No Safe Place

by Deborah Ellis

  He finished his tea, collected the cups and took everything below. Then he got out the lifejackets. He put his on first, then took one out to Rosalia. She put hers on without an argument. He woke up Jonah and helped him into a vest, securing the straps for him.

  “Put this on,” he said to Cheslav.

  “You think I can’t swim? You wear two if you’re scared.”

  Abdul put his hands on the wheel. “There’s a storm coming. I’m not having you end up like the Uzbek. You are going to put this on or I am going to put it on you. You’ll probably beat me bloody in the process, but you will end up wearing it.”

  Cheslav relented. “Just to save you a beating.” He put on the life vest and fastened it.

  “I think I see land!” Rosalia called out.

  It took a moment. The swell of the sea had increased, and Abdul had to wait for the right balance of rise and fall and the right clearance of a fog patch, but then he saw it.

  Land. Unmistakably, land.

  His fingers rose to the thin chain around his neck, to be sure it was still there.

  “It’s England,” he said.

  “Or Greenland. Or Newfoundland,” said Cheslav. “Or maybe we’ve sailed right through the Beaufort Sea and are looking at Siberia.” But he sounded cheerful. “I’ll take us in.”

  Certain there were things that should be done on a boat before a storm, Abdul tried to figure out what those things would be. He made sure the portholes were closed and locked tight. He crammed anything that was loose in the kitchen into cupboards and secured those. And he shoved Cheslav’s parcel of treasures back down the stairs, along with his own bundle of spare clothes, a bag of things Rosalia was taking and Jonah’s old clothes, now clean and dry. Then he secured the staircase door.

  The wind was getting stronger and the waves were getting bigger. They made the yacht rise high, then drop like an elevator.

  He saw Jonah on the back deck, gathering cushions off the benches. The wind blew him flat to the floor. Abdul made his way over to the boy by clutching anything nailed down.

  “Get into the wheelhouse,” he yelled.

  “I want to help.”

  “You’re too small. You’ll end up in the water.”

  “I’m not useless!”

  “I didn’t say you’re useless. I said you’re small.”

  “I can — ”

  “Be quiet!”

  A sound reached Abdul’s ears through the roar of the sea and wind. It was a sound that was far too familiar.

  “Listen!”

  Then Jonah heard it, too, and then they all saw it.

  A helicopter, coming closer and closer. It got close enough for Abdul to see its red belly and read the word “Coastguard” on its side.

  “What is a helicopter doing out in this storm?” Rosalia asked.

  “Maybe they’re looking for us.”

  “What should we do?” Jonah asked.

  “Go faster,” Abdul yelled.

  The boat gave another lurch as Cheslav ramped up the speed. Jonah was thrown back onto the wet deck. A dip in the waves sent him sliding to the other side of the boat. His hands flailed about as he tried to find something to grip onto, but there was nothing. He slipped through the railing.

  Abdul could see Jonah’s hand clutching the base of the railing, white-knuckled. With a great yell, Abdul heaved himself across the slippery deck. Waves of seawater pushed him back. He dared not take his eyes off Jonah’s hand.

  He tried again to get to the boy, his eyes stinging with salt water until he could no longer see anything but a blur. And then he made contact with someone.

  It was Rosalia. She had thrown herself face down on the deck and was gripping the railing, reaching through the smacking waves to get a hold on Jonah. Abdul held onto her until he could get his own grasp on the railing. He shoved his free arm out the side of the boat and attached his hand to Jonah’s arm, the one arm that was keeping Jonah with them.

  Jonah was still hanging on, but the swaying of the boat bounced him and knocked him hard against the hull.

  On his own, Abdul would not have been able to do it. Jonah would have slipped through his hands and into the water, and then they would have lost him forever.

  But Rosalia was there, and the two of them grabbed whatever parts of Jonah they could get a grip on, and pulled. Bit by bit, and then in one final yank, they got him back up through the railing and into their arms.

  They slithered along the deck with Jonah still face down into the shelter of the wheelhouse.

  Jonah cried out in pain when they turned him frontside up.

  His face was a bloody mess. His nose had been knocked hard against the side of the boat. Abdul couldn’t tell if it was broken.

  A bigger cry came when they tried to move his arm.

  The noise of the helicopter drove Abdul crazy. He went back out on deck just as a flash of lightning struck like a spear into the sea, followed by a huge bang of thunder.

  “Get out of here!” Abdul yelled. “We’re just a bunch of worthless kids! Get out of here!”

  The helicopter lifted up and away. Abdul knew the pilot hadn’t heard him, that it was the storm that sent it away, but he couldn’t help feeling a sliver of victory.

  Now all they had to do was find a safe place to land the boat.

  FOURTEEN

  “How is he?”

  Abdul knelt down beside Cheslav as the Russian tended to Jonah with bandages and dressings from the yacht’s first-aid kit. Jonah’s face was smeared with blood, but the nosebleed was over.

  “I don’t think anything’s broken,” Cheslav said. “His shoulder is sprained, but I don’t think it’s dislocated.” He placed a sling on Jonah’s arm and motioned for Abdul to lift and support the boy while he wrapped and tied the sling in place.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Abdul asked. The bandages on Jonah were tight and neat.

  “I used to be in military school. They taught us how to tear people apart and how to patch them back up again. Help me lift him.”

  Together they lifted Jonah onto the padded bench and wedged him there with cushions against the rocking of the boat.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jonah.

  “Why are you apologizing?” Cheslav asked. “You must be an idiot.” He gently washed the blood off the boy’s face and Abdul covered him with a blanket.

  “Can I do anything?” Abdul asked Rosalia at the wheel. “Do you need a break?”

  She turned the wheel over to him.

  “Just for a little while. My arms are sore from keeping the wheel straight.”

  Within a few minutes Abdul knew what she was talking about. All the muscles in his arms, neck and back started to ache from the tension of trying to keep the boat steady. At times it felt like the waves were pushing them forward. At other times it felt as though the waves were pulling them farther out to sea. And when the sea wasn’t pushing them closer or pulling them farther from the shore, it was rocking them violently from side to side.

  At least England was getting closer. Abdul could see the coastline now without the binoculars — land rising where the water stopped.

  It looked like ordinary land. After all his travels, he wondered why he expected more. Greece did not have Athena and Zeus drinking ouzo in the olive groves. There was no reason to suppose the shore of England would be anything other than what it was — shades of gray against a storm-gray sky.

  The world was all pretty much the same. People lived in deserts or forests or cities, but it was all land. He knew in his brain that England would be no different.

  But with his first real, naked-eye look at it, Abdul realized he’d been hoping for something more.

  He’d been hoping for Lennon and McCartney to be sitting on a dock, playing their guitars, an empty chair beside them. And he would put his feet o
n British territory, walk toward them and sit down in the chair. And then John — never mind that John was dead — would hand him a guitar, Paul would ask, “What kept you?” and then they’d all get down to writing music.

  Although Abdul could now see the shore, he could not imagine what would be there to receive them.

  If it’s Lennon, he thought, then we’ve crossed over to a whole other shore.

  “My turn,” said Cheslav after twenty minutes, and Abdul was glad to let him take over the wheel. He put the binoculars around his neck and scanned the shoreline. All he saw were rocks and cliffs.

  “Maybe we should go west for awhile,” he suggested. “We can look for a safer place.”

  Cheslav tapped the fuel gauge. It was almost on Empty.

  “No. We go on. While we still have power.”

  Abdul looked at Rosalia and Jonah. They nodded.

  “How do we land in this?”

  “You have the binoculars. Find us a place.”

  The rain started then — not in drops but in buckets. Sheets of rain so thick it was hard to see through it.

  We’ll be smashed on the rocks, Abdul thought. The shore was much closer now and it looked even meaner close up.

  “Find me somewhere!” Cheslav yelled.

  Abdul left the shelter of the wheelhouse and went to the front tip of the boat. He was soaked in a second and had to hold the binoculars with one hand and clutch the railing with the other to keep from toppling into the sea.

  He stared so hard that when he finally did see something he was sure he was seeing things.

  He wiped the lenses, wiped his face and took another look.

  The vision was still there.

  Someone in a yellow rain slicker with the hood pulled low was standing atop a high abutment in the cliff, making big arm gestures at them.

  Maybe I’m going crazy, Abdul thought. But what choice do we have?

  Aping the gestures of the real or imaginary creature in the yellow raincoat, he showed Cheslav which way to go.

  The sea and the wind shifted into slow motion in Abdul’s mind. He didn’t return to the wheelhouse. He was the one leading them into shore. If they were all going to die, it was right that he die first.

  He felt calm. He had a plan, and he always felt better when he had a plan. His plan was to be a mirror of the vision in the yellow slicker. When it waved them west, Abdul waved them west. When it waved, “Come straight on,” Abdul relayed that to Cheslav.

  They were heading straight for a wall of rocks. At any moment the waves would smash them into a cliff and they would all break apart and become debris in the sea.

  Not a bad death, Abdul thought. At least we’ll die trying. I tried, Kalil. I really tried.

  And then he saw what the yellow slicker was trying to get him to see.

  There was a channel coming up between the rocks. It wasn’t a wide channel, and because the cliffs all looked alike it was hard to see, especially in the storm. But it was there, directly below where the slicker wearer was standing, and the slicker’s arms were pointing down.

  “In here! In here!” the arms were saying.

  Abdul staggered quickly back into the wheelhouse.

  “There’s a way,” he told Cheslav. “Go straight. There’s an opening. It’s all right. I think we’re all right!”

  Then, back out on deck, Abdul let the binoculars hang from their strap. He needed both hands to direct. A little to the left — now more to the right. Then they were right in the channel, and Cheslav could see for himself.

  The waves rushed in and were sucked back out to the open sea. But as they moved farther in and rounded a bend, they found themselves in a hidden cove, the water a bit calmer and the wind held back.

  Abdul started to look for a place where he could secure the boat, and then he saw the yellow slicker again, running down the rocky cliff like a mountain goat.

  “Over here!” it gestured.

  The yellow slicker jumped up and down as the boat came into rope-tossing distance. Abdul threw, and the slicker secured it to a boulder that looked as though God had created it just for that purpose.

  They needed to get the boat closer to the shore so that they could get off. Right now there was a deep, wide chasm between their deck and the rock platform. The creature in the slicker — which Abdul could now see was a child — was trying to pull the rope to bring the boat closer but didn’t have the strength.

  Rosalia grabbed the rope that was fastened to the back of the boat. She climbed over the railing and held on tight until the waves pushed the boat close enough for her to jump to shore. Then she helped the child secure the ropes.

  Cheslav and Abdul went into the wheelhouse and helped Jonah off the boat.

  The child led them to a small cave carved out of the rocky cliff. Abdul and Cheslav had to duck down to fit through the low opening, but then they could straighten up and take in their surroundings.

  The darkness of the cave gave way to soft shadows, then to brighter spots as the child struck matches and lit candles.

  “Is this England?” Abdul asked.

  “It’s Cornwall.” The child shook back the hood of the slicker and revealed the face of a girl around eight, framed by two long braids. She was wearing a school uniform. “Some people think it’s the best part of England.”

  The cave had a narrow mattress neatly made up with blankets. Abdul and Cheslav steered Jonah to it.

  “You’ll get the bed wet and then it will be no good,” the girl said. “Put him on the floor and dry him off first.”

  The floor of the cave was covered by an old piece of broadloom and a dozen scatter mats. The girl quickly pulled several of the mats together and they gently helped Jonah to sit down on them.

  “I’ll get some dry clothes,” Abdul offered, although he hated to go back onto the boat, even for a minute, now that he was finally in England. But he needed to get dry, too. They all did.

  He paused long enough on the boat to put a pot of water on to boil, then gathered up an armload of blankets, towels and dry trousers and sweaters.

  “I’m not changing in front of girls,” Jonah said as Cheslav untied his sling.

  Rosalia looked at the girl. “What is your name?”

  “Gemma.”

  “Gemma, you will come with me to the boat and I will change clothes there.” She rummaged through the things Abdul had brought until she found something to wear. Then she led Gemma out.

  / / / / / / / /

  Dry clothes, warm blankets, hot tea and England. For the moment, Abdul was content.

  He looked around the little cave. Cheslav lounged in a lime-green beanbag chair. Rosalia and Gemma shared the mattress with Jonah, and Abdul sat on a seat from an old car.

  Colorful pillows were everywhere. More color came from little toys and plastic figurines placed in the nooks of the cave walls. The room glowed warmly from candles stuck into bowls. Wooden crates held comic books and paperbacks and supported plank shelves full of shells, rocks, bits of glass and other gifts from the sea. There were several dolls, too, mangled and with limbs or heads missing.

  “I found them on the beach,” Gemma said. “The sea always leaves good things after a storm. That’s why I’m out here. I’m supposed to be in school, but I didn’t want to waste the storm.”

  “You saved our lives.”

  “My father was a lifeboat volunteer,” Gemma said. “He died in a storm like this. A long time ago.”

  “My father died, too,” Abdul said. “What about your mother?”

  “Mum helped me fix up my cave. It used to be my brother’s, but he got killed by a drunk driver, so now it’s mine.”

  “Do a lot of people know about it?” Abdul was trying to figure out how safe they were. He’d like to stay and rest up before starting his long walk north.

  “Why
would I tell anybody? This is my secret place.”

  “Well, it’s beautiful,” Rosalia said.

  “The helicopter will come back,” Cheslav said.

  “It might not,” said Abdul.

  “The Coastguard helicopter?” Gemma asked. “Oh, they come here all the time. They work with the police. A lot of people try to smuggle in drugs around here. You’re not drug smugglers, are you?”

  The others laughed a little.

  “No,” said Abdul. “We’re not.”

  “So who are you, then?”

  “We’re just people who wanted to come to England.”

  Gemma turned to Jonah. “But you’re British.”

  “Yes. And these are my friends.”

  Gemma looked each of them in the face, then made up her mind.

  “You can’t be criminals. You’re still children.”

  “We’re not children!” Cheslav objected.

  “Well, you’re not grownups, and you have to be one or the other.” She glanced at the alarm clock ticking on the shelf by the broken dolls. “I have to go. I’ve got lunch-time detention. They get really mad if you skip that. The village is just across the field. Does he need a doctor?”

  “No,” said Jonah.

  “We’ll take care of him,” Abdul said.

  “All right.” Gemma did up the buttons on her slicker. “Will you be here for awhile?”

  “For a little while,” Abdul told her. “Is that all right?”

  “Secret friends in a secret cave. That’s all right with me.”

  She left the cave. Abdul followed her and watched as she scrambled up the rocky pathway to the top of the cliff.

  “Thank you,” he called after her. She paused, grinned and waved, then disappeared.

  “The rain has stopped,” he reported back. “What are we going to do about the boat?”

  “We leave it there or send it back out to the sea,” Cheslav said.

  “Or, we could just sink it,” said Rosalia.

  None of them had ever sunk a boat before.

  They began by taking everything off the yacht that they wanted to keep. They took the long bench cushions that Gemma could use in her cave, a box of food and dishes from the kitchen and the big bundle of things Cheslav wanted to sell.