Chapter One, Page One.
by David Williams
Initially it made no sense; but the events that one day became pivotal in Stuart's life. His surname took on a sinister meaning.
Initially, he had set sail from
Exmouth, with every intention of being the first Trauts to circumnavigate
the world.
He fantasized his triumphant
return; he would be the toast of the lecture circuit, he would be invited
to evening soirees with the rich and famous, he would be the first Trauts
at the Queen's banquet that hadn't been the fish course!
It had been an uneventful sail. He rounded the Cape of Good Hope and belly-laughed at the memory of the naked Madeiran surfboarder. His seven cases of whiskey were reduced to six. Curried tuna, a cheddar sandwich, and canned peas had given him the strongest wind of the whole trip.
Onwards he sailed, across the Indian Ocean, and on through the South China Sea.
His last memory of being in control was fifty-four nautical miles southeast of the Mariana Islands.It was then that the mother of all typhoons knocked him jib-sideways to Sunday! He had a very faint recollection of some sinister grey warships on the horizon; but nothing prepared him for the next blast.
It appeared that the storm had
abated and Stuart was ready for a REALLY good sleep, but it was not to
be.
As he nodded, and his eyelids
closed, he suddenly became aware of a faint warmth, then a hot breath,
then a searing heat. The clouds vaporized into a red larval melt, the sea
disappeared from beneath his boat: ionized!
It was instantaneous, it was inexplicable, it was untenable, it was three-thirty.
He awoke fumdounded! Lost! Foncused!
He awoke as:
Stuart
Trauts, The Backwards Man.
