The Stranger in the Lifeboat(19)

She turned without response and climbed the steps. LeFleur went into the back room, flicked on the television, then carefully removed the notebook from his briefcase. He knew everything he was doing was wrong. Taking this notebook from the raft. Failing to inform the higher authorities. Lying to Patrice. It was as if he had tumbled into a rabbit hole and couldn’t stop himself from falling in deeper. Part of him kept pushing to go on, take the next step, learn the secrets of this unexpected entry into his life.

He reread the message on the notebook’s inside cover:

To whoever finds this—

There is no one left. Forgive me my sins.

I love you, Annabelle DeChapl—



Who was Annabelle? Did the writer believe this notebook would find its way to her? And how much time did these pages represent? Did someone last days before succumbing to the sea? Or was it longer? Weeks? Months?

Suddenly, the phone rang, and LeFleur jumped like a caught thief.

He checked his watch. Nine-thirty on a Sunday night?

“Hello?” he said tentatively.

“Is this Inspector LeFleur?”

“Who’s this?”

“My name is Arthur Kirsh. I’m with the Miami Herald, just checking up on something.”

LeFleur took a moment to respond.

“What is it?”

“Can you confirm that a life raft from the Galaxy yacht has been found on Montserrat? Did you find such a raft, sir?”

LeFleur swallowed hard. He stared at the notebook in his lap.

He hung up.





Sea





Nevin is dead.

Yesterday, he turned ghostly pale and slipped in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t eat a thing. At times he moaned so loudly, some of us covered our ears.

“Something got in that wound,” Geri whispered. “Some metal, or whatever he gashed himself on. The infection can’t clear. If sepsis has set in …”

“What?” I said, hesitantly.

“He’s going to die?” Jean Philippe asked.

Geri looked down. We knew that meant yes.

Little Alice was the first to discover him. Just after sunrise, she tugged at my T-shirt. I thought Nevin was sleeping. But she lifted his hand and it dropped limply. Poor Alice. No child should have to bear witness to what she has seen on this raft. No wonder she doesn’t speak.

We had a small ceremony. Nina said a prayer. We sat quietly, trying to collectively cobble together a eulogy. Finally Lambert said, “He was a hell of a programmer.”

The Lord rose to his knees. “Surely there is more to say about him than that.” He was wearing the white dress shirt Yannis had on when the Galaxy went down. He looked around at all of us.

“Nevin had three kids,” I offered. “He wanted to be a good father.”

“He had a nice singing voice,” Yannis added. “Remember when he sang ‘Sloop John B’?”

“Did he love others?” the Lord asked. “Did he tend to the poor? Was he humble in his actions? Did he love me?”

Lambert made a face.

“Show some respect,” he said. “The man’s dead.”



Last night I had a dream. I was sleeping in the raft when a noise stirred me. I looked up and the horizon was blocked by a giant ocean liner. Its white hull was enormous, dotted with portholes, and its decks were jammed with waving people, like those arriving in New York’s harbors at the turn of the century. Only somehow I knew these passengers were from the Galaxy. I heard them screaming “Where have you been?” and “We’ve been looking for you!” In the middle of them all was Dobby, with his long hair and toothy smile. He waved a bottle of champagne, motioning me to come join him.

I awoke with a jolt and squinted into the rising sun. The horizon was empty. No ocean liner. No happy passengers. Just the world’s longest straight line, from here to oblivion.

I felt my body physically deflate. At that moment, for some reason, the enormity of death began to hit me. I’m not sure why. I had never focused on dying before, Annabelle. I pushed the idea away. We all know we are going to die, but deep down, we don’t believe it. We secretly think there will be a late reprieve, a medical advance, a new drug that staves off our mortality. It’s an illusion, of course, something to shield us from our fear of the unknown. But it only works until death presents itself so plainly that you cannot ignore it.

I am at that point, my love. The end is no longer a faraway concept. I imagine all those souls who went down with the Galaxy. I picture Bernadette and Mrs. Laghari, now Nevin, all swallowed by the sea. Without rescue, the rest of us will suffer the same fate, we will perish in this raft, or in the water outside it, and one of us will watch the others go first. Man’s instinct is to find a way to live, but who wants to be the last to die?

As I was thinking this, I looked up and realized little Alice had crawled over to me. Her eyes were wide and her expression gentle, the way children sometimes look when they first wake up. A minute later, the Lord pulled himself alongside her. He looked at me, too. It made me uncomfortable.

“I don’t need company,” I said. “I’m just thinking about things.”

“Your fate,” the Lord said.

“Something like that.”

“Perhaps I can help.”