Migrations(9)

“How long have you been working on the Saghani, Samuel?”

“Nearly a decade now, I’d say, or close enough to.”

“Wow. Then you and Ennis must be close.”

“He’s my king and I his Lancelot.”

I smile. “Is he as romantic as you are?”

Samuel chuckles. “My wife would say that’s impossible. But there’s a little romance in all us sailors.”

“Is that why you do it?”

He nods slowly. “It’s in our blood.”

I shift in my seat, as intrigued by this as I am appalled. How can it be in their blood to kill unreservedly? How can they ignore what’s happening to the world?

“What will you do when you can’t fish anymore?”

“I’ll be all right—I’ve got my girls waiting for me at home. And the others are all kids, they’ll bounce back, find something else to love. But I don’t know about Ennis.”

“He doesn’t have family?” I ask, even though I know otherwise.

Samuel sighs mournfully and takes a huge mouthful of his drink. “He does, he does. Very sad tale, though. He’s lost his kids. Been trying to earn enough money to give up this life and get them back.”

“What do you mean? He’s lost custody of them?”

Samuel nods.

I sit back in my armchair and watch the flames crackle and spit.

I’m startled by the low rumble of a voice, and realize that Samuel has begun to sing a forlorn ballad about life at sea. Jesus, I’ve really tipped the poor guy over the edge. I try not to laugh as I realize half the pub is staring. With a signal to Ennis, I struggle to drag the big man to his feet.

“I think it’s time for bed, Samuel. Can you stand?”

Samuel’s voice grows louder, operatic in its intensity.

Ennis arrives to help me with the old man’s considerable weight. I remember to grab my backpack, and then we support Samuel, still wailing, out of the bar.

Outside I can’t help it. I start laughing.

A few moments later I hear Ennis’s soft chuckle join mine.

“Where are you moored?” I ask.

“I can take him from here, love.”

“Happy to help,” I say, and he nods.

It’s not yet dawn, but the light is disorienting. Gray and blue, with a pale sun hanging on the horizon.

We walk along the fjord to the village port. The sea opens up before us, dissolving into the distance. A gull squawks and caterwauls above; they’re rare enough now that I watch it for long moments until it disappears from view.

“That’s her,” Ennis tells me, and I see it. A sleek fishing vessel, maybe thirty meters long, its hull painted black and scrawled with the word Saghani.

I knew it the second I read the name. That this was the boat meant for me. Raven.

We help Samuel stumble on board and guide him below deck. The corridors are narrow, and we have to duck to get through the doorways into Samuel’s cabin. Small and sparse, with a bed on either side. He wavers and then crashes like a lopped tree onto his mattress. I wrestle with his shoes while Ennis goes to get him a glass of water. By the time it’s next to his bed Samuel is already snoring.

Ennis and I glance at each other.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I say softly. He leads me back up onto the main deck. The smell of the ocean fills me as always and I stop, unable to walk away.

“You all right, love?” he asks.

I take a deep breath of salt and seaweed and I think of the distance between here and there, I think of their flight and mine, and I see in the captain something different, something I couldn’t recognize in him before I knew about the children.

I reach into my pack for the map and go to sit by the railing. Ennis follows me and I spread the map between us.

With an invisible dawn approaching I quietly show him how the birds have always set out on separate paths, and where they come back together, each of them following a different route to the fish but always winding up in the same places, always knowing exactly where to meet.

“The spots are a little different each year,” I say. “But I know what I’m doing. I have the tech. I can take you to them. I promise.”

Ennis scrutinizes the map, and the lines carving their paths through the Atlantic.

Then I say, “I know how important this is to you. Your children are at stake. So we go for one last haul.”

He looks up. I can’t tell what color his eyes are in the light. He seems very tired.

“You’re drowning, Ennis.”

We sit for a while in silence, but for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. Somewhere distant the gull cries out.

“You’re true to your word?” Ennis asks.

I nod once.

He stands and walks below deck, not bothering to pause as he says, “We depart in two hours.”

I fold up the map with shaking fingers. A wave of such deep relief hits me that I could almost throw up. My footsteps sound softly on the wooden plank. When I reach land I turn to look back at the boat and its scrawled name.

Mam used to tell me to look for the clues.

“The clues to what?” I asked the first time.

“To life. They’re hidden everywhere.”

I’ve been looking for them ever since, and they have led me here, to the boat I will spend the rest of my life aboard. Because one way or another, when I reach Antarctica and my migration is finished, I have decided to die.