Chapter 20

It was impossible to hear anything other than the sound of the storm. Gabriel, along with other fishermen, held onto the bars of the compartment where the fishing was to take place, the floor moving violently in all directions as the ship was struck by colossal waves.

The wind howled so loudly that it sounded like someone screaming in agony, and every hit the ship took made it bend in one direction, making the entire situation unpredictable. Two rookies held the rods tightly against themselves at the entrance of the room, both looking extremely pale. As they descended, one rookie passed out, and many others vomited due to the ship's shaking. Gabriel was lucky not to be one of the ones assigned to hold the rods. Holding onto the pipe with one hand, which was freezing from the extreme cold in the area, the young man noticed that everyone around him was grabbing one of the ropes tied to the wall. He followed their lead.

Marcos was in the same room as him, but it was impossible to understand anything he was shouting. A wave hit the ship by the anchors, making the transatlantic bend dangerously toward the ocean. The movement was so sudden that it threw the fishermen onto each other.

Gabriel took a hard elbow to the stomach when the bodies collided, but he held firm, feeling both his hands ache from the force he exerted. Coughing from the pain, the young man opened his eyes, which were tearing up, realizing that other fishermen were in much worse condition.

One man had a cut on his forehead, making his face turn red with blood, and a woman was holding her left hand with two fingers twisted. But no one dared to let go of the railing. The hatch began to lower, and at the same moment, water flooded the room. The sea was tempestuous, and its cold water felt like ice slashing at the fishermen.

Gabriel felt hypnotized as he watched the insanity of the waters—waves crashed and attacked the sides of the ship.

The two rookies started moving, taking the water toward the sea, even though it was a futile effort. Both took it seriously, running along the inner wall of the ship, trying to get as close to the ocean as possible. Along the way, they slipped and cursed.

Finally, the hatch opened, and Gabriel felt dread. Never in his life had he seen such a monstrous scene. The waters seemed alive, like a gigantic monster bubbling with hatred. Movements around him caught his attention. All the fishermen grabbed the ropes with both hands, throwing their bodies against the wall in an attempt to maintain some balance. The moment to throw the net arrived. Mimicking his colleagues, Gabriel gripped the rope, no longer feeling his fingers from the cold, and his body, like everyone else in the room, was completely soaked.

Marcos was the first to run, both hands on the rope, and the man made the net move toward the ocean. Everyone began to follow suit. Gabriel screamed, realizing he wasn't the only one doing this as he ran toward the water.

The net slid across the ceiling at speed, falling into the ocean, and several fishermen threw themselves on the floor to avoid falling into the sea. Gabriel followed their example, lying on his stomach on the cold metal, facing the ocean.

Holding the rope, he crawled back to the wall. His teeth chattered from the cold, and he felt his body heavy, with pain where he was hit by heavy raindrops. He managed to reach the wall, fighting to get up as he held onto the iron.

The bodies contorted to avoid being thrown in any direction while holding tightly onto the railing, when a bottle was forced into Gabriel's face. He turned, grabbing the glass bottle, realizing that everyone was drinking, taking a long gulp of the liquid, which warmed his body, before passing the bottle to the man next to him.

Insults were directed at the waters by the fishermen who laughed while fighting for their lives. The Corvo himself began to smile maniacally; the insanity was contagious. He drank again when the bottle passed through his hands, but he didn't know what it was, as the taste of alcohol mixed with the salty water of the ocean.

Marcos began to move again, running toward the inner wall of the ship, pulling his rope. Clenching his teeth, Gabriel started pulling like all the other fishermen. The weight was insane. He held the rope with both hands over his shoulder, feeling every muscle in his body burn in disapproval of what he was doing, but the net slowly came back, bringing its precious catch with it.

Shouting to release the tension, Gabriel, along with the others, managed to pull the net back onto the ship. His hands were bleeding, and his shoulder was completely scraped from the rope. He looked at the catch—twenty fish, each about one and a half meters long, wriggling on the floor of the ship. They had a green color resembling that of blowflies. Just as he was about to return to the handrail with the others, a wave struck the side of the boat. A wall of water flooded the room, engulfing Gabriel completely. He felt his helpless body surrounded by water, which threw him backward, flipping him two meters, submerged in the salty water.

Just as the sea had entered, it receded, pulling everything toward the hatch that was beginning to rise. Gabriel didn't feel fear; he simply accepted his fate while feeling pain throughout his body, but he struck something hard, violently hitting the side of his face.

Managing to open one eye, he saw that he had collided with the fish, clutching a few tuna that were weakly wriggling in the net. His mouth filled with blood, and something hard detached in the spot where he had been struck. Holding the fish, Gabriel spat blood that splattered on the wet floor, and in the center of the puddle, a tooth lay. The young man only watched his tooth slide across the floor toward the ocean. With his mouth completely red, dripping blood mixed with seawater, he laughed, cackling hysterically. He wasn't the only one—everyone was having fun.

One of the novices responsible for the ropes had been swept away by the wave that hit Gabriel, screaming as he was carried off into the ocean. The other was lying in a corner, blood oozing from his head. He could be dead, thought Gabriel, feeling his muscles burn. Or maybe just unconscious, he completed the thought.

The sound grew distant when the hatch closed, and nothing could be heard the same way. Gabriel released the fish and got up on weak legs. He noticed the fallen novice waking up, rubbing his head. Everyone drank contentedly around him, laughing without hearing each other. Gabriel headed toward the drink, longing for it. He spat more blood, and with his tongue, he realized that his wisdom tooth had been knocked out. They said the Ancients referred to that tooth as the "tooth of judgment." The fishing had taken his judgment, he thought, laughing to himself as he accepted the drink from a colleague. The fishermen drank throughout the storm.