Sanctuary

by Judy Nunn

  Paul didn’t know what to say. He looked across to where Jalila was sitting sipping at her mug of tea like an automaton, no enjoyment, no animation, the same nothingness in her eyes.

  ‘Will you do this for me, Paul?’ Hala asked, aware of his uncertainty, aware that perhaps he again feared the embarrassment of an offer that might be rejected. ‘I believe you will be helping the girl immensely,’ she urged. ‘Will you do this?’

  ‘If Jalila wants me to,’ Paul replied with caution, ‘yes of course.’

  Hala stood. ‘Jalila,’ she called, interrupting the general flow of conversation around the hut, ‘Paul has very kindly offered to teach you about the birdlife on the island.’ She spoke loudly and in English. ‘Would you like to take the binoculars and go for a walk with him?’

  Lou and Rassen had been on the verge of leaving the gathering themselves, intending to adjourn to the yellow hut for a game of poker. Now the two older men sat, jaws agape, particularly Lou. What the hell is the woman up to? he wondered.

  Then to everyone’s surprise, Jalila rose to her feet. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I would like this.’

  ‘Good.’ Hala’s voice was brisk, business-like, masking the sheer thrill she felt at the successful outcome of her plan, an outcome that incidentally had taken her as much by surprise as it had the others. ‘Off you go then and fetch the binoculars.’

  As the girl disappeared briefly to the adjoining room where the binoculars were kept high on a shelf and out of harm’s way, Rassen attempted to allay Lou’s concern, which was palpable. Hala’s suggestion had amazed him too, but like his wife, Rassen considered Jalila’s acquiescence a major breakthrough.

  ‘Don’t worry, Lou,’ he muttered, wondering even as he did what exactly it was the Australian found so worrying. Was he concerned for the girl, or was he concerned for his young grandson? Did he think the boy might become enamoured?

  ‘I’m sorry, my friend,’ he said comfortingly, stopping just short of patting Lou’s hand, ‘my wife is bossy, she always has been. But Hala knows what she’s doing. Hala always knows, believe me.’

  Lou could only watch helplessly as the girl returned with the binoculars and she and Paul set off for their walk. He tried to catch his grandson’s eye as they passed by, to signal some sort of warning, he didn’t know what, but Paul’s gaze was resolutely fixed on the door. And then they were gone.

  ‘Have a nice walk,’ Hala called after them cheerily.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Paul started talking the moment they were clear of the hut, perhaps due to self-consciousness, he wasn’t sure, but there happened, very conveniently, to be a bird feeding frenzy a hundred metres or so off-shore. The sight was a common one, particularly at this time of the year, and he happily launched into his lecture, thankful to be rescued from a silence that might have proved awkward.

  ‘They’re wedge-tailed shearwaters,’ he said, pointing to the masses of dark, grey-brown birds with large wedge-shaped tails that were fiercely dive-bombing their bodies into the sea. ‘They’re feeding on bait-sized fish or maybe squid, something close to the surface, but they can dive really deep if need be, up to fourteen metres or so. It’s coming up to their breeding season and there’ll be thousands of colonies all over the place soon, particularly the islands of the Abrolhos a bit further south.’

  He had no idea how much of what he was saying she was able to understand, but he was gratified to note that, as she gazed at the birds through the binoculars, she appeared to be listening.

  ‘They nest mainly in burrows,’ he went on, ‘and pairs often form a long-term bond, which might last for several years. They dig their burrow together and come back to repair it the next year. If the breeding season doesn’t turn out a success, they call it quits and get divorced.’ He smiled as if making a joke, although in essence what he said was fact. There was no reaction, which was hardly surprising, but he told himself it was because she didn’t understand the word ‘divorce’.

  They walked on further north, heading for the mangrove trees, Paul still talking all the while.

  ‘There’s an osprey nest up this way,’ he said, ‘a magnificent bird of prey, beautiful to watch. Some people call them sea eagles, but they’re not actually eagles at all, they’re sea hawks or fish hawks. We do get eagles from time to time though,’ he added, ‘white-bellied sea eagles, quite spectacular.’

  Again, no reaction, she hadn’t uttered a word since they’d left the hut, but something urged him to keep talking. He suspected it was probably nerves, although strangely enough he didn’t feel uncomfortable in her presence.

  As they walked he pointed out the difference between the gulls and the terns, Jalila focusing her binoculars on the birds circling overhead and out on the island’s coastal water.

  ‘They’re Pacific gulls,’ he said, ‘and those ones with the crests, they’re crested terns. There are lots of different sorts of terns on the islands in these waters. I’ll show you where the fairy terns are nesting later.’

  Then as they neared the mangroves, he reverted again to the ospreys. ‘Like the shearwaters, the osprey breeding season’s coming up soon,’ he said, ‘but the ospreys don’t just bond for a couple of years like the shearwaters, they mate for life –’ He was about to go on, but stopped, coming to a sudden halt. ‘Oh, that’s a shame.’

  Up ahead, he could see the mangroves, the sturdy dead trunk of the largest tree towering above the greenery of the others, locked firmly in place by the grove’s surrounding root system, and in the tree’s bare, uppermost fork the huge, untidy osprey nest. But the nest was unoccupied.

  Beside him Jalila too halted, his disappointment bewildering her.

  He pointed. ‘There’s the nest,’ he said, ‘nothing in it, no osprey. Pity, I was hoping you’d get to see one.’

  Jalila focused her binoculars on the nest, and as she did so the slight intake of her breath produced a frisson of pleasure in Paul. Surely that was something close to a gasp, he thought. At last, a reaction.

  ‘Yes, it’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘They’re not neat builders, but they’re impressive ones all right.’

  The nest was enormous. Close to two metres wide, it was a great clutter of driftwood and seaweed, sticks and vegetation, layer by layer all solidly nestled in the treetop like a fortress: messy, but strong.

  ‘It’s been there for ages,’ he said, ‘year after year. The pair build several nests, but they keep coming back to this one, repairing it each season. This is their favourite.’

  Paul watched the girl as she gazed through the telescopic lenses at the giant nest. She was motionless, lips parted in amazement, fascinated, and he felt as if he had just received the greatest reward possible. Perhaps this was even better than the smile he’d hoped for. Jalila had, for this brief moment anyway, been brought to life.

  He was so taken by the sight that he didn’t notice the slight change in the angle of the binoculars. She had lifted her gaze just above the nest now to the sky beyond, and her words came as more than a surprise. They came as the most wonderful shock.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing into the distance. ‘Look, Paul. Bird come.’

  He looked in the direction she was pointing and sure enough there it was. The osprey. He could see the creature quite clearly without binoculars. Its massive wingspan close to three times the width of its sixty-centimetre body length, the osprey was homing in on its nest from afar – a magnificent sight.

  Jalila thrust the binoculars at him. ‘You look, Paul, you look.’

  ‘No, no,’ he pushed them back to her, ‘I don’t need the binoculars. I’ve seen it before. Keep looking, Jalila, keep looking.’

  She needed no further bidding, firmly fixing her focus upon the osprey as it made its approach. Closer it came, and closer.

  Then the bird was above them, wheeling overhead, no flapping of wings, the creature just arcing a graceful path through the sky. It circled twice, checking out the land, checking out its nest, checking out the two
of them where they stood watching.

  Paul laughed. ‘He’s putting on a show just for you.’

  Finally the bird came to rest, hovering momentarily, then settling into its nest, giant wings neatly folding, stern raptor face looking out over the island, like a king surveying its realm.

  ‘Or of course it might be a “she”,’ Paul said. ‘I can never tell.’ He considered giving a further lecture on the nesting and breeding habits of the osprey, but for the first time since they’d left the hut, he felt unthreatened by silence.

  Instead, they crept a little closer to the nest, where they sat on the ground watching the osprey.

  ‘Such beauty,’ Jalila murmured. She had put aside the binoculars now and was gazing at the creature, lost in admiration. ‘We have no bird like this where I come from,’ she said. ‘We have no bird like any bird on this island.’

  ‘These are sea birds,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘We have no sea where I come from.’

  It seemed the perfect opening, so he took it. ‘Where do you come from, Jalila?’

  She didn’t answer, continuing to stare up at the osprey. But she didn’t seem offended by the question so he pushed a little further.

  ‘What land do you come from?’

  ‘I am Yazidi. I come from a mountain in nowhere land.’

  Her voice was a monotone, and still she stared up at the bird. He knew he should stop now. But he didn’t. ‘And your family? Your family still live there on the mountain?’

  ‘No. Family dead. All dead.’

  The fact seemed to mean nothing to her. Her attention remained on the bird, although Paul doubted she was seeing it. She herself had once again become dead. He cursed himself, sure his questions must have brought back fearful memories. What’s she thinking? he wondered. What could possibly be going through her mind? But she displayed no sign of trauma, no evidence of turmoil. She was simply lifeless, as she had been before.

  ‘Do you want to see the fairy terns?’ he asked, feeling utterly useless, the question sounding moronic.

  She turned to him, and he saw, to his complete surprise, that the light of interest was back in her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I would like this.’

  The images, when they returned, did not torment Jalila. There were often moments that brought jagged reminders of the past, as Paul’s questions just had, but she made no attempt to block these distant memories. They meant nothing to her. The past belonged to a person who had ceased to exist. The past could do her no further harm. There was one image only she fought always to keep locked away in the darkest recesses of her mind, one unbearable image. She managed for the most part to prevent it resurfacing, but sometimes in the depths of the night it would return to remind her of the day she had died.

  She stood. ‘I would like very much to see the fairy terns.’

  They cut across to the western side of the island, to where the small isthmus projected into the sea, culminating in a sandy beach and a rocky outcrop. It was here the terns would be nesting.

  They walked in silence, Paul still cursing himself, riddled with guilt, wondering what he could possibly say by way of reparation.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Finally he blurted the words out.

  ‘Sorry?’ She seemed puzzled.

  ‘I’m sorry for prying.’

  She appeared to find his apology confusing, but walked on, not breaking her stride, a mixture of indifference and incomprehension.

  ‘I should never have asked you those questions,’ he said. ‘I had no right. I’m sorry, Jalila, I’m really sorry.’

  ‘No need for sorry. You ask what you wish. You are friend.’ She strode on, unconcerned. His questions, like her past, were of no consequence.

  Paul was relieved to discover he’d caused no irreparable damage, but again he was mystified.

  Arriving at the seaward side of the island, they stood on the shoreline and looked across the swirling water to the beach and the rocky outcrop fifty metres or so away. With the high tide and a fast running current covering the sandbar, it appeared for all the world like a tiny island.

  ‘At low tide, you can walk out there,’ Paul explained. ‘Well,’ he corrected himself, ‘you could walk out there now, really, the water would only be around waist-high, but the current’s pretty strong and you’d risk being swept off the sandbar. There’s no problem if you’re a strong swimmer of course, but …’ He looked a query.

  She shook her head. ‘I can no swim.’

  ‘Yeah, I didn’t think so. Lou reckons most of you can’t swim, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Must have made things scary on the boat.’

  She offered no reply; this was another subject that was meaningless. She’d not been in the least scared on the boat. Paul’s words brought back fragmented images certainly – Hassan’s blood swirling in the water, his screams, the black, black eye of the shark as it had torn at his flesh – but the sight had aroused no fear at the time, no regret. Nor did its memory. She recalled a mild resignation to the fact that she had lost her protector, but Hassan had meant nothing to her, and death held no fear for one who was already dead. Even when she’d clung to the boat’s wreckage throughout the night, hearing the screams of others, she would have quite welcomed being taken by a shark. At least her body would be serving some purpose.

  Looking across at the little rocky island, Jalila could see bird activity on the beach. She raised the binoculars to her eyes. ‘I see them, Paul,’ she said. ‘I see fairy terns.’

  Paul couldn’t help but thrill to the fresh element of vitality he heard in her voice, and once again the sight of her staring at the birds in rapt attention moved him immensely. Was it really this simple to break through Jalila’s shroud of unhappiness and bring her back to life? Were the birds the answer? He was unable to take his eyes from the girl as she studied the terns. I’ve made some sort of connection, he told himself, I must have – Jalila called me ‘friend’, that has to be a sign I’ve won her trust. Can it really be this easy to bring her back to life?

  She turned, offering him the binoculars. ‘You look, Paul. You look.’

  ‘No, I can see well enough, they’re building their nests. You keep watching, Jalila, and I’ll tell you a bit about them.’

  He looked away, edging closer to the shoreline, feeling caught out, hoping she hadn’t read his thoughts, and, gazing across to the sandy beach where the tidy little birds with their pretty yellow-brown bills, their neat black caps and white forked tails were busily at work, he embarked upon his lecture.

  ‘Fairy terns build their nests on open, sandy beaches, just bits of shells and vegetation mainly,’ he said, ‘which means that when the eggs are laid they’re pretty much at the mercy of predators. Along the mainland coastline the threats are usually from foxes, dogs, cats, that sort of thing. We don’t have those animals out here so it makes the island colonies particularly valuable.’ He turned back to her. ‘The fairy terns are a protected species, you see –’

  His voice dropped away and he stopped mid-sentence, horrified. She was no longer looking at the birds, but standing before him half-naked. The blouse she had been wearing lay on the ground at her feet beside the binoculars, her breasts were bared and she was in the process of unfastening the waistband of her skirt.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Panic overwhelmed him. ‘Good God, what are you doing? Stop it, stop it.’

  She took her hands from her skirt, but made no effort to clothe herself, facing him unashamedly in her half-nakedness.

  He dived for the blouse, picked it up and handed it to her, averting his eyes.

  She took the blouse from him, but did not put it on, and he was forced to meet the directness of her gaze.

  ‘Why, Jalila? Why are you doing this?’

  ‘You wish to take me.’ No accusation, a simple statement of fact. ‘So I give myself.’

  ‘No, no, I do not wish to take you.’ Paul found himself stammering in his confus
ion. ‘Why would you think that I –?’ Her eyes continued to stare unflinchingly into his. ‘Get dressed, Jalila,’ he pleaded, ‘get dressed, please!’

  Still she did not move.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ He demanded once again. ‘Why?’

  ‘You are good to me. You are friend. I offer payment.’

  The words came out by rote. In Jalila’s mind the words were Hassan’s. He always spoke English to her and always insisted she respond in kind. ‘This man is good to us, Jalila. He is our friend. We must offer payment.’ That was when she must give herself to the man with whom Hassan was conducting business. Which she did not mind. The men with whom Hassan did business were not as brutal as the soldiers, and after her years of rape she no longer felt pain. Easy to close the mind off.

  Paul backed away. The sound of her words and the look in her eyes filled him with dismay. Everything about her was soulless, soulless and terrifying.

  ‘I do not want payment,’ he said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. ‘I want to be your friend, yes, but I do not want payment.’ He turned his back on her. ‘Get dressed.’ He made the order sound strong, authoritative. ‘Get dressed immediately. I will not look at you until you’re dressed.’

  The sheer subjugation of her action appalled him. She’d obviously done this many, many times before. What was her past? Had she been a prostitute? Had she been forced to offer herself?

  Jalila understood a command and obediently donned her blouse. ‘I am dress.’

  ‘Good.’ He briefly acknowledged the fact, then returned his gaze to the sandy beach, wondering what on earth he should do next.

  Jalila had picked up the binoculars and was once again gazing through them, entranced. ‘Fairy terns pretty.’

  ‘Yes, yes, they are,’ he agreed. ‘They’re very pretty birds.’

  She joined him and they stood together, looking across the stretch of water.

  ‘When the eggs are laid the terns get very protective,’ he said, talking just for the sake of talking, avoiding once more the threat of silence. ‘If you walk around on the sand you can see the eggs just sitting there, and the terns attack you from above. They dive-bomb you, scores of them. They don’t hurt you, but they put on quite a show – really something to see.’