The Island of Last Truth Read Online Free Page B

Many lamented his resignation. Prendel was a great professional. An honest person. Also an unsociable man with the soul of an adventurer. Few had understood his flight.
    But Dr. Prendel hadn’t fled. You don’t flee from something when you go searching for something else, and he’d seen that life could be something else. That there were other possibilities. Sailing was a way of finding himself, of knowing what he wanted. Knowing what he didn’t want. And now, despite the cold, his wrinkled, cramped hands and feet, physical and mental exhaustion, imminent death, Mathew Prendel knows that there are many things he doesn’t want in his life from before. He is sure that rather than return to it, he prefers to move forward, directly to the destiny reserved for him at the bottom of the sea, with Katy, Frank, and darkness.
    The darkness begins to fade. The dawn’s first light illuminates the horizon. Prendel makes out the round profile of the world once more. Life becomes reality. The night has been an unfortunate parenthesis. The day is not a parenthesis, but it too is unfortunate. It was not a nightmare. The lightbulbs the moon had been lighting in the water all night disappear. Now everything is gray. It will only be an instant. The sun will not take too long to rise. It will be the second day out of a maximum of three. He gulps a little water. Bad move. But his thirst is becoming unbearable. He has no point of reference to know where he is. He can no longer calculate how he is advancing. He doesn’t want to wait for death. He is impatient to meet it. Why are no sharks attacking him? If he cuts himself, maybe his blood will attract some. But he is afraid of being devoured by a beast. He fears the bite, the pain, the horror. During the night he suffered a shock: something brushed against him while he was almost dozing, doing the dead man’s float and he came to violently. He has lost his sunglasses. By night, he didn’t think it important, but now he thinks he should have paid more attention, should have tried to find them, get them back. He also thinks he shouldn’t be hard on himself, shouldn’t reproach himself, what he is doing is already enough. But that’s always been his style, blaming himself, suffering, asking too much of himself. Perhaps because of this, sailing alone had been good for him, to gain an understanding of the fine but key difference between blame and responsibility. One is not to blame for breaking a halyard at the least opportune time but is responsible for not having replaced it in time. One is not to blame for failing to take down the sails at the right time but is responsible for not having followed the old adage: “the first moment you think you should take down the sails is the time to do it; afterwards it’s already too late.” On land, on the other hand, other people’s stares return an image filtered through a judgment that much of the time implies guilt. Wanting to share it with Frank and Katy, rather than feeling responsible, he felt guilty once again.
    He shouts. He hadn’t thought of doing so until now. He shouts, “Help.” Maybe the wind will carry his cry to a boat. Desperate, he shouts. He should have done so by night. Why hadn’t he thought of it?
    He hadn’t thought of it because it’s absurd. There is no boat to be seen. And faced with miles of sea and more sea, his voice seems ridiculous.
    He shouts, shouts, shouts. Help. Help.
    He knows it’s pointless. But how many times do we do pointless things?

4.
    He sees an island. He was prepared for it to happen. But seeing it, he can’t help but feel a happiness as previously unknown as this piece of land ahead of him.
    He doesn’t know how much time has passed. He isn’t sure. He had let go completely. He was no longer hoping for anything. Now, however, he has strength again. As if he has just abandoned the
Queen.
He has to give his body