The Beekeeper of Aleppo(39)

I didn’t tell Afra that we’d been granted clearance. I didn’t even go to the travel agency to buy the ferry tickets. The days and nights passed and Afra was feeling restless.

‘I’m having nightmares,’ she said. ‘I am dead and there are flies all over me and I can’t move to shake them off!’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’ll be off this island soon.’

‘I don’t like it here,’ she said. ‘This place is full of ghosts.’

‘What kind of ghosts?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Something not human.’

I knew that she was right. I knew that we had to go, but I didn’t want to leave without Mohammed. What if the boy returned and wondered where I was? I knew he was coming back, he must be. As the police officer said – this is an island, he couldn’t have gone far.

The following night it was raining again and Afra had a terrible fever. Her head was hot, her hands and feet as cold as the sea. I dabbed her forehead and chest with a damp cloth – my T-shirt dunked in water.

‘He’s playing,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘Sami, I can hear him. Tell him to be careful.’

‘He’s not here,’ I said.

‘He’s lost,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘Sami. The houses are all gone and he’s lost.’

I didn’t say anything. I rubbed her hands between my palms to warm them up, watching her beautiful face. I could see she was frightened.

‘I want to leave here,’ she said.

‘We will.’

‘When? Why is it taking so long?’

‘We need to get the papers.’

The following day her fever was worse. She was shivering and complaining about pain in her back and her legs.

‘Tell him to come in and have his dinner,’ she said as I wrapped one of the blankets around her.

‘I will.’

‘He’s been off playing all day.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ I said. I found some lemons to make her a soothing drink to sip, but Afra was becoming more unwell as the days passed. I thought she was losing hope. I knew we had to leave this place, so I told her that we’d been given the papers. I waited several days for her to get a bit stronger, until at least she could stand on her own and go outside to feel the sun on her face. Then I bought the tickets and wrote a note.

Mohammed,

I have waited for you now for one month. I have no idea what happened to you, where you are and whether you will even come back to find this note, but I have been looking for you every day, and I pray that Allah will protect you and look after you. Take this money and the card. You must use the name Sami (this was my son’s name) and go to the travel agent (you will find it next to the Seven Gates café) and buy yourself a ferry ticket to Athens. Don’t miss the boat, because there will be no more money to buy another ticket. You will have one chance, so make sure you get the times right.

This will be your third time on a boat! When you make it to Athens, try to find us. Here is my phone number: 0928-----. Keep in mind that the phone might not work. My full name is Nuri Ibrahim. I am planning to go from Athens to the UK. If you get to Athens and you do not find us, please continue to search. Please try to make your way to England, and if you meet any person who seems kind, give them my name and hopefully they will help you to find me.

I hope to see you soon. In the meantime be very careful, make sure you eat well and don’t give up. It is easy sometimes to give up. I will be thinking about you and praying for you even across seas and mountains. If you do need to cross any more water, try not to be afraid. I will pray for you every day.

Uncle Nuri

I folded the letter and money into an envelope and placed it on the floor, in the corner of the cabin, beneath the jar of Nutella.

*

The cargo ferry was so big, and painted with yellow stars; there were lorries and cars parked on the bottom level. At the port people were saying goodbye to the NGO workers. The ferry was due to depart for Athens at 9 p.m. and the journey was going to take roughly eight hours. There were chairs for women and older people. The air was warm and the sea that night was calm. Until the last moment I was on the lookout for Mohammed, but it wasn’t long before all the passengers had boarded and the horn for departure sounded loud and clear. Then the ferry edged out into the open sea, leaving the island of ghosts behind. Afra breathed deeply, inhaling the sea air. The darkness now entered my mind from the sea and the sky, and I felt it again, that sense of being lost: the sky and the sea and the world seemed too big. I closed my eyes and prayed for Mohammed, the lost boy who was never mine.





8




I WAKE UP WITH AFRA’S HAND resting on my chest. I can feel her fingers on mine, but there is also something else. I remember Mohammed and the key I found in the landlady’s garden. But when I move my hands I see that I am holding a chrysanthemum.

‘You got me another gift?’ she says. There is a question in her voice.

‘Yes,’ I say.

She runs her fingers over the petals and the stem.

‘What colour is it?’ she says.

‘Orange.’

‘I like orange … I thought you would stay downstairs all night. You fell asleep and Hazim helped me up – he didn’t want to wake you.’