(Yah-�u Nahkts)
Chapter 4
A sailor�s cry penetrated into her very soul, filling it with sheer terror. Her head jerked up, her eyes open wide. �Diego!� she cried out, running toward the door.
�tienne stepped forward, blocking her way. �Madame, where do you think you are going?�
�Didn�t you hear? Someone has been swept overboard! It may have been Diego. I have got to get out there!�
�No, Madame,� the old man insisted. �C�est trop dangereux! You cannot ��
�Let me go!� she pushed him aside, before he could say anything else, and rushed out of the cabin.
She could not see anything at first, for the water clouded her vision. She wiped her eyes frantically, her whole body shaking from fear and cold. The deck was a terror-filled maze from Dante�s nightmare � screams, people, death � all mixed into one. But she had to find Diego, Annabelle kept telling herself. She had to make sure he was alive.
Trembling, she stepped away from the cabin wall and into the middle of the watery hell.
�Diego!� she screamed, holding out her hands in a vain attempt to shield herself from the lashing rain. Her eyes caught the sight of the familiar figure that stood on the bridge above her, leaning on the rails. And she moved toward it, sense of relief filling her soul.
But then another noise thundered above the storm, causing her to jump in fear. It was a sound of wood cracking under pressure.
Annabelle rushed to the side, as a large chunk of wood from the top of the mast came crashing down onto the deck, cutting through it like a knife. Water started flooding into the newly formed hole, as the storm, overjoyed at finally crippling this stubborn vessel, broke out with an even greater force.
Annabelle felt the ground slip away from under her feet, and, despite her desperate attempts to grab a hold of the slippery wood, the raging elements triumphed, carrying her into the watery abyss. She fought to keep her head above the water, struggling like a drowning puppy, using her arms, feet � anything to stay afloat. But even her clothes seemed to have conspired against her. Her skirts, soaked in water, wrapped themselves around her body, suddenly becoming heavy as lead, and pulled her downward and downward with a cruel indifference of a noose that tightens around its victim�s neck until all life is squeezed out of the convulsing body. And, as the raging waters closed above her head, Annabelle turned her eyes upward for one last time, and her lips moved weakly, breathing out the only name that was dearer to her than life itself � �Diego.�
***
The fallen mast shook the Victoria to her very core. Diego glanced down at the hole in the deck that was quickly filling up with water and froze, noticing a white-clad form caught between the raging waves. Without thinking, he rushed downward from the bridge, slipping on the wet boards. His heart pounded, resounding in his ears like clashes of thunder, drowning out all other sounds. He took off his soaked chaquetta and threw it aside, for, as he figured, it would only hamper his movements. Then he plunged into the bitingly cold waters of the North Sea that eagerly opened up for him, always hungry for another victim.
The caballero panicked, as he did not see his wife at first. Was he too late? Fighting the waves, almost breathless from the bitter cold that now imprisoned his entire body in its watery grip, Diego looked around him wildly as far as his eyes could see in the madness that surrounded him. A faint spark of hope gleamed in his eyes, as he noticed her white dress flash on the surface a few feet away from him before getting completely submerged into the water. He hurried to that spot, cutting the waves with his hands, and dove in, finding her already unconscious, defeated in this unfair battle against the elements. As Diego reemerged on the surface with his precious cargo, he saw, to his chagrin that the ship was now at least a hundred yards away and was getting farther with every second. There was no way that they could make it now. Was this the end?
He glanced around in desperation, and, suddenly, a faint smile of hope touched his lips. The cruel sea that so callously condemned them to a certain death by carrying their only means of survival � the ship � away from them, has also, though, perhaps unintentionally, done them good service. For, in its fit of rage, it tore one of the lifeboats away from the Victoria and threw it into the water only a short distance away from the young couple.
Using all of his remaining strength, Diego made his way to the overturned boat. Still holding Annabelle close to him, he managed to turn it back over onto its bottom and, with a superhuman effort, to haul his wife into its relative safety. Then he climbed in himself, feeling so exhausted that he could barely move his head. Every muscle in his body ached, protesting against any movement. But he could not afford to relax yet. Reaching over, he checked on Annabelle and drew back in satisfaction. She was unconscious but alive � that was all that mattered. But the expression of relief quickly disappeared from his face, as he shifted his attention to the immediate danger of their situation. The wind, though it seemed to calm down somewhat, was still very strong, and in its devilish collaboration with the sea, it tossed the tiny lifeboat around like a tennis ball, threatening to overturn it at any moment and to throw its unfortunate occupants back into the death-hungry abyss.
His body shaking from cold like an aspen leaf, the young caballero grabbed the only unbroken oar that remained on that raft and tried to position their little vessel so that it would face the oncoming waves. That way, he figured, their lifeboat had a better chance of staying afloat than if it were turned sideways to the waves. For a while, he succeeded. But the elements, jealous of his success, unleashed their anger once again, forming a colossal wave that collided with the boat. The impact threw the rower off balance and flung him violently against the opposite board. Diego sagged heavily onto the bottom of the raft, and the oar fell out of his lifeless hand. A thin trickle of blood ran down his cheek from the wound above his temple, dripping carelessly onto his white shirt. His struggle was over.
And then, suddenly, as if satisfied with its victory, the storm quieted down. The clouds gradually dissipated, and the sea was soon as placid and cold as the surface of a mountain lake on a bright, windless sunny day. Shortly, the only visible trace that remained of that horrid tempest was the lonely raft that floated aimlessly in the middle of the sea, carrying its two motionless occupants away from their destination and onward to their destiny.