Chapter 51

But that first time I had a good look at the lifeboat I did not see the detail I wanted. The surface of the stern and side benches was continuous and unbroken, as were the sides of the buoyancy tanks. The floor lay flat against the hull; there could be no cache beneath it. It was certain: there was no locker or box or any other sort of container anywhere. Only smooth, uninterrupted orange surfaces.

My estimation of captains and ship chandlers wavered. My hopes for survival flickered. My thirst remained.

And what if the supplies were at the bow, beneath the tarpaulin? I turned and crawled back. I felt like a dried-out lizard. I pushed down on the tarpaulin. It was tautly stretched. If I unrolled it, I would give myself access to what supplies might be stored below. But that meant creating an opening onto Richard Parker's den.

There was no question. Thirst pushed me on. I eased the oar from under the tarpaulin. I placed the lifebuoy around my waist. I laid the oar across the bow. I leaned over the gunnel and with my thumbs pushed from under one of the hooks the rope that held down the tarpaulin. I had a difficult time of it. But after the first hook, it was easier with the second and the third. I did the same on the other side of the stem. The tarpaulin became slack beneath my elbows. I was lying flat on it, my legs pointed towards the stern.

I unrolled it a little. Immediately I was rewarded. The bow was like the stern; it had an end bench. And upon it, just a few inches from the stem, a hasp glittered like a diamond. There was the outline of a lid. My heart began to pound. I unrolled the tarpaulin further. I peeked under. The lid was shaped like a rounded-out triangle, three feet wide and two feet deep. At that moment I perceived an orange mass. I jerked my head back. But the orange wasn't moving and didn't look right. I looked again. It wasn't a tiger. It was a life jacket. There were a number of life jackets at the back of Richard Parker's den.

A shiver went through my body. Between the life jackets, partially, as if through some leaves, I had my first, unambiguous, clear-headed glimpse of Richard Parker. It was his haunches I could see, and part of his back. Tawny and striped and simply enormous. He was facing the stern, lying flat on his stomach. He was still except for the breathing motion of his sides. I blinked in disbelief at how close he was. He was right there, two feet beneath me. Stretching, I could have pinched his bottom. And between us there was nothing but a thin tarpaulin, easily got round.

"God preserve me!" No supplication was ever more passionate yet more gently carried by the breath. I lay absolutely motionless.

I had to have water. I brought my hand down and quietly undid the hasp. I pulled on the lid. It opened onto a locker.

I have just mentioned the notion of details that become lifesavers. Here was one: the lid was hinged an inch or so from the edge of the bow bench-which meant that as the lid opened, it became a barrier that closed off the twelve inches of open space between tarpaulin and bench through which Richard Parker could get to me after pushing aside the life jackets. I opened the lid till it fell against the crosswise oar and the edge of the tarpaulin. I moved onto the stem, facing the boat, one foot on the edge of the open locker, the other against the lid. If Richard Parker decided to attack me from below, he would have to push on the lid. Such a push would both warn me and help me fall backwards into the water with the lifebuoy. If he came the other way, climbing atop the tarpaulin from astern, I was in the best position to see him early and, again, take to the water. I looked about the lifeboat. I couldn't see any sharks.

I looked down between my legs. I thought I would faint for joy. The open locker glistened with shiny new things. Oh, the delight of the manufactured good, the man-made device, the created thing! That moment of material revelation brought an intensity of pleasure-a heady mix of hope, surprise, disbelief, thrill, gratitude, all crushed into one-unequalled in my life by any Christmas, birthday, wedding, Diwali or other gift-giving occasion. I was positively giddy with happiness.

My eyes immediately fell upon what I was looking for. Whether in a bottle, a tin can or a carton, water is unmistakably packaged. On this lifeboat, the wine of life was served in pale golden cans that fit nicely in the hand. Drinking Water said the vintage label in black letters. HP Foods Ltd. were the vintners. 500 ml were the contents. There were stacks of these cans, too many to count at a glance.

With a shaking hand I reached down and picked one up. It was cool to the touch and heavy. I shook it. The bubble of air inside made a dull glub glub glub sound. I was about to be delivered from my hellish thirst. My pulse raced at the thought. I only had to open the can.

I paused. How would I do that?

I had a can-surely I had a can opener? I looked in the locker. There was a great quantity of things. I rummaged about. I was losing patience. Aching expectation had run its fruitful course. I had to drink now-or I would die. I could not find the desired instrument. But there was no time for useless distress. Action was needed. Could I prise it open with my fingernails? I tried. I couldn't. My teeth? It wasn't worth trying. I looked over the gunnel. The tarpaulin hooks. Short, blunt, solid. I kneeled on the bench and leaned over. Holding the can with both my hands, I sharply brought it up against a hook. A good dint. I did it again. Another dint next to the first. By dint of dinting, I managed the trick. A pearl of water appeared. I licked it off. I turned the can and banged the opposite side of the top against the hook to make another hole. I worked like a fiend. I made a larger hole. I sat back on the gunnel. I held the can up to my face. I opened my mouth. I tilted the can.

My feelings can perhaps be imagined, but they can hardly be described. To the gurgling beat of my greedy throat, pure, delicious, beautiful, crystalline water flowed into my system. Liquid life, it was. I drained that golden cup to the very last drop, sucking at the hole to catch any remaining moisture. I went, "Ahhhhhh!", tossed the can overboard and got another one. I opened it the way I had the first and its contents vanished just as quickly. That can sailed overboard too, and I opened the next one. Which, shortly, also ended up in the ocean. Another can was dispatched. I drank four cans, two litres of that most exquisite of nectars, before I stopped. You might think such a rapid intake of water after prolonged thirst might upset my system. Nonsense! I never felt better in my life. Why, feel my brow! My forehead was wet with fresh, clean, refreshing perspiration. Everything in me, right down to the pores of my skin, was expressing joy.

A sense of well-being quickly overcame me. My mouth became moist and soft. I forgot about the back of my throat. My skin relaxed. My joints moved with greater ease. My heart began to beat like a merry drum and blood started flowing through my veins like cars from a wedding party honking their way through town. Strength and suppleness came back to my muscles. My head became clearer. Truly, I was coming back to life from the dead. It was glorious, it was glorious. I tell you, to be drunk on alcohol is disgraceful, but to be drunk on water is noble and ecstatic. I basked in bliss and plenitude for several minutes.

A certain emptiness made itself felt. I touched my belly. It was a hard and hollow cavity. Food would be nice now. A masala dosai with a coconut chutney-hmmmmm! Even better: oothappam! HMMMMM! Oh! I brought my hands to my mouth-IDLI! The mere thought of the word provoked a shot of pain behind my jaws and a deluge of saliva in my mouth. My right hand started twitching. It reached and nearly touched the delicious flattened balls of parboiled rice in my imagination. It sank its fingers into their steaming hot flesh... It formed a ball soaked with sauce... It brought it to my mouth... I chewed... Oh, it was exquisitely painful!

I looked into the locker for food. I found cartons of Seven Oceans Standard Emergency Ration, from faraway, exotic Bergen, Norway. The breakfast that was to make up for nine missed meals, not to mention odd tiffins that Mother had brought along, came in a half-kilo block, dense, solid and vacuum-packed in silver-coloured plastic that was covered with instructions in twelve languages. In English it said the ration consisted of eighteen fortified biscuits of baked wheat, animal fat and glucose, and that no more than six should be eaten in a twenty-four-hour period. Pity about the fat, but given the exceptional circumstances the vegetarian part of me would simply pinch its nose and bear it.

At the top of the block were the words Tear here to open and a black arrow pointing to the edge of the plastic. The edge gave way under my fingers. Nine wax-paper-wrapped rectangular bars tumbled out. I unwrapped one. It naturally broke into two. Two nearly square biscuits, pale in colour and fragrant in smell. I bit into one. Lord, who would have thought? I never suspected. It was a secret held from me: Norwegian cuisine was the best in the world! These biscuits were amazingly good. They were savoury and delicate to the palate, neither too sweet nor too salty. They broke up under the teeth with a delightful crunching sound. Mixed with saliva, they made a granular paste that was enchantment to the tongue and mouth. And when I swallowed, my stomach had only one thing to say: Hallelujah!

The whole package disappeared in a few minutes, wrapping paper flying away in the wind. I considered opening another carton, but I thought better. No harm in exercising a little restraint. Actually, with half a kilo of emergency ration in my stomach, I felt quite heavy.

I decided I should find out what exactly was in the treasure chest before me. It was a large locker, larger than its opening. The space extended right down to the hull and ran some little ways into the side benches. I lowered my feet into the locker and sat on its edge, my back against the stem. I counted the cartons of Seven Ocean. I had eaten one; there were thirty-one left. According to the instructions, each 500-gram carton was supposed to last one survivor three days. That meant I had food rations to last me - 31 * 3 = 93 days! The instructions also suggested survivors restrict themselves to half a litre of water every twenty-four hours. I counted the cans of water. There were 124. Each contained half a litre. So I had water rations to last me 124 days. Never had simple arithmetic brought such a smile to my face.

What else did I have? I plunged my arm eagerly into the locker and brought up one marvellous object after another. Each one, no matter what it was, soothed me. I was so sorely in need of company and comfort that the attention brought to making each one of these mass-produced goods felt like a special attention paid to me. I repeatedly mumbled, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

 第五一章

    但是我第一次看救生艇的时候，并没有看见我想看见的细节。船尾和舷边坐板表面没有一处接缝，浮箱的外壁也是一样。船板平平的，与船壳相连；下面不可能有密窖。这一点是肯定的了：船上任何地方都没有锁柜、盒子或任何其他容器。只有平滑的没有一丝接缝的橘黄色的表面。

    我对船长和船用杂货零售商的判断产生了动摇。生存的希望之光开始摇曳不定。我的干渴仍然没有消除。

    要是补给品在船头油布下面呢？我又转身往回爬。我感到自己就像一只干瘪的蜥蜴。我把油布往下按了按。油布绷得很紧。如果我把它卷起来，就可以看到下面可能储存的补给品了。但那就意味着在理查德·帕克的窝的上方开一个孔。

    这没问题。干渴促使我开始行动。我把船桨从油布下面抽了出来，把救生圈套在腰间，把船桨模放在船头。我趴在舷边，用两个拇指把拉住油布的绳子从一只钩子下面推过去。这很费劲。但是从第一只钩予下面推过去之后，再推过第二只第三只就容易多了。艏柱另一边也是同样。我胳膊肘下面的油布变松了。我趴在油布上，两条腿对着船尾。

    我把油布卷起来一点儿。我立刻得到了回报。船头和船尾一样，有一块末端坐板。在坐板上，离艏柱只有几英寸的地方，一只搭扣像一粒钻石一样闪闪发光。一只盖子的轮廓出现了。我的心开始怦怦直跳。我又把油布卷起来一些。我向下望去。盖子的形状像一个角被磨圆了的三角形，3英尺宽，2英尺深。就在那个时候，我看见了一堆黄色。我猛地把头缩了回来。但是那堆黄色并没有动，而且看上去不大对劲。我又看了看。那不是一只老虎。是一件救生衣。理查德·帕克的窝后面有好几件救生衣。

    一阵颤抖传遍了我全身。就好像透过树叶之间的空隙一样，我透过救生衣之间的空隙，第一次真真切切地头脑清醒地瞥见了理查德·帕克的部分身体。我能看见的是他的腰腿部和一部分后背。黄褐色，有条纹，简直庞大极了。他正面对着船尾趴着。除了身体两侧因呼吸而起伏外，他一动不动。我眨了眨眼睛，不敢相信他离我那么近。他就在那儿，在我身体下面2英尺的地方。如果伸直了身子，我可以拧到他的屁股。我们之间什么都没有，只隔着一块油布，而油布是个很容易克服的障碍。

    “上帝保全我吧！”没有任何祈求比这一句更加偬含激情、语气却又更加轻柔了。我纹丝不动地躺着。

    我必须得有水。我把手伸下去，轻轻地拨开搭扣，揭开盖子。下面是一只锁柜。

    我刚刚提到过关于细节成为救命的东西的看．法。这儿就有一个细节：盖子用铰链连接在船头坐板边上大约一英寸的地方——这就是说盖子拆开后就隔断了油布和坐板之间12英寸的空间，理查德.帕克把救生衣推开后可以通过这块空间扑向我。我把盖子打开，让它靠在横放的船桨和油布边上。我爬到艏柱上，面对着船，一只脚踩在打开的锁柜边上，另一只脚抵住盖子。如果理查德·帕克决定从身后袭击我，他就必须把盖子推开。这一推不仅能警告我，而且会让我套着救生圈向后掉迸水里。如果他从另一边来，从船尾爬到油布上，我极佳的位置让我早早地就能看见他，然后跳进水里。我环顾救生艇四周。没有看见鲨鱼。

    我从两腿之间向下看去。我想我高兴得要晕过去了。打开的锁柜里崭新的东西在闪闪发光。噢，多么令人愉快的机器制造的货物，人造的装置，创造的东西啊！物资展现在面前的那一刻给我带来了极大的快乐——希望、惊喜、难以置信、激动、感激令人陶醉地混合在一起，糅合成了一种感情——这是任何圣诞节、生日、婚礼、排灯节或其他赠送礼物的场合都无法相比的。我真的是高兴得晕头转向了。

    我的目光立刻落在了我在寻找的东西上。无论是用瓶子、罐子还是盒子，毫无疑问，水被装起来了。在这只救生艇上，生命之酒是盛在淡淡的金色罐子里的，罐子握在手里大小正合适。酿制标签上的黑字写着饮用水。酿造商是HP食品有限公司。容量是500毫升。这样的罐子有好几堆，简直太多了，一眼都数不过来。

    我的手颤抖着伸下去拿起一罐。罐子摸上去凉凉的，感觉很重。我摇了摇。里面的气泡发出沉闷的格格格的声音。我很快就不会再受那可恶的干渴的折磨了。这个想法让我的脉搏加快了跳动。我只需要打开罐子就行了。

    我犹豫了。怎么打开呢？

    我有一听罐子——我肯定有开罐器吧——我朝锁柜里看去。那里面有很多东西。我仔细地翻找起来。我开始没有耐心了。急切的期待让我再也无法忍受了。我现在就要喝，否则我就要死了。我找不到想要的工具。但是没时间徒劳无益地痛苦了。必须行动。能用指甲把它撬开吗？我试了。撬不开。牙齿呢？不值得一试。我朝舷边看去。油布上的钩子。

    又短，又钝，又结实。我跪在坐板上，身体前倾，两只手抓住罐子，猛地在钩子上撞了一下。一大块凹痕。又撞了一下。第一块凹痕旁边又有了一块凹痕。借着一下又一下的撞击，我的小窍门成功了。一滴珍珠般的水珠出现了。我把水珠舔了。我把罐子掉过来，把罐底往钩子上撞，想再撞一个洞。我像上了瘾一样地撞着。撞了一个大洞。我坐回到舷边上。把罐子举到面前。张开嘴。倾斜罐子。

    我的感觉也许可以想像，但却很难描绘。伴随着我贪婪的喉咙发出的有节奏的汩汩声，清纯、甘甜、鲜美、晶莹的水流进了我的身体。那就是液体的生命。我喝光了金色杯子里的最后一滴，在洞口吸着吮着，把剩下来的水分都吸进嘴里。我叫了一声“啊”，把罐子扔出船外，又拿了一罐。我用开第一罐水的办法打开第二罐，里面的东西同样迅速消失了。这只罐子也飞到了船外，我又打开了下一罐。很快这只罐子也到了海上。又一罐被匆匆喝光了。我喝了4罐，两升最精美的甘露，然后才停下来。你也许认为在渴了这么长时间以后一下子喝下这么多水可能会让我的身体木舒服。荒唐！我这辈子从来没有感觉这么舒服过。嗨，摸摸我的脑门！我的前额湿湿的，是刚冒出来的干净的令人神清气爽的汗珠。

    我身体里的每一个部位，直到皮肤上的毛孔，都在表达着快乐。

    我迅速沉醉在幸福安乐的感觉之中。我的嘴变得湿润柔软。我忘记了喉咙的后部。我的皮肤松驰下来。我的关节更灵活了。我的心跳像一面快乐的鼓在敲，血液开始在管管里流淌，就像参加婚礼回来的汽车一路鸣着喇叭穿过小镇。我的肌肉又恢复了力量和敏捷。我的大脑更加清醒了。真的，我是在起死回生。这．样的沉醉令我欣喜若狂，欣喜若狂。

    我告诉你，喝醉了酒很丢人，但喝醉了水却那么光彩，令人心醉神迷。有好几分钟我都沐浴在狂喜与富足之中。

    一种空荡荡的感觉引起了我的注意。我摸了摸肚子。那是一个硬邦邦的空洞。要是现在能吃点儿东西就太好了。玛沙拉米粉烙饼和椰子酸辣酱？嗯！甚至更好：酸面薄煎饼！

    嗯！噢！我把两只手放迸嘴里——黑绿豆米饼！仅仅是想到了这个词，我的嘴巴后面就感到一阵疼痛，我的嘴里就涌出了大量唾液。我的右手开始抽搐起来。它伸过去，差点儿碰到了我想像中煮得半熟的美味的扁饭团。右手的手指伸到了冒着热气的滚烫的饭团里……它捏了一个饭团，将饭团浸在沙司里……它把饭团放进我嘴里……我嚼了起来……噢，多么剧烈的痛苦啊！

    我往锁柜里看去，寻找着食物。我找到几盒“七重洋标准急用口粮”，是遥远的带有异国情调的挪威卑尔根产的。这顿早饭要补上九顿没有吃的饭，还不包括母亲带来的少量饭菜。这顿饭是半公斤重的一个方块，紧密，实在，用银色塑料真空包装，外面用十二种语言写着说明。英语说明是，这盒口粮里包括1 8块强化饼干，其中的成分有烤小麦、动物脂肪和葡萄糖，每24个时食用量不得超过6块。脂肪让人遗憾，但是考虑到特殊情况，那个素食的我完全可以捏着鼻子忍受。

    方块上方写着沿此处撕开，一个黑色箭头指着塑料边缘。边缘在我的手指下开了0 9个用蜡纸包着的长方形条状的东西掉了出来。我打开一条。里面的东西自然地分成了两半。

    是两块几乎是正方形的饼干，颜色淡淡的，香气扑鼻。我咬了一口。天啊，谁会想到呢？我从来没有料想到。这是我一直都不知道的秘密：挪威烹调技术是世界上最高明的！这些饼干好吃得令人惊讶。芳香可口，碰在上腭上，感觉柔软细腻，既不太甜也不太成。被牙齿咬碎时发出愉快的嘎吱嘎吱声。饼干和唾液混合在一起，成了颗粒状的面糊，让舌头和嘴巴欣喜陶醉。当我把饼干咽下去时，我的肚子只能说出一个词：哈利路亚！

    几分钟后整包饼干就不见了，包装纸随风飞舞。我想再打开一盒，但又想了想，还是决定不这么做。稍微克制一下没有坏处。实际上，肚子里装着半千克急用口粮，我已经感觉很饱了。

    我决定应该弄清楚我面前的珍宝箱里究竟有些什么。锁柜很大，比开口要大。里面的空间一直延伸到船壳，并向舷边坐板里面伸进去一些D我把脚放迸锁柜，坐在柜子边上，背靠着艏柱。我数了数七重洋盒子。我已经吃了一盒，还剩3 1盒。按照说明，每盒500克-盒的口粮应该可以供一个幸存者食用3天。那就是说我的口粮可以够我吃——31x3——93天！说明还建议幸存者限制自己的饮水量，每24小时只喝半升水。我数了数装水的罐子。一共124罐。每罐有半升水。因此水可以够我喝124天。简单的算术从来没有让我这样高兴过。

    我还有什么？我迫不及待地把胳膊猛地伸进锁柜，拿上来一件又一件美妙的东西。每一件东西，无论是什幺，都让我感到安慰。我需要陪伴和安慰，这种感觉太强烈了，我感觉制造这些大批量生产的东西当中的每一件所需要的注意力就像是对我的特别关注。我不停地咕哝着：“谢谢！谢谢！谢谢！”