Slow Boat

^{LAST BOAT} TO CHINA

I tried using a map, but no luck. The topography was unclear. If I’m reading the compass right, I’m somewhere west of the Amami Islands. But no ocean means no islands…

The East China Sea is nothing but desert. But I keep my head.

I learn what I can from the campers—where I can get my hands on potable water, cans of food, etc. Bartering is dangerous business, but sustenance is necessary. It just drives home the point—you do what you can to stay alive.

Sometimes surviving means flirting with death.

I check my water supply, drink the bare minimum. In these parts, they sell water in 1.5-litre bottles with Diet Pepsi labels on them.

The sun is my greatest enemy—I try to stay out of its way. And there are nomadic tribes all around (some are just bands of savage children), so I can’t afford to drop my guard. Sometimes I stumble upon the aftermath of their marauding deeds. I see paw prints. Some gangs must be running attack hounds.

When I regained consciousness, I spent two full days walking. No leads on any waterways. Then, this morning, I looked up at the blue blue sky—there were birds flying right over me.

I heard a steam whistle. A weird whistle—kind of like a tenor sax.

Then, way off in the distance, I saw the shape of a ship.

No, I tell myself, it isn’t that far. Do the math. It’s headed this way, right? Got to get a read on the sail. Got to get ahead of the ship. Got to start footing it.

The soles of my feet were burning up, but I kept going.

After three hours, I came to a thin strip of water. Just wide enough for a single cargo ship. In fact, one was coming this way.

A sailor asks from the deck: “Need a lift?”

I don’t nod.

“No?” he asks.

“Where you going?”

“What, this freighter?”

“Yeah.”

“To China,” he says.

I inform the sailor of my desire to board.

“OK, one ticket. To China.”