«And I Only Am Escaped to Tell Thee», Roger Zelazny

Preface from Unicorn Variations: Here is another of thoseshort shorts I dearly enjoy doing when the opportunity and theidea come together. I tend to see things like this assingle-panel, briefly captioned cartoons--and I work backward alittle from there.

It was with them constantly--the black patch directly overhead from whence proceeded the lightnings, thenear-blinding downpour, the explosions like artillery fire.

Van Berkum staggered as the ship shifted again, almostdropping the carton he carried. The winds howled about him,tearing at his soaked garments; the water splashed and swirledabout his ankles--retreating, returning, retreating. High waves crashed constantly against the ship. The eerie, green light ofSt. Elmo's fire danced along the spars.

Above the wind and over even the thunder, he heard thesudden shriek of a fellow seaman, random object of attentionfrom one of their drifting demonic tormentors.

Trapped high in the rigging was a dead man, flensed of all flesh by the elements, his bony frame infected now by themoving green glow, right arm flapping as if waving--orbeckoning.

Van Berkum crossed the deck to the new cargo site, beganlashing his carton into place. How many times had they shiftedthese cartons, crates and barrels about? He had lost count longago. It seemed that every time the job was done a new move was immediately ordered.

He looked out over the railing. Whenever he was near,whenever the opportunity presented itself, he scanned thedistant horizon, dim through the curtain of rain. And he hoped.

In this, he was different. Unlike any of the others, hehad a hope--albeit a small one--for he had a plan.

A mighty peal of laughter shook the ship. Van Berkum shuddered. The captain stayed in his cabin almost constantly now, with a kegof rum. It was said that he was playing cards with the Devil.It sounded as if the Devil had just won another hand.

Pretending to inspect the cargo's fastenings, Van Berkumlocated his barrel again, mixed in with all the others. Hecould tell it by the small dab of blue paint. Unlike the others it was empty, and caulked on the inside.

Turning, he made his way across the deck again. Somethinghuge and bat-winged flitted past him. He hunched his shouldersand hurried.

Four more loads, and each time a quick look into thedistance. Then--Then ... ?

Then!

He saw it. There was a ship off the port bow! He looked about frantically. There was no one near him. This was it. Ifhe hurried. If he was not seen.

He approached his barrel, undid the fastenings, lookedabout again. Still no one nearby. The other vessel definitelyappeared to be approaching. There was neither time nor means tocalculate courses, judge winds or currents. There was only thegamble and the hope.

He took the former and held to the latter as he rolled thebarrel to the railing, raised it, and cast it overboard. Amoment later he followed it.

The water was icy, turbulent, dark. He was suckeddownward. Frantically he clawed at it, striving to drag himselfto the surface.

Finally there was a glimpse of light. He was buffeted by waves, tossed about, submerged a dozen times. Each time, hefought his way back to the top.

He was on the verge of giving up when the sea suddenlygrew calm. The sounds of the storm softened. The day began togrow brighter about him. Treading water, he saw the vessel hehad just quitted receding in the distance, carrying its private hell along with it. And there, off to his left, bobbed thebarrel with the blue marking. He struck out after it.

When he finally reached it, he caught hold. He was able todraw himself partly out of the water. He clung there andpanted. He shivered. Although the sea was calmer here, it wasstill very cold. When some of his strength returned, he raised his head, scanned the horizon.

There!

The vessel he had sighted was even nearer now. He raisedan arm and waved it. He tore off his shirt and held it high,rippling in the wind like a banner.

He did this until his arm grew numb. When he looked againthe ship was nearer still, though there was no indication thathe had been sighted. From what appeared to be their relative movements, it seemed that he might well drift past it in amatter of minutes. He transferred the shirt to his other hand,began waving it again.

When next he looked, he saw that the vessel was changingcourse, coming toward him. Had he been stronger and lessemotionally drained, he might have wept. As it was, he became almost immediately aware of a mighty fatigue and a greatcoldness. His eyes stung from the salt, yet they wanted toclose. He had to keep looking at his numbed hands to be certainthat they maintained their hold upon the barrel.

"Hurry!" he breathed. "Hurry... ."

He was barely conscious when they took him into the lifeboat and wrapped him in blankets. By the time they camealongside the ship, he was asleep.

He slept the rest of that day and all that night,awakening only long enough to sip hot grog and broth. When hedid try to speak, he was not understood.

It was not until the following afternoon that they broughtin a seaman who spoke Dutch. He told the man his entire story,