Mitch Albom's 10th book "Strangers in a Lifeboat" will be released on Tuesday. In these exclusive excerpts, the stage is set: shipwreck drifters pull strangers into their life rafts. This story is told in a constantly changing time frame, from the "ocean" and the drifters themselves, to the "land" one year later, and the "news" reports of the tragedies that led to their tragic situation. 

When we pulled him out of the water, there were no scratches on his body. This is the first thing I noticed. The rest of us were wounds and bruises, but he had no traces, smooth almond skin and thick black hair submerged in sea water. He is topless and not particularly muscular. He may be only about twenty years old. His eyes are light blue. This is the color of the ocean you imagined when you dreamed of a tropical vacation-not the endless surroundings of this crowded lifeboat. The gray waves, like an open tomb, are waiting for us.

Forgive me for being so desperate, my love. It has been three days since the sinking of the Milky Way. No one came to us. I try to stay optimistic, believing that rescue is at hand. But we lack food and water. The shark has been found. I saw many people on the boat surrendered. The phrase we are going to die has been said too many times.

If so, if this is indeed my end, then I write to you in this notebook, Annabel, and hope you can read them in some way after I leave. I need to tell you something, and I need to tell the world.

I can start from why I was in the galaxy that night, or my deep guilt about the yacht exploding, even if I'm not sure what happened.

But now, the story must begin this morning, when we pulled this young stranger out of the sea. He was not wearing a life jacket, and when we found him floating in the waves, he did not catch anything. We asked him to catch his breath and introduced himself from our different positions on the boat.

The boss Lambert spoke first. He said, "Jason Lambert, I own the galaxy." Then there was Nevin, a tall Englishman, who apologized that he could not get up to receive a proper welcome because his legs were Scratched, trying to escape the sinking ship. Geri just nodded, and put away the rope she used to pull the man. Yannis shook hands gently. Nina murmured: "Hi." The woman from India, Mrs. Lagari, said nothing; she didn't seem to trust the newcomer. Haitian chef Jean Philippe smiled and said, "Welcome, brother," but he put one of his palms on the shoulder of his sleeping wife Bernadette. Bernadette was injured in the explosion, I believe He was badly injured. The little girl we call Alice has been silent since we found her clutching the deck chair in the sea.

I went last. "Banji," I said. "My name is Benji." For some reason, my voice choked in my throat.

We waited for the stranger to respond, but he just looked at us and stared. Lambert said: "He may be shocked." Newen yelled: "How long have you been in the water?" Seeing that he didn't answer, Nina touched his shoulder and said, "Well, thank God, we I found you."

At this time the man finally spoke.

"I am the Lord," he whispered.

The inspector put out his cigarette. His chair creaked. It was already very hot this morning in Montserrat, and his slushy white shirt stuck to his sweaty back. His temples throbbed from a hangover and headache. He stared at the thin, bearded man who had been waiting for him when he arrived at the police station.

"Let's start again," the inspector said.

It was Sunday. He was already in bed when the phone rang. A man came. He said he found a raft from the American yacht that exploded. The police officer cursed in a low voice. His wife Patrice groaned and rolled over on the pillow.

"What time did you get home last night?" she murmured. "late."

He got dressed and didn't answer her. He made instant coffee, poured it into a Styrofoam cup, and kicked the door frame when he left the house, knocking on his big toe. It still hurts.

"My name is Jarty LeFleur," he said now, looking at the man across the table. "I am the chief inspector of this land. And your name is..."

"Do you have a surname, Roma?"

Lefleur sighed. "What is it?"

Lefleur wrote it down, then lit another cigarette. He rubbed his head. He needs aspirin.

"So you found the raft, Roma?"

LeFleur looked up and saw the man staring at a desktop photo of LeFleur and his wife waving their little daughter on a beach towel.

"Is that your family?" Rom asked.

"Don't look at that," Lefleur said sharply. "look at me.

This raft. How do you know it comes from the Milky Way? "

"It's written inside."

"You just found it and was washed on the beach?"

Lefleur was sweating. He moved the table fan closer. This story is credible. All kinds of things washed up on the north shore. Suitcases, parachutes, drugs, and fish gathering devices are caught in ocean currents and float across the North Atlantic.

Nothing is too weird to go with the tide. But a raft from the Milky Way? That will be a big deal. This huge luxury yacht sank last year, 50 miles from Cape Verde on the West African coast. It caused a sensation all over the world, mainly because of all the rich and famous people on board. None of them were found.

LeFleur shook back and forth. The raft did not inflate itself. Maybe the authorities were wrong. Maybe someone survived the tragedy of the galaxy, at least for a short time.

"Well, Roma," he said, squeezing out his cigarette. "Let's go over and take a look."

What do you want to say about this, my love? Maybe you will laugh or say witty things under normal circumstances. Are you the Lord? Buy drinks. But being alone in the middle of this ocean, thirsty and desperate, honestly, it makes me feel uneasy.

"What did he just say?" Nina whispered.

"He said he was God," Lambert sneered.

"Do you have a name, my lord?" Yannis asked.

"I have many names," the stranger said. His voice was calm but hoarse, almost hoarse.

"You have been swimming for three days?" Mrs. Lagarri interrupted. "This is impossible."

"She was right," Geri said. "The water temperature is 67 degrees. You can't live in it for three days."

Geri is the most experienced seaman among us. She was an Olympic swimmer when she was young, and her responsible tone—confident, blunt, and intolerant of stupid problems—has attracted attention.

 "What is your true story, sir?" Lambert said.

"I am here," the stranger said.

"Why are you here?" Nina asked.

"Aren't you calling me all the time?"

We glanced at each other. We are a group of poor people, their faces blistered in the sun, and our clothes crusted in salt water. We had to stand up completely without falling, the floor smelled of rubber, glue, and the smell of vomit when we retched. Indeed, most of us, at some point, tumbling in the waves on the first night or gazing at the empty horizon in the following days, have cried out for God's intervention. Please Lord! ... Help us, God! Is this what this newcomer means? Haven't you been calling me all the time?

As you know, Annabel, I have struggled with faith for most of my life. Too disappointed. Not comfortable enough.

Nevertheless, I never thought about what I would do if I called on the Lord and He really appeared before me.

"Is there any water to share?" the man asked.

"God is thirsty?" Lambert said with a smile. "Great. Anything else?"

"It's so stupid," Madame La Gere complained. "He is obviously playing games."

"No!" Nina yelled sharply, her face twisted like a rejected child. "Let him talk." She turned and walked towards the man. "Are you here to save us?"

His voice softened. "I can only do that," he said, "when everyone here believes that I am who I am."

No one moved. You can hear the waves beating against the ship's side. In the end, Geri, who was too practical to talk like that, looked at everyone like an irritable teacher.

"Well, man," she said, "when this happens, you let us know. Before that, we'd better adjust our rations."

Reporter: This is Valerie Cortez, aboard the Galaxy Yacht, owned by billionaire investor Jason Lambert. As you can see, it is raining, so I hide here. But on the fifth and final night of Grand Idea, the excessive fun continued.

Moderator: What happened today, Valerie?

Reporter: Today, the participants discussed on the same stage for the first time under the leadership of the former president of the United States, the designer of the world's first electric car, and the founder of the world's three major computer search engines. Together.

Moderator: What is the background music?​​

Reporter: Well, Jim, I think I mentioned that this yacht has a helipad. They have been taking people back and forth all week. Earlier today, the popular rock band Fashion X flew to perform. You can hear their voices in the ballroom behind me. I think this is their big hit, "Coming Down".

Moderator: Wow. This is very impressive.

Reporter: Yes. Once they are completed, there will be--

(There is a lot of noise. The image is shaking.)

Anchor: Valerie, what is that?

Reporter: I don't know! hold on-

(There is another loud noise. She fell down.)

Reporter: Oh my God! ... Does anyone know what that is--

Reporter: Something hit it. . . (stationary) . .. Sounded. . . (stationary) . .. Where to look. ..

(There is another loud noise, and the picture is lost.)

Moderator: Valerie? Valerie, can you still hear us? ... Valerie? ... We seem to have lost contact. As you can hear, there was a loud noise, and there were several noises. We don't want to speculate. But for now, we cannot do it. . . Hello? ... Valerie? . . . are you there? ...

Lambert vomited. He knelt on the ground and lifted from the side. His fat belly protrudes from his T-shirt, and his belly button is hairy. Some vomit sprayed on his face and he groaned.

now it is night. The sea is rough. Others are also sick. The wind is fierce. Maybe it will rain. We haven't rained since the Milky Way sank.

Looking back, we were still hopeful the first morning-shocked by what happened, but grateful for being alive. But over time, the waves became more and more bumpy, and we all got seasick. At night, my mood changed. It feels as if we have been here for a week. I remember seeing little Alice sleeping on Nina's lap, with tears on Nina's face. Mrs. Lagari took her hand, and Nina whimpered, "What if they can't find us?"

What if they can't? Without a compass, Geri has been trying to map our route through the stars. She believes that we are heading southwest, away from Cape Verde, and further into the vast and empty Atlantic Ocean. this is not good.

At the same time, to avoid direct sunlight, we spent several hours hiding under an elongated canopy that covered more than half of the ship. We must be a few inches away from each other, undressed, sweating profusely, and stinking. It is far from the Milky Way, even though some of us are guests on that luxury ship and some of us. Here we are all the same. Half-naked and scared.

The great idea—the voyage that brought us together—is the brainchild of Lambert. He told the invitees that they were here to change the world. I never believed it. The size of the yacht. Its multiple decks. Swimming pool, gym, ballroom. This is what he wants them to remember.

As for workers like Nina, Bernadette, Jean Philip, and me? We just serve there. I have been working under Jason Lambert for five months and I have never felt so invisible. The staff of Galaxy are forbidden to make eye contact with guests, and we cannot eat in front of them. At the same time, Lambert did what he wanted, rushing into the kitchen, picking food with his fingers, and stuffing his face when the worker lowered his head. From his gorgeous ring to his fat belly, everything about him was screaming and overeating. I understand why Dobby wants him to die.

I turned away from Lambert’s vomiting and studied the newcomer. He slept outside the tree canopy, his mouth slightly open. For a person who claims to be the Almighty, he is not particularly conspicuous. His eyebrows are thick, his cheeks are loose, his chin is wide, and his ears are small, partially covered by the black hair. I admit that I felt a chill when he said these things yesterday: I am here. .. Haven't you been calling me? But later, when Geri handed out a pack of peanut butter cookies, he tore the plastic apart and ate the contents so quickly, I thought he would choke. I doubt that God will be so hungry. Certainly not peanut butter cookies.

However, for now, he has distracted us. Earlier, when he was sleeping, we gathered together to discuss our theories in a low voice.

"Do you think he is delirious?"

"Of course! He may have bumped his head."

"He can't survive three days of treading water."

"What is the longest time a person can do it?"

"I read that one person can last for 28 hours."

"Does he really think he is God?"

"He doesn't have a life jacket!"

"Maybe he is from another ship."

"If there is another ship, we will see it."

Finally, Nina spoke. She is a hair stylist for the Galaxy team and was born in Ethiopia. With high cheekbones and flowing black hair, even if you are in the sea, you can maintain a certain degree of elegance. "Has anyone considered the most unlikely explanation?" she asked.

"He is telling the truth? He came when we needed it?"

The eyes fly from one to the other. Then Lambert started laughing, a deep, dismissive giggle. "Oh yes! This is our depiction of God. Float like seaweed until you pull him into your boat. Come on. Do you see him? He is like an islander falling off a surfboard ."

We changed our legs. No one said much after that. I looked up at the pale moon, hanging high in the air. Do some of us think this is possible? That strange newcomer turned out to be the incarnation of the Lord?

I can only speak for myself. no, I do not.

When his jeep reached the lookout point, Lefleur turned off. He had asked the local authorities to delimit the area and was relieved when he saw yellow tape beside the sidewalk.

"Okay," Lefleur said to Roma. "Let us see what you found."

They stepped over the tape and started to walk along the path. Margarita Bay is a piece of green rocky hills falling on rugged white walls, forming the coast and narrow sandy beaches. There are several ways to get off the car, but not in the car. You went on foot.

When they reached the flat ground and approached the spot, Roma slowed down and let Lefleur approach alone. He felt the sand give way to his work shoes. Walk a few steps around a low rock formation. ..

It's there: a huge, semi-inflated, dirty orange raft, dried in the midday sun.

Lefleur felt a shudder. The wreckage of any ship—boats, boats, rafts, yachts—means another failed battle between man and the sea. There are stories in their remains. Ghost story. LeFleur has had enough in his life.

He leaned over to check the edge of the raft. The wound has deflated the lower tube. Sharks could have done this. The canopy was torn off, leaving only the wear parts that had been attached to the frame. The orange peel is engraved with the faded "capable of 15 people". The floor inside is wide, about fourteen feet by sixteen feet. Sand and seaweed now fill it up. The little crab moves in the tangles.

LeFleur followed a crab, which walked over the inscription "Galactic Property" to a sealed bag along the front edge. A small bump pushes the bag outward. He touched the skin of the raft, then drew his hand back.

Lefleur felt his pulse quicken. He knows the agreement: before any lifeboat content is disturbed, the owner must be notified. But this may take a long time. Didn’t the owner die in the explosion? Isn't everyone dead?

He looked back at Roma, who was standing forty feet away, staring at the clouds. Damn it, Lefleur thought, his Sunday was ruined.

He opened the flip and pulled the contents out a few inches. He blinked twice to make sure he was looking right. There, sealed in a plastic bag, is the remains of a notebook.

"The Lord" did not save us. He didn't use magic. He did very little, said less. He obviously only has another mouth to feed, and another body to make room. Today the storm broke again, and everyone huddled under the canopy for shelter. This puts us knee to knee and elbow to elbow. Mrs. Laghari and I are sitting on one side, and the newcomer is sitting on the other side. Sometimes I rub his bare skin. It feels no different from myself.

"Come on,'Lord,' tell us the truth," Lambert said, pointing to the newcomer. "How did you get on my boat?"

"I have never been on your boat," he replied.

"Then how did you fall into the sea?" Gray asked.

"What are you doing in the water?"

We glanced at each other.

"Let me be clear," Yannis said. "God decided to descend from the sky, swim on this raft, and start talking to us?"

"I have been talking to you," he said. "I'm here to listen."

"Listen to what?" I said.

"Enough!" Lambert interrupted. "If you know so much, tell me what happened to my damn yacht!"

The man smiled. "Why are you angry about this?"

"This is different!"

"Yes," the man said. "This one is still floating."

Yannis smiled. Lambert glared at him.

"What?" Yannis said. "It's interesting."

Mrs. Laghari exhaled impatiently. "Can we stop this nonsense? Where is the plane? Those who saved us? Tell us, I will pray to you now."

We are waiting for a reply. But the man just sat there, shirtless, grinning. The mood has changed. Mrs. Laghari reminded us that despite the strange distraction of this newcomer, we were hopelessly lost.

"No one prayed to him," Lambert complained.

 From "Strangers on Lifeboats", 2021, copyright by Harper Collins and Mitch Albom.