When it started to rain it was dark. The Lunda Nkimba bobbed recklessly between the waves next to an embankment of earth and vegetation that rose three or four meters above us. That uninhabited island was going to be our parapet against the gale.
The sky was roaring in the distance, but we still didn't have the darkest clouds overhead. All the cabin boys worked tirelessly, drenched and excited, driving two-meter iron stakes into the ground and tying them with several ropes to the boat. David gave agitated orders from the deck and urged Heritier to tie some lateral plastic along the ship. Amid the flash of nearer lightning and the terrifying roar of thunder, one could barely hear the clanking orchestra from the shore, where Alphonse, Mukanda, and Shikata frantically pounded the poles with heavy maces in time: first one, then the second, then the third, and the first again, and so on. In a few minutes, just a few centimeters of the tips of the stakes were visible, firmly sunk into the ground. From the deck, I watched captivated that synchronicity of blows, shouts and tension. She had goosebumps. Corneille sat on the ground, put her son in her lap and covered himself with plastic. I noticed Captain David, who was still yelling, and for the first time in all those days on the voyage I saw him worried. A pang of anguish came over me. Was I aware of what was about to happen?
It was at that moment that the beast appeared.
An unearthly scream, as if the sky had split in two, roared overhead, and a sheet of water crashed down on the Lunda Nkimba with such fury that the wood shuddered. A claw of wind whipped the ship from the starboard side and ripped one of the ropes that held the plastic sides, which flapped furiously towards the sky. Half the deck was instantly soaked. It seemed that at any moment the ship was going to be thrown into the air.
Corneille began to pray aloud and Sylvain repeated "My God! My God!", leaning on one of the central posts on the deck. The lurching was so violent that all the passengers crouched down to keep our balance. A continuous flash of lightning, like flashes from the jaws of a raging beast, fanned the sky around us. The swords of light flashed and cut the silhouette of the trees on the shore like specters that attended our inevitable destiny.
The wind was not heard: they were howls of wild animals. Before each furious onslaught, the ship's beams creaked and the iron creaked desperately. After each electrical burst, the sky growled and lashed powerfully against the ship. Although I was terrified, that bestial spectacle was mesmerizing, almost mystical. It wasn't fear that I felt, or at least not a fear that I had felt before, but a suicidal attraction, an inexplicable and irrepressible desire to let myself be caught up in that wild and powerful fervor. It was a display of power so immense that it had something divine about it. I felt the magnetism of horror.
I thought there was nothing to do, that we were doomed. I looked around me, searching for the captain's gaze to see if we should jump to the mainland and write off the ship. Perhaps clinging to that inhospitable island in the middle of nowhere was our only way of survival. The mere idea of falling into those agitated jet waters, black as oil, gave me chills. I grabbed the life jacket that Òscar Camps had lent me, and I thanked him with all my might for that gift that he wished he would not have to use that night. It was an absurd sense of security. When the lightning flashed in the sky, an agitated current appeared in the shadows, stirred as if a thousand demons danced in it. If I fell overboard, I thought, I would only last a few seconds. A shipwreck would be our downfall.
After a few endless minutes, suddenly the nightmare ended. Little by little the intensity of the rain and thunder diminished; the dragon just walked away. He forgave us. Drenched but relieved, exhausted from the tension, all of us spread out across the jumbled deck, still dazed. Although the worst was over, there was no euphoria on board. It was as if we were afraid that at any moment the storm could return; as if, faced with such a titanic and exceptional force, only momentary victories could be achieved, never definitive. I changed into dry clothes and put the life jacket back on.
After a while, exhaustion took its toll and there was a deathly silence on board. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I lay down on the mat, but I didn't close my eyes right away. My mind was still fascinated by that terrifying display of momentum from heaven. I finally fell asleep, but woke up soon after. I was shivering.
A frigid air hung over the deck. Although she was wearing long pants and a hooded jacket, she felt intensely cold. I was freezing. How was it possible that icy cold in Congo? It was real? Was he hallucinating?
He wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. At that moment the Lunda Nkimba's engine roared and we set off. David also wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
