A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(56)
On Friday, their fourth morning in the ocean, Doaa noticed that Malak and Masa were sleeping almost all the time and were barely moving. She constantly checked their pulses to make sure they were alive.
Momen became a kind of bodyguard for Doaa and the girls; protecting them gave him a sense of purpose. No other women were left among the living. The other men seeking comfort from Doaa formed a circle around them, some trying to lean on her ring for a rest. Momen would try to shoo them away, warning them, “She’s carrying these kids! She could lose her balance.” But Doaa would let them stay: “Lean gently, please, for the sake of the children.” Momen didn’t have a life jacket, but he was a good swimmer. Still, Doaa saw by late afternoon that he was beginning to lose strength.
“Don’t you leave me, too!” Doaa cried, thinking he was the only adult she had left that she felt close to and trusted since Bassem had died. She didn’t know what she would do without his help and comfort. Momen was floating on his back with his eyes closed when suddenly his body went still, then flipped forward, his face submerging in the sea. Doaa now felt she was completely alone except for the two children whose lives depended on her.
She was going in and out of consciousness as she lay in the ring with Malak and Masa resting on her chest. When she opened her eyes, everything looked blurry. She splashed her face with water to keep herself awake and checked to make sure that the girls were still breathing. She laid her head back again and looked up at the sky, seeing nothing but foggy shapes; then all of a sudden she thought she spotted a gleaming white plane above her head. I must be hallucinating, she thought, dismissing the idea. Then she thought of Bassem’s words: “I pray that God would take my soul and put it in Doaa’s so that she will live.” She began searching the water for the spot where Bassem had died, but it all looked the same: just still water and floating corpses surrounded her. She tried to banish the thought of her beloved’s body sinking below the water and getting eaten by sharks with no proper burial.
In anguish, she looked up at the sky again for any sign of a plane, but instead she only saw a small gray-and-black bird. It flew toward her and circled over her head, then glided away. The bird came back three times, and each time it seemed to look straight at her. Could this mean land is near? she wondered. She hadn’t seen a single bird in four days, not even a seagull. This bird must be a sign from God, she thought. Maybe someone will save us.
Not long after the bird departed, she heard the sound of an engine and spotted the same white plane overhead. This time she knew she couldn’t be imagining it. “Dear God!” she shouted. “Did anyone see that?” The few remaining survivors had drifted away and she was floating alone with only Malak and Masa. Two men swam toward her—Mohammad, a Palestinian she recognized, and an African man she hadn’t seen before. Mohammad had a life jacket, and the African man was clutching a large plastic water canister. Doaa watched the sky and saw what looked like diamonds falling down like fireworks. Again the plane was circling above her.
“There really is a plane!” Doaa exclaimed, hopeful. “Come closer, so they see us!” she told the men.
“I don’t see anything,” Mohammad replied, squinting up at the sky.
“Give me your plastic bottle,” Doaa commanded. When he handed it over, she held it up and angled it so that it reflected against the sun and the plane could see them. The plane started flying lower, and as it did, all three of them waved their arms, shouting, “Help! Save us!”
But then the plane suddenly disappeared and the sun fell slowly into the horizon. Doaa prayed, Please, God, they must have seen us, panicked at the idea of spending another night in the pitch-black water.
The sun was in her eyes now and its rays were blinding her vision, but she still kept scanning the horizon in hope. When she spotted a massive ship off in the distance, she pleaded to Mohammad, who was close by, “Stay with me, please, help me reach the ship.” Doaa knew that she couldn’t swim while holding the two babies.
“I can’t tread water any longer,” Mohammad told her, “I’m too tired. I’ll swim to the ship and tell them to come here and get you.”
The two men set off and Doaa watched them struggle to swim toward the boat until she could no longer see Mohammad. But the African man was still visible, and she wondered why he’d stopped all of a sudden when he was so close to being rescued, until she realized that he wasn’t moving at all. He’d died just when he was about to be saved.
Night fell and Doaa could no longer see the ship or anything else in the darkness. The sea was choppy, and something crashed into the side of her ring. She turned and saw it was the corpse of the African man. His face was swollen and his eyes were open wide. Doaa screamed and pushed the body away, but the force of the current kept moving it back, smashing it into her again and again. She moved the babies to the center of her torso. Clutching them with one arm, she used all her remaining strength to paddle her free hand in the direction she last saw the boat.
But she felt that she was getting nowhere. She turned around and looked behind her. Off in the distance, she saw the lights of another big ship. She scooped some water to splash over the babies’ faces to keep them awake.
How will I reach that ship? she wondered. It is so far away. Dear God, I have the will to get there, but please give me the strength.
She began paddling toward the boat with one hand, the other wrapped around the two little girls. She didn’t care what happened to her, but if Malak and Masa lived, she felt that her life would mean something. She would last long enough to know that she had saved the little girls, then she could finally stop struggling and be with Bassem again.