A houseboat. Finegan Fine

construction sign.

One of the soggy cardboard boxes begins to bump around, and a leg

sticks out. The foot is bare, no shoes, and the pants frayed and

tattered. The box bumps around some more and the cannibal’s head comes

out over the leg and knee, hands to his head, rubbing his eyes. His

hair is long, down to his shoulders. A young man, he is thin and

without a shirt over his tan shoulders and hairless chest. The cannibal

is not making any attempt to get up, as there is no activity that would

be fruitful. He is adrift without oars. He has no expression on his

face, no motive, and no agenda.

Finegan and Joey are standing, silently staring in his direction.

Seems to be someone there.

Finegan turns to return to his bike seat and pedal closer.

______________________________

The houseboat is approaching the side of the raft city where the

construction sign is located. The cannibal has now noticed the

approaching houseboat and is moving from raft to raft. He is springing

with a jump from the edge of one raft into the center of another, then

gaining his balance, and then repeating this process. The rafts sway

back and forth during this process, a bit of water temporarily

splashing over the side used as the jump-off.

The cannibal speaks in a husky voice, as though his throat is dry.

Boy am I glad to see you! Been too far from

shore to swim. We’d seen sharks. Can you give

me a lift?

Finegan has left the pedals, letting the houseboat drift slowing toward

the raft city for a gentle landing. He is also being cautious, wanting

to be sure he wants to pick this man up before making a bridge with the

gangplank. He climbs to the rooftop to engage in a dialog. Joey slips

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into the pedal seat and back pedals when he sees the gap of water

between the houseboat and raft city closing. Finegan asks,

Where’s the others?

The cannibal looks shocked at first, not the question he expected.

Finally, he finds his voice.

They died. . . We been out here awhile, no land

in sight. . . No food. . . Catch a little

rainwater now and then. . . I’m the last.

Finegan is still highly suspicious.

How did they die?

The cannibal is realizing for the first time that he needs to concoct a

story, as he has been taken by surprise by Finegan’s arrival and the

tide bringing the floating raft city close to shore.

Ah . . dysentery . . got a fever and the shits

and just wasted away.

Finegan is glancing at the bloody construction sign and items of

clothing tossed around on most of the rafts and does not buy this

story.

All except you, eh? You look plenty well fed.

The cannibal is getting shifty eye’d, feeling trapped, and is starting

to worry that he won’t get a lift to shore. He is looking over the

expanse of water and Finegan can see the mental wheels turning. Finegan

looks over his shoulder toward the shore, then back to the cannibal. He

says,

The tide’s turning again now, pulling out.

The cannibal says,

Maybe I better start swimming then.

With one last look at Finegan’s face to look for a change of heart, the

cannibal grabs a corner of one of the insulation rafts and jerks it

toward him, breaking a corner off. Holding onto this like a phalanx, he

dives into the water and starts kicking his feet, paddling to shore

using the insulation piece as floatation. Joey has turned the houseboat

to follow the cannibal, keeping a distance to the side.

After furiously kicking for a few minutes, the cannibal pauses to catch

his breath, gasping furiously. The houseboat is about 50 feet away,

moving in parallel to the swimmer as they head toward shore. The

cannibal has his upper body heaved up onto the insulation board, his

feet dangling in the water. He looks over at Finegan.

Not gonna give me a lift, eh?

Finegan says,

Not until you tell me straight.

The cannibal begins to relay his story.

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We were losing all land. Had to do somethin.

This was couple months back. We had no clue

about direction. . . Just floated.

The picture he paints if of twenty people of all ages, including a

little girl clutching a rag doll, climbing onto the floating raft city

from the roof of a truck cab parked at a construction site. The rafts

are turning in the swirling water, bringing empty rafts toward the

truck cab, so each person or person with a child or couple can step

onto their own raft. Those waiting to board a raft are standing back on

the bed of the truck, waist deep in water. Cardboard boxes have been

thrown atop some of the floating insulation boards.

The cannibal has now caught his breath. He starts kicking his legs