by Jon Walter
Malik and Papa watched from the upstairs window as the people came along the street. The women put their faces to the glass of the downstairs windows and the men put their shoulders to the doors to see if they would open. Some of their faces were lit by handheld torches or little nightlight candles that flickered from jam jars that they held up in front of them.
Papa brought the candle up to the windowsill of the bedroom so that people knew the house was occupied. In the cottage opposite their own, a man tried the door, found it opened and ushered his wife and children inside.
Malik took Papa’s hand. ‘Are these the people from this morning?’
‘I expect most of them are.’ Papa looked down at the pavement where a couple had stopped outside their cottage and were looking up at them. Their only luggage was a baby wrapped in a blanket. ‘Just one minute,’ said Papa, and he hurried from the room. Malik heard the front door open, saw the couple step towards the hall, and heard their voices from the room below.
‘I have given them the downstairs room,’ Papa told Malik when he came back upstairs. ‘Better to have a full house, and I don’t think they will trouble us. Let’s have something to eat.’
Papa brought his rucksack over to the mattress and they sat down next to each other. Papa halved the loaf of bread and opened the tin of tuna. He scooped out flakes of the fish with his knife. ‘Don’t give any to the cat,’ he told Malik. ‘There isn’t enough.’
But Malik couldn’t resist the cat’s longing eyes so he let a piece fall onto the floor as soon as Papa looked away.
When they had finished eating there were a lot more people out in the street.
‘We don’t need to be frightened.’ Papa watched them from the window. ‘We should go and meet them. There may be people out there who know more than us.’
They went downstairs and stood at the open front door, nodding to the people in the street. Papa was a good talker. He smiled and said ‘Hello.’ He shook hands, laughed and slapped people on the back as if he had known them all his life. Malik liked Papa being so relaxed – it made him feel safe.
When a man offered them food, Papa went off down the street with him, telling Malik to stay by the door. Papa returned later with three bananas, eight segments of chocolate and a small slab of cheese wrapped in brown paper. He had also found three tins of cat food and an old metal saucepan. They went back upstairs and he laid everything out along the floor, the same way he had done with the contents of the rucksack when they had first arrived.
‘No one could tell me anything that I didn’t already know,’ Papa told Malik. ‘The ship will leave tomorrow just as I said. The troops have been sent to keep the peace around the port and ensure the ship leaves without any incident. We’ll be safe here tonight.’ He pulled the lid from a small flat tin and handed the cat food to Malik. ‘We should save the rest of the food for tomorrow. Is that all right with you or are you still hungry?’
Malik broke the cat food into pieces with his penknife. ‘No, I’m fine. Thank you.’ He put the tin on the floor for the cat to sniff.
Papa gave Malik a straight look. ‘Do you want to use the toilet before bed? I don’t want you using the bathroom in the night. Not now there are other people in the house.’ He put the saucepan down by the mattress. ‘You can use this if you need to go in the night.’
Malik knew there was no way he was going to use the saucepan. ‘I don’t want to. I’ll be fine.’
‘Are you ready to sleep?’
Malik shrugged. He wasn’t ready to sleep. ‘You haven’t shown me the magic trick today.’
‘You haven’t practised. There’s no point in me showing you if you don’t practise.’ Papa was smiling. He showed Malik the coin in his fingers, then held it up close to Malik’s eyes. ‘Sleight of hand,’ Papa said. ‘This is how you do the French Drop. I make your eyes watch what I want you to watch …’ He flourished his free hand toward the coin in his fingers. ‘And the coin disappears.’
Malik touched where the coin had been, all the time knowing it was in the hand that Papa stretched out toward his collar. He caught Papa’s other hand, opened it out and saw the coin palmed at the base of his thumb. Papa closed his hand up, reached behind Malik’s ear and produced the coin in his fingers.
‘There’s no such thing as magic, Malik. Just trickery and the practice it takes to pull it off.’
Malik took hold of the coin. He flourished it, held it up, then made the switch. The coin dropped onto the floor at his feet. He ran, picked it up and tried again, only for the coin to drop as before. ‘I can’t do it, Papa. It’s too difficult.’
‘You can do it. It took me two days of practice and it will take you the same.’ Papa put his hand out for the coin and pocketed it. ‘Perhaps you will learn more quickly than I did. You’re a bright boy. Now settle down and get some sleep.’
Malik lay down on the mattress and pulled his jacket up across his shoulders. He watched Papa settle himself on the floor by the door, so that he would be woken if anyone came in the room. He saw Papa wince when he pressed his hip against the wooden boards, and again when he put his cheek to the rucksack, which he used as a pillow. Papa turned onto his back and closed his eyes. He was asleep before Malik.
Malik couldn’t sleep, despite being tired. He lay awake imagining what it would be like tomorrow, meeting Mama at the dock and going on the tall ship with all these other people. He had that fidgety feeling in his stomach that meant he was excited.
Or scared. One or the other, it was difficult to know which.
In the morning, Malik woke first. He stood over Papa and watched him sleep. The bruising had spread across Papa’s cheek so that it looked like a map, deep patches of purple and red with a pale yellow outline that had seeped into the socket of his eye.
Malik didn’t want to be late for the ship. He shook his grandfather awake. ‘Papa! Papa!’
Papa groaned and rolled onto his side. ‘What time is it? It must be too early to get up.’ He opened one eye slowly and then the other. ‘I never seem to get to sleep until the moment before you wake me. Why is that?’
‘You’ve been snoring,’ said Malik.
Papa put his weight onto one elbow with a moan. ‘I have aches where I didn’t think I had bones.’ He caught his breath, pulled his knees up to his chest and rolled over onto his front, took another breath then pulled himself into a sitting position, his knees still folded up beneath him. ‘If I wanted to do yoga I would have had some lessons by now, don’t you think?’ He stretched his arms out in front of him. ‘And I don’t snore. Please don’t insult me before I’m properly awake. It’s not fair.’ Papa yawned, wincing at the pain it caused him. He lay his forehead back upon the floorboards. ‘And even if I did snore, it would be very rude of you to let me know. You should suffer in silence.’
‘When can we leave for the ship?’
Papa checked his watch. ‘We have a little time yet. We should have something to eat.’
Malik watched the cat sniff at the empty tin of food. ‘I bet the cat won’t like being on a ship.’
‘You can’t take it with you, Malik. They won’t allow it.’
Malik’s eyes widened. ‘But I can’t leave it. It hasn’t got anyone to look after it.’
Papa got to his feet slowly. He folded his arms and waited for Malik to give in.
Malik folded his arms the same way. ‘I won’t leave without it.’
‘But they won’t let you on the ship with a cat. Think about Mama. She’ll be on the ship. You wouldn’t let her sail away on her own, would you?’ Papa stretched backwards, one hand pressed against the bottom of his spine.
Malik could feel the panic rising in his chest. ‘But Papa, I can’t leave the cat here. It doesn’t have any food and there won’t be anyone to look after it. It has to come on the ship.’
‘Oh, good grief.’ Papa walked across to the window and looked down into the street. He held his beard as he thought about it. ‘Of course, there is a well-known way. It’s sai
ling close to the wind, but it might work.’ Papa turned back to Malik with a glint in his eye. ‘Surely I don’t have to tell you how it’s done? No?’ Papa came and put an arm around Malik’s shoulder. He almost whispered. ‘You have to smuggle a cat on board a ship. That’s the way it’s always been done – it’s a seafaring tradition. No one ever allows a cat on board a ship, but if you can smuggle it on, then once it’s there and the ship has set sail – well, that’s a different story.’ Malik listened to Papa carefully. ‘When the cat is finally discovered, you must go and see the purser. He’s the proper man to decide. On a ship the purser’s word is law.’
‘Not the captain?’
‘The captain decides everything to do with the sailing of the ship, but it’s the purser who makes it run smoothly. He will know that everyone loves a cat. It catches mice and keeps the men happy. So although it’s officially forbidden, the purser will allow it. And anyway, what choice does he really have? I’ve never met a man who is so heartless that he would throw a cat overboard.’
Malik knew that Papa would find a way – Papa knew how things were done and Malik was happy with that.
Papa nodded toward the hall. ‘Have they gone, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard them but I haven’t been downstairs.’
‘No, of course not. Just as I told you. That’s right.’ Papa had the rucksack on his knee. ‘What do you want for breakfast?’
‘Chocolate.’
‘I might have known.’ Papa took out the food that he had been given last night and spread it on the floor. He unwrapped the cheese, took the silver foil from the chocolate and broke away two segments. He handed them to Malik. ‘Do you want cheese with that?’
Malik made a face. No one ate cheese and chocolate together.
Papa took his knife, cut a square of the hard yellow cheese, the same size as the chocolate, placed one on top of the other and popped it in his mouth. He chewed once, then held his hand up and spat it out. ‘Oh, that hurt. I shouldn’t have done that.’ He put a hand to his jaw and held it gently.
‘Didn’t it taste good?’ asked Malik.
‘Hmmm? I’m not sure.’ Papa licked his lips. ‘It’s not bad. If I could chew it properly it would be better. An acquired taste, I think. Something of a speciality.’ He shook the lump of half-chewed food from his hand so it fell to the floor and he left it there.
There were footsteps in the room below them and the front door opened and closed. ‘That’ll be them downstairs,’ said Papa. ‘We should get ourselves ready.’
‘What about the cat?’ asked Malik.
Papa handed Malik the remaining chocolate and gave him a banana from the rucksack pocket, then he took out some of his own clothes and placed them on the floor next to him. He unfolded his knife and used the point to make a series of small holes in the side of the canvas.
Malik went over to the window as he ate the banana. ‘There are people leaving the houses, Papa. They’re going down to the dock.’
‘We should hurry.’ Papa nodded at the rucksack. ‘See? I put some holes in the side for the cat to breathe. Waste of a good rucksack, but it should work. I warn you, though, the cat won’t like it. It will whine for a while but it should settle down OK. Where is it? We should put it in now. Give it a chance to get used to it.’
Malik fetched the cat from the corner of the room. He held it under the front legs and Papa opened the top as wide as he could and Malik put the cat on top of the clothes and held it down as they pulled on the cord to close the edges over the animal.
The cat whined and cried, and it scratched at the side of the canvas. Malik wanted to open the bag up again and let it out. He fingered the holes in the canvas. ‘It doesn’t like it.’
‘No. I don’t expect it does. But it won’t last for ever.’
Malik sucked at his bottom lip and frowned. ‘If it’s not quiet, we’ll get caught.’
‘It’ll calm down once it’s used to it.’ Papa lifted up the sack and held it out. ‘Here. Come and put this rucksack on. It’s better that you carry it for the time being.’
Malik saw a small nose pressed against the holes as he put his arms through the straps. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he whispered to the cat. ‘You can trust me. Just wait till we’re on the ship. Just wait till you meet Mama.’
The air was clear and fresh when Papa stepped onto the pavement, pulling Malik by the hand. Now that the cottages were occupied, the street had assumed a semblance of normality. There were curtains drawn across windows where none had been before, and a shirt had been washed out and hung up to dry from an upstairs sash – Malik thought he could even smell bacon. He wanted to stand still and breathe it in but Papa started toward the dock and Malik had to follow.
They walked at a quick pace. A horn sounded from the direction of the docks and a bird answered with a shrill call from the cottage roof above their heads. Everything was moving. A family stepped into their path from the front door of the cottage ahead of them – a mother, father and two girls of a similar age to Malik. The mother shouted up the stairs for the last of them to hurry up. ‘Come on, Joey. It doesn’t matter if the case won’t lock.’ Papa stepped from the kerb to give the family space and Malik looked into the house as they passed and saw a boy struggling down the stairs with a suitcase.
‘Keep up,’ said Papa briskly. Malik quickened his pace, which meant he had to run every few steps, and when he ran the rucksack bounced on his back and the cat gave a loud ‘Meow’ and scratched at the canvas behind Malik’s head.
All this hurrying made Malik anxious and the butterflies returned to his stomach. Why did they need to hurry? Why did they need to arrive before everyone else? Ahead of them, a couple slammed a front door by pulling at the handle above the letterbox. What if there were too many people? What if Papa couldn’t get tickets for the ship? What if Mama got delayed? Malik suddenly had a hundred questions in his head.
They walked on. A car came up the street behind them and Papa stepped back onto the pavement to let it past. Malik saw a family inside, with four of them on the back seat clutching bags.
Papa marched around the corner and on toward the chain-link fence. A jeep was parked at the entrance to the docks, just the same as there had been the previous day. This time there were three soldiers slouched in the leather seats. Malik got a better look at the charred cockpit of the stricken plane, but he knew not to ask if he could climb inside, and Papa held his hand so tightly that he couldn’t pause for more than a moment and had to look back over his shoulder to get a proper look at it.
They strode onto the wide strip of concrete on the outskirts of the port. This was once where lorries would have been parked and then queued while they waited to embark, but now the strip was full of armoured vehicles and trucks with canvas covers, painted green and black for camouflage. Malik saw a grey tank like the one that had paused outside the cottage, and behind it there were two more.
Ahead of Malik, the ship was huge. It had a navy blue hull that towered into the air, with three tiers of decks, set one on top of the other like a wedding cake, each with bright white rails that ran around their edge. A single blue funnel rose from the middle of the ship. They walked toward it.
When they were closer, Papa slowed to a stop and looked around him. ‘Where did all these people come from?’ he asked.
Malik saw that a metal railing had been erected along the quay in front of the ship. Armed soldiers were strung out along its length to prevent anyone reaching the front and rear gangplanks. A line of passengers pressed up against the rail and more passengers were loosely gathered on the dock behind them.
Papa tightened his hand around Malik’s fingers. ‘Stay close to me. Do you hear?’
Malik was worried about the cat on his back. He imagined it sitting in the little dark space, too terrified to even make a noise. He wanted to take the rucksack off and open it up, but Papa wasn’t about to stop now. He was making his way through the crowd, stepping to the left and the r
ight to avoid people that walked slower than they did. Malik was jerked quickly to one side as Papa pulled him out of the way of a truck which cut across their path sounding its horn, scattering the crowd.
Papa changed direction, making for the back of the dock, toward the warehouse and Port Authority buildings where the crowd thinned out and people were able to move more easily in both directions. Papa stopped six metres short of the red doors and Malik looked eagerly to see whether Mama was waiting at the entrance, though he could see she wasn’t there. Four men stood close to the warehouse entrance smoking twisted cigarettes they had rolled themselves, and on the far side of the doorway three women lay on hospital trolleys in the company of a cluster of nuns.
Malik said, ‘I can’t see Mama.’
‘We’re early,’ Papa replied, and he leaned against the wall of the warehouse. ‘There’s plenty of time yet.’
Above them was a billboard with an advertisement for Imperial Stout. Malik stood back and looked up at it – it showed a smiling man with a long black beard, holding a glass of dark beer.
‘But this is where we’re meeting her?’
‘Yes, this is the place.’ Papa had to raise his voice against a convoy of trucks, which had driven onto the quayside and came to a stop at the foot of the crane. They carried crates stencilled with the words CENTRAL MUSEUM. ‘I have to go and see my contact now but I want you here when I return.’ Papa gave Malik one of his stern looks. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Can’t I come with you?’
‘No, Malik. Stay right here and don’t move a muscle. You need to be here so that Mama can see you.’
Malik nodded. ‘I’ll stay right here, Papa.’
An official with a clipboard and megaphone hurried past them and turned into the crowd. Malik pointed at him and tugged Papa’s sleeve. ‘Is that the man you know?’
Papa glimpsed the man passing through a line of dockers wearing overalls and cloth caps. ‘No, that’s not him. He’s just a ticket collector, isn’t he? My man won’t leave his desk. He’ll be inside. I shouldn’t be too long.’