by Merle Kröger
He laughs.
You are blind. Mother. Father.
Mother, you don’t really believe that.
Dear Marwan,
I don’t know where you are right now. But I am praying that you are well. And I pray that this war will soon be over and that you will return. That everything will be back to the way it was before. Look, I am sending you a picture. This is what it will look like here soon. Assad is building us a shopping mall right here in Tartus.
Dear Mother,
I think death is easier to bear.
I’m sorry.
PORTMĀN | SPAIN
Karim Yacine
“Where are we, brother?”
How should he know? He has brought them to land.
The five from the fishing village disappeared immediately. It’s every man for himself here.
What do you still want? Karim feels indignation rise within him. We are much too conspicuous here. There are too many of us.
He makes a random grab for Abdelmjid, the red cloth; the others follow willingly. “This way, come this way.” Up against the fence.
“Where are we, brother?”
“What’s this place called?”
He has no idea.
The GPS. Go on, do it.
“Portman.”
Bigger. I need a bigger overview.
He turns around, trying to orient himself.
North is that way.
There is a street over there, running along the shoreline. He points to the right. “Alicante is located that way. Go that way.” It can’t be far. From there, they should call someone. Their brothers. Their families. “You’ll need to go separately. It’s too dangerous to stick together.”
General hesitation. Nobody wants to go it alone.
“Come on, get going! May Allah protect you.”
The two boys are the first to vanish.
He worries about the cousin, who is still listless, sitting on the fence with his head between his knees. Karim cautiously shakes him by the shoulder. “Do it for your brother. Pull yourself together, man!”
The teacher whispers, “I’ll take him with me. And what will happen to you and the…”
Karim shakes his head. Don’t speak. “Just go.”
The teacher pulls the cousin to his feet. “Help me, Abdelmjid.”
Abdelmjid pauses and looks at Karim. “Brother.”
What now?
“What will you do now, brother?”
Karim is on edge. “I’ll call the ambulance, of course,” he hisses. “And then I’ll disappear.” He gives his friend a shove. “God protect you.”
They finally vanish.
Karim sits next to the injured man. He touches his chest and feels its rapid rise and fall.
“Hold on. I’ll get help.”
He looks at his cell phone.
Just real fast. Zohra. It rings, but she doesn’t pick up.
Karim dials the Spanish emergency number.
“SOS. Playa. Portmán. Rápido! Rápido!”
It will have to do, since he doesn’t know any more Spanish. They know these kinds of calls around here. He stands up.
“Good luck, my friend.” He sets his phone down by the injured man, after activating the flashlight app. It will last awhile.
He walks away.
A horrible sound. He’s not breathing right.
What if they don’t find him?
He turns around.
Oh, merde.
He kneels down. “How are you doing?”
He touches his chest again.
Oh no.
Stillness.
He picks up his phone and holds it in front of the other man’s face.
“Come on, please.”
No breathing.
“You can’t just die here!”
Not now! Karim suddenly feels panicked.
He can’t hear any sirens.
Nothing.
It is entirely still.
The moon emerges from behind a cloud.
Everything grows bright.
Only the beach remains black.
Death.
Karim carefully searches the dead man’s pockets for something, some kind of identification. Who will miss you? You’re a son. Brother. Husband.
He finds a couple of dollar bills in the pants pockets. A passport.
He holds it up close to his phone.
Syrian.
A Syrian passport.
A Syrian passport is worth money.
Deportation ban.
Asylum.
A future.
A future with Zohra in France.
He flips through it hastily.
The photo. They all think we look alike anyway. He is a couple of years younger. Other than that, it should work.
Karim’s heart pounds.
A new identity.
What’s your name?
What’s my name?
“Marwan.”
Marwan Fakhouri.
“My name is Marwan Fakhouri.”
I’m a Christian.
A new beginning.
SPIRIT OF EUROPE | DECK 5
Lalita Masarangi
She has no idea what time it is.
How long has she been standing here?
At the bow.
Alone.
She is so angry.
She took Mrs. Malinowski back to her cabin and called her dad. She has a company phone for emergencies.
“Dad. What can I do? I can’t stand it anymore.”
She told him everything.
We lost a crew member.
Someone was taken off the ship secretly.
Something is not right here.
“Do something.” Dad.
Her father listened and said nothing. She began to think the line had gone dead. No, she could hear him breathing.
“Listen, daughter. I had a call from Miami yesterday. Questions. People are not happy with our staff.”
One more report like that, her dad said, and they will start hiring the Israelis again. They won’t be at war forever.
“No. Daughter, now listen to me. Gold Cruises is our biggest client.”
No back talk.
Hung up.
Didn’t give a shit about Jo.
No one gives a shit.
She wants to scream.
She screams.
Into the wind. Into the night.
Until there are no more screams left.
The Spirit of Europe glides across the sea. She sees them suddenly in the moonlight.
The dolphins.
She turns around, but there is no one else to see them.
Their bodies, arcing high out of the water, gleam in the moonlight. They are playing.
Lalita turns away. She presses the button for the sliding door.
Promenade deck.
The Dolphins at Dawn are playing, but no one is there to listen.
It must be late already. Empty shopping malls. Sad.
Her whole life is an abandoned mall.
In Aldershot. Here. Everywhere.
Slowly, she walks toward the stage.
The musicians are wearing chunky designer watches.
Raymond is singing. He sees her coming and turns toward the others. The music stops.
You are just assholes, too.
She keeps on walking.
Behind her: “‘Anak.’ ‘The Lost Son.’ For Jo.”
Fuck you, Jo!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The novel Collision is a fictional account of a raft and a cruise ship crossing paths in the Mediterranean. This work of fiction was based on documentary research. We made a film about the real scenario, which was premiered at the Berlin International Film Festival in 2016. This enabled me to develop characters from an actual situation. They do not exist, but they could have. The plot also never happened, but it perhaps could. I will leave that to the readers.
Merle Kröger, September 13, 2017
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank those who accompanied me during my work on Collision:
Philip Scheffner for his ideas, criticism, patience, and much more.
Meike Martens, Tina Ellerkamp, and Rubaica Jaliwala for their feedback and support. Ilonka Brill and Robert Fischer for our joint research trips to Spain. Houari Bouchenak Khelladi for the research in Algeria. The pong film team: Bernd Meiners, Pascal Capitolin, Volker Zeigermann, and Caro Kirberg. Alexandra Gerbaulet for her assistance with the photographic research.
Terry and Sean Diamond for long drives and countless stories about Belfast and Donegal. Abdallah and Rhim between Algeria and France. Captain Leonid Savin and the crew of the Smaragd (which obviously would not keep traveling) for their hospitality and an incomparable 24 hours on the Mediterranean. Also, the team at MarConsult Ship Lines in Hamburg, and the entire team at Salvamento Marítimo in Cartagena, particularly Miguel Belmonte-Nieto, Nicolá Campoy Pomares, and Pedro Paredes Carrasco. Sigrid Scheffner for her powerful description of Parkinson’s. The Abou Naddara film collective (vimeo.com/user6924378/videos) for their film documentation of the war. Lee Robin Hornbogen for his first-class fitness coaching. Britta Lange for graciously sharing with me her research on the Half Moon Camp in Wünsdorf. Anita Müller for her films and connection with Odessa. Oliver Bottini for his tips about Algeria. The crew members and anonymous passengers on one of the largest cruise ships in the world. The Blue Waters Band for “Anak” on an empty promenade deck, as well as Eui-Ok Shu, Susanne Herbeck and Anke Mueller-Eckhardt for their support.
The Scheffner, Harten, Heuck, and Kröger families in Berlin, Hamburg and Schleswig-Holstein. My friends, especially Jörg Heitmann, Susanne Schultz and Dorothee Wenner. My colleagues at pong film, as well as the team and participants in the Professional Media Master Class at Halle (Saale).
The publishers and editors Else Lauden and Iris Konopik, and the entire team at Argument Publishing in Hamburg, as well as the HERLAND network of feminist crime writers in Germany.
For the English translation, I would like to thank my US publishers at Unnamed Press, especially Chris Heiser, the translators Rachel Hildebrandt and Alexandra Roesch, and the Goethe Institute. You all took great efforts to bring this book into the English speaking world.
SOURCES
“Anak”: Music and lyrics © Freddie Aguilar, 1978
“Did you Close the Door Softly?”: Poem © Ruth Lansley, nee Kormes
“Wünsdorf, Halbmondlager”: Audio recording PK 307-01 and PK 308-01, Lautarchiv at Humboldt University Berlin, translation from the English (Rubaica Jaliwala/Santanu Das) into German by Britta Lange/Philip Scheffner, © Jasbahadur Rai, 1916
“Bullet with Butterfly Wings”: Lyrics © Billy Corgan, Music © The Smashing Pumpkins, 1995
BIOGRAPHIES
Merle Kröger is co-author and producer of the award-winning cinema documentaries Day of the Sparrow (2010) and Revision (2012). Kröger has published several novels and was awarded the German Crime Novel Award 2013. She will be releasing a documentary film in Germany based on the events that served as the inspiration for Collision, a bestseller in Germany. The film, entitled Havarie, is available in the US through the Goethe-Institut.
Literary translator and founder of Weyward Sisters Publishing, Rachel Hildebrandt has published both fiction and nonfiction works in translation, including Staying Human by Katharina Stegelmann (Skyhorse) and Herr Faustini Takes a Trip by Wolfgang Hermann (KBR Media). Her recent translations include Link and Lerke by Bernd Schuchter, Fade to Black by Zoë Beck and Collision by Merle Kröger. She is the founder of the Global Literature in Libraries Initiative.
Alexandra Roesch is a bilingual translator based in Frankfurt am Main. She grew up in England, studied Business and Modern Languages in London and initially worked in the Banking Industry before moving to Germany in 1997. She recently completed a M.A. in Translation at the University of Bristol, including extensive studies of Alfred Döblin, Günter Grass and Ralf Rothmann. She translates extracts and short stories for major German and Swiss publishers.