Later that day he came over to me. "Who taught you to read?"
"We had a priest. He taught me."
"Had?"
"He died."
"Are you always so talkative?"
"What's to say?"
"How old you are. What foods you like. What you do for fun. Why your family were so willing to sell you?"
"I'm a slave now. It doesn't matter."
"You're not a slave."
"You bought me for jewellery. I'm a slave. What's left to say?" I looked away.
"I could teach you to handle the boat." I said nothing. "Of course, if I did, you'd probably kill me and become a drifter yourself." I had considered it, but I had yet to learn how to navigate on the open ocean. It was one skill I had never learned on the atoll.
Without that I'd be dead. Plus things like languages, bargaining, all the little tricks of survival - I didn't know those. If I wanted to commit suicide, there were quicker ways.
He sighed. "If you don't start talking, I'll start singing." I stayed silent and he began to sing in a language I didn't know. He couldn't carry a tune if it had handles.
I'd heard worse. I stretched out and took a nap.
When I woke again there were storm-clouds brewing. I sighed and caught dinner while I could, and he secured the loose items on deck and stowed the sails.
I realised I still didn't know his name. I wouldn't ask.
"Get below," he told me. "I want you out of the way." I did so, made myself comfortable on his bed and settled in to do little besides try to avoid being pounded against the shelved walls of the tiny space and occasionally bailing the cabin out.
It seemed to go on forever. I was more scared of dying slowly from thirst than I was of having the boat sink; I couldn't drown in water.
It lasted all night, but it wasn't bad, merely long. Storm season hadn't really started. We came through it intact, dry and with far more water than we had started with. He looked terrible.
I let him sleep and watched the slack sails; we were moving fairly fast. I caught breakfast, ate and went to sleep in the shade, so I wouldn't burn.
I woke again as the sun was setting. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look beautiful while you sleep?" he asked me mildly.
"No," I said.
"It's true."
"Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?"
"You are." He trailed a hand along my cheekbone. "Sure you're not interested?"
I looked over his shoulder; smiled. I reached up, grabbed his shirt and hauled him into the water with me.
We sank into the blue, and I felt at home. I grinned at him and hauled him deeper. And deeper. And deeper, towing him by one squirming foot. He was staring at me. When I couldn't hold him anymore, I let him go. I saw his feet disappear as he got back on the boat. I stayed down until I had counted to a hundred.
I surfaced a distance from the boat, hovering lazily in the water. He stared at me, dripping.
"If you hurt me," I said, "I'll do that again. Only I won't let go. I swear on everything I love I will kill you if you hurt me."
"You've made your point," he said. "Now come back on board."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because it's a long swim to the nearest place to stop."
Iswum over and hauled myself up gracelessly. I'm only graceful underwater."And that's the only reason I don't try."
He shuddered. "Point taken." He went and sat on the other side of the boat and watched the direction of the sun.
It was a long, quiet, lonely four days.
