The Black Penguin by Andrew Evans

Author:Andrew Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780299311483
Publisher: University of Wisconsin Press

20

PANAMA

Day 12

Eight laps in the pool—no biggie. In high school I had swum the same distance in less than two minutes, but that was in clear, chlorinated water with bright lights, antifog goggles, and bleachers filled with screaming parents.

The Pacific seemed so dark and forbidding—like crinkled foil reflecting the gray storm brewing on the horizon. Some guests went back in the zodiacs, but the captain said we could swim back to the ship. I kicked my legs in the soupy sea, trying not to think of the likely creatures swimming with us, namely crocodiles and bull sharks. They lived here in Golfo Dulce, hanging out in the mouths of coastal rivers, feeding on fish at dusk. It was dusk now.

I took a few light strokes and turned to check on Chris. She was floating on her side, head held high, her right hand extended like a flying superhero.

“I’m doing sidestroke,” she said, spitting out saltwater. “That’s the one I do best.” Chris kept her rhythm steady, stroking and pulling, while I hung back, hovering in the black water.

“If I get too tired, you’ll get one of the boats to pick me up?” she asked.

“Of course—but you can swim this, no problem.”

Chris was thirty years older than me—a retired Latin teacher from North Carolina with the haircut of a Soviet male gymnast and an accent from Gone with the Wind. As the only single travelers on the ship, we clung together like two girls at summer camp—I was her younger sidekick in the jungle, always stopping to point out the toucans or two-toed sloths in the cathedral canopy of trees, and she was the one who stopped me every twenty minutes to slather sunblock on my face and shoulders. Now I felt so greasy, I was sliding through the water, wishing that sunscreen was shark repellent.

“Are we halfway there?” asked Chris, gasping just a little.

“I think so,” I said, though I could tell the ship was pivoting on its anchor line, turning away with the current, doubling the distance from the beach.

“I can’t. I can’t swim any more,” she said, hitting the top of the water with her hands. I called over a zodiac to pick her up, and though they had enough space in the boat for me too, I stayed in the water.

“I’ll swim,” I said, determined to make it to the ship, even with my heart beating and the scary realization that I was alone in the ocean. I plunged onward, closing my eyes and pulling at the inky water as if climbing an endless ladder. With every kick, I imagined a shark or crocodile close behind, nipping at my bare toes with their teeth. I was the solitary figure in the water, alone beneath the darkening sky. I looked back to shore and saw the last few tourists in their swimsuits and life-jackets, preparing to head back for a leisurely evening of dinner and drinks aboard the National Geographic Sea Lion.

I was floating untethered in the largest ocean on Earth with only my cold muscles to pull me back to the dry refuge of our boat.

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