A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(51)
Overwhelmed with panic and fear, Doaa began shouting out desperately, “Bassem!” She was terrified that he was also one of the dead. She shouted his name over and over, all the while staring at the mangled body of the man caught in the rope. A few long seconds later, she heard Bassem’s voice: “Doaa! Doaa, don’t look at him, look at me!” Doaa turned her head toward the sound of his voice and spotted him in the sea. The metal rim of the boat was cutting into her hands, and her legs dangled in the water. She wanted to go to Bassem but couldn’t bring herself to jump into the water. But the boat was sinking at an angle that was drawing her toward the spinning propeller. More people were being drawn into its blades. Somehow she still could not bring herself to release her hold and allow the sea to swallow her. “Let go, or it will cut you up, too!” Bassem cried out. He tried to swim to her, but the waves bore him away.
She heard a voice beside her: “Do what he says, Doaa!” It was Walid. He was holding on to the sinking stern with his one good hand, staring at the propeller. He tore his gaze away from it and turned to Doaa, a frightened look on his face, and said, “I can’t swim. I don’t have a life jacket.”
“I can’t swim either.” Her life jacket was long gone and they were both inching closer to the propeller.
Bassem cried out again: “Doaa! Jump! Now!”
“We have to let go,” Doaa yelled to Walid, although she was petrified of the idea.
A look of sadness replaced the terror on his face. “Leave your hope in God,” he said to her with a kindness that made her want to cry. “If you believe in God, he will save you.”
She closed her eyes and opened her hands, falling backward, arms and legs spread as she hit the water’s surface. She was buoyant for a few seconds on her back, then felt someone pulling at her head scarf, which slipped off her head and into the sea. As she lay floating on her back, she felt the ends of her long hair being yanked under the water. Those who were drowning below were beyond reason and grabbed at whatever they could reach for to try to pull themselves to the surface. Their hands grasped at her head, pulling Doaa’s face below the water. Somehow, she managed to push their hands away. She gulped for air, turned upright, and moved her arms and legs to try to stay above water. She remembered that that was what swimming was, so she did her best to tread water as she watched the last bit of the boat sink into the waves. Nothing was left but wreckage, blood, corpses, and a few other survivors. She felt things moving beneath her and knew that they were people drowning, and that any moment one of them might grab her legs, pulling her under.
Then she spotted Bassem swimming toward her holding a blue floating ring, the kind toddlers use in baby pools and shallow seas. “Put this over your head so you can float,” he said as he passed the partially inflated ring over her shoulders. Scared that someone might try to grab her legs, she pulled herself on top of the ring, her legs and arms dangling over the sides, then suddenly fainted from shock and exhaustion. Bassem splashed seawater on her face to bring her back.
The sun was starting to set over the horizon, and the sea had become still and flat, putting the scene before her in eerie focus. Survivors were gathered in small clusters, some wearing life jackets that were only keeping their heads just above water. Many of them had also been sold fake vests that could barely float. She wondered if the smugglers who gave them those life vests had intended to let them drown all along.
Bassem treaded water beside Doaa, holding on to her plastic ring. He spotted a man he recognized with a small bottle of water and begged him to give Doaa a sip. She swallowed a tiny amount, then immediately threw up all the seawater she had ingested. Getting all the salt water out of her system helped her feel more alert. She suddenly noticed all the people wailing all around them. Nearby, they heard the anguished cries of Shoukri Al-Assoulli, the Palestinian man they had met on the boat. He was floating on a plastic bag full of empty water bottles and calling out over and over the names of his wife and children: “Hiyam! Ritaj! Yaman!” With one free hand, he pushed water to the side to move up to other survivors asking, “Did you see them? My wife, my kids?” He stopped when he found another friend of his sobbing. He had also lost his wife and children. “How will I tell my mother they are gone?” he asked Shoukri.
One woman pulled out a waterproof mobile phone and tried to call any emergency number that she and others around her could think of. But there was no network. Another woman pulled her phone out of the layers of plastic bags she’d wrapped it in, finding it still dry and hoping she would have better luck. But her battery was dead.
Darkness slowly descended on the survivors floating in the water, and the sea turned black and choppy. Doaa shivered as her cold, wet clothes clung to her. The waves separated the clusters of survivors who had been holding hands, thinking that they would have a better chance of being spotted and rescued if they stuck together. Bassem clung to Doaa’s water ring, and Doaa gripped his arm, terrified that he, too, would float away. Hours passed and the loud sobs of the children became weak whimpers. Doaa felt for the Quran that Walid had given her, comforted that it was still secured just above her heart. She began to recite verses out loud, and soon others around her chimed in. She felt comforted for a brief moment in this circle, and closer to God. The moon and the stars were their only light, illuminating the living and the dead. Bodies floated all around them. “Forgive me, Doaa, you shouldn’t be seeing such things,” Bassem apologized. But she just shook her head and held more firmly to his arm.