Graham was in an awful panic and he was unable to control the yacht after I dived in to rescue my uncle. Suddenly, the yacht capsized and he was in the drink too.” Bull interjected.
“Is there a point to this story? I’m a busy man and time is getting on. I’ve got a lot of interesting things to do today.” Bull sighed and looked upward as if seeking divine intervention.
“I’m sure you have but not before you have heard my story.”
“Is this going to take long?”
Andrew looked down at his boots. His story recital was not going to plan. He watched as Bull bailed water with his brazier cup. He wondered if he was wasting his time and that his judgement was clouded by his belief that there is potential in everyone. He decided he would continue nonetheless. He said,
“Anyway, I managed to get us all to shore by dragging my uncle through the swells and by encouraging my brother – he was a weaker swimmer and lacked my confidence in the water. It was touch and go for quite a while out there, and I was always conscious of the depth of the water below and the blood dripping from my Uncle’s head wound as we thrashed around on the surface of the sea. I don’t mind admitting that the thought of a shark attack played heavily on my mind.”
Bull’s eyebrows rose in expectation when Andrew mentioned sharks. Andrew sensed he had Bull’s attention. He continued,
“When we got to shore, I dragged him over the sand, cut a swathe through the vegetation and made my uncle comfortable. I started a fire. I needed to keep him warm but also, just in case someone saw our signal and may have been in a position to rescue us. Luckily my uncle regained consciousness but to be honest, the situation was hopeless. I needed to set off and get help. He wanted to go himself but his ankle was broken, so I insisted that it was better for him to stay and look after my younger brother. It seemed like the best plan of action.”
Andrew paused again. He wanted to give Bull enough time to build a clear picture in his mind, and for himself to reflect on the magnitude of his heroism. The silence was only broken by the sound of the grab ropes tapping against the inflated pontoons.
“So there was no shark attack?” said Bull disappointedly.
“No, that was our only piece of good fortune. Can I continue?”
“Go on, if you must,” quipped Bull, now sitting back with his arms folded behind his head, waiting to be entertained. Suddenly, they heard a voice from the other side of the raft.
“Stop, stop this ma…it’s too late…” Bull edged towards Malcolm. He cupped his face in one hand and with the other he slapped his cheek gently. There was no further response. Bull turned back to Andrew.
“Was I hearing things or did he just come out of a coma to tell you to stop talking. Are you sure you don’t know him? It sounds like he’s heard this story before.”
“This is a new low for you isn’t it? Reduced to mocking a sick man,” replied Andrew with a sneer on his lips, “but if you must know he’s been making strange noises for some time now. You’re just usually asleep when he goes off on one.” Bull sniffed the air and said,
“The putrid smell inside this raft can’t be helping him.” Andrew opened the aperture and let some fresh air in. Bull said,
“Are you sure he’s unconscious, I mean people in comas don’t usually talk do they.” Andrew shook his head.
“I didn’t hear him talk. All I heard was some incoherent mumblings.”
“I think he was dreaming about his mother.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“He said, stop this ma. ”
“He’s a bit old to be having dreams about his mother,”
“I have dreams about my mother all the time.”
“I think psychologists have a term for that.”
“I don’t have an Oedipus complex, if that’s what you’re implying. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question - do people in comas talk? I thought you were the man with all the
“Is there a point to this story? I’m a busy man and time is getting on. I’ve got a lot of interesting things to do today.” Bull sighed and looked upward as if seeking divine intervention.
“I’m sure you have but not before you have heard my story.”
“Is this going to take long?”
Andrew looked down at his boots. His story recital was not going to plan. He watched as Bull bailed water with his brazier cup. He wondered if he was wasting his time and that his judgement was clouded by his belief that there is potential in everyone. He decided he would continue nonetheless. He said,
“Anyway, I managed to get us all to shore by dragging my uncle through the swells and by encouraging my brother – he was a weaker swimmer and lacked my confidence in the water. It was touch and go for quite a while out there, and I was always conscious of the depth of the water below and the blood dripping from my Uncle’s head wound as we thrashed around on the surface of the sea. I don’t mind admitting that the thought of a shark attack played heavily on my mind.”
Bull’s eyebrows rose in expectation when Andrew mentioned sharks. Andrew sensed he had Bull’s attention. He continued,
“When we got to shore, I dragged him over the sand, cut a swathe through the vegetation and made my uncle comfortable. I started a fire. I needed to keep him warm but also, just in case someone saw our signal and may have been in a position to rescue us. Luckily my uncle regained consciousness but to be honest, the situation was hopeless. I needed to set off and get help. He wanted to go himself but his ankle was broken, so I insisted that it was better for him to stay and look after my younger brother. It seemed like the best plan of action.”
Andrew paused again. He wanted to give Bull enough time to build a clear picture in his mind, and for himself to reflect on the magnitude of his heroism. The silence was only broken by the sound of the grab ropes tapping against the inflated pontoons.
“So there was no shark attack?” said Bull disappointedly.
“No, that was our only piece of good fortune. Can I continue?”
“Go on, if you must,” quipped Bull, now sitting back with his arms folded behind his head, waiting to be entertained. Suddenly, they heard a voice from the other side of the raft.
“Stop, stop this ma…it’s too late…” Bull edged towards Malcolm. He cupped his face in one hand and with the other he slapped his cheek gently. There was no further response. Bull turned back to Andrew.
“Was I hearing things or did he just come out of a coma to tell you to stop talking. Are you sure you don’t know him? It sounds like he’s heard this story before.”
“This is a new low for you isn’t it? Reduced to mocking a sick man,” replied Andrew with a sneer on his lips, “but if you must know he’s been making strange noises for some time now. You’re just usually asleep when he goes off on one.” Bull sniffed the air and said,
“The putrid smell inside this raft can’t be helping him.” Andrew opened the aperture and let some fresh air in. Bull said,
“Are you sure he’s unconscious, I mean people in comas don’t usually talk do they.” Andrew shook his head.
“I didn’t hear him talk. All I heard was some incoherent mumblings.”
“I think he was dreaming about his mother.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“He said, stop this ma. ”
“He’s a bit old to be having dreams about his mother,”
“I have dreams about my mother all the time.”
“I think psychologists have a term for that.”
“I don’t have an Oedipus complex, if that’s what you’re implying. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question - do people in comas talk? I thought you were the man with all the
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