Read Online Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor by Gabriel García Márquez - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gabriel García Márquez
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felt utterly frustrated and helpless at the sight of the solid, impenetrable body of the fish.
I examined it meticulously for soft spots. Finally I found a slit between the gills and with my finger I began to pull out the entrails. The innards of a fish are soft and without substance. It is said that if you strike a hard blow to a shark’s tail the stomach and intestines fall out of its mouth. In Cartagena, I had seen sharks hanging by their tails, with huge thick masses of dark innards oozing from their mouths.
Luckily the entrails of my fish were as soft as those of the sharks. It didn’t take long to remove them with my finger. It was a female: among the entrails I found a string of eggs. When it was completely gutted I took the first bite. I couldn’t break through the crust of scales. But on the second try, with renewed strength, I bit down desperately, until my jaw ached. Then I managed to tear off the first mouthful and began to chew the cold, tough flesh.
I chewed with disgust. I had always found the odor of raw fish repulsive, but the flavor is even more repugnant. It tastes vaguely like raw palm, but oilier and less palatable. I couldn’t imagine that anyone had ever eaten a live fish, but as I chewed the first food that had reached my lips in seven days, I had the awful certainty that I was in fact eating one.
After the first piece, I felt better immediately. I took a second bite and chewed again. A moment before, I had thought I could eat a whole shark. But now I felt full after the second mouthful. The terrible hunger of seven days wasappeased in an instant. I was strong again, as on the first day.
I now know that raw fish slakes your thirst. I hadn’t known it before, but I realized that the fish had appeased not only my hunger but my thirst as well. I was sated and optimistic. I still had food for a long time, since I had taken only two small bites of a creature half a meter long.
I decided to wrap the fish in my shirt and store it in the bottom of the raft to keep it fresh. But first I had to wash it. Absentmindedly I held it by the tail and dunked it once over the side. But blood had coagulated between the scales. It would have to be scrubbed. Naïvely I submerged it again. And that was when I felt the charge of the violent thrust of the shark’s jaws. I hung on to the tail of the fish with all the strength I had. The beast’s lunge upset my balance. I was thrown against the side of the raft but I held on to my food supply; I clung to it like a savage. In that fraction of a second, it didn’t occur to me that with another bite the shark could have ripped my arm off at the shoulder. I kept pulling with all my strength, but now there was nothing in my hands. The shark had made off with my prey. Infuriated, rabid with frustration, I grabbed an oar and delivered a tremendous blow to the shark’s head when it passed by the side of the raft. The beast leaped; it twisted furiously and with one clean, savage bite splintered the oar and swallowed half of it.
9
T
he
C
olor of the
S
ea
B
egins to
C
hange
In a rage, I continued to strike at the water with the broken oar. I had to avenge myself on the shark that had snatched from my hand the only nourishment available. It was almost five in the afternoon of my seventh day at sea. Soon the sharks would arrive en masse. I felt strengthened by the two bites I had managed to eat, and the fury occasioned by the loss of my fish made me want to fight. There were two more oars in the raft. I thought of switching the oar the shark had bitten off for another one, so I could keep battling the monsters. But my instinct for self-preservation was stronger than my rage: I realized I might lose the other two oars and I didn’t know when I might need them.
Nightfall was the same as on all the other days, but this night was darker and the sea was stormy. It looked like rain. Thinking some drinking water might be coming myway, I took off my shoes and my shirt to have
I examined it meticulously for soft spots. Finally I found a slit between the gills and with my finger I began to pull out the entrails. The innards of a fish are soft and without substance. It is said that if you strike a hard blow to a shark’s tail the stomach and intestines fall out of its mouth. In Cartagena, I had seen sharks hanging by their tails, with huge thick masses of dark innards oozing from their mouths.
Luckily the entrails of my fish were as soft as those of the sharks. It didn’t take long to remove them with my finger. It was a female: among the entrails I found a string of eggs. When it was completely gutted I took the first bite. I couldn’t break through the crust of scales. But on the second try, with renewed strength, I bit down desperately, until my jaw ached. Then I managed to tear off the first mouthful and began to chew the cold, tough flesh.
I chewed with disgust. I had always found the odor of raw fish repulsive, but the flavor is even more repugnant. It tastes vaguely like raw palm, but oilier and less palatable. I couldn’t imagine that anyone had ever eaten a live fish, but as I chewed the first food that had reached my lips in seven days, I had the awful certainty that I was in fact eating one.
After the first piece, I felt better immediately. I took a second bite and chewed again. A moment before, I had thought I could eat a whole shark. But now I felt full after the second mouthful. The terrible hunger of seven days wasappeased in an instant. I was strong again, as on the first day.
I now know that raw fish slakes your thirst. I hadn’t known it before, but I realized that the fish had appeased not only my hunger but my thirst as well. I was sated and optimistic. I still had food for a long time, since I had taken only two small bites of a creature half a meter long.
I decided to wrap the fish in my shirt and store it in the bottom of the raft to keep it fresh. But first I had to wash it. Absentmindedly I held it by the tail and dunked it once over the side. But blood had coagulated between the scales. It would have to be scrubbed. Naïvely I submerged it again. And that was when I felt the charge of the violent thrust of the shark’s jaws. I hung on to the tail of the fish with all the strength I had. The beast’s lunge upset my balance. I was thrown against the side of the raft but I held on to my food supply; I clung to it like a savage. In that fraction of a second, it didn’t occur to me that with another bite the shark could have ripped my arm off at the shoulder. I kept pulling with all my strength, but now there was nothing in my hands. The shark had made off with my prey. Infuriated, rabid with frustration, I grabbed an oar and delivered a tremendous blow to the shark’s head when it passed by the side of the raft. The beast leaped; it twisted furiously and with one clean, savage bite splintered the oar and swallowed half of it.
9
T
he
C
olor of the
S
ea
B
egins to
C
hange
In a rage, I continued to strike at the water with the broken oar. I had to avenge myself on the shark that had snatched from my hand the only nourishment available. It was almost five in the afternoon of my seventh day at sea. Soon the sharks would arrive en masse. I felt strengthened by the two bites I had managed to eat, and the fury occasioned by the loss of my fish made me want to fight. There were two more oars in the raft. I thought of switching the oar the shark had bitten off for another one, so I could keep battling the monsters. But my instinct for self-preservation was stronger than my rage: I realized I might lose the other two oars and I didn’t know when I might need them.
Nightfall was the same as on all the other days, but this night was darker and the sea was stormy. It looked like rain. Thinking some drinking water might be coming myway, I took off my shoes and my shirt to have
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