‘Because Allah will protect us.’
‘Why didn’t he protect the other people? Are we special?’
The boy was sharp. I looked down at him.
‘Yes.’
He raised his eyebrows. There was a strong wind and the waves rose.
‘It’s like a monster,’ Mohammed said.
‘Stop thinking about it.’
‘How can I stop thinking about it when it’s right in front of me? It would be like if you held a cockroach right up to my face with all its legs wriggling and told me to stop thinking about it!’
‘Well then, go on thinking until you crap your pants.’
‘I’m not doing it on purpose.’
‘Pretend we’re getting on a ship.’
‘But we’re not. We’re getting on a rubber boat. If we fall in the water, maybe the fishermen will catch us in their net. They’ll think they’ve caught a big fish, but then they will get the biggest shock of their whole lives.’
Afra was listening to our conversation, but she didn’t join in and she kept her back to us.
We waited there for an hour at least. People were becoming restless.
‘This could be our last time on this earth,’ Mohammed said. ‘It would be good if we had some ice cream. Or maybe a cigarette.’
‘A cigarette? You’re seven.’
‘I know how old I am. My dad told me never to try one because it might kill me. I thought I would try one when I was seventy. But seeing as we might die tonight, now might also be a good time. What would you like to have if you were going to die tonight?’
‘We’re not going to die tonight. Stop thinking about it.’
‘But what would you like to have?’
‘I would like very much to have some camel’s wee.’
‘Why?!’
‘Because it’s good for the hair.’
The boy laughed and laughed.
I noticed that a woman standing nearby had been looking at me, her eyes flashing towards me then away, then back again to where Mohammed was standing. She was a young woman, probably in her early thirties, and her hair was long and black like Afra’s and sweeping across her face in the wind. She pushed it back with her hand and looked at me again.
‘Are you OK?’ I said.
‘Me?’ she said.
I nodded, and she glanced again at Mohammed and took a step closer to me. ‘It’s just that …’ She hesitated. ‘It’s just that I lost my son too. It’s just that … I know. I know what it’s like. The void. It’s black like the sea.’
Then she turned away from me and said nothing more, but the wind from the sea and the echo of her words got beneath my skin and froze my heart.
The appointed captain had climbed into the dinghy and the smuggler was showing him something on his phone and pointing out to sea; people were moving closer to the water, sensing that it would soon be time to go. Everyone had started to put on the orange life jackets, and I was busy adjusting the straps of Mohammed’s jacket and then helping Afra with hers.
The smuggler waved us over and everyone edged closer to the water, and one by one we slowly climbed onto the rocking boat. Mohammed sat safely next to me. Afra had still not said anything, not a single word had come out of her mouth, but I could feel her fear; her soul was as dark as the sky now, as restless as the sea.
The smuggler told us to turn off our torches and our phones. There must be no noise and no light until we got to international waters.
‘And how will we know,’ a man said, ‘when we have reached international waters?’
‘Because the water will change. It will become foreign,’ the smuggler said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It will change colour – you’ll see, it will look unfamiliar.’
Only the captain had his phone on, for the GPS. The smuggler reminded him to follow the coordinates, and if something should happen to the phone, then look out for lights in the distance and follow them.
The engine turned on and we headed out into the darkness, the rubber creaking over the waves.
‘It’s not that bad,’ I heard a child say. ‘It’s not bad at all!’ There was triumph in the girl’s voice as if we had just overcome a great danger.
‘Shh!’ her mother hissed. ‘Shh! They told us no noise!’
A man started to recite a verse from the Qur’an, and as we went further out to sea, other people joined in, their voices merging with the sounds of the waves and the wind.
I had one hand in the water. I kept it there, feeling the movement, the rush of sea, the aliveness of it, the way it got colder as we moved away from the land. I placed my other hand on Afra’s arm but she didn’t respond; her lips were pursed, like a closed shell.