jefflong.yearzero-第31部分

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he　trawler　sped　past。　The　tether　rope　to　the　skiff　was　much　too　high　to　grab。　His　slowness　stunned　him。
　For　an　awful　moment　it　seemed　the　skiff　was　going　to　pass　him　by。　There　was　no　time　for　correction。　He'd　missed　the　bus。
　Then　the　sea　twitched。　Nathan　Lee　sank　into　the　trough　of　a　wave。　The　skiff　rose　overhead。　It　squeezed　slightly　closer　toward　the　trawler；　and　for　an　instant；　the　rope　slackened。　The　skiff　slabbed　to　the　left；　and　dove　down　the　swell。　The　bow　torqued。
　It　was　all　Nathan　Lee　needed。　The　hull　crashed　against　his　left　shoulder；　but　he　managed　to　grab　the　edge。
　The　canvas　cover　was　hard　as　wood。　His　fingers　slipped。　He　pawed　at　the　cover。　He　raked　it　with　his　nails。　It　was　like　trying　to　ride　a　rhinoceros。　The　skiff　pulled　and　tossed　him　about。
　He　plunged　underwater。　The　satchel　dragged　at　his　throat。　The　knife　cut　his　lips。　He　clung　to　the　beast。　Finally　he　got　the　knife　into　one　hand　and　made　a　wild　stab　at　the　canvas。　It　ripped　open　and　he　wrestled　into　the　bowels　of　it。
　He　lay　on　his　back；　crumpled　among　the　oars　and　seat　struts。　His　whole　struggle　had　lasted　no　more　than　a　minute。　He　looked　up　through　the　tear　in　the　canvas　and　dragged　in　great　lungfuls　of　air。　His　palm　was　bleeding　from　the　knife　blade。　His　bare　feet　were　blue。　The　skiff　beat　up　and　down　on　the　rapid　sea。
　Turning　onto　his　belly；　he　crawled　to　the　front　and　edged　up　for　a　glance　at　the　trawler。　He　was　sure　the　pirates　would　be　gathered　at　the　railing；　guns　drawn。　Instead；　they　were　quietly　killing　a　woman。
　Her　head　was　extended　over　the　sea；　where　it　wouldn't　make　a　mess。　The　sailor　with　the　hammer　reached　out　and　rapped　her　skull　with　the　ball　peen　end。　There　was　nothing　vicious　about　his　act。　He　was　not　unkind。　In　his　mind；　perhaps；　he　was　an　angel　of　mercy；　sparing　them　from　suffering　in　the　sea。
　The　woman　slumped。　Two　sailors　lifted　her　over　the　edge　and　she　slithered　into　the　dark　water。　There　was　a　line　of　girls　and　boys。　Nathan　Lee　counted　seven　of　them；　waiting　like　naughty　children　for　their　punishment。　The　man　with　the　hammer　motioned　for　the　child　in　front　to　e　forward。
　Nathan　Lee　ducked　his　head　under　the　canvas。How　could　they　have　failed　to　see　him？　His　struggle　had　seemed　thunderous　and　epic。　He　had　thrashed　through　the　waves　and　knifed　his　way　into　the　skiff　beneath　their　noses。　But　some　veil　had　made　him　invisible。
　He　crouched　under　his　ceiling　of　torn　canvas。　The　tow　rope　had　to　be　cut　before　they　registered　his　absence。　With　luck；　the　skiff　would　vanish　so　gradually　they　wouldn't　notice。　A　night　might　pass　before　someone　saw　the　slack　rope；　and　he　doubted　the　captain　would　waste　time　searching　for　a　missing　rowboat。　With　a　stroke　of　the　knife　then；　his　escape　was　plete。
　And　yet　there　were　those　children。
　Soaked　to　the　skin；　he　shuddered　violently。
　They　were　nothing　to　him。　Since　beginning　the　sea　voyage；　he'd　made　sure　the　children　kept　their　distance。　He　had　gone　to　lengths　not　to　hear　their　names　or　look　in　their　eyes　or　hear　their　songs。　Anyway；　even　if　he　wanted　to；　how　could　he　save　them？　He　was　not　their　father。　He　had　a　child　of　his　own　waiting　for　him。
　His　teeth　chattered。　He　looked　at　the　knife。Was　he　so　dead？
　He　searched　the　lifeboat　for　something；　a　weapon；　an　idea；　anything　to　spur　him　into　action。　A　rubber　bag　held　cans　of　food　and　some　bottles　of　water；　but　no　pistol　or　flare　gun。　He　was　nearly　as　helpless　as　the　children。　Now　what？　Throw　cans　of　food　at　the　pirates？　It　was　absurd。
　There　was　a　splash　in　the　water。　Nathan　Lee　felt　a　bump　against　the　skiff's　wooden　bottom。　He　trembled；　caught　between　extremes；　survival　or　martyrdom。
　There　was　another　splash。
　Nathan　Lee　couldn't　bear　to　listen　to　the　killing　anymore。　This　was　obscene；　his　lurking　in　the　wake。　He　couldn't　help。　He　couldn't　listen。　Rearing　up　through　the　slit　canvas；　he　leaned　for　the　bucking　prow　and　laid　his　knife　against　the　rope。　He　told　himself　not　to　look　up。　But　he　looked。
　Unbelievably；　the　pirates　still　did　not　see　him。　But　the　children　did。　There　were　only　three　remaining。　At　the　sight　of　him；　their　heads　perked　up。　They　blinked　as　if　a　jack…in…the…box　had　sprung　out　of　nowhere。
　On　an　impulse；　he　beckoned　to　them。Jump；　he　thought。　That　was　their　salvation。　He　would　cut　loose　and　fish　them　from　the　water；　one　by　one。　The　sailors　wouldn't　see　him。　It　was　possible。　All　the　children　had　to　do　was　make　the　leap。
　He　waved　again；　not　a　broad　gesture；　but　a　clear　onee　with　me。　The　notion　filled　him　with　sudden　joy。　A　boatload　of　children！　He　pictured　them　reaching　the　shores　of　America　together。
　Jump！He　motioned　again。　They　understood。　Their　eyes　grew　bigger。。。but　not　with　hope。
　Believe　in　me；he　thought。　But　they　recognized　him。　He　was　the　lone　wolf　from　the　front　of　the　trawler；　the　man　who　had　snarled　at　them　when　their　games　strayed　too　close。　Their　parents　had　scolded　them　if　they　went　near　him。　And　now；　for　all　they　knew；　he　was　part　of　their　punishment；　a　monstrous　blackbearded　fisherman　waiting　to　do　more　dreadful　things　once　the　sailors　threw　them　into　the　water。　At　least　the　sailors　were　smiling　at　them。
　So；　of　course　they　did　not　jump。
　Nathan　Lee　could　not　bear　to　watch　the　pirates　finish。　He　slid　back　beneath　the　canvas；　shuddering　with　cold；　and　lay　heaped　among　the　mess　of　gear；　too　weak　to　move；　not　even　caring　if　the　sailors　found　him。
　Darkness　seeped　over　him。　Night　or　despair；　it　was　all　the　same。　Even　in　his　worst　hours　in　Tibet；　he　had　never　felt　so　alone。　He　did　not　believe　in　God。　It　was　not　a　matter　of　doubt。　He　did　not　believe。　And　yet…strangely…he　had　only　God　as　a　culprit。　From　the　plague　to　this　slaughter　of　innocents；　the　evil　went　beyond　human　wickedness；　beyond　the　workings　of　an　indifferent　universe。　Maybe　the　French　woman　was　right；　God　was　simply　hitting　the　delete　key　and　starting　over　from　scratch。
　The　waves　hammered　his　little　boat；　beating　him　against　the　wood　struts。　They　were　dragging　him　back　to　the　graveyard　of　Asia。　He　tried　to　summon　up　the　face　of　his　daughter；　but　she　was　hiding　from　him。　He　remembered　the　looks　of　horror　on　the　children's　faces。　At　last；　Nathan　Lee　remembered　the　knife。　He　crawled　up　through　the　canvas　covering　and　cut　the　rope；　and　the　sea　grew　still。　He　was　alone。
　
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　HE　DRIFTED　ALL　NIGHT；　shivering；　legs　stuck　in　the　emptied　rubber　bag；　shoulders　and　head　wrapped　in　sailcloth。　Slowly　his　warmth　returned；　enough　of　it　to　function。　In　the　morning；　he　figured　out　the　mast。　It　was　only　two　feet　taller　than　he　was。　The　pole　fit　into　a　socket　and　had　a　crosspiece。　The　sail　was　little　more　than　what　he'd　already　used　it　for；　a　bedsheet。　But　once　he　got　the　parts　assembled；　it　caught　the　wind。
　He　was　no　sailor。　He　obeyed　his　little　pass；　due　east。　When　the　wind　grew　too　boisterous；　he　pulled　the　sail　down　and　rowed。　When　the　air　calmed；　he　put　the　sail　up　again。　Three　days　passed。
　The　sea　grew　strange。
　On　the　second　night；　he　heard　gulls　and　thought　his　boat　was　reaching　land。　He　pushed　his　head　through　the　rent　canvas　ceiling；　and　there　was　no　land。　Rather　a　gigantic　ship　was　silently　bearing　down　on　him。
　It　was　lit　like　a　city；　with　an　immense　flat　deck　that　tabled　out　above　the　waters。　It　was　an　aircraft　carrier；　and　could　only　be　American。　〃Help；〃　he　shouted。　He　stood　and　waved　his　arms。　With　the　last　of　his　matches；　he　lit　a　few　pages　torn　from　his　book　and　held　the　little　torch　above　his　head。　The　scraps　of　flame　lasted　mere　seconds。　He　kept　flapping　his　arm　in　the　air。
　The　waters　were　still；　not　a　whisper　of　wind。　The　carrier　drew　nearer。　It　soared　in　the　night；　a　vast　silent　metropolis。　He　didn't　see　a　single　person　up　there。　Clouds　of　gulls　swarmed　in　the　lights；　barking　and　cawing。　〃Hello；〃　he　yelled。　〃Help！〃　Now　he　could　see　the　American　flag　drifting　in　the　ship's　self…made　breeze。
　It　became　evident　the　carrier　would　miss　him　by　a　good　twenty　or　thirty　yards。　A　metal　staircase　ran　down　one　side；　almost　to　water　level。　There　was　not　one　thing　he　could　do　to　get　closer。　Even　if　his　sail　had　been　set；　there　was　no　wind。　He　wiggled　the　rudder　to　try　and　row　himself。
　USSTruman；　the　prow　proclaimed。　The　gray　steel　wall　towered　overhead；　four　or　five　stories　high。　Now　he　could　hear　the　rumble　of　the　turn　screws。　〃America；〃　he　shouted。　〃Help。　Down　here。〃
　It　swept　past　him。　He　stood　in　his　little　boat　and　watched　the　lights　sink　westward。　The　clamor　of　gulls　died。　Night　took　over。　He　grew　cold　and　sheltered　from　the　piercing　stars。
　After　another　day；　he　came　to　a　flock　of　green　and　turquoise　icebergs。　They　seemed　not　to　move　in　the　lapping　sea；　planets　unto　themselves。　He　entered　their　maze　and　floated　among　their　towering　cliffs。　He　patted　their　flanks。　He　chipped　off　flakes　of　primeval　ice　to　suck　on。　That　night　he　pulled　the　boat　onto　a　diamond…hard　strand　and　made　camp　on　the　ice。　But　he　couldn't　sleep　for　the　beauty　of　it　all。　The　sea　glowed　with　neon　green　plankton　or　some　other　inner　light。　The　aurora　borealis　hung　overhead　like　rainbows　dreaming。
　After　the　violence　of　theIchotski；　this　crystal　world　was　a　silent　paradise。　He　decided　to　stay　another　day　and　night；　and　then　another。　The　sun　emerged　and；　ironically；　for　the　first　time　in　weeks；　he　was　warm。。。on　the　back　of　an　iceberg。　Days　he　spent　exploring；　resting；　writing　in　his　book。　On　one　of　his　expeditions　to　the　backside　of　the　iceberg；　he　found　an　animal　trapped　inside　the　glass　walls。　It　had　a　feline　shape。　With　an　axe　he　might　have　been　able　to　chop　it　free　and　feel　its　tawny　fur。　But　all　he　had　was　his　little　paring　knife；　good　for　slicing　apples　and　rope　and　not　much　more。
　He　stayed　on　a　fourth　day；　eating　canned　sardines　and　a　hash　of　horsemeat　or　dog　left　from　the　Soviet　days。　That　night　he　dreamed　the　animal　trapped　in　the　ice　was　him。　He　woke　and　realized　it　was　no　dream；　but　an　omen。　The　ice　was　seducing　him　with　its　magic　and　peace。
　At　first　light；　he　launched　his　boat　and　escaped　the　gentle　icebergs。　There　was　no　way　to　tell　how　far　he　had　drifted；　nor　in　what　direction。　All　he　could　do　was　set　the　little　sail　and　continue　east。　When　his　cans　of　food　were　gone；　he　subsisted　on　chips　of　ice　from　a　chunk　of　the　iceberg。　The　big　glassy　lump　lay　like　a　carcass　on　the　floor　of　the　boat。
　He　tried