A raft of the dead bleeds, this I do not have to explain in detail. The science of blood, however, is not known to everyone. For the sake of the layman, I will say this. Blood in the water acts in a way not dissimilar from that brilliant modern convenience, the telegraph wire. It communicates a message. Like the ticks and blips that surge through the electric cable and transmit news of death, marriage and the need for hastily delivered funds, blood surges through the veins of salt-water in order to tell faraway creatures that food is on the market. The worst of such creatures is also the most famous resident of the Southern Seas. As soon as the sun tucked itself beneath the horizon, my father made the acquaintance of this monster, or rather, of an entire community of these monsters.
A school of Great White Sharks they were, a horror show of muscle and jaw. My father might have been skilled with his own teeth, but he was laughable compared to such destructive fish. With cold-hearted calculation, they began their assault by plucking away the bodies on the further edges of raft. Down went one, followed by another, sinking like raisins in thin pudding. My father scrambled to the center of the raft, hoping their appetite would soon abate. Alas, it did not, and as the bodies plunged into the sea and the raft shrank to almost nothing, my father turned to religion for the first time in his life. True, he had led a life punctuated with blasphemies, but he was also an opportunist. To God, he made this declaration.
“My sweet forgiving Lord. Deliver me from this predicament. Your ever-open eyes know my sins and the only thing I can say is this. I’ve had my fill of the dastardly life, and so I promise you, my future life, should you grant me one, will be different. It will be a life brimming with Jesus and worship of your godliness and magical wonderments. And that book you have written, I will have a read at that, so long as you bless me with the skill of reading. I shall also cease with my habit of performing indiscretions at your many nunneries. It is my understanding that nuns are your personal lovers, and therefore, you deserve the first go at them. Right is right and fair is fair. And being a fair, kind spirit, I assume you would not like to see me, your humble slave, devoured in this most sickening manner. I will await the dispatch of your finest savior, be he man or flying beast. Should I perish, then this talk is all for not, and I hope your guts rot away and that the world turns to one of those Indo-Asian gods with elephants for heads…but should you save me, then I will keep my promise. I mean that with all the sincerity my heart can muster.”
