We Float Upon a Painted Sea (14 page)

“I lived on a narrowboat in Glasgow, if you must know, so I do know my way around a boat.”

“That’s not a real boat,” said Andrew, examining the floor of the raft.

“You try telling that to the
Boaters
on the Caledonian Canal and they’ll give you a piece of their minds. Well it was enough experience to know that a hexagonal shaped raft doesn’t have a starboard side.”

Bull’s last word was strangled prematurely. The raft felt like it was rising from the sea and he was bowled over by a protruding appearance in the centre of the synthetic floor. There was a flurry of activity. Their legs recoiled in fear. Both men jostled to find an escape from the malicious shape. Their limbs became entangled. Bull fell on the open suitcase. He held the multi-tool at arms length, like a dagger to protect himself. The shape had disappeared but another thump came from behind, propelling Bull across the raft and towards the aperture. Andrew grabbed Bull’s ankle, stopping the whole of his body from falling into the sea, but his head was under water. Bull opened his eyes to see a blurred shape move towards him. His body jolted in fear and his legs kicked out. His foot caught Andrew square on the jaw and he fell back. Bull stabbed at the oncoming shape but missed. The blade plunged into one of the inflatable pontoons. Bull kept stabbing until he felt his body being dragged back into the raft. A horrible hissing sound came forth from under the raft. Bull was now swearing repeatedly.

“What the hell was that
?
cried Andrew in a state of panic.

“I don’t know. I saw a shape in the water, under the raft. It came at me. I think I stabbed it in the face.” Bull’s, voice crackled with dread. 

Andrew’s eyes bored into Bull’s head, his finger stabbing at the deflating pontoon, he howled,

“Look what you’ve done to the raft you idiot. You connected with the raft, not the…” A thrashing noise came from the side of the raft. Simultaneously, fear gripped them. Andrew thrust his head outside the aperture. He held his breath, watching the unmistakeable shape of a dorsal fin skimming across the surface of the ocean. Silence would have been absolute, if not for the noise of escaping air, bubbling through the water, from underneath the waterline. He turned to Bull and said,

“You’re going to reach down under the raft and fix the hole – the pontoon is loosing air rapidly.” Bull was startled by Andrew’s tone.

“Reach down with what?” he said.

“Your arm!” cried Andrew. Bull emitted an almost manic giggle, “Not on your life mate,” he exclaimed, “you stick your hand in the water if you like, but I need my hand. I’ve become quite attached to it over the years. I use it a lot, and I don’t fancy having it bitten off.”

“Well someone has to do it and I don’t see why it should be me. I didn’t puncture the raft. It was you who damaged it, so you should fix it. Take some responsibility for your actions man!”

“Sue me when we get to the nearest maritime court or maybe you can take it out my rations, but I will tell you one thing for certain; I am not sticking my hand in that water!”

There was a dreadful silence as both men watched the pontoon collapse and the life raft wither on one side. Their eyes widened with every frantic second of unfolding theatre. Andrew’s brain went into overdrive. He became overwhelmed with fear.

“This
can’t be happening to me,” he said feebly, “is this it? Is this the end?” Andrew started to pray, mumbling the words incoherently and whimpering like a beaten dog,

“The Lord is my Shepherd, there is...”

“I think we need something sharper than archaic words, like a harpoon,” said Bull grabbing his half-carved paddle. As he approached the aperture, his weight put further pressure on the collapsing pontoon, sending cold seawater rushing over his knees and into the life-raft. With his head protruding from the vessel, he took a deep lungful of fresh air and searched for signs of the creature in-between the swells. He could see no signs of movement so he slapped the surface of the sea with his paddle to attract it. Momentarily, he was distracted by seagulls swooping above the raft, as if drawn to the desperate spectacle unfolding below. To him, their squawking sounded like cynical laughter.

Eventually, Bull returned his torso inside the raft. He said,

“I can’t see it. I couldn’t see anything.” Andrew’s complexion was like cold grey marble. He stared at the ingress of water, invading the space around his legs. He caressed one of the inflated pontoons as if claiming it as his own and ignoring Bull’s words, he instead turned to Malcolm, lying unconscious by his side. Hysterically, he said,

“We need to escape, but escape to where? There’s nowhere to go. We’re stuck! There’s no way out.” The voice of Andrew’s Grandfather emerged from the shadows of his mind. Andrew unwittingly spoke his words out loud, “
Think man, think! You’ve been in tighter spots than this. You’re a fighter! You’re a winner and a leader. You have the blood of the Black Douglas’s in you
...” Andrew’s mother’s voice interjected, challenging his Grandfather, “
Oh, shut up you tiresome old toff. The boy’s in a pickle and he needs some practical advice, not some of your dubious claims to be remotely connected to the Crown.
” Bull stared at Andrew aghast. His mouth was wide open and his face contorted by the incomprehension of what he was witnessing.

“
Hush now,
” said Andrew. His voice was an octave higher as Ashley entered his mental fray. Returning Bull’s worrisome glare, he realised that the internal voices had been released and had become audible. He fought to control his ramblings and keep them caged inside his mind.
We need to work together and pull as one
continued Ashley’s voice, but now concealed within his brain. Roy Beer’s voice then boomed above the internal utterances. A rising sensation grew within Andrew’s chest when his hero stamped his authority.
Ashley is right, this is not a time to squabble but a time to act as a team. Andrew, is there anything on the vessel you could use to distract the creature while your shipmate makes some repairs to the raft?

Suddenly, it dawned on Andrew that there was a means of surviving the ordeal. Andrew’s upper and lower teeth were set together as one and his neck twitched like a caged battery hen. He grabbed Bull by the arm and nodded to Malcolm. He said,

“We could throw him overboard. He’s practically dead anyway.” Bull glared at Andrew with a look of disgust and horror. He looked at Malcolm slumped in a far corner of the life-raft. Finally, he said,

“No chance, you maniac, that’s murder and I won’t let you do it! We need to think of something else.” Bull excitedly grabbed Andrew’s free arm. The two men were interlocked and staring directly into each others eyes. “We could strap your multi-tool to the end of my paddle and stab it in the eye,” continued Bull, waiting for a sign of approval.

Andrew’s quivering voice had gained another octave.

“Stab it in the eye? Stab it in the eye? Look what happened with your last attempt to stab it. You punctured the raft!”

“Fuck you Sherlock,” he said petulantly, withdrawing his arms from Andrew’s grip, “we can start playing the blame game later, but right now we need to let this beast know we’re not going down without a fight.” Bull held the paddle up and exclaimed,

“Punch it, kick it, throw something at it, but just entertain it while I try and fix the puncture.” Bull’s eyes were wet with fear as he contemplated putting his hands into the water to repair the damaged part of the pontoon.

“This isn’t some bar room brawl in a sleazy Manchester pub,” replied Andrew, his words laden with anxiety.
Bull turned with a look of incredulity on his face and said,

“Who said I was from Manchester? I never told you where I came from, so why do you presume I’m from Manchester? Was it my
parochial accent
that gave the game away…” Bull froze. Another thud came from under the raft, lifting it out of the water.

Andrew thrust his head out of the aperture. He now saw several dorsal fins in the sea. Andrew, his eyes glazed over with the conflicting emotions of fear and anger, turned to Bull and said,

“I didn’t think it possible but the situations has just taken a turn for the worse.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard, do you know that?” growled Bull.  Andrew turned to him in a fit of rage. His mouth foamed like a rabid dog.

“What are you blithering on about man? Don’t you see we’re in a poor state here? We are going to die! If you’re going to become enraged, then have the civility to direct it at yourself, or one of those things out there.” Bull’s face suddenly looked infirmed. He tried to swallow a lump at the back of his parched throat. He said,

“I was being constructive and you shot my ideas down, and then make presumptions about my background.”

Malcolm had slipped back into the pool of water and was floating head first towards the aperture and the ocean beyond. Bull helped him up and returned him to a sitting position. Bull felt envious of Malcolm. He would be oblivious of his own demise. Andrew sat back down beside Bull. He said,

“This is hardly the time or the place but where
are
you from then?”

“Salford.”

“Salford or Manchester, does it matter? Or are you really a
toff
and I’ve naively mistaken you for a member of the social underclass?” Bull’s fists stiffened with irritation and his eyes narrowed. He said,

“Oh bugger off Professor Henry Higgins. Since we met, you’ve been treating me like someone who’s come round to clip your hedge.”

Andrew jabbed a finger in Bull’s direction.

“Do you know what your problem is? It’s this big chip on your shoulder.” Before Bull poked his head out of the aperture he said,

“Go fuck yourself Sherlock.”

Andrew looked at Bull’s rear end.
He
He contemplated extending a two footed kick and sending him into the sea, but Bull then turned his head back to him and stated with a wry look,

“The sharks have gone. You must have frightened them away when you lost the plot back there with your high pitched squealing.”

“I never said there were any sharks,” replied Andrew shaking his head.

“What do you mean? I thought you said there were sharks circling the raft, I thought you said we were going to die.”

“I don’t think I did. I saw fins but I never, at any point said they were sharks.”

“Why were you going to sacrifice Malcolm then if they weren’t sharks?”

“I can’t remember suggesting that we sacrifice Malcolm,” said Andrew calmly, “anyway there aren’t any sharks this far north, well not man eating ones. My guess is that they were dolphins or porpoises.” Bull was mentally exhausted and emotionally drained rather than overcome with relief.

Andrew pulled his wet knees up under his chin and rocked himself. He clasped his hands and said, “Thank you God almighty.” He then fell silent in prayer. Later, he wondered how his hero, Roy Beer would have marked him, if the whole sorry episode had been a simulation on one of his field training exercises. Not very well, he concluded. Ashley’s voice whispered in his mind,
that could have went better, much better, but at least you’re alive and safe now.
When he looked up, Bull was hanging out of the raft examining the puncture. He returned and retrieved a wine cork and a rubber band from the suitcase. He extended a fork from Andrew’s multi-tool and snapped it off. Andrew was too exhausted to complain. He returned to the repair job and eventually withdrew himself into the raft and attached the inflator to the damaged pontoon. The pontoon began to reform into its previous shape and seeing the results of Bull’s labours, Andrew began to bail water from the raft. Bull checked his repair under the waterline. A trickle of air could be detected but the raft was secure, he thought.

“It will have to do for now, he said turning to Andrew.

Bull looked towards the heavens. He spotted an isolated patch of blue sky, unmasked in the moisture laden heavens. It was a good sign, he thought. He fixed his gaze upon the celestial shape until once more the grey clouds converged to take it back. He knew the scrap of sky was merely short-wave bands of blue light from the sun, scattering in the earth’s atmosphere, but for an instant he felt connected to something out-with the life-raft, above the sea and beyond a dying planet.

The sun began to set behind the curtain of cloud and a gust of wind brushed over the raft. Bull looked into the darkening, featureless ocean desert. He wondered if they were heading away from or towards the ominous line of black clouds on the horizon. At that point, the hunger pangs returned with added vengeance and Bull’s stomach made rumbling protests, demanding to be fed. He returned from the aperture and sat in contemplative silence, bailing the raft, re-inflating the pontoon and taking the last sips of water from the plastic bottle. Andrew complained that the canopy was making him feel claustrophobic and even offered this as an excuse for his recent outburst. Reluctantly, Bull agreed to fold down the canopy as long as he could borrow Andrew’s jacket to keep warm.