Translation of one of my french texts. Enjoy and don't hesitate to comment.
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The sky and the ocean still fought on the horizon, but the lull was coming at last. Lightning and wind had been blowing all night. Now, they've been replaced by a curtain of light, continuous rain. It was almost liberating after the violence of last night. Corto Maltese lifted his head to the sky and let the rain clean it and take with it the sea salt and the fear that stuck to his skin. He was alive. His hands were shaking, possibly from the cold. However, the southerly wind that was already driving the rain away was a warm Caribbean wind.
The sailor straightened up with difficulty, a hand clutching his aching ribs, and looked for his boat. The shipwreck lay impaled on some submerged rocks near the beach. The frail schooner was going to dismantle any minutes now. It was highly improbable that anyone survived the impact. Corto had jumped just in time, abandoning the ship and its meagre crew before they crashed onto the island.
"Am I not allowed to be afraid of death?" He asked some invisible spectator. "I'm not made of iron. I don't sink with my ship. Why didn't they jump? That's what I did."
He sighed and bowed his head for a moment, acknowledging those poor fellow's deaths. However, he soon turned away; there was too much to do to linger there. Corto was accustomed to shipwrecks. Several times he'd been abandoned on an island by his men or unreliable partners, so he knew that his chances of survival would be higher if he set to work quickly. Gentlemen of fortune did not have time to dwell on life misfortunes. They had to be faced, without mercy and unscrupulously.
Of course, Corto Maltese had never been very good at it.
The first thing to do was to take the measure of his new home. The sailor climbed the cliff which surrounded the beach where he had landed and looked at the island. It was small, narrow, mostly devoid of shade and water. It was a tomb of sand and rock rather than the oasis he hoped for.
From there, it was easy to see the reefs at the other end of the island, maybe two hundred feet from a small beach. Another ship had run aground there. Each wave of the rising tide seemed to have sworn to dismantle it a little more. Someone, however, had escaped the wrecking. Corto could see someone swimming to reach the beach. The sea current was against him. The man had to fight to advance.
"If there is a god for drunkards, there is one also for murderous madmen," Corto commented. "Unless the Devil has plans that concern this one."
Shrugging, he began to follow the ridge to the end of the island and arrived on time on the beach to reach out to Rasputin. The latter accepted his hand to get up and struck the shoulder of Corto Maltese violently, smiling.
"I should have guessed that you would make it out, Corto."
"Thank you for your confidence in my talents."
"Trust? As if a gentleman of fortune could trust another ... No, I knew that you'd get away with it because I swore to kill you and you're a Corto friend, you will not let anyone else do it in my place, even the ocean. And now where is my map?"
Not a single time since the beginning of the storm Corto had thought of the map he held locked in the safe of his schooner. On it was marked the route to an almost forgotten island in the Bermuda Triangle and the treasure supposedly buried by the pirate Anne Dieu-le-Veut shortly before her death. Surviving had somehow seemed more important.
"I don't think it belongs to you any more than me. You killed its legitimate owner in cold blood."
"It didn't like how he looked at me."
"If you were to kill everyone who looks at you curiously, Ras, there wouldn't be many people left alive from Shanghai to Panama."
Rasputin put his hand on his knife, hanging in his belt. His other hand darted toward Corto in a threatening gesture.
"Be careful, Corto, I could very well decide to kill you right now."
A disturbing noise coming from Rasputin's boat reminded them of the present problem. Corto still stepped back from Rasputin, while taking the casual air of a man who was not worried about the madness of the only other human being near him.
"I think this is more urgent," Corto replied confidently. "This island is not one where we want to linger. We have to find a way to escape, and quickly. We must recover everything that can be useful in both our ships. Are you ready to swim again?"
Rasputin cast a disgusted look in the shipwreck's direction.
"I just got out of the water, Corto, you can't force me to go back."
"Really? It's your boat, isn't it your job to do it?"
"It may be my boat, but I'm the one with the knife."
The argument was pertinent. Corto had a pistol on his belt at the time of the sinking, but he lost it while he swam to the beach. Even if he could found it, it would be unusable by now. Corto too didn't wish to get back in the water, but they had no choice. He took off his shirt and put it on the ground before he went into the sea. Behind him, Rasputin watched him go, his throat suddenly dry. Maybe he wouldn't kill him right away, he thought.
When Corto returned to the beach, they had to face the facts. The sum of what he had recovered and which could be useful to them was short: a box of dry cakes, fortunately waterproof, a few ropes, a torn sail. He hadn't even found anything to use as a weapon. Everything else had been swept away by the waves rushing into the holes in the hull.
The two men resolved to dismantle what was left of the boat to assemble a raft. They spent most of the morning and afternoon there, diving in turns to reach the wreckage, climbing on board and plucking as many planks as possible before swimming back to the beach.
Finally, they collapsed on the sand, exhausted. Rasputin watched, fascinated, Corto wiping the sweat from his forehead. He was dying of thirst, and his desire was only increased tenfold when he saw Corto run his tongue over his lips to try to moisten them.
However, their work wasn't finished and they couldn't rest. In silence, to keep their strength, they climbed the dunes and the ridge to reach the bay where Corto had run aground. Corto insisted they took the time to bury the two poor wretches they found inside the boat, much to Rasputin's displeasure who refused to help. He watched Corto do it from afar and fussed until he finished.
When it was done, they rolled up their sleeves and set to work to loot and dismantle the wreckage. The day before, even that very morning, they were enemies. They were pursuing the same dreams, the same treasures, and at least one of them would not have hesitated before pulling the trigger. Or maybe he would have. It was hard to say with Rasputin. For now, however, they worked together like it was the most natural thing in the world. They knew what their chances of survival were on their own. They also knew that if they built a sufficiently strong raft and push it southwest, they had a small chance of reaching a bigger island in the Bahamas archipelago. Here, their death would be inevitable, slow and brutal.
Besides, they each had something to ensure the collaboration of the other. Rasputin had a weapon. Corto had a card.
When they entered the devastated cabin of his boat, he hastened to retrieve it from his trunk and slip it inside his shirt.
"Ah Corto", finally noticed Rasputin while they were resting in the shade of the hull to escape the sun, "what a shame that you and I don't work together more often. We could do great things together if you wanted."
"I prefer to help humanity by putting myself on your way. You are too dangerous when left to your sinister inclinations."
"One day you won't stop me. I'll put you on the ground."
"You would regret me if you killed me", retorted Corto.
"I never said you wouldn't be able to get up afterwards."
Corto smiled and returned to his task, ignoring the frozen smile on Rasputin's face.
They went back to work and continued until dusk. As the hours passed, the heat and the lack of water dulled them. They were slower and less and less effective. Rasputin swore in twenty languages each time a plank or a screw refused to obey him. Corto's gestures were almost languid. His eyes lingered more on the horizon than on the schooner. Obviously, his mind was far away.
Rasputin looked at him with concern, even if he did his best to hide it. Finally, no longer holding it, he stood up.
"Night will fall soon. I don't think we can do more this evening. Come Corto, let's find shelter and something to eat. I even found an intact bottle of rum in your cabin. We'll get drunk to forget that we will die one day and that it may be very soon."
Corto smiled but didn't answer him. He looked back at the shipwreck and the vastness of the sea.
"I'm beginning to believe that she doesn't want me."
"Who?"
"Her," he replied, pointing to the sea. "I've lost two ships in a shipwreck in the last six months. The winds seem determined to nail me to the ground. She must be angry with me for something."
"Or you're a worse sailor than you want to admit", sneered Rasputin. "No, it's all because you love women who don't like the sea, Corto. She becomes jealous. Besides, a woman brings bad luck at sea, everyone knows that. Do you know what you need rather than these land girls? A sailor."
While speaking, he grabbed Corto by the arm to force him to straighten up and led him firmly to the box of biscuits and the bottle of rum which would constitute their only meal on the island, and perhaps their last.
"Really? And what could a sailor give me that a pretty girl could not?"
"Firstly, a sailor would be more forgiving of your love for the sea. He would share it and have the same fever for treasures."
Corto smiles indulgently.
"But I'm not looking for treasures, Ras. It's something else. It's just like the sea. Look at her. Do you know how most people see her? Like a reservoir of resources that need to be plundered. Like roads that must always be faster for profit, profit, always the profit. And it's the profit you're looking for in its waters, just like all these idiots. But at least you also see it as a playground. It's a big difference. Me, I see something else in there. What I love about the sea? Her mysteries."
"But the treasures", groaned Rasputin, "you're looking for them just like me. You stole the map from me after all. The thousands of golden ducats of Anne Dieu-le-Veut."
"Yes, a treasure is beautiful to look at, and it's fun to share. I know many people who deserve a piece of treasure to fall into their purse. I am not one of them. In truth Ras, I stole this map from you because I was bored. I have friends who have offered to meet them in Bahia. There is a house by the sea and great people living there. They offered to be my hosts for a while. Alas, I did not inherit much from my English father except this bizarre disease called spleen. It generally leaves me alone, except, strangely in the tropics. I've got that spleen right now, and when I heard that you had a treasure map, I wanted to have a little fun with you, to get less bored for a while. I don't really want your treasure, just its mystery."
"Do you know what your problem is, Corto? Your tendency to take yourself for this other English that you often read, Lord Byron. You would like to choke on your melancholy while taking malicious pleasure in making fun of those who do not make this melancholy a standard to live for."
"Cheerful—but, sometimes, rather apt to whimper", quoted Corto, "So that I almost think that the same skin For one without—has two or three within."
"Exactly what I said. Show-off."
With a mocking raised eyebrow, Corto snatched the bottle from him to drink the last drops of rum.
"Did I ever pretend to be something else?"
"Every day, when you're looking at yourself in the mirror. I know you well, Corto, better than everyone else."
"I don't know, I recently got to know a powerful witch who knew me better than I did, yes, yes. With this exception, I am nevertheless forced to recognize that you are right. You know me better than the closest of my friends or the dearest of my mistresses."
Rasputin almost purred.
"That's because I'm the closest of your friends, Corto."
"Poor me."
The wind chooses that moment to start blowing violently, suddenly reminding them of the night to come and the simple shirt they wore to protect them from the cold. There was no cave on the island and nothing to really block this wind. They were going to have to endure a difficult night. Starting a fire was not possible. It would only doom their attempt to escape.
"Well, the night will be long and cold", sighed Corto fatally.
"Well, we can always find a way to warm up. We have the sails of my boat. That makes a mattress and a blanket. As for the rest ... We will only have to hug each other."
At these words, Corto shivered deliberately.
"I would be too afraid to find myself with a dagger planted in the back before the day."
"A dagger, or something else."
Corto leaned over him with a smile, and put a hand on Rasputin's shoulder to look him straight in the eye.
"That doesn't scare me. I just have the misfortune to love dangerous women and..."
"Not men?"
"I love men too. But up to a point, Ras. Until a certain point, and I've got standards."
With these words, he grabbed one of the torn sails and moved away to lie down at the other end of the beach. A rumble of frustration escaped from Rasputin's mouth to which answered a slight laugh coming from Corto, unless it was the misleading wind.
Corto woked up at dawn. He got up to sit on a rock, struck by the beauty of the sunrise. With regret, he finally turned away from it to wake up Rasputin who had rolled in the sails the moment he left.
"You should really get out of these, Ras. The light is beautiful. And if I have to build this raft alone, I will not provide space for a second person."
Rasputin did not even deign to reply with a groan or a swear. Shrugging his shoulders, Corto pulled his hands away in his pockets, singing a ballad learned on the other side of the world. The morning promised to be excellent.
He had time to make a dozen round trips between the Rasputin's ship and the beach where they slept to bring back all the planks they had recover the day before. Rasputin was finally rising when he finished his last trip. He had the pale complexion of those who did not sleep a second of the night, and he barely managed to drag himself towards the raft that Corto was starting to assemble.
"I would kill for a drop of alcohol", he grunted.
"If only there was... But sorry, I had time to explore the island, and there is no alcohol or water. There is nothing here that is worth lingering."
Rasputin dropped into the sand and grabbed a rope to help Corto build their raft.
"Nothing to drink and nothing to eat", he summarized. "Well, if this thing does not float, we can always use it to make a fire. After that, we draw with the short straw which of us will eat the other."
"I have been friends with cannibals before", Corto said nonchalantly, "but I never considered becoming one. No doubt a useless varnish of civilization and decency."
"I could make it very pleasant", growled Rasputin with an avid gleam in the back of his eyes.
That sleepless night had starved him. He needed something to appease his desires, meat, alcohol, gold or whatever. Corto's presence drove him mad to the point that he wondered how he could still manage to behave normally. He dreamed of throwing him on the ground and making him pay for his sleepless night. One way or another.
Eventually, under the harsh sun, they finished the construction of their raft. They straightened up to relieve their tired bodies and looked at it with the same dubious air. They were not confident that this weak thing could carry them both. It would already be a miracle if it floated. Another one would be for the mast to hold and for the torn sail to catch the wind. It was their only chance to leave the island, but neither dared to offer to put it in the water, lest their last hope sank with the raft.
"Tell me, Corto", asked Rasputin to postpone the launch, "what will you do if we can't leave this island?"
"You are in a very morbid mood. I suppose that I would wait for the sunset and admire it. It's strange isn't it, how can we spend our lives on the water, waking up at dawn and lying down at dusk, without ever really taking the time to look at the world? We are too busy bending over to the ground to look for treasures to tear from the earth, and we forget to look elsewhere for beauty. A treasure, after all, only glistens."
"If I'm morbid, you've been indecently melancholy and pompous since yesterday. I was hoping that your sleep would have healed your spleen. And after you admire the sun?"
"I guess that I would throw myself into the water. You?"
"As I said before, I'm less morbid than you. There are better ways to pass the time while waiting for death. Jumping into the water, it's good when you're alone."
"Well, before resolving to dramatic gestures, let's test the solidity of this thing."
Binding his muscles, he pushed the raft onto the sea. The two men's hearts froze as they watched the frail boat hesitate to float or sink. It rocked dangerously for a moment, then stabilized. Rasputin uttered a cry of joy and kissed Corto on both cheeks. Corto smiled too.
"That put an end to all catastrophic vision of our situation. However, we must hope that there is no longer a storm like yesterday. Given the waterline, a little big wave would be enough to overturn us. As I thought, it's out of the question to take anything with us. We'll have to come back."
"Return? Why the hell would you come back? For the palm trees' shade? A piece of your ship's hull as a souvenir?"
"Anne Dieu-le-Veux's treasure, of course," Corto replied as if it was obvious.
Rasputin almost died of apoplexy. He suddenly understood why Corto had dangerously approached the island and its reefs despite the impending storm. He had looked at the map longer than Rasputin and had identified the location. Corto was a complete bastard, despite his airs of a Byronic hero. He'd found a moment to make sure of the treasure's location under Rasputin's nose.
Outraged, he let out an inarticulate howl and jumped to Corto's throat. The two men rolled in the sand, exchanging punches and kicks. Corto violently scratched Rasputin's face, the latter bit his wrist. They fought in silence for a short while, not hesitating to use their worst tricks to gain the upper hand. A knee kick in the stomach allowed Rasputin to prevail. He tackled Corto to the ground, taking advantage of the fact that his former friend was desperately trying to catch his breath, and trapped his legs while sitting on him. That was how he preferred to see him, he decided, dishevelled, short of breath and at his mercy, but still with the same insolence in his eyes. Rasputin was sure to read an invitation in those dark eyes and leaned over to respond to it, unable to ignore his desire any longer. Corto raised his head toward him. Rasputin released one of his arms so that he could more easily take possession of his face and lips. A second was enough for Corto to seize the opportunity. He threw his elbow into Rasputin's plexus, grabbed the knife from his belt, and used the handle to knock him out brutally.
Rasputin fell to the ground, lifeless. Corto straightened up and, clicking his tongue, gave a look of commiseration to his opponent.
"Why do I always have to associate myself with such dangerous people? My mother had read well in her cards. She knew that I would always be courting danger and that it would cause my loss. I should have taken her warnings more seriously."
When Rasputin opened his eyes, he saw that six old leather bags had been placed next to his head. Greed making him forget everything, he rushed to open one and admired the ducats and pistoles that cascaded over the sand. Only then did he remembered Corto and their fight. He leapt to his feet to look for his enemy on the beach. He was not there. Rasputin realized then that the raft was already over the reefs. Corto was sitting on it, paddling with a plank to get away from the island.
"Corto !", he roared, "Don't leave me!"
He ran into the water and swam, knowing full well that he had no chance of catching him.
"See you soon, Ras", Corto replied without slowing down his pace. "Since you don't want to leave your treasure, I leave you in good company. There are inhabited islands a few hours from here. I'll send you help if I can. Thanks for the adventure!"
Rasputin gave up. He grabbed the reef so as not to sink and looked at the fragile raft which was going away. Soon it would be out of earshot and out of sight.
"You're a bastard Corto, you hear me! A bastard!'
Clinging to the mast of his raft, Corto lifted his cap to send him an ironic and affectionate farewell gesture. Rasputin did not take his eyes off him before he was gone. Only then did he swim back to the beach and grabbed his treasure with a hand that trembled with rage. Next time, he would kill Corto. Next time, he would have the strength to it and maybe even the desire. Or, maybe, he'll nail him to the ground, and this time, he wouldn't let Corto go until he gets his due.