Life of Pi

He cut up a flying fish and tossed a piece onto the side bench. After he had gathered what he needed for the day from the locker and was ready to go, he tossed another piece over the tarpaulin in front of me. It had the intended effect. As he drifted away I come out into the open to fetch the morsel of fish. My head turned and I noticed the other morsel and the new object next to it. I lifted myself. I hung my huge head over the bucket. I wasn’t afraid I would tip it over. He didn’t. My face disappeared into it, barely fitting, and I started to lap up the water. In very little time the bucket started shaking and rattling emptily with each strike of my tongue. When I looked up, I stared him aggressively in the eyes and he blew on the whistle a few times. I then ignored him and disappeared under the tarpaulin. It occurred to me that with every passing day the lifeboat was resembling a zoo enclosure more and more: I had my sheltered area for sleeping and resting, my food stash, my lookout and now my water hole.