Fighting off the Sharks for a Fish

During the war the destroyer had sunk a German submarine in these same waters. 

by Gabriel García Márquez

It was the first creature I had seen after thirty hours on the raft. A shark fin inspires terror because one knows how voracious the beast is. 

But in fact, nothing appears more innocuous than a shark fin. It doesn't look like part of an  animal, even less part of a savage beast. It's green and rough, like the bark of a tree.

As I watched it edge past the side of the raft, I imagined it might have a fresh flavor, somewhat bitter, like the skin of a vegetable. It was after five. 

The sea was tranquil in the afternoon light. More sharks approached the raft, patiently marauding until darkness fell. 

Then there was no more light, but I sensed them circling in the darkness, tearing the calm surface with the blades of their fins.

From that point on, I stopped sitting on the edge of the raft after five in the afternoon. Over the next few days I would learn that sharks are punctual creatures: they would arrive a little after five and vanish by nightfall. At twilight the transparent sea provided a lovely spectacle.

Fish of every color approached the raft. Enormous yellow and green fish, fish striped in blue and red, round ones and little ones, accompanied the raft until dark. 

Sometimes there was a metallic flash, a spurt of bloody water would gush on board, and pieces of a fish destroyed by a shark would float by. 

Then countless smaller fish would appear along the remains. At such times I would have sold my soul for the smallest piece of the shark's leftovers.

My second night at sea was one of hunger and thirst and desperation. I felt abandoned, clinging only to the hope that I would be rescued. 

That night I decided that all I could rely on to save myself were my will and what was left of my strength. ' One thing astounded me: I felt a little weak, but not exhausted.

I had endured nearly forty hours without water or food and more than two days and two nights without sleep, and I had been awake the entire night before the accident. 

Nonetheless, I felt capable of rowing. Again I searched for Ursa Minor. I fixed my sights on it and began co row. 

There was a breeze, but it wasn't blowing in the direction I should have been going in to navigate directly toward Ursa minor.

I secured both oars to the gunwale and decided to row until ten o'clock. 

At first l rowed furiously, then more calmly, my eyes fixed on Ursa Minor, which according to my calculations shone directly over the Cerro de la Popa. 

From the sound of the water, I knew I was moving forward. When I got tired I crossed the oars and laid my head down to rest. 

Then I grabbed the oars more firmly and more hopefully. At midnight I was still rowing...

The sight of fish, glistening and close by, made me hungry again. For the first time I felt truly desperate. But at the very least, I had some bait. 

I forgot my exhaustion, grabbed an oar, and prepared to expend the last of my strength in a well-aimed blow to the head of one of the frenzied fish that were jumping at the side of the raft. 

I don't know how many times I swung the oar. It felt as if each blow had hit the mark, bur I waited in vain for my catch.

There was a terrible feast of fish devouring one another, with one shark, belly up, taking his succulent share from the turbulent water. 

The shark's presence diverted me from my intentions; discouraged, I lay down at the side of the raft. 

But after a few moments I was filled with glee; seven sea gulls flew over the raft. To a hungry sailor alone at sea, gulls are a message of hope. 

Ordinarily, a flock of sea gulls will accompany a ship out of port, but only op to the second day of the voyage. Seven sea gulls over the raft meant land was nearby.

If I had had the strength, I would have started to row. But I was too weak. I could barely stay on my feet for a few seconds at a time. 

Convinced that I was less than two days from land, I drank a little more sea water from the palm of my hand and again lay down at the side of the raft, face upward so the sun wouldn't burn my lungs. 

I didn't cover my face with my shirt because I wanted to go on looking at the sea gulls, which were flying slowly, swooping down at an acute angle to the sea.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon on the fifth day. I don't know when it arrived. I was lying down in the raft, around five in the afternoon, preparing to lower myself into the middle before the sharks came. 

Then I saw a small sea gull, about the size of my hand, fly in circles above the raft and land on the end opposite me. 

My mouth filled with icy saliva. I didn't have anything to capture that sea gull with. 

No instrument except my hands and my cunning, which was sharpened by hunger. 

The other gulls had disappeared. Only this little one remained, brown, with shiny feathers, hopping around on the gunwale.

I kept absolutely still. I thought I felt, against my shoulder, the sharp fin of the punctual shark, who would have arrived at five o'clock. 

But I decided to take a risk. I didn't dare look at the sea gull, so as not to scare it off by moving my head. 

I watched it fly very low over my body. I saw it take to the air and disappear into the sky. But I didn't lose hope. 

I was hungry and I knew that if I remained absolutely still the sea gull would come within reach of my hand. 

I waited more than half an hour, I think. It came and went several times.

At one point I felt a fin brush past my head as a shark tore a fish to pieces. But I was more hungry  than frightened. The sea gull jumped around on the edge of the raft. It was twilight on my fifth day at sea: five days without eating. 

Despite my emotion, despite my heart pounding in my chest, I kept completely still, like a dead man, while I waited for the sea gull to come closer. I was stretched out on my back at the side of the raft with my hands on my thighs. I'm sure that for half an hour I didn't dare to blink.

The sky brightened and irritated my eyes, but I didn't close them at that tense moment. The sea gull pecked at my shoes. After another long, intense half hour had passed I felt the sea gull sit on my leg. 

It pecked softly at my pants. 1 kept perfectly still when it gave me a sharp, dry peck on the knee, though I could have leaped into the air from the pain of the knee wound. 

But I endured it. Then the sea gull wandered to my right thigh, five or six centimeters from my hand. I stopped breathing and, desperately tense, began imperceptibly to slide my hand toward it...



The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor: Who Drifted on a Life Raft for Ten Days Without Food or Water
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