Charlemagne

Paul stared vacantly at the wreckage surrounding him, trying in vain to piece together what had happened. He remembered being on the deck of the whaling ship, looking at the vast ocean before him through the thin, blue wisps of smoke from his cigarette. He remembered hearing the thunderous bang from below and the searing heat that instantly scorched his back. He remembered being thrown from the ship, the sensation of flying before crashing head-first into the black sea, the panicked flailing for the surface for anything that could be used as a flotation device, and the relief of finding refuge on this large piece of the ship.

Now, Paul was trying to make sense of the nonsensical. The ship was gone, that much was true. He called out, hoping that any of his mates escaped the destruction as well, but the only reply was deathly silence from the bodies that bobbed in the water. The hope of a rescue was miniscule, at best. They were knowingly silent given the illegal nature of their trip, and there was no family to report Paul’s absence. He was truly alone, and while he knew he should be thankful for being in the right place at the right time, all he could think now was that it was the others that were truly blessed. Exhausted, Paul laid down, assumed a fetal position and closed his eyes.

It could have been the water lapping at his face, the glare of the morning sun, or the gentle nudge that sent his makeshift raft into a casual spin that awakened Paul. He rubbed his eyes, praying that somehow the events of the evening were nothing more than the Greek god Epiales torturing his mind throughout the night. But there it was, somehow made even more harrowing as the sunlight bounced off the blood-red sea. That’s when he saw it – the tell-tale triangular fin of the great white breaking through the water and towards the wreckage. Paralyzed with fear, Paul followed the path of the beast, gasping in horror as the shark raised its head above the water, with a corpse hanging out of its jaws. He watched as the creature brought its prize back into the depths. Finally, he turned his gaze away, his face draining of colour as the number of fins heading into the area became countless.

The sharks circled the site, tearing apart the remains of the people that he had dined with only yesterday. Shaking himself out of his shock, Paul closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He may have wished for death with his peers last night, but the very thought of being eaten by a great white awoke the survivor in him. Paul opened his eyes and assessed his situation. He was roughly in the center of the debris, giving maybe thirty minutes before the sharks would be upon him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old compass that had been given to him by his grandfather many years before. Need pushed aside Paul’s sentiment. Thankfully he remembered which way the ship was headed, and as the needle tottered towards north Paul knew which direction he could find civilization. To swim was suicide, though, and his rusted oasis wouldn’t venture far. Every possible scenario he could think of held a fatal flaw that rendered it unusable.

Paul heard the small bump from behind him, so he turned. There, rapping against the raft was a long piece of pipe, its exterior riddled with sharded holes from the explosion. He pulled it out of the water, held it in his hands and looked at it. That’s when a long-suppressed memory came to the forefront, a vision of himself as a small boy riding a horse – Charlemagne, if he remembered correctly – in the fields of his family home in Melbourne. Charlemagne was long gone, as was the property, but Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something in that memory he could use. Paul focused on the vision, rewinding and playing it over and over like the pirated “Star Wars” video cassette he and his brothers wore out.

He looked again at the boy, gently guiding Charlemagne around by the reins. Then it hit him. “Maybe…” Paul thought to himself, “… but that’s just ludicrous. Suicide.” Paul looked at his watch and out at the great beasts. He was rapidly running out of both ideas and time. If he wanted to survive, Paul had to commit to action now. He held the pipe and scanned the area immediately around him. Off to the left, a frayed piece of cable lay out about a foot. Using the pipe Paul dragged the cable over and pulled it aboard. “This might do it,” he said aloud, his heart racing with fear and excitement. Paul adeptly weaved the cable through the pipe, set it down and looked at the primitive reins he had created. If he could get the pipe into the jaw of one of the great whites maybe he could ride it, guide it to safety. Guide it to home.

Paul enacted in his mind every step he would have to take for his mad plan to have any degree of success. Timing, he knew, would be critical. One moment off and Paul would join his comrades in the jaws of the ultimate predator. He ripped the sleeves off his shirt and wrapped them around his hands. The cable would be hard enough to hold, Paul reasoned, without it tearing through his palms. Satisfied that he was as prepared as he could be, Paul initiated his plan. Taking his jackknife out of his pocket Paul flipped out the blade. “There,” he muttered, catching sight of a nearby body. Paul pulled the body over and looked at the face. Through the burns he could make out that it was Johnny. Paul smiled grimly. Ever the prankster, Johnny would have found this darkly humorous, Paul reasoned. He took the knife and jammed the blade into his old friend, removing it only when a large pool of blood surrounded the gash, wafting downwards into the water. Paul stood, anxiously looking into the water, waiting for one of the sharks to answer the dinner bell. To his right he saw a fin turn and head towards him, disappearing under the water about six feet out. As he’d seen, Paul anticipated the actions of the giant, going under the water only to rocket skyward to take the prey in its mouth. Nervously he watched as the shadow of the predator grew larger and larger, and just as the shark broke the plane of the water Paul jammed the pipe into its gaping maw as he flipped to land on the back of the beast.

Momentarily dumbfounded at the irrational success of his feat, Paul quickly regained his composure. Against all odds he had reined the great white. Now he had to break him.

He held on for dear life as the mighty fish sped downwards into his watery domain. Paul pulled on the cables with all his might, forcing the pipe to gouge into the shark’s jaw. He was surviving on pure will now, his pressing need for oxygen overridden by sheer determination. After what seemed an eternity, the shark moved his trajectory skyward, allowing Paul to take in the ocean air. The shark swam along the surface, angered by his unwanted companion. Paul took a quick look at the compass he had attached to the back of his hand, determining that he needed to turn to the left. He pulled heavily on the cable with his left arm, forcing the creature to turn westward. As he rode the shark towards home, Paul allowed himself, at last, to smile.

The shark had long since given up fighting against the foreign object in its mouth and kept swimming forward. Paul kept the reins taut enough to maintain control but relaxed slightly so as not to injure the great white irreparably. “Charlemagne,” Paul laughed as he talked to the beast, “I shall call you Charlemagne, my great white steed! Onward!”

After what seemed hours, Paul could make out the coastline in the distance. As they drew closer, people on the beach became visible – small children making sandcastles, old men relaxing in the water, teenage boys innocently eyeing young women tanning in the sun. Overjoyed at the sight, Paul thrust his arm upward and waved frantically. “Hey!” he cried, “Hey! Here, here! Help, please!”

The full weight of his ill-advised act quickly became apparent as Paul fell off the shark and headfirst into the sea. Enraged at himself over his lapse in judgment and lacking the strength to swim away, Paul looked weakly around in terror as he awaited the inevitable vengeance of the great white. Suddenly Paul felt a nudge from behind, pushing him towards the beach. To frail to turn around and see what was prodding him forward, Paul collapsed like a rag doll, giving in to the force guiding him to safety.

As rescuers raced into the ocean to bring Paul to shore the nudging stopped. Paul fell backwards, his face submerged in the warm water. In the mere seconds he spent looking through the water, Paul could see the eyes of the great white, the eyes of Charlemagne, and in those black orbs Paul recognized that which he thought sharks were incapable of.

Compassion.

FIN.