Migrations(53)

“He was one of those protesters—” Mal starts.

“So? So fucking what? This isn’t The goddamn Godfather. We don’t kill people. She killed a man in cold blood.”

“Cold blood?” I say.

“She might not have killed him,” Léa says. “We don’t know.”

“How did you even do it?” Dae asks me, confused.

“She had a blade,” Anik says.

“Why would she carry that?” Basil demands, still not looking at me.

“Maybe because women get attacked,” Léa snaps.

“Oh, here we go—”

“I’ve carried the pocketknife since the day I was stabbed in prison,” I say.

The crew falls silent.

“I spent four years in a cell in Limerick. It was violent. I learned to fight. I learned to fear other people. When I got out I started carrying the knife.”

The air is thick with shock.

Ennis is searching me. I can’t read his expression and I don’t think he can read mine. The others are trying to process.

“Oh, my days,” Mal says faintly.

“What the fuck.” Basil is staring at me now and there’s something hard in his gaze. “So we have a violent criminal on board who stabbed some poor guy to death. Why’s that okay?”

“Poor guy?” I say.

“What—did he touch you a bit so you had to murder him?”

“You chauvinist piece of shit,” Léa snarls but I barely hear her.

“You know what?” Basil asks. “I’m so sick of feminism being the excuse every time a woman behaves badly. A chick is violent and she blames it on men. It’s pathetic.”

I should be angry. There is a resounding surge of it from those who surround me. But instead I feel only contempt for Basil, and a kind of pity that he has let himself be formed into such a small man. He sees it on my face, I think, because he flushes with humiliation and his rage is kindled even further.

It’s Ennis who rounds on him. “He attacked her,” the captain says and I am startled by his fervor. “He attacked her because of us and she didn’t say anything about where we were, so he fucking assaulted her and you don’t think she should have defended herself?”

Basil makes an angry helpless sound. “What did you go to prison for?”

“I killed two people.”

“Jesus,” he snaps. “This is fucked.”

“Calm down, Bas,” Dae says.

“No! We need to radio the police! If we turn back right now—”

“Go cool off,” Ennis orders.

Basil starts to protest until—

“Go!”

The cook storms off, swearing angrily under his breath. Ennis turns back to us. His eyes find mine, gray as dawn.

“I apologize,” he says.

I don’t know what to say.

Mal asks softly, “Is that why you didn’t want to go ashore?”

I nod. “I broke my parole to come here. Wasn’t supposed to leave Ireland for another five years. My passport’s false. And—” Here I go, why not all of the truth and be damned? “I’m not an ornithologist. Or any kind of scientist.”

They stare at me.

“I beg your pardon?” Mal says.

“I never studied. I don’t have a degree. I just read lots.”

There is another long silence as they try to work out what to do with that.

“Fucking hell, Franny,” Léa says eventually.

“Let’s not tell Basil that bit,” Mal suggests.

“How’d you get the tracking stuff?” Dae asks.

“It’s my husband’s.”

“But why are you doing all of this if you’re not involved in it?” Anik asks.

“I am involved. We all are.”

Then, “It doesn’t matter,” Ennis says, and he’s calm, and something about it makes the thought enter my mind that he must have known, but that’s silly. “There are two birds still tracked. I can intercept them. Follow them to fish.”

I breathe out, feeling my eyes prickle. I have an urge to hug him.

“They’re way out west,” Léa argues. “And headed south fast. You don’t know those waters, Skip.”

“I can find them,” Ennis repeats, and he sounds sure enough to believe.

“What does it matter if we’re just gonna get arrested the second we land with a freezer full of fish?” Dae asks.

“I know a guy,” Anik says. “Could move the catch under the radar, if we needed him to. If we can find a catch.”

“Oh, Lord,” Malachai breathes, then can’t help laughing in disbelief. It is ludicrous enough to make anyone laugh, this criminal world in which we’ve found ourselves. Léa’s head is shaking continuously, while Dae keeps rubbing his eyes as though to wake himself from a dream.

“So let’s take a vote,” our captain says. “Anyone for turning back and handing over the boat?” And handing over Franny, is what he doesn’t need to add.

I hold my breath.

Nobody raises a hand.

“All those for carrying on, come what may?”

Silence.