Chasing Freedom Home (Malinding) (10 page)

21

They had just crossed the bar and were out in open water. Rachel hoisted the main sail and went forward to hook on the jib. Andrew held the course steady, trying to remember the instructions his daughter had fired at him. Lizzie was in the cabin, trying to reassure Jane that all would be well, they were in safe hands, the drugs would wear off and she would be herself again soon. Lizzie kept her fingers crossed.

Rachel made her way back to the cockpit and sent her father below. He looked exhausted. She made herself comfortable, back braced against the coaming, feet on the opposite locker. It would take a gale to dislodge her; she smiled, way to go, girl, way to go. The compass light shed a comforting glow. She began to think they might, just possibly, pull it off.  The boat was too small, she was the only experienced sailor, there probably wasn't enough water on board and there certainly wasn't enough fuel for the small diesel engine. But here they were, still alive, still clinging to a shred of hope that this stupid adventure might succeed.  A loud explosion, a splash in the water ahead, a loud-hailered voice ordering her to heave-to or be sunk shocked her out of the dream. A searchlight illuminated every detail of the boat; the Watchers had caught them on the first stage of their escape attempt. So this was how death arrived.

'Heave to. Prepare for being boarded. Stand still.' She let the boat's head come up into the wind. The sails sagged. An inflatable bumped alongside and two uniformed Watchmen stepped on board. The inflatable backed off and started to circle, keeping the light trained on them. Rachel drew herself to her full height and stared coldly at the invaders. The top of her head was almost level with the armpit of the nearest intruder.

'Isn't it customary to wait to be invited aboard a friendly ship?' She hoped her voice was steadier than it seemed as it left her mouth. 'Stand still; you do not have permission to search this vessel. You, name and rank?'

'Sorry, ma'am. Level one Watchman Doyle, Ma'am. I have instructions to stop and search all vessels leaving the river. Ma'am'

'Not this one you don't, Doyle. This vessel sails under my command by the authority of Senior Watchman Bibby. Ask me politely and I'll give you the password. You, yes you; back away from the cabin door. What rank are you, boy?'

'Junior Watchman, sir, sorry, ma'am.'

'Right. You have your communication device, Doyle? Good. You have my permission to transmit the following message to your H.Q. Are you ready?'

'Ma'am, yes, ma'am.'

'Good. Transmission begins: Attention Senior Watchman Bibby. Project "Empire Windrush reverses" held at Mersey Bar. Request instructions. Message ends.'

The message was transmitted. The stars in the clear black sky held their breath almost as hard as Rachel. She desperately wanted to cross her fingers but that probably wasn't a good idea. She continued to stare at Doyle, ignoring his minion. I'm going to be sick, she thought. They waited in silence for the response.

'Render 'Project Empire Windrush reverses' all possible assistance. Captain Rachel's instructions to be followed implicitly. Out.'

‘Fucking Hell!’ thought the recently promoted Captain. ‘Fucking Hell! They bought it.

'Captain, ma'am. How can we help you?' Tempted though she was to give the reply uppermost in her mind, Rachel decided to milk the situation just a little. Not being dead helped, being addressed with respect helped even more. She gave her orders.

Doyle saluted smartly and the two sailors re-boarded their inflatable. Twenty minutes later, and twenty gallons of fuel richer and with hundreds of bottles of fresh Buxton water stowed safely away, the refugees headed out on course again. Her dad was at the helm; his daughter was puking her guts out over the leeward side of the boat.

Jane and Lizzie emerged from the cabin and stared at the sight of their saviour bent over the side of the boat. A stench suggested her bowels had joined in the evacuation. Jane looked to Lizzie for explanation.

'That's my girl. She'll do the impossible and then collapse.'

'But you'll trust her to sail this boat to Africa? She's not twenty years old and you'll

put her in charge?'

'Jane, you heard her see off the Watchmen. Could you do that? No, nor could I. This is a girl who failed to get a single certificate at school. She left - escaped, as she puts it - when she was sixteen. They were glad to see her go. On the other hand, this is the girl who learned to sail a Westerly Centaur - a thirty-foot boat - on a sailing holiday in the Greek islands when she was just twelve years old. The next year she ran away with this boat and called us when she sailed into Dublin. Sent us a postcard of the Book of Kells the next day, and beat it home. She's a qualified offshore yacht master. She can navigate with a sextant if need be. She's more at home out of sight of land than we are at home in bed. I'm glad to see you out and about, Jane. If there's any one on this planet who can save our skins it's that sorry object crouched just there. Give her a few more minutes and I'll get her below and clean her up. She'll be fine.'

'Would she let me help? I've dealt with worse.'

'Not if you ever hope to speak to her again. As she'll see it, this hasn't happened. Go along with that; if you want to talk to her just share a watch with her. Andrew will look after the boat - we were all together on that first sailing holiday, just that Rachel was a quicker learner than the rest of us. Brother Henry was sick all the time and stayed ashore mostly. I think he found a pretty girl to look after him.'

Mother helped daughter down the cabin steps and proceeded to clean her up and wash the soiled clothing. Rachel sobbed herself to sleep and Lizzie sat beside her and held her hand. Jane stayed out in the cockpit with Andrew, in silence, and reviewed her life.

22

A week after the refugees arrived in Malinding Ed-Lamin walked out of his house and stopped in the middle of the compound. This had been his mother’s house, built by his father on land made available by the Alkalo of the time.

Now his mother was the Alkalo, and lived in the home of her new husband, Ebou. If he walked to the gate and looked across the path he would see her. He wondered how long she had waited at his bedside the previous night. Jane was still asleep in the spare room. He had wanted her in his bed, in his arms. She had refused; there was too much to tell him. She was not the woman she had been, there was much to tell and much to forgive. He must hear her story and judge her. She was sleeping soundly, thank God. There was world enough and time for words. Andrew and his wife were still sleeping, he supposed, if thoughts that their daughter might have died had not kept them awake. Rachel; she had navigated the tiny fishing boat down the Irish Sea, across the Bay of Biscay, along the Atlantic coasts of Morocco, Mauritania and Senegal and into what should have been the safe haven of the River Gambia. So many miles before disaster struck. They had collided with the Barra ferry; their little boat had capsized, they had become separated in the choppy water. Andrew, Lizzie and Jane had surfaced together but Rachel was nowhere to be seen. A fishing boat had pulled them out of the water though they struggled to search for their daughter. They were taken to shore and the fishermen had hailed a taxi and taken the survivors to Banjul Hospital. They had been treated expertly, and when they were interviewed by the police their sad state had been recognised and they were granted leave to stay. The matter of having the right paperwork was overlooked – who would stop to search for paper when a child was presumed to be  drowning? It was discovered after a frantic search that Rachel had managed to swim to shore where she had been rescued by market traders. The Inspector of Police, Modou, was moved by the bravery the parents had shown, and by the thought that in long-ago and happier times his own father had made the reverse journey to England and been well received there. Now that The Gambia had a liberal government it was time to repay the favour.

Henry, the medical specialist in something unpronounceable, read of his parent’s predicament over breakfast the next day, as did Ed-Lamin a couple of days later. The two men met at the hospital and made practical suggestions. Henry had money at his disposal and Ed-Lamin had the use of a large, comfortable house in a friendly village.

Ed stared at the house, cream paint glowing in the morning sun. He’d been brought up here, played in the compound with his brothers and sisters, children of Sirra and Binta.  Binta had been a true second mother to him, taking care of him when Sirra was busy at the school or with her other duties. He had dreamed of bringing Jane, with his own child, to this exact place. He had pictured them walking through that gate, the one his father had once painted with sticky black paint, and onto the veranda. In his vision Sirra had prepared Atayah, Binta had fussed with placing the chairs carefully in the shade, and nursing her grandchild. There would have been such a happy celebration.

There might be other babies, now that Jane was home at last. He could not imagine what horrors she had endured but she was here. He would learn, perhaps, what had become of their child; time was on their side. Ed and Jane were an item again. Time and love would heal all. He walked back to the house and into her bedroom. She still slept, muttering slightly to herself, trembling, shivering, restless.
He sat by her bed for an hour and at last his mother looked in. Sirra was horrified by what she saw. Had her son lost his mind? Did he not recognise the signs of Malaria? Look at the girl's arms, see the bites? Feel her brow, know her temperature? She was babbling, speaking nonsense, refusing to wake. Sirra wasted no time; Ebou was summoned and between them they bundled the patient into a car and rushed her to the village clinic. There was a Cuban doctor in residence who did everything that could be done, but too late. As day faded into night Jane lost her hold on life. Ed-Lamin held her hand for another hour, too shocked to realise what was happening. Ebou gently led him away; Sirra and Binta washed her body, wrapped it respectfully in white cloth ready for burial.

23

People avoided Ed-Lamin. They whispered behind his back about a curse, about evil spirits, about the devil. His woman had died; he had not protected her. He had lived too long in a foreign land but he should have known the signs that indicated that she was on a path which might lead to the grave. He should have known, he should have acted. His father had been a wise man, his mother was wise in her ways too; the son should have known what action to take. Perhaps he had wanted her death? Had she somehow in the past disgraced herself? Why else would a person who had been shown mercy, endured a most dangerous voyage now have her life ended by a tiny insect - and in a village where the most skilled medical advice was available? Perhaps she had been poisoned? Perhaps not; her man was not rejoicing. He was mourning, and for much longer than the customary length of time. He was not working; he sat idle when there was work to be done. See; his mother fed him, spoon-fed him as if her were a sick child. His clothes hung off him. It was certain he would soon join his woman in whatever after-land white people occupied.

Andrew, Lizzie and Rachel were equally distressed. They had come to love and respect Jane during the weeks of their voyage to freedom. As the effect of her drugs wore off Jane had adapted to life at sea with delight; she rejoiced in the wide horizons, the clean air, her new skills and abilities. She no longer had to govern her life by appointments to be raped; she was accepted by her crewmates as a useful human being, ready to learn and fit to be trusted again. She loved being part of a family which worked together for a common good, with a common aim, united by a common love. She and Rachel had become close friends, each sharing secrets about their lives, though Rachel had few enough to share and Jane, perhaps, had too many. Trust and respect united them, and by the time the little boat turned into the wide waters of the River Gambia there were few unknown details of their previous lives.

Jane had died quite suddenly, unexpectedly, unfairly. Obviously she had been weakened by the life she lived. Her determination to survive had shone clear during the voyage and she had worked hard at her escape. She had been reunited with Ed-Lamin, her one true love. He had no idea of the degradation Jane had experienced to be with him once again.

'Rachel, you were close to Jane; could you talk to him? She was a wonderfully strong person. Perhaps knowing a bit of what she told you might be helpful?' Lizzie was grasping at straws.

'Mum, Jane was a slave, a prostitute. She didn't want to be but it was her one chance of life. How would knowing that help Ed?'

'I don't know. We've got to do something. Sirra, what are your thoughts?'

'He is my son. I would give my life to save him. It is killing me to see him in this state. I have thought and prayed, prayed and thought. Binta and Ebou have tried but we do not know the words he needs to hear. She lies here, in African soil, from which all human life sprang, but that is no comfort. My son had worked hard in this village to make a home for her long before she arrived, even before he knew she would arrive. And now he sees no reason to live. He knows that I am well provided for and that my old age will be comfortable, God willing. He has no purpose, and that kills a man.'

Rachel was thoughtful. She remembered a kiss. She had supposed that he might well die, and she'd coaxed a kiss from him. But it was his girl who had died, and he seemed intent on following her into the darkness. Sirra was staring at her.

'I would welcome you into the family, Rachel. You are brave and resourceful and strong. Your parents are good people; they knew my husband before I met him, and they saved the life of my son and gave him back to me. They are most welcome here. But my son is slipping away from me. Are you strong enough and wise enough to save him?'

'Sirra, you're putting a heavy burden on my daughter. She's too young, maybe.' Andrew spoke, looking worried. If Jane, who had been unbelievably strong and determined, had failed, what chance had his daughter, an innocent abroad, of saving the young man?

Binta joined the discussion.

'Sirra, my chief, Andrew, Lizzie, Miss Rachel; we in the village are sure that Ed-Lamin will die if a miracle does not save him. Miss Rachel, I know you do not have magic powers but if you are by his side he will not be alone. Just be there; you have saved his life once and you may do so now; but if you do not try it will not happen. Please, I love him as if he was my own son.'

'I can't help him. He needs some sort of specialist. Perhaps he needs detaining, what's it called? Sectioning? Something to stop him being a danger to himself. Perhaps sedatives might help? I'm only a girl. I've never had a boy friend. I don't know about boys. Boys don't like me. I've only ever been kissed once and …'

'And it was my son who kissed you?'

'Only after I begged him. I just wanted to know what it would be like?'

'Rachel, my son does not need chemicals or help from strangers. You do not have to do anything; it's harder than that. You simply have to be. To be there with him, to be there for him.  If it is to be that he recovers, and if you are there by his side when he recovers, we will see what happens. Be there. Be there, but only if you want to be.  Do you?' Sirra gazed at the young woman, and saw her fear. 'Rachel, you have the strength. You sailed a tiny boat here. You held the lives of your parents, and Jane's life too, in your hands. You once held the life of my son; he was safe with you. You have strength. You have strength to succeed, and you may have the strength to fail, if that happens. I pray that you will not fail, we all do. But be there, with him and for him and we'll see.'

Henry, Rachel's brother, had joined the group and listened to the debate. He nodded agreement;

'Sirra's right. You can do this, Sis. Ed-Lamin's a bright young man. He'll find a dozen reasons to reject any advice he's offered.  His world's just ended; he lost his child, his woman, his way of life. Somehow he endured. But his world's changed. It's good that he's here, where his life began; maybe it can begin again. There's a quotation I vaguely remember - "Everyman, I will go with thee and be thy guide …" I don't know the rest, but it implies just that - be there. It doesn't say anything about yakking your stupid head off with so-called advice. Just be there. You'll be good at it Sis, you are the strong, silent one in this family.'

Rachel felt the bile rise in her throat. What was this strength that everyone but her could detect? If her boat was not beneath the waters of The Gambia River she would have been on it, sailing away to some happier place. Would there ever be another boat? She felt stranded, more alone than ever before. And then the thought came to her; perhaps this might be a little like Ed-Lamin was feeling? Just a little: he had lost the most important humans in his life; she had lost a boat. But that boat had been her world; her place of safety. Jane had been his world, a world he had hoped to populate with their children, and now that would never be.  She walked out of the compound and down the sandy trail to the river, out to the end of the jetty. This was where Ed-Lamin had come, and where Binta had found him. It was a peaceful place, a resort. There was not another human being in sight, no sign of a hut even. But moored below the jetty, half in and half out of the water, was a boat. A canoe, hollowed out of the trunk of a tree, a boat so delicate it might have blown away, but the design was that of an art-work, a link, frail as it was, to a tradition dating back into pre-history. A design that had reached perfection long before the modern world was born, still functional, a tool to earn someone a living. She jumped down from the jetty and landed, ankle deep in mud, alongside the little craft. She could build a boat, she was sure of it. Maybe Ed-Lamin would join her in the task of creation. Maybe, maybe, maybe and perhaps and maybe again. She would try.  She rinsed her feet and walked slowly back to the compound.

Rachel gathered together the tea-making equipment. She filled the brazier with charcoal and coaxed it into life. She filled the little teapot with tea and water and sugar and set it on the heat to boil. She washed the tin tray and the two glasses and settled down to watch the water boil. She had seen Sirra and Binta make tea; there was a ritual to follow. She noticed Ed-Lamin sitting at the far end of the veranda, just sitting and staring. What was the correct way to serve the tea? Would he even notice if she got it wrong? The water boiled; she poured some of the brew into a glass then poured it back and to from one glass to the other a dozen times. About half the original amount spilled in the process. She wondered if she should top it up but decided against doing so, it probably tasted dreadful anyway. She placed the half full glass on the tray and carried it to where Ed-Lamin was sitting. She paused in front of him and offered the tea with a little bow. Slowly, he reached out a hand; slowly he took the glass and sipped the contents. He drank half, then offered the remaining liquid to her. She swallowed, and resisted the impulse to vomit; it tasted foul. Confused and shamed, she turned back to her place; she saw he was watching her. Binta joined her, poured a little into a glass, tasted and pulled a face.

'Perhaps more sugar? Perhaps a little mint? Perhaps we re-boil it and pour and pour and pour it many times?' She did not offer to do the job herself but smiled encouragement. She was aware that Ed-Lamin was watching them. Rachel set to work again. Eventually a half-decent brew emerged. Again Rachel offered him a drink and this time he took and drank all of it.

''Enough, sister, enough for one day. You have made a start, you have made a plan and it has gone well. He drank; he looked at you; that is a good day's work. He has gone inside the house to rest, perhaps to sleep. Do not rush; the rest of your life deserves to be started slowly. See, Sirra has been watching; she smiles. Here are your mother and father; say nothing, but smile. You are entitled to smile.'

'Today Madam Lizzie cooks for us; she has been to the market and bought rice and fish and onions. I have helped with tomatoes and spices and there will be a fine meal to eat. I will serve it out into the bowl and we will all eat.' Sirra was indeed smiling. Lizzie had been a competent pupil and Rachel had been left alone to work out whatever plan she had decided on. Henry had returned to his laboratory in Bakau, Andrew had been working on Ebou's accounts and had been offered, and accepted, a job as clerk in the office. The family was settling into Gambian life, a little tentively but with determination. Rachel did not join in the chat but her father noticed that she was drawing what looked like the plan of a boat in the sand near her feet.