Swimming to Catalina

railing and fell headlong into the cockpit. Almost immediately, he was unconscious.

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    He half awoke with a start, thinking that he had heard a woman scream, then he fell back into a stupor. The boat under him moved, annoying him; he wanted to sleep, and the cradle was rocking.
    “Holy shit!” a man’s voice said loudly.
    Stone tried to tell him to shut up, but his voice wouldn’t work. He went back to sleep.
    “Give him CPR,” a woman’s voice said.
    “He doesn’t need CPR,” the man replied, “he’s breathing, and he has a pulse.”
    “Why are his hands like that?” she asked.
    “How the fuck should I know, Jennifer?” the man asked, exasperated.
    Stone, who had been lying on his right side, tried to turn onto his back.
    “He moved!” she said.
    “So he can move; big deal. Go below and get my rigging knife; it’s on the chart table.”
    “But he might be dangerous,” she said.

    “In his present condition, he’s not dangerous to anybody,” the man replied. “Now go below and get me the knife. Jesus, he’s got a length of anchor chain shackled to him; bring me the pliers, too.”
    Stone drifted off again, then he was moving, but he wasn’t doing the moving. He opened his eyes.
    “He’s conscious,” the man said. “Can you talk, sir?”
    Stone’s mouth wobbled, but nothing came out.
    “Get me some water,” the man said.
    A moment later Stone tasted something fresh and sweet. He swallowed some, then some more. Then he vomited it back up, along with some salt water.
    “Take some more,” the man said. “You’re going to be all right.”
    “Ah min fuff,” Stone said.
    “Don’t try to talk yet; just drink some more water, and take some deep breaths.”
    Stone swirled some of the water around in his mouth and spat it out, then drank some more.
    “Gd,” he said.
    “Don’t talk; plenty of time for that later. Jennifer, go below and bring me a couple of dry towels.”
    “Okay,” she said. She was back in a moment, dabbing at Stone’s face.
    Stone began to shiver violently, his teeth chattering loudly.
    The man got the shackle loose and removed the chain. “Help me get this suit off him,” the man said. “Let’s get all his clothes off; he’ll never get warm while he’s sopping wet.”
    This took some time, and Stone wasn’t much help. Finally he was naked, and both people were drying him with the towels.
    “Can you stand up?” the man asked.

    Stone tried to speak, failed, then nodded.
    “Help me with him, Jennifer; we’ve got to get him below and into a sleeping bag; he’s hypothermic.”
    Stone, with their help, got onto a cockpit seat, still shaking, then got his feet onto the companionway ladder. In another moment he was lying on a saloon berth being zipped into a clammy sleeping bag.
    “Boil some water and make some of that instant soup,” the man ordered.
    Gradually, the shivering went away, and they got Stone into a sitting position and were feeding him hot soup from a cup.
    “Thank you,” he managed to say.
    “Don’t worry about it,” the man replied. “I think we ought to get you to a hospital, but I don’t think there’s one on Catalina.”
    Stone shook his head. “No,” he said.
    “You don’t want to go to a hospital?”
    “No. I’m dead.”
    “You’re not dead, but I think you had a pretty close call.”
    “Stay dead,” Stone said.
    “You want to stay dead?”
    Stone nodded. “Gotta.”
    “Just finish the soup and get some rest; you’ll feel better soon.”
    Stone fell back onto the berth and let go. Finally, he could let go. There were sounds of an engine starting and the anchor being pulled up, then they seemed to be moving. He went back to sleep.
    When he woke, the clock on the bulkhead read just after 1:00A.M. Stone struggled to sit up.
    “Tom, he’s awake,” the woman said. She was sitting on the opposite berth, watching Stone.

    “Will you come and take the helm?” he called back.
    The boat heeled, and Stone could hear water rushing past the hull.
    “The wind is coming up a little,” the man said. “Just aim her at that star there; your course is a little north of east, and the wind’s on the beam.” He came below.
    “Hi,” Stone said.
    “Feeling better?”
    “Better is too strong a word, I think, but I’m feeling vaguely alive, which is an improvement.”
    The young man laughed. “I’m Tom Helford,” he said. “I’m a medical student at UCLA, fourth year, which is why I haven’t yet called the Coast