Life of Pi

According to the instructions, each 500-gram carton was supposed to last one survivor three days. That meant I had food rations to last me—31 X 3—93 days! The instructions also suggested survivors restrict themselves to half a litre of water every twenty-four hours. I counted the cans of water. There were 124. Each contained half a litre. So I had water rations to last me 124 days. Never had simple arithmetic brought such a smile to my face.
     
    What else did I have? I plunged my arm eagerly into the locker and brought up one marvellous object after another. Each one, no matter what it was, soothed me. I was so sorely in need of company and comfort that the attention brought to making each one of these mass-produced goods felt like a special attention paid to me. I repeatedly mumbled, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER    52
     
    After a thorough investigation, I made a complete list:
     
    192 tablets of anti-seasickness medicine
    124 tin cans of fresh water, each containing 500 millilitres, so 62 litres in all
    32 plastic vomit bags
    31 cartons of emergency rations, 500 grams each, so 15.5 kilos in all
    16 wool blankets
    12 solar stills
    10 or so orange life jackets, each with an orange, beadless whistle attached by a string
    6 morphine ampoule syringes
    6 hand flares
    5 buoyant oars
    4 rocket parachute flares
    3 tough, transparent plastic bags, each with a capacity of about 50 litres
    3 can openers
    3 graduated glass beakers for drinking
    2 boxes of waterproof matches
    2 buoyant orange smoke signals
    2 mid-size orange plastic buckets
    2 buoyant orange plastic bailing cups
    2 multi-purpose plastic containers with airtight lids
    2 yellow rectangular sponges
    2 buoyant synthetic ropes, each 50 metres long
    2 non-buoyant synthetic ropes of unspecified length, but each at least 30 metres long
    2 fishing kits with hooks, lines and sinkers
    2 gaffs with very sharp barbed hooks
    2 sea anchors
    2 hatchets
    2 rain catchers
    2 black ink ballpoint pens
    1 nylon cargo net
    1 solid lifebuoy with an inner diameter of 40 centimetres and an outer diameter of 80 centimetres, and an attached rope
    1 large hunting knife with a solid handle, a pointed end and one edge a sharp blade and the other a sawtoothed blade;
    attached by a long string to a ring in the locker
    1 sewing kit with straight and curving needles and strong white thread
    1 first-aid kit in a waterproof plastic case
    1 signalling mirror
    1 pack of filter-tipped Chinese cigarettes
    1 large bar of dark chocolate
    1 survival manual
    1 compass
    1 notebook with 98 lined pages
    1 boy with a complete set of light clothing but for one lost shoe
    1 spotted hyena
    1 Bengal tiger 1 lifeboat
    1 ocean
    1 God
     
    I ate a quarter of the large chocolate bar. I examined one of the rain catchers. It was a device that looked like an inverted umbrella with a good-sized catchment pouch and a connecting rubber tube.
     
    I crossed my arms on the lifebuoy around my waist, brought my head down and fell soundly asleep.
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER    53
     
    I slept all morning. I was roused by anxiety. That tide of food, water and rest that flowed through my weakened system, bringing me a new lease on life, also brought me the strength to see how desperate my situation was. I awoke to the reality of Richard Parker. There was a tiger in the lifeboat. I could hardly believe it, yet I knew I had to. And I had to save myself.
     
    I considered jumping overboard and swimming away, but my body refused to move. I was hundreds of miles from landfall, if not over a thousand miles. I couldn't swim such a distance, even with a lifebuoy. What would I eat? What would I drink? How would I keep the sharks away? How would I keep warm? How would I know which way to go? There was not a shadow of doubt about the matter: to leave the lifeboat meant certain death. But what was staying aboard? He would come at me like a typical cat, without a sound. Before I knew it he would seize the back of my neck or my throat and I would be pierced by fang-holes. I wouldn't be able to speak. The lifeblood would flow out of me unmarked by a final utterance. Or he would kill me by clubbing me with one of his great paws, breaking my neck.
     
    "I'm going to die," I blubbered through quivering lips.
     
    Oncoming death is terrible enough, but worse still is oncoming death with time to spare, time in which all the happiness that was yours and all the happiness that might have been yours becomes clear to