[begin log timestamp 09:53:33 29/01/2011]
(interviewer enters; interviewed is seated)
LM: Hey Benji. Don't worry, I'm not contagious.
BD: Lord… so it's really you.
(interviewer extends hand)
BD: Welcome back, man.
LM: (shakes hands with interviewer) Glad to be back. How's Naledi?
BD: (laughs) Hayi, don't start with me, Lungelo. The doctor outside wants me to conduct this like a more-or-less standard interview. (sits down) There should be time for chit-chat later.
LM: (laughs) Shoot.
BD: How did you come to show up on the coast of Uruguay, of all places, after being dead for almost two months?
LM: Eh… Well, let me start with the storage bay incident. You know the bay flooded, ne?
BD: Yeah.
LM: Well, when I opened my eyes after the first blast of water, I coughed and tasted sea salt in my mouth. I looked around, couldn't see Thati or anyone, and then I saw the door was sealed. The water was still rising fast.
BD: Thati sends his apologies, by the way.
LM: Tell him don't worry about it. I read the Edicts. Anyway, the water forced me to the far end of the bay, and by then it was up to my chest. I thought I was scared then, but then when something slid out of that washing machine and into the water… well, then I really panicked. I didn't get a good look at it at first – just knew it was something nasty-looking. I was swimming for my life with this much air…
(interviewed raises hand just above head)
LM: …left to breathe, heart racing. Then I saw a dark shape come up underneath me - I think my heart must have just stopped. Had to have happened in only an instant, but I-I can remember what it looked like and, and it w-
BD: Lungelo. I need you to slow down. I want you to take your time describing this thing, alright?
LM: Sorry. I have a picture in my mind. Broken-off ends of… chair legs, sticking out of a soggy, plush, button-sofa body. Sticking out everywhere. It opened its mouth wide enough for me to see its insides. Ripped-up foam stuffing, yellow-ish, stained gooey-black in places. Its gullet looked like a backed-up drain. No eyes, from what I could see. Just big holes in the sides of its head. It was… moving slowly. Like it had all the time in the world. Like it had me right where it wanted. It was fucking ugly… and it was mean. The thing clamped down on my leg, dragged me under. I think it had… knives for teeth. Like, actual kitchen knives. It was shaking me, shaking me like a ragdoll and gnashing my leg up while it did that.
(interviewed pauses)
LM: I really thought I was going to die.
BD: Jesus.
LM: That's when the scip started sucking us in. The knife-mouth let go of my leg when we reached the dead centre of it.
BD: And then?
LM: Then I was being hit by wave after wave.
BD: Waves? Like the sea?
LM: Right. Some sea, somewhere. Eh… wait, let me remember…
LM: I think I was vomited up by a big whirlpool in the middle of a big stretch of water. I was, eh, trying to stay afloat, grabbing onto knotted lumps of clothing around me. I saw a chair floating not too far away and I swam to it… then I saw the knife-mouth rise out of the water ahead of me, getting bigger every second. It started gnashing up whitewash, not much more than an arm's length away from my face. But then… Rahmus, he came out of nowhere. Smacked its head apart in one go. Heh.
BD: What's Rahmus?
LM: Damn, I haven't told you about him yet. Rahmus is… the man who fished me out of the water. He saved me. Wild white hair, bushy grey beard, wizened grandpa type. Very strong arms. He pulled me onto his kayak and called me a stupid slosher. He took me to Rag Island.
BD: Uh huh? Describe the island.
LM: I'm not sure if it was actually an island or just a huge mound of floating rags. It tended to stay in one place, which is why they set up camp there. The Long-Time-Waiters. They're, eh, the people who lived on Rag Island. Built themselves little tent-houses out of the flotsam and jetsam. Hammocks, beds, quilt-cocoons. They all shared a big furnished living room out under the sun where they sat on the beat-up half-a-sofa, or sat on the shaggy carpet, and they just talked all day. I picked up some of the words after a while, but the other half of it was beyond me.
BD: The people on Rag Island, how did they get there? What were they like?
LM: Only I called it Rag Island. They just called it Camp. They didn't tell me where they were from, even when I asked. They told me not to be such a slosher, going around asking silly questions. They were all kinds. Men, women, girls and boys, pink, brown, whatever. All thin, always had a strange way of speaking, always wrinkly - like your fingers when you've just climbed out of the bath, but on their faces too. They were dressed in all kinds of ragged, mismatching clothes, sheets wrapped around their heads to save their skin from sunburn. Oh, and they smelled like soap.
BD: Ha. (interviewer writes several notes) Ok, how did they live on this island? Wouldn't they need to eat?
LM: They rarely ever went into the water because of the megagappers and banpoodifs, but Rahmus was a tough son of a bitch. He'd go out and come back with crates of beans, granola, some bottled water, and a few juice boxes for the kids if he was lucky. Sometimes extra clothes, building materials for houses that got ripped up or swept away in storms, but we were hardly ever short of those. Sometimes he came back with new scars.
BD: Rahmus wasn't afraid of the creatures?
LM: Like I said - tough son of a bitch. On the… the third day, I think? That was when I tried to do some fishing. I made a fishing rod out of a wooden plank, some yarn and a rusty nail.
BD: Catch anything?
LM: A lampshade. The lightbulb was poking out the top because the insides were filled with wet wool and stitched-together socks. The bulb was still glowing, somehow. Long bits of lace and tangled-up string hanging out of the bottom like pasta. The string stuck to my skin and made my hand go numb. I threw it back. Nothing edible in that water. Plenty of things that want to eat you, though. So I just sat and waited like the rest.
BD: That's it?
LM: That's it. I got quite sick of it after a few days. After Rahmus and Vapeter cleaned off all the smelly corrosive gunk, did what they could with my leg, and got me acquainted with the Long-Time-Waiters.
BD: You mentioned that name before. Why did you call them the Long-Time-Waiters?
LM: They called themselves that. Said they were waiting for a ship. Apparently they'd seen it before – Rahmus drew a picture on an old pillowcase with a bit of zolmazufu ink. It's very tall, not very wide or long, but he told me it extends deep under the water and has a winding staircase inside. It didn't look like any ship I'd ever seen. Not even sure something like that could stay afloat they way he claimed it did, but I didn't press him on it.
BD: Anything more to say about the Island and the Waiters?
LM: No. I'd rather tell you how I got back to dry land.
BD: Ok then. How did that happen?
LM: Well, I asked Rahmus if anybody had ever, you know, left the island. He seemed quite relieved when I asked – said why didn't I ask earlier. He took me out in his kayak to a very specific whirlpool with a whirling ring of detritus like a messed-up jigsaw-puzzle. He told me that, most times, things they throw in there don't come back. I decided it was worth a go.
LM: The Waiters helped me build my own kayak, gave me some food and water, and the kids lent me some of their favourite swimming gear. Even gave me a few boxes of Way-Squikky to remember them by if everything worked out.
BD: I gather that it did?
LM: Yes, well, after I steered my kayak into the whirlpool, I ended up somewhere a little bit more normal. But empty. I rode the waves for something like two days, and… then I saw land.
BD: Joh. Quite a story. You'll forgive me for holding on to some skepticism?
LM: Hey, I still can't believe it happened.
BD: (laughs) Alright, anything else to add?
LM: Eh… no, that's all I remember.
(interviewer pauses to listen to personal intercom)
BD: The doctor says we're done here. So, back to normal by tomorrow, hm?
LM: Almost. Good thing I got some physio after quarantine.
BD: I'm sorry about the leg. Really.
LM: I… think I can learn to live with just one.
LM: Will I get to talk to Basi soon?
BD: Lungelo, you died. I went to your funeral. Your family buried you. They can't let you see your son. Not until this whole mess gets sorted out. Hopefully it will.
(no response from interviewed for several seconds)
BD: Come, let me help you up.
BD: Lungelo?
LM: Ok. Ok, let's go.
[end log timestamp 10:01:09 29/01/2011]
