I know my survival is hard to believe. When I think back, I can hardly believe it myself.

My crude exploitation of Richard Parker's weak sea legs is not the only explanation. There is another: I was the source of food and water. Richard Parker had been a zoo animal as long as he could remember, and he was used to sustenance coming to him without his lifting a paw. True, when it rained and the whole boat became a rain catcher, he understood where the water came from. And when we were hit by a school of flying fish, there too my role was not apparent. But these events did not change the reality of things, which was that when he looked beyond the gunnel, he saw no jungle that he could hunt in and no river from which he could drink freely. Yet I brought him food and I brought him fresh water. My agency was pure and miraculous. It conferred power upon me.

Proof: I remained alive day after day, week after week.

Proof: he did not attack me, even when I was asleep on the tarpaulin.

Proof: I am here to tell you this story.