nothing else to do but abandon ship. Since the longboats
available were insufficient to accommodate the entire complement, a raft measuring about forty feet in length and half that in width was constructed and lowered onto the water. Onto it went 147
men: soldiers, sailors, a few passengers, four officers, a doctor, and an engineer cartographer. The evacuation plan called for the four longboats to tow the raft to the shore. Shortly after
abandoning the wreck of the
Alliance,
however, panic and confusion gripped the convoy that was slowly trying to reach the coast. Out of baseness or ineptitude—no one ever managed to
establish the truth—the longboats lost contact with the raft. The towing hawser snapped. Or someone cut it. The longboats continued toward land and the raft was abandoned to fend for itself.
Not even half an hour later, dragged along by the current, it had already disappeared over the horizon.
F IRST is my name, Savigny.
First is my name, second is the gaze of those who abandoned us—their eyes, in that moment—fixed on the raft, they were unable to look elsewhere, but there was nothing behind that
gaze, absolutely nothing, neither hate nor pity, remorse, fear, nothing. Their eyes.
First is my name, second those eyes, third a thought: I am going to die, I shall not die. I am going to die I shall not die I am going to die I shall not die I am—the water is up to our
knees, the raft slips under the surface of the sea, weighed down by the burden of too many men—going to die I shall not die I am going to die I shall not die—the smell, the smell of
fear, of sea and bodies, the wood creaking underfoot, the voices, the ropes to hang on to, my clothes, my weapons, the face of the man who—I am going to die I shall not die I am going to die
I shall not die I am going to die—the waves all around, don’t think, where is the land? who is taking us there, who is in command? the wind, the current, the prayers like groans, the
prayers of rage, the howling of the sea, the fear that
First is my name, second those eyes, third a thought and fourth the night to come, clouds against the light of the moon, horrendous dark, only sounds: shouts and groans and prayers and curses,
and the sea that is getting up and beginning to sweep that tangle of bodies from every angle—there’s nothing for it but to hang on to what you can, a rope, the beams, someone’s
arm, all night long, in the water, under the water, if only there were a light, any kind of light, this darkness is eternal and the wailing that accompanies every instant is intolerable—but
one moment I remember, under the slap of an unexpected wave, a wall of water, I remember, suddenly, the silence, a blood-chilling silence, an instant, and my screaming, my screaming, my
screaming,
First is my name, second those eyes, third a thought, fourth the night to come, fifth the mangled bodies, trapped between the boards of the raft, a man like a rag, hanging from a post that had
staved in his chest to pin him there, swaying to the dance of the sea, in the light of day that reveals those slain by the sea in the darkness, they take them down one by one from their gallows and
return them to the sea, which has taken them, sea on all sides, there is no land, there is no ship on the horizon, nothing—and it is against that landscape of corpses and nothingness that a
man makes a way for himself among the others and without a word lets himself slip into the water and begins to swim, he simply
goes away,
and others see him and follow, and in truth some
do not even swim, they just let themselves drop into the sea, without moving, they vanish—it is even
sweet
to see them—they embrace before giving themselves to the
sea—tears on the faces of men unlooked for—then they let themselves drop into the sea and draw the salt water deep into their lungs so as to sear everything, everything—no one
stops them, no one
First is my name, second those eyes, third
available were insufficient to accommodate the entire complement, a raft measuring about forty feet in length and half that in width was constructed and lowered onto the water. Onto it went 147
men: soldiers, sailors, a few passengers, four officers, a doctor, and an engineer cartographer. The evacuation plan called for the four longboats to tow the raft to the shore. Shortly after
abandoning the wreck of the
Alliance,
however, panic and confusion gripped the convoy that was slowly trying to reach the coast. Out of baseness or ineptitude—no one ever managed to
establish the truth—the longboats lost contact with the raft. The towing hawser snapped. Or someone cut it. The longboats continued toward land and the raft was abandoned to fend for itself.
Not even half an hour later, dragged along by the current, it had already disappeared over the horizon.
F IRST is my name, Savigny.
First is my name, second is the gaze of those who abandoned us—their eyes, in that moment—fixed on the raft, they were unable to look elsewhere, but there was nothing behind that
gaze, absolutely nothing, neither hate nor pity, remorse, fear, nothing. Their eyes.
First is my name, second those eyes, third a thought: I am going to die, I shall not die. I am going to die I shall not die I am going to die I shall not die I am—the water is up to our
knees, the raft slips under the surface of the sea, weighed down by the burden of too many men—going to die I shall not die I am going to die I shall not die—the smell, the smell of
fear, of sea and bodies, the wood creaking underfoot, the voices, the ropes to hang on to, my clothes, my weapons, the face of the man who—I am going to die I shall not die I am going to die
I shall not die I am going to die—the waves all around, don’t think, where is the land? who is taking us there, who is in command? the wind, the current, the prayers like groans, the
prayers of rage, the howling of the sea, the fear that
First is my name, second those eyes, third a thought and fourth the night to come, clouds against the light of the moon, horrendous dark, only sounds: shouts and groans and prayers and curses,
and the sea that is getting up and beginning to sweep that tangle of bodies from every angle—there’s nothing for it but to hang on to what you can, a rope, the beams, someone’s
arm, all night long, in the water, under the water, if only there were a light, any kind of light, this darkness is eternal and the wailing that accompanies every instant is intolerable—but
one moment I remember, under the slap of an unexpected wave, a wall of water, I remember, suddenly, the silence, a blood-chilling silence, an instant, and my screaming, my screaming, my
screaming,
First is my name, second those eyes, third a thought, fourth the night to come, fifth the mangled bodies, trapped between the boards of the raft, a man like a rag, hanging from a post that had
staved in his chest to pin him there, swaying to the dance of the sea, in the light of day that reveals those slain by the sea in the darkness, they take them down one by one from their gallows and
return them to the sea, which has taken them, sea on all sides, there is no land, there is no ship on the horizon, nothing—and it is against that landscape of corpses and nothingness that a
man makes a way for himself among the others and without a word lets himself slip into the water and begins to swim, he simply
goes away,
and others see him and follow, and in truth some
do not even swim, they just let themselves drop into the sea, without moving, they vanish—it is even
sweet
to see them—they embrace before giving themselves to the
sea—tears on the faces of men unlooked for—then they let themselves drop into the sea and draw the salt water deep into their lungs so as to sear everything, everything—no one
stops them, no one
First is my name, second those eyes, third
Similar Books
