Chapter 1: The Poor Englishman

 

             

            The sea salt dried and powdered his lips. The tide would wash it away and the sun would dry it again, leaving another film of powdered salt. The blood attracted all the strange things of the sea. The curious spectacle of a drowning man brought them from the heart of darkness and they waited for him to die. The gulls prepared his death mask by pecking his face as the fish prepared his watery casket; he was to sleep in the heart of darkness.

            

The sky was still very black and the rain fell for many hours. The lightning frightened the gulls to the air above the clouds and the fish to scavenge on the cold scraps tumbling in the deep. When the rain had stopped, he cried salty tears and flailed at the attacking gulls. Without a moment’s notice, the gulls swooped in unison and ripped bits of his hair in their talons and pecked his soft burnt skin while savagely squawking their war cry. He moved to dive beneath the surface but they only carved deeper into his face and scalp keeping his head above the current as they pecked furiously. He almost fainted from the pain when he heard the crack of thunder and their grip loosened. The thunder fired again and a gull fell from the sky and slapped the water’s surface. The gull’s chest quivered and blood ran from his beak. A small skiff was hugging the horizon and an old man stood at the bow with a rifle and fired once more into the pack. The boat was dry and the gulls escaped into the sun. The fish cursed from beneath the skiff and retreated into the darkness.

            The sand was fine and cold and pearl white, and the old man dragged him onto the sand in the shadow of the boat. The clouds were pushed closer to the world by the coming darkness and the sun bled orange, black and purple onto the sky. The old man’s thick hands picked his head up, pressing the deep cuts on his scalp. The powder on his lips washed away and the old man tilted a pitcher until the water ran freely down his throat. The ecstasy ended in violent coughing. The old man smiled at him and said, “I’m Gordon. Let’s go home.”