i slept in fits that night. shortly before sunrise i gave uptrying to fall asleep again and lifted myself on an elbow. i spiedwith my little eye a tiger. richard parker was restless. he wasmoaning and growling and pacing about the lifeboat. it wasimpressive. i assessed the situation. he couldn't be hungry. orat least not dangerously hungry. was he thirsty? his tonguehung from his mouth, but only on occasion, and he was notpanting. and his stomach and paws were still wet. but theywere not dripping wet. there probably wasn't much water leftin the boat. soon he would be thirsty.
i looked up at the sky. the cloud cover had vanished. butfor a few wisps on the horizon, the sky was clear. it would beanother hot, rainless day. the sea moved in a lethargic way, asif already exhausted by the oncoming heat.
i sat against the mast and thought over our problem. thebiscuits and the fishing gear assured us of the solid part ofour diet. it was the liquid part that was the rub. it all camedown to what was so abundant around us but marred by salt.
i could perhaps mix some sea water with his fresh water, but ihad to procure more fresh water to start with. the cans wouldnot last long between the two of us – in fact, i was loath toshare even one with richard parker – and it would be foolishto rely on rainwater.
the solar stills were the only other possible source ofdrinkable water. i looked at them doubtfully. they had beenout two days now. i noticed that one of them had lost a littleair. i pulled on the rope to tend to it. i topped off its conewith air. without any real expectation i reached underwater forthe distillate pouch that was clipped to the round buoyancychamber. my fingers took hold of a bag that was unexpectedlyfat. a shiver of thrill went through me. i controlled myself. aslikely as not, salt water had leaked in. i unhooked the pouchand, following the instructions, lowered it and tilted the still sothat any more water from beneath the cone might flow into it.
i closed the two small taps that led to the pouch, detached itand pulled it out of the water. it was rectangular in shape andmade of thick, soft, yellow plastic, with calibration marks on oneside. i tasted the water. i tasted it again. it was salt-free.
"my sweet sea cow!" i exclaimed to the solar still. "you'veproduced, and how! what a delicious milk. mind you, a littlerubbery, but i'm not complaining. why, look at me drink!"i finished the bag. it had a capacity of one litre and wasnearly full. after a moment of sigh-producing, shut-eyedsatisfaction, i reattached the pouch. i checked the other stills.
each one had an udder similarly heavy. i collected the freshmilk, over eight litres of it, in the fish bucket. instantly thesetechnological contraptions became as precious to me as cattleare to a farmer. indeed, as they floated placidly in an arc, theylooked almost like cows grazing in a field. i ministered to theirneeds, making sure that there was enough sea water insideeach and that the cones and chambers were inflated to justthe right pressure.
after adding a little sea water to the bucket's contents, iplaced it on the side bench just beyond the tarpaulin. with theend of the morning coolness, richard parker seemed safelysettled below. i tied the bucket in place using rope and thetarpaulin hooks on the side of the boat. i carefully peeked overthe gunnel. he was lying on his side. his den was a foul sight.
the dead mammals were heaped together, a grotesque pile ofdecayed animal parts. i recognized a leg or two, variouspatches of hide, parts of a head, a great number of bones.
flying-fish wings were scattered about.
i cut up a flying fish and tossed a piece onto the sidebench. after i had gathered what i needed for the day fromthe locker and was ready to go, i tossed another piece overthe tarpaulin in front of richard parker. it had the intendedeffect. as i drifted away i saw him come out into the open tofetch the morsel of fish. his head turned and he noticed theother morsel and the new object next to it. he lifted himself.
he hung his huge head over the bucket. i was afraid hewould tip it over. he didn't. his face disappeared into it, barelyfitting, and he started to lap up the water. in very little timethe bucket started shaking and rattling emptily with each strikeof his tongue. when he looked up, i stared him aggressively inthe eyes and i blew on the whistle a few times. hedisappeared under the tarpaulin.
it occurred to me that with every passing day the lifeboatwas resembling a zoo enclosure more and more: richardparker had his sheltered area for sleeping and resting, his foodstash, his lookout and now his water hole.
the temperature climbed. the heat became stifling. i spentthe rest of the day in the shade of the canopy, fishing. itseems i had had beginner's luck with that first dorado. icaught nothing the whole day, not even in the late afternoon,when marine life appeared in abundance. a turtle turned up, adifferent kind this time, a green sea turtle, bulkier andsmoother-shelled, but curious in the same fixed way as ahawksbill. i did nothing about it, but i started thinking that ishould.
the only good thing about the day being so hot was thesight the solar stills presented. every cone was covered on theinside with drops and rivulets of condensation.
the day ended. i calculated that the next morning wouldmake it a week since the tsimtsum had sunk.
