by Mandy Hager
The lack of privacy impacted in other ways as well. Whenever Joseph settled down beside Maryam, Lazarus was there too, as if he could not leave them be. It did not help that Joseph seemed to welcome his cousin's company, laughing with him about old friends and shared experiences. She felt cut off from him, sensing that the person she had known was occupied elsewhere. At times he tried to draw Maryam into their conversation, but he seemed not to appreciate her fear of Lazarus, and looked confused and wounded when she turned away.
This unspoken wedge was further widened by Ruth's constant anxiety. She could not seem to shift her dread. Late in the afternoon, the two girls retreated to the shade of the pandanus thatch and Maryam tried again to reassure Ruth about what might lie ahead.
“I'm sure Joseph's parents wouldn't have chosen Marawa Island unless they thought they would be welcome there.”
“How would they know? The Apostles said—”
“The Apostles lied to us, over and over again. They said there was nothing out here, that all of it had been consumed, yet here we are.”
“Here? We're nowhere, Maryam. Perhaps this is exactly what they meant? We could be stuck on this stupid boat for ever, with no sight of land.”
Her words hit Maryam harder than she dared to show. She had not thought of this. What if the void the Apostles spoke of was this endless sea? They could be trapped on board until their reserves of food and water were all gone. What then? “But the map…”
“What of it? It was drawn back before the Tribulation destroyed it all. Besides, the Lord said those who turned away from Him would not be saved. At least at home we knew the Lord watched over us. Now that we have turned our backs on His Apostles, surely He will punish us?”
“But He didn't watch over us, Ruthie, that's my point.” Maryam began peeling a ripe mango, the sweet sticky juice running down her wrist right to her elbow. “And if He did, then He allowed all those terrible things to take place. To go unpunished.”
Ruth clapped her hands over her ears, shaking her head wildly from side to side. “Don't say such things…really, don't—”
“I'm sorry, Ruthie. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you so.” Maryam reached over and wrapped her arms around Ruth's heaving frame. “I promise I will keep you safe.”
“How can you?” Ruth wailed. “I know you've tried…” Her next few words were indistinct, washed away by shaky sobs. “…from Father Joshua and he still—took—me against my will.”
For one heart-stopping moment Ruth raised her head, her bloodshot eyes meeting Maryam's. The pain in there was so intense it struck at Maryam like a fist. So this was where all Ruth's turmoil stemmed from. So much had happened in the hours since Ruth had confided in her as they fled the Holy City, Maryam hadn't fully processed it. How stupid of her not to have realised that Father Joshua had taken Ruth and left her broken, filled with shame. How Maryam hated him. Wished him to Hell.
She took one of the softened kunnikai leaves that wrapped the fruit and pressed it into Ruth's hand so that she could wipe her tears. Then she shifted slightly, until she could see more clearly into her friend's face. “Tell me of it,” she whispered, remembering how it had eased her own aching heart to tell Mother Elizabeth of her abuse at the hands of the Apostles—though she would offer Ruth comfort and understanding in return, not betrayal as her beloved mentor had.
“I can't,” Ruth wailed. “It was so—so—”
“Speaking it aloud will help,” Maryam insisted. She knew how these things festered inside if they were left unsaid.
Ruth blew her nose loudly on another kunnikai leaf and took a few deep calming breaths. “He told me to go down to the storeroom to collect more toddy.” Her voice quivered like the call of a wandering tattler bird. “Then he followed me. He locked the door from the inside so no one could enter, and then he came at me…”
As Ruth spoke, Maryam felt her heartbeat gaining speed, as if she was in the room alongside Ruth. She knew the kind of arrogant sneer that would have lit his face—had seen it as he'd beaten and humiliated her before the entire congregation after her first foiled escape.
“He told me the Lord had picked me for his bride. That I should—” Ruth wrung the sodden leaf between her hands. “That I should…surrender to him…with willingness and joy, just like the Rules.”
Oh Lord. “Did he hurt you, Ruthie?”
“Hurt? He pushed me up against a wall.” A deep crimson blush flared up her neck. “He—forced—his way inside me, and when I cried out at the pain he clamped his hand over my mouth.” Now Ruth was overwhelmed by sobs, and hid her face in her hands.
Maryam felt sick to her stomach. Was she wrong to have pressed Ruth to speak of such horror, when to do so might have caused further distress? She was out of her depth.
“It's all my fault,” Ruth mumbled now. “I must have done something to anger the Lord.”
This Maryam understood. She had wrestled with similar doubts when she first realised that life with the Apostles was not as she had always dreamed. But she knew now that to take responsibility for the cruel actions of others was wrong—kind old Hushai had made that clear. “It's not your fault! The man is evil, plain as that.”
“But he's the Lord's chosen one—”
“No he's not! He's not chosen by the Lord at all—he just uses this to force his will.” She remembered Mother Deborah's words the day she showed Maryam the boat. The thing that you must know is this: the Apostles of the Lamb were formed from a desire for power, based on greed. Ruth's treatment at the hands of Father Joshua was proof of that. Then there was the stealing of Maryam's blood; the deaths of Sarah, Rebekah and kind Brother Mark. Proof upon proof, mounting up.
Ruth let out a shaky sigh and raised her head. “Every time I close my eyes I see his face,” she whispered. “How am I supposed to live with this?”
“By fighting back.” The words were out even before Maryam had thought them through. But it was true. “The best revenge is our escape.”
“And if he should come after us?”
“I really don't believe he will. We're nothing to him, merely slaves. I reckon he'll be glad we're gone.”
“Who'll be glad?” Joseph squatted at the entrance to the shelter.
Ruth shot Maryam a frantic look, warning her. “No one—just the talk of girls,” Maryam said.
Joseph grinned. “Well, then stop your chatter now—it's time the two of you sailed this boat alone!”
“Ruth and me together?”
“Yes, why not?” Joseph pulled a serious face. “All of us need to know how to operate tiller and sails, in case one of us should get hurt.”
Maryam looked over at Ruth, uncertain if she was recovered enough to do as Joseph asked, but Ruth was already getting to her feet, a bright smile pasted on her tear-streaked face.
“I claim the tiller,” Ruth said, refusing to make eye contact with Maryam. “You're on sails.”
There was nothing to be done but play along with her, but Maryam feared that Ruth would still have to face her demons if she was ever to regain her peace of mind.
There were times during the following days when Maryam almost forgot they were fleeing from danger into an unknown world. They broke the monotony of the sailing shifts with fishing competitions that quickly turned into all-out gender war. The girls had the knack for teasing the most enormous fish onto their lines, though often lost their bounty as they tried to pull it in; the boys’ strike rate was lower, but they hauled their lines in with such efficiency the fish had no chance of escape. Neither side would concede inferiority, however: it fell to the losers to gut the fish—and they would often still be arguing over technicalities long after the sun had set.
Mostly Lazarus pointedly steered clear of Maryam, and his arrogant dismissal galled her, but she tried as best she could to keep the lid on her animosity, hoping her forbearance would win Joseph's regard. Her heart thumped painfully whenever she bit back her instinct to shout at him, but the worst of it was that she couldn't tell
if Joseph even appreciated her effort. They never seemed to have a moment alone.
At times the boat glided so effortlessly through the ocean Maryam could close her eyes and trick herself into believing they were on nothing more challenging than a pleasant outing, and would return to the comforts of home at the close of each long hot day. After weeks of fear and tension, this mood of calm relaxation was magical. Even Ruth showed signs of unwinding, laughing to the point of choking over Joseph's disappointment when he excitedly hauled in a streamer of seaweed he'd mistaken for a fish.
As the afternoon of their third full day at sea drew towards its end, Maryam leaned against the forward mast and watched as Lazarus scaled and gutted an ingimea, the giant yellowfin tuna she and Ruth had reluctantly asked the boys to help drag on board. Lazarus was agile with the knife, there was no doubt, and his long strokes through the ingimea's flesh were bold and sure. She shuddered. To think that only three nights ago he'd held this same sharp blade to Ruthie's throat.
The ingimea was as large as a small dog, with enough flesh on it to last for several days. When Lazarus had finished carving it up, Maryam soused some of the fillets in lime juice for their evening meal. The rest she packed in salt to preserve from spoiling in the days ahead: there was still no sign of land, and already, with an extra mouth to feed, their fresh stores were starting to run low.
As they gathered together in the last of the light to share their feast of fish, a line of thick black rainclouds boiled and rolled together on the western horizon, the lowering sun streaking the dark vapours with fine shots of silver.
“I think we'd better reef the main right in,” Joseph said. “They're heading straight for us. Maryam, can you give me a hand?”
Pleased to have been singled out, Maryam rose to help him untie the ropes that held the massive sail aloft. As Lazarus and Ruth hurriedly stowed away their abandoned meal, she and Joseph lashed a good half of the redundant sail back to the boom, their eyes sliding constantly towards the menace in the west. The clouds were not approaching, but hung with a foreboding presence as the travellers sailed towards them: it was only a matter of time before the boat and rainclouds met.
At the tiller hours later, Maryam's brain whirled hopelessly round and round the problem of Ruth's fragile mental state, and she hardly registered the approaching storm until a shift in the motion of the boat drew all her attention back to the task at hand. The wind seemed to be coming from all directions, buffeting the sails and making the tiller hard to control. The sea churned in a sloppy chop and, at the ropes, Lazarus fought to keep his footing as he hauled the mainsail right down to the boom. The dark bank of clouds loomed overhead now, blotting out all trace of stars, and the air grew thick and charged around her. Yet still the rain refused to come.
Joseph appeared from the shelter, early for his shift, and gingerly made his way along the deck to Lazarus's side. “You go and rest now,” he told him. “I can't sleep.”
Lazarus did not argue. He staggered down the swaying deck and crawled into the shelter to settle next to Ruth.
Thank goodness she's still fast asleep, Maryam thought.
Joseph busied himself re-securing all the ropes, then edged his way back to Maryam's side. He smiled at her through the gloom. “Finally, we have a chance to be alone.”
Maryam's heart skipped a beat. So he was missing their old closeness too. She inclined her head towards the clouds. “I think we might be in for a good soaking soon.”
Joseph grinned. “Nothing can put a dampener on things when I'm with you!”
“Wait until you've sat till dawn in pouring rain and then say that!”
“You're on,” he said, gently wrapping his hand over hers to help adjust the tiller as a squally backwind slewed the boat.
Warmth radiated through her from his touch. She sneaked a look at him as he raised his head to check the unpredictable wind in the stream of feathers atop the mast. His features were straight and fine, his nose so much more defined and sharp than hers, and his fine blond hair could not have been more different from her own thick curtain of wiry black curls. She thought him beautiful, as striking as the ancient European kings painted in the murals on the walls of the dining room in the Holy City.
“Why couldn't you sleep?” she asked, her heart galloping as he rubbed his thumb along the line of her little finger.
“Can't you guess?” He turned his eyes to her, and even in the darkness she could feel the intensity of his gaze.
She nodded. “I'm worried too.”
“Bad guess!” He laughed, the sound a point of brightness in the night. “Every time I close my eyes, all I can picture is kissing you!”
Maryam was glad the shadows hid her tingling blush as the memory of their stolen kisses back on Onewēre filled her mind. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly very dry as he leaned in close. “I have thought—”
His boldness swept her words away and for one long moment nothing else existed except the concentrated merging of their mouths. Maryam felt her body melting, her bones transformed to whirlpools as his tongue met hers. When finally she pulled away to draw a breath, she could hear the race of blood thrum through her ears.
“You know how much I care for you, don't you?” Joseph whispered. “I think I knew it from the first time I saw you at my father's funeral.” He ran a finger down her arm, lowering his gaze as he traced his name against her skin. “And what about you? Do you like me too?”
“Of course!” she laughed, amazed by the uncertainty in his voice. “We agreed already that we're friends, remember?”
“No,” he said, his brow creased to a frown. “I mean, do you really like me?”
How could he even ask it when only moments ago she had given herself over to his kiss? “I do,” she confessed, terror and excitement competing inside. She didn't know what else to say. It was the truth, but she felt as if she teetered on the edge of a precipice, and there was only a perilous, uncharted region far below. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Joseph's shoulders and pressed him close.
He littered her hair with tiny kisses, his breath panting out hard and fast, and she closed her eyes, allowing the pressures of the outside world to fall away once more. But a predatory face intruded on the swirling pleasure in her head—Father Joshua as he forced himself on Ruth. She pulled back abruptly, guilt competing with pleasure in a confusing dance.
“I'm sorry,” she babbled, “but I can't stop thinking of poor Ruth.”
“Ruth?” A hint of impatience crept into Joseph's voice.
“She suffers cruelly from the assault by Father Joshua. I don't know how to ease her hurt.” It was totally the wrong time to be telling him this, she knew—their intimacy was retreating like the tide—but she badly needed to share the worry. She wanted Joseph's help.
Joseph stared at her intently before sighing. He released her from his embrace. “I suspect it's something only time will heal,” he said. “I've heard my mother speak of the fallout from such an—” He held his hand aloft as the clouds finally decided to release their load. “Oh-oh…It's here.”
Plump drops splashed around them, bursting like tiny explosions as they hit the deck. Within seconds both Joseph and Maryam were soaked.
“Quickly,” Joseph ordered, “get under the shelter now and try to sleep. I'll man the boat.”
It pained her to break their precious moment, but the rain was falling more steadily now, running off her hair and weeping down her face. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed the wet tip of his nose. “Shall I wake Ruth for her shift?”
Joseph shook his head. “No, let her sleep. Perhaps with rest her mind will find some kind of peace.”
Maryam sent him one last smile, warmed, despite the rain, by Joseph's kind and thoughtful heart.
The downpour lasted until dawn. Maryam hardly slept, tossing and turning as she replayed the conversation and the unsettling kiss from the night before. Why, oh why had she raised Ruth's problem with Joseph then? After so few opportunities to be a
lone with him, she'd distracted him from the little time they had.
When, finally, the rain had stopped and the sky was growing light, she could stand her swirling thoughts no longer, and crawled out of the shelter to press a nourishing ball of te kabubu paste into Joseph's hand.
“Please, eat this,” she said. “It'll help to warm you and keep up your strength.” Then she handed him her one spare shirt. “Here. Use this to dry yourself.”
He looked wet and miserable, his skin paled to a stony grey and wrinkled from the long exposure to the rain. Purple pools of tiredness smudged beneath his eyes. As he stripped off his own soaked shirt he sneezed a spray of te kabubu out across the deck and shrugged.
“Well, the good news is it looks as though the rain has passed.” He pointed east, to where the bank of clouds had retreated. To the west, the sky transformed to vivid blue.
Maryam scanned the western horizon and spied a flock of birds reeling in the distance, far ahead. “Look! Doesn't that mean we're nearing land?”
Joseph shielded his eyes against the glare. His face lit up. “You could be right!” Again he sneezed, the force rocking his whole body. “Keep a good watch on them—it could mean Marawa Island is up ahead.”
Despite her relief, Maryam was swept by a terrible foreboding. “Is it protected by a reef?” she asked. She thought back to their wild flight from Onewēre. Even when they'd known the position of the corridor between the deadly shelves of coral, they'd struggled to manoeuvre the big boat safely through. Just how would they navigate a completely unfamiliar reef?
He guessed her thoughts. “If we approach in daylight we should be right. I'm fairly sure it's just a case of watching for changes in the colour of the sea.”
Fairly sure? She didn't want to question Joseph's authority, but his words failed to comfort her. They were sailing as blind as old Hushai, in a boat so large it seemed to have a mind of its own. If they should make even the tiniest error of judgement…