Page 247 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Th-there’s no water here!” Her voice was so hoarse. So weak. So different from the way she normally spoke. “What are you going on about?”
“Water?” I shook my head. “Not as such. But there is this!”
I held out the fruit in my hand. Then, before she could open her mouth to ask what I was doing with a fruit, I squeezed—and, out of the fruit, juice began to drip.
I saw her throat move as she swallowed.
“But…but we might poison ourselves! How are we supposed to know if it’s edible?”
“Iknow.” Giving her a look filled with confidence I did not feel, I picked another fruit. “I’ve seen this fruit before on my travels! I’m certain it’s edible!”
Or at least I will be after a bite.
“R-really?” Breath speeding up, she stumbled forward.
I love you, I thought the silent words I couldn’t speak out loud.For you, I’d risk anything and everything.
Strange how, sometimes, you did not need a cost-benefit analysis to know something would be worth it.
“Really?” She took another tremulous step towards me. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes.”
Since my very first business negotiation, I had known that lying was a useful skill. Lying to my wife, though…it left a bad taste in my mouth.
Well, no matter. It was going to be washed away soon enough, one way or another.
“I’ll prove it to you,” I told her, ignoring the pounding of my heart and lifting the fruit to my mouth. For just a second, I hesitated—then my gaze met the vacant, tired, yet oh-so-hopeful eyes of my wife. Lillian, who was slowly but surely dying of thirst.
If this doesn’t work, remember me. Remember me, and above all, survive.
I bit down.
“H-How is it?”
“Hmm…” I chewed, cocking my head. “Quite adequate. Quite adequate indeed.”
“Great!” She rushed forward and was about to snatch a fruit for herself when my hand grabbed her wrist and stopped her dead.
As for why?
The burning feeling that had suddenly appeared in my throat seemed like a rather good reason.
“Don’t!”
She froze.
“Why not?”
“Well, because…” I let my voice trail off. Instead of speaking, I concentrated on chewing. There was still a chance this thing was edible. Just because the burning in my throat was getting worse and worse was no reason to…
I stumbled.
Son of a tax-collector!
“Mr Ambrose?”
I didn’t answer. I continued to chew and swallow. This had to work! It had to! It had—
