by Judy Nunn
Binoculars dangling by her side, she was watching him now, he could see her in his peripheral vision, intent upon every word he was saying.
‘Next time we’ll come here at low tide,’ he said, eyes still on the terns, ‘and we’ll walk across the sandbar, would you like that?’
‘Yes,’ he heard her say, ‘I would like that very much.’
He turned on his heel, she followed, and they walked back to the settlement as if nothing had happened.
They arrived to discover Karim and Hany kicking the soccer ball around near the benches. The men were including little Hamid in the game just enough to keep the child engaged without spoiling their own fun, while Azra sat nearby watching and enjoying the sun.
In the blue hut, Hala was helping Sanaa prepare lunch.
‘Hello, you two, did you enjoy your walk?’ she asked as they appeared in the doorway, her query obviously directed to Jalila.
‘Yes,’ Jalila replied. ‘I see very big bird. Osprey …’ She glanced at Paul to make sure she’d got the word right. He gave a nod. ‘And next time Paul take me to see fairy terns.’
‘How exciting.’ Hala kept her response casual while trying to contain both her surprise and delight. Then as Jalila disappeared briefly, returning the binoculars to the storeroom, she congratulated Paul. ‘My goodness, you’ve wrought miracles. That’s talkative for Jalila, and all in English, what’s more. I’ve never seen her so animated – how did you manage it?’
‘I didn’t,’ he replied, ‘the birds did. You were right, she’s really interested in the birds.’ He looked about, desperate for some form of distraction. ‘Where’s Lou?’
‘He’s with Rassen in the yellow hut; they’re playing poker I believe.’
‘Right. I’ll collect him and we’ll be off then.’
‘But you’ll stay for lunch, won’t you? It’s nearly ready and there’s more than enough.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t think so. Lou and I’ve got a fair bit of work to do at home. Next trip maybe.’
‘Oh, the others will be so disappointed. We’d all love to spend some time with you. Perhaps Lou could change your mind?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Sure. I’ll check with him.’ Paul couldn’t wait to get out of the blue hut and away from Hala’s scrutiny. Did she suspect something? He wanted not only to get out of the hut, but off the island altogether. Jalila had reappeared from the store room and even the sight of her jangled his nerves; he didn’t want to spend any more time in her company, not just yet anyway.
‘Let me know if you decide not to stay for lunch,’ Hala called after him as he started out the door. ‘We must come and wave goodbye from the jetty.’
He paused to look back, wondering if there was some hidden meaning in the remark, but she returned a motherly smile.
‘We can’t break with tradition, Paul,’ she said, ‘not right now. Not when you and Lou are so special to us.’
He returned a brief salute and left. She suspects something, he told himself, or she senses something at least, she’s so damn intelligent.
Paul set off for the yellow hut, his paranoia mounting by the second, intent upon breaking up the poker game and getting away from the island.
The poker game had never really eventuated, not in any serious form. During the first couple of hands, Rassen had asked Lou if by any chance he’d heard further news of the situation in Aleppo, or Syria in general. He’d made his enquiry in as offhand a manner as possible. Why should this Western Australian fisherman be interested in matters a world away? And why should Lou, his very saviour, be expected to act also as a reporter upon happenings in his homeland? Rassen’s approach was infinitely tasteful, offering the Australian an easy reply. ‘Sorry, mate, no idea,’ was all Lou needed to say, after which they’d get on with their poker game. It was his turn to deal after all. He had the cards in hand, already shuffled.
But Lou had most certainly been following events in the Middle East. Since his discovery of the refugees he’d been glued to the television screen more keenly than he ever had been in the past, wanting to learn as much as he could about the world of his new friends. Now, however, upon being questioned, he wasn’t sure how much Rassen might enjoy hearing; it all seemed very gloomy.
‘The rebels in Aleppo have surrendered to the government,’ he said, ‘but the peace settlement process has come to a halt, or so I saw on the news. The city’s reduced to rubble and the civilians are stranded with nowhere to go.’
Rassen nodded. Hardly surprising, he thought, the Assad regime and the terrorists are as bad as each other, both cut from the same cloth. And the rebels, too, even those who may have once fought for a purpose, are now as ruthless as the government they wish to overthrow. No one cares about those caught in the middle.
‘The UN’s saying the government’s military campaign has displaced tens of thousands of civilians and may have violated the laws of war,’ Lou went on.
‘Something of an understatement,’ Rassen replied, unable to disguise his contempt. Displaced, what about those murdered? he thought, images of children’s mangled bodies coming all too vividly into his mind. And the United Nations? That toothless tiger? The regime ‘may have violated the laws of war’. What sort of condemnation is that? And what a farcical term anyway. The laws of war. What laws? Are people really naive enough to believe laws are observed in a battle zone? Any battle zone, let alone the conflict raging in my homeland!
Rassen was tempted to vent his disgust, but in deference to Lou he curbed his tongue and remained silent while the Australian continued.
‘There’s big trouble brewing in Turkey too,’ Lou said, aware that Rassen would want whatever information he might have to impart. ‘A whole string of terrorist attacks in Istanbul, one after the other, right out of the blue, totally unexpected, civilians and tourists deliberately targeted by ISIS.’
‘ISIS?’ This news was clearly a surprise to Rassen. ‘Islamic terrorists gaining a foothold in Istanbul? Oh dear, that is sad. I know there’s been trouble for some time with the Kurdish separatists to the north, and there have been riots amongst those from Northern Iraq seeking refuge, but these are political and humanitarian issues. ISIS?’ His expression was one of utter dismay. ‘Oh dear me, that’s a different matter altogether.’
It was around then Rassen had appeared to lose all interest in poker.
‘Istanbul,’ he mused, ‘once the leading secular city of the world. A place where East meets West and where men are free to worship as they will.’ He quietly muttered a quote to himself, a quote from one of his greatest heroes. ‘Every man can follow his own conscience, provided it does not interfere with sane reason or bid him act against the liberty of his fellow men.’ Then he heaved a heartfelt sigh. ‘How disappointed Mustafa Atatürk would be,’ he said.
Lou, having imparted the news he’d gleaned from television, was starting to feel a little out of his depth, but at the mention of Mustafa Atatürk his mind was instantly activated. He knew that name. The Turkish military leader and president who had made the profoundly moving speech about Gallipoli. How often had he heard it quoted and seen it in print? Certainly every year on Anzac Day. He’d even memorised the last part of the speech.
He put the pack of cards to one side, like Rassen he’d lost all interest in poker, and without hesitation he proudly recited, ‘You, the mothers who sent their sons from far-away countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.’
Rassen stared at the Australian, astounded; a recitation like this was the last thing he’d expected. In lamenting the loss of Atatürk’s Istanbul, he’d been talking to himself, not Lou. Selfishly, he now realised, or at least indulgently. He clapped his hands in a brief round of applause.
‘Brings a tear to the eye, doesn’t it?’ Lou said, pleased to have impressed the doctor as he obviously had. ‘Does to me anyway. Every time I hear it or read it,’ he said with a
shake of his head, ‘I swear it brings a tear to the eye. That’s a really great quote that is.’
‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ Rassen said, ‘a really great quote from a really great man. And only one of many great quotes from Kemal Atatürk, Lou. I tell you, if the countries of the Middle East had followed his example back in the 1920s, today’s conflict wouldn’t be happening. That man could have changed the world. Had the world been willing to listen,’ he added regretfully.
Lou paid avid attention as Rassen went on to wax passionate about Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, founder of the Turkish Republic and its first president.
‘The removal of the caliphate … The separation of governmental and religious affairs … The unification of education … Freedom for women … Compulsive primary education for both girls and boys …’
It was a lot of information for Lou to take on board in one go and he was sure he was missing out on quite a bit, but strangely enough he felt he could have listened to Rassen all day. There’s such a lot to learn, he thought. Luigi Panuzza was one who very much liked to learn.
‘Mustafa Atatürk was a man way ahead of his time,’ Rassen said, ‘a modern man who believed in the principles of democracy. Under Atatürk’s rule, for the first time in history Islamic law was separated from secular law and restricted purely to matters of religion. Imagine if such a policy was adopted by all nations today – what do you think would happen?’
‘No more religious wars?’ Lou suggested.
‘Well, that’s my theory,’ Rassen said, ‘perhaps even my true belief. Of course I may be oversimplifying matters just a little,’ he added self-deprecatingly, ‘or even being naively idealistic, but in my opinion secularism would be a damn good place to start.’ Then he came to a sudden halt, realising how long he’d been holding court. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t let up for a second. I must be boring you terribly.’
‘Nope. To the contrary, I could listen to you all day.’
Which only set Rassen off again. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much for a very long time.
Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was still the major topic of conversation when Paul interrupted them, although by this time Rassen was on to the reason the man was Hala’s hero as much as his.
‘Equal rights for women,’ he’d announced. ‘Humankind is made up of two sexes, women and men.’ He leapt directly into Hala’s favourite quote of all time. ‘Is it possible for humankind to grow by the improvement of only one part while the other part is ignored? Is it possible that if half of a mass is tied to earth with chains that the other half can soar into skies?’
It was Lou’s turn now to give a round of applause.
Rassen acknowledged the appreciation with a gracious, albeit self-mocking, bow and was about to go on, but was halted by the voice that called from the open door.
‘Hey Lou, you ready to go?’
‘Oh.’ Lou turned towards his grandson. ‘Time to leave already, is it?’ he called back.
‘Well, Hala asked if we’d like to stay for lunch,’ Paul admitted, ‘but we should probably be heading off.’
‘No, no, you must stay for lunch,’ Rassen insisted, ‘what an excellent idea.’
Lou thought so too. ‘What do you reckon, Paolo?’
Paul reluctantly entered the room and crossed to the table. ‘I dunno,’ he said with a shrug as if he didn’t care. ‘It’s getting on, and there’s a lot to be done at home.’ He couldn’t think exactly what. ‘You promised you’d drop that gear around to Thelma at the church, remember? I’m easy though,’ another shrug, ‘up to you, Lou.’
Lou read the message loud and clear. ‘Yep, I reckon you’re right. We’ll be on our way.’ He rose to his feet, Rassen joining him, and the two men shook hands. ‘Next time we’ll stay for lunch. I promise.’
‘And next time we’ll play poker,’ Rassen replied, ‘I promise. No more pontificating.’
‘Pity,’ Lou said with a broad grin, ‘I liked the pontificating.’
Lou and Paul returned to the blue hut to collect the hessian sack into which they’d packed all the rubbish – the containers, the plastic ice bags – anything that, upon the refugees’ discovery, might suggest they’d received assistance. After which the group accompanied the two of them down to the jetty.
Lou told them all not to bother, but they refused to listen, and Rassen, like Hala, was adamant.
‘Mustn’t break with tradition,’ he said, unaware he was parroting his wife. ‘That would be to court bad luck. Besides, we like waving you off from the jetty.’
Paul swung the hessian sack of rubbish into the cockpit, climbed aboard and, as Lou started up the engine, released the stern and bowlines and they were on their way.
He looked back at the group standing there waving, all of them, with the exception of Jalila, who had remained on the shore and was watching the birds. As his gaze shifted briefly to her, he wondered if she was going over the names she’d learned – Pacific gull, crested tern, wedge-tailed shearwater – and whether she remembered them all.
He dragged his eyes from the girl back to the group on the jetty, to the women in particular, who were dressed in various items of donated clothes: Hala in the smart pin-striped jacket, Sanaa in a light cotton shift of his mother’s over warm and modest layers, Azra in a long-sleeved blouse that had belonged to Bev. He gave a derisive snort.
‘So much for being meticulous about the rubbish,’ he said, glancing at the hessian sack. ‘When that mob’s brought ashore those clothes’ll be a dead giveaway. What do you reckon Mum’s going to say when she sees her gear? Or Bev, if she’s in town? Or Dad for that matter? He’s bound to recognise the stuff too.’
‘I agree,’ Lou said calmly, wondering if his grandson’s edginess had something to do with the girl. Was Jalila the reason Paolo had wanted to get away? Had something happened between them? ‘There will come a time when we must let the family in on the secret, Paolo. We may need their help, or at least their support.’
Paul appeared distinctly dubious. ‘Do you really think they’ll understand why we’re doing this?’
‘Yes I do. I most certainly do. Maria and Bev particularly.’
‘Oh yeah, Mum and Bev perhaps, but Dad?’ he queried, now openly scornful.
‘Yes,’ Lou said after a moment’s hesitation, ‘yes, I believe even your father. David is a good man.’
Paul didn’t altogether agree, but couldn’t be bothered arguing, and they lapsed into silence. Lou wondered again why his grandson was so tense. It has to have something to do with the girl, he thought, it has to, surely.
Ten minutes or so later, he brought up the topic, his manner casual as if it had only just occurred to him to make any comment.
‘Well you were obviously a great hit with Jalila,’ he said jovially. ‘Hala was very happy indeed.’
‘Yes,’ Paul replied, his voice tight, ‘she was.’
You’ve been dying to ask what happened from the moment we left the jetty, haven’t you, he thought, you nosy old bastard. He could still hear Hala’s voice; he could still see the meaningful look she gave Lou when they collected the rubbish and promised they’d return in one week. ‘Jalila said Paul is taking her to see the fairy terns on your next trip to the island.’ And Lou’s response, accompanied by his own meaningful look. ‘What a good idea. Very pretty birds, and they’ll be nesting of course.’ What are you both playing at? Paul thought. It’s a bloody conspiracy. Leave me alone, for Christ’s sake. And leave Jalila alone too, she doesn’t need you two interfering in her life.
Paul was so confused that he didn’t think to question why he felt protective of Jalila. She needed no protection. She was not the one who had been frightened. He was.
‘It’s apparently quite something to have made contact with the girl,’ Lou went on, ‘and to have her communicate with you so openly. What did you talk about?’
‘Birds,’ Paul answered curtly. ‘We talked about birds.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course.’ There couldn’t be a clearer order
for him to shut up, Lou realised, so he tailed off as graciously as possible. ‘Good for you anyway, Paolo. Rassen says Hala always knows best, so if Hala’s pleased with the outcome you must have done well.’
Perhaps, Paul thought, this is one time Hala doesn’t know best.
They chugged along once more in silence, Paul trying to put the girl from his mind. He was still in shock. He needed time to think, but not now – later when he was alone. He needed to analyse what had happened.
After they’d penned Principessa, they walked together to Paul’s cottage, where Lou collected the bag of women’s clothes to be delivered to the church.
‘Sure you don’t want me to take them?’ Paul asked, making amends, aware he’d been brusque, even rude, to Lou out on the boat. Hell, it was hardly his grandfather’s fault the girl had so rattled him. ‘I don’t mind, honest.’
‘Bullshit,’ Lou replied good-naturedly. ‘You can’t stand Thelma for more than five minutes.’
‘True.’ Paul smiled, aware he’d been forgiven.
‘See you at the pub around six?’ Lou asked, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder. ‘We’ll have dinner there, eh?’
‘Sure. If you can get away from Thelma by then.’
Alone, now with time to think, Paul relived that moment on the island. The shock as he’d turned to find her half-naked, prepared to offer herself to him. Her response when he’d asked her why. ‘You wish to take me,’ she’d said. ‘So I give myself.’ But he hadn’t wished to take her. He hadn’t wished to take her then and he didn’t wish to take her now, much as he admired her beauty. But the words kept repeating themselves over and over. You wish to take me … You wish to take me … You wish to … Had she read in him some desire of which he’d been unaware?
He was torturing himself, this was ridiculous, he must think logically. Perhaps if he could find out something of her past? Where did she say she came from?