We said goodbye, rather uneasily
joking and laughing. We admired
the harbour lights, and queasily
tested our sea-legs, fired
by adventure.
The shock
of the first crashing wave
hit the Queen. We were struck
by a wish to be brave,
but hoped that the night
would be short, that the sea
would remember the right
of a queen: let her be
privileged.
But the ocean
was waiting, had already decided.
She was claimed.
We dreaded
the threatening, irregular motion.
The heaving pitching endless night
had something of the smell of fate.
The engine’s fumes, the musty cabin scent
which mingled washed and broke in sweat
to be confused with far grotesquer minglings –
self-pity and self-praise, and sickly feelings
of fortitude. We retched
into the can, nerves stretched
beyond pain, beyond sleep.
Trapped in the cradle of the deep.
Into this stupor came the shouts:
We gotta go down there
into that sea.
Sinking.
Dreams of heroism come true
(one last kiss, darling)
try to find a lifebelt
while we puke
and wait.
Urgent now, the pumps –
won’t work. Of course.
Desperate. The radio –
won’t work. Of course …
we’re claimed.
Is this a time to pray or to be practical?
Do both, and stand outside oneself and mock
the hollow mask of braveness
fighting to control surrendering tears of
how they’ll miss me when I’m gone.
The shapeless surge of black
takes form and heaves the wreck-
to-be in anger. The rafts are tossed
into the noise and darkness, lost
to sight, now looming high, now shuddering
down below … down there? Into that sea?
Christ the sudden
Leap and jar
we’re there
but mind your hand
against the side we’re hurled and slammed
now staring up with anxious voices
jump, jump and leave her be,
row like hell, we’ll soon get … free?
We’ve only got one oar.
Grey
shapes tell the arrival of day.
The menacing blackness of night
slowly fades, and shows in half-light
that we’re small, we’re so small,
and the sea is so vast, the waves tall, tall,
rising in threatening cliffs on all sides,
suddenly slipping with sickening slides.
The sea allows the sun to rise, and
stare at us coldly through the silhouette
of the slowly settling ship. Ahead is land,
a blurred grey shapeless mass. The set
of the tide will take us there. Perhaps.
Sit back and wait, get used to the rise and
the swoop and the fall as we lapse
into silence, and gaze, and
the sun crawls relentlessly higher
and higher. The heat and the salt
taste of sweat, and mouths burning drier
and drier.
Time drags. Senses dulled
by the boom and the beating of water
as a loggerhead mournfully rises
and blows his contempt. In the boredom
of waiting an aeroplane flies.
Soon, we say, soon they will see us.
But what can they do? For the sea
that surrounds us is fierce, and the fears
return redouble; we pretend to be glad, we
say Look, land is near! but nearer
the reef. The breakers smash fragments
of sound from the rocks, and still higher
the waves, the ocean becoming more urgent
Claimed! it is screaming,
curling towards us and foaming
white raging green booming –
Claimed! Claimed!
Thrown nearer the teeth
of the rocks, behind us the seethe
of a vast growing wall,
This is it. Better jump.
I can’t swim
All
in confusion we stand, and slowly, so slowly, the fall
of the breaker begins, starts to swamp
and the battering water is warm
oh the sudden green silence and down
where the coldness begins an invisible arm
beats me down and a clamp
holds my throat as I drown
in the silence. Don’t bother to try
to untangle the rope round your throat
it’s so peaceful just lie
there and die
then a surge lifts me clear of the boat
and choking and gasping for air
start the struggle to live.
Down again in despair
and I cannot believe
that the sand underfoot is so white
but another great heave throws me up
in the noise and the glaring blue light
as bewildered I stumble and drop
on my knees, fall face in the sand
mumbling and crying and praying.
Reclaimed.
Gradually we are aware of each other.
All safe, sharing in silence together
our thoughts and our thanks, too embarrassed for speech.
Stumbling and awkward and wet we grope up the beach
to look for possessions. We find nothing
but a handbag and some shaving cream
and we hear the ocean booming, laughing,
so much ransom to escape from its claim.
Derek Coe
Grand Cay, Abaco, October 1970