Giovanni Andreazzi

How long have you been a sailor?

Me mother was a mermaid.
Me father was King Neptune.
I was born on the crest of a wave
And rocked in the cradle of the deep.
Seaweed and barnacles are me clothes,
The hair on me head is hemp,
Every bone in me body’s a spar,
And when I spits, I spits tar.
I’se hard, I is, I am, I are.

Three Objects From the Table
2010 Winner, August

The title explained:
One exercise that we had in one of the Writer’s Guild meetings was to select three objects from a table.  I had chosen the ship, a piece of driftwood, and the binoculars.  From those choices I wrote the following story:

Somehow he was the only survivor when a two-masted schooner sank during a typhoon in the South China Sea.  He had climbed onto a large piece of driftwood from the torn‑apart ship and floated for two days upon shark-infested seas.  Straddling the piece of driftwood, arms and legs dangling in the water, he was able to achieve a restless half asleep, half awake cycle.  The moisture from the sea, even though it was saltwater, kept him from dehydrating, but he knew he couldn’t last much longer.  As the only lookout in the crow’s nest when the ship had gone down, he still had the binoculars hanging around his neck.  Lucky for him as this was the only thing that might have save his life.  

The sharks must have consumed enough other prey to satisfy their seemingly insatiable appetites as the westerly currents carried him to a tiny atoll with no other land in sight.  Without any food or water, he felt he was doomed.   But the binoculars gave him the hope that he would be able to scan the horizon in search of any passing ships that might rescue him.

A few hours after dragging himself ashore, he regained his ability to stand and then walk.  After the ordeal at sea, his legs were not accustomed to bearing his weight and he was weakened by thirst and hunger.  With wobbly steps, he explored the island for something to quench his thirst and came upon a waterfall cascading down a slope from a nearby tree-covered hill. 

The water tasted fresh and clean, but he was careful not to drink too much.  Other sailors had told stories that after they had depleted their limited store of potable water on long sea voyages, they had their first drink when they got to port.  Gulping down too much water, they became weak, dizzy, and sometimes passed out from drinking too much of a good thing.  Hyponatrimia or water intoxication, caused by the depletion of sodium, is the name that would be given to the condition sometime in the distant future.  So he sipped the water carefully, letting it cool his parched throat.

Feeling refreshed, he searched for something to eat.  He noticed that birds were picking at berries on a nearby tree.

As he approached the tree, the birds flew away screeching avian obscenities at him.  Little did he know that, from a nearby thicket of Tahitian gardenia, he was being watched.

I don’t have anything to net the birds with, but if they’re eating the fruit from that tree, it must be safe, he thought.

The fruit looked like cherries, but were not very tasty; however, they were nourishing, satisfying, and energizing.  An hour later, he felt strong enough to continue exploring the island.  Returning to the waterfall, he climbed the hill, following the trickling water.  In turn, he, too, was being followed.

His climb was not far and upon reaching the summit, he was able to see the entire coastline.  There were no other hills on the island which he guessed to be about five miles in diameter and covered with vegetation.  With his naked eyes, he watched the horizon searching for anything that might give him hope. 

Another pair of naked eyes was watching him.

“What’s that?” he shouted, startling the observer crouching behind a tree.

On the horizon, silhouetted against a billowing cloud, was a dot.  Raising the binoculars he focused them in the direction of the dot.

“A ship!” he shouted, “And it’s heading in this direction.”

I’ll be a dead man if I can’t get their attention, he thought.  I have no means to light a fire and no large flag to wave.  He lowered the binoculars to his side and waved frantically to the vessel on the horizon.

Guessing that the horizon was about 60 miles away, he stumbled down the hill toward the side of the island where he had spotted the ship.  Moving with caution and stealth, so did the observer. 

Reaching the shore line, he lifted the glasses again and followed the approaching vessel.  Periodically he waved both hands in a futile effort to make himself seen.

Surely they must be looking at the only visible island for hundreds of miles, he thought.

“I saw something!” the lookout on the distant ship cried out. 

“Be more specific,” the bos’n mate gruffly barked.

“It looks as if someone is using a signal mirror on that island,” he relayed to the deck below, adding, “off the starboard bow.”

The bos’n told the captain who immediately had the ship turned toward where the lookout had spotted the gleam of light.  The gleam of light that had been reflected off the end of the binoculars.

Three hours later, as the ship’s dingy was rowing toward shore, a wild boar rushed out from its hiding place and forced him into the water.  He swam toward the incoming dingy, and was killed by a shark.