To my left I noticed bubbles rising in the now-still water, and before I knew it, a relaxed-looking Ahab was floating beside me on my little fragment of the Pequod.
“Well, Ishmael, I finally killed the bastard,” Ahab said. “Let’s go home.”
PART IV: SURPRISE
“Carrie! You gave us all quite a fright at the Prom. We had no idea that your Senior Science Project was about special effects. We thought it was for real!”
“Well, it wasn’t. You guys be nice to me now, okay?”
“Anna! Look out for the train!”
“Oh! I didn’t see it coming. Thanks, Vronsky.”
“No sweat, Anna. By the way, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Count.”
“Then let’s get married, darn it.”
And so they did.
Fortunately, the correspondent had taken a non-credit CPR course at Columbia Journalism School, and quickly revived the oiler.
Coming to, the oiler felt the heavy sand of the beach underneath him.
“Yuck, this clammy sand is all over me. I’m going to rinse it off in the ocean.”
The oiler returned, looking considerably freshened up, and no worse for wear considering the ordeal they had been through in the open boat.
As they walked together towards the cook, who was already fixing a beach barbecue for the assembled rescuers, the correspondent thought to himself, “It’s as if someone up there’s looking out for us.”
INEZ: What are you talkin’ about, Estelle! The exit’s right over here!
ESTELLE: So it is, Inez. So it is. (She chuckles. A pause.) After you, my friend.
“Raskolnikov, I’m giving you one more chance. Shape up or ship out!”
“I will, Lieutenant Petrovich, I will. Thanks for cutting me some slack. You know, I feel terrible about the whole thing.
“Trust me, this time I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Gregor, there are some visitors here to see you. They say they’re from William Morris.”
“Gregor, let me speak from the heart. We think you can be a big property for us. Already, we’ve got the Roach Motel people interested in a series of commercials, and the Alien folks in Hollywood want to pair you with Sigourney Weaver in their next flick.”
For the first time in weeks, Gregor felt good. Happy, even.
“I’m up for it, fellas,” he said. “Hey, anybody got any cheese?”
So, I gave up trying to build the damn fire. I pulled out my cellular phone, and had search and rescue come fetch me.
Safe aboard the chopper, I found myself “warming” to my new situation—and, as you might note, my sense of humor was returning, too.
I gave my little dog Spot a reassuring pat and a Snausage, and watched the lovely winter wonderland beneath me go by.
GODOT: Sorry I’m late, boys.
VLADIMIR & ESTRAGON: Godot!
GODOT: The Bruckner was a mess. Now then, who wants a brewski? (they leave)
With apologies to Herman Melville (Moby Dick), Stephen King (Carrie), Leo Tolstoy (Anna Karenina), Stephen Crane (The Open Boat), Jean-Paul Sartre (No Exit), Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Crime and Punishment), Franz Kafka (The Metamorphosis), Jack London (To Build a Fire), and Samuel Beckett (Waiting for Godot).