The Stranger in the Lifeboat

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Sea
Day six. Another strange occurrence to report. This morning, the skies grew
thick with clouds and the winds whipped up until they sounded like highpitched
engines. The ocean is deafening in such moments, Annabelle. You
must scream to be heard, even a few feet away. The salt water blows across
your face and stings your eyes.
Our raft rose and fell, smacking the surface with each drop. It was like
riding a bucking horse. We gripped the safety ropes to keep from bouncing
out.
At one point, little Alice tumbled loose. Nina dove and grabbed her with
both arms as a crash of water soaked us all. She scrambled back with Alice in
her grip and started wailing, “Stop! … Stop!” I saw Alice reach an arm out
toward the Lord, who was crouched across the raft, unfazed by any of this.
The man put his hands over his nose and mouth and closed his eyes.
Suddenly, the wind stopped. The air went dead. All sounds disappeared. It
was like that T. S. Eliot poem, “the still point of the turning world,” as if the
entire planet held its breath.
“What just happened?” Nevin asked.
We looked around from our various splayed positions on the raft floor,
which now seemed to be parked in place. The stranger made brief eye
contact, then turned away and gazed over the sea. Little Alice hugged Nina
around her neck, and Nina soothed her by whispering, “It’s OK … we’re
safe.” It was so quiet we could hear her every word.
Moments later, the boat began to gently rock, and the ocean formed small,
harmless swells. A light breeze blew, and the normal sea sounds returned.
But there was nothing normal about that moment, my love. Nothing normal
at all.