Chapter 69

On many nights I was convinced I saw a light in the distance. Each time I set off a flare. When I had used up the rocket flares, I expended the hand flares. Were they ships that failed to see me? The light of rising or setting stars bouncing off the ocean? Breaking waves that moonlight and forlorn hope fashioned into illusion? Whatever the case, every time it was for nothing. Never a result. Always the bitter emotion of hope raised and dashed. In time I gave up entirely on being saved by a ship. If the horizon was two and a half miles away at an altitude of five feet, how far away was it when I was sitting against the mast of my raft, my eyes not even three feet above the water? What chance was there that a ship crossing the whole great big Pacific would cut into such a tiny circle? Not only that: that it would cut into such a tiny circle and see me - what chance was there of that? No, humanity and its unreliable ways could not be counted upon. It was land I had to reach, hard, firm, certain land.

I remember the smell of the spent hand-flare shells. By some freak of chemistry they smelled exactly like cumin. It was intoxicating. I sniffed the plastic shells and immediately Pondicherry came to life in my mind, a marvellous relief from the disappointment of calling for help and not being heard. The experience was very strong, nearly a hallucination. From a single smell a whole town arose. (Now, when I smell cumin, I see the Pacific Ocean.)

Richard Parker always froze when a hand flare hissed to life. His eyes, round pupils the size of pinpricks, fixed on the light steadily. It was too bright for me, a blinding white centre with a pinkish red aureole. I had to turn away. I held the flare in the air at arm's length and waved it slowly. For about a minute heat showered down upon my forearm and everything was weirdly lit. Water around the raft, until a moment before opaquely black, showed itself to be crowded with fish.

第六十九章

    有许多夜晚，我确信自己看见了远处的灯光。每一次我都发射一枚照明弹。我用完了火箭式照明弹，又用完了手动式照明弹。那灯光是没有看见我的船只吗？是升起或降落的星星在海面上反射出的光吗？还是被月光和渺茫的希望变成了幻觉的碎浪？无论是什么，每次都什么也没有发生。从来没有结果。总是希望燃起又破灭的苦涩。最终，我完放弃了被船只救起的希望。如果在海拔五英尺处看到的地平线就在两英尺半以外，那么当我背靠小筏子的桅杆坐着，眼睛离水面还不到三英尺的时候，地平线有多远？一艘横越整座浩瀚的太平洋的船驶人这样一个小圈子，这样的可能性有多大？不仅如此：这艘船要驶进小圈子，而且还要看见我？这样的可能性又有多大？不,不能指望人性及其种种不可靠的方面。我必须到达陆地，坚实、稳固、可靠的陆地。

    我记得用过的手动照明弹弹壳的气味。由于某种怪异的化学反应，它们闻上去就像莳萝。那气味令人陶醉。我嗅着塑料弹壳,脑中立即出现了栩栩如生的本堆治里，在经历了求救却没有被听见的失望之后，这是一种奇妙的宽慰。这样的感受非常强烈，几乎是一种幻觉。一座城市在一种气味当中出现了。（现在，闻到莳萝时，我便看见了太平洋。）

    每次当照明弹嘶嘶叫着燃烧起来时，理查德·帕克总是一动不动。他的眼睛，和针眼一样大的圆圆的瞳孔，目不转睛地盯着照明弹发出的光。光的中心是炫目的白色，周围有一圈略带粉红的光晕。光太强烈了，我不能盯着看。我必须转过身去。我伸直手臂,抓着照明弹，慢慢挥舞着。大约有一分钟的时间，热气洒落在我的前臂上，一切都奇怪地被照亮了。就在刚才，小筏子周围的水还是不透明的黑色，现在我却能看见水里挤满了鱼。