The Beekeeper of Aleppo(26)

The smuggler waved us over and everyone edged closer to the water, and one by one we slowly climbed onto the rocking boat. Mohammed sat safely next to me. Afra had still not said anything, not a single word had come out of her mouth, but I could feel her fear; her soul was as dark as the sky now, as restless as the sea.

The smuggler told us to turn off our torches and our phones. There must be no noise and no light until we got to international waters.

‘And how will we know,’ a man said, ‘when we have reached international waters?’

‘Because the water will change. It will become foreign,’ the smuggler said.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It will change colour – you’ll see, it will look unfamiliar.’

Only the captain had his phone on, for the GPS. The smuggler reminded him to follow the coordinates, and if something should happen to the phone, then look out for lights in the distance and follow them.

The engine turned on and we headed out into the darkness, the rubber creaking over the waves.

‘It’s not that bad,’ I heard a child say. ‘It’s not bad at all!’ There was triumph in the girl’s voice as if we had just overcome a great danger.

‘Shh!’ her mother hissed. ‘Shh! They told us no noise!’

A man started to recite a verse from the Qur’an, and as we went further out to sea, other people joined in, their voices merging with the sounds of the waves and the wind.

I had one hand in the water. I kept it there, feeling the movement, the rush of sea, the aliveness of it, the way it got colder as we moved away from the land. I placed my other hand on Afra’s arm but she didn’t respond; her lips were pursed, like a closed shell.

Mohammed’s teeth were chattering. ‘We haven’t fallen in yet,’ he said.

I laughed. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not yet.’

The boy’s eyes widened, full of genuine fear. It seemed that he’d been relying on my ignorant optimism.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘we won’t fall in. People are praying. Allah will hear.’

‘Why didn’t he hear the other people?’

‘We’ve been through this already.’

‘I know, because we’re special. My feet are wet.’

‘Mine too.’

‘My feet are cold.’

‘Mine too.’

Mohammed glanced over at Afra. ‘Are your wife’s feet cold?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Why doesn’t she say anything?’

The boy stared at her for a while, looking at her face, her scarf, her clothes, her hands, her legs, her feet. I followed his eyes, wondering what he was thinking, what he was trying to figure out, where his mother was.

‘How long will it take?’

‘Six hours.’

‘How long has it been already?’

‘Six minutes.’

‘No! It’s been longer than that!’

‘Then why do you ask?’

‘Sixteen minutes!’

‘OK, sixteen.’

‘We have five hours and forty-four minutes left. I will count.’

‘Go ahead.’

He started to count, but by the time he got to the fifth minute he was fast asleep with his head on my shoulder.

I still had one hand on Afra’s arm and one hand in the water. I looked out into the darkness, all this sea and sky, and I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Is this what Afra saw every day? This absence of form.

A girl started to cry. ‘Shh!’ the mother said. ‘Shh! We have been told no noise!’

‘But we are in international waters!’ the girl cried. ‘I’m allowed now!’

At this the mother started to laugh. She laughed from her stomach and the girl switched suddenly from crying to laughing too. Finally, the mother caught her breath and said, ‘No, we aren’t yet in international waters.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I know.’

‘OK. When we get to that place, will you let me know?’

‘So that you can cry?’

‘Yes. I need to cry loudly,’ the girl said.

‘Why?’

‘Because that’s how scared I am.’

‘Go to sleep now,’ the mother said.

And then there was silence. There were no more prayers, no chanting, no whispers.

And maybe I fell asleep too, because I saw in front of me a series of images:

Colourful Lego pieces scattered about the floor

Blue tiles with black flowers

Afra wearing a yellow dress

Sami playing with the Lego in the living room, building a house

The apiaries in the field beneath the midday sun

The burned hives and the dead bees

Mustafa sitting in the middle of the field

Bodies floating in the river

Firas lying on the table at the morgue

Mustafa holding his hand

Afra at the souq with Sami on her knee

Sami’s eyes

Then there was darkness

I startled awake because there was panic.

The waves were bigger.

One man was shouting, ‘Get the water out! There is too much water!’

There were torches flashing, and hands scooping out the water, and children crying. Mohammed was wide-eyed and helping to empty out the water. I watched as men leapt into the sea, the boat immediately buoyant once again.