‘Bibi,’ I scream. ‘No.’
I fling myself through the clamouring bodies towards her. By the time I finally reach her, she’s lying on her stomach at the edge of the dock, jabbing down into the water with a long stick. She’s trying to reach the ball, which is bobbing on the water between the boat and the dockside.
‘Leave it,’ I yell, grabbing her arm and pulling her up. ‘We’ll lose Mum and Dad.’
She glares at me tearfully.
‘If we lose the ball,’ she says, ‘we won’t get to do the plan. We won’t get to be soccer stars and form a new government and go home.’
I stare at her, torn. Part of me knows she’s right, but the other part is desperate to get moving.
‘I can make a new ball out of cardboard,’ I say, dragging her away from the edge of the dock. ‘I’ve done it before.’
Even as I say it I know it’s not the same.
Then somebody snatches the stick out of Bibi’s hand.
It’s the boy.
‘I’ll get it,’ he says. ‘We’ll go halves.’
Before I can move, the boy slips over the side of the dock and disappears.
I drag Bibi to the edge and stare down, horrified.
The boy is crouched inside one of the big tyres that are hanging off the concrete wall. He’s reaching down for the ball with the stick.
Is he mad? If the boat bumps into the dockside, he’ll be crushed.
‘Watch out,’ I yell.
‘I’m OK,’ he replies. ‘I’ve done a lot of fishing.’
Then he slips. He tries to get his balance, but he can’t. He gives a howl and tumbles into the water.
‘Help,’ I scream at the people milling around me. ‘There’s a kid in the water.’
Nobody is listening. They’re all too busy getting onto the boats. Bibi thumps a couple of people, trying to get their attention, but they ignore her.
I look around wildly for a smuggler or a sailor or even a policeman.
Nothing, just desperate people.
There. On the deck. The man in yellow overalls. He looks like a sailor. He’s got a long pole with a hook on the end. Perfect for rescuing people.
I grab Bibi and we claw our way through the crush of people and stumble onto the boat.
‘Quick,’ I yell at the sailor, grabbing his overalls and trying to drag him towards the side. ‘There’s a kid in the water.’
The sailor doesn’t seem to understand.
I shake him.
I yell louder.
I grab the pole.
The sailor scowls at me and snatches it back. Then he slaps me in the face.
I stagger, stars in front of my eyes. Through them I see Bibi kick the sailor. He knocks her down. She grabs his leg and bites it. He picks her up and flings her over his shoulder.
‘Bibi,’ I croak.
I try to get to her but I’m too giddy and I’m still staggering towards them as the sailor throws Bibi over the side of the boat.
22
‘No,’ I scream.
I stare down at the churning water. Bibi has vanished already. I drag myself up onto the railing and jump.
The water wallops the breath out of me.
Then I’m under, eyes stinging, desperately trying to see her.
Bubbles float around me in the greeny-gold shafts from the sun and the greeny-grey shadows from the boat and the greeny-pink stars from the smack in the head.
I try to kick my legs and move my arms but the water feels heavier than sand and I’m sinking.
Look for Bibi, I shout silently to myself.
Shapes everywhere. But not Bibi. Just shadows.
Sinking.
Sinking.
A face. Close to mine. It’s her. Eyes wide, cheeks bulging. I wrap my arms round her and try to kick. Get us both back up.
No good. I can’t kick hard enough.
Kick, Bibi. Do your big kick.
I can’t hold her. My arms won’t grip. She’s gripping me. My chest hurts. I have to breathe in. Bibi, hang on. I can see Australia.
Ow.
Something’s hurting my back.
Something’s pulling us up to the surface.
No, don’t. The sunlight’s too bright. The air’s too cold. The rough metal I’m sliding over is hurting my knees.
I can breathe, but I can’t see Australia anymore.
I’m lying on the deck of the boat. I’m shaking all over. My lips are numb and salty. My knees hurt.
Where’s Bibi?
I blink the water out of my eyes and look around frantically.
There she is, on the deck next to me. Coughing. Gasping. Swearing at the sailor in the yellow overalls as he unhooks his hook from her clothes.
He grins at me. I sick up seawater over his boots. He grins even more.
I grab Bibi and hold her so nobody will ever be able to take her away again. Then I close my eyes. I keep them closed for a long time.
I want to go back to Australia.
I saw it. Green soccer pitches and goalposts of solid gold and little stools for one-legged goalies to sit on. Me and Bibi winning the cup final for Dubbo Abattoirs United. I was there.
Now I’m here on this deck, shivering. I hug Bibi to warm her up. Somebody puts a coat over us.
After a lot more shivering, I remember Mum and Dad.
I jump up, get dizzy, grab somebody to stop myself falling over, stare around wildly.
‘Mum,’ I yell. ‘Dad.’
People are sitting huddled all over the deck. I look at their faces. They look at me, some sympathetic, some scared. Some of the kids are crying.
None of them are Mum or Dad.
Bibi is on her feet too, shaking my arm.
‘Look,’ she yells, pointing to the other end of the dock.
It’s the other boat. The one that was tied up next to this one. It’s pulling away from the shore, heading out to sea. People are sitting all over its deck as well.
Except for two figures, standing at the back, searching frantically among the people around them.
‘Mum,’ I scream. ‘Dad.’
Bibi just screams.
Mum and Dad turn and stare. Mum sees us and puts her hand to her mouth. Dad sees us and starts to climb over the railing at the back of their boat. Mum pulls him back.
Water froths and churns below him as their boat picks up speed.
The gap between the two boats is wider than a soccer pitch.
Two soccer pitches.
I stare at them helplessly.
They stare at us helplessly.
Sick panic churns and froths inside me.
‘Come back,’ I yell at the other boat. ‘Please.’
23
I have to move fast.
‘It’s OK,’ I say to Bibi, who’s getting hysterical. ‘We can radio the other boat and get them to turn back.’
She calms down a bit.
I look for a smuggler to help us.
I can’t see any. They must be in that hut at the front of the boat, doing pre-departure checks on the radar and the steering wheel and the radio.
I grab Bibi and we start heading towards the front of the boat, jumping and weaving through the people sitting on the deck. Until someone blocks our way.
The sailor in yellow overalls.
He’s not grinning.
‘Please,’ I beg. ‘We’re on the wrong boat. I need to tell the captain. Once we get onto that other boat you’ll never have to see us again.’
Either the sailor doesn’t understand or he doesn’t care because all he does is spit onto the deck, almost hitting a woman and her baby.
Bibi goes ballistic.
‘You slime out of a lizard’s bottom,’ she yells. ‘People like you shouldn’t be allowed to work on boats. You’re not even fit to work on buses.’
The sailor is starting to look as though he does understand. His eyes narrow and he takes a step towards us.
People scramble out of his way. I can see from their faces they
’re concerned for us, but they’re frightened as well. I don’t blame them. When you’ve been bullied for years by a really mean government, you don’t take risks.
Well, most people don’t.
Bibi grabs a rolled-up umbrella from a startled passenger and swings it at the sailor’s head.
‘Donkey wart,’ she yells.
I block the umbrella with my arm. It hurts, but I manage to grab Bibi and restrain her. I don’t think I’m going to be able to restrain the sailor though. He’s coming for us. And we can’t get away. We’re hemmed in by people.
‘Stop that.’
An angry voice shouts from the front of the boat. A smuggler, a big man with hairy arms, is striding towards us.
‘Get to work,’ the smuggler yells at the sailor. ‘Prepare for departure and stand by to cast off.’
The sailor complains bitterly in another language, pointing at Bibi and waving his hands. I hang onto Bibi tight. The smuggler shouts at the sailor in his own language. The sailor scowls and stamps away.
‘You should fire him,’ says Bibi to the smuggler.
‘Be quiet,’ snaps the smuggler.
I put my hand over Bibi’s mouth and try to look polite.
‘Our family are on the other boat,’ I say to the smuggler. ‘Please, you have to send them a radio message and get them to turn back. If you can’t see where they are they’ll be on your radar.’
‘We haven’t got radar,’ says the smuggler. ‘Or a radio.’
I stare at him. No radar? No radio? What sort of boat is this?
Panic surges through me.
‘We have to chase them,’ I shout.
‘Sit down,’ roars the smuggler. ‘Be quiet or I’ll throw you both off the boat myself.’
Several landmines go off inside me. I can feel Bibi struggling to get her mouth free. But I take a very deep breath and pull Bibi down onto the deck.
The smuggler gives us a hard look and walks away.
Bibi’s eyes are bulging with fury. I hold her tight and try to blink my own tears back.
‘It’s no good,’ I say to her. ‘If we make them angry, we won’t get to Australia and we’ll never see Mum and Dad again. We just have to be patient.’
I stare across the water. I can just see the other boat, tiny and almost out of sight. I turn away.
A desert warrior could swim over there and grab the other boat’s anchor chain in his teeth and swim back dragging the other boat behind him. But I’m not a desert warrior. I’m just a kid trying to keep his family in one piece.
After a few minutes Bibi starts to cry, which relaxes her a bit.
‘I don’t want to be patient,’ she sobs. ‘I want Mum and Dad.’
‘I know,’ I say.
‘So do I,’ says a voice behind us. ‘My parents are on that other boat too.’
I spin round. A wet figure with a mournful face is holding something out to me.
‘I got our ball,’ says the boy from the camp.
I stare at him, guilt flooding through me. I forgot all about him. Someone must have hooked him out of the water too. And he’s got my ball.
‘Thanks,’ I say, shifting over. ‘There’s a space here.’
‘I’m Omar,’ he says, sitting down.
Bibi and I introduce ourselves.
‘We’re being patient,’ says Bibi, wiping her eyes. ‘Because we’ll be in Australia soon and we’ll see our parents there.’
Omar stares gloomily at the desert of water between us and Australia.
‘If we’re lucky,’ he says.
24
We’re sailing to Australia and things aren’t so good.
The deck is very crowded and everyone has to sit squashed together. This makes it a bit unpleasant when people throw up. Luckily they mostly do it over the side.
Omar’s been throwing up quite a lot.
‘It’ll get worse than this,’ he says between vomits. ‘When the waves get really big, you’ll both be chucking too.’
So far Bibi and I haven’t. I think it’s because we’re used to travelling in Dad’s taxi. That used to wallow and roll from side to side as well.
‘I’m hungry,’ groans Bibi, slumping against me.
Poor kid. We haven’t eaten since last night and it’s late afternoon now. All we’ve had is half a vegetable tin of water.
I’m lucky. I don’t feel hungry because the stink of the diesel engine has taken my appetite away. Plus there isn’t any shade on this boat and I’ve got a headache from the sun.
Most of all, I’m missing Mum and Dad. I never feel hungry when I’ve got a headache and I’m missing people.
‘Not long now,’ I say to Bibi.
Two of the sailors are dishing out noodle soup from a metal pot. We’ve been in the queue for ages, slowly moving along the splintery wooden deck on our bottoms. Now there’s only one person in front of us.
There is a problem, though. The sailor with the ladle is the one in the yellow overalls. I’m worried that when he sees Bibi, he might not give her a proper serving.
The person in front of us is completely covered with a dark blanket. They hold out their vegetable tin for some soup. They’re not close enough to the pot. The sailor grabs their arm and pulls them closer.
I stare in alarm.
The blanket is dangling in the gas flame under the pot. Nobody seems to have noticed. Flames are shooting up the edge of the blanket.
‘Fire,’ I yell.
The sailors freeze in shock.
I know why. We’re on a wooden boat in the middle of the ocean and there’s a gas canister right next to the burning blanket.
I drag the blanket off the person and fling it onto the deck and jump on it until the flames are out. Bibi helps me. Then I pick the blanket up and hand it back to the person.
And freeze in shock myself.
It’s a teenage girl. All she’s wearing is shorts and a t-shirt with a sparkly pattern on the front. Her arms are bare. Her legs are bare. Her hair is completely uncovered and sticking out in all directions. She’s wearing makeup. She’s got black stuff on her eyelashes and her lips are green.
I’ve never seen anything like her in my life.
The sailor probably hasn’t either, because he drops his ladle into the soup.
‘Thanks,’ smiles the teenage girl, taking her blanket.
She turns to the sailor and holds out her vegetable tin. The sailor looks her up and down, scowls and waves her away. He shouts something at her in a language I don’t understand, but I know what he means.
No food.
The teenage girl opens her mouth to protest, but both sailors are waving her away now. The other one does a mime. It’s about how people who start fires don’t get food.
‘Hey,’ yells Bibi at the sailor in yellow. ‘That’s not fair. You’re the one who started the fire.’
I groan inside. Bibi’s right, but I know what’s going to happen now.
The sailor starts yelling even louder and waving me and Bibi away too.
I take a step towards the sailor to mime to him why that’s totally unfair. The teenage girl grabs my arm. She’s already grabbed Bibi’s.
‘Please don’t,’ she says. ‘It’s not worth it. It’s much more important you get to Australia safely and find your parents.’
I take a deep breath. The smell of the soup suddenly makes me feel very hungry.
She’s right.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Anyway,’ says the teenage girl, her green lips curling as she throws a contemptuous glance at the sailors. ‘I bet they didn’t wash their hands before they opened the soup packet.’
I like her already.
25
The teenage girl invites Bibi and me to sit on her blanket.
We find a spot easily because all the people around us move back. I’m not sure if it’s because they’re sorry for us or because they don’t want to be sitting too close to a person with bare legs and green lips.
A woman near us o
ffers me her tin of soup. I’m about to take it for Bibi, but then I see the woman has three small children. They don’t look hungry now, but who knows when there’ll be more soup.
I hesitate, then give the woman a grateful smile and shake my head.
Luckily Bibi doesn’t see. She’s looking over at the soup pot with a mixture of longing and hatred.
The teenage girl pats Bibi’s arm.
‘That camel-snot needs someone to teach him a lesson,’ says the girl, glaring over at the horrible sailor. ‘Starting with the news that yellow is a very unfashionable colour.’
I grin, despite my headache and sunburn.
‘I’m Rashida,’ says the teenage girl.
We tell her our names.
Bibi looks at her, puzzled. ‘Rashida’s a boy’s name,’ she says.
Rashida is tightening the laces of her construction worker boots. ‘My brother died when he was a baby,’ she says. ‘So when I came along I got his name.’
‘What horrible parents,’ says a voice. ‘You must hate them.’
It’s Omar, the kid who thinks he owns half my soccer ball, back from leaning over the side.
Sadness stabs me in the chest as he mentions parents.
Rashida looks up at him. Her green lips are quivering. ‘I don’t hate them,’ she says, ‘I love them very much. They saved for years for this trip, and when they found they could only afford one ticket, they gave it to me.’
She blinks a few times and I don’t think it’s the makeup getting in her eyes because I’m blinking myself and I’m not wearing makeup.
‘Now leave us alone,’ says Rashida to Omar.
‘Um …’ I whisper. ‘I’m afraid he’s with us.’
Omar squeezes himself onto a corner of the blanket and starts fiddling with a bit of fluff. I hope he’s planning to collect a large wad of it and stuff it in his mouth.
‘Do any of you have anything to eat?’ says Rashida.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Sorry. Our parents have got it all.’
Miserably I look at the horizon for the millionth time. Still no sign of the other boat.
‘My parents have got it all too,’ says Omar.
Rashida unzips a large pink suitcase. She takes out a plastic bottle of water and a can of sardines. She opens the can and gives me and Bibi and Omar a sardine each.
Boy Overboard Page 8