Yann Martel - Life of Pi

“Let’s hear your story,” he said, panting.

“Once upon a time there was a banana and it grew. It grew until it was large, firm, yellow and fragrant. Then it fell to the ground and someone came upon it and ate it.”

He stopped rowing. “What a beautiful story!”

“Thank you.”

“I have tears in my eyes.”

“I have another element,” I said.

“What is it?”

“The banana fell to the ground and someone came upon it and ate it—and afterwards that person felt better .”

“It takes the breath away!” he exclaimed.

“Thank you.”

A pause.

“But you don’t have any bananas?”

“No. An orang-utan distracted me.”

“A what?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Any toothpaste?”

“No.”

“Delicious on fish. Any cigarettes?”

“I ate them already.”

“You ate them?”

“I still have the filters. You can have them if you like.”

“The filters? What would I do with cigarette filters without the tobacco? How could you eat cigarettes?”

“What should I have done with them? I don’t smoke.”

“You should have kept them for trading.”

“Trading? With whom?”

“With me!”

“My brother, when I ate them I was alone in a lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific.”

“So?”

“So, the chance of meeting someone in the middle of the Pacific with whom to trade my cigarettes did not strike me as an obvious prospect.”

“You have to plan ahead, you stupid boy! Now you have nothing to trade.”

“But even if I had something to trade, what would I trade it for? What do you have that I would want?”

“I have a boot,” he said.

“A boot?”

“Yes, a fine leather boot.”

“What would I do with a leather boot in a lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific? Do you think I go for hikes in my spare time?”

“You could eat it!”

“Eat a boot? What an idea.”

“You eat cigarettes—why not a boot?”

“The idea is disgusting. Whose boot, by the way?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re suggesting I eat a complete stranger’s boot?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I’m flabbergasted. A boot. Putting aside the fact that I am a Hindu and we Hindus consider cows sacred, eating a leather boot conjures to my mind eating all the filth that a foot might exude in addition to all the filth it might step in while shod.”

“So no boot for you.”

“Let’s see it first.”

“No.”

“What? Do you expect me to trade something with you sight unseen?”

“We’re both blind, may I remind you.”

“Describe this boot to me, then! What kind of a pitiful salesman are you? No wonder you’re starved for customers.”

“That’s right. I am.”

“Well, the boot?”

“It’s a leather boot.”

“What kind of leather boot?”

“The regular kind.”

“Which means?”

“A boot with a shoelace and eyelets and a tongue. With an inner sole. The regular kind.”

“What colour?”

“Black.”

“In what condition?”

“Worn. The leather soft and supple, lovely to the touch.”

“And the smell?”

“Of warm, fragrant leather.”

“I must admit—I must admit—it sounds tempting!”

“You can forget about it.”

“Why?”

Silence.

“Will you not answer, my brother?”

“There’s no boot.”

“No boot?”

“No.”

“That makes me sad.”

“I ate it.”

“You ate the boot?”

“Yes.”

“Was it good?”

“No. Were the cigarettes good?”

“No. I couldn’t finish them.”

“I couldn’t finish the boot.”

“Once upon a time there was a banana and it grew. It grew until it was large, firm, yellow and fragrant. Then it fell to the ground and someone came upon it and ate it and afterwards that person felt better.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all I’ve said and done. I’m a worthless person,” he burst out.

“What do you mean? You are the most precious, wonderful person on earth. Come, my brother, let us be together and feast on each other’s company.”

“Yes!”

The Pacific is no place for rowers, especially when they are weak and blind, when their lifeboats are large and unwieldy, and when the wind is not cooperating. He was close by; he was far away. He was to my left; he was to my right. He was ahead of me; he was behind me. But at last we managed it. Our boats touched with a bump even sweeter-sounding than a turtle’s. He threw me a rope and I tethered his boat to mine. I opened my arms to embrace him and to be embraced by him. My eyes were brimming with tears and I was smiling. He was directly in front of me, a presence glowing through my blindness.

“My sweet brother,” I whispered.

“I am here,” he replied.

I heard a faint growl.

“Brother, there’s something I forgot to mention.”

He landed upon me heavily. We fell half onto the tarpaulin, half onto the middle bench. His hands reached for my throat.

“Brother,” I gasped through his overeager embrace, “my heart is with you, but I must urgently suggest we repair to another part of my humble ship.”

“You’re damn right your heart is with me!” he said. “And your liver and your flesh!”

I could feel him moving off the tarpaulin onto the middle bench and, fatally, bringing a foot down to the floor of the boat.

“No, no, my brother! Don’t! We’re not—”

I tried to hold him back. Alas, it was too late. Before I could say the word alone , I was alone again. I heard the merest clicking of claws against the bottom of the boat, no more than the sound of a pair of spectacles falling to the floor, and the next moment my dear brother shrieked in my face like I’ve never heard a man shriek before. He let go of me.

This was the terrible cost of Richard Parker. He gave me a life, my own, but at the expense of taking one. He ripped the flesh off the man’s frame and cracked his bones. The smell of blood filled my nose. Something in me died then that has never come back to life.

I climbed aboard my brother’s boat. With my hands I explored it. I found he had lied to me. He had a little turtle meat, a dorado head, and even—a supreme treat—some biscuit crumbs. And he had water. It all went into my mouth. I returned to my boat and released his.

Crying as I had done did my eyes some good. The small window at the top left of my vision opened a crack. I rinsed my eyes with sea water. With every rinsing, the window opened further. My vision came back within two days.

I saw such a vision that I nearly wished I had remained blind. His butchered, dismembered body lay on the floor of the boat. Richard Parker had amply supped on him, including on his face, so that I never saw who my brother was. His eviscerated torso, with its broken ribs curving up like the frame of a ship, looked like a miniature version of the lifeboat, such was its blood-drenched and horrifying state.

I will confess that I caught one of his arms with the gaff and used his flesh as bait. I will further confess that, driven by the extremity of my need and the madness to which it pushed me, I ate some of his flesh. I mean small pieces, little strips that I meant for the gaff’s hook that, when dried by the sun, looked like ordinary animal flesh. They slipped into my mouth nearly unnoticed. You must understand, my suffering was unremitting and he was already dead. I stopped as soon as I caught a fish.

I pray for his soul every day.

I made an exceptional botanical discovery. But there will be many who disbelieve the following episode. Still, I give it to you now because it’s part of the story and it happened to me.