The Stranger in the Lifeboat(18)
“You wasted it,” he said.
“Shut up, Jason,” Yannis said.
Earlier this morning, Geri, Yannis, Nina, Lambert, and I sat outside the canopy while the Lord slept underneath it. We don’t stay outside for long, as the sun is brutal. But we wanted to speak where he couldn’t hear us.
“Do you think he created that rain?” Yannis whispered.
“Don’t be stupid,” Lambert said.
“We still don’t know how he survived in the ocean,” Geri said.
“He got lucky. So what?”
“He gets hungry and thirsty like we do,” I said.
“And he sleeps,” Yannis added. “Why would God sleep?”
“What about Bernadette?” Nina asked.
“That’s hard to explain,” Yannis admitted.
“No, it isn’t,” Lambert said. “What did he actually do?”
“He brought her back to life.”
“You don’t know that. She could have woken up on her own.”
“She did die a day later,” Geri said.
“Yeah,” Lambert added. “Where’s the miracle in that?”
“The rain could be a coincidence,” Yannis said.
“Then how come it hadn’t rained before?” Nina said.
“But why would God stop it when we needed it most?” I asked.
“Read the Old Testament,” Lambert scoffed. “God is fickle, mean, and vindictive. Another reason I never took to religion.”
“You’ve read the Old Testament?” Geri asked.
“Enough of it,” Lambert mumbled.
Jean Philippe crawled out from the canopy, so we stopped talking. He wants to believe what he chooses about his wife’s passing. We should respect that.
Meanwhile, I fear Nevin is slipping badly. He is quite pale and his leg wound, despite our best efforts, is only getting worse. An hour ago, when I began writing you, I heard him call my name. His lips were covered with blisters and his voice was feeble and halting.
“Benji …,” he croaked, waving two fingers. “Can you … come here … ?”
I crawled over to his tall, thin body. His injured leg was elevated over the side.
“What is it, Nevin?” I said.
“Benji … I have three children …”
“That’s good.”
“I … I see you writing in your … uh … notebook. Might you be able to … transcribe a message for them … from me, I mean?”
I looked down at my pen and said, “All right.”
“The thing is … I’ve not spent … the time with them … that I should have …”
“It’s OK, Nevin, you will.”
He grunted and forced a small smile. I could tell he didn’t believe me.
“My youngest … Alexander … he’s … a good boy … a bit bashful …”
“Yes—”
“Tall, like me … married a nice woman, a … a history teacher … I believe …”
He voice grew thinner. He rolled his eyes away from me.
“Keep going, Nevin. What do you want me to write?”
“I missed their wedding,” he rasped. “Business meeting …”
He looked back at me as if pleading.
“My youngest child … I … told him … it couldn’t be helped …” His right hand fell limply across his chest. “It could have been helped.”
I asked again what he wanted me to write, even though I already knew. He blinked his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Land
LeFleur entered his house quietly. The sun had already set. He had the notebook tucked into a briefcase.
“Jarty? Where have you been?”
Patrice appeared out of the kitchen. She wore jeans and a lime-green T-shirt that draped loosely on her thin frame. Her feet were bare.
“Sorry.”
“You left this morning, you didn’t call all day.”
“You’re right.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Some junk floated up on the north shore. I had to drive up and check it out.”
“You still could have called.”
“You’re right.”
She paused, looking at him. She scratched her elbow. “So? Anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
“I have dinner.”
“I’m tired.”
“I made all this food.”
“OK, OK.”
An hour later, having finished the meal, LeFleur said he wanted to watch the soccer game. Patrice rolled her eyes. He knew she would. He remembered a time when their communication was kinder, their exchanges tinged with the gentility of love. They had lost that in the wreckage of Lilly’s death.
“I’m going upstairs then,” Patrice said.
“I won’t be long.”
“Are you all right, Jarty?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. If the game’s boring, I won’t watch the whole thing.”