I decided to ignore that too. For a start, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Spinning some tale or other.
‘There’s a lot of denial in your life, isn’t there? You … deny a lot of things.’
‘Oh no I don’t,’ I said. This was ridiculous. I made up my mind to force him out into the open. ‘Are you telling me, are you telling me there hasn’t been a war?’
‘That’s right. I mean, it was very worrying. It looked as if there might well be one. But they sorted something out.’
‘They sorted something out!’ I said it in a sarcastic shout, because this proved everything. My mind had been remembering that phrase of Greg’s which I’d found so complacent. I enjoyed shouting, I wanted to shout something else, so I did. ‘Until you’ve ate at BJ’s you ain’t shit!” I yelled. I was feeling triumphant, but the man didn’t seem to understand, and he laid a hand on my arm as if I needed comforting.
‘Yes, they really sorted something out. It never happened.’
‘I see,’ I replied, still victorious. ‘So of course I’m not on the island?’
‘Oh no.’
‘I imagined it.’
‘Yes.’
‘And so of course the boat doesn’t exist either?’
‘Oh yes, you went on the boat.’
‘But there weren’t any cats on it.’
‘Yes, you had two cats with you when they found you. They were terribly thin. They only just survived.’
It was cunning of him not to contradict me entirely. Cunning, but predictable. I decided on a switch of tactics. I’d be puzzled, and a bit pathetic. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said, reaching out and taking his hand. ‘If there wasn’t any war, why was I in the boat?’
‘Greg,’ he said, with a sort of nasty confidence, as if I’d finally admitted something. ‘You were running away. We find that those with persistent victim syndrome often experience acute guilt when they finally take flight. Then there was the bad news from the north. That was your excuse. You were exteriorizing things, transferring your confusion and anxiety on to the world. It’s normal,’ he added patronizingly, though it was obvious he didn’t think so. ‘Quite normal.’
‘I’m not the only persistent victim around here,’ I replied. ‘The whole bloody world’s a persistent victim.’
‘Of course.’ He agreed without really listening.
‘They said there was going to be a war. They said the war had started.’
‘They’re always saying that. But they sorted something out.’
‘So you keep saying. Well. So, in your version – I stressed the word – ‘where did they find me?’
‘About a hundred miles east of Darwin. Going round in circles.’
‘Going round in circles,’ I repeated. ‘That’s what the world does.’ First he tells me I’m projecting myself on to the world, then he tells me I’m doing what we all know the world does all the time. This really wasn’t very impressive.
‘And how do you explain my hair falling out?’
‘You’ve been pulling it out, I’m afraid.’
‘And my skin falling off?’
‘It’s been a bad time for you. You’ve been under severe stress. It’s not unusual. But it’ll get better.’
‘And how do you explain that I remember very clearly everything that’s happened from the news of the war breaking out in the north to my time here on the island?’
‘Well, the technical term is fabulation. You make up a story to cover the facts you don’t know or can’t accept. You keep a few true facts and spin a new story round them. Particularly in cases of double stress.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Severe stress in the private life coupled with a political crisis in the world outside. We always get an increase in admissions when things are going badly in the north.’
‘You’ll be telling me next there were dozens of crazy people going round in circles in the sea.’
‘A few. Four or five maybe. Most of the admissions didn’t make it as far as a boat, though.’ He sounded as if he was impressed by my tenacity.
‘And how many … admissions have you had this time?’
‘A couple of dozen.’
‘Well, I admire your fabulation,’ I said, using the technical term back to him. That put him in his place. ‘I really think it’s quite clever.’ He’d given himself away, of course. You keep a few true facts and spin a new story round them – exactly what he’d done.
‘I’m glad we’re making some progress, Kath.’
‘Go away and sort something out,’ I said. ‘By the way, is there any news of the reindeer?’
‘What sort of news did you want?’
‘Good news!’ I shouted. ‘Good news!’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
*
She felt tired when the nightmare left; tired but victorious. She had drawn out the worst the tempter had to offer. She would be safe now. Of course, he’d made a whole series of blunders. I’m glad we’re making some progress: he should never have said that. Nobody likes to be patronized by their own mind. The one that really gave him away was about the cats getting thin. That had been the most noticeable thing about the whole voyage, the way the cats got fatter, the way they loved the fish she caught.
She made a decision not to speak to the men again. She couldn’t stop them coming – and she was sure they would visit her for many more nights – but she wouldn’t speak to them. She had learnt how to shut her eyes in her nightmares; now she would learn to stop her ears and her mouth. She wouldn’t be tempted. She wouldn’t.
If she had to die then she would. They must have come through some very bad winds; how bad she would only find out when she either recovered or died. She worried about the cats, but believed they’d be able to fend for themselves. They would return to nature. They already had. When the food from the boat ran out they took to hunting. Or rather Paul did: Linda was too fat to hunt. Paul brought back small creatures for her, things like voles and mice. Tears bubbled into Kath’s eyes when he did so.
It was all about her mind being afraid of its own death, that’s what she finally decided. When her skin got bad and her hair started falling out, her mind tried to think up an alternative explanation. She even knew the technical term for it now: fabulation. Where had she picked that up from? She must have read it in a magazine somewhere. Fabulation. You keep a few true facts and spin a new story round them.
She remembered an exchange she’d had the previous night. The man in the dream said you deny a lot of things in your life don’t you, and she’d answered oh no I don’t. That was funny, looking back; but it was also serious. You mustn’t fool yourself. That’s what Greg did, that’s what most people did. We’ve got to look at things how they are; we can’t rely on fabulation any more. It’s the only way we’ll survive.
*
The next day, on a small, scrubby island in the Torres Strait, Kath Ferris woke up to find that Linda had given birth. Five tortoiseshell kittens, all huddling together, helpless and blind, yet quite without defect. She felt such love. The cat wouldn’t let her touch the kittens, of course, but that was all right, that was normal. She felt such happiness! Such hope!
5
SHIPWRECK
I
IT BEGAN WITH a portent.
They had doubled Cape Finisterre and were sailing south before a fresh wind when a school of porpoises surrounded the frigate. Those on board crowded the poop and the breastwork, marvelling at the animals’ ability to circle a vessel already gaily proceeding at nine or ten knots. As they were admiring the sports of the porpoises, a cry was raised. A cabin boy had fallen through one of the fore portholes on the larboard side. A signal gun was fired, a life-raft thrown out, and the vessel hove to. But these manoeuvres were cumbrously done, and by the time the six-oared barge was let down, it was in vain. They could not find the raft, let alone the boy. He was only fifteen years old, and those who knew him maintained that he was a strong swimmer; they conjecture
d that he would most probably have reached the raft. If so, he doubtless perished upon it, after having experienced the most cruel sufferings.
The expedition for Senegal consisted of four vessels: a frigate, a corvette, a flute and a brig. It had set sail from the Island of Aix on 17th June 1816 with 365 people on board. Now it continued south with its complement reduced by one. They provisioned at Tenerife, taking on precious wines, oranges, lemons, banian figs and vegetables of all kinds. Here they noted the depravity of the local inhabitants: the women of Saint Croix stood at their doors and urged the Frenchmen to enter, confident that their husbands’ jealousies would be cured by the monks of the Inquisition who would speak disapprovingly of conjugal mania as the blinding gift of Satan. Reflective passengers ascribed such behaviour to the southern sun, whose power, it is known, weakens both natural and moral bonds.
From Tenerife they sailed south-south-west. Fresh winds and navigational ineptitude scattered the flotilla. Alone, the frigate passed the tropic and rounded Cape Barbas. It was running close to the shore, at times no more than half a cannon shot away. The sea was strewn with rocks; brigantines could not frequent these seas at low water. They had doubled Cape Blanco, or so they believed, when they found themselves in shallows; the lead was cast every half-hour. At daybreak Mr Maudet, ensign of the watch, made out the reckoning upon a chicken coop, and judged that they were on the edge of the Arguin reef. His advice was discounted. But even those unschooled in the sea could observe that the water had changed colour; weed was apparent at the ship’s side, and a great many fish were being taken. In calm seas and clear weather, they were running aground. The lead announced eighteen fathoms, then shortly afterwards six fathoms. The frigate luffing, almost immediately gave a heel; a second and third, then stopped. The sounding line showed a depth of five metres and sixty centimetres.
By misfortune, they had struck the reef at high tide; and the seas growing violent, attempts to free the ship failed. The frigate was assuredly lost. Since the boats it carried were not capacious enough to contain the whole personnel, it was decided to build a raft and embark upon it those who could not be put into the boats. The raft would then be towed to the shore and all would be saved. This plan was perfectly well-laid; but as two of the company were later to affirm, it was traced upon loose sand, which was dispersed by the breath of egotism.
The raft was made, and well made, places in the boats allotted, provisions made ready. At daybreak, with two metres and seventy centimetres of water in the hold and the pumps failing, the order was given to abandon ship. Yet disorder quickly embraced the well-laid plan. The allotment of places was ignored, and the provisions were carelessly handled, forgotten or lost in the waters. One hundred and fifty was to be the complement of the raft: one hundred and twenty soldiers including officers, twenty-nine men sailors and passengers, one woman. But scarcely had fifty men got on board this machine – whose extent was twenty metres in length and seven in breadth – than it sank to at least seventy centimetres under water. They cast off the barrels of flour which had been embarked, whereupon the level of the raft rose; the remaining people descended upon it, and it sank again. When the machine was fully laden, it was a metre beneath the surface, and those on board so crowded that they could not take a single step; at the back and front, they were in water up to the waist. Loose flour barrels were cast against them by the waves; a twenty-five pound bag of biscuit was thrown down to them, which the water converted at once into apaste.
It had been intended that one of the naval officers should take command of the raft; but this officer declined to come on board. At seven o’clock in the morning the signal for departure was given, and the little flotilla pulled away from the abandoned frigate. Seventeen persons had refused to leave the vessel, or had concealed themselves away, and thus remained on board to discover their fate.
The raft was towed by four boats in line astern, preceded by a pinnace, which made soundings. As the boats took up their positions, cries of Vive le roi! arose from the men on the raft, and a small white flag was raised upon the end of a musket. But it was at this instant of greatest hope and expectation for those upon the raft that the breath of egotism was added to the normal winds of the seas. One by one, whether for reason of self-interest, incompetence, misfortune or seeming necessity, the tow-ropes were cast aside.
The raft was barely two leagues from the frigate when it was abandoned. Those on board had wine, a little brandy, some water and a small portion of sodden biscuit. They had been given no compass or chart. With neither oars nor rudder, there was no means of controlling the raft, and little means either of controlling those upon it, who were constantly flung against one another as the waters rolled over them. In the first night, a storm got up and threw the machine with great violence; the cries of those on board mingled with the roaring of the billows. Some attached ropes to the timbers of the craft, and held fast to these; all were buffeted without mercy. By daybreak the air was filled with lamentable cries, vows which could never be fulfilled were offered up to Heaven, and all prepared themselves for imminent death. It was impossible to form an idea of that first night which was not below the truth.
The next day the seas were calm, and for many hope was rekindled. Nevertheless, two young lads and a baker, convinced that there was no escape from death, bade farewell to their companions and willingly embraced the sea. It was during this day that those on the raft began to experience their first delusions. Some fancied that they saw land, others espied vessels come to save them, and the dashing of these deceptive hopes upon the rocks provoked greater despondency.
The second night was more terrible than the first. The seas were mountainous and the raft constantly near to being overthrown; the officers, clustered by the short mast, ordered the soldiery from one side of the machine to the other to counterbalance the energy of the waves. A group of men, certain that they were lost, broke open a cask of wine and resolved to soothe their last moments by abandoning the power of reason; in which they succeeded, until the sea water coming in through the hole they had made in the cask spoiled the wine. Thus doubly maddened, these disordered men determined to send all to a common destruction, and to this end attacked the ropes that bound the raft together. The mutineers being resisted, a pitched battle took place amid the waves and the darkness of the night. Order was restored, and there was an hour of tranquillity upon that fatal machine. But at midnight the soldiery rose again and attacked their superiors with knives and sabres; those without weapons were so deranged that they attempted to tear at the officers with their teeth, and many bites were endured. Men were thrown into the sea, bludgeoned, stabbed; two barrels of wine were thrown overboard and the last of the water. By the time the villains were subdued, the raft was laden with corpses.
During the first uprising, a workman by the name of Dominique, who had joined the mutineers, was cast into the sea. On hearing the piteous cries of this treacherous underling, the engineer in charge of the workmen threw himself into the water, and taking the villain by the hair, succeeded in dragging him back on board. Dominique’s head had been split open by a sabre. In the darkness the wound was bound up and the wretch restored to life. But no sooner was he so revived than, ungrateful as he was, he rejoined the mutineers and rose with them again. This time he found less fortune and less mercy; he perished that night.
Delirium now menaced the unhappy survivors. Some threw themselves into the sea; some fell into torpor; some unfortunate wretches rushed at their comrades with sabres drawn demanding to be given the wing of a chicken. The engineer whose bravery had saved the workman Dominique pictured himself travelling the fine plains of Italy, and one of the officers saying to him, ‘I remember that we have been deserted by the boats; but fear nothing; I have just written to the governor, and in a few hours we shall be saved.’ The engineer, calm in his delirium, responded thus: ‘Have you a pigeon to carry your orders with as much celerity?’
Only one cask of wine remained for the sixty still on board the
raft. They collected tags from the soldiers and fashioned them into fish-hooks; they took a bayonet and bent it into such shape as to catch a shark. Whereupon a shark arrived, and seized the bayonet, and with a savage twist of its jaw straightened it fully out again, and swam away.
An extreme resource proved necessary to prolong their miserable existence. Some of those who had survived the night of the mutiny fell upon the corpses and hacked pieces from them, devouring the flesh on the instant. Most of the officers refused this meat; though one proposed that it should first be dried to make it more palatable. Some tried chewing swordbelts and cartouche boxes, and the leather trimmings to their hats, with little benefit. One sailor attempted to eat his own excrements, but he could not succeed.
The third day was calm and fine. They took repose, but cruel dreams added to the horrors already inflicted by hunger and thirst. The raft, which now carried less than one half its original complement, had risen up in the water, an unforeseen benefit of the night’s mutinies. Yet those on board remained in water to the knees, and could only repose standing up, pressed against one another in a solid mass. On the fourth morning they perceived that a dozen of their fellows had died in the night; the bodies were given to the sea, except for one that was reserved against their hunger. At four o’clock that afternoon a shoal of flying fish passed over the raft, and many became ensnared in the extremities of the machine. That night they dressed the fish, but their hunger was so great and each portion so exiguous, that many of them added human flesh to the fish, and the flesh being dressed was found less repugnant. Even the officers began to eat it when presented in this form.
It was from this day onwards that all learned to consume human flesh. The next night was to bring a fresh supply. Some Spaniards, Italians and Negroes, who had remained neutral during the first mutinies, conspired together with the plan of throwing their superiors overboard and escaping to the shore, which they believed to be at hand, with those valuables and possessions which had been placed into a bag and hung upon the mast. Once more, a terrible combat ensued, and blood washed over the fatal raft. When this third mutiny was finally suppressed, there remained no more than thirty on board, and the raft had risen yet again in the water. Barely a man lay without wounds, into which salt water constantly flowed, and piercing cries were heard.
A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters Page 12