Three Weeks

Three Weeks

  by Mahin Khan

  Copyright 2014 by Mahin Khan

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  The two of them stood at the port in Rio Grande, Brazil, opposite an old man, a feeble collection of boats floating behind him.

  "We will be needing one," the Captain said. His voice was firm and dignified, molded so by his endless trips to the sea.

  "Your time at the company over?" the old man asked.

  "Yes. It's time to leave," came the reply.

  "Where are you headed, if I may ask?"

  "Philadelphia," the Captain's wife said with a smile.

  "Ah, going back home. How was the trip across the South Atlantic, Captain?"

  "Our ship got damaged around St Helena. We were stranded for a month, but we survived," the Captain said. He never went into the details of his voyages.

  "You've survived for fourteen years, thankfully," his wife said.

  "Philadelphia should give you no trouble then. A month's journey, if you're quick."

  "You got family there?" the old man continued.

  "No, just us. We got a nice home waiting for us," his wife said.

  "No children?"

  "No, not for us."

  "I see. More time for the two of you then," he smiled at her.

  They walked with the old man across the rustic brown deck.

  "This should be acceptable," the Captain said, studying a small boat. He did the necessary business with the old man and boarded the supplies onto it.

  It was a sailing boat, made out of old, earth-colored oak. On one end stood the Captain, his posture upright, the navy suit hiding the muscular body underneath. He looked over to the other end where his wife leaned over the edge, her grey dress flowing to her feet. She was a foot shorter than the Captain and seemed fragile in comparison. He admired the beauty of her pale, white face, like he did every time he saw her, though that hadn't been a lot.

  They sailed for weeks, just the two of them, alone at sea. The Captain guided the boat and she followed his orders. Even though she had barely sailed with him, she was more than sure of his ability, for the Captain had sailed in every ocean in the world, spending more time on water than on land.

  "Do you wish to see the island I mentioned to you before?" the Captain said. He had visited it on one of his trips and upon returning, he had told his wife about the majestic beauty of Fernando de Noronha, a group of green islands with gigantic rocks protruding out of the ocean. Out of everything he had seen at sea, it was the most pleasant thing he thought he could tell her.

  "Oh yes! We must see it."

  They had been sailing for two weeks already, but his wife's excitement hadn't dampened. She had always been amused by the rare tales of his journeys. He remembered once when he had told her the story of finding a beautiful pearl on a beach in Bermuda, lying by itself on the shallow, ocean floor. How amazed she had been, he recalled.

  Taking them to the island did not trouble the Captain, but he was aware of dangerous weather. He could see the darkness in the far off distance, but wishing to please his wife, he routed the boat towards Fernando de Noronha. It would cost two, maybe three days more, he thought.

  His wife's joy began to lull as she noticed the storm approaching. It was night, and all they could observe was the distant thunder. Soon, it began to declare its strength. Even the Captain, who had been in his fair share of menacing storms, was surprised by its intense power. He looked over to his wife as lightning illuminated her face, seeing nothing but utter fear in it.

  "We shall be alright," he said to her. But he wasn't sure himself.

  The storm hit them without remorse. The wind commanded waves that reached into their boat and thrashed every plank of wood. Raindrops the size of seashells fell on them, but they went noticed, for water engulfed everything. She clutched the Captain in desperation, but he could do nothing. The waves grew larger, their ferocity increasing with every strike, until there was nothing left to hit. The Captain and his wife were thrown out into the sea along with everything else. Another flash of lightning hit, showing them no remains of the boat, only water in all its anger.

  The Captain awoke first. His limbs were bruised and cramped, his back hurting as he sat up. He surveyed his surroundings, his neck aching as he did so. They were on an island. Not the island he had mentioned to his wife, no, this island was much smaller and untouched by greenery, he thought, as he stood up and began to explore it. It didn't take long. It was barren, filled with only sand, a remote outpost that wasn't meant to exist, as if the ocean had forgotten to claim a part of its righteous domain.

  He woke his wife, telling her what he knew, his brevity appropriate to her for once.

  "We're stranded. There's nothing here!" she cried.

  "We're safe. We would be dead if we were still in the water."

  "But we will die here too!"

  The Captain thought she might be right, but assured her they would find a way to survive. He always had.

  "A boat goes to Fernando de Noronha from Rio Grande every month. It may pass close to us."

  "When will it get here?"

  "It may. In three weeks."

  "Three weeks? Three weeks we must survive here?"

  "Three weeks we must survive."

  The confusion and fear in her was like a child's while being taken away from its mother.

  "You must follow what I say if we are to live," the Captain's voice commanded.

  "First, water," he said.

  "What about food?"

  "You can only live a few days without water."

  They dug a large hole in the sand under the Captain's orders. She looked at him with questions in her mind.

  "We will wait for the rain. It will come."

  "Next, shelter," he said.

  There was nothing on the island except sand. The day was spent digging deep trenches and building mounds with their bare hands. The mounds to shelter them from the sun, and the trenches to shelter them when it was not there, the Captain explained.

  Night came as the two sat exhausted, their fingers blistered. They lay in their trenches, covering themselves with tight layers of sand to combat the cold that creeped in.

  "What if there's something in the sand?" his wife asked.

  "We'll eat it," he said, though he knew there would be nothing.

  There was a long silence as trouble stirred in his wife.

  "How long can you live without food?"

  The question had been burning in her mind all day. He didn't answer for a while, not wanting to alarm her. She asked again.

  "Three weeks."

  The answer sank into her as she lay still.

  "Three weeks exactly?"

  "It depends."

  She didn't ask any more questions, wondering which side of life or death they would land on as she went into an anxious sleep.

  During the night, it rained, and she was pleased to drink fresh water. Her hopes rose for a while, resting in her trust in the Captain's aptitude. In the morning, the Captain tried to catch fish with his bare hands. He had done it before, when he was stranded off the coast of Panama with his crew, but there was nothing to catch here. It was as if the ocean had joined hands with the island in the pursuit of barrenness. His wife searched in the ocean alongside him, hoping he would miraculously pull something out with his knowledge of survival and the seas, but slowly, the inevitability of their situation dawned on her, that here and now in this lack of life th
at surrounded them, they were both equally useless.

  "What shall we do next?"

  Her question resting in helplessness.

  "We wait."

  Days passed, turning into a week, then into two. They lay at the edge of the ocean, like they did every day, their mounds of sand sheltering them from the blistering sun as they looked and longed for a sign of life. The Captain could notice how different his wife looked. She, on the other hand, could barely recognize him. It was as if he had lived a decade in those two weeks, his physique more demanding than hers. Their bodies were frail with the skin pulled tight to the bones. Their stomachs ached as hunger swallowed them like the violent sea.

  "Another week and the boat will come," he said in a low but steady voice.

  For most of the days, they didn’t move a great deal, except for the Captain going into the ocean. Every time he ventured in, his efforts waned, reduced to only a momentary glimpse that day. The ocean had remained its barren self, giving them no food, only a glimmer of hope for a magical vessel to rescue them from their starving deaths. She had always heard of the Captain's honesty at sea, but she had given up all hope for the boat, thinking it was only something the Captain had invented to give her comfort.

  "I won’t make it. But you will." he said. They both knew he wouldn’t last much longer. "You can survive when I am gone."

  The Captain gave her a determined look. He knew this was all his body could do to help her live. She could tell what he was thinking of immediately, for the idea has crossed her mind uneasily as well.

  "No! You can't be thinking of —"

  "It is the only way you will survive. You must survive." His voice was frail, like the gentle waves that came upon the shore.

  "I cannot! I cannot do that to you."

  "All that I am will be gone. Only my body will remain, not me."

  "But it's inhumane! It's not natural!"

  "You need to surv —"

  "No!" she cried, exhausting herself. "If that is what survival means, I do not wish to live."

  Her tone was firm, her face expressionless, her words final. The Captain understood she would not change her mind. Though she could survive, she was going to die, tomorrow, or the day after, he thought, in the same agonizingly slow and helpless manner he was. His stomach bubbled in pain. It was not the way the Captain wanted her to go, or himself. He thought of crueler ways to die, but none came to mind. Gathering his thoughts, he decided on his course of action.

  "This is not a good way to end," he muttered. His mind accepted what was about to happen, for to the Captain, it was the rational thing to do.

  "It is not. But this is our fate," she said, trying to be strong.

  He collected his powers, carefully getting up to his feet, his actions seeming most important to him.

  "Come, I want to show you one final thing."

  She slowly followed him into the water, every motion bringing them closer to death, until they were knee-deep in it.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "A pearl," he said, forcing a smile. Her mouth opened wide in wonder, just like he remembered it had before. She bent down, her face almost touching the water. He could feel the grip of death growing stronger, but it was within him to fight it.

  "I can't see it," she said meekly. As she looked at him, she saw a man who had been diminished to his core, only seeing a creature whose sole purpose was to survive.

  "Go in. You will find it."

  Her head descended into the salty water. At first, she didn't see anything. But a minute later, as a strong hand gripped her neck and held her in, she began to see. In her final moments, she saw the most brilliant pearls, shining brighter than any she had ever seen. Slowly, their light faded.

  The Captain's mind began asking questions, but hunger beckoned louder. She may last him another week, he thought.

  ###

  About the Author

  Mahin Khan is a college student who is bustling with ideas for tales and energy to write them. He believes that there are few things more powerful than an effective story, one that makes you feel, question, laugh or imagine. He is on a journey to write such stories and write them well, hoping to make your time here worth it.

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