A N D R E A C U R T I S
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moving the oar together like we’re stirring a pot with a giant
wooden spoon. The pillowcase is still too wet to move much
in the wind, but it might catch someone’s eye if we’re lucky.
Daniel starts to shout. “Here! We’re here! Heeeelp!
We need heeeelp!”
Whoever or whatever it is, is too far away to hear anything
with the wind blowing toward us, but I join in anyway.
“Heeeellllp!”
We have to rest after a few minutes. “I’m so dizzy,” I say.
“I need to sit down. Just for a minute.”
Daniel nods. I see a stick on the ground and pick it up to
inspect it. It’s thick and short, about the length of my forearm.
I scrape it idly against the rock. My father always told us an
empty barrel makes the most noise—a reminder to hold our
tongues unless we had something worthwhile to say. I test
out his theory with a tap against the barrel, and it makes
such a dull thud, the sound won’t carry at all. I bang the stick
against the wood in different spots until I find a place where it
produces a more resonant thump and then start banging that
place. Daniel keeps waving the improvised flag on his own,
resting often to catch his breath.
We’re both sweating after a few minutes. I want to throw
up, but there’s nothing in my stomach. The sail is getting
closer. And it is a sail. Definitely a sail. I can see it’s four-sided,
a kind of rig I can’t remember the name of. Jonathan would
know. Jonathan…
I shake my head, try to focus. I stand up again and start
banging on the barrel with as much strength as I can muster.
Daniel takes the pillowcase off the oar and waves it back and
