Free We Float Upon a Painted Sea by Christopher Connor Page B

Bull noticed a suitcase floating near the raft. He pointed out to the grey sea. When Andrew joined him, he couldn’t detect the object. His eyes squinted and darted between the swells, and then, without any hint of emotion in his voice he said, “Let’s get it. There may be something inside that will help us survive. We don’t have any oars but you can paddle with your hands. Come on man!” Bull hesitated. He didn’t like the master and servant tone of Andrew’s voice. “Please?” said Andrew unconvincingly.
     
    They paddled with their hands, but with little success. Bull’s muscles had seized up in the cold. He was moving with difficulty.
    “This is hopeless,” he said. He removed his jacket and then his Aran knitted jumper and finally his boots. He slipped into the sea and cut a swathe through the water, stopping every so often to check his bearings. He grabbed the suitcase and made his way back towards the raft, swimming with the object in his arms like he was cradling a drowning child. “A little help wouldn’t go amiss,” shouted Andrew, as he came close to the raft and held onto one of the grab ropes.
     
    Bull heaved the suitcase onto the raft and immediately fumbled with the lock. Andrew crawled back to his original spot, wheezing and coughing. He redressed. Andrew put his hand inside his trouser pocket and withdrew his multi-tool. He passed it to Bull who struggled with shaking hands to withdraw one of the blades. Finally, he succeeded and the lock opened. He rifled through the contents.
    “I wonder who this case belonged to,” said Bull.
    Andrew sat up and pulled on his jumper. He was impatient for Bull to reveal the hidden treasures of their find.
    “It doesn’t matter who it belonged to,” said Andrew, “the main thing is that we now stand a better chance of survival. There’s sure to be something we can use to help us survive. At least some warm clothes for yourself.”
    “Yes, you might be right. This will come in handy,” said Bull, holding up a large black brazier. Andrew frowned.
    “Joke all you want man, but there may be articles within this bag which could save your sorry life.” Bull draped a bath towel over his shivering shoulders. Curiously, his eyes focused on a label on the towel - stolen from Lustrum Budget Hotel . Andrew crept closer and looked inside the case. He extracted a cotton underskirt and started ripping it into strips.
    “What are you doing?” said Bull.
    “I’m making bandages for the waiter,” replied Andrew.
    “He has a name, it’s Malcolm.”
    “Well whoever he is, there’s a nasty head wound that needs tending.”
     
    Bull removed his life jacket and wrapped a shawl around his torso. He made a makeshift sarong for the lower half of his body and draped himself in a white fur coat, held in place by the use of a belt hooked around two button holes. An impromptu turban was created from a scarf and finally, he stuffed other smaller garments under the coat to further insulate the top half of his body. He was warmer now but the water collecting on the floor of the raft made his body feel perpetually wet. He separated the brazier into two and used one of the cups to bail water out the bottom of the raft. “We’re in luck,” he said, looking up in mock delight, “she was a D cup.” Andrew cast Bull a disapproving look but he was gladdened that he was at least able to contribute.
     
    They had come across some food and drink in the suitcase - there was a bag of soft prunes, a bannock cake, a bottle of mineral water and a bottle of Talisker single malt whisky. Andrew had also come upon a pair of opera glasses. He used them to survey the sea for signs of life or more floating luggage.  In the distance, he watched as the Andrea Starlight finally sunk.  It was getting dark but for a short time the grey patchwork quilt of cloud fractured, allowing the setting sun to cast its rays across the sea. The last embers of sunlight flickered behind the clouds on the