The Enchantress of the sea

PREFACE     Stuart Wilson took a deep breath of the brackish air. Summer was coming to an end and the air became more lashing, enough to make you shiver down your spine. But the waves that day were perfect: they rose with the shining transparency of a lady who came to welcome you on the rocks, adorned on the surface by the white ripples of the foam. The boy adjusted his suit and with the table under his arm ran into the water. He first let himself be lulled by the current, then started to place a foot on the table when a celestial song distracted him from his intention. It was far away, but he was sure he had heard it. The singing got closer and closer: it was the most sensual voice he had ever heard, that not even the sound of a thousand violins was comparable to the pleasure he gave to his ears. It seemed that an angel had descended to Earth from Paradise. He felt his body stretch towards that song, to look for it as it is done with a treasure, as if a magnet exerted a physical force on him. As she gazed into the waves, the face of a girl emerged. Her red hair fell long on her bare chest, barely covering her breasts. Stuart stared into her eyes and was delighted: they were two emeralds glistening in the sun. The dark red lips curled into a smile. Stuart could not resist: the s****l attraction was so strong that on impulse he approached the girl. "Hello beauty." He greeted her. "How brave swimming without clothes." The young woman grinned before opening her mouth and showing a sharp dentition that surprised the boy with a cry. He did not have time to turn around that the creature jumped on him, first pulling him down and then biting him around the neck. The carotid artery was destroyed in a hot stream and the ruby red of the blood spread into the water. The creature began its meal. The body was found in an advanced state of decomposition, bluish where life had fled but given the mutilations released by a dentition comparable to that of a fish. The case was filed as an accidental attack by a carnivorous fish, perhaps a shark, towards a surfer not very cautious.               CHAPTER ONE   It was the year 1990, when this whole story began, the one that marked me deeply, in mind and spirit. You know, if some lives form a perfect circle, mine has found unpredictable and dark shapes. However, although pain and death were integral parts of my journey, they made me discover the precious joy of true love. But let's go in order and tell how it all began. The image of the Sea-Horse is still impressed in my mind, one of the last ships built, where the wooden floor and the white of the paint were still bright and the interiors smelled again. The cotton sheets were still neat and no one had ever used the restaurant dishes. The smokestacks threw the gray smoke into the not particularly cold air of late October, merging with the light haze that enveloped the entire port of Southampton and which was dispersed in a thin drizzle. The main engine of the ship began to rumble, while from the bow I looked at the blue water of the ocean that screwed to the propeller blades, producing white foam and an almost hypnotic gurgling. It was nine forty-five according to my watch, an old plastic Swatch with a white dial and black strap, which my grandfather had given me and which I would never have thrown away even when it stopped working. The ship was slowly leaving the port, as it increased its distance from the people waving goodbye. I felt the wind on my skin. It was cold and wet, but it had that taste of freedom that I loved so much. The ship was going to Edinburgh and would make a stopover in Inverness, where my destination was. "Hey Bryan, are you okay?" Eddy asked me, who had approached me with a bottle of Thomas Hardy. He took another sip, clenching his jaws to enjoy it all the way. I nodded. "Yes, I was watching the ocean ... it always fascinated me." The idea of leaving had come to me the day before at Brendan's, the pub where I often went to eat. It was one in the afternoon and I had been sitting in front of the computer for five hours in a row to correct the latest articles, before printing and my stomach was now grumbling with hunger. So I had decided to take a lunch break. "Hi Bryan," Mrs. Smith, the lovely hostess, greeted me. She was a middle-aged woman, with platinum blonde dyed hair and punctually worn with chignon, under a rectangular white cap. Her green eyes were always a little too made up with a plum-colored eyeshadow and I wondered when she would ever finish it. When I had the opportunity, I went to that place completely covered in wood and where the lights were not strong. As soon as the glass door closed by ringing, it seemed to me that I was almost at home. Also that day I had come down the three steps and had approached the rectangular counter, where Mrs. Smith was preparing sandwiches. "Tell me darling ...", she had apostrophized me, kind as always. She had known me for five years, since I started working for the Times and although I was now twenty-eight, she treated me like a kid. It was probably because, as she had told me, her son had married and lived far away. She simply missed him and sos he had so much affection to pass on. However, I did not mind because for some time I did not know what the affection of the parents was: my father had disappeared when I was five years old, dedicating his life to his career and I had known that he had found another woman. He used to send me birthday greetings with a note that I systematically threw in the trash. For me he had never existed. My mother, on the other hand, was sweet and had taught me the good and the bad, taking care of me with love and making me study. She got sick and left me when I was still a high school. Since then I faced life alone, cultivating the great dream of becoming a writer and journalist.. "Good morning, Mrs. Smith." I had greeted politely. She had told me many times to call her Nancy but I could not be so informal. "Even today I would like a slice of that magnificent meat pie." "It comes immediately dear." She replied, smiling. "To drink natural water as usual?" I had made an affirmative sign with my head. While waiting for my lunch, I turned to a group of young people sitting at the table on my right. There were three of them and one of them had an Italian name, but spoke fair English. The two Englishmen had blond hair, covered in glitter, while the Italian was darker. They were about my age and were gorging themselves on chips and beer. But what struck me was the topic of their conversation. "Yes, a group of bookies, called Williiam Hill, put a bounty on the head of that prehistoric monster ... 250,000 pounds ... after the boom in sightings," said one of the two Englishmen. The other, less tall, while still having his mouth full, had mumbled: "Even if it doesn't exist, it would be enough to devise a plan with all the trimmings and bring fake evidence." He had grinned, wiping his shiny oil-fried mouth with the back of his hand. That conversation made ring a bell in my brain: Mr. Wilson, editor in chief, needed a scoop for the newspaper, since he always complained, with his grumpy temper, that the usual news had tired him out. For some time there was nothing that struck readers, no sensational news to break the sales record. Unfortunately for the moment, I was just a miserable proofreader, who was making a real bunch: hours and hours reading and arranging articles for a salary that was barely enough for me to live. I, however, that job, when my boss had offered it to me (the only one left when I presented myself to the editorial staff), I had accepted it willingly, with the hope of making my apprenticeship and growing. For five years, however, I had been stuck in the same position, with the dream of finally breaking through the world of journalism and writing. Every evening, when I got home, I tried to add a few pages to my file that was waiting to become my best-seller. It was a thriller starring a boy with a dark past, Andy, who wanted to start another life. However, the time available was short, because I always came back late and my inspiration had been failing for a while. So after dinner I read and read, trying to get the right input and style from the great writers. "To get what we want we must first suffer," my mother said to me. I kept chasing those words. That day I realized that I may have had the right opportunity bringing an article of that magnitude would certainly have increased Wilson's esteem for me. Besides, that succulent booty made me feel tempted. Immediately afterwards my friend and colleague Eddy had entered; he too was sailing in the same boat. I had met him at the newspaper and had brought me to that place the first time we had lunch together. He had sat down next to me and I had told him what I had heard. "So?" He asked me, not understanding what I had in mind. "I've always been intrigued by that mysterious place ... let's try to go and maybe we'll be the lucky ones to have Nessie's evidence." Eddy didn't seem very convinced. He didn't believe it; he considered them to be foolish. "Everyone would be able to say it's a photomontage ..." he protested. "Come on, let's take this chance ... let's try ... there have been sightings ... you never know." He had looked down, still hesitant. "Eddy, I'm tired of being exploited ... I haven't struggled to find myself still being a subordinate considered less than zero!" I had blurted out, determined. "And then you have to get the scoops!" "Yes, but not about something that has never been proved and that can get us into trouble!" I ran my tongue between my lips. "Look, it can't go worse ... the boss will fire us anyway because at the moment we cost him too much, then we might as well try!" Sigh. "And  how should we pay for the ticket?" He had asked me, moving the tuft of brown hair out of his eyes. "We will be paid  in two weeks and just enough to feed us, you know!" I had folded my lips into a grin. "How about a good bet at the racecourse?" "I don't like gambling." "Trust me, my father took me there a few times and I know someone" I had reassured him. It was one of the few things I had done with him. "It will be easy to know who the favorite is." Eddy had continued to stare at me doubtfully. "let’s slip and make an episode." I had added. Eddy stared at me with his blue eyes and replied, "Okay, but if something goes wrong, pay me." I had patted him on the shoulder, chuckling. "But imagine ... your wife will be proud of you!" I knew an expert in that field, Marvin Scott, an old friend of my father and I had contacted him that afternoon. "I didn't know you liked these things ..." he had asserted, amazed. "For once I want to play too." I had insisted. "Then the race is Sunday morning at ten, see you there." The racecourse was in County Surrey, thirteen miles from London. The track was a circular grassland and that Sunday October was not particularly bleak. The horses were ready in their shiny coats: six splendid thoroughbred specimens. Eddy had done nothing but repeat that we were risking a lot, but I had pretended not to hear him. Marvin had come to meet me with the betting list. "What are the predictions of the race?" He had asked optimistically. "Well, Thunder, the black thoroughbred is the favorite and the fastest, but on soft ground and good weather even Windy Boy could have a good chance." Something inside me had told me that Windy Boy was the right one. I had wagered fifty pounds and so did Eddy, twisting my mouth. "But couldn't you play safe?" He had scolded me, annoyed me. "Trust me, my instincts say I'm not wrong." At the start Thunder had conquered the first position with the acclamation of those who had bet on him and there had been many. Behind him was Windy Boy. I had seen my friend's brow sweat. I had crossed my fingers, hoping I hadn't caught a crab. Eddy's curses had haunted me until, six hundred meters from the finish, Windy Boy had decided to push and managed to pass Thunder, until he crossed the finish line. I never wanted to caress that reddish and velvety coat like that moment. Eddy had shouted happily; luck had remembered us and wanted me to make the right choice. Well, right up to that moment, because I couldn't foresee the sequel. And that was how I was on that ship bound for Scotland. My mind, after that long flashback, returned to the present. I watched two seagulls fly free in the sky, emitting screams that spread in the air. I had not been to Scotland since I was a child: my mother had taken me there when I was seven years old to visit an old aunt. Those memories were clouded, but even then there was talk of the famous Loch Ness monster, whose existence everyone wondered. At high school, during one of his interesting earth science lessons, Mr Holmes had addressed the topic while talking about earthquakes. I personally highly regarded him as a teacher: he was cultured and knew how to make lessons interesting, gaining the attention of students; severe in the right way not to be fooled by them. He looked at us one by one through the thick lenses of his glasses, after placing them on the tip of his nose, tilting his head. That was enough to keep a fly from flying in class. He had explained to us that, perhaps also because of the cloudy atmosphere on rainy days (which are very frequent on the other hand), the waters of that lake, never frozen in winter, turned black and seemed inhabited by a mysterious being. He added that Loch Ness had historically and geologically formed four hundred million years earlier, due to an uproaring of the crust that had caused the north of Scotland to slide to the south west. The crust had torn open, opening an abysmal fissure that now reaches the outlet of the town of Inverness. The waters of the sea had poured into the pit, dragging many life forms. Since then it had remained the unspoiled paradise of nature, a suitable place for the stories of fairies and goblins. Nessie's first appearances began in 1917, when little Winifred Cary, in a boat with her brother, had told frightened that she had seen a hump emerge from the lake. The news had leaked everywhere and since then, especially in the sixties, scientists from all over the world had dealt with the matter. Radar and sonar expeditions were hired in the 1980s but the mystery of Nessie still remained. And now, my lust for celebrity and ambition had also driven me to embark on that journey. While Eddy was quiet on the bench listening to the radio with his walkman, I thought of delighting in reading the novel I had started a few days earlier. I felt like I was suffocating below deck and I preferred to read outdoors. It was the novel by my favorite writer: IT, by Stephen King. Reading it, I seemed to identify myself with those seven children tormented by their worst fears, but above all by family problems. None of them had an easy life and in their thoughts I saw myself again. I had started it during lunch breaks, but the gripping story had caught me so much that I was thirsty to see how it ended and so I also read it in the evening, in bed. I shared the apartment with a musician and he was often late, so I could keep the light on without problems. I estimated the way of writing of that writer, punctilious enough to show you every detail and I also wanted to write a best seller of that caliber. I had arrived at the passage where the protagonists met to build a dam, which represented the seal of their friendship, when the wind suddenly started to move the pages. They began to move quickly back and forth. Then I turned my attention away. Eddy still had his eyes closed and I noticed that the fog had practically dissolved and that the weather was changing quickly: from afar stratiform and blue clouds covered the horizon. I shivered and rubbed my arms: I was wearing my velvet jacket, but still felt cold. I lifted my sleeve to look at the clock: it was now noon and it meant that more than two hours had passed since the departure. I shook Eddy's leg, who winced with a moan. "Hey buddy, aren't you feeling cold?" I asked him. "Partially yes." He replied with his mouth kneaded. He stretched raising his arms and added, "I fell asleep ... but what time is it?" "It's lunchtime, let's go downstairs." In fact, my words were followed by the ringing of the bells announcing that the restaurant was open. The lift was too crowded and so we reached the passage halfway up the ship and went down the stairs that led below deck. We walked along the bridge that passed along the side of the ship and arrived at the restaurant. When we entered, we were amazed at the elegance of the room. To the west, a long counter covered with a tablecloth embroidered with red roses was set with a buffet of vegetables, sauces and bread, while on the right, a glass partition separated the kitchen where two fellow chefs served lunch. The rectangular tables, which ranged from two to six seats, filled the entire room and were covered with white tablecloths. The porcelain of the dishes shone in the light of the bell-shaped chandelier that hung in the center of the restaurant and each dish was embellished with a fan-folded napkin. I focused on the particularity of the windows: there were two in the north and two in the south, oval and separated by marble slabs. They showed the folds of the curtains decorated with bright designs: trees, butterflies and geometric figures. It was like observing works of art in a frame. The rest of the room was in wood instead. "Well, not bad this ship, right?" I exclaimed. Eddy let out a yawn. "Yes, sure... magnificent ship ..." he replied. "But I still think we only waste time." "Oh, come on Eddy!" I promptly scolded him while I was taking the bread. "Where did your adventurous spirit go?" "I lost it together with the bills to be paid." He replied sarcastically and asked the cook for white rice. "Come on, at worst, we will have had a vacation." I prompted. He sketched half a smile. In fact, we had asked Mr. Wilson for a week's holiday and I didn't mind at all: we had a lot of arrears and I hoped I had found a way to make them profitable. I ordered the pasta with the sauce and we sat down at a table for two. The decorative curtains began to flutter and the shutters in the kitchen closed behind the cooks. A girl with golden tails chuckled after getting scared of the sudden roar. "Mmm ... a storm is coming." I realized, but at the beginning I didn't pay much attention to it. After a while some rather annoying upheavals began to swing the ship left and right. The sways became repeated and more and more violent, so much so that the tables began to wobble and the cutlery to fall to the ground. The insistent noise of the rain drumming on the glass did not go unnoticed. Everyone got up and went out to observe the situation; Eddy and I did the same, but we were immediately struck by the downpours of the rain, which was falling crooked and thick. The sea was black, as was the sky and had swelled, raising waves even a couple of meters high. A lightning flashed through the sky, accompanied by the roar of thunder. Drenched and holding onto the railing of the bridge, Eddy and I reached the stairs again. Going down with those jolts was really risky. I heard children who had started to cry, complaining in a broken voice, of being afraid. "It's just a storm." The parents tried to reassure them. I looked at Eddy: his face was white as a rag. "I do not feel very well." He mumbled. "Seasickness?" I asked him. He nodded. In fact, it was normal to be sick in that situation. I accompanied him to his cabin, with the hope that lying on the bed would make him feel better. We both had a cabin, facing each other. As soon as inside he immediately ran to the bathroom, headed for the toilet. "Goodbye clean bathroom!" I mocked him, sitting on the bed and hopping with light strokes. From the porthole you could see the persistent rain and the waves that threw streams of water, clouding it. Another thunder confirmed, for the second time, the arrival of the storm. "Nice, make fun of me too!" He scolded me. I went into the bathroom, to check, holding on to the sink and saw him with his head bowed inside the toilet. I took a tissue from my pocket, bathed it with a little water and handed it to him. He dabbed his forehead and face. "But was this storm expected?" He asked me. "I don't think so," I replied, rethinking the forecasts. "They said a disturbance would come in the afternoon but nothing serious." I turned on the television and stopped on the BBC channel, where the reporter spoke of the violent storm that was breaking down. The news had just arrived and updates were awaiting. Half an hour had passed since the storm broke and Eddy showed no sign of leaving the bathroom. When he finally came out, his eyes were out of his orbits and his forehead was sweaty. "You finally made it." I mocked him. I seemed to hear a noise from the corridor, so I turned down the volume: I heard a shout from rather alarmed people. Holding on to the walnut chest of drawer, I went to the door and opened it. The ship's captain, Mr. Carter, tried to reassure two young women. "No, don't worry, it's a storm but I assure you that I have been doing this job for twenty years and so I have seen storms." He muttered. He was a tall man, in his fifties, and the slightly gray curls came out from under the white hat. However, I was reading a light in his eyes that did not convince me. Confirming my assumption was that a member of the crew approached the captain and whispered something in his ear. He was young, in his thirties and had typically Nordic features, with fair complexion and blond hair. "Something wrong?" Eddy asked, who in the meantime had appeared at the door. "Sorry ..." the captain asserted, showing a strained smile. "But my duty calls me." He had already turned his back when he stopped to look at us again. "Please stay in your cabins and don't go out." He strongly recommended "If there are emergencies, I will warn you." There was a thud and then it seemed that the ship was carried only by the waves that raised it to one side, placing it in an oblique position; Eddy and I were slammed against the wall opposite the door. Passengers were increasingly alarmed. The cries and cries of the little ones accompanied the disturbing howl of the wind. I, inside my soul, felt that something serious was about to happen. Someone can call it sixth sense, intuited or as he wishes, but I had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. Unable to stand still with that doubt, I left the room ignoring the calls of my friend and colleague who was in the grip of  one more hurdle. I made my way through the passengers in an uproar, went up the stairs, tripping several times and risking to tumble down. The deck of the ship was completely flooded with rain and carried ever greater quantities of sea water; in a short time the water would arrive down to the cabins. The lashing rain soaked me from head to toe as soon as I reached the top. As soon as I saw the captain talking to the young man who had called him a few moments earlier, I crouched close to the wall that separated the staircase from the bridge and that was raised above it. The two were completely soaked, water dripped from their clothes and their faces. I heard the youngest say to the captain: "From the base they have just informed us that conditions are worsening considerably ..." He kept his eyes half closed so that no rainwater entered. "These are two low pressure vortices that are colliding and waves of several meters are expected." He continued, gasping for excitement. "What happened to the engine, John?" Carter asked. "Something must have been entangled in the propeller, sir, probably a net from some fishing boat in the area and the engine is out of order ..." He sighed and added: "We have been warded off from the intended direction for several miles." "My God," exclaimed the captain, putting a hand to his mouth. "And in this time it also becomes impossible to remove that net." He was silent for a few seconds and added: "John, order everyone to put the life jacket, they all must be equipped for a possible abandonment of the ship, I’ll try to hear if there are other ships nearby that can help us and that God send us good. " Another wave poured out onto the bridge, throwing white foam which reached the stairs. John came running up the steps and seeing me, he got upset. "What are you doing here?" He asked, raising his voice "It is dangerous to stay on the bridge, go back to the cabin immediately!" Without further delay, I asked him the question that oppressed my stomach, directly and without words. So, I heard myself say: "Tell the truth ... are we all going to die?" The young man sighed and lowering his tone, said: "We can't do much, the situation is serious." He put his hand on my shoulder and added: "Please begin to pass the word that the life jacket must be worn and I will soon go down to check." Just then we heard the captain shouting, "Frank, what the hell are you doing?" John ran to the bow to reach him and I followed him. I saw another member of the crew who was descending into the water with a rope and was holding an iron stake and a flashlight in his hand. "Frank, are you crazy?" He also shocked John. Frank had already stepped over the railing, ignoring the heartfelt warnings. "I try to see if I can grab the net that has become entangled, maybe we can restart the engine." "The engine is gone, Frank." The captain tried to dissuade him. "It's dangerous, come back here!" "I won't sit on my hands waiting for this ship to sink!" Frank retorted. The ocean, black as night, in one with the sky, vented its fury for the umpteenth time, hitting the ship and spreading more water on the bridge. By that time it had turned into the worst of monsters, ready to swallow anything. Frank descended slowly, holding on to the rope he had tied to his waist. He turned on the battery and looked into the cloudy water. "I see it ... it's there." Exclaimed. A three-meter wave came, slamming it against the ship's tailgate. "Frank, go back up!" John and the captain urged him on. "I only took one hit on the knee." He reassured them. "Don't worry, I'm almost there." The young man stretched out with his whole body, trying to skewer the pole in the holes of the net, but he barely got there. The incoming waves far exceeded the newly arrived one; they hit every three or four minutes and I was starting to get really scared, like I never had before. I was truly at the mercy of the idea that the Atlantic Ocean would swallow us all, just like it did with the Titanic, keeping us forever, like a treasure, on its seabed. But I still didn't feel ready to leave this life and I would never have allowed anything to happen to my friend. I had never thought about how I would die, but I certainly wanted it to happen in my bed, in the heat, perhaps in sleep. Certainly not like that. The Sea Horse was full of passengers and I didn't even dare to think of all those lives swept away by the storm's fury. Casting these thoughts away, while holding onto one of the smokestacks, I noticed with horror that the rope that held Frank was getting thinner and thinner, at the point where it bent, making friction with the iron side. Frank began to shout that he had managed to put the net on the pole and asked for help. Unfortunately the wave that was about to fall had reached a height of almost ten meters and at his sight John and I instinctively moved away, backing towards the stairs, while the captain tried to pull Frank up with all his strength. The wall of water soared the ship, throwing me and John down the stairs, along with liters of salt water. The screams of the other passengers rang in my ears. "Captain?" John called him, getting up. He dragged himself up the stairs and when he looked out, he burst into tears. I caught up with him and found with regret that the captain had fallen into the water with John, whose rope had broken, making them both disappear. "The captain had heard it," he murmured. The gasps made his word difficult. Unsure that I understood correctly, I asked him: "What?" "He said this ship was too light and it was better to postpone the inauguration." He went on, wiping his tears furiously. "And why did you sail today?" I asked, taking him by the collar. "The money sir... The Golden Line was in a hurry to show its line, the news and the furniture." I felt invaded by the fury. It was incredible that those who had built it had thought only of their own dirty interests. But I had to put that thought aside for the moment. Come on, react!" I incited him. "We have to ask for help ... go to the radio, I tell everyone to put the life jacket." John climbed onto the bridge and ran to the control room, while I began to warn those I was crossing as they ran frightened. I knocked on all the doors of the cabins, shouting: "We must leave! Put the life jacket!" The passengers opened the doors to check; I noticed the terror in their eyes. The cabinet in the corridor was overturned on the ground and the flowerpot in pieces. "My God, help!" They were shouting in panic. An elderly woman who had appeared at the door fell on me when the ship was slammed for the umpteenth time. "Ma'am? Are you okay?" I asked her. He removed himself from my body and looked at me with his blue eyes, around which wrinkles wrinkled. "The Lord is making us pay for our badness." He mumbled. I helped her up and urged her to put on the life jacket. At that moment Eddy came out of his cabin, reduced to a rag. "Bryan, the ship was about to turn upside down ..." He asserted, panting. "Where have you been?" The words all came out suddenly, like a river in flood. "The engine is broken and the storm is very strong ... the captain and another crew member fell into the water." "What?" He asked me incredulously. At those words he petrified. "Let's get the life jacket on, quick!" I handed him the life jacket and put it on myself. "What should we do?" He asked me heartily, grabbing me by the arms. "Well, they'll tell us something I suppose ..." I didn't know what else to say; the situation was tragic. Streams of water began to descend to the corridor. From the speakers, a voice screamed: "Leave the cabins!" The crowd gathered, squeezing like sardines and rushed to the stairs, where the water reached one meter. I noticed a Chinese girl to the right of the stairs: she must have been six or seven years old and the water came to her neck. Her black hair had stuck to her face. I grabbed it and held it to me. A young woman, compatriot of the child, took it abruptly and muttered something incomprehensible in her language. "No, ma'am, don't go that way, we have to go up!" I warned her, but the woman did not listen to me and went to the opposite side. Powerless, as soon as I saw a gap between the crowd, I went up the steps. Eddy was behind me. Walking with the water at our knees we ran towards the bow: the sailors were bringing down the lifeboats. About fifteen people climbed onto the first lifeboat, praying and holding each other. Eddy and I lined up, waiting to get on too, but the action of getting them all off, picking up passengers and getting them into the water took too long and was difficult for the precarious balance. In fact, we were all thrown from one side of the ship to the other. I heard the sailors say they had never seen anything like it, especially since it was a calamity that was raining down on us so quickly (not only in a broad sense), but because nobody had foreseen its almost unnatural strength. Suddenly a feminine cry forced me to turn around and I immediately understood what had caused it. I felt the blood in my veins freeze. From afar, a wall of water about twenty meters high was about to reach us. There was no time to wait, we had to leave the ship quickly. "Eddy, come on, let's go over the railing" I urged him, seeing that there was no time. "The ship will rise and capsize." We stepped over it and clung tightly to the bars. Many people followed our example. Of all I could not help but notice a girl: she looked at me with her frightened green eyes, the long curls fell on her shoulders. He was shaking and holding the bar with his thin hands. He must have been about the age of majority. I watched her; he seemed to be asking for attention. She was alone and this filled my heart with sadness. The anomalous wave came and lifted the ship upright. I saw the poor girl lose her grip and fall into the sea, where she was submerged. Another middle-aged man fell and crashed into the propeller. "Please, jump before the ship capsizes!" I urged Eddy. He nodded in the affirmative. The water violently invaded the ship which began to fall backwards. The empty lifeboats were thrown out. A moment before he overturned, I told Eddy to hold my breath and jump. I closed my eyes and dived. The ship was completely submerged and ended up sinking somewhere on the ocean floor, when the wave closed again on itself, throwing itself into the same waters that generated it. My ears filled with water; only muffled sounds came to me. I swallowed liters of salt water as I struggled to re-emerge and then the lifebuoy brought me to the surface. The salt in my eyes prevented me from opening them, while I called Eddy and reached out my hand. For a moment I seemed to hear his voice but unfortunately I only grasped the emptiness. I touched the jacket with my hand and with regret I noticed that the belts had opened. The last memory of that shipwreck, as soon as the umpteenth wall of water covered me and I struggled to hold my breath, was the beautiful face of a woman. Soon after, I traveled in the dark of unconsciousness.