Rich made his way back to The Odyssey just as the heavy rains came. He spoke on the Ham radio to an operator on the island who informed him that for the next couple months heavy rains were most likely the order of the day. That did not necessarily disturb him. He considered a rainy day as profitable as a sunny day.
Rich sat at the chart desk casting his eyes over the map. There was nothing to make him stay nor was there any compulsion to sail on, other than he must go sometime.
Rich poured a cup of tea and sat beneath the canopy over the cockpit and watched the rain. “Life must be more than moving from one place to another,” he thought. “You must gain something or effect something. On second thought, that is what often gets you in trouble–something. One can only explore paradise for so long. After all, I don’t really belong here. I’m just passing through—so pass through.”
Rich waited for the rains to subside. Soon The Odyssey sailed free over the pleasant shimmering blue waters of the Koro Sea.
Rich now lived the dream; island hopping in the South Pacific with intrigue and adventure at every island (except the last one). He had become the fictional character of the television series Adventures in Paradise, Adam Troy.
“Adam had purpose,” Rich thought. “He sailed the islands transporting people and cargo to remote islands of the South Pacific. He wanted to save money to buy a ranch in Texas. I bet at the same time there was handsome rugged cowpoke in Texas ranching to save money so he could buy a sailboat and start a small shipping business in the South Pacific. Each man is living the other man’s dream.”
“If Sam ever catches up to me, I think I will tell to just let me alone to live out his dream. If you stop me your dream will end. He will see the logic and truth. He will smile and say, Rich, write down your experiences and send them to me. Make it short sentences without much description. My mind can fill in the rest.”
“I wonder if he hates me? I don’t hate him. I can’t hate a man who has given me so much. I can fear him, but not hate him. We will meet again, of that I am certain. Only a few weeks ago that seemed impossible. Even if he is a very old man, I will meet with him again and tell him how much I appreciated the good he did for me.”
“Hate is poison. It is slow acting. Eventually, it takes over, dominates, convulses, and kills. The earlier the antidote; better yet the earlier the inoculation.”