17^th May,2011

Heidi perceived that on top of everything else-the waves, wind, thirst, hunger and uncertainly-it was getting colder-winter was still not over in the southern hemisphere. The water of the open ocean was cold. A track suit was all Heidi had on and her head was bare-casual dress for a routine flight over the ocean. The waves had been drenching Heidi for more than twelve hours by then. She shivered. The life raft became less safe.

There was no doubt about it-a shark fin had cut through the water. Heidi felt as if she had died. The impact of a wave brought her to her senses. She clutched the rubber side of the raft. The next wave almost washed her overboard.

Killed by those creatures! Killed by creatures that attacked anything! Killed by creature with a mania for food! Killed by creatures that ate their own innards!

Heidi had seen Jaws. She remembered.

In the next moment she saw something else-a four engine plane was speeding right towards her. The Coast Guard! The plane passed overhead, turned around and came back. The sharks and the airplane, the horror and the joy all but caused her heart to burst.

Then a thought occurred to Heidi: how could the plane help her? Indeed, how?

“It can’t,” Heidi shouted.

“It can’t,” the sharks said silently.

A tall wave raised her life raft and, a second later, crashed down on the Cessna, which, as though tired of bobbing on the surface, went straight to the bottom. Before Heidi’s eyes the plane’s white cross sunk into the ocean depths. It was all over with the Cessna.

Heidi got ready alternately to live and to die.

Emptiness lapped in the lenses of the captain’s binoculars. He lowered them and wondered what was on the radar.

It had been a long time since Mochalove peered into the watery distance as he did now. But he remembered how he had once. That was long ago-almost forty years. Then, admittedly, he had not been a captain. He was 20. the war* was over but their lives hung by a thread each day. The crew was clearing the sea of mines, which outnumbered the fish. He had escaped being blown to smithereens. Though he could have been, he thought.

In all his years of seafaring no one had ever asked him if he liked his work. He had not asked himself that question either. Now it was kind of late. And the answer was clear.

The first mate reported that the radar had picked up the airplane. It was circling over one spot.

“That means it’s there,” the captain said. And, without pausing he added, “Full speed ahead.”

In other words, 18 knots.

“There,” he repeated. No one would circle over one spot just for the fun of it. For no reason at all.

The ship picked up speed. Night descended over the ocean, but it seemed to be waking up.

From – No Man Is An Island