dawn came and matters were worse for it. because now,emerging from the darkness, i could see what before i hadonly felt, the great curtains of rain crashing down on me fromtowering heights and the waves that threw a path over meand trod me underfoot one after another.
dull-eyed, shaking and numb, one hand gripping the raincatcher, the other clinging to the raft, i continued to wait.
sometime later, with a suddenness emphasized by the silencethat followed, the rain stopped. the sky cleared and the wavesseemed to flee with the clouds. the change was as quick andradical as changing countries on land. i was now in a differentocean. soon the sun was alone in the sky, and the ocean wasa smooth skin reflecting the light with a million mirrors.
i was stiff, sore and exhausted, barely grateful to be stillalive. the words "plan number six, plan number six, plannumber six" repeated themselves in my mind like a mantraand brought me a small measure of comfort, though i couldn'trecall for the life of me what plan number six was. warmthstarted coming to my bones. i closed the rain catcher. iwrapped myself with the blanket and curled up on my side insuch a way that no part of me touched the water. i fell asleep.
i don't know how long i slept. it was mid-morning when iawoke, and hot. the blanket was nearly dry. it had been abrief bout of deep sleep. i lifted myself onto an elbow.
all about me was flatness and infinity, an endless panoramaof blue. there was nothing to block my view. the vastness hitme like a punch in the stomach. i fell back, winded. this raftwas a joke. it was nothing but a few sticks and a little corkheld together by string. water came through every crack. thedepth beneath would make a bird dizzy. i caught sight of thelifeboat. it was no better than half a walnut shell. it held on tothe surface of the water like fingers gripping the edge of a cliff.
it was only a matter of time before gravity pulled it down.
my fellow castaway came into view. he raised himself ontothe gunnel and looked my way. the sudden appearance of atiger is arresting in any environment, but it was all the moreso here. the weird contrast between the bright, striped, livingorange of his coat and the inert white of the boat's hull wasincredibly compelling. my overwrought senses screeched to ahalt. vast as the pacific was around us, suddenly, between us,it seemed a very narrow moat, with no bars or walls.
"plan number six, plan number six, plan number six," mymind whispered urgently. but what was plan number six? ahyes. the war of attrition. the waiting game. passivity. lettingthings happen. the unforgiving laws of nature. the relentlessmarch of time and the hoarding of resources. that was plannumber six.
a thought rang in my mind like an angry shout: "you fooland idiot! you dimwit! you brainless baboon! plan number sixis the wont plan of all! richard parker is afraid of the searight now. it was nearly his grave. but crazed with thirst andhunger he will surmount his fear, and he will do whatever isnecessary to appease his need. he will turn this moat into abridge. he will swim as far as he has to, to catch the driftingraft and the food upon it. as for water, have you forgottenthat tigers from the sundarbans are known to drink salinewater? do you really think you can outlast his kidneys? i tellyou, if you wage a war of attrition, you will lose it! you willdie! is that clear?"
