by Mandy Hager
When she had finished, she scraped her nails through his sticky, matted hair to smooth it down. What now? There was no place to bury him; no raft or pyre to set alight upon the sea. Much as she longed to keep him by her side forever, she knew she did not have the strength of will to watch him bloat and rot. There had to be something, some dignified way of setting his soul free of this body that had failed him so.
For the first time since Joseph's death she really looked around her, scrutinising every corner of the boat with a deliberate eye. They had no choice but to give his body over to the sea, she realised, yet the thought of just pitching him overboard—leaving him to float at the mercy of scavenging seabirds—made her stomach swill. She needed something to lend him weight, to sink him. Then, entombed beneath the vast protective blanket of water, his body would find rest down on the ocean floor.
With this in mind, her eye kept returning to the anchor stone. It was surely heavy enough and, with its carefully chiselled rope-hole and smooth edges crafted by Joseph's father, it seemed a fitting companion for his journey to the depths. Yes, this course was best.
She turned to seek out Lazarus, but for a moment could not place him. Then she spied him, crouched behind the one remaining shelter wall. His back was hunched and heaving, his face hidden in his hands. He was crying, sobs breaking from him in hoarse gusts of pain. It hurt to watch: no matter how much she despised him, she recognised the bond he and his cousin shared. Her own broken heart went out to him, and she felt selfish that she'd blocked him from sharing in Joseph's last minutes on earth.
She drew in a shaky, jagged breath. She had to open up her heart to Lazarus and put her dislike for him aside. It was how Joseph would have wanted it. This was the final gift to mark his passing; the way to dignify his kind, warm-hearted life.
Lazarus startled when she squatted down beside him and slipped her one good arm around his shoulders. “I am so sorry for your loss,” Maryam said, struggling to hold herself together. He looked completely devastated, nothing like the cruel, confident oppressor of the past. “He told me he loved you like a brother. That in his heart he knew you were good.”
As soon as the words were out, she wondered if she spoke the truth. But, seeing the fleeting glimmer in his eyes, she knew it didn't matter if the words were not exactly as Joseph had said. They were what Lazarus needed to hear now; what she would want if the situation were reversed.
She rubbed his back, feeling the tremor in his muscles as he fought with his emotions. She was amazed he did not pull away from her embrace. “He was my brother,” Lazarus mumbled. “The only member of my family who I truly—” he choked, swallowing hard before he spoke again, “—who I truly loved.”
He broke down once more, sobbing with such fury that Maryam could not contain her own raw tears. And now dear Ruth slipped down to join them, enfolding both their wretched bodies in her strong brown arms. Beneath them all, the boat rocked sideways in the swell as if it, too, was moved to offer comfort. When, finally, their tears were spent, Maryam drew her arm away—wincing as she registered just how much her injured arm still ached.
“I think we should bind him to the anchor stone and send them both down into the sea.”
“Perhaps…” Lazarus sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve. He slowly eased himself upright, his eyes locked on Joseph's twisted corpse. “I can't believe he's gone.”
“We must say some words over him,” Ruth insisted. She glanced warily at Maryam. “I don't care what you choose to say, but it would be wrong not to say something to release his soul.”
Maryam acquiesced. Whatever her own broiling grievance with the Lord, Joseph deserved to be sent off as they'd been taught.
“You say whatever you want to, Ruthie, it's fine with me.” She felt exhausted now, all the fight cried out of her. She glanced at Lazarus. “We're all agreed?”
He nodded, seemingly swept by exhaustion too. He made his way over to the huge crafted stone and locked his hands around it, bent his knees and just managed to lift it up. Then he dropped it down again and eyed Maryam's strapped, useless arm.
“Sister Ruth, can you help? If we lift it together, it will not be such a strain.”
“I'll try,” she said.
Together Lazarus and Ruth lifted the anchor stone with ease. They hauled it over to the side of the disabled boat, and Maryam helped as best she could to lash Joseph's body to the stone. It was so wrong, strapping him to this cold unforgiving weight—felt more like a punishment than something conceived from love.
When they were satisfied he was securely tied, Ruth stepped forward with her bedraggled Holy Book. As she flicked through the pages, panic seized Maryam again. To cast him overboard felt like a sin. To never see his face again…his startling eyes…his upturned lips…She could feel herself trembling, feel her breath growing ever more shallow and fast. Then Ruth began.
“I've chosen Revelation,” she told them. “It just feels right.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before she started to read. “He said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more—” Her chin started wobbling and she paused. Breathed deeply. Sniffed. Stared for a long moment at Joseph's face.
Maryam's shaking was now uncontrollable, her knees so weak she feared she would fall. She felt Lazarus's arm snake around her waist for support.
“Be strong,” he whispered. “Show Joseph you can still be strong.”
She blinked, unsure how to take his touch. But his words stuck in her mind and she roused herself, determined now to make Joseph proud. She looked to Ruth. “Go on,” she said.
Ruth clutched the Holy Book so tight her knuckles showed white through her skin. She cleared her throat and finished the reading in a rush: “…neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” She closed the Book. “Rest easy with the Lord, Brother Joseph.” Tears crawled down her cheeks as she turned to Maryam. “Is there anything else you'd like me to say?”
Maryam shook herself from Lazarus's clutch. Crossed to Joseph. Placed a tender kiss onto his forehead, shuddering as she felt his chill beneath the sunlit layer of skin. “Goodbye my friend…my love.”
She watched with sick dizziness as Lazarus leaned over Joseph and kissed him as well. They had to do this now—get it over with before she lost her nerve. Together they hauled up Joseph's weighted body and pitched it clumsily into the sea. The water splashed up over them, smacking its lips as it received Joseph and swallowed him down. In only seconds he was gone.
Maryam sank down to her knees, her strength now spent. She raised her streaked face up to the heavens, releasing all her pain and anger in one almighty wail. Then, when no more air would feed her cry, she curled herself into a tiny ball of misery and blocked out the world.
As the day dragged on the wind picked up again, this time from the north. It buffeted the helpless boat at its will; the tiller was virtually useless without the steadying influence of the sails. The sea chopped up—nothing like the mountainous seas they'd already endured, but rough enough to make the ride uncomfortable and ripe for seasickness.
Maryam, Lazarus and Ruth lay on deck and did not speak. It's all so pointless now, Maryam thought. Her stomach groaned and grumbled but she had no desire to eat—she was sure she'd vomit food back up again as soon as it was swallowed down. Besides, there was very little left to tempt her. She was just so incredibly tired: tired of fighting, tired of running from danger, and tired, most of all, of the struggle to keep on living. She did not have the strength to feel angry any more, had slipped into a deadened state of limbo—flat and disconnected from the w
orld at large.
Ruth seemed similarly afflicted, not even bothering to seek comfort from the Holy Book. Lazarus sat hunched against the shelter wall and stared blankly across the agitated swell. Defeat and hopelessness swarmed in the air around them. They were lost, and knew it; they were adrift at the feckless whim of wind and sea.
Late afternoon crept in barely noticed, and Lazarus finally rose from his refuge to relieve himself. “Holy Hell!” He flung himself onto the deck near Ruth and stared intently down into the bottom of the right-hand hull. At once he grabbed the jar he'd used to bail water earlier and yelled out to rouse the girls. “We're leaking bad!”
Ruth responded at once, snatching up a scoop and joining him in the hollow hull, where she began to bail as fast as she could go. “How can there be so much when we've already blocked the hole?”
Lazarus pointed to the planks that formed the hull. “The storm must've worked apart their seams.” He glanced over at Maryam. “Come on, you have to help us here. It's serious.”
She closed her eyes, feeling the wind snatch at her hair. Serious? What could be more serious than Joseph's death?
“Maryam!” It was Ruth this time. “Get over here. We're going to sink.”
Then let us, Maryam thought. She had no fear with Joseph waiting down below.
“Maryam!” Ruth shouted at her now. “You have to help!”
The fear in Ruth's voice tugged her conscience: even if she wished death for herself, she couldn't let Ruth drown. She opened her eyes again, grunting as she rose, and it struck her how the deck leaned on an angle to the right. She moved more quickly now, rummaging through the debris until she found the fire-blackened pot they'd used for cooking.
The amount of water in the hull—the same hull that had hit the reef upon their entry to Marawa Island—shocked away the last of her haze. It was clear that the impact then, followed by the storm, had loosened all its joints. The water was nearly knee deep and steadily leaking in between the cracks as she started to bail with the pot, cursing under her breath as the motion of the boat kept jolting her off balance. With one arm useless, it was impossible to hold steady as she worked—she ended up kneeling in the bottom of the hull amid the sloshing water, bracing herself against its sides with her bare feet. She ached all over, certain that every part of her now bore some kind of bruise or scar. She'd been pitched straight back into another kind of Hell, the numbing peace of limbo denied her yet again. Had the Lord not already made His point? Why did He insist on piling punishment after punishment to make His case?
No matter how fast they bailed, the water level didn't seem to drop. As the sun lowered in the sky, Ruth called a halt.
“This is ridiculous. I need to eat and drink.” She rose stiffly to her feet. “Maryam, you get yours while we keep on bailing, then when you're done we'll swap around.”
Maryam clambered up the sloping deck, shocked to see the lean was worse: they'd been bailing for hours now and made no gains. She was so hungry her fingers trembled as she tried to peel a bruised banana one-handed; the moment she succeeded she stuffed it straight into her mouth. The fruit was over-ripe and sickly sweet, but insufficient to quell her gnawing hunger even though it stopped the shakes. She carefully measured out a third of a cup of water, closing her eyes to savour every soothing drop.
When she could no longer put off her return to work, she stretched and glanced out to the west to gauge the position of the sinking sun. They had perhaps another hour of light at most. The thought of bailing through the night, not knowing what lay in store for them—
Wait! There was a smudge to the north-west, something small and dark.
“You two, come up here quick!” She rubbed her eyes, desperately hoping they were not playing tricks.
Ruth and Lazarus leapt up to join her, tracking the direction of her pointing hand. There was definitely something there, but what?
“What on earth is it?” Lazarus squinted into the distance, biting at a piece of loose skin on his thumb.
Maryam stared so hard her eyes began to water and she cleared them with one impatient swipe of her hand. “Is it an island?” Something niggled at her brain. It was nothing like their first glimpse of Marawa; it did not look right. Too small, perhaps? Too indistinct?
Ruth's voice shook with uncertain awe. “Could it be another boat?”
Both Maryam and Lazarus turned to her, open-mouthed, then quickly swung back around again to see. Maryam's heart was racing now. What if, by some miracle, Ruth was right?
“Fire!” Maryam shouted now. “Let's build a fire! That's the only way anyone out there is going to see us.”
Lazarus snorted. “Are you mad? This boat is made of wood.”
“There has to be a way! If there is someone out there, we have to make them see.” She cast about frantically for something that might form a base that would not burn. There was kindling enough from the wreckage of the boat, and piles of salvaged stores. She reached over to the heap of shattered earthenware, and dragged out the base of a huge broken urn that had once stored water. “Here!” She picked up a pile of clothes. “If we wet these and lay them under that base, they'll help to contain the heat.”
Lazarus was shaking his head at her foolishness, when a flash of understanding dawned across his face. “It's crazy…but it just might work.” He snatched the clothing from her hand and rushed over to the leaking hull, plunging the fabric under the rising tide of water with a decisive splash.
They set to work, one eye always to the north-western horizon. The shape was definitely still there, slowly taking on a more solid form. But the sun was sinking lower now, and time was short. They placed the makeshift fireplace near the leaking hull, close to water if it flared out of control. Besides, as soon as they had lit the fire, they'd have to resume bailing again. The water level had already risen higher and the boat heeled even further over to the right.
Thankfully, the sun had dried the thatch and wood, and Ruth had unearthed their flint and striker when she'd helped to clear the decks. As she and Maryam worked together to light the fire, Lazarus attacked the shelter's shattered framing, kicking and pulling at it until he'd hauled the whole thing down. He splintered the bamboo into strips to stop it spitting as it burnt; next he broke down the one remaining shelter wall: the pandanus thatch was excellent at producing smoke.
By the time the fire was sending forth a steady trail of thick white smoke, the last of the light was fading from the sky. They had eaten and drunk from their pitiful supplies, ready for the hard night of bailing ahead. But there was a feeling of desperate anticipation among them now—they'd watched the dark shape coming closer, even though the wind was blowing their own boat the other way. It had to be moving towards them. It had to be.
Maryam was left to tend the fire while Lazarus and Ruth reluctantly climbed back into the hull to bail. She locked her eyes on the last place she'd seen the mysterious shape before the light had gone, fighting her exhaustion to stay alert. But it was hard to concentrate. Her arm began to throb and her mind returned to Joseph—the sky pressing dark and heavy on her mood. It reminded her how small and insignificant they really were, how fragile the tipping point between death and life.
She tried to conjure up a picture of his smiling face but saw, instead, the ugly marks that pocked his skin and shuddered anew at the memory of his stiff, unyielding lips. Joseph is dead. The fire popped and crackled, sending a shower of sparks into the night, and she startled, turning her attention back to the distant dark horizon.
Suddenly she saw a flash of light, a beam that flared and swung in a slow arc across the ripples of the darkened sea. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the light was gone. She blinked, and blinked again, her pulse now thrumming in her ears. Had she imagined it, that light? Conjured it up out of desperation from the far reaches of her mind?
But then it came again. Another flare! Another searchlight cutting through the inky night.
She roared for Ruth and Lazarus, her eyes locked on the be
am of light. Someone else was out there; someone who could offer help was sending out a clear signal that they had been seen. It was a miracle.
Huddled beside the signal fire on their listing boat, pinned by the searchlight's blinding glare, they could hear the ship before they saw it, the thunderous rumble much louder than the waste-powered engines used to heat the water and cookers in the Holy City back at home.
Maryam's stomach tied itself in anxious knots as a hulking black ship half the size of Star of the Sea slowly materialised from the darkness. Lights glowed from its control room, overshadowed by the searchlight as it made its way through the swell towards them. Maryam slipped her hand into Ruth's, and was momentarily comforted by her warm, familiar touch.
A disembodied voice barked out above the throbbing din. “Raise your hands above your heads.”
They did as they were told, though Ruth held fast to her Holy Book and Maryam was only able to lift her one uninjured arm. Her initial relief at hearing English spoken was dissipated by the threatening tone of the command, and she felt exposed and vulnerable as the ship edged close enough for them to see the shadowy swarm of crew on its deck.
“Prepare to be boarded. Do not move.” The man spoke curtly, his vowels flat and ugly to her ears.
“What are they doing?” Ruth whispered, her eyes wide and wild in the harsh stream of light.
“They mean to come aboard,” Lazarus said. He looked pale and tense as he turned to Maryam. “I don't like the feel of this.”
A cold shiver tiptoed down her spine as she watched them lower a smaller craft down the big ship's side. It dropped into the swell, and she counted as six large men descended a swinging rope ladder to board it. Another motor whined and burst into life and then the little boat bounced across the narrow divide of sea. Oh, to have propulsion like that, Maryam thought, and not be reliant on wind and sail.