his shoulders and his fur coat slid open, showing an ample wedge of white fleshy midriff. Andrew coughed feebly and zipped his Swazi anorak closer around his neck. He backed away averting Bull’s alluring eyes, recoiling in disgust and rigid with homophobic paranoia. Bull’s voice shifted to a slower and huskier tone. He said,

“It’s the second law of thermal dynamics - heat transfer between two bodies. We could see it as a scientific experiment.”

“That would be a last resort. I’m not experimenting anything with you.” Andrew shifted uneasily. “I was just teasing you. Christ you’re stiff!” said Bull laughing. Andrew glared at him and snarled,

“You think this is funny? Being permanently wet, cold, starving, uncomfortable and sore? Drifting aimlessly in the North Atlantic with a seriously injured man? Well, I’m not laughing. I’m constantly inflating the pontoons and bailing out bloody putrid water with a brazier cup for a bailer while you sleep, purring like a kitten!”

“I’m just trying to keep our spirits up and boost morale with some light banter, that’s all. Keep your hair on. I used to work in the Arctic so I know a thing or too about hypothermia. I was just testing you. I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.” Andrew regained his composure. He asked,

“What were you doing in the Arctic?” Bull’s grin slid from his face.

“It’s a long story. Maybe another time.”

They spent what was left of the evening taking turns bailing, re-inflating the pontoons and checking on Malcolm’s condition. Bull opened the suitcase and changed his head attire. He picked out a white woollen bobble hat with ear flaps, and using Andrew’s multi-tool he made some adjustments, so it would fit over his large cranium. Andrew’s mood was sullen. He fidgeted awkwardly against the pontoon. Finally, he said,

“I need to get some sleep. Wake me if you see a ship.” Bull sat by the aperture scanning the horizon for ships. Later, he returned to reading the diary from the suitcase, occasionally emitting a little chortle, until the last of the light faded.

When Andrew woke, it was dark and Bull was asleep. He considered the uncertainty of their future and reflected on their fate, deciding the only crumbs of comfort were for the moment, they had drinking water, meagre food rations, clothing and shelter. He had read somewhere it was possible, with a strong will, to survive up to six weeks without food. He shuddered at the thought of enduring the effects of muscle wasting. He decided if they were going to survive he had to set his mind on catching fish. He took up his place at the aperture and spent most of the night looking for passing ships.

At first light Andrew got to work rigging up fishing tackle. From the side pocket of the suitcase he withdrew a chiffon nightdress. He unravelled the nylon stitching and spun it to make a leader, to which he attached a fish hook, fashioned from a drop earring. He embellished the hook with a small piece of tinfoil he unwrapped from a piece of gum. Andrew considered the invaluable nature of women’s sundries and how useful they could prove to be in a survival situation. He contemplated on the contents of a woman’s cosmetics bag and how one had a mirror for signalling, a nail file for sharpening hooks, scissors for cutting tasks and sanitary towels for field dressings. With a woman’s accessories, combined with his know-how, the perfect survival expert could be created.

Andrew studied Bull’s sleeping form on the far side of the raft. He extracted the scissors from his multi-tool, leant over and cut a lock of Bull’s hair. Using tweezers and thread, he tied the human hair behind the eye of the fish hook. When he was finished, he held the lure aloft and satisfied with his mornings work, he chortled to himself, wondering how long it would take until Bull realised a sizeable hank of his hair had been removed.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.