80 Sailing To Salvation (1/2)

Sadly, Felipe was wrong.

They did not spot Pitcairn before sunset. The bird that had raised their hopes so high flew away, heading west. This provoked a short but heated discussion among the crewmen: one of them voiced the opinion that it might be wise to abandon their course, and follow the bird.

It was a very stupid idea, and Felipe told the man to shut up. However, it revived Cruz's fears that they might miss Pitcairn. If they did, they faced a grueling journey to Gambier Islands. It would take a week if they were lucky, two if they weren't. Being out of luck would mean having to survive on a single frugal meal and a couple of cupfuls of water a day. Cruz was far from sure he could handle that.

As the sun sunk lower, so did his spirits. Coming down from his spiritual high was more unpleasant than the pain he still felt after rowing the boat. He glanced at Felipe, looking for reassurance, and was disappointed: Felipe was very solemn. This did not bode well: Felipe was a cheerful man who had managed to appear serene even during the terrible storm right after New Year's Day.

It was a beautiful sunset. The sky was orange and pink and purple; the boat seemed to be sailing through a sea of gold. Cruz felt very sad when looking at all this beauty. He had the disagreeable premonition it might be the last sunset he'd ever see. He cleared his throat and turned to Felipe and said:

”How far do you think we still have to go?”

”Twenty to thirty miles,” Felipe said, without the slightest hesitation.

”What? At least twenty miles? That's what, thirty seven kilometers? It's going to take hours!”

”Five, maybe six hours,” Felipe said calmly.

”But you said earlier we'd see Pitcairn before dark!”

”I said there was a chance we would see it before dark, sir. But I miscalculated the current. It weakened as we moved away from Henderson Island. The wind has shifted, too. It's three-quarters back now. Still good, but it means increased drift. I calculate we are going a knot slower because of all this. It adds up over time.”

”A knot? What are you talking about?”

”A sea mile. Same thing, sir. So all in all, I think we've traveled eight, maybe nine miles less than I thought we would.”

”So we'll be getting close in the middle of the night,” Cruz said slowly. ”We could pass it without seeing it, am I right?”

”No,” Felipe said stolidly. ”You are wrong, sir. We'll see it.”

”How can you be so sure? There's hardly any moon!”

”It's a very clear sky. There'll be plenty of starlight.”

”Starlight!” Cruz snorted.

”We also have the flare gun. I've taken along a dozen illumination flares. They light up a huge area. When I think we're getting close, I'll fire a flare.”

Cruz could think of nothing to say to that, so he raised his chin in silent contempt and turned away from Felipe. As he did so, he couldn't help noticing that the rapidly darkening sky to the east already twinkled with hundreds of tiny lights.

Cruz stared at them, his mind in total turmoil. He owed his success to meticulous planning. He was a planner by heart: every move he made was carefully calculated beforehand. And now, his life depended on light from faraway stars, light that took hundreds of thousands or even millions of years to actually arrive, and illuminate his world. A light that could be extinguished in an instant by a change in weather. And out in the ocean, the weather could change completely within a few hours.

There was nothing he could do about it. For the first time in an eternity, he was totally helpless. He was a tiny, insignificant counter lying on the gambling table while the cosmos rolled its dice.

It would have been all so much easier if he believed in God! But Cruz believed in God the same way he believed in Cinderella, or Snow White. He believed in the power of stories: people were powered by myths that were their own creations. Myths gave people strength to endure extreme hardships. They also frequently made them stupid and cruel, but there was a price to be paid for everything.

When Cruz took his First Communion and later took his children to theirs, he didn't feel like a hypocrite. He was paying obeisance to the greatest myth ever, acknowledging its power in his own life. That was all.

Now, sitting in the swaying boat, he felt the urge to pray. But he had no one to pray to. No one to ask for help, no one to tell that he was sorry.