shark sliding up the side of the boat and taking his foot in jagged rows of razor teeth.
Will helped him over the lines and he half fell into the cockpit, where he huddled as he tried to contain his panic by gulping deep breaths of air to dissipate the adrenaline rampaging through his system.
"Give you a tip," said Will. "If you want to swim with the sharks, you better swim with strong strokes; don't splash around like you're weak and dying, and bump them back when they bump you. Bump 'em back! Show 'em you're
still alive—though I got to tell you, that looked to me like a friendly dolphin. In fact, there's some now. Aren't those dolphins?"
Jim looked at the gray water. Crescent shapes were cutting in and out of the sea, pacing the boat.
"Looks to me like you got spooked by Flipper."
Frightened, angry, and embarrassed by his weakness, Jim slowly caught his breath and took charge of his body and his spirit. Will was chuckling as if it were the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"The CC Kid," he said. "I'm shipmates with the Climate-Control Kid." Jim stood up. His knees were trembling. His hands were still shaking. But terror and the mind-dissolving panic were coiling into rage. He wanted to take Will by the throat and squeeze the laughter out of him. He stared fixedly behind the boat. "Here comes that ship again."
Will went dead white. He spun around, pawed his binoculars from their rack, and swept a barren and completely empty horizon. Slowly the color returned to his face.
" 'Bumped' me back." He smiled at last. "Very funny. . . . So you're a counterpuncher. Didn't know you had it in you."
"If you ever do something like that to me again I'll tear your fucking head off."
"Or maybe it's just a hot temper," Will replied. Then he fell silent. A vague smile played on his lips, as if he knew something even funnier.
As the old man slid down into his private world, the truth struck Jim like lightning. Will Spark truly believed he was being hunted.
Dear Shannon.
Jim stared at the screen. He was more baffled than ever by Will's behavior. Even if the man was being hunted by his enemies, how did that relate to "Shark Attack"?
He started typing, watching the event unfold on the computer screen,
... And now lm wondering—why? Was he just plain cruel? Dr did he do it to control me, shut me up, make me his obedient shipmate?
Delete.
In the cool lines of computer print, he looked like a real jerk. Dear Shannon.
Funny thing happened the other day: I mistook a dolphin for a shark, which ordinarily wouldn't have mattered a whole hell of a lot. But being in the water, swimming from the boom. it mattered a lot. To me, at least. In fact, you might even say I flipped out over Flipper.
Fortunately. Will was not fooled. So he took a long, long, long time to pull me out. A Illooooonggg time. Huge laugh. But maybe you had to be here.
WILL'S YACHT WAS named Hustle.
Jim's first sight of the fifty-foot sloop had been a saber silhouette in the glare of the Barbados fishing boat's searchlight: a spiry mast, two drum-tight sails, and a lean hull slashing the waves. What had looked from a distance like slicing the seas was altogether different on board—an endless, erratic chain of heart-stopping crashes as Hustle pounded through waves and stomach-dropping lurches as she fell into their troughs. Will had assured him that things would calm down once they sailed into deeper water. But by daylight, they were getting mauled by short, steep seas breaking over the deck. Jim, unable to eat, drink, sleep, or even move from the bunk Will finally dumped him into after he had emptied his guts in the airless toilet, would gladly have died. Only many days later, after tentatively ingesting warm water and saltines, and prompted by Shannon's e-mail begging him to describe everything he saw, could he begin to admire the drama of the boat's towering mast, the power of her thickset winches, and the rugged beauty of her broad wooden decks.
The sloop was, he
Will helped him over the lines and he half fell into the cockpit, where he huddled as he tried to contain his panic by gulping deep breaths of air to dissipate the adrenaline rampaging through his system.
"Give you a tip," said Will. "If you want to swim with the sharks, you better swim with strong strokes; don't splash around like you're weak and dying, and bump them back when they bump you. Bump 'em back! Show 'em you're
still alive—though I got to tell you, that looked to me like a friendly dolphin. In fact, there's some now. Aren't those dolphins?"
Jim looked at the gray water. Crescent shapes were cutting in and out of the sea, pacing the boat.
"Looks to me like you got spooked by Flipper."
Frightened, angry, and embarrassed by his weakness, Jim slowly caught his breath and took charge of his body and his spirit. Will was chuckling as if it were the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"The CC Kid," he said. "I'm shipmates with the Climate-Control Kid." Jim stood up. His knees were trembling. His hands were still shaking. But terror and the mind-dissolving panic were coiling into rage. He wanted to take Will by the throat and squeeze the laughter out of him. He stared fixedly behind the boat. "Here comes that ship again."
Will went dead white. He spun around, pawed his binoculars from their rack, and swept a barren and completely empty horizon. Slowly the color returned to his face.
" 'Bumped' me back." He smiled at last. "Very funny. . . . So you're a counterpuncher. Didn't know you had it in you."
"If you ever do something like that to me again I'll tear your fucking head off."
"Or maybe it's just a hot temper," Will replied. Then he fell silent. A vague smile played on his lips, as if he knew something even funnier.
As the old man slid down into his private world, the truth struck Jim like lightning. Will Spark truly believed he was being hunted.
Dear Shannon.
Jim stared at the screen. He was more baffled than ever by Will's behavior. Even if the man was being hunted by his enemies, how did that relate to "Shark Attack"?
He started typing, watching the event unfold on the computer screen,
... And now lm wondering—why? Was he just plain cruel? Dr did he do it to control me, shut me up, make me his obedient shipmate?
Delete.
In the cool lines of computer print, he looked like a real jerk. Dear Shannon.
Funny thing happened the other day: I mistook a dolphin for a shark, which ordinarily wouldn't have mattered a whole hell of a lot. But being in the water, swimming from the boom. it mattered a lot. To me, at least. In fact, you might even say I flipped out over Flipper.
Fortunately. Will was not fooled. So he took a long, long, long time to pull me out. A Illooooonggg time. Huge laugh. But maybe you had to be here.
WILL'S YACHT WAS named Hustle.
Jim's first sight of the fifty-foot sloop had been a saber silhouette in the glare of the Barbados fishing boat's searchlight: a spiry mast, two drum-tight sails, and a lean hull slashing the waves. What had looked from a distance like slicing the seas was altogether different on board—an endless, erratic chain of heart-stopping crashes as Hustle pounded through waves and stomach-dropping lurches as she fell into their troughs. Will had assured him that things would calm down once they sailed into deeper water. But by daylight, they were getting mauled by short, steep seas breaking over the deck. Jim, unable to eat, drink, sleep, or even move from the bunk Will finally dumped him into after he had emptied his guts in the airless toilet, would gladly have died. Only many days later, after tentatively ingesting warm water and saltines, and prompted by Shannon's e-mail begging him to describe everything he saw, could he begin to admire the drama of the boat's towering mast, the power of her thickset winches, and the rugged beauty of her broad wooden decks.
The sloop was, he
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