hair is long, down to his shoulders. A young man, he is thin and
without a shirt over his tan shoulders and hairless chest. The cannibal
is not making any attempt to get up, as there is no activity that would
be fruitful. He is adrift without oars. He has no expression on his
face, no motive, and no agenda.
Finegan and Joey are standing, silently staring in his direction.
Seems to be someone there.
Finegan turns to return to his bike seat and pedal closer.
______________________________
The houseboat is approaching the side of the raft city where the
construction sign is located. The cannibal has now noticed the
approaching houseboat and is moving from raft to raft. He is springing
with a jump from the edge of one raft into the center of another, then
gaining his balance, and then repeating this process. The rafts sway
back and forth during this process, a bit of water temporarily
splashing over the side used as the jump-off.
The cannibal speaks in a husky voice, as though his throat is dry.
Boy am I glad to see you! Been too far from
shore to swim. We’d seen sharks. Can you give
me a lift?
Finegan has left the pedals, letting the houseboat drift slowing toward
the raft city for a gentle landing. He is also being cautious, wanting
to be sure he wants to pick this man up before making a bridge with the
gangplank. He climbs to the rooftop to engage in a dialog. Joey slips
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into the pedal seat and back pedals when he sees the gap of water
between the houseboat and raft city closing. Finegan asks,
Where’s the others?
The cannibal looks shocked at first, not the question he expected.
Finally, he finds his voice.
They died. . . We been out here awhile, no land
in sight. . . No food. . . Catch a little
rainwater now and then. . . I’m the last.
Finegan is still highly suspicious.
How did they die?
The cannibal is realizing for the first time that he needs to concoct a
story, as he has been taken by surprise by Finegan’s arrival and the
tide bringing the floating raft city close to shore.
Ah . . dysentery . . got a fever and the shits
and just wasted away.
Finegan is glancing at the bloody construction sign and items of
clothing tossed around on most of the rafts and does not buy this
story.
All except you, eh? You look plenty well fed.
The cannibal is getting shifty eye’d, feeling trapped, and is starting
to worry that he won’t get a lift to shore. He is looking over the
expanse of water and Finegan can see the mental wheels turning. Finegan
looks over his shoulder toward the shore, then back to the cannibal. He
says,
The tide’s turning again now, pulling out.
The cannibal says,
Maybe I better start swimming then.
With one last look at Finegan’s face to look for a change of heart, the
cannibal grabs a corner of one of the insulation rafts and jerks it
toward him, breaking a corner off. Holding onto this like a phalanx, he
dives into the water and starts kicking his feet, paddling to shore
using the insulation piece as floatation. Joey has turned the houseboat
to follow the cannibal, keeping a distance to the side.
After furiously kicking for a few minutes, the cannibal pauses to catch
his breath, gasping furiously. The houseboat is about 50 feet away,
moving in parallel to the swimmer as they head toward shore. The
cannibal has his upper body heaved up onto the insulation board, his
feet dangling in the water. He looks over at Finegan.
Not gonna give me a lift, eh?
Finegan says,
Not until you tell me straight.
The cannibal begins to relay his story.
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We were losing all land. Had to do somethin.
This was couple months back. We had no clue
about direction. . . Just floated.
The picture he paints if of twenty people of all ages, including a
little girl clutching a rag doll, climbing onto the floating raft city
from the roof of a truck cab parked at a construction site. The rafts
are turning in the swirling water, bringing empty rafts toward the
truck cab, so each person or person with a child or couple can step
onto their own raft. Those waiting to board a raft are standing back on
the bed of the truck, waist deep in water. Cardboard boxes have been
thrown atop some of the floating insulation boards.
The cannibal has now caught his breath. He starts kicking his legs
again in ernest, moving in the direction of shore. Finegan is standing
with his arms folded over his chest now, openly showing his suspicions.
Joey pedals a bit to stay alongside the cannibal. The cannibal once
again stops, out of breath, and glances up at Finegan.
So after a couple weeks some that were thin to
begin with went blank, ya know. . . in a coma.
. . The rest of us were starving, cramps. . .
There was a guy who used to be a butcher. . .
The picture he paints if of the raft city at night, a man slithering
across a raft to slip onto another raft where a thin man is lying on
his back.
One night we heard him go over there, and in
the morning we saw what he was about. That guy
in a coma had his throat slit, blood
everywhere. . . Pieces were missing.
The cannibal is still trying to catch his breath.
He had a knife. Said anyone wants a piece is
welcome, but if they try to take him down he’d
eat them too.
At this the cannibal starts kicking for another few minutes. Finegan
turns his back on the cannibalL to speak quietly to Joey during the
splashing.
We’re not taking him aboard, just so’s you
know.
The cannibal is again out of breath.
Long story short, that butcher fed well while
the rest of us got faint. Next we knew another
and another went into a coma, no food and
little water. It’d get dark, and by dawn, he’d
be on another raft, fresh meat. . . After
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awhile I saw that I’d be among ‘em, if I didn’t
get something to eat, some blood to drink.
He paints a picture of a decimated raft city, down to a half dozen
people.
I ain’t proud of it, but I ain’t the one slit
anyone’s throat.