August 5. Wind: SE 15-20 knots. Heading: 170M. Position: 13°09’44”S 151°32’82”E
“What’ve you eaten in the last twenty-four hours, Ms A?”
Eyes sunken and glazed, besieged by dark rings, April nurses a handful of raw oats. She sorts with thumb and forefinger, picking out a few loose grains and placing them in her mouth. The bones in her face protrude as she chews.
“A Cliff Bar,” she replies softly. “A GU energy sachet, and a tangerine.”
I shake my head. “Abso-lutely-useless. That’s not enough to sustain a fly.”
“It sustained me during my last shift,” she says defiantly, snatching at a steering toggle to correct Moksha’s heading.
“Maybe, but you’re losing too much weight, April. Soon we’ll be measuring your pedal rotations in RPC, not RPM.”
My partner stares at me nonplussed.
“Revolutions per century?”
It’s an underhand comment, especially in light of her unremitting seasickness, but it’s one of the few ways I can get her to eat. Becoming a burden to the voyage is still her biggest fear. Continue reading