Next they tossed the ice and extra gasoline. Alvarenga strung 50 buoys from the boat as a makeshift “sea anchor” that floated on the surface, providing drag and stability. But at around 10am the radio died. It was before noon on day one of a storm that Alvarenga knew was likely to last five days. Losing the GPS had been an inconvenience. The failed motor was a disaster. Now, without radio contact, they were on their own.
...
Within days, Alvarenga began to drink his urine and encouraged Córdoba to follow suit. It was salty but not revolting as he drank, urinated, drank again, peed again, in a cycle that felt as if it was providing at least minimal hydration; in fact, it was exacerbating their dehydration. Alvarenga had long ago learned the dangers of drinking seawater. Despite their longing for liquid, they resisted swallowing even a cupful of the endless saltwater that surrounded them.
“I was so hungry that I was eating my own fingernails, swallowing all the little pieces,” Alvarenga later told me. He began to grab jellyfish from the water, scooping them up in his hands and swallowing them whole. “It burned the top part of my throat, but wasn’t so bad.”
...
“I am dying, I am dying, I am almost gone,” Córdoba said one morning.
“Don’t think about that. Let’s take a nap,” Alvarenga replied as he lay alongside Córdoba.
“I am tired, I want water,” Córdoba moaned. His breath was rough. Alvarenga retrieved the water bottle and put it to Córdoba’s mouth, but he did not swallow. Instead he stretched out. His body shook in short convulsions. He groaned and his body tensed up. Alvarenga suddenly panicked. He screamed into Córdoba’s face, “Don’t leave me alone! You have to fight for life! What am I going to do here alone?”
To deal with losing his companion, Alvarenga simply pretended he hadn't died. 'How do you feel?' he asked the corpse
Córdoba didn’t reply. Moments later he died with his eyes open.
“I propped him up to keep him out of the water. I was afraid a wave might wash him out of the boat,” Alvarenga told me. “I cried for hours.”
The next morning he stared at Córdoba in the bow of the boat. He asked the corpse, “How do you feel? How was your sleep?”
“I slept good, and you? Have you had breakfast?” Alvarenga answered his own questions aloud, as if he were Córdoba speaking from the afterlife. The easiest way to deal with losing his only companion was simply to pretend he hadn’t died.
