Roger Zelazny's "And I Only Am Escaped to Tell Thee"
Preface from Unicorn Variations: Here is another of those short
shorts I dearly enjoy doing when the opportunity and the idea come
together. I tend to see things like this as single-panel, briefly
captioned cartoonsўand I work backward a little from there.
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It was with them constantlyўthe black patch directly overhead
from whence proceeded the lightnings, the near-blinding downpour,
the explosions like artillery fire.
Van Berkum staggered as the ship shifted again, almost dropping
the carton he carried. The winds howled about him, tearing at
his soaked garments; the water splashed and swirled about his
anklesўretreating, returning, retreating. High waves crashed
constantly against the ship. The eerie, green light of St.
Elmo's fire danced along the spars.
Above the wind and over even the thunder, he heard the sudden
shriek of a fellow seaman, random object of attention from one of
their drifting demonic tormentors.
Trapped high in the rigging was a dead man, flensed of all flesh
by the elements, his bony frame infected now by the moving green
glow, right arm flapping as if wavingўor beckoning.
Van Berkum crossed the deck to the new cargo site, began lashing
his carton into place. How many times had they shifted these
cartons, crates and barrels about? He had lost count long ago.
It seemed that every time the job was done a new move was
immediately ordered.
He looked out over the railing. Whenever he was near, whenever
the opportunity presented itself, he scanned the distant horizon,
dim through the curtain of rain. And he hoped.
In this, he was different. Unlike any of the others, he had a
hopeўalbeit a small oneўfor he had a plan.
A mighty peal of laughter shook the ship. Van Berkum shuddered.
The captain stayed in his cabin almost constantly now, with a keg
of rum. It was said that he was playing cards with the Devil.
It sounded as if the Devil had just won another hand.
Pretending to inspect the cargo's fastenings, Van Berkum located
his barrel again, mixed in with all the others. He could tell it
by the small dab of blue paint. Unlike the others it was empty,
and caulked on the inside.
Turning, he made his way across the deck again. Something huge
and bat-winged flitted past him. He hunched his shoulders and
hurried.
Four more loads, and each time a quick look into the distance.
ThenўThen . . . ?
Then!
He saw it. There was a ship off the port bow! He looked about
