by Judy Nunn
Rassen made the translation to the others, adding Lou’s warning that their discovery would not be far off now, and the tone of the gathering became solemn.
‘This will be the last visit Paul and Jalila will make to the island,’ he announced.
Little Hamid was shocked upon hearing the words. So this was why Jalila had given him the stone – she was saying goodbye, he would never see her again. He couldn’t help himself. The tears gathered and, very quietly, he started to cry. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. He would be four soon.
His mother took him aside and they knelt together on the floor, the others unashamedly watching.
‘It is all right, my son,’ she said, ‘you are allowed to cry.’ Azra could see he was trying hard to hide his tears, wanting so much to be grown-up. But he was just a little boy. ‘It is no sin to cry, Hamid,’ she said, speaking in their Hazaragi tongue, taking him in her arms and rocking him gently.
‘Why does Jalila have to go?’ he sobbed into the comfort of his mother’s shoulder.
‘There, there,’ she said, ‘there, there. It is something that simply has to be. Hush now, there’s a good boy, hush, hush.’
‘But why must it be?’
Azra could tell by his insistence that he was over the worst of his shock, that he was becoming a little calmer now and seeking a genuine answer. He needed to be treated like the grown-up he wanted to be. So she obliged. Holding him at arm’s length, she spoke to him like an adult.
‘Jalila has found a true friend, Hamid, one with whom she would like to spend the rest of her life. She and Paul love each other the way your father and I love each other. They want to be together, and to do this Jalila must leave the island.’
‘We cannot go with her?’
‘No, my son, we cannot.’ Azra wiped away the final trace of tears from his cheek with her thumb. ‘You want Jalila to be happy, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you must say goodbye and wish her well.’
The little boy nodded. He would not cry again.
Looking on, the others were touched by the scene between mother and son, even though only two had understood the actual exchange. Massoud glanced at the boy’s father. He gave Karim a congratulatory nod that said, You should be proud of such a son and Karim returned a nod that said I am.
The group accompanied them to the jetty as usual, and while Paul loaded the rubbish bag aboard the old Princess, they made their final farewells to Jalila. At least it felt like their final farewells, though who could tell?
Massoud watched from the sidelines as again, one by one, they exchanged hugs. His manner was strangely aloof. No one noticed except Hala, but Hala had been observing the change in Massoud for some time now. The young man, whose spirit she had so admired, had become morose of late.
It was true: Massoud did feel detached from the emotionalism on display, cynical even.
They’re acting as though Jalila’s free, he thought. They actually seem to believe none of us will ever see her again. Rassen and Hala know better, of course, but the others? How foolishly naïve they are. Jalila will be discovered, and when she is she’ll be incarcerated along with the rest of us. No refugee status for boat people, remember? We’ll all rot away together in some ghastly detention centre no better than a prison.
Unlike the others, Massoud’s stay on the island had not proved a healing experience. With ample time to reflect upon his actions, now more than ever he cursed his stupidity. How could he have allowed himself to be so duped by common people smugglers? Why hadn’t he researched the politics of this country that was about to reject him? Too greedy for a quick solution, that was why. Massoud Ahmadi had become a bitter young man.
But when it came his turn to embrace Jalila, his well-wishes for her were genuine, despite the fact he didn’t believe there would be any successful outcome.
‘Good luck, Jalila,’ he said, and the sentiment was heartfelt. Good luck to us all, he was thinking.
Then, watching her kneel and embrace the child, Massoud had to admit he envied Jalila. He envied this brief spate of freedom allowed her, no matter how fleeting it might be. He would have loved such a gift himself.
Lou promised the group he would return in a fortnight, he and Rassen having discussed the wisdom of cutting back on the frequency of his trips to the island, which had previously been on a weekly basis.
‘I reckon I could make two more trips safely,’ he’d said, ‘before we run the risk of being caught out.’
‘We can look after ourselves, Lou,’ Rassen had insisted. ‘The fish we are catching from the jetty are plentiful, and we are once again growing our vegetables. Do not concern yourself with us any further, my friend.’
‘No,’ Lou had insisted, ‘two more trips should be fine. That’ll take us to just before the Christmas break.’
But Lou proved wrong on both counts. He made only one more visit to the island. And they were not caught out by the Christmas break.
It was a week before Christmas when Gary Walton from the Department of Fisheries in Geraldton arrived in Shoalhaven to conduct his customary annual check on fishers’ licences. Or this may perhaps have been an excuse, for he was conducting his licence check earlier than usual. In any event, he was asking questions.
‘G’day, Lou, how’ve you been?’
‘G’day, Gaz, fine thanks, mate.’
The two shook. They’d met up at the marina’s foreshore, Gary on his way from the coffee shop near the car park, takeaway in hand, Lou on his way to Principessa’s pen. He and Paul had already stacked the old Princess with supplies earlier that morning and he was about to take off for his final trip to the island.
‘Got a moment?’ Gary asked.
‘Sure. You doing a licence check?’
‘Yeah, yeah, no rush though, just had a query to run by you. Want me to grab you a coffee?’ He held up the fresh takeaway.
‘No thanks, mate, had one before I left home.’
They sat together on one of the wooden benches that faced out to the attractive view of the marina, boats bobbing cosily at rest, the metallic tinkle of stays on masted vessels.
‘So what can I do for you?’ Lou asked. He liked Gary Walton. A big man in his mid-forties, well built, freckle-faced from a life spent on the ocean, he had a practical, no-nonsense attitude. A man’s man, you always knew where you stood with Gary.
‘Just been having a chat to Archie Lang about the comings and goings to the island,’ Gary said.
Lou froze. Oh hell, he thought, they know something.
‘Arch is pretty sure none of the fishers have been staying out there,’ he went on, ‘reckons most of the boats have been in their pens or up on the slip or just out for a day’s fishing.’ He paused to take a swig of his coffee.
‘Yep, that’d be right,’ Lou replied, doing his best to sound casual. ‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Well, we’ve had some odd government aerial surveillance reports come in. Thought I’d just check around with the fishers and see if there’s a simple explanation before I make the official trip out there.’ Another swig of his coffee. ‘I’m sure there is,’ he said, ‘maybe a couple of the blokes taking some day trippers out and leaving them there while they do a day’s fishing,’ he gave a careless shrug, ‘you know, whatever.’
‘What exactly is it that’s so odd about the aerial surveillance reports?’ Lou asked, already knowing the answer.
‘They show evidence of activity on the island,’ Gary said, ‘but there’s no evidence of any vessels. A bit puzzling. Got any ideas?’
Lou hesitated, his mind racing. Gary had given him a plausible answer. He could say he’d taken a group of day-trippers out there and gone fishing, but was it worth it? How much time would that buy Rassen and the others? He could pretend ignorance, but Gary would only ask around and the other fishers would have no answers so an investigation would be carried out anyway, possibly a team of government officials landing on the island, scaring the hel
l out of everyone. The cold hard fact was, the refugees’ presence had been discovered. In which case, what should he do? Remain silent, or tell Gary the truth?
With no knowledge of the turmoil churning in Lou’s mind, Gary assumed the old man was giving the matter some thought.
‘Arch says you’ve been out fishing most days,’ he went on, ‘but then when are you not, eh,’ he added with a grin, ‘retirement doesn’t come easy to you, does it, Lou? Anyway, I just wondered whether you might have stopped off at the island, seen anything odd, you know, something that might offer an explanation.’ Another shrug, another swig of coffee. ‘Whatever.’
‘I do have an explanation, Gaz,’ Lou said, ‘as a matter of fact I can tell you the whole story.’
Lou’s decision to tell the truth, and to tell it in every detail, was born of a sudden clarity. Of all the people destined to discover the refugees, or at least to learn of their existence, Gary Walton was without doubt the ideal choice. The man was fair and honest and would listen to reason.
I’ll be able to plead their case, Lou thought. It won’t make any difference to the outcome, and it’s bound to land me in a sea of trouble, but at least Gary’ll treat them with the respect they deserve. If they’re discovered by the fishers there could be an angry scene, and I wouldn’t wish that on them.
So he proceeded to tell his story, leaving out only one element: Jalila.
Eight refugees, all from Middle Eastern countries, had landed on the island over three months ago, he told Gary, one of them a child barely four years old.
‘Jesus,’ Gary breathed incredulously, ‘and they’ve been there for three whole months!’
‘Closer to four really.’
‘How come there’s no evidence of a vessel?’ Gary’s shock was momentarily outweighed by his puzzlement.
‘The Indonesian fishing boat they were on foundered in a storm,’ Lou explained. ‘All aboard perished, over thirty or so I believe, except for this eight who existed for days at sea in a dinghy, God only knows how. The dinghy had been storm-damaged though, and it finally sank not far from the island. They managed to swim ashore.’
Well most of that’s the truth, he thought as he awaited the man’s response.
‘Christ alive, Lou,’ Gary said with another incredulous shake of his head, ‘you’ve known about this for a whole four months!’
‘Not quite, they’d been there living in the huts for a couple of weeks before I found them.’ He gave a sheepish smile, knowing he sounded pathetic.
‘It didn’t occur to you to report them, I take it?’ The query was made with an uncharacteristically cynical edge.
‘No, frankly it didn’t. Not once I’d spoken to them anyway,’ Lou admitted in all honesty. ‘These are gentle people, Gaz, and they’ve been through the sorts of hell you and I couldn’t possibly imagine. Several of them are highly qualified. There’s a doctor and his wife who’s a nurse – they worked as volunteers in Aleppo of all places …’ everyone knew the hellhole Aleppo had been for years ‘… and there’s another who was an activist in Iran, he’s an academic, a specialist in languages, really clever young bloke.’
Lou remembered the endless discussions he’d had with Rassen and Massoud, both of whom he deeply admired.
‘I’ve learnt so much from them, Gaz, and they’ve told me the stories of the other refugees, and I’ve learnt so much from them too. The doctor translates everything they say to me, the thanks they offer me personally, the apologies they make for intruding on the property of others. I’ve come to know them all so well.’ Lou was aware he was getting carried away, but he didn’t care in the least. ‘There’s a great dignity among them. It’s humbling just to be in their presence, mate, honestly it is. You wait until you meet them, you’ll see what I mean.’
‘You do know I have to report them, don’t you?’ Gary said drily, interrupting the old man’s enthusiastic flow.
‘Yes.’ Brought to a halt, Lou looked out beyond the marina as if he was seeing the island, which in his mind’s eye he was. ‘Yes, of course I know that.’
‘It’s not something I enjoy doing, Lou,’ Gary said quietly. He didn’t. He’d been involved with boat people before, most recently the Sri Lankans who’d arrived in Geraldton – desperate people, sad to see. Sadder still to know they’d risked their lives for nothing, that there was no hope of their settlement in this country.
‘So you’ve been making regular trips to the island, presumably helping them.’ There was no accusation in Gary’s tone. He wasn’t even asking a question, it was more a statement of facts that appeared to him obvious.
‘Yep,’ Lou admitted. ‘I’ve been taking supplies out to them more or less on a weekly basis.’
‘You could be in big trouble for not reporting illegal immigrants, Lou, and in even bigger trouble for assisting them.’ Gary studied the old man intently. ‘But you knew that right from the start, didn’t you?’ Of course you knew, Gary thought, you’re nobody’s fool. Why on earth had Lou told him about these people, he wondered – why hadn’t the old man just kept his mouth shut?
Lou nodded. ‘Yes, I knew that.’
‘OK, I give up. Why have you told me all this?’
‘I thought it’d be better for you to discover them rather than the fishers, who might get nasty and put on a turn. Or the authorities for that matter. If full government forces landed on them without warning the poor bastards would probably be scared shitless.’
‘The government authorities will land on them anyway, Lou. Immigration, quarantine, police, border control – they’ll all be involved. I’ll have to take the officials out there in the fisheries vessel. There’ll be up to a dozen or more, all wanting answers.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that. But if you were to personally discover them first up, Gaz …’ an eager light was once again in Lou’s eyes ‘… you know, you and your crew just doing a routine check and lo and behold there they are … Well, you’d be able to prepare them, wouldn’t you? I mean that’s what you’d automatically do, isn’t it? Give them fair warning of what to expect?’
Gary said nothing, but waited for him to go on. You shrewd old bugger, he thought, you’ve got this all planned, haven’t you?
Lou found Gary’s attentiveness most encouraging.
‘You must explain everything to the doctor,’ he instructed. ‘His name is Rassen, and he’s the leader of the group. Rassen Khurdaji, a really well-spoken bloke, you’d swear he’s English, he and his wife worked for years in London. Anyway, he’ll translate for those who don’t speak English and he’ll keep everybody calm and prepare them for the onslaught. What do you say? Sound like a plan?’
‘Is there any evidence out there that they’ve received help from the mainland?’ Gary asked. ‘Did you supply them with a generator or anything like that?’
‘Crikey no,’ Lou scoffed, ‘I wasn’t that much of a dill. I even brought back any rubbish that might seem incriminating. I took them some clothes, sure, but they wear mostly Western gear anyway. It looks like they’ve been living off the sea and the produce from the gardens and whatever’s hanging around in the huts, exactly as they were doing when I first discovered them. And nobody on that island’s going to say they’ve had help,’ he added. ‘They wouldn’t want to get me into trouble. That’s the sort of people they are, you see.’
‘Yes, I see exactly,’ Gary said with something that might have been a touch of begrudging admiration. ‘You expect me to pretend I know nothing at all about your involvement, that’s it, isn’t it, you cunning old bastard.’
Lou was taken aback. No, that hadn’t been it at all. He’d automatically presumed Gary would report his involvement. But hell, he thought, I’d be mad to knock back an offer like this.
‘Well,’ he said diplomatically, ‘if that’s the way you’d like to go about things, Gaz, I wouldn’t say no.’
Gary stood, dumping his half-drunk coffee in the bin beside the bench; it was cold now anyway.
‘I’ll make a trip out
to the island tomorrow to investigate the activity that’s shown up on the aerial surveillance reports,’ he said. ‘And don’t you dare go near the place today, Lou, don’t you even take your boat out of the marina. There’ll be no forewarnings, no priming these people on their story. If they say they’ve had help, I’ll end up dobbing you in – I’ll have to. But for now this is out of your hands, nothing to do with you, right?’
‘Yes, mate, absolutely right, I promise.’ Lou couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Thanks, Gaz,’ he said. ‘Jeez, mate, thanks a lot.’
But Gaz was already walking off to the car park.
The following afternoon, a crowd of well over fifty was gathered at the marina jetty, fishers and townspeople alike. Quite a substantial crowd by Shoalhaven standards, certainly as many as could be called together at short notice. They were intrigued, every single one of them. Gary Walton of the Fisheries Department had radioed ahead to the marina requesting as many as possible gather to hear the announcement he would make upon his arrival by sea. What was going on?
There were several of them who knew. The Miller family was there. David and Maria, Paul with his arm around Jalila, and of course Lou. But they said nothing, gazing out to sea along with all the others, eyes fixed on the fisheries vessel as it approached.
MV Endurance entered the marina and pulled up alongside the jetty where they were all standing, a magnificent craft, twenty-two metres long with twin Cat V12 engines, built for speed, efficiency and stamina, with every form of modern navigational and tracking equipment to hand.
Two of the four-man crew secured the vessel, and Gary stepped up on to the upper deck, where he had a good view of the crowd in order to make his address. Legs astride in the manner of one accustomed to anchoring his weight on a vessel at sea, he was a figure of command, a man they all knew and respected, particularly the fishers.
‘Thanks for turning up, everyone,’ he said, his voice carrying loudly and clearly to all. ‘I have an announcement to make, and also some orders to issue on behalf of the government. An incident has arisen and no one is to visit Gevaar Island until further notice is given. Two of my men have been posted there and will stay in charge overnight …’