Blood-drenched Beard

The rest of the time he focuses on swimming, breathing, signs that might help him keep going in a straight line that will take him somewhere. He reaches a point where he doesn’t believe he is in any more of a predicament than the other times he has swum long distances in Olympic swimming pools or participated in ocean races with hundreds of other athletes. It all feels quite familiar, like those two miles of the Tapes Open Water Swim that he completed with cramps in his thigh, or the hypothermia he had in the middle of the bike ride that almost got him eliminated from the Ironman in Florianópolis. There’s a right cadence for every race, and an athlete must pace himself and pay attention to style, the path of his strokes, and the rhythm of his kicking, and above all, he must focus and stay focused on the swimming until his mind and body are one, which enables him to become one with the water and there is no longer any need to focus. Everything he has experienced previously seems to have prepared him for this. It is the race he has trained for his entire life. The imagination can be an ally at times like this. He imagines competitors beside and directly behind him. Only the best swimmers in the world. The leader, whom he wants to pass, is kicking his legs right in front of him. All he has to do is swim in his wake. His mind believes it, and his made-up opponent becomes real in no time, a man of flesh and blood who feels the same cold and the same weariness, a companion. He can almost touch his feet with his fingertips. And when this particular fantasy dissipates, he imagines other things. That he is being chased by giant sharks or leviathans the likes of which no one has ever seen before. That if he pauses or slows his pace, he will be zapped by lightning. That he is leaving death behind. That a quiet, loving woman is waiting for him on the sand of the beach, a woman who doesn’t look like anyone he has ever been with but has nothing extraordinary about her. She greets him without surprise, lets him lay his head on her sand-covered thighs to rest for as long as he requires, and says that they need each other, that they will always want to fulfill each other’s wishes and will be able to, without exception. He can tell she is speaking the truth. She brushes his temples with her fingertips and asks what he wants. He babbles that he doesn’t want much, just that her legs be warm to the touch in the winter and cool in the summer, and that they have a runny-nosed little girl who scrapes her knees as she tears around the house, and that there be a view of a lagoon that turns golden in the late afternoon, even if from afar. Above all that she remain warm when he is cold. That’s all. Then it’s her turn. Tell me what you want. She tells him, and he says yes to everything and asks what else, what else? It is an interminable list of things, and promising her each of them brings him infinite pleasure, no matter what they are. He gives her everything, one thing for each stroke of his arms, begging her not to stop, obtaining from this the strength he needs.

TWELVE

Someone shakes him.

Hey! Hey!

He opens his salt-sealed eyes with difficulty and is blinded by the light. The person helps him lift his torso.

Sit up, man.

He shades his eyes with his hand and sees a muscular man crouching in front of him, dripping with sweat, barefoot, wearing only shorts.

Are you okay?

He is gripped by a fit of convulsive coughing, almost vomiting, but nothing comes out. It doesn’t last long, and as soon as it is over, he tries to get up but can’t and falls back into a sitting position. He looks to both sides, and all he sees are two strips of white sand blazing in the sun. Behind the man is a light blue sea of docile waves.

What’re you doing here? What happened to you?

What beach is this?

Siriú.

The Siriú next to Garopaba?

Is there another one?

He starts laughing and coughing.

Would you like me to call someone?

No, no, he says, pulling himself together. Help me up?

The man grabs him under his arms and sets him on his feet.

Have you seen a dog around?

No. What happened to you? Did you drink and go for a swim?

I fell in.

You look like Tom Hanks in that movie, man.

It’s stopped raining.

It’ll be back soon. It’s been raining for almost a month.

What day is it today?

Wednesday.

I mean the date.

I think it’s the fifteenth.

Of what month?

October.

The man puts his hands on his waist, glances to both sides, then stares at him with a tilted head and squinting eyes.

Man, you need help. Stay here. I’m going to call someone.