instrument except my hands and my cunning, which was sharpened by hunger. The other gulls had disappeared. Only this little one remained, brown, with shiny feathers, hopping around on the gunwale.
I kept absolutely still. I thought I felt, against my shoulder, the sharp fin of the punctual shark, who would have arrived at five o’clock. But I decided to take a risk. I didn’t dare look at the sea gull, so as not to scare it off by moving my head. I watched it fly very low over my body. I saw it take to the air and disappear into the sky. But I didn’t lose hope. I was hungry and I knew that if I remained absolutely still the sea gull would come within reach of my hand.
I waited more than half an hour, I think. It came and went several times. At one point I felt a fin brush past my head as a shark tore a fish to pieces. But I was more hungrythan frightened. The sea gull jumped around on the edge of the raft. It was twilight on my fifth day at sea: five days without eating. Despite my emotion, despite my heart pounding in my chest, I kept completely still, like a dead man, while I waited for the sea gull to come closer.
I was stretched out on my back at the side of the raft with my hands on my thighs. I’m sure that for half an hour I didn’t dare to blink. The sky brightened and irritated my eyes, but I didn’t close them at that tense moment. The sea gull pecked at my shoes.
After another long, intense half hour had passed I felt the sea gull sit on my leg. It pecked softly at my pants. I kept perfectly still when it gave me a sharp, dry peck on the knee, though I could have leaped into the air from the pain of the knee wound. But I endured it. Then the sea gull wandered to my right thigh, five or six centimeters from my hand. I stopped breathing and, desperately tense, began imperceptibly to slide my hand toward it.
7
T
he
D
esperate
R
ecourse of a
S
tarving
M
an
If you lie down in a village square hoping to capture a sea gull, you could stay there your whole life without succeeding. But a hundred miles from shore it’s different. Sea gulls have a highly developed instinct for self-preservation on land but at sea they’re very cocky.
I lay so still that the playful little sea gull perching on my thigh probably thought I was dead. I watched it. It pecked at my pants but didn’t hurt me. I continued to extend my hand. Suddenly, at the precise moment the sea gull realized it was in danger and tried to take flight, I grabbed it by the wing, leaped to the middle of the raft, and prepared to devour it.
When I first hoped it would perch on my thigh, I was sure that if I captured it I would eat it alive, without stopping to pluck its feathers. I was starving, and even the thought of the bird’s blood made me thirsty. But once Ihad it in my hands and felt the pulsing of its warm body and looked into its shiny, round dark-gray eyes, I hesitated.
Once, I had stood on deck with a rifle, trying to shoot one of the sea gulls following the ship, and the destroyer’s gunnery officer, an experienced sailor, said, “Don’t be a scoundrel. To a sailor, sea gulls are like sighting land. It isn’t proper for a sailor to kill a sea gull.” I remembered that incident, and the gunnery officer’s words, as I held the captured sea gull in my hands, ready to kill it and tear it apart. Even though I hadn’t eaten in five days, those words echoed in my ear, as if I were hearing them all over again. But hunger was more powerful than anything else. I grabbed the bird’s head firmly and began to wring its neck, as you would a chicken’s.
It was terribly delicate. With the first twist, I felt the neck bones break. With the second, I felt its living, warm blood spurt through my fingers. I pitied it. It looked like a murder victim. Its head, still pulsating, hung down from its body and throbbed in my hand.
The spilled blood stirred up the fish. The gleaming white belly of a shark grazed the side of the raft. A shark crazed by the
I kept absolutely still. I thought I felt, against my shoulder, the sharp fin of the punctual shark, who would have arrived at five o’clock. But I decided to take a risk. I didn’t dare look at the sea gull, so as not to scare it off by moving my head. I watched it fly very low over my body. I saw it take to the air and disappear into the sky. But I didn’t lose hope. I was hungry and I knew that if I remained absolutely still the sea gull would come within reach of my hand.
I waited more than half an hour, I think. It came and went several times. At one point I felt a fin brush past my head as a shark tore a fish to pieces. But I was more hungrythan frightened. The sea gull jumped around on the edge of the raft. It was twilight on my fifth day at sea: five days without eating. Despite my emotion, despite my heart pounding in my chest, I kept completely still, like a dead man, while I waited for the sea gull to come closer.
I was stretched out on my back at the side of the raft with my hands on my thighs. I’m sure that for half an hour I didn’t dare to blink. The sky brightened and irritated my eyes, but I didn’t close them at that tense moment. The sea gull pecked at my shoes.
After another long, intense half hour had passed I felt the sea gull sit on my leg. It pecked softly at my pants. I kept perfectly still when it gave me a sharp, dry peck on the knee, though I could have leaped into the air from the pain of the knee wound. But I endured it. Then the sea gull wandered to my right thigh, five or six centimeters from my hand. I stopped breathing and, desperately tense, began imperceptibly to slide my hand toward it.
7
T
he
D
esperate
R
ecourse of a
S
tarving
M
an
If you lie down in a village square hoping to capture a sea gull, you could stay there your whole life without succeeding. But a hundred miles from shore it’s different. Sea gulls have a highly developed instinct for self-preservation on land but at sea they’re very cocky.
I lay so still that the playful little sea gull perching on my thigh probably thought I was dead. I watched it. It pecked at my pants but didn’t hurt me. I continued to extend my hand. Suddenly, at the precise moment the sea gull realized it was in danger and tried to take flight, I grabbed it by the wing, leaped to the middle of the raft, and prepared to devour it.
When I first hoped it would perch on my thigh, I was sure that if I captured it I would eat it alive, without stopping to pluck its feathers. I was starving, and even the thought of the bird’s blood made me thirsty. But once Ihad it in my hands and felt the pulsing of its warm body and looked into its shiny, round dark-gray eyes, I hesitated.
Once, I had stood on deck with a rifle, trying to shoot one of the sea gulls following the ship, and the destroyer’s gunnery officer, an experienced sailor, said, “Don’t be a scoundrel. To a sailor, sea gulls are like sighting land. It isn’t proper for a sailor to kill a sea gull.” I remembered that incident, and the gunnery officer’s words, as I held the captured sea gull in my hands, ready to kill it and tear it apart. Even though I hadn’t eaten in five days, those words echoed in my ear, as if I were hearing them all over again. But hunger was more powerful than anything else. I grabbed the bird’s head firmly and began to wring its neck, as you would a chicken’s.
It was terribly delicate. With the first twist, I felt the neck bones break. With the second, I felt its living, warm blood spurt through my fingers. I pitied it. It looked like a murder victim. Its head, still pulsating, hung down from its body and throbbed in my hand.
The spilled blood stirred up the fish. The gleaming white belly of a shark grazed the side of the raft. A shark crazed by the
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