sailors.
It wasn’t much of a heave, and they were several feet from the railing, but Jesso bucked hard.
“Kator,” he yelled, “it’s about Snell.”
But Kator hadn’t understood. They had Jesso off the floor, legs thrashing, and the low railing was almost under him.
With a powerful concentration his leg whipped out and caught one man behind the knee. The guy buckled and fell.
“About Snell!” Jesso roared. “The rest of the stuff, Kator—from Snell!”
This time Kator heard. He moved forward and opened his mouth, but the two sailors didn’t catch his words. With an angry push they flung Jesso forward. He caught himself on the railing with a painful thud and balanced there until one more short push at his leg made him slant forward and down.
Suddenly the wind had stopped. Close behind the stern there was no wind, no rushing noise, just the dull hissing of the foam below, and then Jesso flailed, tossed down, and hit.
The water, cut and churned, dragged at him, twisted him, and not until moments later did he feel the icy wash of the ocean sucking at his body from all sides.
How long it took for him to surface, how hard he screamed, none of this was ever clear to him. At first there was just the great panic when he heard the murderous roar of the big screw close by, and then his head was out of water with foam bursting around him, and the tall shape of the ship sliding away in slow dips made him feel as small as a black speck.
He was fighting the water. Then, when the large swells came and the white water had died away, the ship kept him from thinking. He had to see the ship, draw it back with his last will, hold it there, hold it before the panic came back and everything was over. Then the ship was gone behind the slow mountain of a wave while Jesso seemed suddenly to fall with terrible speed. The water sucked him back and up, higher in a continuous sweep, until the ship was there again, black, and smaller.
Details meant nothing to him then, and when he saw the ship the next time, partly sideways now, it never meant a thing. The next time it was still the same, and he slid down again into the cold valley of the wave.
He started to die then. He was past the panic and ready to die, except that it came to him like a strength instead of like a weakness. He would fight the suck and push of the water until he was dead, which meant that he could fight no longer. He would never be dead until he was empty of that.
So when the boat came alongside and they tried to pull him out, he was kicking and slashing at them so hard that he almost choked in the process. When he started to sink, they heaved him up and over the side of the boat.
Jesso woke with a strong shiver, and when he felt the warmth around him he was surprised. Then there was a cup of coffee. It was black, hot, strong: smelling strong. Right then heaven could have been that cup of coffee. It was a pleasure that gave him time to come alive again. He sipped it slowly, he remembered what he could, and he looked around without talking.
Kator was a patient man. He sat at the other end of the cabin and watched Jesso come alive. Let the man have his coffee. It was small payment for what Kator hoped to gain.
When Jesso put his cup down and sat up on the bunk, he first hit his head on the bunk above and then he saw he was naked. The blankets had fallen back. He got up carefully, cursed with concentration, then sat down again. He stopped cursing suddenly, because now was the time for the pay-off.
“You mentioned Snell,” Kator said. “Did you have something to tell me, or was it all a maneuver?”
Jesso picked up a blanket and made a toga. “I got something.”
“Go ahead, please.”
Kator picked up a cut-glass bottle and poured red liqueur into two pony glasses. He gave one to Jesso.
“How about some clothes?”
“You won’t need any, Jesso. You will tell me what you know and that will be the end of it.”
Except for the queer position of
It wasn’t much of a heave, and they were several feet from the railing, but Jesso bucked hard.
“Kator,” he yelled, “it’s about Snell.”
But Kator hadn’t understood. They had Jesso off the floor, legs thrashing, and the low railing was almost under him.
With a powerful concentration his leg whipped out and caught one man behind the knee. The guy buckled and fell.
“About Snell!” Jesso roared. “The rest of the stuff, Kator—from Snell!”
This time Kator heard. He moved forward and opened his mouth, but the two sailors didn’t catch his words. With an angry push they flung Jesso forward. He caught himself on the railing with a painful thud and balanced there until one more short push at his leg made him slant forward and down.
Suddenly the wind had stopped. Close behind the stern there was no wind, no rushing noise, just the dull hissing of the foam below, and then Jesso flailed, tossed down, and hit.
The water, cut and churned, dragged at him, twisted him, and not until moments later did he feel the icy wash of the ocean sucking at his body from all sides.
How long it took for him to surface, how hard he screamed, none of this was ever clear to him. At first there was just the great panic when he heard the murderous roar of the big screw close by, and then his head was out of water with foam bursting around him, and the tall shape of the ship sliding away in slow dips made him feel as small as a black speck.
He was fighting the water. Then, when the large swells came and the white water had died away, the ship kept him from thinking. He had to see the ship, draw it back with his last will, hold it there, hold it before the panic came back and everything was over. Then the ship was gone behind the slow mountain of a wave while Jesso seemed suddenly to fall with terrible speed. The water sucked him back and up, higher in a continuous sweep, until the ship was there again, black, and smaller.
Details meant nothing to him then, and when he saw the ship the next time, partly sideways now, it never meant a thing. The next time it was still the same, and he slid down again into the cold valley of the wave.
He started to die then. He was past the panic and ready to die, except that it came to him like a strength instead of like a weakness. He would fight the suck and push of the water until he was dead, which meant that he could fight no longer. He would never be dead until he was empty of that.
So when the boat came alongside and they tried to pull him out, he was kicking and slashing at them so hard that he almost choked in the process. When he started to sink, they heaved him up and over the side of the boat.
Jesso woke with a strong shiver, and when he felt the warmth around him he was surprised. Then there was a cup of coffee. It was black, hot, strong: smelling strong. Right then heaven could have been that cup of coffee. It was a pleasure that gave him time to come alive again. He sipped it slowly, he remembered what he could, and he looked around without talking.
Kator was a patient man. He sat at the other end of the cabin and watched Jesso come alive. Let the man have his coffee. It was small payment for what Kator hoped to gain.
When Jesso put his cup down and sat up on the bunk, he first hit his head on the bunk above and then he saw he was naked. The blankets had fallen back. He got up carefully, cursed with concentration, then sat down again. He stopped cursing suddenly, because now was the time for the pay-off.
“You mentioned Snell,” Kator said. “Did you have something to tell me, or was it all a maneuver?”
Jesso picked up a blanket and made a toga. “I got something.”
“Go ahead, please.”
Kator picked up a cut-glass bottle and poured red liqueur into two pony glasses. He gave one to Jesso.
“How about some clothes?”
“You won’t need any, Jesso. You will tell me what you know and that will be the end of it.”
Except for the queer position of
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