The Forbidden Island of Life

I don't know when, but I was suddenly awakened by the sharp, harsh sound of metal striking. It turned out to be the short, chubby captain, Basadi, angrily knocking my head with his black copper pipe. I scrambled up and stood barefoot on the wooden floor beneath my bed, my face expressionless as I lazily looked at him.

"Oh! Haha, Horse? Good to see you again," he said. I knew he was pretending to recognize me. When I boarded the ship, I had signed a second-class contract. For the duration of this voyage, I was required to wake up early every day and work alongside the sailors. Basadi, according to the contract, was obligated to provide me with two meals each day.

"Horse, you've gotten even tougher over the past year. The second-class passengers are too timid and clumsy, so I've had them scrub the deck. You're the only one fit for lookout duty and mast maintenance. To reach our destination smoothly, you better get to work now." This hypocritical old man, standing barely five feet three, kept rolling his gray eyes upwards as he spoke, his shriveled nose brushing against my chest.

I didn't show any warmth toward him. His hypocrisy and cunning were familiar to me. I threw on a thick goat-skin vest and walked up onto the deck. The mast, tall and enormous, looked like it could pierce the clouds when viewed from below.

I gripped the rough rope and climbed up to the lookout position on the mast. Then, adjusting the large sail according to the wind direction, I went to work. I was very familiar with such tasks. During previous voyages, I'd done the same things. Up there, the wind was cold, but I could block it with the vest if it became unbearable.

The ship sailed quickly, and the islands behind us slowly faded away. By dusk, the sea had turned a dark brown, and the surface grew a bit dull. The waves weren't high or fierce, but beneath the misty cover, they constantly surged and swelled.

On the deck, a dozen or so rugged-looking sailors wandered back and forth. Their faces varied, and I couldn't tell their ancestry. They hardly paid attention to me.

From what I could gauge, this freighter displaced about 150 to 200 tons. The ship was very wide, and the thick, spotted mast stood at the center of the deck. The sail was large enough that when the ship entered waters with many reefs, they could turn off the engine to reduce the impact when hitting rocks, while still maintaining a reasonable speed.

In the wheelhouse beneath the mast, a dark-skinned man was steering. He tightly gripped the wheel, keeping the ship on a steady course.

When it was time to eat, the ship's horn sounded. A small, sturdy man below waved at me. I knew he was signaling for me to come down, so I grabbed the ropes and quickly slid down to the deck.

The man waiting for me was Southeast Asian, gesturing with his arms as he spoke. From his muffled language, he sounded like he might be from Malaysia. His chest and legs were covered in thick hair, his scarred cheekbones were deeply sunken, and he looked like a mutated monkey.

I returned to my cabin. The dinner was steaming and placed on the side of the bed. I was starving, so I tossed off my vest and quickly stuffed sausages and bread into my mouth. After finishing the meal, I lay down on the cramped, damp hammock to sleep.

On the fifth day of our journey, we discovered a woman stranded at sea, holding a child. She was Asian, but her skin was strangely pale, possibly due to drifting at sea for too long, as her body had been severely damaged by the saltwater.

For the past few days, the wind had been strong, and the ship had been sailing with the wind. Yesterday, the Sno had passed through the Cocos Islands. Now, we were in the center of the Indian Ocean, heading for Amsterdam Island.

It was likely that the ship the woman had been on had either hit a reef and sunk or been attacked by pirates, forcing her to jump into the sea with her child to escape.

The sailors scrambled to rescue the woman and her child, speaking in a mix of languages and gesturing wildly.

The young woman appeared extremely weak, her arms shaking as she held her child. The child had survived by nursing from its mother while floating on a piece of wood. The woman's lips were a bit purple; the seawater must have been freezing.

The sailors helped her down to the lower deck, and I thought the woman needed food, fresh water, and rest more than the child did. The small hammock in the cabin would be enough for her to rest for the whole day.

I climbed back up to the mast to resume my lookout duties. If the woman had jumped off the sinking ship, there must be reefs in the area. If she had been attacked by pirates, they would likely have moved on by now.

Soon, a commotion below caught my attention. A woman with blonde hair, dressed in a black halter and heavily made-up, shouted as she rushed onto the deck. She screamed at me, "Of and oue!"